the damned thing by ambrose bierce reprinted by permission. from "in the midst of life," copyright, , by g. p. putnam's sons i by the light of a tallow candle, which had been placed on one end of a rough table, a man was reading something written in a book. it was an old account book, greatly worn; and the writing was not, apparently, very legible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame of the candle to get a stronger light upon it. the shadow of the book would then throw into obscurity a half of the room, darkening a number of faces and figures; for besides the reader, eight other men were present. seven of them sat against the rough log walls, silent and motionless, and, the room being small, not very far from the table. by extending an arm any one of them could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table, face upward, partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. he was dead. the man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke; all seemed to be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was without expectation. from the blank darkness outside came in, through the aperture that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in the wilderness--the long, nameless note of a distant coyote; the stilly pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange cries of night birds, so different from those of the birds of day; the drone of great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds that seem always to have been but half heard when they have suddenly ceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion. but nothing of all this was noted in that company; its members were not overmuch addicted to idle interest in matters of no practical importance; that was obvious in every line of their rugged faces--obvious even in the dim light of the single candle. they were evidently men of the vicinity--farmers and woodmen. the person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of him that he was of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his attire which attested a certain fellowship with the organisms of his environment. his coat would hardly have passed muster in san francisco: his footgear was not of urban origin, and the hat that lay by him on the floor (he was the only one uncovered) was such that if one had considered it as an article of mere personal adornment he would have missed its meaning. in countenance the man was rather prepossessing, with just a hint of sternness; though that he may have assumed or cultivated, as appropriate to one in authority. for he was a coroner. it was by virtue of his office that he had possession of the book in which he was reading; it had been found among the dead man's effects--in his cabin, where the inquest was now taking place. when the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his breast pocket. at that moment the door was pushed open and a young man entered. he, clearly, was not of mountain birth and breeding: he was clad as those who dwell in cities. his clothing was dusty, however, as from travel. he had, in fact, been riding hard to attend the inquest. the coroner nodded; no one else greeted him. "we have waited for you," said the coroner. "it is necessary to have done with this business to-night." the young man smiled. "i am sorry to have kept you," he said. "i went away, not to evade your summons, but to post to my newspaper an account of what i suppose i am called back to relate." the coroner smiled. "the account that you posted to your newspaper," he said, "differs probably from that which you will give here under oath." "that," replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as you choose. i used manifold paper and have a copy of what i sent. it was not written as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. it may go as a part of my testimony under oath." "but you say it is incredible." "that is nothing to you, sir, if i also swear that it is true." the coroner was apparently not greatly affected by the young man's manifest resentment. he was silent for some moments, his eyes upon the floor. the men about the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but seldom withdrew their gaze from the face of the corpse. presently the coroner lifted his eyes and said: "we will resume the inquest." the men removed their hats. the witness was sworn. "what is your name?" the coroner asked. "william harker." "age?" "twenty-seven." "you knew the deceased, hugh morgan?" "yes." "you were with him when he died?" "near him." "how did that happen--your presence, i mean?" "i was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. a part of my purpose, however, was to study him, and his odd, solitary way of life. he seemed a good model for a character in fiction. i sometimes write stories." "i sometimes read them." "thank you." "stories in general--not yours." some of the jurors laughed. against a sombre background humor shows high lights. soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in the death chamber conquers by surprise. "relate the circumstances of this man's death," said the coroner. "you may use any notes or memoranda that you please." the witness understood. pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket he held it near the candle, and turning the leaves until he found the passage that he wanted, began to read. ii "...the sun had hardly risen when we left the house. we were looking for quail, each with a shotgun, but we had only one dog. morgan said that our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we crossed it by a trail through the _chaparral_. on the other side was comparatively level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. as we emerged from the _chaparral_, morgan was but a few yards in advance. suddenly, we heard, at a little distance to our right, and partly in front, a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes, which we could see were violently agitated. "'we've started a deer,' said. 'i wish we had brought a rifle.' "morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated chaparral, said nothing, but had cocked both barrels of his gun, and was holding it in readiness to aim. i thought him a trifle excited, which surprised me, for he had a reputation for exceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden and imminent peril. "'o, come!' i said. 'you are not going to fill up a deer with quail-shot, are you?' "still he did not reply; but, catching a sight of his face as he turned it slightly toward me, i was struck by the pallor of it. then i understood that we had serious business on hand, and my first conjecture was that we had 'jumped' a grizzly. i advanced to morgan's side, cocking my piece as i moved. "the bushes were now quiet, and the sounds had ceased, but morgan was as attentive to the place as before. "'what is it? what the devil is it?' i asked. "'that damned thing!' he replied, without turning his head. his voice was husky and unnatural. he trembled visibly. "i was about to speak further, when i observed the wild oats near the place of the disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way. i can hardly describe it. it seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, which not only bent it, but pressed it down--crushed it so that it did not rise, and this movement was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us. "nothing that i had ever seen had affected me so strangely as this unfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon, yet i am unable to recall any sense of fear. i remember--and tell it here because, singularly enough, i recollected it then--that once, in looking carelessly out of an open window, i momentarily mistook a small tree close at hand for one of a group of larger trees at a little distance away. it looked the same size as the others, but, being more distinctly and sharply defined in mass and detail, seemed out of harmony with them. it was a mere falsification of the law of aerial perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me. we so rely upon the orderly operation of familiar natural laws that any seeming suspension of them is noted as a menace to our safety, a warning of unthinkable calamity. so now the apparently causeless movement of the herbage, and the slow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbance were distinctly disquieting. my companion appeared actually frightened, and i could hardly credit my senses when i saw him suddenly throw his gun to his shoulders and fire both barrels at the agitated grass! before the smoke of the discharge had cleared away i heard a loud savage cry--a scream like that of a wild animal--and, flinging his gun upon the ground, morgan sprang away and ran swiftly from the spot. at the same instant i was thrown violently to the ground by the impact of something unseen in the smoke--some soft, heavy substance that seemed thrown against me with great force. "before i could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which seemed to have been struck from my hands, i heard morgan crying out as if in mortal agony, and mingling with his cries were such hoarse savage sounds as one hears from fighting dogs. inexpressibly terrified, i struggled to my feet and looked in the direction of morgan's retreat; and may heaven in mercy spare me from another sight like that! at a distance of less than thirty yards was my friend, down upon one knee, his head thrown back at a frightful angle, hatless, his long hair in disorder and his whole body in violent movement from side to side, backward and forward. his right arm was lifted and seemed to lack the hand--at least, i could see none. the other arm was invisible. at times, as my memory now reports this extraordinary scene, i could discern but a part of his body; it was as if he had been partly blotted out--i can not otherwise express it--then a shifting of his position would bring it all into view again. "all this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that time morgan assumed all the postures of a determined wrestler vanquished by superior weight and strength. i saw nothing but him, and him not always distinctly. during the entire incident his shouts and curses were heard, as if through an enveloping uproar of such sounds of rage and fury as i had never heard from the throat of man or brute! "for a moment only i stood irresolute, then, throwing down my gun, i ran forward to my friend's assistance. i had a vague belief that he was suffering from a fit or some form of convulsion. before i could reach his side he was down and quiet. all sounds had ceased, but, with a feeling of such terror as even these awful events had not inspired, i now saw the same mysterious movement of the wild oats prolonging itself from the trampled area about the prostrate man toward the edge of a wood. it was only when it had reached the wood that i was able to withdraw my eyes and look at my companion. he was dead." iii the coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man. lifting an edge of the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire body, altogether naked and showing in the candle light a clay-like yellow. it had, however, broad maculations of bluish-black, obviously caused by extravasated blood from contusions. the chest and sides looked as if they had been beaten with a bludgeon. there were dreadful lacerations; the skin was torn in strips and shreds. the coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silk handkerchief, which had been passed under the chin and knotted on the top of the head. when the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what had been the throat. some of the jurors who had risen to get a better view repented their curiosity, and turned away their faces. witness harker went to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and sick. dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck, the coroner stepped to an angle of the room, and from a pile of clothing produced one garment after another, each of which he held up a moment for inspection. all were torn, and stiff with blood. the jurors did not make a closer inspection. they seemed rather uninterested. they had, in truth, seen all this before; the only thing that was new to them being harker's testimony. "gentlemen," the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, i think. your duty has been already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish to ask you may go outside and consider your verdict." the foreman rose--a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad. "i should like to ask one question, mr. coroner," he said. "what asylum did this yer last witness escape from?" "mr. harker," said the coroner, gravely and tranquilly, "from what asylum did you last escape?" harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors rose and solemnly filed out of the cabin. "if you have done insulting me, sir," said harker, as soon as he and the officer were left alone with the dead man, "i suppose i am at liberty to go?" "yes." harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch. the habit of his profession was strong in him--stronger than his sense of personal dignity. he turned about and said: "the book that you have there--i recognize it as morgan's diary. you seemed greatly interested in it; you read in it while i was testifying. may i see it? the public would like--" "the book will cut no figure in this matter," replied the official, slipping it into his coat pocket; "all the entries in it were made before the writer's death." as harker passed out of the house the jury reentered and stood about the table on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharp definition. the foreman seated himself near the candle, produced from his breast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper, and wrote rather laboriously the following verdict, which with various degrees of effort all signed: "we, the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the hands of a mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same, they had fits." iv in the diary of the late hugh morgan are certain interesting entries having, possibly, a scientific value as suggestions. at the inquest upon his body the book was not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought it not worth while to confuse the jury. the date of the first of the entries mentioned can not be ascertained; the upper part of the leaf is torn away; the part of the entry remaining is as follows: "... would run in a half circle, keeping his head turned always toward the centre and again he would stand still, barking furiously. at last he ran away into the brush as fast as he could go. i thought at first that he had gone mad, but on returning to the house found no other alteration in his manner than what was obviously due to fear of punishment. "can a dog see with his nose? do odors impress some olfactory centre with images of the thing emitting them? . . . "sept .--looking at the stars last night as they rose above the crest of the ridge east of the house, i observed them successively disappear--from left to right. each was eclipsed but an instant, and only a few at the same time, but along the entire length of the ridge all that were within a degree or two of the crest were blotted out. it was as if something had passed along between me and them; but i could not see it, and the stars were not thick enough to define its outline. ugh! i don't like this. . . ." several weeks' entries are missing, three leaves being torn from the book. "sept. .--it has been about here again--i find evidences of its presence every day. i watched again all of last night in the same cover, gun in hand, double-charged with buckshot. in the morning the fresh footprints were there, as before. yet i would have sworn that i did not sleep--indeed, i hardly sleep at all. it is terrible, insupportable! if these amazing experiences are real i shall go mad; if they are fanciful i am mad already. "oct. .--i shall not go--it shall not drive me away. no, this is _my_ house, my land. god hates a coward.... "oct. .--i can stand it no longer; i have invited harker to pass a few weeks with me--he has a level head. i can judge from his manner if he thinks me mad. "oct. .--i have the solution of the problem; it came to me last night--suddenly, as by revelation. how simple--how terribly simple! "there are sounds that we can not hear. at either end of the scale are notes that stir no chord of that imperfect instrument, the human ear. they are too high or too grave. i have observed a flock of blackbirds occupying an entire treetop--the tops of several trees--and all in full song. suddenly--in a moment--at absolutely the same instant--all spring into the air and fly away. how? they could not all see one another--whole treetops intervened. at no point could a leader have been visible to all. there must have been a signal of warning or command, high and shrill above the din, but by me unheard. i have observed, too, the same simultaneous flight when all were silent, among not only blackbirds, but other birds--quail, for example, widely separated by bushes--even on opposite sides of a hill. "it is known to seamen that a school of whales basking or sporting on the surface of the ocean, miles apart, with the convexity of the earth between them, will sometimes dive at the same instant--all gone out of sight in a moment. the signal has been sounded--too grave for the ear of the sailor at the masthead and his comrades on the deck--who nevertheless feel its vibrations in the ship as the stones of a cathedral are stirred by the bass of the organ. "as with sounds, so with colors. at each end of the solar spectrum the chemist can detect the presence of what are known as 'actinic' rays. they represent colors--integral colors in the composition of light--which we are unable to discern. the human eye is an imperfect instrument; its range is but a few octaves of the real 'chromatic scale' i am not mad; there are colors that we can not see. "and, god help me! the damned thing is of such a color!" none transcribed from the g. p. putnam's sons edition by david price, email ccx @pglaf.org fantastic fables by ambrose bierce author of "tales of soldiers and civilians," "can such things be?" "black beetles in amber," etc. g. p. putnam's sons new york and london the knickerbocker press _ _ contents: the moral principle and the material interest the crimson candle the blotted escutcheon and the soiled ermine the ingenious patriot two kings an officer and a thug the conscientious official how leisure came the moral sentiment the politicians the thoughtful warden the treasury and the arms the christian serpent the broom of the temple the critics the foolish woman father and son the discontented malefactor a call to quit the man and the lightning the lassoed bear the ineffective rooter a protagonist of silver the holy deacon a hasty settlement the wooden guns the reform school board the poet's doom the noser and the note the cat and the king the literary astronomer the lion and the rattlesnake the man with no enemies the alderman and the raccoon the flying-machine the angel's tear the city of political distinction the party over there the poetess of reform the unchanged diplomatist an invitation the ashes of madame blavatsky the opossum of the future the life-savers the australian grasshopper the pavior the tried assassin the bumbo of jiam the two poets the thistles upon the grave the shadow of the leader the sagacious rat the member and the soap alarm and pride a causeway two in trouble the witch's steed the all dog the farmer's friend physicians two the overlooked factor a racial parallel the honest cadi the kangaroo and the zebra a matter of method the man of principle the returned californian the compassionate physician two of the damned the austere governor religions of error the penitent elector the tail of the sphinx a prophet of evil the crew of the life-boat a treaty of peace the nightside of character the faithful cashier the circular clew the devoted widow the hardy patriots the humble peasant the various delegation the no case a harmless visitor the judge and the rash act the prerogative of might an inflated ambition rejected services the power of the scalawag at large--one temper the seeker and the sought his fly-speck majesty the pugilist's diet the old man and the pupil the deceased and his heirs the politicians and the plunder the man and the wart the divided delegation a forfeited right revenge an optimist a valuable suggestion two footpads equipped for service the basking cyclone at the pole the optimist and the cynic the poet and the editor the taken hand an unspeakable imbecile a needful war the mine owner and the jackass the dog and the physician the party manager and the gentleman. the legislator and the citizen the rainmaker the citizen and the snakes fortune and the fabulist a smiling idol philosophers three the boneless king uncalculating zeal a transposition the honest citizen a creaking tail wasted sweets six and one the sportsman and the squirrel the fogy and the sheik at heaven's gate the catted anarchist the honourable member the expatriated boss an inadequate fee the judge and the plaintiff the return of the representative a statesman two dogs three recruits the mirror saint and sinner an antidote a weary echo the ingenious blackmailer a talisman the ancient order a fatal disorder the massacre a ship and a man congress and the people the justice and his accuser the highwayman and the traveller the policeman and the citizen the writer and the tramps two politicians the fugitive office the tyrant frog the eligible son-in-law the statesman and the horse an aerophobe the thrift of strength the good government the life-saver the man and the bird from the minutes three of a kind the fabulist and the animals a revivalist revived the debaters two of the pious the desperate object the appropriate memorial a needless labour a flourishing industry the self-made monkey the patriot and the banker the mourning brothers the disinterested arbiter the thief and the honest man the dutiful son aesopus emendatus the cat and the youth the farmer and his sons jupiter and the baby show the man and the dog the cat and the birds mercury and the woodchopper the fox and the grapes the penitent thief the archer and the eagle truth and the traveller the wolf and the lamb the lion and the boar the grasshopper and the ant the fisher and the fished the farmer and the fox dame fortune and the traveller the victor and the victim the wolf and the shepherds the goose and the swan the lion, the cock, and the ass the snake and the swallow the wolves and the dogs the hen and the vipers a seasonable joke the lion and the thorn the fawn and the buck the kite, the pigeons, and the hawk the wolf and the babe the wolf and the ostrich the herdsman and the lion the man and the viper the man and the eagle the war-horse and the miller the dog and the reflection the man and the fish-horn the hare and the tortoise hercules and the carter the lion and the bull the man and his goose the wolf and the feeding goat jupiter and the birds the lion and the mouse the old man and his sons the crab and his son the north wind and the sun the mountain and the mouse the bellamy and the members old saws with new teeth the wolf and the crane the lion and the mouse the hares and the frogs the belly and the members the piping fisherman the ants and the grasshopper the dog and his reflection the lion, the bear, and the fox the ass and the lion's skin the ass and the grasshoppers the wolf and the lion the hare and the tortoise the milkmaid and her bucket king log and king stork the wolf who would be a lion the monkey and the nuts the boys and the frogs the moral principle and the material interest . . . a moral principle met a material interest on a bridge wide enough for but one. "down, you base thing!" thundered the moral principle, "and let me pass over you!" the material interest merely looked in the other's eyes without saying anything. "ah," said the moral principle, hesitatingly, "let us draw lots to see which shall retire till the other has crossed." the material interest maintained an unbroken silence and an unwavering stare. "in order to avoid a conflict," the moral principle resumed, somewhat uneasily, "i shall myself lie down and let you walk over me." then the material interest found a tongue, and by a strange coincidence it was its own tongue. "i don't think you are very good walking," it said. "i am a little particular about what i have underfoot. suppose you get off into the water." it occurred that way. the crimson candle a man lying at the point of death called his wife to his bedside and said: "i am about to leave you forever; give me, therefore, one last proof of your affection and fidelity, for, according to our holy religion, a married man seeking admittance at the gate of heaven is required to swear that he has never defiled himself with an unworthy woman. in my desk you will find a crimson candle, which has been blessed by the high priest and has a peculiar mystical significance. swear to me that while it is in existence you will not remarry." the woman swore and the man died. at the funeral the woman stood at the head of the bier, holding a lighted crimson candle till it was wasted entirely away. the blotted escutcheon and the soiled ermine a blotted escutcheon, rising to a question of privilege, said: "mr. speaker, i wish to hurl back an allegation and explain that the spots upon me are the natural markings of one who is a direct descendant of the sun and a spotted fawn. they come of no accident of character, but inhere in the divine order and constitution of things." when the blotted escutcheon had resumed his seat a soiled ermine rose and said: "mr. speaker, i have heard with profound attention and entire approval the explanation of the honourable member, and wish to offer a few remarks on my own behalf. i, too, have been foully calumniated by our ancient enemy, the infamous falsehood, and i wish to point out that i am made of the fur of the _mustela maculata_, which is dirty from birth." the ingenious patriot having obtained an audience of the king an ingenious patriot pulled a paper from his pocket, saying: "may it please your majesty, i have here a formula for constructing armour-plating which no gun can pierce. if these plates are adopted in the royal navy our warships will be invulnerable, and therefore invincible. here, also, are reports of your majesty's ministers, attesting the value of the invention. i will part with my right in it for a million tumtums." after examining the papers, the king put them away and promised him an order on the lord high treasurer of the extortion department for a million tumtums. "and here," said the ingenious patriot, pulling another paper from another pocket, "are the working plans of a gun that i have invented, which will pierce that armour. your majesty's royal brother, the emperor of bang, is anxious to purchase it, but loyalty to your majesty's throne and person constrains me to offer it first to your majesty. the price is one million tumtums." having received the promise of another check, he thrust his hand into still another pocket, remarking: "the price of the irresistible gun would have been much greater, your majesty, but for the fact that its missiles can be so effectively averted by my peculiar method of treating the armour plates with a new--" the king signed to the great head factotum to approach. "search this man," he said, "and report how many pockets he has." "forty-three, sire," said the great head factotum, completing the scrutiny. "may it please your majesty," cried the ingenious patriot, in terror, "one of them contains tobacco." "hold him up by the ankles and shake him," said the king; "then give him a check for forty-two million tumtums and put him to death. let a decree issue declaring ingenuity a capital offence." two kings the king of madagao, being engaged in a dispute with the king of bornegascar, wrote him as follows: "before proceeding further in this matter i demand the recall of your minister from my capital." greatly enraged by this impossible demand, the king of bornegascar replied: "i shall not recall my minister. moreover, if you do not immediately retract your demand i shall withdraw him!" this threat so terrified the king of madagao that in hastening to comply he fell over his own feet, breaking the third commandment. an officer and a thug a chief of police who had seen an officer beating a thug was very indignant, and said he must not do so any more on pain of dismissal. "don't be too hard on me," said the officer, smiling; "i was beating him with a stuffed club." "nevertheless," persisted the chief of police, "it was a liberty that must have been very disagreeable, though it may not have hurt. please do not repeat it." "but," said the officer, still smiling, "it was a stuffed thug." in attempting to express his gratification, the chief of police thrust out his right hand with such violence that his skin was ruptured at the arm-pit and a stream of sawdust poured from the wound. he was a stuffed chief of police. the conscientious official while a division superintendent of a railway was attending closely to his business of placing obstructions on the track and tampering with the switches he received word that the president of the road was about to discharge him for incompetency. "good heavens!" he cried; "there are more accidents on my division than on all the rest of the line." "the president is very particular," said the man who brought him the news; "he thinks the same loss of life might be effected with less damage to the company's property." "does he expect me to shoot passengers through the car windows?" exclaimed the indignant official, spiking a loose tie across the rails. "does he take me for an assassin?" how leisure came a man to whom time was money, and who was bolting his breakfast in order to catch a train, had leaned his newspaper against the sugar-bowl and was reading as he ate. in his haste and abstraction he stuck a pickle-fork into his right eye, and on removing the fork the eye came with it. in buying spectacles the needless outlay for the right lens soon reduced him to poverty, and the man to whom time was money had to sustain life by fishing from the end of a wharf. the moral sentiment a pugilist met the moral sentiment of the community, who was carrying a hat-box. "what have you in the hat-box, my friend?" inquired the pugilist. "a new frown," was the answer. "i am bringing it from the frownery--the one over there with the gilded steeple." "and what are you going to do with the nice new frown?" the pugilist asked. "put down pugilism--if i have to wear it night and day," said the moral sentiment of the community, sternly. "that's right," said the pugilist, "that is right, my good friend; if pugilism had been put down yesterday, i wouldn't have this kind of nose to-day. i had a rattling hot fight last evening with--" "is that so?" cried the moral sentiment of the community, with sudden animation. "which licked? sit down here on the hat-box and tell me all about it!" the politicians an old politician and a young politician were travelling through a beautiful country, by the dusty highway which leads to the city of prosperous obscurity. lured by the flowers and the shade and charmed by the songs of birds which invited to woodland paths and green fields, his imagination fired by glimpses of golden domes and glittering palaces in the distance on either hand, the young politician said: "let us, i beseech thee, turn aside from this comfortless road leading, thou knowest whither, but not i. let us turn our backs upon duty and abandon ourselves to the delights and advantages which beckon from every grove and call to us from every shining hill. let us, if so thou wilt, follow this beautiful path, which, as thou seest, hath a guide-board saying, 'turn in here all ye who seek the palace of political distinction.'" "it is a beautiful path, my son," said the old politician, without either slackening his pace or turning his head, "and it leadeth among pleasant scenes. but the search for the palace of political distinction is beset with one mighty peril." "what is that?" said the young politician. "the peril of finding it," the old politician replied, pushing on. the thoughtful warden the warden of a penitentiary was one day putting locks on the doors of all the cells when a mechanic said to him: "those locks can all be opened from the inside--you are very imprudent." the warden did not look up from his work, but said: "if that is called imprudence, i wonder what would be called a thoughtful provision against the vicissitudes of fortune." the treasury and the arms a public treasury, feeling two arms lifting out its contents, exclaimed: "mr. shareman, i move for a division." "you seem to know something about parliamentary forms of speech," said the two arms. "yes," replied the public treasury, "i am familiar with the hauls of legislation." the christian serpent a rattlesnake came home to his brood and said: "my children, gather about and receive your father's last blessing, and see how a christian dies." "what ails you, father?" asked the small snakes. "i have been bitten by the editor of a partisan journal," was the reply, accompanied by the ominous death-rattle. the broom of the temple the city of gakwak being about to lose its character of capital of the province of ukwuk, the wampog issued a proclamation convening all the male residents in council in the temple of ul to devise means of defence. the first speaker thought the best policy would be to offer a fried jackass to the gods. the second suggested a public procession, headed by the wampog himself, bearing the holy poker on a cushion of cloth-of-brass. another thought that a scarlet mole should be buried alive in the public park and a suitable incantation chanted over the remains. the advice of the fourth was that the columns of the capitol be rubbed with oil of dog by a person having a moustache on the calf of his leg. when all the others had spoken an aged man rose and said: "high and mighty wampog and fellow-citizens, i have listened attentively to all the plans proposed. all seem wise, and i do not suffer myself to doubt that any one of them would be efficacious. nevertheless, i cannot help thinking that if we would put an improved breed of polliwogs in our drinking water, construct shallower roadways, groom the street cows, offer the stranger within our gates a free choice between the poniard and the potion, and relinquish our private system of morals, the other measures of public safety would be needless." the aged man was about to speak further, but the meeting informally adjourned in order to sweep the floor of the temple--for the men of gakwak are the tidiest housewives in all that province. the last speaker was the broom. the critics while bathing, antinous was seen by minerva, who was so enamoured of his beauty that, all armed as she happened to be, she descended from olympus to woo him; but, unluckily displaying her shield, with the head of medusa on it, she had the unhappiness to see the beautiful mortal turn to stone from catching a glimpse of it. she straightway ascended to ask jove to restore him; but before this could be done a sculptor and a critic passed that way and espied him. "this is a very bad apollo," said the sculptor: "the chest is too narrow, and one arm is at least a half-inch shorter than the other. the attitude is unnatural, and i may say impossible. ah! my friend, you should see my statue of antinous." "in my judgment, the figure," said the critic, "is tolerably good, though rather etrurian, but the expression of the face is decidedly tuscan, and therefore false to nature. by the way, have you read my work on 'the fallaciousness of the aspectual in art'?" the foolish woman a married woman, whose lover was about to reform by running away, procured a pistol and shot him dead. "why did you do that, madam?" inquired a policeman, sauntering by. "because," replied the married woman, "he was a wicked man, and had purchased a ticket to chicago." "my sister," said an adjacent man of god, solemnly, "you cannot stop the wicked from going to chicago by killing them." father and son "my boy," said an aged father to his fiery and disobedient son, "a hot temper is the soil of remorse. promise me that when next you are angry you will count one hundred before you move or speak." no sooner had the son promised than he received a stinging blow from the paternal walking-stick, and by the time he had counted to seventy-five had the unhappiness to see the old man jump into a waiting cab and whirl away. the discontented malefactor a judge having sentenced a malefactor to the penitentiary was proceeding to point out to him the disadvantages of crime and the profit of reformation. "your honour," said the malefactor, interrupting, "would you be kind enough to alter my punishment to ten years in the penitentiary and nothing else?" "why," said the judge, surprised, "i have given you only three years!" "yes, i know," assented the malefactor--"three years' imprisonment and the preaching. if you please, i should like to commute the preaching." a call to quit seeing that his audiences were becoming smaller every sunday, a minister of the gospel broke off in the midst of a sermon, descended the pulpit stairs, and walked on his hands down the central aisle of the church. he then remounted his feet, ascended to the pulpit, and resumed his discourse, making no allusion to the incident. "now," said he to himself, as he went home, "i shall have, henceforth, a large attendance and no snoring." but on the following friday he was waited upon by the pillars of the church, who informed him that in order to be in harmony with the new theology and get full advantage of modern methods of gospel interpretation they had deemed it advisable to make a change. they had therefore sent a call to brother jowjeetum-fallal, the world-renowned hindoo human pin-wheel, then holding forth in hoopitup's circus. they were happy to say that the reverend gentleman had been moved by the spirit to accept the call, and on the ensuing sabbath would break the bread of life for the brethren or break his neck in the attempt. the man and the lightning a man running for office was overtaken by lightning. "you see," said the lightning, as it crept past him inch by inch, "i can travel considerably faster than you." "yes," the man running for office replied, "but think how much longer i keep going!" the lassoed bear a hunter who had lassoed a bear was trying to disengage himself from the rope, but the slip-knot about his wrist would not yield, for the bear was all the time pulling in the slack with his paws. in the midst of his trouble the hunter saw a showman passing by, and managed to attract his attention. "what will you give me," he said, "for my bear?" "it will be some five or ten minutes," said the showman, "before i shall want a fresh bear, and it looks to me as if prices would fall during that time. i think i'll wait and watch the market." "the price of this animal," the hunter replied, "is down to bed-rock; you can have him for nothing a pound, spot cash, and i'll throw in the next one that i lasso. but the purchaser must remove the goods from the premises forthwith, to make room for three man-eating tigers, a cat-headed gorilla, and an armful of rattlesnakes." but the showman passed on, in maiden meditation, fancy free, and being joined soon afterward by the bear, who was absently picking his teeth, it was inferred that they were not unacquainted. the ineffective rooter a drunken man was lying in the road with a bleeding nose, upon which he had fallen, when a pig passed that way. "you wallow fairly well," said the pig, "but, my fine fellow, you have much to learn about rooting." a protagonist of silver some financiers who were whetting their tongues on their teeth because the government had "struck down" silver, and were about to "inaugurate" a season of sweatshed, were addressed as follows by a member of their honourable and warlike body: "comrades of the thunder and companions of death, i cannot but regard it as singularly fortunate that we who by conviction and sympathy are designated by nature as the champions of that fairest of her products, the white metal, should also, by a happy chance, be engaged mostly in the business of mining it. nothing could be more appropriate than that those who from unselfish motives and elevated sentiments are doing battle for the people's rights and interests, should themselves be the chief beneficiaries of success. therefore, o children of the earthquake and the storm, let us stand shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart, and pocket to pocket!" this speech so pleased the other members of the convention that, actuated by a magnanimous impulse, they sprang to their feet and left the hall. it was the first time they had ever been known to leave anything having value. the holy deacon an itinerant preacher who had wrought hard in the moral vineyard for several hours whispered to a holy deacon of the local church: "brother, these people know you, and your active support will bear fruit abundantly. please pass the plate for me, and you shall have one fourth." the holy deacon did so, and putting the money into his pocket waited till the congregation was dismissed and said goodnight. "but the money, brother, the money that you collected!" said the itinerant preacher. "nothing is coming to you," was the reply; "the adversary has hardened their hearts, and one fourth is all they gave." a hasty settlement "your honour," said an attorney, rising, "what is the present status of this case--as far as it has gone?" "i have given a judgment for the residuary legatee under the will," said the court, "put the costs upon the contestants, decided all questions relating to fees and other charges; and, in short, the estate in litigation has been settled, with all controversies, disputes, misunderstandings, and differences of opinion thereunto appertaining." "ah, yes, i see," said the attorney, thoughtfully, "we are making progress--we are getting on famously." "progress?" echoed the judge--"progress? why, sir, the matter is concluded!" "exactly, exactly; it had to be concluded in order to give relevancy to the motion that i am about to make. your honour, i move that the judgment of the court be set aside and the case reopened." "upon what ground, sir?" the judge asked in surprise. "upon the ground," said the attorney, "that after paying all fees and expenses of litigation and all charges against the estate there will still be something left." "there may have been an error," said his honour, thoughtfully--"the court may have underestimated the value of the estate. the motion is taken under advisement." the wooden guns an artillery regiment of a state militia applied to the governor for wooden guns to practise with. "those," they explained, "will be cheaper than real ones." "it shall not be said that i sacrificed efficiency to economy," said the governor. "you shall have real guns." "thank you, thank you," cried the warriors, effusively. "we will take good care of them, and in the event of war return them to the arsenal." the reform school board the members of the school board in doosnoswair being suspected of appointing female teachers for an improper consideration, the people elected a board composed wholly of women. in a few years the scandal was at an end; there were no female teachers in the department. the poet's doom an object was walking along the king's highway wrapped in meditation and with little else on, when he suddenly found himself at the gates of a strange city. on applying for admittance, he was arrested as a necessitator of ordinances, and taken before the king. "who are you," said the king, "and what is your business in life?" "snouter the sneak," replied the object, with ready invention; "pick-pocket." the king was about to command him to be released when the prime minister suggested that the prisoner's fingers be examined. they were found greatly flattened and calloused at the ends. "ha!" cried the king; "i told you so!--he is addicted to counting syllables. this is a poet. turn him over to the lord high dissuader from the head habit." "my liege," said the inventor-in-ordinary of ingenious penalties, "i venture to suggest a keener affliction. "name it," the king said. "let him retain that head!" it was so ordered. the noser and the note the head rifler of an insolvent bank, learning that it was about to be visited by the official noser into things, placed his own personal note for a large amount among its resources, and, gaily touching his guitar, awaited the inspection. when the noser came to the note he asked, "what's this?" "that," said the assistant pocketer of deposits, "is one of our liabilities." "a liability?" exclaimed the noser. "nay, nay, an asset. that is what you mean, doubtless." "therein you err," the pocketer explained; "that note was written in the bank with our own pen, ink, and paper, and we have not paid a stationery bill for six months." "ah, i see," the noser said, thoughtfully; "it is a liability. may i ask how you expect to meet it?" "with fortitude, please god," answered the assistant pocketer, his eyes to heaven raising--"with fortitude and a firm reliance on the laxity of the law." "enough, enough," exclaimed the faithful servant of the state, choking with emotion; "here is a certificate of solvency." "and here is a bottle of ink," the grateful financier said, slipping it into the other's pocket; "it is all that we have." the cat and the king a cat was looking at a king, as permitted by the proverb. "well," said the monarch, observing her inspection of the royal person, "how do you like me?" "i can imagine a king," said the cat, "whom i should like better." "for example?" "the king of the mice." the sovereign was so pleased with the wit of the reply that he gave her permission to scratch his prime minister's eyes out. the literary astronomer the director of an observatory, who, with a thirty-six-inch refractor, had discovered the moon, hastened to an editor, with a four-column account of the event. "how much?" said the editor, sententiously, without looking up from his essay on the circularity of the political horizon. "one hundred and sixty dollars," replied the man who had discovered the moon. "not half enough," was the editor's comment. "generous man!" cried the astronomer, glowing with warm and elevated sentiments, "pay me, then, what you will." "great and good friend," said the editor, blandly, looking up from his work, "we are far asunder, it seems. the paying is to be done by you." the director of the observatory gathered up the manuscript and went away, explaining that it needed correction; he had neglected to dot an m. the lion and the rattlesnake a man having found a lion in his path undertook to subdue him by the power of the human eye; and near by was a rattlesnake engaged in fascinating a small bird. "how are you getting on, brother?" the man called out to the other reptile, without removing his eyes from those of the lion. "admirably," replied the serpent. "my success is assured; my victim draws nearer and nearer in spite of her efforts." "and mine," said the man, "draws nearer and nearer in spite of mine. are you sure it is all right?" "if you don't think so," the reptile replied as well as he then could, with his mouth full of bird, "you better give it up." a half-hour later, the lion, thoughtfully picking his teeth with his claws, told the rattlesnake that he had never in all his varied experience in being subdued, seen a subduer try so earnestly to give it up. "but," he added, with a wide, significant smile, "i looked him into countenance." the man with no enemies an inoffensive person walking in a public place was assaulted by a stranger with a club, and severely beaten. when the stranger with a club was brought to trial, the complainant said to the judge: "i do not know why i was assaulted; i have not an enemy in the world." "that," said the defendant, "is why i struck him." "let the prisoner be discharged," said the judge; "a man who has no enemies has no friends. the courts are not for such." the alderman and the raccoon "i see quite a number of rings on your tail," said an alderman to a raccoon that he met in a zoological garden. "yes," replied the raccoon, "and i hear quite a number of tales on your ring." the alderman, being of a sensitive, retiring disposition, shrank from further comparison, and, strolling to another part of the garden, stole the camel. the flying-machine an ingenious man who had built a flying-machine invited a great concourse of people to see it go up. at the appointed moment, everything being ready, he boarded the car and turned on the power. the machine immediately broke through the massive substructure upon which it was builded, and sank out of sight into the earth, the aeronaut springing out barely in time to save himself. "well," said he, "i have done enough to demonstrate the correctness of my details. the defects," he added, with a look at the ruined brick-work, "are merely basic and fundamental." upon this assurance the people came forward with subscriptions to build a second machine. the angel's tear an unworthy man who had laughed at the woes of a woman whom he loved, was bewailing his indiscretion in sack-cloth-of-gold and ashes-of-roses, when the angel of compassion looked down upon him, saying: "poor mortal!--how unblest not to know the wickedness of laughing at another's misfortune!" so saying, he let fall a great tear, which, encountering in its descent a current of cold air, was congealed into a hail-stone. this struck the unworthy man on the head and set him rubbing that bruised organ vigorously with one hand while vainly attempting to expand an umbrella with the other. thereat the angel of compassion did most shamelessly and wickedly laugh. the city of political distinction jamrach the rich, being anxious to reach the city of political distinction before nightfall, arrived at a fork of the road and was undecided which branch to follow; so he consulted a wise-looking person who sat by the wayside. "take _that_ road," said the wise-looking person, pointing it out; "it is known as the political highway." "thank you," said jamrach, and was about to proceed. "about how much do you thank me?" was the reply. "do you suppose i am here for my health?" as jamrach had not become rich by stupidity, he handed something to his guide and hastened on, and soon came to a toll-gate kept by a benevolent gentleman, to whom he gave something, and was suffered to pass. a little farther along he came to a bridge across an imaginary stream, where a civil engineer (who had built the bridge) demanded something for interest on his investment, and it was forthcoming. it was growing late when jamrach came to the margin of what appeared to be a lake of black ink, and there the road terminated. seeing a ferryman in his boat he paid something for his passage and was about to embark. "no," said the ferryman. "put your neck in this noose, and i will tow you over. it is the only way," he added, seeing that the passenger was about to complain of the accommodations. in due time he was dragged across, half strangled, and dreadfully beslubbered by the feculent waters. "there," said the ferryman, hauling him ashore and disengaging him, "you are now in the city of political distinction. it has fifty millions of inhabitants, and as the colour of the filthy pool does not wash off, they all look exactly alike." "alas!" exclaimed jamrach, weeping and bewailing the loss of all his possessions, paid out in tips and tolls; "i will go back with you." "i don't think you will,", said the ferryman, pushing off; "this city is situated on the island of the unreturning." the party over there a man in a hurry, whose watch was at his lawyer's, asked a grave person the time of day. "i heard you ask that party over there the same question," said the grave person. "what answer did he give you?" "he said it was about three o'clock," replied the man in a hurry; "but he did not look at his watch, and as the sun is nearly down, i think it is later." "the fact that the sun is nearly down," the grave person said, "is immaterial, but the fact that he did not consult his timepiece and make answer after due deliberation and consideration is fatal. the answer given," continued the grave person, consulting his own timepiece, "is of no effect, invalid, and absurd." "what, then," said the man in a hurry, eagerly, "is the time of day?" "the question is remanded to the party over there for a new answer," replied the grave person, returning his watch to his pocket and moving away with great dignity. he was a judge of an appellate court. the poetess of reform one pleasant day in the latter part of eternity, as the shades of all the great writers were reposing upon beds of asphodel and moly in the elysian fields, each happy in hearing from the lips of the others nothing but copious quotation from his own works (for so jove had kindly bedeviled their ears), there came in among them with triumphant mien a shade whom none knew. she (for the newcomer showed such evidences of sex as cropped hair and a manly stride) took a seat in their midst, and smiling a superior smile explained: "after centuries of oppression i have wrested my rights from the grasp of the jealous gods. on earth i was the poetess of reform, and sang to inattentive ears. now for an eternity of honour and glory." but it was not to be so, and soon she was the unhappiest of mortals, vainly desirous to wander again in gloom by the infernal lakes. for jove had not bedeviled her ears, and she heard from the lips of each blessed shade an incessant flow of quotation from his own works. moreover, she was denied the happiness of repeating her poems. she could not recall a line of them, for jove had decreed that the memory of them abide in pluto's painful domain, as a part of the apparatus. the unchanged diplomatist the republic of madagonia had been long and well represented at the court of the king of patagascar by an officer called a dazie, but one day the madagonian parliament conferred upon him the superior rank of dandee. the next day after being apprised of his new dignity he hastened to inform the king of patagascar. "ah, yes, i understand," said the king; "you have been promoted and given increased pay and allowances. there was an appropriation?" "yes, your majesty." "and you have now two heads, have you not?" "oh, no, your majesty--only one, i assure you." "indeed? and how many legs and arms?" "two of each, sire--only two of each." "and only one body?" "just a single body, as you perceive." thoughtfully removing his crown and scratching the royal head, the monarch was silent a moment, and then he said: "i fancy that appropriation has been misapplied. you seem to be about the same kind of idiot that you were before." an invitation a pious person who had overcharged his paunch with dead bird by way of attesting his gratitude for escaping the many calamities which heaven had sent upon others, fell asleep at table and dreamed. he thought he lived in a country where turkeys were the ruling class, and every year they held a feast to manifest their sense of heaven's goodness in sparing their lives to kill them later. one day, about a week before one of these feasts, he met the supreme gobbler, who said: "you will please get yourself into good condition for the thanksgiving dinner." "yes, your excellency," replied the pious person, delighted, "i shall come hungry, i assure you. it is no small privilege to dine with your excellency." the supreme gobbler eyed him for a moment in silence; then he said: "as one of the lower domestic animals, you cannot be expected to know much, but you might know something. since you do not, you will permit me to point out that being asked to dinner is one thing; being asked to dine is another and a different thing." with this significant remark the supreme gobbler left him, and thenceforward the pious person dreamed of himself as white meat and dark until rudely awakened by decapitation. the ashes of madame blavatsky the two brightest lights of theosophy being in the same place at once in company with the ashes of madame blavatsky, an inquiring soul thought the time propitious to learn something worth while. so he sat at the feet of one awhile, and then he sat awhile at the feet of the other, and at last he applied his ear to the keyhole of the casket containing the ashes of madame blavatsky. when the inquiring soul had completed his course of instruction he declared himself the ahkoond of swat, fell into the baleful habit of standing on his head, and swore that the mother who bore him was a pragmatic paralogism. wherefore he was held in high reverence, and when the two other gentlemen were hanged for lying the theosophists elected him to the leadership of their disastral body, and after a quiet life and an honourable death by the kick of a jackass he was reincarnated as a yellow dog. as such he ate the ashes of madame blavatsky, and theosophy was no more. the opossum of the future one day an opossum who had gone to sleep hanging from the highest branch of a tree by the tail, awoke and saw a large snake wound about the limb, between him and the trunk of the tree. "if i hold on," he said to himself, "i shall be swallowed; if i let go i shall break my neck." but suddenly he bethought himself to dissemble. "my perfected friend," he said, "my parental instinct recognises in you a noble evidence and illustration of the theory of development. you are the opossum of the future, the ultimate fittest survivor of our species, the ripe result of progressive prehensility--all tail!" but the snake, proud of his ancient eminence in scriptural history, was strictly orthodox, and did not accept the scientific view. the life-savers seventy-five men presented themselves before the president of the humane society and demanded the great gold medal for life-saving. "why, yes," said the president; "by diligent effort so many men must have saved a considerable number of lives. how many did you save?" "seventy-five, sir," replied their spokesman. "ah, yes, that is one each--very good work--very good work, indeed," the president said. "you shall not only have the society's great gold medal, but its recommendation for employment at the various life-boat stations along the coast. but how did you save so many lives?" the spokesman of the men replied: "we are officers of the law, and have just returned from the pursuit of two murderous outlaws." the australian grasshopper a distinguished naturalist was travelling in australia, when he saw a kangaroo in session and flung a stone at it. the kangaroo immediately adjourned, tracing against the sunset sky a parabolic curve spanning seven provinces, and evanished below the horizon. the distinguished naturalist looked interested, but said nothing for an hour; then he said to his native guide: "you have pretty wide meadows here, i suppose?" "no, not very wide," the guide answered; "about the same as in england and america." after another long silence the distinguished naturalist said: "the hay which we shall purchase for our horses this evening--i shall expect to find the stalks about fifty feet long. am i right?" "why, no," said the guide; "a foot or two is about the usual length of our hay. what can you be thinking of?" the distinguished naturalist made no immediate reply, but later, as in the shades of night they journeyed through the desolate vastness of the great lone land, he broke the silence: "i was thinking," he said, "of the uncommon magnitude of that grasshopper." the pavior an author saw a labourer hammering stones into the pavement of a street, and approaching him said: "my friend, you seem weary. ambition is a hard taskmaster." "i'm working for mr. jones, sir," the labourer replied. "well, cheer up," the author resumed; "fame comes at the most unexpected times. to-day you are poor, obscure, and disheartened, and to-morrow the world may be ringing with your name." "what are you giving me?" the labourer said. "cannot an honest pavior perform his work in peace, and get his money for it, and his living by it, without others talking rot about ambition and hopes of fame?" "cannot an honest writer?" said the author. the tried assassin an assassin being put upon trial in a new england court, his counsel rose and said: "your honour, i move for a discharge on the ground of 'once in jeopardy': my client has been already tried for that murder and acquitted." "in what court?" asked the judge. "in the superior court of san francisco," the counsel replied. "let the trial proceed--your motion is denied," said the judge. "an assassin is not in jeopardy when tried in california." the bumbo of jiam the pahdour of patagascar and the gookul of madagonia were disputing about an island which both claimed. finally, at the suggestion of the international league of cannon founders, which had important branches in both countries, they decided to refer their claims to the bumbo of jiam, and abide by his judgment. in settling the preliminaries of the arbitration they had, however, the misfortune to disagree, and appealed to arms. at the end of a long and disastrous war, when both sides were exhausted and bankrupt, the bumbo of jiam intervened in the interest of peace. "my great and good friends," he said to his brother sovereigns, "it will be advantageous to you to learn that some questions are more complex and perilous than others, presenting a greater number of points upon which it is possible to differ. for four generations your royal predecessors disputed about possession of that island, without falling out. beware, oh, beware the perils of international arbitration!--against which i feel it my duty to protect you henceforth." so saying, he annexed both countries, and after a long, peaceful, and happy reign was poisoned by his prime minister. the two poets two poets were quarrelling for the apple of discord and the bone of contention, for they were very hungry. "my sons," said apollo, "i will part the prizes between you. you," he said to the first poet, "excel in art--take the apple. and you," he said to the second poet, "in imagination--take the bone." "to art the best prize!" said the first poet, triumphantly, and endeavouring to devour his award broke all his teeth. the apple was a work of art. "that shows our master's contempt for mere art," said the second poet, grinning. thereupon he attempted to gnaw his bone, but his teeth passed through it without resistance. it was an imaginary bone. the thistles upon the grave a mind reader made a wager that he would be buried alive and remain so for six months, then be dug up alive. in order to secure the grave against secret disturbance, it was sown with thistles. at the end of three months, the mind reader lost his money. he had come up to eat the thistles. the shadow of the leader a political leader was walking out one sunny day, when he observed his shadow leaving him and walking rapidly away. "come back here, you scoundrel," he cried. "if i had been a scoundrel," answered the shadow, increasing its speed, "i should not have left you." the sagacious rat a rat that was about to emerge from his hole caught a glimpse of a cat waiting for him, and descending to the colony at the bottom of the hole invited a friend to join him in a visit to a neighbouring corn-bin. "i would have gone alone," he said, "but could not deny myself the pleasure of such distinguished company." "very well," said the friend, "i will go with you. lead on." "lead?" exclaimed the other. "what! _i_ precede so great and illustrious a rat as you? no, indeed--after you, sir, after you." pleased with this great show of deference, the friend went ahead, and, leaving the hole first, was caught by the cat, who immediately trotted away with him. the other then went out unmolested. the member and the soap a member of the kansas legislature meeting a cake of soap was passing it by without recognition, but the cake of soap insisted on stopping and shaking hands. thinking it might possibly be in the enjoyment of the elective franchise, he gave it a cordial and earnest grasp. on letting it go he observed that a portion of it adhered to his fingers, and running to a brook in great alarm he proceeded to wash it off. in doing so he necessarily got some on the other hand, and when he had finished washing, both were so white that he went to bed and sent for a physician. alarm and pride "good-morning, my friend," said alarm to pride; "how are you this morning?" "very tired," replied pride, seating himself on a stone by the wayside and mopping his steaming brow. "the politicians are wearing me out by pointing to their dirty records with _me_, when they could as well use a stick." alarm sighed sympathetically, and said: "it is pretty much the same way here. instead of using an opera-glass they view the acts of their opponents with _me_!" as these patient drudges were mingling their tears, they were notified that they must go on duty again, for one of the political parties had nominated a thief and was about to hold a gratification meeting. a causeway a rich woman having returned from abroad disembarked at the foot of knee- deep street, and was about to walk to her hotel through the mud. "madam," said a policeman, "i cannot permit you to do that; you would soil your shoes and stockings." "oh, that is of no importance, really," replied the rich woman, with a cheerful smile. "but, madam, it is needless; from the wharf to the hotel, as you observe, extends an unbroken line of prostrate newspaper men who crave the honour of having you walk upon them." "in that case," she said, seating herself in a doorway and unlocking her satchel, "i shall have to put on my rubber boots." two in trouble meeting a fat and patriotic statesman on his way to washington to beseech the president for an office, an idle tramp accosted him and begged twenty- five cents with which to buy a suit of clothes. "melancholy wreck," said the statesman, "what brought you to this state of degradation? liquor, i suppose." "i am temperate to the verge of absurdity," replied the tramp. "my foible was patriotism; i was ruined by the baneful habit of trying to serve my country. what ruined you?" "indolence." the witch's steed a broomstick which had long served a witch as a steed complained of the nature of its employment, which it thought degrading. "very well," said the witch, "i will give you work in which you will be associated with intellect--you will come in contact with brains. i shall present you to a housewife." "what!" said the broomstick, "do you consider the hands of a housewife intellectual?" "i referred," said the witch, "to the head of her good man." the all dog a lion seeing a poodle fell into laughter at the ridiculous spectacle. "who ever saw so small a beast?" he said. "it is very true," said the poodle, with austere dignity, "that i am small; but, sir, i beg to observe that i am all dog." the farmer's friend a great philanthropist who had thought of himself in connection with the presidency and had introduced a bill into congress requiring the government to loan every voter all the money that he needed, on his personal security, was explaining to a sunday-school at a railway station how much he had done for the country, when an angel looked down from heaven and wept. "for example," said the great philanthropist, watching the teardrops pattering in the dust, "these early rains are of incalculable advantage to the farmer." physicians two a wicked old man finding himself ill sent for a physician, who prescribed for him and went away. then the wicked old man sent for another physician, saying nothing of the first, and an entirely different treatment was ordered. this continued for some weeks, the physicians visiting him on alternate days and treating him for two different disorders, with constantly enlarging doses of medicine and more and more rigorous nursing. but one day they accidently met at his bedside while he slept, and the truth coming out a violent quarrel ensued. "my good friends," said the patient, awakened by the noise of the dispute, and apprehending the cause of it, "pray be more reasonable. if i could for weeks endure you both, can you not for a little while endure each other? i have been well for ten days, but have remained in bed in the hope of gaining by repose the strength that would justify me in taking your medicines. so far i have touched none of it." the overlooked factor a man that owned a fine dog, and by a careful selection of its mate had bred a number of animals but a little lower than the angels, fell in love with his washerwoman, married her, and reared a family of dolts. "alas!" he exclaimed, contemplating the melancholy result, "had i but chosen a mate for myself with half the care that i did for my dog i should now be a proud and happy father." "i'm not so sure of that," said the dog, overhearing the lament. "there's a difference, certainly, between your whelps and mine, but i venture to flatter myself that it is not due altogether to the mothers. you and i are not entirely alike ourselves." a racial parallel some white christians engaged in driving chinese heathens out of an american town found a newspaper published in peking in the chinese tongue, and compelled one of their victims to translate an editorial. it turned out to be an appeal to the people of the province of pang ki to drive the foreign devils out of the country and burn their dwellings and churches. at this evidence of mongolian barbarity the white christians were so greatly incensed that they carried out their original design. the honest cadi a robber who had plundered a merchant of one thousand pieces of gold was taken before the cadi, who asked him if he had anything to say why he should not be decapitated. "your honour," said the robber, "i could do no otherwise than take the money, for allah made me that way." "your defence is ingenious and sound," said the cadi, "and i must acquit you of criminality. unfortunately, allah has made me so that i must also take off your head--unless," he added, thoughtfully, "you offer me half of the gold; for he made me weak under temptation." thereupon the robber put five hundred pieces of gold into the cadi's hand. "good," said the cadi. "i shall now remove but one half your head. to show my trust in your discretion i shall leave intact the half you talk with." the kangaroo and the zebra a kangaroo hopping awkwardly along with some bulky object concealed in her pouch met a zebra, and desirous of keeping his attention upon himself, said: "your costume looks as if you might have come out of the penitentiary." "appearances are deceitful," replied the zebra, smiling in the consciousness of a more insupportable wit, "or i should have to think that you had come out of the legislature." a matter of method a philosopher seeing a fool beating his donkey, said: "abstain, my son, abstain, i implore. those who resort to violence shall suffer from violence." "that," said the fool, diligently belabouring the animal, "is what i'm trying to teach this beast--which has kicked me." "doubtless," said the philosopher to himself, as he walked away, "the wisdom of fools is no deeper nor truer than ours, but they really do seem to have a more impressive way of imparting it." the man of principle during a shower of rain the keeper of a zoological garden observed a man of principle crouching beneath the belly of the ostrich, which had drawn itself up to its full height to sleep. "why, my dear sir," said the keeper, "if you fear to get wet, you'd better creep into the pouch of yonder female kangaroo--the _saltarix mackintosha_--for if that ostrich wakes he will kick you to death in a minute." "i can't help that," the man of principle replied, with that lofty scorn of practical considerations distinguishing his species. "he may kick me to death if he wish, but until he does he shall give me shelter from the storm. he has swallowed my umbrella." the returned californian a man was hanged by the neck until he was dead. "whence do you come?" saint peter asked when the man presented himself at the gate of heaven. "from california," replied the applicant. "enter, my son, enter; you bring joyous tidings." when the man had vanished inside, saint peter took his memorandum-tablet and made the following entry: "february , . california occupied by the christians." the compassionate physician a kind-hearted physician sitting at the bedside of a patient afflicted with an incurable and painful disease, heard a noise behind him, and turning saw a cat laughing at the feeble efforts of a wounded mouse to drag itself out of the room. "you cruel beast!" cried he. "why don't you kill it at once, like a lady?" rising, he kicked the cat out of the door, and picking up the mouse compassionately put it out of its misery by pulling off its head. recalled to the bedside by the moans of his patient, the kind-hearted physician administered a stimulant, a tonic, and a nutrient, and went away. two of the damned two blighted beings, haggard, lachrymose, and detested, met on a blasted heath in the light of a struggling moon. "i wish you a merry christmas," said the first blighted being, in a voice like that of a singing tomb. "and i you a happy new year," responded the second blighted being, with the accent of a penitent accordeon. they then fell upon each other's neck and wept scalding rills down each other's spine in token of their banishment to the realm of ineffable bosh. for one of these accursed creatures was the first of january, and the other the twenty-fifth of december. the austere governor a governor visiting a state prison was implored by a convict to pardon him. "what are you in for?" asked the governor. "i held a high office," the convict humbly replied, "and sold subordinate appointments." "then i decline to interfere," said the governor, with asperity; "a man who abuses his office by making it serve a private end and purvey a personal advantage is unfit to be free. by the way, mr. warden," he added to that official, as the convict slunk away, "in appointing you to this position, i was given to understand that your friends could make the shikane county delegation to the next state convention solid for--for the present administration. was i rightly informed?" "you were, sir." "very well, then, i will bid you good-day. please be so good as to appoint my nephew night chaplain and reminder of mothers and sisters." religions of error hearing a sound of strife, a christian in the orient asked his dragoman the cause of it. "the buddhists are cutting mohammedan throats," the dragoman replied, with oriental composure. "i did not know," remarked the christian, with scientific interest, "that that would make so much noise." "the mohammedans are cutting buddhist throats, too," added the dragoman. "it is astonishing," mused the christian, "how violent and how general are religious animosities. everywhere in the world the devotees of each local faith abhor the devotees of every other, and abstain from murder only so long as they dare not commit it. and the strangest thing about it is that all religions are erroneous and mischievous excepting mine. mine, thank god, is true and benign." so saying he visibly smugged and went off to telegraph for a brigade of cutthroats to protect christian interests. the penitent elector a person belonging to the society for passing resolutions of respect for the memory of deceased members having died received the customary attention. "good heavens!" exclaimed a sovereign elector, on hearing the resolutions read, "what a loss to the nation! and to think that i once voted against that angel for inspector of gate-latches in public squares!" in remorse the sovereign elector deprived himself of political influence by learning to read. the tail of the sphinx a dog of a taciturn disposition said to his tail: "whenever i am angry, you rise and bristle; when i am pleased, you wag; when i am alarmed, you tuck yourself in out of danger. you are too mercurial--you disclose all my emotions. my notion is that tails are given to conceal thought. it is my dearest ambition to be as impassive as the sphinx." "my friend, you must recognise the laws and limitations of your being," replied the tail, with flexions appropriate to the sentiments uttered, "and try to be great some other way. the sphinx has one hundred and fifty qualifications for impassiveness which you lack." "what are they?" the dog asked. "one hundred and forty-nine tons of sand on her tail." "and--?" "a stone tail." a prophet of evil an undertaker who was a member of a trust saw a man leaning on a spade, and asked him why he was not at work. "because," said the man leaning on a spade, "i belong to the gravediggers' national extortion society, and we have decided to limit the production of graves and get more money for the reduced output. we have a corner in graves and propose to work it to the best advantage." "my friend," said the undertaker who was a member of a trust, "this is a most hateful and injurious scheme. if people cannot be assured of graves, i fear they will no longer die, and the best interests of civilisation will wither like a frosted leaf." and blowing his eyes upon his handkerchief, he walked away lamenting. the crew of the life-boat the gallant crew at a life-saving station were about to launch their life- boat for a spin along the coast when they discovered, but a little distance away, a capsized vessel with a dozen men clinging to her keel. "we are fortunate," said the gallant crew, "to have seen that in time. our fate might have been the same as theirs." so they hauled the life-boat back into its house, and were spared to the service of their country. a treaty of peace through massacres of each other's citizens china and the united states had been four times plunged into devastating wars, when, in the year , arose a philosopher in madagascar, who laid before the governments of the two distracted countries the following _modus vivendi_: "massacres are to be sternly forbidden as heretofore; but any citizen or subject of either country disobeying the injunction is to detach the scalps of all persons massacred and deposit them with a local officer designated to receive and preserve them and sworn to keep and render a true account thereof. at the conclusion of each massacre in either country, or as soon thereafter as practicable, or at stated regular periods, as may be provided by treaty, there shall be an exchange of scalps between the two governments, scalp for scalp, without regard to sex or age; the government having the greatest number is to be taxed on the excess at the rate of $ a scalp, and the other government credited with the amount. once in every decade there shall be a general settlement, when the balance due shall be paid to the creditor nation in mexican dollars." the plan was adopted, the necessary treaty made, with legislation to carry out its provisions; the madagascarene philosopher took his seat in the temple of immortality, and peace spread her white wings over the two nations, to the unspeakable defiling of her plumage. the nightside of character a gifted and honourable editor, who by practice of his profession had acquired wealth and distinction, applied to an old friend for the hand of his daughter in marriage. "with all my heart, and god bless you!" said the old friend, grasping him by both hands. "it is a greater honour than i had dared to hope for." "i knew what your answer would be," replied the gifted and honourable editor. "and yet," he added, with a sly smile, "i feel that i ought to give you as much knowledge of my character as i possess. in this scrap- book is such testimony relating to my shady side, as i have within the past ten years been able to cut from the columns of my competitors in the business of elevating humanity to a higher plane of mind and morals--my 'loathsome contemporaries.'" laying the book on a table, he withdrew in high spirits to make arrangements for the wedding. three days later he received the scrap- book from a messenger, with a note warning him never again to darken his old friend's door. "see!" the gifted and honourable editor exclaimed, pointing to that injunction--"i am a painter and grainer!" and he was led away to the asylum for the indiscreet. the faithful cashier the cashier of a bank having defaulted was asked by the directors what he had done with the money taken. "i am greatly surprised by such a question," said the cashier; "it sounds as if you suspected me of selfishness. gentlemen, i applied that money to the purpose for which i took it; i paid it as an initiation fee and one year's dues in advance to the treasurer of the cashiers' mutual defence association." "what is the object of that organisation?" the directors inquired. "when any one of its members is under suspicion," replied the cashier, "the association undertakes to clear his character by submitting evidence that he was never a prominent member of any church, nor foremost in sunday-school work." recognising the value to the bank of a spotless reputation for its officers, the president drew his check for the amount of the shortage and the cashier was restored to favour. the circular clew a detective searching for the murderer of a dead man was accosted by a clew. "follow me," said the clew, "and there's no knowing what you may discover." so the detective followed the clew a whole year through a thousand sinuosities, and at last found himself in the office of the morgue. "there!" said the clew, pointing to the open register. the detective eagerly scanned the page, and found an official statement that the deceased was dead. thereupon he hastened to police headquarters to report progress. the clew, meanwhile, sauntered among the busy haunts of men, arm in arm with an ingenious theory. the devoted widow a widow weeping on her husband's grave was approached by an engaging gentleman who, in a respectful manner, assured her that he had long entertained for her the most tender feelings. "wretch!" cried the widow. "leave me this instant! is this a time to talk to me of love?" "i assure you, madam, that i had not intended to disclose my affection," the engaging gentleman humbly explained, "but the power of your beauty has overcome my discretion." "you should see me when i have not been crying," said the widow. the hardy patriots a dispenser-elect of patronage gave notice through the newspapers that applicants for places would be given none until he should assume the duties of his office. "you are exposing yourself to a grave danger," said a lawyer. "how so?" the dispenser-elect inquired. "it will be nearly two months," the lawyer answered, "before the day that you mention. few patriots can live so long without eating, and some of the applicants will be compelled to go to work in the meantime. if that kills them, you will be liable to prosecution for murder." "you underrate their powers of endurance," the official replied. "what!" said the lawyer, "you think they can stand work?" "no," said the other--"hunger." the humble peasant an office seeker whom the president had ordered out of washington was watering the homeward highway with his tears. "ah," he said, "how disastrous is ambition! how unsatisfying its rewards! how terrible its disappointments! behold yonder peasant tilling his field in peace and contentment! he rises with the lark, passes the day in wholesome toil, and lies down at night to pleasant dreams. in the mad struggle for place and power he has no part; the roar of the strife reaches his ear like the distant murmur of the ocean. happy, thrice happy man! i will approach him and bask in the sunshine of his humble felicity. peasant, all hail!" leaning upon his rake, the peasant returned the salutation with a nod, but said nothing. "my friend," said the office seeker, "you see before you the wreck of an ambitious man--ruined by the pursuit of place and power. this morning when i set out from the national capital--" "stranger," the peasant interrupted, "if you're going back there soon maybe you wouldn't mind using your influence to make me postmaster at smith's corners." the traveller passed on. the various delegation the king of wideout having been offered the sovereignty of wayoff, sent for the three persons who had made the offer, and said to them: "i am extremely obliged to you, but before accepting so great a responsibility i must ascertain the sentiments of the people of wayoff." "sire," said the spokesman of the three persons, "they stand before you." "indeed!" said the king; "are you, then, the people of wayoff?" "yes, your majesty." "there are not many of you," the king said, attentively regarding them with the royal eye, "and you are not so very large; i hardly think you are a quorum. moreover, i never heard of you until you came here; whereas wayoff is noted for the quality of its pork and contains hogs of distinction. i shall send a commissioner to ascertain the sentiments of the hogs." the three persons, bowing profoundly, backed out of the presence; but soon afterward they desired another audience, and, on being readmitted, said, through their spokesman: "may it please your majesty, we are the hogs." the no case a statesman who had been indicted by an unfeeling grand jury was arrested by a sheriff and thrown into jail. as this was abhorrent to his fine spiritual nature, he sent for the district attorney and asked that the case against him be dismissed. "upon what grounds?" asked the district attorney. "lack of evidence to convict," replied the accused. "do you happen to have the lack with you?" the official asked. "i should like to see it." "with pleasure," said the other; "here it is." so saying he handed the other a check, which the district attorney carefully examined, and then pronounced it the most complete absence of both proof and presumption that he had ever seen. he said it would acquit the oldest man in the world. a harmless visitor at a meeting of the golden league of mystery a woman was discovered, writing in a note-book. a member directed the attention of the superb high chairman to her, and she was asked to explain her presence there, and what she was doing. "i came in for my own pleasure and instruction," she said, "and was so struck by the wisdom of the speakers that i could not help making a few notes." "madam," said the superb high chairman, "we have no objection to visitors if they will pledge themselves not to publish anything they hear. are you--on your honour as a lady, now, madam--are you not connected with some newspaper?" "good gracious, no!" cried the woman, earnestly. "why, sir, i am an officer of the women's press association!" she was permitted to remain, and presented with resolutions of apology. the judge and the rash act a judge who had for years looked in vain for an opportunity for infamous distinction, but whom no litigant thought worth bribing, sat one day upon the bench, lamenting his hard lot, and threatening to put an end to his life if business did not improve. suddenly he found himself confronted by a dreadful figure clad in a shroud, whose pallor and stony eyes smote him with a horrible apprehension. "who are you," he faltered, "and why do you come here?" "i am the rash act," was the sepulchral reply; "you may commit me." "no," the judge said, thoughtfully, "no, that would be quite irregular. i do not sit to-day as a committing magistrate." the prerogative of might a slander travelling rapidly through the land upon its joyous mission was accosted by a retraction and commanded to halt and be killed. "your career of mischief is at an end," said the retraction, drawing his club, rolling up his sleeves, and spitting on his hands. "why should you slay me?" protested the slander. "whatever my intentions were, i have been innocuous, for you have dogged my strides and counteracted my influence." "dogged your grandmother!" said the retraction, with contemptuous vulgarity of speech. "in the order of nature it is appointed that we two shall never travel the same road." "how then," the slander asked, triumphantly, "have you overtaken me?" "i have not," replied the retraction; "we have accidentally met. i came round the world the other way." but when he tried to execute his fell purpose he found that in the order of nature it was appointed that he himself perish miserably in the encounter. an inflated ambition the president of a great corporation went into a dry-goods shop and saw a placard which read: "if you don't see what you want, ask for it." approaching the shopkeeper, who had been narrowly observing him as he read the placard, he was about to speak, when the shopkeeper called to a salesman: "john, show this gentleman the world." rejected services a heavy operator overtaken by a reverse of fortune was bewailing his sudden fall from affluence to indigence. "do not weep," said the reverse of fortune. "you need not suffer alone. name any one of the men who have opposed your schemes, and i will overtake _him_." "it is hardly worth while," said the victim, earnestly. "not a soul of them has a cent!" the power of the scalawag a forestry commissioner had just felled a giant tree when, seeing an honest man approaching, he dropped his axe and fled. the next day when he cautiously returned to get his axe, he found the following lines pencilled on the stump: "what nature reared by centuries of toil, a scalawag in half a day can spoil; an equal fate for him may heaven provide-- damned in the moment of his tallest pride." at large--one temper a turbulent person was brought before a judge to be tried for an assault with intent to commit murder, and it was proved that he had been variously obstreperous without apparent provocation, had affected the peripheries of several luckless fellow-citizens with the trunk of a small tree, and subsequently cleaned out the town. while trying to palliate these misdeeds, the defendant's attorney turned suddenly to the judge, saying: "did your honour ever lose your temper?" "i fine you twenty-five dollars for contempt of court!" roared the judge, in wrath. "how dare you mention the loss of my temper in connection with this case?" after a moment's silence the attorney said, meekly: "i thought my client might perhaps have found it." the seeker and the sought a politician seeing a fat turkey which he wanted for dinner, baited a hook with a grain of corn and dragged it before the fowl at the end of a long and almost invisible line. when the turkey had swallowed the hook, the politician ran, drawing the creature after him. "fellow-citizens," he cried, addressing some turkey-breeders whom he met, "you observe that the man does not seek the bird, but the bird seeks the man. for this unsolicited and unexpected dinner i thank you with all my heart." his fly-speck majesty a distinguished advocate of republican institutions was seen pickling his shins in the ocean. "why don't you come out on dry land?" said the spectator. "what are you in there for?" "sir," replied the distinguished advocate of republican institutions, "a ship is expected, bearing his majesty the king of the fly-speck islands, and i wish to be the first to grasp the crowned hand." "but," said the spectator, "you said in your famous speech before the society for the prevention of the protrusion of nail heads from plank sidewalks that kings were blood-smeared oppressors and hell-bound loafers." "my dear sir," said the distinguished advocate of republican institutions, without removing his eyes from the horizon, "you wander away into the strangest irrelevancies! i spoke of kings in the abstract." the pugilist's diet the trainer of a pugilist consulted a physician regarding the champion's diet. "beef-steaks are too tender," said the physician; "have his meat cut from the neck of a bull." "i thought the steaks more digestible," the trainer explained. "that is very true," said the physician; "but they do not sufficiently exercise the chin." the old man and the pupil a beautiful old man, meeting a sunday-school pupil, laid his hand tenderly upon the lad's head, saying: "listen, my son, to the words of the wise and heed the advice of the righteous." "all right," said the sunday-school pupil; "go ahead." "oh, i haven't anything to do with it myself," said the beautiful old man. "i am only observing one of the customs of the age. i am a pirate." and when he had taken his hand from the lad's head, the latter observed that his hair was full of clotted blood. then the beautiful old man went his way, instructing other youth. the deceased and his heirs a man died leaving a large estate and many sorrowful relations who claimed it. after some years, when all but one had had judgment given against them, that one was awarded the estate, which he asked his attorney to have appraised. "there is nothing to appraise," said the attorney, pocketing his last fee. "then," said the successful claimant, "what good has all this litigation done me?" "you have been a good client to me," the attorney replied, gathering up his books and papers, "but i must say you betray a surprising ignorance of the purpose of litigation." the politicians and the plunder several political entities were dividing the spoils. "i will take the management of the prisons," said a decent respect for public opinion, "and make a radical change." "and i," said the blotted escutcheon, "will retain my present general connection with affairs, while my friend here, the soiled ermine, will remain in the judiciary." the political pot said it would not boil any more unless replenished from the filthy pool. the cohesive power of public plunder quietly remarked that the two bosses would, he supposed, naturally be his share. "no," said the depth of degradation, "they have already fallen to me." the man and the wart a person with a wart on his nose met a person similarly afflicted, and said: "let me propose your name for membership in the imperial order of abnormal proboscidians, of which i am the high noble toby and surreptitious treasurer. two months ago i was the only member. one month ago there were two. to-day we number four emperors of the abnormal proboscis in good standing--doubles every four weeks, see? that's geometrical progression--you know how that piles up. in a year and a half every man in california will have a wart on his nose. powerful order! initiation, five dollars." "my friend," said the person similarly afflicted, "here are five dollars. keep my name off your books." "thank you kindly," the man with a wart on his nose replied, pocketing the money; "it is just the same to us as if you joined. good-by." he went away, but in a little while he was back. "i quite forgot to mention the monthly dues," he said. the divided delegation a delegation at washington went to a new president, and said: "your excellency, we are unable to agree upon a favourite son to represent us in your cabinet." "then," said the new president, "i shall have to lock you up until you do agree." so the delegation was cast into the deepest dungeon beneath the moat, where it maintained a divided mind for many weeks, but finally reconciled its differences and asked to be taken before the new president. "my child," said he, "nothing is so beautiful as harmony. my cabinet selections were all made before our former interview, but you have supplied a noble instance of patriotism in subordinating your personal preferences to the general good. go now to your beautiful homes and be happy." it is not recorded that the delegation was happy. a forfeited right the chief of the weather bureau having predicted a fine day, a thrifty person hastened to lay in a large stock of umbrellas, which he exposed for sale on the sidewalk; but the weather remained clear, and nobody would buy. thereupon the thrifty person brought an action against the chief of the weather bureau for the cost of the umbrellas. "your honour," said the defendant's attorney, when the case was called, "i move that this astonishing action be dismissed. not only is my client in no way responsible for the loss, but he distinctly foreshadowed the very thing that caused it." "that is just it, your honour," replied the counsel for the plaintiff; "the defendant by making a correct forecast fooled my client in the only way that he could do so. he has lied so much and so notoriously that he has neither the legal nor moral right to tell the truth." judgment for the plaintiff. revenge an insurance agent was trying to induce a hard man to deal with to take out a policy on his house. after listening to him for an hour, while he painted in vivid colours the extreme danger of fire consuming the house, the hard man to deal with said: "do you really think it likely that my house will burn down inside the time that policy will run?" "certainly," replied the insurance agent; "have i not been trying all this time to convince you that i do?" "then," said the hard man to deal with, "why are you so anxious to have your company bet me money that it will not?" the agent was silent and thoughtful for a moment; then he drew the other apart into an unfrequented place and whispered in his ear: "my friend, i will impart to you a dark secret. years ago the company betrayed my sweetheart by promise of marriage. under an assumed name i have wormed myself into its service for revenge; and as there is a heaven above us, i will have its heart's blood!" an optimist two frogs in the belly of a snake were considering their altered circumstances. "this is pretty hard luck," said one. "don't jump to conclusions," the other said; "we are out of the wet and provided with board and lodging." "with lodging, certainly," said the first frog; "but i don't see the board." "you are a croaker," the other explained. "we are ourselves the board." a valuable suggestion a big nation having a quarrel with a little nation, resolved to terrify its antagonist by a grand naval demonstration in the latter's principal port. so the big nation assembled all its ships of war from all over the world, and was about to send them three hundred and fifty thousand miles to the place of rendezvous, when the president of the big nation received the following note from the president of the little nation: "my great and good friend, i hear that you are going to show us your navy, in order to impress us with a sense of your power. how needless the expense! to prove to you that we already know all about it, i inclose herewith a list and description of all the ships you have." the great and good friend was so struck by the hard sense of the letter that he kept his navy at home, and saved one thousand million dollars. this economy enabled him to buy a satisfactory decision when the cause of the quarrel was submitted to arbitration. two footpads two footpads sat at their grog in a roadside resort, comparing the evening's adventures. "i stood up the chief of police," said the first footpad, "and i got away with what he had." "and i," said the second footpad, "stood up the united states district attorney, and got away with--" "good lord!" interrupted the other in astonishment and admiration--"you got away with what that fellow had?" "no," the unfortunate narrator explained--"with a small part of what _i_ had." equipped for service during the civil war a patriot was passing through the state of maryland with a pass from the president to join grant's army and see the fighting. stopping a day at annapolis, he visited the shop of a well-known optician and ordered seven powerful telescopes, one for every day in the week. in recognition of this munificent patronage of the state's languishing industries, the governor commissioned him a colonel. the basking cyclone a negro in a boat, gathering driftwood, saw a sleeping alligator, and, thinking it was a log, fell to estimating the number of shingles it would make for his new cabin. having satisfied his mind on that point, he stuck his boat-hook into the beast's back to harvest his good fortune. thereupon the saurian emerged from his dream and took to the water, greatly to the surprise of the man-and-brother. "i never befo' seen such a cyclone as dat," he exclaimed as soon as he had recovered his breath. "it done carry away de ruf of my house!" at the pole after a great expenditure of life and treasure a daring explorer had succeeded in reaching the north pole, when he was approached by a native galeut who lived there. "good morning," said the native galeut. "i'm very glad to see you, but why did you come here?" "glory," said the daring explorer, curtly. "yes, yes, i know," the other persisted; "but of what benefit to man is your discovery? to what truths does it give access which were inaccessible before?--facts, i mean, having a scientific value?" "i'll be tom scatted if i know," the great man replied, frankly; "you will have to ask the scientist of the expedition." but the scientist of the expedition explained that he had been so engrossed with the care of his instruments and the study of his tables that he had found no time to think of it. the optimist and the cynic a man who had experienced the favours of fortune and was an optimist, met a man who had experienced an optimist and was a cynic. so the cynic turned out of the road to let the optimist roll by in his gold carriage. "my son," said the optimist, stopping the gold carriage, "you look as if you had not a friend in the world." "i don't know if i have or not," replied the cynic, "for you have the world." the poet and the editor "my dear sir," said the editor to the man, who had called to see about his poem, "i regret to say that owing to an unfortunate altercation in this office the greater part of your manuscript is illegible; a bottle of ink was upset upon it, blotting out all but the first line--that is to say--" "'the autumn leaves were falling, falling.' "unluckily, not having read the poem, i was unable to supply the incidents that followed; otherwise we could have given them in our own words. if the news is not stale, and has not already appeared in the other papers, perhaps you will kindly relate what occurred, while i make notes of it. "'the autumn leaves were falling, falling,' "go on." "what!" said the poet, "do you expect me to reproduce the entire poem from memory?" "only the substance of it--just the leading facts. we will add whatever is necessary in the way of amplification and embellishment. it will detain you but a moment. "'the autumn leaves were falling, falling--' "now, then." there was a sound of a slow getting up and going away. the chronicler of passing events sat through it, motionless, with suspended pen; and when the movement was complete poesy was represented in that place by nothing but a warm spot on the wooden chair. the taken hand a successful man of business, having occasion to write to a thief, expressed a wish to see him and shake hands. "no," replied the thief, "there are some things which i will not take--among them your hand." "you must use a little strategy," said a philosopher to whom the successful man of business had reported the thief's haughty reply. "leave your hand out some night, and he will take it." so one night the successful man of business left his hand out of his neighbour's pocket, and the thief took it with avidity. an unspeakable imbecile a judge said to a convicted assassin: "prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say why the death-sentence should not be passed upon you?" "will what i say make any difference?" asked the convicted assassin. "i do not see how it can," the judge answered, reflectively. "no, it will not." "then," said the doomed one, "i should just like to remark that you are the most unspeakable old imbecile in seven states and the district of columbia." a needful war the people of madagonia had an antipathy to the people of novakatka and set upon some sailors of a novakatkan vessel, killing two and wounding twelve. the king of madagonia having refused either to apologise or pay, the king of novakatka made war upon him, saying that it was necessary to show that novakatkans must not be slaughtered. in the battles which ensued the people of madagonia slaughtered two thousand novakatkans and wounded twelve thousand. but the madagonians were unsuccessful, which so chagrined them that never thereafter in all their land was a novakatkan secure in property or life. the mine owner and the jackass while the owner of a silver mine was on his way to attend a convention of his species he was accosted by a jackass, who said: "by an unjust discrimination against quadrupeds i am made ineligible to a seat in your convention; so i am compelled to seek representation through you." "it will give me great pleasure, sir," said the owner of a silver mine, "to serve one so closely allied to me in--in--well, you know," he added, with a significant gesture of his two hands upward from the sides of his head. "what do you want?" "oh, nothing--nothing at all for myself individually," replied the donkey; "but his country's welfare should be a patriot's supreme care. if americans are to retain the sacred liberties for which their fathers strove, congress must declare our independence of european dictation by maintaining the price of mules." the dog and the physician a dog that had seen a physician attending the burial of a wealthy patient, said: "when do you expect to dig it up?" "why should i dig it up?" the physician asked. "when i bury a bone," said the dog, "it is with an intention to uncover it later and pick it." "the bones that i bury," said the physician, "are those that i can no longer pick." the party manager and the gentleman a party manager said to a gentleman whom he saw minding his own business: "how much will you pay for a nomination to office?" "nothing," the gentleman replied. "but you will contribute something to the campaign fund to assist in your election, will you not?" asked the party manager, winking. "oh, no," said the gentleman, gravely. "if the people wish me to work for them, they must hire me without solicitation. i am very comfortable without office." "but," urged the party manager, "an election is a thing to be desired. it is a high honour to be a servant of the people." "if servitude is a high honour," the gentleman said, "it would be indecent for me to seek it; and if obtained by my own exertion it would be no honour." "well," persisted the party manager, "you will at least, i hope, indorse the party platform." the gentleman replied: "it is improbable that its authors have accurately expressed my views without consulting me; and if i indorsed their work without approving it i should be a liar." "you are a detestable hypocrite and an idiot!" shouted the party manager. "even your good opinion of my fitness," replied the gentleman, "shall not persuade me." the legislator and the citizen an ex-legislator asked a most respectable citizen for a letter to the governor recommending him for appointment as commissioner of shrimps and crabs. "sir," said the most respectable citizen, austerely, "were you not once in the state senate?" "not so bad as that, sir, i assure you," was the reply. "i was a member of the slower house. i was expelled for selling my influence for money." "and you dare to ask for mine!" shouted the most respectable citizen. "you have the impudence? a man who will accept bribes will probably offer them. do you mean to--" "i should not think of making a corrupt proposal to you, sir; but if i were commissioner of shrimps and crabs, i might have some influence with the water-front population, and be able to help you make your fight for coroner." "in that case i do not feel justified in denying you the letter." so he took his pen, and, some demon guiding his hand, he wrote, greatly to his astonishment: "who sells his influence should stop it, an honest man will only swap it." the rainmaker an officer of the government, with a great outfit of mule-waggons loaded with balloons, kites, dynamite bombs, and electrical apparatus, halted in the midst of a desert, where there had been no rain for ten years, and set up a camp. after several months of preparation and an expenditure of a million dollars all was in readiness, and a series of tremendous explosions occurred on the earth and in the sky. this was followed by a great down-pour of rain, which washed the unfortunate officer of the government and the outfit off the face of creation and affected the agricultural heart with joy too deep for utterance. a newspaper reporter who had just arrived escaped by climbing a hill near by, and there he found the sole survivor of the expedition--a mule-driver--down on his knees behind a mesquite bush, praying with extreme fervour. "oh, you can't stop it that way," said the reporter. "my fellow-traveller to the bar of god," replied the sole survivor, looking up over his shoulder, "your understanding is in darkness. i am not stopping this great blessing; under providence, i am bringing it." "that is a pretty good joke," said the reporter, laughing as well as he could in the strangling rain--"a mule driver's prayer answered!" "child of levity and scoffing," replied the other; "you err again, misled by these humble habiliments. i am the rev. ezekiel thrifft, a minister of the gospel, now in the service of the great manufacturing firm of skinn & sheer. they make balloons, kites, dynamite bombs, and electrical apparatus." the citizen and the snakes a public-spirited citizen who had failed miserably in trying to secure a national political convention for his city suffered acutely from dejection. while in that frame of mind he leaned thoughtlessly against a druggist's show-window, wherein were one hundred and fifty kinds of assorted snakes. the glass breaking, the reptiles all escaped into the street. "when you can't do what you wish," said the public-spirited citizen, "it is worth while to do what you can." fortune and the fabulist a writer of fables was passing through a lonely forest when he met a fortune. greatly alarmed, he tried to climb a tree, but the fortune pulled him down and bestowed itself upon him with cruel persistence. "why did you try to run away?" said the fortune, when his struggles had ceased and his screams were stilled. "why do you glare at me so inhospitably?" "i don't know what you are," replied the writer of fables, deeply disturbed. "i am wealth; i am respectability," the fortune explained; "i am elegant houses, a yacht, and a clean shirt every day. i am leisure, i am travel, wine, a shiny hat, and an unshiny coat. i am enough to eat." "all right," said the writer of fables, in a whisper; "but for goodness' sake speak lower." "why so?" the fortune asked, in surprise. "so as not to wake me," replied the writer of fables, a holy calm brooding upon his beautiful face. a smiling idol an idol said to a missionary, "my friend, why do you seek to bring me into contempt? if it had not been for me, what would you have been? remember thy creator that thy days be long in the land." "i confess," replied the missionary, fingering a number of ten-cent pieces which a sunday-school in his own country had forwarded to him, "that i am a product of you, but i protest that you cannot quote scripture with accuracy and point. therefore will i continue to go up against you with the sword of the spirit." shortly afterwards the idol's worshippers held a great religious ceremony at the base of his pedestal, and as a part of the rites the missionary was roasted whole. as the tongue was removed for the high priest's table, "ah," said the idol to himself, "that is the sword of the spirit--the only sword that is less dangerous when unsheathed." and he smiled so pleasantly at his own wit that the provinces of ghargaroo, m'gwana, and scowow were affected with a blight. philosophers three a bear, a fox, and an opossum were attacked by an inundation. "death loves a coward," said the bear, and went forward to fight the flood. "what a fool!" said the fox. "i know a trick worth two of that." and he slipped into a hollow stump. "there are malevolent forces," said the opossum, "which the wise will neither confront nor avoid. the thing is to know the nature of your antagonist." so saying the opossum lay down and pretended to be dead. the boneless king some apes who had deposed their king fell at once into dissension and anarchy. in this strait they sent a deputation to a neighbouring tribe to consult the oldest and wisest ape in all the world. "my children," said the oldest and wisest ape in all the world, when he had heard the deputation, "you did right in ridding yourselves of tyranny, but your tribe is not sufficiently advanced to dispense with the forms of monarchy. entice the tyrant back with fair promises, kill him and enthrone. the skeleton of even the most lawless despot makes a good constitutional sovereign." at this the deputation was greatly abashed. "it is impossible," they said, moving away; "our king has no skeleton; he was stuffed." uncalculating zeal a man-eating tiger was ravaging the kingdom of damnasia, and the king, greatly concerned for the lives and limbs of his royal subjects, promised his daughter zodroulra to any man who would kill the animal. after some days camaraladdin appeared before the king and claimed the reward. "but where is the tiger?" the king asked. "may jackasses sing above my uncle's grave," replied camaraladdin, "if i dared go within a league of him!" "wretch!" cried the king, unsheathing his consoler-under-disappointment; "how dare you claim my daughter when you have done nothing to earn her?" "thou art wiser, o king, than solyman the great, and thy servant is as dust in the tomb of thy dog, yet thou errest. i did not, it is true, kill the tiger, but behold! i have brought thee the scalp of the man who had accumulated five million pieces of gold and was after more." the king drew his consoler-under-disappointment, and, flicking off camaraladdin's head, said: "learn, caitiff, the expediency of uncalculating zeal. if the millionaire had been let alone he would have devoured the tiger." a transposition travelling through the sage-brush country a jackass met a rabbit, who exclaimed in great astonishment: "good heavens! how did you grow so big? you are doubtless the largest rabbit living." "no," said the jackass, "you are the smallest donkey." after a good deal of fruitless argument the question was referred for decision to a passing coyote, who was a bit of a demagogue and desirous to stand well with both. "gentlemen," said he, "you are both right, as was to have been expected by persons so gifted with appliances for receiving instruction from the wise. you, sir,"--turning to the superior animal--"are, as he has accurately observed, a rabbit. and you"--to the other--"are correctly described as a jackass. in transposing your names man has acted with incredible folly." they were so pleased with the decision that they declared the coyote their candidate for the grizzly bearship; but whether he ever obtained the office history does not relate. the honest citizen a political preferment, labelled with its price, was canvassing the state to find a purchaser. one day it offered itself to a truly good man, who, after examining the label and finding the price was exactly twice as great as he was willing to pay, spurned the political preferment from his door. then the people said: "behold, this is an honest citizen!" and the truly good man humbly confessed that it was so. a creaking tail an american statesman who had twisted the tail of the british lion until his arms ached was at last rewarded by a sharp, rasping sound. "i knew your fortitude would give out after a while," said the american statesman, delighted; "your agony attests my political power." "agony i know not!" said the british lion, yawning; "the swivel in my tail needs a few drops of oil, that is all." wasted sweets a candidate canvassing his district met a nurse wheeling a baby in a carriage, and, stooping, imprinted a kiss upon the baby's clammy muzzle. rising, he saw a man, who laughed. "why do you laugh?" asked the candidate. "because," replied the man, "the baby belongs to the orphan asylum." "but the nurse," said the candidate--"the nurse will surely relate the touching incident wherever she goes, and perhaps write to her former master." "the nurse," said the man who had laughed, "is an inmate of the institution for the illiterate-deaf-and-dumb." six and one the committee on gerrymander worked late, drawing intricate lines on a map of the state, and being weary sought repose in a game of poker. at the close of the game the six republican members were bankrupt and the single democrat had all the money. on the next day, when the committee was called to order for business, one of the luckless six mounted his legs, and said: "mr. chairman, before we bend to our noble task of purifying politics, in the interest of good government i wish to say a word of the untoward events of last evening. if my memory serves me the disasters which overtook the majority of this honourable body always befell when it was the minority's deal. it is my solemn conviction, mr. chairman, and to its affirmation i pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honour, that that wicked and unscrupulous minority redistricted the cards!" the sportsman and the squirrel a sportsman who had wounded a squirrel, which was making desperate efforts to drag itself away, ran after it with a stick, exclaiming: "poor thing! i will put it out of its misery." at that moment the squirrels stopped from exhaustion, and looking up at its enemy, said: "i don't venture to doubt the sincerity of your compassion, though it comes rather late, but you seem to lack the faculty of observation. do you not perceive by my actions that the dearest wish of my heart is to continue in my misery?" at this exposure of his hypocrisy, the sportsman was so overcome with shame and remorse that he would not strike the squirrel, but pointing it out to his dog, walked thoughtfully away. the fogy and the sheik a fogy who lived in a cave near a great caravan route returned to his home one day and saw, near by, a great concourse of men and animals, and in their midst a tower, at the foot of which something with wheels smoked and panted like an exhausted horse. he sought the sheik of the outfit. "what sin art thou committing now, o son of a christian dog?" said the fogy, with a truly oriental politeness. "boring for water, you black-and-tan galoot!" replied the sheik of the outfit, with that ready repartee which distinguishes the unbeliever. "knowest thou not, thou whelp of darkness and father of disordered livers," cried the fogy, "that water will cause grass to spring up here, and trees, and possibly even flowers? knowest thou not, that thou art, in truth, producing an oasis?" "and don't you know," said the sheik of the outfit, "that caravans will then stop here for rest and refreshments, giving you a chance to steal the camels, the horses, and the goods?" "may the wild hog defile my grave, but thou speakest wisdom!" the fogy replied, with the dignity of his race, extending his hand. "sheik." they shook. at heaven's gate having arisen from the tomb, a woman presented herself at the gate of heaven, and knocked with a trembling hand. "madam," said saint peter, rising and approaching the wicket, "whence do you come?" "from san francisco," replied the woman, with embarrassment, as great beads of perspiration spangled her spiritual brow. "never mind, my good girl," the saint said, compassionately. "eternity is a long time; you can live that down." "but that, if you please, is not all." the woman was growing more and more confused. "i poisoned my husband. i chopped up my babies. i--" "ah," said the saint, with sudden austerity, "your confession suggests a very grave possibility. were you a member of the women's press association?" the lady drew herself up and replied with warmth: "i was not." the gates of pearl and jasper swung back upon their golden hinges, making the most ravishing music, and the saint, stepping aside, bowed low, saying: "enter, then, into thine eternal rest." but the woman hesitated. "the poisoning--the chopping--the--the--" she stammered. "of no consequence, i assure you. we are not going to be hard on a lady who did not belong to the women's press association. take a harp." "but i applied for membership--i was blackballed." "take two harps." the catted anarchist an anarchist orator who had been struck in the face with a dead cat by some respector of law to him unknown, had the dead cat arrested and taken before a magistrate. "why do you appeal to the law?" said the magistrate--"you who go in for the abolition of law." "that," replied the anarchist, who was not without a certain hardness of head, "that is none of your business; i am not bound to be consistent. you sit here to do justice between me and this dead cat." "very well," said the magistrate, putting on the black cap and a solemn look; "as the accused makes no defence, and is undoubtedly guilty, i sentence her to be eaten by the public executioner; and as that position happens to be vacant, i appoint you to it, without bonds." one of the most delighted spectators at the execution was the anonymous respector of law who had flung the condemned. the honourable member a member of a legislature, who had pledged himself to his constituents not to steal, brought home at the end of the session a large part of the dome of the capitol. thereupon the constituents held an indignation meeting and passed a resolution of tar and feathers. "you are most unjust," said the member of the legislature. "it is true i promised you i would not steal; but had i ever promised you that i would not lie?" the constituents said he was an honourable man and elected him to the united states congress, unpledged and unfledged. the expatriated boss a boss who had gone to canada was taunted by a citizen of montreal with having fled to avoid prosecution. "you do me a grave injustice," said the boss, parting with a pair of tears. "i came to canada solely because of its political attractions; its government is the most corrupt in the world." "pray forgive me," said the citizen of montreal. they fell upon each other's neck, and at the conclusion of that touching rite the boss had two watches. an inadequate fee an ox, unable to extricate himself from the mire into which he sank, was advised to make use of a political pull. when the political pull had arrived, the ox said: "my good friend, please make fast to me, and let nature take her course." so the political pull made fast to the ox's head and nature took her course. the ox was drawn, first, from the mire, and, next, from his skin. then the political pull looked back upon the good fat carcase of beef that he was dragging to his lair and said, with a discontented spirit: "that is hardly my customary fee; i'll take home this first instalment, then return and bring an action for salvage against the skin." the judge and the plaintiff a man of experience in business was awaiting the judgment of the court in an action for damages which he had brought against a railway company. the door opened and the judge of the court entered. "well," said he, "i am going to decide your case to-day. if i should decide in your favour, i wonder how you would express your satisfaction?" "sir," said the man of experience in business, "i should risk your anger by offering you one half the sum awarded." "did i say i was going to decide that case?" said the judge, abruptly, as if awakening from a dream. "dear me, how absent-minded i am. i mean i have already decided it, and judgment has been entered for the full amount that you sued for." "did i say i would give you one half?" said the man of experience in business, coldly. "dear me, how near i came to being a rascal. i mean, that i am greatly obliged to you." the return of the representative hearing that the legislature had adjourned, the people of an assembly district held a mass-meeting to devise a suitable punishment for their representative. by one speaker it was proposed that he be disembowelled, by another that he be made to run the gauntlet. some favoured hanging, some thought that it would do him good to appear in a suit of tar and feathers. an old man, famous for his wisdom and his habit of drooling on his shirt-front, suggested that they first catch their hare. so the chairman appointed a committee to watch for the victim at midnight, and take him as he should attempt to sneak into town across-lots from the tamarack swamp. at this point in the proceedings they were interrupted by the sound of a brass band. their dishonoured representative was driving up from the railway station in a coach-and-four, with music and a banner. a few moments later he entered the hall, went upon the platform, and said it was the proudest moment of his life. (cheers.) a statesman a statesman who attended a meeting of a chamber of commerce rose to speak, but was objected to on the ground that he had nothing to do with commerce. "mr. chairman," said an aged member, rising, "i conceive that the objection is not well taken; the gentleman's connection with commerce is close and intimate. he is a commodity." two dogs the dog, as created, had a rigid tail, but after some centuries of a cheerless existence, unappreciated by man, who made him work for his living, he implored the creator to endow him with a wag. this being done he was able to dissemble his resentment with a sign of affection, and the earth was his and the fulness thereof. observing this, the politician (an animal created later) petitioned that a wag might be given him too. as he was incaudate it was conferred upon his chin, which he now wags with great profit and gratification except when he is at his meals. three recruits a farmer, an artisan, and a labourer went to the king of their country and complained that they were compelled to support a large standing army of mere consumers, who did nothing for their keep. "very well," said the king, "my subjects' wishes are the highest law." so he disbanded his army and the consumers became producers also. the sale of their products so brought down prices that farming was ruined, and their skilled and unskilled labour drove the artisans and labourers into the almshouses and highways. in a few years the national distress was so great that the farmer, the artisan, and the labourer petitioned the king to reorganize the standing army. "what!" said the king; "you wish to support those idle consumers again?" "no, your majesty," they replied--"we wish to enlist." the mirror a silken-eared spaniel, who traced his descent from king charles the second of england, chanced to look into a mirror which was leaning against the wainscoting of a room on the ground floor of his mistress's house. seeing his reflection, he supposed it to be another dog, outside, and said: "i can chew up any such milksoppy pup as that, and i will." so he ran out-of-doors and around to the side of the house where he fancied the enemy was. it so happened that at that moment a bulldog sat there sunning his teeth. the spaniel stopped short in dire consternation, and, after regarding the bulldog a moment from a safe distance, said: "i don't know whether you cultivate the arts of peace or your flag is flung to the battle and the breeze and your voice is for war. if you are a civilian, the windows of this house flatter you worse than a newspaper, but if you're a soldier, they do you a grave injustice." this speech being unintelligible to the bulldog he only civilly smiled, which so terrified the spaniel that he dropped dead in his tracks. saint and sinner "my friend," said a distinguished officer of the salvation army, to a most wicked sinner, "i was once a drunkard, a thief, an assassin. the divine grace has made me what i am." the most wicked sinner looked at him from head to foot. "henceforth," he said, "the divine grace, i fancy, will let well enough alone." an antidote a young ostrich came to its mother, groaning with pain and with its wings tightly crossed upon its stomach. "what have you been eating?" the mother asked, with solicitude. "nothing but a keg of nails," was the reply. "what!" exclaimed the mother; "a whole keg of nails, at your age! why, you will kill yourself that way. go quickly, my child, and swallow a claw-hammer." a weary echo a convention of female writers, which for two days had been stuffing woman's couch with goose-quills and hailing the down of a new era, adjourned with unabated enthusiasm, shouting, "place aux dames!" and echo wearily replied, "oh, damn." the ingenious blackmailer an inventor went to a king and was granted an audience, when the following conversation ensued: _inventor_.--"may it please your majesty, i have invented a rifle that discharges lightning." _king_.--"ah, you wish to sell me the secret." _inventor_.--"yes; it will enable your army to overrun any nation that is accessible." _king_.--"in order to get any good of my outlay for your invention, i must make a war, and do so as soon as i can arm my troops--before your secret is discovered by foreign nations. how much do you want?" _inventor_.--"one million dollars." _king_.--"and how much will it cost to make the change of arms?" _inventor_.--"fifty millions." _king_.--"and the war will cost--?" _inventor_.--"but consider the glory and the spoils!" _king_.--"exactly. but if i am not seeking these advantages? what if i decline to purchase?" _inventor_.--"there is no economy in that. though a patriot, i am poor; if my own country will not patronise me, i must seek a market elsewhere." _king_ (to prime minister).--"take this blackmailer and cut off his head." a talisman having been summoned to serve as a juror, a prominent citizen sent a physician's certificate stating that he was afflicted with softening of the brain. "the gentleman is excused," said the judge, handing back the certificate to the person who had brought it, "he has a brain." the ancient order hardly had that ancient order, the sultans of exceeding splendour, been completely founded by the grand flashing inaccessible, when a question arose as to what should be the title of address among the members. some wanted it to be simply "my lord," others held out for "your dukeness," and still others preferred "my sovereign liege." finally the gorgeous jewel of the order, gleaming upon the breast of every member, suggested "your badgesty," which was adopted, and the order became popularly known as the kings of catarrh. a fatal disorder a dying man who had been shot was requested by officers of the law to make a statement, and be quick about it. "you were assaulted without provocation, of course," said the district attorney, preparing to set down the answer. "no," replied the dying man, "i was the aggressor." "yes, i understand," said the district attorney; "you committed the aggression--you were compelled to, as it were. you did it in self-defence." "i don't think he would have hurt me if i had let him alone," said the other. "no, i fancy he was a man of peace, and would not have hurt a fly. i brought such a pressure to bear on him that he naturally had to yield--he couldn't hold out. if he had refused to shoot me i don't see how i could decently have continued his acquaintance." "good heavens!" exclaimed the district attorney, throwing down his note- book and pencil; "this is all quite irregular. i can't make use of such an ante-mortem statement as that." "i never before knew a man to tell the truth," said the chief of police, "when dying of violence." "violence nothing!" the police surgeon said, pulling out and inspecting the man's tongue--"it is the truth that is killing him." the massacre some holy missionaries in china having been deprived of life by the bigoted heathens, the christian press made a note of it, and was greatly pained to point out the contrast between the bigoted heathens and the law- abiding countrymen of the holy missionaries who had wickedly been sent to eternal bliss. "yes," assented a miserable sinner, as he finished reading the articles, "the heathens of ying shing are deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. by the way," he added, turning over the paper to read the entertaining and instructive fables, "i know the heathenese lingo. ying shing means rock creek; it is in the province of wyo ming." a ship and a man seeing a ship sailing by upon the sea of politics, an ambitious person started in hot pursuit along the strand; but the people's eyes being fixed upon the presidency no one observed the pursuer. this greatly annoyed him, and recollecting that he was not aquatic, he stopped and shouted across the waves' tumultous roar: "take my name off the passenger list." back to him over the waters, hollow and heartless, like laughter in a tomb, rang the voice of the skipper: "'t ain't on!" and there, in the focus of a million pairs of convergent eyes, the ambitious person sat him down between the sun and moon and murmured sadly to his own soul: "marooned, by thunder!" congress and the people successive congresses having greatly impoverished the people, they were discouraged and wept copiously. "why do you weep?" inquired an angel who had perched upon a fence near by. "they have taken all we have," replied the people--"excepting," they added, noting the suggestive visitant--"excepting our hope in heaven. thank god, they cannot deprive us of that!" but at last came the congress of . the justice and his accuser an eminent justice of the supreme court of patagascar was accused of having obtained his appointment by fraud. "you wander," he said to the accuser; "it is of little importance how i obtained my power; it is only important how i have used it." "i confess," said the accuser, "that in comparison with the rascally way in which you have conducted yourself on the bench, the rascally way in which you got there does seem rather a trifle." the highwayman and the traveller a highwayman confronted a traveller, and covering him with a firearm, shouted: "your money or your life!" "my good friend," said the traveller, "according to the terms of your demand my money will save my life, my life my money; you imply you will take one or the other, but not both. if that is what you mean, please be good enough to take my life." "that is not what i mean," said the highwayman; "you cannot save your money by giving up your life." "then take it, anyhow," the traveller said. "if it will not save my money, it is good for nothing." the highwayman was so pleased with the traveller's philosophy and wit that he took him into partnership, and this splendid combination of talent started a newspaper. the policeman and the citizen a policeman, finding a man that had fallen in a fit, said, "this man is drunk," and began beating him on the head with his club. a passing citizen said: "why do you murder a man that is already harmless?" thereupon the policeman left the man in a fit and attacked the citizen, who, after receiving several severe contusions, ran away. "alas," said the policeman, "why did i not attack the sober one before exhausting myself upon the other?" thenceforward he pursued that plan, and by zeal and diligence rose to be chief, and sobriety is unknown in the region subject to his sway. the writer and the tramps an ambitious writer, distinguished for the condition of his linen, was travelling the high road to fame, when he met a tramp. "what is the matter with your shirt?" inquired the tramp. "it bears the marks of that superb unconcern which is the characteristic of genius," replied the ambitious writer, contemptuously passing him by. resting by the wayside a little later, the tramp carved upon the smooth bark of a birch-tree the words, "john gump, champion genius." two politicians two politicians were exchanging ideas regarding the rewards for public service. "the reward which i most desire," said the first politician, "is the gratitude of my fellow-citizens." "that would be very gratifying, no doubt," said the second politician, "but, alas! in order to obtain it one has to retire from politics." for an instant they gazed upon each other with inexpressible tenderness; then the first politician murmured, "god's will be done! since we cannot hope for reward, let us be content with what we have." and lifting their right hands from the public treasury they swore to be content. the fugitive office a traveller arriving at the capitol of the nation saw a vast plain outside the wall, filled with struggling and shouting men. while he looked upon the alarming spectacle an office broke away from the throng and took shelter in a tomb close to where he stood, the crowd being too intent upon hammering one another to observe that the cause of their contention had departed. "poor bruised and bleeding creature," said the compassionate traveller, "what misfortune caused you to be so far away from the source of power?" "i 'sought the man,'" said the office. the tyrant frog a snake swallowing a frog head-first was approached by a naturalist with a stick. "ah, my deliverer," said the snake as well as he could, "you have arrived just in time; this reptile, you see, is pitching into me without provocation." "sir," replied the naturalist, "i need a snakeskin for my collection, but if you had not explained i should not have interrupted you, for i thought you were at dinner." the eligible son-in-law a truly pious person who conducted a savings bank and lent money to his sisters and his cousins and his aunts of both sexes, was approached by a tatterdemalion, who applied for a loan of one hundred thousand dollars. "what security have you to offer?" asked the truly pious person. "the best in the world," the applicant replied, confidentially; "i am about to become your son-in-law." "that would indeed be gilt-edged," said the banker, gravely; "but what claim have you to the hand of my daughter?" "one that cannot be lightly denied," said the tatterdemalion. "i am about to become worth one hundred thousand dollars." unable to detect a weak point in this scheme of mutual advantage, the financier gave the promoter in disguise an order for the money, and wrote a note to his wife directing her to count out the girl. the statesman and the horse a statesman who had saved his country was returning from washington on foot, when he met a race horse going at full speed, and stopped it. "turn about and travel the other way," said the statesman, "and i will keep you company as far as my home. the advantages of travelling together are obvious." "i cannot do that," said the race horse; "i am following my master to washington. i did not go fast enough to suit him, and he has gone on ahead." "who is your master?" inquired the statesman. "he is the statesman who saved his country," answered the race horse. "there appears to be some mistake," the other said. "why did he wish to travel so fast?" "so as to be there in time to get the country that he saved." "i guess he got it," said the other, and limped along, sighing. an aerophobe a celebrated divine having affirmed the fallibility of the bible, was asked why, then, he preached the religion founded upon it. "if it is fallible," he replied, "there is the greater reason that i explain it, lest it mislead." "then am i to infer," said his questioner, "that _you_ are not fallible?" "you are to infer that i am not pneumophagous." the thrift of strength a weak man going down-hill met a strong man going up, and said: "i take this direction because it requires less exertion, not from choice. i pray you, sir, assist me to regain the summit." "gladly," said the strong man, his face illuminated with the glory of his thought. "i have always considered my strength a sacred gift in trust for my fellow-men. i will take you along with me. just get behind me and push." the good government "what a happy land you are!" said a republican form of government to a sovereign state. "be good enough to lie still while i walk upon you, singing the praises of universal suffrage and descanting upon the blessings of civil and religious liberty. in the meantime you can relieve your feelings by cursing the one-man power and the effete monarchies of europe." "my public servants have been fools and rogues from the date of your accession to power," replied the state; "my legislative bodies, both state and municipal, are bands of thieves; my taxes are insupportable; my courts are corrupt; my cities are a disgrace to civilisation; my corporations have their hands at the throats of every private interest--all my affairs are in disorder and criminal confusion." "that is all very true," said the republican form of government, putting on its hobnail shoes; "but consider how i thrill you every fourth of july." the life saver an ancient maiden, standing on the edge of a wharf near a modern swain, was overheard rehearsing the words: "noble preserver! the life that you have saved is yours!" having repeated them several times with various intonations, she sprang into the water, where she was suffered to drown. "i am a noble preserver," said the modern swain, thoughtfully moving away; "the life that i have saved is indeed mine." the man and the bird a man with a shotgun said to a bird: "it is all nonsense, you know, about shooting being a cruel sport. i put my skill against your cunning-that is all there is of it. it is a fair game." "true," said the bird, "but i don't wish to play." "why not?" inquired the man with a shotgun. "the game," the bird replied, "is fair as you say; the chances are about even; but consider the stake. i am in it for you, but what is there in it for me?" not being prepared with an answer to the question, the man with a shotgun sagaciously removed the propounder. from the minutes an orator afflicted with atrophy of the organ of common-sense rose in his place in the halls of legislation and pointed with pride to his unblotted escutcheon. seeing what it supposed to be the finger of scorn pointed at it, the unblotted escutcheon turned black with rage. seeing the unblotted escutcheon turning black with what he supposed to be the record of his own misdeeds showing through the whitewash, the orator fell dead of mortification. seeing the orator fall dead of what they supposed to be atrophy of the organ of common-sense, his colleagues resolved that whenever they should adjourn because they were tired, it should be out of respect to the memory of him who had so frequently made them so. three of a kind a lawyer in whom an instinct of justice had survived the wreck of his ignorance of law was retained for the defence of a burglar whom the police had taken after a desperate struggle with someone not in custody. in consultation with his client the lawyer asked, "have you accomplices?" "yes, sir," replied the burglar. "i have two, but neither has been taken. i hired one to defend me against capture, you to defend me against conviction." this answer deeply impressed the lawyer, and having ascertained that the burglar had accumulated no money in his profession he threw up the case. the fabulist and the animals a wise and illustrious writer of fables was visiting a travelling menagerie with a view to collecting literary materials. as he was passing near the elephant, that animal said: "how sad that so justly famous a satirist should mar his work by ridicule of people with long noses--who are the salt of the earth!" the kangaroo said: "i do so enjoy that great man's censure of the ridiculous--particularly his attacks on the proboscidae; but, alas! he has no reverence for the marsupials, and laughs at our way of carrying our young in a pouch." the camel said: "if he would only respect the sacred hump, he would be faultless. as it is, i cannot permit his fables to be read in the presence of my family." the ostrich, seeing his approach, thrust her head in the straw, saying: "if i do not conceal myself, he may be reminded to write something disagreeable about my lack of a crest or my appetite for scrap-iron; and although he is inexpressibly brilliant when he devotes himself to censure of folly and greed, his dulness is matchless when he transcends the limits of legitimate comment." "that," said the buzzard to his mate, "is the distinguished author of that glorious fable, 'the ostrich and the keg of raw nails.' i regret to add, that he wrote, also, 'the buzzard's feast,' in which a carrion diet is contumeliously disparaged. a carrion diet is the foundation of sound health. if nothing else but corpses were eaten, death would be unknown." seeing an attendant approaching, the wise and illustrious writer of fables passed out of the tent and mingled with the crowd. it was afterward discovered that he had crept in under the canvas without paying. a revivalist revived a revivalist who had fallen dead in the pulpit from too violent religious exercise was astonished to wake up in hades. he promptly sent for the adversary of souls and demanded his freedom, explaining that he was entirely orthodox, and had always led a pious and holy life. "that is all very true," said the adversary, "but you taught by example that a verb should not agree with its subject in person and number, whereas the good book says that contention is worse than a dinner of herbs. you also tried to release the objective case from its thraldom to the preposition, and it is written that servants should obey their masters. you stay right here." the debaters a hurled-back allegation, which, after a brief rest, had again started forth upon its mission of mischief, met an ink-stand in mid-air. "how did the honourable member whom you represent know that i was coming again?" inquired the hurled-back allegation. "he did not," the inkstand replied; "he isn't at all forehanded at repartee." "why, then, do you come, things being even when he had hurled me back?" "he wanted to be a little ahead." two of the pious a christian and a heathen in his blindness were disputing, when the christian, with that charming consideration which serves to distinguish the truly pious from the wolves that perish, exclaimed: "if i could have my way, i'd blow up all your gods with dynamite." "and if i could have mine," retorted the heathen in his blindness, bitterly malevolent but oleaginuously suave, "i'd fan all yours out of the universe." the desperate object a dishonest gain was driving in its luxurious carriage through its private park, when it saw something which frantically and repeatedly ran against a stone wall, endeavouring to butt out its brains. "hold! hold! thou desperate object," cried the dishonest gain; "these beautiful private grounds are no place for such work as thine." "true," said the object, pausing; "i have other and better grounds for it." "then thou art a happy man," said the dishonest gain, "and thy bleeding head is but mere dissembling. who art thou, great actor?" "i am known," said the object, dashing itself again at the wall, "as the consciousness of duty well performed." the appropriate memorial a high public functionary having died, the citizens of his town held a meeting to consider how to honour his memory, and an other high public functionary rose and addressed the meeting. "mr. chairman and gintlemen," said the other, "it sames to me, and i'm hopin' yez wull approve the suggistion, that an appropriet way to honour the mimory of the decaised would be to erect an emolument sootably inscribed wid his vartues." the soul of the great man looked down from heaven and wept. a needless labour after waiting many a weary day to revenge himself upon a lion for some unconsidered manifestation of contempt, a skunk finally saw him coming, and posting himself in the path ahead uttered the inaudible discord of his race. observing that the lion gave no attention to the matter, the skunk, keeping carefully out of reach, said: "sir, i beg leave to point out that i have set on foot an implacable odour." "my dear fellow," the lion replied, "you have taken a needless trouble; i already knew that you were a skunk." a flourishing industry "are the industries of this country in a flourishing condition?" asked a traveller from a foreign land of the first man he met in america. "splendid!" said the man. "i have more orders than i can fill." "what is your business?" the traveller from a foreign land inquired. the man replied, "i make boxing-gloves for the tongues of pugilists." the self-made monkey a man of humble birth and no breading, who held a high political office, was passing through a forest, when he met a monkey. "i take it you are one of my constituents," the man said. "no," replied the monkey; "but i will support you if you can urge a valid claim to my approval." "i am a self-made man," said the other, proudly. "that is nothing," the monkey said. and going to a bigger pine, he rose by his own unaided exertions to the top branch, where he sat, all bedaubed with the pitch which that vegetable exudes. "now," he added, "i am a self-made monkey." the patriot and the banker a patriot who had taken office poor and retired rich was introduced at a bank where he desired to open an account. "with pleasure," said the honest banker; "we shall be glad to do business with you; but first you must make yourself an honest man by restoring what you stole from the government." "good heavens!" cried the patriot; "if i do that, i shall have nothing to deposit with you." "i don't see that," the honest banker replied. "we are not the whole american people." "ah, i understand," said the patriot, musing. "at what sum do you estimate this bank's proportion of the country's loss by me?" "about a dollar," answered the honest banker. and with a proud consciousness of serving his country wisely and well he charged that sum to the account. the mourning brothers observing that he was about to die, an old man called his two sons to his bedside and expounded the situation. "my children," said he, "you have not shown me many marks of respect during my life, but you will attest your sorrow for my death. to him who the longer wears a weed upon his hat in memory of me shall go my entire fortune. i have made a will to that effect." so when the old man was dead each of the youths put a weed upon his hat and wore it until he was himself old, when, seeing that neither would give in, they agreed that the younger should leave off his weeds and the elder give him half of the estate. but when the elder applied for the property he found that there had been an executor! thus were hypocrisy and obstinacy fitly punished. the disinterested arbiter two dogs who had been fighting for a bone, without advantage to either, referred their dispute to a sheep. the sheep patiently heard their statements, then flung the bone into a pond. "why did you do that?" said the dogs. "because," replied the sheep, "i am a vegetarian." the thief and the honest man a thief who had brought a suit against his accomplices to recover his share of the plunder taken from an honest man, demanded the honest man's attendance at the trial to testify to his loss. but the honest man explained that as he was merely the agent of a company of other honest men it was none of his affair; and when the officers came to serve him with a subpoena he hid himself behind his back and wiled away the dragging hours of retirement and inaction by picking his own pockets. the dutiful son a millionaire who had gone to an almshouse to visit his father met a neighbour there, who was greatly surprised. "what!" said the neighbour, "you do sometimes visit your father?" "if our situations were reversed," said the millionaire, "i am sure he would visit me. the old man has always been rather proud of me. besides," he added, softly, "i had to have his signature; i am insuring his life." aesopus emendatus the cat and the youth a cat fell in love with a handsome young man, and entreated venus to change her into a woman. "i should think," said venus, "you might make so trifling a change without bothering me. however, be a woman." afterward, wishing to see if the change were complete, venus caused a mouse to approach, whereupon the woman shrieked and made such a show of herself that the young man would not marry her. the farmer and his sons a farmer being about to die, and knowing that during his illness his sons had permitted the vineyard to become overgrown with weeds while they improved the shining hour by gambling with the doctor, said to them: "my boys, there is a great treasure buried in the vineyard. you dig in the ground until you find it." so the sons dug up all the weeds, and all the vines too, and even neglected to bury the old man. jupiter and the baby show jupiter held a baby show, open to all animals, and a monkey entered her hideous cub for a prize, but jupiter only laughed at her. "it is all very well," said the monkey, "to laugh at my offspring, but you go into any gallery of antique sculpture and look at the statues and busts of the fellows that you begot yourself." "'sh! don't expose me," said jupiter, and awarded her the first prize. the man and the dog a man who had been bitten by a dog was told that the wound would heal if he would dip a piece of bread in the blood and give it to the dog. he did so. "no," said the dog; "if i were to accept that, it might be thought that in biting you i was actuated by improper motives." "and by what motives were you actuated?" asked the man. "i desired," replied the dog, "merely to harmonise myself with the divine scheme of things. i'm a child of nature." the cat and the birds hearing that the birds in an aviary were ill, a cat went to them and said that he was a physician, and would cure them if they would let him in. "to what school of medicine do you belong?" asked the birds. "i am a miaulopathist," said the cat. "did you ever practise gohomoeopathy?" the birds inquired, winking faintly. the cat took the hint and his leave. mercury and the woodchopper a woodchopper, who had dropped his axe into a deep pool, besought mercury to recover it for him. that thoughtless deity immediately plunged into the pool, which became so salivated that the trees about its margin all came loose and dropped out. the fox and the grapes a fox, seeing some sour grapes hanging within an inch of his nose, and being unwilling to admit that there was anything he would not eat, solemnly declared that they were out of his reach. the penitent thief a boy who had been taught by his mother to steal grew to be a man and was a professional public official. one day he was taken in the act and condemned to die. while going to the place of execution he passed his mother and said to her: "behold your work! if you had not taught me to steal, i should not have come to this." "indeed!" said the mother. "and who, pray, taught you to be detected?" the archer and the eagle an eagle mortally wounded by an archer was greatly comforted to observe that the arrow was feathered with one of his own quills. "i should have felt bad, indeed," he said, "to think that any other eagle had a hand in this." truth and the traveller a man travelling in a desert met a woman. "who art thou?" asked the man, "and why dost thou dwell in this dreadful place?" "my name," replied the woman, "is truth; and i live in the desert in order to be near my worshippers when they are driven from among their fellows. they all come, sooner or later." "well," said the man, looking about, "the country doesn't seem to be very thickly settled here." the wolf and the lamb a lamb, pursued by a wolf, fled into the temple. "the priest will catch you and sacrifice you," said the wolf, "if you remain there." "it is just as well to be sacrificed by the priest as to be eaten by you," said the lamb. "my friend," said the wolf, "it pains me to see you considering so great a question from a purely selfish point of view. it is not just as well for me." the lion and the boar a lion and a boar, who were fighting for water at a pool, saw some vultures hovering significantly above them. "let us make up our quarrel," said the boar, "or these fellows will get one of us, sure." "i should not so much mind that," replied the lion, "if they would get the right one. however, i am willing to stop fighting, and then perhaps i can grab a vulture. i like chicken better than pork, anyhow." the grasshopper and the ant one day in winter a hungry grasshopper applied to an ant for some of the food which they had stored. "why," said the ant, "did you not store up some food for yourself, instead of singing all the time?" "so i did," said the grasshopper; "so i did; but you fellows broke in and carried it all away." the fisher and the fished a fisherman who had caught a very small fish was putting it in his basket when it said: "i pray you put me back into the stream, for i can be of no use to you; the gods do not eat fish." "but i am no god," said the fisherman. "true," said the fish, "but as soon as jupiter has heard of your exploit, he will elevate you to the deitage. you are the only man that ever caught a small fish." the farmer and the fox a farmer who had a deadly and implacable hatred against a certain fox, caught him and tied some tow to his tail; then carrying him to the centre of his own grain-field, set the tow on fire and let the animal go. "alas!" said the farmer, seeing the result; "if that grain had not been heavily insured, i might have had to dissemble my hatred of the fox." dame fortune and the traveller a weary traveller who had lain down and fallen asleep on the brink of a deep well was discovered by dame fortune. "if this fool," she said, "should have an uneasy dream and roll into the well men would say that i did it. it is painful to me to be unjustly accused, and i shall see that i am not." so saying she rolled the man into the well. the victor and the victim two game cocks, having fought a battle, the defeated one skulked away and hid, but the victor mounted a wall and crowed lustily. this attracted the attention of a hawk, who said: "behold! how pride goeth before a fall." so he swooped down upon the boasting bird and was about to destroy him, when the vanquished cock came out of his hiding-place, and between the two the hawk was calamitously defeated. the wolf and the shepherds a wolf passing a shepherd's hut looked in and saw the shepherds dining. "come in," said one of them, ironically, "and partake of your favourite dish, a haunch of mutton." "thank you," said the wolf, moving away, "but you must excuse me; i have just had a saddle of shepherd." the goose and the swan a certain rich man reared a goose and a swan, the one for his table, the other because she was reputed a good singer. one night when the cook went to kill the goose he got hold of the swan instead. thereupon the swan, to induce him to spare her life, began to sing; but she saved him nothing but the trouble of killing her, for she died of the song. the lion, the cock, and the ass a lion was about to attack a braying ass, when a cock near by crowed shrilly, and the lion ran away. "what frightened him?" the ass asked. "lions have a superstitious terror of my voice," answered the cock, proudly. "well, well, well," said the ass, shaking his head; "i should think that any animal that is afraid of your voice and doesn't mind mine must have an uncommon kind of ear." the snake and the swallow a swallow who had built her nest in a court of justice reared a fine family of young birds. one day a snake came out of a chink in the wall and was about to eat them. the just judge at once issued an injunction, and making an order for their removal to his own house, ate them himself. the wolves and the dogs "why should there be strife between us?" said the wolves to the sheep. "it is all owing to those quarrelsome dogs. dismiss them, and we shall have peace." "you seem to think," replied the sheep, "that it is an easy thing to dismiss dogs. have you always found it so?" the hen and the vipers a hen who had patiently hatched out a brood of vipers, was accosted by a swallow, who said: "what a fool you are to give life to creatures who will reward you by destroying you." "i am a little bit on the destroy myself," said the hen, tranquilly swallowing one of the little reptiles; "and it is not an act of folly to provide oneself with the delicacies of the season." a seasonable joke a spendthrift, seeing a single swallow, pawned his cloak, thinking that summer was at hand. it was. the lion and the thorn a lion roaming through the forest, got a thorn in his foot, and, meeting a shepherd, asked him to remove it. the shepherd did so, and the lion, having just surfeited himself on another shepherd, went away without harming him. some time afterward the shepherd was condemned on a false accusation to be cast to the lions in the amphitheatre. when they were about to devour him, one of them said: "this is the man who removed the thorn from my foot." hearing this, the others honourably abstained, and the claimant ate the shepherd all himself. the fawn and the buck a fawn said to its father: "you are larger, stronger, and more active than a dog, and you have sharp horns. why do you run away when you hear one barking?" "because, my child," replied the buck, "my temper is so uncertain that if i permit one of those noisy creatures to come into my presence i am likely to forget myself and do him an injury." the kite, the pigeons, and the hawk some pigeons exposed to the attacks of a kite asked a hawk to defend them. he consented, and being admitted into the cote waited for the kite, whom he fell upon and devoured. when he was so surfeited that he could scarcely move, the grateful pigeons scratched out his eyes. the wolf and the babe a famishing wolf, passing the door of a cottage in the forest, heard a mother say to her babe: "be quiet, or i will throw you out of the window, and the wolves will get you." so he waited all day below the window, growing more hungry all the time. but at night the old man, having returned from the village club, threw out both mother and child. the wolf and the ostrich a wolf, who in devouring a man had choked himself with a bunch of keys, asked an ostrich to put her head down his throat and pull them out, which she did. "i suppose," said the wolf, "you expect payment for that service." "a kind act," replied the ostrich, "is its own reward; i have eaten the keys." the herdsman and the lion a herdsman who had lost a bullock entreated the gods to bring him the thief, and vowed he would sacrifice a goat to them. just then a lion, his jaws dripping with bullock's blood, approached the herdsman. "i thank you, good deities," said the herdsman, continuing his prayer, "for showing me the thief. and now if you will take him away, i will stand another goat." the man and the viper a man finding a frozen viper put it into his bosom. "the coldness of the human heart," he said, with a grin, "will keep the creature in his present condition until i can reach home and revive him on the coals." but the pleasures of hope so fired his heart that the viper thawed, and sliding to the ground thanked the man civilly for his hospitality and glided away. the man and the eagle an eagle was once captured by a man, who clipped his wings and put him in the poultry yard, along with the chickens. the eagle was much depressed in spirits by the change. "why should you not rather rejoice?" said the man. "you were only an ordinary fellow as an eagle; but as an old rooster you are a fowl of incomparable distinction." the war-horse and the miller having heard that the state was about to be invaded by a hostile army, a war-horse belonging to a colonel of the militia offered his services to a passing miller. "no," said the patriotic miller, "i will employ no one who deserts his position in the hour of danger. it is sweet to die for one's country." something in the sentiment sounded familiar, and, looking at the miller more closely the war-horse recognised his master in disguise. the dog and the reflection a dog passing over a stream on a plank saw his reflection in the water. "you ugly brute!" he cried; "how dare you look at me in that insolent way." he made a grab in the water, and, getting hold of what he supposed was the other dog's lip, lifted out a fine piece of meat which a butcher's boy had dropped into the stream. the man and the fish-horn a truthful man, finding a musical instrument in the road, asked the name of it, and was told that it was a fish-horn. the next time he went fishing he set his nets and blew the fish-horn all day to charm the fish into them; but at nightfall there were not only no fish in his nets, but none along that part of the coast. meeting a friend while on his way home he was asked what luck he had had. "well," said the truthful man, "the weather is not right for fishing, but it's a red-letter day for music." the hare and the tortoise a hare having ridiculed the slow movements of a tortoise, was challenged by the latter to run a race, a fox to go to the goal and be the judge. they got off well together, the hare at the top of her speed, the tortoise, who had no other intention than making his antagonist exert herself, going very leisurely. after sauntering along for some time he discovered the hare by the wayside, apparently asleep, and seeing a chance to win pushed on as fast as he could, arriving at the goal hours afterward, suffering from extreme fatigue and claiming the victory. "not so," said the fox; "the hare was here long ago, and went back to cheer you on your way." hercules and the carter a carter was driving a waggon loaded with a merchant's goods, when the wheels stuck in a rut. thereupon he began to pray to hercules, without other exertion. "indolent fellow!" said hercules; "you ask me to help you, but will not help yourself." so the carter helped himself to so many of the most valuable goods that the horses easily ran away with the remainder. the lion and the bull a lion wishing to lure a bull to a place where it would be safe to attack him, said: "my friend, i have killed a fine sheep; will you come with me and partake of the mutton?" "with pleasure," said the bull, "as soon as you have refreshed yourself a little for the journey. pray have some grass." the man and his goose "see these valuable golden eggs," said a man that owned a goose. "surely a goose which can lay such eggs as those must have a gold mine inside her." so he killed the goose and cut her open, but found that she was just like any other goose. moreover, on examining the eggs that she had laid he found they were just like any other eggs. the wolf and the feeding goat a wolf saw a goat feeding at the summit of a rock, where he could not get at her. "why do you stay up there in that sterile place and go hungry?" said the wolf. "down here where i am the broken-bottle vine cometh up as a flower, the celluloid collar blossoms as the rose, and the tin-can tree brings forth after its kind." "that is true, no doubt," said the goat, "but how about the circus-poster crop? i hear that it failed this year down there." the wolf, perceiving that he was being chaffed, went away and resumed his duties at the doors of the poor. jupiter and the birds jupiter commanded all the birds to appear before him, so that he might choose the most beautiful to be their king. the ugly jackdaw, collecting all the fine feathers which had fallen from the other birds, attached them to his own body and appeared at the examination, looking very gay. the other birds, recognising their own borrowed plumage, indignantly protested, and began to strip him. "hold!" said jupiter; "this self-made bird has more sense than any of you. he is your king." the lion and the mouse a lion who had caught a mouse was about to kill him, when the mouse said: "if you will spare my life, i will do as much for you some day." the lion, good-naturedly let him go. it happened shortly afterwards that the lion was caught by some hunters and bound with cords. the mouse, passing that way, and seeing that his benefactor was helpless, gnawed off his tail. the old man and his sons an old man, afflicted with a family of contentious sons, brought in a bundle of sticks and asked the young men to break it. after repeated efforts they confessed that it could not be done. "behold," said the old man, "the advantage of unity; as long as these sticks are in alliance they are invincible, but observe how feeble they are individually." pulling a single stick from the bundle, he broke it easily upon the head of the eldest son, and this he repeated until all had been served. the crab and his son a logical crab said to his son, "why do you not walk straight forward? your sidelong gait is singularly ungraceful." "why don't you walk straight forward yourself," said the son. "erring youth," replied the logical crab, "you are introducing new and irrelevant matter." the north wind and the sun the sun and the north wind disputed which was the more powerful, and agreed that he should be declared victor who could the sooner strip a traveller of his clothes. so they waited until a traveller came by. but the traveller had been indiscreet enough to stay over night at a summer hotel, and had no clothes. the mountain and the mouse a mountain was in labour, and the people of seven cities had assembled to watch its movements and hear its groans. while they waited in breathless expectancy out came a mouse. "oh, what a baby!" they cried in derision. "i may be a baby," said the mouse, gravely, as he passed outward through the forest of shins, "but i know tolerably well how to diagnose a volcano." the bellamy and the members the members of a body of socialists rose in insurrection against their bellamy. "why," said they, "should we be all the time tucking you out with food when you do nothing to tuck us out?" so, resolving to take no further action, they went away, and looking backward had the satisfaction to see the bellamy compelled to sell his own book. old saws with new teeth certain ancient fables applied to the life of our times the wolf and the crane a rich man wanted to tell a certain lie, but the lie was of such monstrous size that it stuck in his throat; so he employed an editor to write it out and publish it in his paper as an editorial. but when the editor presented his bill, the rich man said: "be content--is it nothing that i refrained from advising you about investments?" the lion and the mouse a judge was awakened by the noise of a lawyer prosecuting a thief. rising in wrath he was about to sentence the thief to life imprisonment when the latter said: "i beg that you will set me free, and i will some day requite your kindness." pleased and flattered to be bribed, although by nothing but an empty promise, the judge let him go. soon afterward he found that it was more than an empty promise, for, having become a thief, he was himself set free by the other, who had become a judge. the hares and the frogs the members of a legislature, being told that they were the meanest thieves in the world, resolved to commit suicide. so they bought shrouds, and laying them in a convenient place prepared to cut their throats. while they were grinding their razors some tramps passing that way stole the shrouds. "let us live, my friends," said one of the legislators to the others; "the world is better than we thought. it contains meaner thieves than we." the belly and the members some workingmen employed in a shoe factory went on a strike, saying: "why should we continue to work to feed and clothe our employer when we have none too much to eat and wear ourselves?" the manufacturer, seeing that he could get no labour for a long time and finding the times pretty hard anyhow, burned down his shoe factory for the insurance, and when the strikers wanted to resume work there was no work to resume. so they boycotted a tanner. the piping fisherman an editor who was always vaunting the purity, enterprise, and fearlessness of his paper was pained to observe that he got no subscribers. one day it occurred to him to stop saying that his paper was pure and enterprising and fearless, and make it so. "if these are not good qualities," he reasoned, "it is folly to claim them." under the new policy he got so many subscribers that his rivals endeavoured to discover the secret of his prosperity, but he kept it, and when he died it died with him. the ants and the grasshopper some members of a legislature were making schedules of their wealth at the end of the session, when an honest miner came along and asked them to divide with him. the members of the legislature inquired: "why did you not acquire property of your own?" "because," replied the honest miner, "i was so busy digging out gold that i had no leisure to lay up something worth while." then the members of the legislature derided him, saying: "if you waste your time in profitless amusement, you cannot, of course, expect to share the rewards of industry." the dog and his reflection a state official carrying off the dome of the capitol met the ghost of his predecessor, who had come out of his political grave to warn him that god saw him. as the place of meeting was lonely and the time midnight, the state official set down the dome of the capitol, and commanded the supposed traveller to throw up his hands. the ghost replied that he had not eaten them, and while he was explaining the situation another state official silently added the dome to his own collection. the lion, the bear, and the fox two thieves having stolen a piano and being unable to divide it fairly without a remainder went to law about it and continued the contest as long as either one could steal a dollar to bribe the judge. when they could give no more an honest man came along and by a single small payment obtained a judgment and took the piano home, where his daughter used it to develop her biceps muscles, becoming a famous pugiliste. the ass and the lion's skin a member of the state militia stood at a street corner, scowling stormily, and the people passing that way went a long way around him, thinking of the horrors of war. but presently, in order to terrify them still more, he strode toward them, when, his sword entangling his legs, he fell upon the field of glory, and the people passed over him singing their sweetest songs. the ass and the grasshoppers a statesman heard some labourers singing at their work, and wishing to be happy too, asked them what made them so. "honesty," replied the labourers. so the statesman resolved that he too would be honest, and the result was that he died of want. the wolf and the lion an indian who had been driven out of a fertile valley by a white settler, said: "now that you have robbed me of my land, there is nothing for me to do but issue invitations to a war-dance." "i don't so much mind your dancing," said the white settler, putting a fresh cartridge into his rifle, "but if you attempt to make me dance you will become a good indian lamented by all who didn't know you. how did _you_ get this land, anyhow?" the indian's claim was compromised for a plug hat and a tin horn. the hare and the tortoise of two writers one was brilliant but indolent; the other though dull, industrious. they set out for the goal of fame with equal opportunities. before they died the brilliant one was detected in seventy languages as the author of but two or three books of fiction and poetry, while the other was honoured in the bureau of statistics of his native land as the compiler of sixteen volumes of tabulated information relating to the domestic hog. the milkmaid and her bucket a senator fell to musing as follows: "with the money which i shall get for my vote in favour of the bill to subsidise cat-ranches, i can buy a kit of burglar's tools and open a bank. the profit of that enterprise will enable me to obtain a long, low, black schooner, raise a death's- head flag and engage in commerce on the high seas. from my gains in that business i can pay for the presidency, which at $ , a year will give me in four years--" but it took him so long to make the calculation that the bill to subsidise cat-ranches passed without his vote, and he was compelled to return to his constituents an honest man, tormented with a clean conscience. king log and king stork the people being dissatisfied with a democratic legislature, which stole no more than they had, elected a republican one, which not only stole all they had but exacted a promissory note for the balance due, secured by a mortgage upon their hope of death. the wolf who would be a lion a foolish fellow who had been told that he was a great man believed it, and got himself appointed a commissioner to the interasylum exposition of preserved idiots. at the first meeting of the board he was mistaken for one of the exhibits, and the janitor was ordered to remove him to his appropriate glass case. "alas!" he exclaimed as he was carried out, "why was i not content to remain where the cut of my forehead is so common as to be known as the pacific slope?" the monkey and the nuts a certain city desiring to purchase a site for a public deformatory procured an appropriation from the government of the country. deeming this insufficient for purchase of the site and payment of reasonable commissions to themselves, the men in charge of the matter asked for a larger sum, which was readily given. believing that the fountain could not be dipped dry, they applied for still more and more yet. wearied at last by their importunities, the government said it would be damned if it gave anything. so it gave nothing and was damned all the harder. the boys and the frogs some editors of newspapers were engaged in diffusing general intelligence and elevating the moral sentiment of the public. they had been doing this for some time, when an eminent statesman stuck his head out of the pool of politics, and, speaking for the members of his profession, said: "my friends, i beg you will desist. i know you make a great deal of money by this kind of thing, but consider the damage you inflict upon the business of others!" [transcriber's note: _ is equivalent to italics markup.] little blue book no. edited by e. haldeman-julius a cynic looks at life ambrose bierce haldeman-julius company girard, kansas copyright, , by the neale publishing company reprinted by special arrangement with albert and charles boni, new york printed in the united states of america a cynic looks at life civilization i the question "does civilization civilize?" is a fine example of _petitio principii_, and decides itself in the affirmative; for civilization must needs do that from the doing of which it has its name. but it is not necessary to suppose that he who propounds is either unconscious of his lapse in logic or desirous of digging a pitfall for the feet of those who discuss; i take it he simply wishes to put the matter in an impressive way, and relies upon a certain degree of intelligence in the interpretation. concerning uncivilized peoples we know but little except what we are told by travelers--who, speaking generally, can know very little but the fact of uncivilization, as shown in externals and irrelevances, and are moreover, greatly given to lying. from the savages we hear very little. judging them in all things by our own standards in default of a knowledge of theirs, we necessarily condemn, disparage and belittle. one thing that civilization certainly has not done is to make us intelligent enough to understand that the contrary of a virtue is not necessarily a vice. because, as a rule, we have but one wife and several mistresses each it is not certain that polygamy is everywhere--nor, for that matter, anywhere--either wrong or inexpedient. because the brutality of the civilized slave owners and dealers created a conquering sentiment against slavery it is not intelligent to assume that slavery is a maleficent thing amongst oriental peoples (for example) where the slave is not oppressed. some of these same orientals whom we are pleased to term half-civilized have no regard for truth. "takest thou me for a christian dog," said one of them, "that i should be the slave of my word?" so far as i can perceive, the "christian dog" is no more the slave of his word than the true believer, and i think the savage--allowing for the fact that his inveracity has dominion over fewer things--as great a liar as either of them. for my part, i do not know what, in all circumstances, is right or wrong; but i know that, if right, it is at least stupid, to judge an uncivilized people by the standards of morality and intelligence set up by civilized ones. life in civilized countries is so complex that men there have more ways to be good than savages have, and more to be bad; more to be happy, and more to be miserable. and in each way to be good or bad, their generally superior knowledge--their knowledge of more things--enables them to commit greater excesses than the savage can. the civilized philanthropist wreaks upon his fellows a ranker philanthropy, the civilized rascal a sturdier rascality. and--splendid triumph of enlightenment!--the two characters are, in civilization, frequently combined in one person. i know of no savage custom or habit of thought which has not its mate in civilized countries. for every mischievous or absurd practice of the natural man i can name you one of ours that is essentially the same. and nearly every custom of our barbarian ancestors in historic times persists in some form today. we make ourselves look formidable in battle--for that matter, we fight. our women paint their faces. we feel it obligatory to dress more or less alike, inventing the most ingenious reasons for doing so and actually despising and persecuting those who do not care to conform. almost within the memory of living persons bearded men were stoned in the streets; and a clergyman in new york who wore his beard as christ wore his, was put into jail and variously persecuted till he died. civilization does not, i think, make the race any better. it makes men know more: and if knowledge makes them happy it is useful and desirable. the one purpose of every sane human being is to be happy. no one can have any other motive than that. there is no such thing as unselfishness. we perform the most "generous" and "self-sacrificing" acts because we should be unhappy if we did not. we move on lines of least reluctance. whatever tends to increase the beggarly sum of human happiness is worth having; nothing else has any value. the cant of civilization fatigues. civilization, is a fine and beautiful structure. it is as picturesque as a gothic cathedral, but it is built upon the bones and cemented with the blood of those whose part in all its pomp is that and nothing more. it cannot be reared in the ungenerous tropics, for there the people will not contribute their blood and bones. the proposition that the average american workingman or european peasant is "better off" than the south sea islander, lolling under a palm and drunk with over-eating, will not bear a moment's examination. it is we scholars and gentlemen that are better off. it is admitted that the south sea islander in a state of nature is overmuch addicted to the practice of eating human flesh; but concerning that i submit: first, that he likes it; second, that those who supply it are mostly dead. it is upon his enemies that he feeds, and these he would kill anyhow, as we do ours. in civilized, enlightened and christian countries, where cannibalism has not yet established itself, wars are as frequent and destructive as among the maneaters. the untitled savage knows at least why he goes killing, whereas our private soldier is commonly in black ignorance of the apparent cause of quarrel--of the actual cause, always. their shares in the fruits of victory are about equal, for the chief takes all the dead, the general all the glory. ii transplanted institutions grow slowly; civilization can not be put into a ship and carried across an ocean. the history of this country is a sequence of illustrations of these truths. it was settled by civilized men and women from civilized countries, yet after two and a half centuries, with unbroken communication with the mother systems, it is still imperfectly civilized. in learning and letters, in art and the science of government, america is but a faint and stammering echo of europe. for nearly all that is good in our american civilization we are indebted to the old world; the errors and mischiefs are of our own creation. we have originated little, because there is little to originate, but we have unconsciously reproduced many of the discredited systems of former ages and other countries--receiving them at second hand, but making them ours by the sheer strength and immobility of the national belief in their novelty. novelty! why, it is not possible to make an experiment in government, in art, in literature, in sociology, or in morals, that has not been made over, and over, and over again. the glories of england are our glories. she can achieve nothing that our fathers did not help to make possible to her. the learning, the power, the refinement of a great nation, are not the growth of a century, but of many centuries; each generation builds upon the work of the preceding. for untold ages our ancestors wrought to rear that "reverend pile," the civilization of england. and shall we now try to belittle the mighty structure because other though kindred hands are laying the top courses while we have elected to found a new tower in another land? the american eulogist of civilization who is not proud of his heritage in england's glory is unworthy to enjoy his lesser heritage in the lesser glory of his own country. the english, are undoubtedly our intellectual superiors; and as the virtues are solely the product of intelligence and cultivation--a rogue being only a dunce considered from another point of view--they are our moral superiors likewise. why should they not be? theirs is a land, not of ugly schoolhouses grudgingly erected, containing schools supported by such niggardly tax levies as a sparse and hard-handed population will consent to pay, but of ancient institutions splendidly endowed by the state and by centuries of private benefaction. as a means of dispensing formulated ignorance our boasted public school system is not without merit; it spreads out education sufficiently thin to give everyone enough to make him a more competent fool than he would have been without it; but to compare it with that which is not the creature of legislation acting with malice aforethought, but the unnoted out-growth of ages, is to be ridiculous. it is like comparing the laid-out town of a western prairie, its right-angled streets, prim cottages, and wooden a-b-c shops, with the grand old town of oxford, topped with the clustered domes and towers of its twenty-odd great colleges, the very names of many of whose founders have perished from human record, as have the chronicles of the times in which they lived. it is not only that we have had to "subdue the wilderness"; our educational conditions are adverse otherwise. our political system is unfavorable. our fortunes, accumulated in one generation, are dispersed in the next. if it takes three generations to make a gentleman one will not make a thinker. instruction is acquired, but capacity for instruction is transmitted. the brain that is to contain a trained intellect is not the result of a haphazard marriage between a clown and a wench, nor does it get its tractable tissues from a hard-headed farmer and a soft-headed milliner. if you confess the importance of race and pedigree in a horse and a dog how dare you deny it in a man? i do not hold that the political and social system that creates an aristocracy of leisure is the best possible kind of human organization; i perceive its disadvantages clearly enough. but i do hold that a system under which most important public trusts, political and professional, civil and military ecclesiastical and secular, are held by educated men--that is, men of trained faculties and disciplined judgment--is not an altogether faulty system. it is a universal human weakness to disparage the knowledge that we do not ourselves possess, but it is only my own beloved country that can justly boast herself the last refuge and asylum of the impotents and incapables who deny the advantage of all knowledge whatsoever. it was an american senator who declared that he had devoted a couple of weeks to the study of finance, and found the accepted authorities all wrong. it was another american senator who, confronted with certain hostile facts in the history of another country, proposed "to brush away all facts, and argue the question on consideration of plain common sense." republican institutions have this disadvantage: by incessant changes in the _personnel_ of government--to say nothing of the manner of men that ignorant constituencies elect; and all constituencies are ignorant--we attain to no fixed principles and standards. there is no such thing here as a science of politics, because it is not to any one's interest to make politics the study of his life. nothing is settled; no truth finds general acceptance. what we do one year we undo the next, and do over again the year following. our energy is wasted in, and our prosperity suffers from, experiments endlessly repeated. every patriot believes his country better than any other country. now, they cannot all be the best; indeed, only one can be the best, and it follows that the patriots of all the others have suffered themselves to be misled by a mere sentiment into blind unreason. in its active manifestation--it is fond of killing--patriotism would be well if it were simply defensive; but it is also aggressive, and the same feeling that prompts us to strike for our altars and our fires impels us over the border to quench the fires and overturn the altars of our neighbors. it is all very pretty and spirited, what the poets tell us about thermopylæ, but there was as much patriotism at one end of that pass as there was at the other. patriotism deliberately and with folly aforethought subordinates the interests of a whole to the interests of a part. worse still, the fraction so favored is determined by an accident of birth or residence. the western hoodlum who cuts the tail from a chinaman's nowl, and would cut the nowl from the body, if he dared, is simply a patriot with a logical mind, having the courage of his opinions. patriotism is fierce as a fever, pitiless as the grave and blind as a stone. iii there are two ways of clarifying liquids--ebullition and precipitation; one forces the impurities to the surface as scum, the other sends them to the bottom as dregs. the former is the more offensive, and that seems to be our way; but neither is useful if the impurities are merely separated but not removed. we are told with tiresome iteration that our social and political systems are clarifying; but when is the skimmer to appear? if the purpose of free institutions is good government where is the good government?--when may it be expected to begin?--how is it to come about? systems of government have no sanctity; they are practical means to a simple end--the public welfare; worthy of no respect if they fail of its accomplishment. the tree is known by its fruit. ours is bearing crab-apples. if the body politic is constitutionally diseased, as i verily believe; if the disorder inheres in the system; there is no remedy. the fever must burn itself out, and then nature will do the rest. one does not prescribe what time alone can administer. we have put our criminals and dunces into power; do we suppose they will efface themselves? will they restore to _us_ the power of governing _them_? they must have their way and go their length. the natural and immemorial sequence is: tyranny, insurrection, combat. in combat everything that wears a sword has a chance--even the right. history does not forbid us to hope. but it forbids us to rely upon numbers; they will be against us. if history teaches anything worth learning it teaches that the majority of mankind is neither good nor wise. when government is founded upon the public conscience and the public intelligence the stability of states is a dream. in that moment of time that is covered by historical records we have abundant evidence that each generation has believed itself wiser and better than any of its predecessors; that each people has believed itself to have the secret of national perpetuity. in support of this universal delusion there is nothing to be said; the desolate places of the earth cry out against it. vestiges of obliterated civilizations cover the earth; no savage but has camped upon the sites of proud and populous cities; no desert but has heard the statesman's boast of national stability. our nation, our laws, our history--all shall go down to everlasting oblivion with the others, and by the same road. but i submit that we are traveling it with needless haste. it can be spared--this jonah's gourd civilization of ours. we have hardly the rudiments of a true one; compared with the splendors of which we catch dim glimpses in the fading past, ours are as an illumination of tallow candles. we know no more than the ancients; we only know other things, but nothing in which is an assurance of perpetuity, and little that is truly wisdom. our vaunted _elixir vitae_ is the art of printing. what good will that do when posterity, struck by the inevitable intellectual blight, shall have ceased to read what is printed? our libraries will become its stables, our books its fuel. ours is a civilization that might be heard from afar in space as a scolding and a riot; a civilization in which the race has so differentiated as to have no longer a community of interest and feeling; which shows as a ripe result of the principles underlying it a reasonless and rascally feud between rich and poor; in which one is offered a choice (if one have the means to take it) between american plutocracy and european militocracy, with an imminent chance of renouncing either for a stultocratic republic with a headsman in the presidential chair and every laundress in exile. i have not a "solution" to the "labor problem." i have only a story. many and many years ago lived a man who was so good and wise that none in all the world was so good and wise as he. he was one of those few whose goodness and wisdom are such that after some time has passed their foolish fellowmen begin to think them gods and treasure their words as divine law; and by millions they are worshiped through centuries of time. amongst the utterances of this man was one command--not a new nor perfect one--which has seemed to his adorers so preeminently wise that they have given it a name by which it is known over half the world. one of the sovereign virtues of this famous law is its simplicity, which is such that all hearing must understand; and obedience is so easy that any nation refusing is unfit to exist except in the turbulence and adversity that will surely come to it. when a people would avert want and strife, or, having them, would restore plenty and peace, this noble commandment offers the only means--all other plans for safety or relief are as vain as dreams, as empty as the crooning of hags. and behold, here is it: "all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." what! you unappeasable rich, coining the sweat and blood of your workmen into drachmas, understanding the law of supply and demand as mandatory and justifying your cruel greed by the senseless dictum that "business is business"; you lazy workmen, railing at the capitalist by whose desertion, when you have frightened away his capital, you starve--rioting and shedding blood and torturing and poisoning by way of answer to exaction and by way of exaction; you foul anarchists, applauding with untidy palms when one of your coward kind hurls a bomb amongst powerless and helpless women and children; you imbecile politicians with a plague of remedial legislation for the irremediable; you writers and thinkers unread in history, with as many "solutions to the labor problem" as there are among you those who can not coherently define it--do you really think yourselves wiser than jesus of nazareth? do you seriously suppose yourselves competent to amend his plan for dealing with evils besetting nations and souls? have you the effrontery to believe that those who spurn his golden rule you can bind to obedience of an act entitled an act to amend an act? bah! you fatigue the spirit. go get ye to your scoundrel lockouts, your villain strikes, your blacklisting, your boycotting, your speeching, marching and maundering; but if ye do not to others as ye would that they do to you it shall occur, and that right soon, that ye be drowned in your own blood and your pick-pocket civilization quenched as a star that falls into the sea. the gift o' gab a book entitled _forensic eloquence_, by mr. john goss, appears to have for purpose to teach the young idea how to spout, and that purpose, i dare say, it will accomplish if something is not done to prevent. i know nothing of the matter myself, a strong distaste for forensic eloquence, or eloquence of any kind implying a man mounted on his legs and doing all the talking, having averted me from its study. the training of the youth of this country to utterance of themselves after that fashion i should regard as a disaster of magnitude. so far as i know it, forensic eloquence is the art of saying things in such a way as to make them pass for more than they are worth. employed in matters of importance (and for other employment it were hardly worth acquiring) it is mischievous because dishonest and misleading. in the public service truth toils best when not clad in cloth-of-gold and bedaubed with fine lace. if eloquence does not beget action it is valueless; but action which results from the passions, sentiments and emotions is less likely to be wise than that which comes of a persuaded judgment. for that reason i cannot help thinking that the influence of bismarck in german politics was more wholesome than is that of mr. john temple graves. for eloquence _per se_--considered merely as an art of pleasing--i entertain something of the respect evoked by success; for it always pleases at least the speaker. it is to speech what an ornate style is to writing--good and pleasant enough in its time and place and, like pie-crust and the evening girl, destitute of any basis in common sense. forensic eloquence, on the contrary, has an all too sufficient foundation in reason and the order of things: it promotes the ambition of tricksters and advances the fortunes of rogues. for i take it that the ciceros, the mirabeaus, the burkes, the o'connells, the patrick henrys and the rest of them--pets of the text-bookers and scourges of youth--belong in either the one category or the other, or in both. anyhow i find it impossible to think of them as highminded men and right-forth statesmen--with their actors' tricks, their devices of the countenance, inventions of gesture and other cunning expedients having nothing to do with the matter in hand. extinction of the orator i hold to be the most beneficent possibility of evolution. if mr. goss has done anything to retard that blessed time when the bourke cockrans shall cease from troubling and the weary be at rest he is an enemy of his race. "what!" exclaims the thoughtless reader--i have but one--"are not the great forensic speeches by the world's famous orators good reading? considering them merely as literature do you not derive a high and refining pleasure from them?" i do not: i find them turgid and tumid no end. they are bad reading, though they may have been good hearing. in order to enjoy them one must have in memory what, indeed, one is seldom permitted to forget: that they were addressed to the ear; and in imagination one must hold some shadowy simulacrum of the orator himself, uttering his work. these conditions being fulfilled there remains for application to the matter of the discourse too little attention to get much good of it, and the total effect is confusion. literature by which the reader is compelled to bear in mind the producer and the circumstances under which it was produced can be spared. natura benigna it is not always on remote islands peopled with pagans that great disasters occur, as memory witnesseth. nor are the forces of nature inadequate to production of a fiercer throe than any that we have known. the situation is this: we are tied by the feet to a fragile shell imperfectly confining a force powerful enough under favoring conditions, to burst it asunder and set the fragments wallowing and grinding together in liquid flame, in the blind fury of a readjustment. nay, it needs no such stupendous cataclysm to depeople this uneasy orb. let but a square mile be blown out of the bottom of the sea, or a great rift open there. is it to be supposed that we would be unaffected in the altered conditions generated by a contest between the ocean and the earth's molten core? these fatalities are not only possible but in the highest degree probable. it is probable, indeed, that they have occurred over and over again, effacing all the more highly organized forms of life, and compelling the slow march of evolution to begin anew. slow? on the stage of eternity the passing of races--the entrances and exits of life--are incidents in a brisk and lively drama, following one another with confusing rapidity. mankind has not found it practicable to abandon and avoid those places where the forces of nature have been most malign. the track, of the western tornado is speedily repeopled. san francisco is still populous, despite its earthquake, galveston despite its storm, and even the courts of lisbon are not kept by the lion and the lizard. in the peruvian village straight downward into whose streets the crew of a united states warship once looked from the crest of a wave that stranded her a half mile inland are heard the tinkle of the guitar and the voices of children at play. there are people living at herculaneum and pompeii. on the slopes about catania the goatherd endures with what courage he may the trembling of the ground beneath his feet as old enceladus again turns over on his other side. as the hoang-ho goes back inside its banks after fertilizing its contiguity with hydrate of china-man the living agriculturist follows the receding wave, sets up his habitation beneath the broken embankment, and again the valley of the gone away blossoms as the rose, its people diving with death. this matter can not be amended: the race exposes itself to peril because it can do no otherwise. in all the world there is no city of refuge--no temple in which to take sanctuary, clinging to the horns of the altar--no "place apart" where, like hunted deer, we can hope to elude the baying pack of nature's malevolences. the dead-line is drawn at the gate of life: man crosses it at birth. his advent is a challenge to the entire pack--earthquake, storm, fire, flood, drought, heat, cold, wild beasts, venomous reptiles, noxious insects, bacilli, spectacular plague and velvet-footed household disease--all are fierce and tireless in pursuit. dodge, turn and double how he can, there's no eluding them; soon or late some of them have him by the throat and his spirit returns to the god who gave it--and gave them. we are told that this earth was made for our inhabiting. our dearly beloved brethren in the faith, our spiritual guides, philosophers and friends of the pulpit, never tire of pointing out the goodness of god in giving us so excellent a place to live in and commending the admirable adaptation of all things to our needs. what a fine world it is, to be sure--a darling little world, "so suited to the needs of man." a globe of liquid fire, straining within a shell relatively no thicker than that of an egg--a shell constantly cracking and in momentary danger of going all to pieces! three-fourths of this delectable field of human activity are covered with an element in which we can not breathe, and which swallows us by myriads: with moldering bones the deep is white from the frozen zones to the tropic bright. of the other one-fourth more than one-half is uninhabitable by reason of climate. on the remaining one-eighth we pass a comfortless and precarious existence in disputed occupancy with countless ministers of death and pain--pass it in fighting for it, tooth and nail, a hopeless battle in which we are foredoomed to defeat. everywhere death, terror, lamentation and the laughter that is more terrible than tears--the fury and despair of a race hanging on to life by the tips of its fingers. and the prize for which we strive, "to have and to hold"--what is it? a thing that is neither enjoyed while had, or missed when lost. so worthless it is, so unsatisfying, so inadequate to purpose, so false to hope and at its best so brief, that for consolation and compensation we set up fantastic faiths of an aftertime in a better world from which no confirming whisper has ever reached us across the void. heaven is a prophecy uttered by the lips of despair, but hell is an inference from analogy. the death penalty i "down with the gallows!" is a cry not unfamiliar in america. there is always a movement afoot to make odious the just principle; of "a life for a life"--to represent it as "a relic of barbarism," "a usurpation of the divine authority," and the rest of it. the law making murder punishable by death is as purely a measure of self-defense as is the display of a pistol to one diligently endeavoring to kill without provocation. it is in precisely the same sense an admonition, a warning to abstain from crime. society says by that law: "if you kill one of us you die," just as by display of the pistol the individual whose life is attacked says: "desist or be shot." to be effective the warning in either case must be more than an idle threat. even the most unearthly reasoner among the anti-hanging unfortunates would hardly expect to frighten away an assassin who knew the pistol to be unloaded. of course these queer illogicians can not be made to understand that their position commits them to absolute non-resistance to any kind of aggression; and that is fortunate for the rest of us, for if as christians they frankly and consistently took that ground we should be under the miserable necessity of respecting them. we have good reason to hold that the horrible prevalence of murder in this country is due to the fact that we do not execute our laws--that the death penalty is threatened but not inflicted--that the pistol is not loaded. in civilized countries where there is enough respect for the laws to administer them, there is enough to obey them. while man still has as much of the ancestral brute as his skin can hold without cracking we shall have thieves and demagogues and anarchists and assassins and persons with a private system of lexicography who define murder as disease and hanging as murder, but in all this welter of crime and stupidity are areas where human life is comparatively secure against the human hand. it is at least a significant coincidence that in these the death penalty for murder is fairly well enforced by judges who do not derive any part of their authority from those for whose restraint and punishment they hold it. against the life of one guiltless person the lives of ten thousand murderers count for nothing; their hanging is a public good, without reference to the crimes that disclose their deserts. if we could discover them by other signs than their bloody deeds they should be hanged anyhow. unfortunately we must have a death as evidence. the scientist who will tell us how to recognize the potential assassin, and persuade us to kill him, will be the greatest benefactor of his century. what would these enemies of the gibbet have--these lineal descendants of the drunken mobs that hooted the hangman at tyburn tree; this progeny of criminals, which has so defiled with the mud of its animosity the noble office of public executioner that even "in this enlightened age" he shirks his high duty, entrusting it to a hidden or unnamed subordinate? if murder is unjust of what importance is it whether its punishment by death be just or not?--nobody needs to incur it. men are not drafted for the death penalty; they volunteer. "then it is not deterrent," mutters the gentleman whose rude forefather hooted the hangman. well, as to that, the law which is to accomplish more than a part of its purpose must be awaited with great patience. every murder proves that hanging is not altogether deterrent; every hanging, that it is somewhat deterrent--it deters the person hanged. a man's first murder is his crime, his second is ours. the socialists, it seems, believe with alphonse karr, in the expediency of abolishing the death penalty; but apparently they do not hold, with him, that the assassins should begin. they want the state to begin, believing that the magnanimous example will effect a change of heart in those about to murder. this, i take it, is the meaning of their assertion that death penalties have not the deterring influence that imprisonment for life carries. in this they obviously err: death deters at least the person who suffers it--he commits no more murder; whereas the assassin who is imprisoned for life and immune from further punishment may with impunity kill his keeper or whomsoever he may be able to get at. even as matters now are, incessant vigilance is required to prevent convicts in prison from murdering their attendants and one another. how would it be if the "life-termer" were assured against any additional inconvenience for braining a guard occasionally, or strangling a chaplain now and then? a penitentiary may be described as a place of punishment and reward; and under the system proposed, the difference in desirableness between a sentence and an appointment would be virtually effaced. to overcome this objection a life sentence would have to mean solitary confinement, and that means insanity. is that what these gentlemen propose to substitute for death? the death penalty, say these amiables and futilitarians, creates blood-thirstiness in the unthinking masses and defeats its own ends--is itself a cause of murder, not a check. these gentlemen are themselves of "the unthinking masses"--they do not know how to think. let them try to trace and lucidly expound the chain of motives lying between the knowledge that a murderer has been hanged and the wish to commit a murder. how, precisely, does the one beget the other? by what unearthly process of reasoning does a man turning away from the gallows persuade himself that it is expedient to incur the danger of hanging? let us have pointed out to us the several steps in that remarkable mental progress. obviously, the thing is absurd; one might as reasonably say that contemplation of a pitted face will make a man wish to go and catch smallpox, or the spectacle of an amputated limb on the scrap-heap of a hospital tempt him to cut off his arm or renounce his leg. "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," say the opponents of the death penalty, "is not justice; it is revenge and unworthy of a christian civilization." it is exact justice: nobody can think of anything more accurately just than such punishments would be, whatever the motive in awarding them. unfortunately such a system is not practicable, but he who denies its justice must deny also the justice of a bushel of corn for a bushel of corn, a dollar for a dollar, service for service. we can not undertake by such clumsy means as laws and courts to do to the criminal exactly what he has done to his victim, but to demand a life for a life is simple, practicable, expedient and (therefore) right. "taking the life of a murderer does not restore the life he took, therefore it is a most illogical punishment. two wrongs do not make a right." here's richness! hanging an assassin is illogical because it does not restore the life of his victim; incarceration is logical; therefore, incarceration does--_quod, erat demonstrandum._ two wrongs certainly do not make a right, but the veritable thing in dispute is whether taking the life of a life-taker is a wrong. so naked and unashamed an example of _petitio principii_ would disgrace a debater in a pinafore. and these wonder-mongers have the effrontery to babble of "logic"! why, if one of them were to meet a syllogism in a lonely road he would run away in a hundred and fifty directions as hard as ever he could hoof it. one is almost ashamed to dispute with such intellectual cloutlings. whatever an individual may rightly do to protect himself society may rightly do to protect him, for he is a part of itself. if he may rightly take life in defending himself society may rightly take life in defending him. if society may rightly take life in defending him it may rightly threaten to take it. having rightly and mercifully threatened to take it, it not only rightly may take it, but expediently must. ii the law of a life for a life does not altogether prevent murder. no law can altogether prevent any form of crime, nor is it desirable that it should. doubtless god could so have created us that our sense of right and justice could have existed without contemplation of injustice and wrong; as doubtless he could so have created us that we could have felt compassion without a knowledge of suffering; but he did not. constituted as we are, we can know good only by contrast with evil. our sense of sin is what our virtues feed upon; in the thin air of universal morality the altar-fires of honor and the beacons of conscience could not be kept alight. a community without crime would be a community without warm and elevated sentiments--without the sense of justice, without generosity, without courage, without mercy, without magnanimity--a community of small, smug souls, uninteresting to god and uncoveted by the devil. we can have, and do have, too much crime, no doubt; what the wholesome proportion is none can tell. just now we are running a good deal to murder, but he who can gravely attribute that phenomenon, or any part of it, to infliction of the death penalty, instead of to virtual immunity from any penalty at all, is justly entitled to the innocent satisfaction that comes of being a simpleton. iii the new woman is against the death penalty, naturally, for she is hot and hardy in the conviction that whatever is is wrong. she has visited this world in order to straighten things about a bit, and is in distress lest the number of things be insufficient to her need. the matter is important variously; not least so in its relation to the new heaven and the new earth that are to be the outcome of woman suffrage. there can be no doubt that the vast majority of women have sentimental objections to the death penalty that quite outweigh such practical considerations in its favor as they can be persuaded to comprehend. aided by the minority of men afflicted by the same mental malady, they will indubitably effect its abolition in the first lustrum of their political "equality." the new woman will scarcely feel the seat of power warm beneath her before giving to the assassin's "unhand me, villain!" the authority of law. so we shall make again the old experiment, discredited by a thousand failures, of preventing crime by tenderness to caught criminals. and the criminal uncaught will treat us to a quantity and quality of crime notably augmented by the christian spirit of the new _régime_. iv as to painless execution, the simple and practical way to make them both just and expedient is the adoption by murderers of a system of painless assassinations. until this is done there seems to be no call to renounce the wholesome discomfort of the style of executions endeared to us by memories and associations of the tenderest character. there is, i fancy, a shaping notion in the observant mind that the penologists and their allies have gone about as far as they can safely be permitted to go in the direction of a softer suasion of the criminal nature toward good behavior. the modern prison has become a rather more comfortable habitation than the dangerous classes are accustomed to at home. modern prison life has in their eyes something of the charm and glamor of an ideal existence, like that in the happy valley from which rasselas had the folly to escape. whatever advantages to the public may be secured by abating the rigors of imprisonment and inconveniences incident to execution, there is this objection: it makes them less deterrent. let the penologers and philanthropers have their way and even hanging might be made so pleasant and withal so interesting a social distinction that it would deter nobody but the person hanged. adopt the euthanasian method of electricity, asphyxia by smothering in rose-leaves, or slow poisoning with rich food, and the death penalty may come to be regarded as the object of a noble ambition to the _bon vivant_, and the rising young suicide may go and kill somebody else instead of himself, in order to receive from the public executioner a happier dispatch than his own 'prentice hand can assure him. but the advocates of agreeable pains and penalties tell us that in the darker ages, when cruel and degrading punishment was the rule, and was freely inflicted for every light infraction of the law, crime was more common than it is now; and in this they appear to be right. but one and all, they overlook a fact equally obvious and vastly significant, that the intellectual, moral and social condition of the masses was very low. crime was more common because ignorance was more common, poverty was more common, sins of authority, and therefore hatred of authority, were more common. the world of even a century ago was a different world from the world of today, and a vastly more uncomfortable one. the popular adage to the contrary notwithstanding, human nature was not by a long cut the same then that it is now. in the very ancient time of that early english king, george iii, when women were burned at the stake in public for various offenses and men were hanged for "coining" and children for theft, and in the still remoter period (_circa_ ), when prisoners were boiled in several waters, divers sorts of criminals were disemboweled and some are thought to have undergone the _peine forte et dure_ of cold-pressing (an infliction which the pen of hugo has since made popular--in literature)--in these wicked old days crime flourished, not because of the law's severity, but in spite of it. it is possible that our law-making ancestors understood the situation as it then was a trifle better than we can understand it on the hither side of this gulf of years, and that they were not the reasonless barbarians that we think them to have been. and if they were, what must have been the unreason and barbarity of the criminal element with which they had to deal? i am far from thinking that severity of punishment can have the same restraining effect as probability of some punishment being inflicted; but if mildness of penalty is to be superadded to difficulty of conviction, and both are to be mounted upon laxity in detection, the pile will be complete indeed. there is a peculiar fitness, perhaps, in the fact that all these pleas for comfortable punishment should be urged at a time when there appears to be a general disposition to inflict no punishment at all. there are, however, still a few old-fashioned persons who hold it obvious that one who is ambitious to break the laws of his country will not with so light a heart and so airy an indifference incur the peril of a harsh penalty as he will the chance of one more nearly resembling that which he would himself select. v after lying for more than a century dead i was revived, dowered with a new body, and restored to society. the first thing of interest that i observed was an enormous building, covering a square mile of ground. it was surrounded on all sides by a high, strong wall of hewn stone upon which armed sentinels paced to and fro. in one face of the wall was a single gate of massive iron, strongly guarded. while admiring the cyclopean architecture of the "reverend pile" i was accosted by a man in uniform, evidently the warden, with a cheerful salutation. "colonel," i said, "pray tell me what is this building." "this," said he, "is the new state penitentiary. it is one of twelve, all alike." "you surprise me," i replied. "surely the criminal element must have increased enormously." "yes, indeed," he assented; "under the reform _régime_, which began in your day, crime became so powerful, bold and fierce that arrests were no longer possible and the prisons then in existence were soon overcrowded. the state was compelled to erect others of greater capacity." "but, colonel," i protested, "if the criminals were too bold and powerful to be taken into custody, of what use are the prisons? and how are they crowded?" he fixed upon me a look that i could not fail to interpret as expressing a doubt of my sanity. "what!" he said, "is it possible that the modern penology is unknown to you? do you suppose we practice the antiquated and ineffective method of shutting up the rascals? sir, the growth of the criminal element has, as i said, compelled the erection of more and larger prisons. we have enough to hold comfortably all the honest men and women of the state. within these protecting walls they carry on all the necessary vocations of life excepting commerce. that is necessarily in the hands of the rogues, as before." "venerated representative of reform," i exclaimed, wringing his hand with effusion, "you are knowledge, you are history, you are the higher education! we must talk further. come, let us enter this benign edifice; you shall show me your dominion and instruct me in the rules. you shall propose me as an inmate." i walked rapidly to the gate. when challenged by the sentinel, i turned to summon my instructor. he was nowhere visible. i turned again to look at the prison. nothing was there: desolate and forbidding, as about the broken statue of ozymandias. the lone and level sands stretched far away. immortality the desire for life everlasting has commonly been affirmed to be universal--at least that is the view taken by those unacquainted with oriental faiths and with oriental character. those of us whose knowledge is a trifle wider are not prepared to say that the desire is universal nor even general. if the devout buddhist, for example, wishes to "live always," he has not succeeded in very clearly formulating the desire. the sort of thing that he is pleased to hope for is not what we should call life, and not what many of us would care for. when a man says that everybody has "a horror of annihilation," we may be very sure that he has not many opportunities for observation, or that he has not availed himself of all that he has. most persons go to sleep rather gladly, yet sleep is virtual annihilation while it lasts; and if it should last forever the sleeper would be no worse off after a million years of it than after an hour of it. there are minds sufficiently logical to think of it that way, and to them annihilation is not a disagreeable thing to contemplate and expect. in this matter of immortality, people's beliefs appear to go along with their wishes. the man who is content with annihilation thinks he will get it; those that want immortality are pretty sure they are immortal; and that is a very comfortable allotment of faiths. the few of us that are left unprovided for are those who do not bother themselves much about the matter, one way or another. the question of human immortality is the most momentous that the mind is capable of conceiving. if it is a fact that the dead live all other facts are in comparison trivial and without interest. the prospect of obtaining certain knowledge with regard to this stupendous matter is not encouraging. in all countries but those in barbarism the powers of the profoundest and most penetrating intelligences have been ceaselessly addressed to the task of glimpsing a life beyond this life; yet today no one can truly say that he knows. it is as much a matter of faith as ever it was. our modern christian nations profess a passionate hope and belief in another world, yet the most popular writer and speaker of his time, the man whose lectures drew the largest audiences, the work of whose pen brought him the highest rewards, was he who most strenuously strove to destroy the ground of that hope and unsettle the foundations of that belief. the famous and popular frenchman, professor of spectacular astronomy, camille flammarion, affirms immortality because he has talked with departed souls who said that it was true. yes, monsieur, but surely you know the rule about hearsay evidence. we anglo-saxons are very particular about that. m. flammarion says: "i don't repudiate the presumptive arguments of schoolmen. i merely supplement them with something positive. for instance, if you assumed the existence of god this argument of the scholastics is a good one. god has implanted in all men the desire of perfect happiness. this desire cannot be satisfied in our lives here. if there were not another life wherein to satisfy it then god would be a deceiver. _voila tout_." there is more: the desire of perfect happiness does not imply immortality, even if there is a god, for ( ) god may not have implanted it, but merely suffers it to exist, as he suffers sin to exist, the desire of wealth, the desire to live longer than we do in this world. it is not held that god implanted all the desires of the human heart. then why hold that he implanted that of perfect happiness? ( ) even if he did--even if a divinely implanted desire entail its own gratification--even if it cannot be gratified in this life--that does not imply immortality. it implies _only_ another life long enough for its gratification just once. an eternity of gratification is not a logical inference from it. ( ) perhaps god _is_ "a deceiver;" who knows that he is not? assumption of the existence of a god is one thing; assumption of the existence of a god who is honorable and candid according to our conception of honor and candor is another. ( ) there may be an honorable and candid god. he may have implanted in us the desire of perfect happiness. it may be--it is--impossible to gratify that desire in this life. still, another life is not implied, for god may not have intended us to draw the inference that he is going to gratify it. if omniscient and omnipotent, god must be held to have intended whatever occurs, but no such god is assumed in m. flammarion's illustration, and it may be that god's knowledge and power are limited, or that one of them is limited. m. flammarion is a learned, if somewhat theatrical, astronomer. he has a tremendous imagination, which naturally is more at home in the marvelous and catastrophic than in the orderly regions of familiar phenomena. to him the heavens are an immense pyrotechnicon and he is the master of the show and sets off the fireworks. but he knows nothing of logic, which is the science of straight thinking, and his views of things have therefore no value; they are nebulous. nothing is clearer than that our pre-existence is a dream, having absolutely no basis in anything that we know or can hope to know. of after-existence there is said to be evidence, or rather testimony, in assurances of those who are in present enjoyment of it--if it is enjoyable. whether this testimony has actually been given--and it is the only testimony worth a moment's consideration--is a disputed point. many persons living this life profess to have received it. but nobody professes, or ever has professed, to have received a communication of any kind from one in actual experience of the fore-life. "the souls as yet ungarmented," if such there are, are dumb to question. the land beyond the grave has been, if not observed, yet often and variously described: if not explored and surveyed, yet carefully charted. from among so many accounts of it that we have, he must be fastidious indeed who cannot be suited. but of the fatherland that spreads before the cradle--the great heretofore, wherein we all dwelt if we are to dwell in the hereafter, we have no account. nobody professes knowledge of that. no testimony reaches our ears of flesh concerning its topographical or other features; no one has been so enterprising as to wrest from its actual inhabitants any particulars of their character and appearance. and among educated experts and professional proponents of worlds to be there is a general denial of its existence. i am of their way of thinking about that. the fact that we have no recollection of a former life is entirely conclusive of the matter. to have lived an unrecollected life is impossible and unthinkable, for there would be nothing to connect the new life with the old--no thread of continuity--nothing that persisted from the one life to the other. the later birth would be that of another person, an altogether different being, unrelated to the first--a new john smith succeeding to the late tom jones. let us not be misled here by a false analogy. today i may get a thwack o' the mazzard which will give me an intervening season of unconsciousness between yesterday and to-morrow. thereafter i may live to a green old age with no recollection of anything that i knew, or did, or was before the accident; yet i shall be the same person, for between the old life and the new there will be a _nexus_, a thread of continuity, something spanning the gulf from the one state to the other, and the same in both--namely, my body with its habits, capacities and powers. that is i; that identifies me to others as my former self--authenticates and credentials me as the person that incurred the cranial mischance, dislodging memory. but when death occurs _all_ is dislodged if memory is; for between two merely mental or spiritual existences memory is the only _nexus_ conceivable; consciousness of identity is the only identity. to live again without memory of having lived before is to live another. re-existence without recollection is absurd. there is nothing to re-exist. emancipated woman what i should like to know is, how "the enlargement of woman's sphere" by her entrance into various activities of commercial, professional and industrial life benefits the sex. it may please helen gougar and satisfy her sense of logical accuracy to say, as she does: "we women must work in order to fill the places left vacant by liquor-drinking men." but who filled these places before? did they remain vacant, or were there then disappointed applicants, as now? if my memory serves, there has been no time in the period that it covers when the supply of workers--abstemious male workers--was not in excess of the demand. that it has always been so is sufficiently attested by the universally inadequate wage rate. employers seldom fail, and never for long, to get all the workmen they need. the field into which women have put their sickles was already overcrowded with reapers. whatever employment women have obtained has been got by displacing men--who would otherwise be supporting women. where is the general advantage? we may shout "high tariff," "combination of capital," "demonetization of silver," and what not, but if searching for the cause of augmented poverty and crime, "industrial discontent" and the tramp evil, instead of dogmatically expounding it, we should take some account of this enormous, sudden addition to the number of workers seeking work. if any one thinks that within the brief period of a generation the visible supply of labor can be enormously augmented without profoundly affecting the stability of things and disastrously touching the interests of wage-workers let no rude voice dispel his dream of such maleficent agencies as his slumbrous understanding may joy to affirm. and let our widows of ashur unlung themselves in advocacy of quack remedies for evils of which themselves are cause; it remains true that when the contention of two lions for one bone is exacerbated by the accession of a lioness the squabble is not composable by stirring up some bears in the cage adjacent. indubitably a woman is under no obligation to sacrifice herself to the good of her sex by foregoing needed employment in the hope that it may fall to a man gifted with dependent women. nevertheless our congratulations are more intelligent when bestowed upon her individual head than when sifted into the hair of all eve's daughters. this is a world of complexities, in which the lines of interest are so intertangled as frequently to transgress that of sex; and one ambitious to help but half the race may profitably know that every effort to that end provokes a counterbalancing mischief. the "enlargement of woman's opportunities" has benefited individual women. it has not benefited the sex as a whole, and has distinctly damaged the race. the mind that can not discern a score of great and irreparable general evils distinctly traceable to "emancipation of woman" is as impregnable to the light as a toad in a rock. a marked demerit of the new order of things--the _régime_ of female commercial service--is that its main advantage accrues, not to the race, not to the sex, not to the class, not to the individual woman, but to the person of least need and worth--the male employer. (female employers in any considerable number there will not be, but those that we have could give the male ones profitable instruction in grinding the faces of their employees.) this constant increase of the army of labor--always and everywhere too large for the work in sight--by accession of a new contingent of natural oppressibles makes the very teeth of old munniglut thrill with a poignant delight. it brings in that situation known as two laborers seeking one job--and one of them a person whose bones he can easily grind to make his bread; and munniglut is a miller of skill and experience, dusted all over with the evidence of his useful craft. when heaven has assisted the daughters of hope to open to women a new "avenue of opportunities" the first to enter and walk therein, like god in the garden of eden, is the good mr. munniglut, contentedly smoothing the folds out of the superior slope of his paunch, exuding the peculiar aroma of his oleaginous personality and larding the new roadway with the overflow of a righteousness stimulated to action by relish of his own identity. and ever thereafter the subtle suggestion of a fat philistinism lingers along that path of progress like an assertion of a possessory right. it is god's own crystal truth that in dealing with women unfortunate enough to be compelled to earn their own living and fortunate enough to have wrested from fate an opportunity to do so, men of business and affairs treat them with about the same delicate consideration that they show to dogs and horses of the inferior breeds. it does not commonly occur to the wealthy "professional man," or "prominent merchant," to be ashamed to add to his yearly thousands a part of the salary justly due to his female bookkeeper or typewriter, who sits before him all day with an empty belly in order to have an habilimented back. he has a vague, hazy notion that the law of supply and demand is mandatory, and that in submitting himself to it by paying her a half of what he would have to pay a man of inferior efficiency he is supplying the world with a noble example of obedience. i must take the liberty to remind him that the law of supply and demand is not imperative; it is not a statute but a phenomenon. he may reply: "it is imperative; the penalty for disobedience is failure. if i pay more in salaries and wages than i need to, my competitor will not; and with that advantage he will drive me from the field." if his margin of profit is so small that he must eke it out by coining the sweat of his workwomen into nickels i've nothing to say to him. let him adopt in peace the motto, "i cheat to eat." i do not know why he should eat, but nature, who has provided sustenance for the worming sparrow, the sparrowing owl and the owling eagle, approves the needy man of prey and makes a place for him at table. human nature is pretty well balanced; for every lacking virtue there is a rough substitute that will serve at a pinch--as cunning is the wisdom of the unwise, and ferocity the courage of the coward. nobody is altogether bad; the scoundrel who has grown rich by underpaying workmen in his factory will sometimes endow an asylum for indigent seamen. to oppress one's own workmen, and provide for the workmen of a neighbor--to skin those in charge of one's own interests while cottoning and oiling the residuary product of another's skinnery--that is not very good benevolence, nor very good sense, but it serves in place of both. the man who eats _pâté de fois gras_ in the sweat of his girl cashier's face, or wears purple and fine linen in order that his typewriter may have an eocene gown and a pliocene hat, seems a tolerably satisfactory specimen of the genus thief; but let us not forget that in his own home--a fairly good one--he may enjoy and merit that highest and most honorable title on the scroll of woman's favor, "a good provider." one having a claim to that glittering distinction should enjoy immunity from the coarse and troublesome question, "from whose backs and bellies do you provide?" so much for the material results to the sex. what are the moral results? one does not like to speak of them, particularly to those who do not and can not know--to good women in whose innocent minds female immorality is inseparable from flashy gowning and the painted face; to foolish, book-taught men who honestly believe in some protective sanctity that hedges womanhood. if men of the world with years enough to have lived out of the old _régime_ into the new would testify in this matter there would ensue a great rattling of dry bones in bodices of reform-ladies. nay, if the young man about town, knowing nothing of how things were in the "dark backward and absym of time," but something of the moral distance between even so free-running a creature as the society girl and the average working girl of the factory, the shop and the office, would speak out (under assurance of immunity from prosecution) his testimony would be a surprise to the cartilaginous virgins, blowsy matrons, acrid relicts and hairy males of emancipation. it would pain, too, some very worthy but unobservant persons not in sympathy with "the cause." certain significant facts are within the purview of all but the very young and the comfortably blind. to the woman of to-day the man of to-day is imperfectly polite. in place of reverence he gives her "deference"; to the language of compliment has succeeded the language of raillery. men have almost forgotten how to bow. doubtless the advanced female prefers the new manner, as may some of her less forward sisters, thinking it more sincere. it is not; our giddy grandfather talked high-flown nonsense because his heart had tangled his tongue. he treated his woman more civilly than we ours because he loved her better. he never had seen her on the "rostrum" and in the lobby, never had heard her in advocacy of herself, never had read her confessions of his sins, never had felt the stress of her competition, nor himself assisted by daily personal contact in rubbing the bloom off her. he did not know that her virtues were due to her secluded life, but thought, dear old boy, that they were a gift of god. a mad world let us suppose that in tracing its cycloidal curves through the unthinkable reaches of space traversed by the solar system our planet should pass through a "belt" of attenuated matter having the property of dementing us! it is a conception easily enough entertained. that space is full of malign conditions incontinuously distributed; that we are at one time traversing a zone comparatively innocuous and at another spinning through a region of infection; that away behind us in the wake of our swirling flight are fields of plague and pain still agitated by our passage through them,--all this is as good as known. it is almost as certain as it is that in our little annual circle round the sun are points at which we are stoned and brick-batted like a pig in a potato-patch--pelted with little nodules of meteoric metal flung like gravel, and bombarded with gigantic masses hurled by god knows what? what strange adventures await us in those yet untraveled regions toward which we speed?--into what malign conditions may we not at any time plunge?--to the strength and stress of what frightful environment may we not at last succumb? the subject lends itself readily enough to a jest, but i am not jesting: it is really altogether probable that our solar system, racing through space with inconceivable velocity, will one day enter a region charged with something deleterious to the human brain, minding us all mad-wise. by the way, dear reader, did you ever happen to consider the possibility that you are a lunatic, and perhaps confined in an asylum? it seems to you that you are not--that you go with freedom where you will, and use a sweet reasonableness in all your works and ways; but to many a lunatic it seems that he is rameses ii, or the holkar of indore. many a plunging maniac, ironed to the floor of a cell, believes himself the goddess of liberty careering gaily through the ten commandments in a chariot of gold. of your own sanity and identity you have no evidence that is any better than he has of his. more accurately, i have none of mine; for anything i know, you do not exist, nor any one of all the things with which i think myself familiarly conscious. all may be fictions of my disordered imagination. i really know of but one reason for doubting that i am an inmate of an asylum for the insane--namely, the probability that there is nowhere any such thing as an asylum for the insane. this kind of speculation has charms that get a good neck-hold upon attention. for example, if i am really a lunatic, and the persons and things that i seem to see about me have no objective existence, what an ingenious though disordered imagination i must have! what a clever _coup_ it was to invent mr. rockefeller and clothe him with the attribute of permanence! with what amusing qualities i have endowed my laird of skibo, philanthropist. what a masterpiece of creative humor is my fatty taft, statesman, taking himself seriously, even solemnly, and persuading others to do the same! and this city of washington, with its motley population of silurians, parvenoodles and scamps pranking unashamed in the light of day, and its saving contingent of the forsaken righteous, their seed begging bread,--did rabelais' exuberant fancy ever conceive so--but rabelais is, perhaps, himself a conception. surely he is no common maniac who has wrought out of nothing the history, the philosophies, sciences, arts, laws, religions, politics and morals of this imaginary world. nay, the world itself, tumbling uneasily through space like a beetle's ball, is no mean achievement, and i am proud of it. but the mental feat in which i take most satisfaction, and which i doubt not is most diverting to my keepers, is that of creating mr. w.r. hearst, pointing his eyes toward the white house and endowing him with a perilous jacksonian ambition to defile it. the hearst is distinctly a treasure. on the whole, i have done, i think, tolerably well, and when i contemplate the fertility and originality of my inventions, the queer unearthliness and grotesque actions of the characters whom i have evolved, isolated and am cultivating, i cannot help thinking that if heaven had not made me a lunatic my peculiar talent might have made me an entertaining writer. epigrams of a cynic if every hypocrite in the united states were to break his leg to-day the country could be successfully invaded to-morrow by the warlike hypocrites of canada. to dogmatism the spirit of inquiry is the same as the spirit of evil, and to pictures of the latter it appends a tail to represent the note of interrogation. "immoral" is the judgment of the stalled ox on the gamboling lamb. in forgiving an injury be somewhat ceremonious, lest your magnanimity be construed as indifference. true, man does not know woman. but neither does woman. age is provident because the less future we have the more we fear it. reason is fallible and virtue invincible; the winds vary and the needle forsakes the pole, but stupidity never errs and never intermits. since it has been found that the axis of the earth wabbles, stupidity is indispensable as a standard of constancy. in order that the list of able women may be memorized for use at meetings of the oppressed sex, heaven has considerately made it brief. firmness is my persistency; obstinacy is yours. a little heap of dust, a little streak of rust, a stone without a name-- lo! hero, sword and fame. our vocabulary is defective; we give the same name to woman's lack of temptation and man's lack of opportunity. "you scoundrel, you have wronged me," hissed the philosopher. "may you live forever!" the man who thinks that a garnet can be made a ruby by setting it in brass is writing "dialect" for publication. "who art thou, stranger, and what dost thou seek?" "i am generosity, and i seek a person named gratitude." "then thou dost not deserve to find her." "true. i will go about my business and think of her no more. but who art thou, to be so wise?" "i am gratitude--farewell forever." there was never a genius who was not thought a fool until he disclosed himself; whereas he is a fool then only. the boundaries that napoleon drew have been effaced; the kingdoms that he set up have disappeared. but all the armies and statecraft of europe cannot unsay what you have said. strive not for singularity in dress; fools have the more and men of sense the less. to look original is not worth while, but be in mind a little out of style. a conqueror arose from the dead. "yesterday," he said, "i ruled half the world." "please show me the half that you ruled," said an angel, pointing out a wisp of glowing vapor floating in space. "that is the world." "who art thou, shivering in thy furs?" "my name is avarice. what is thine?" "unselfishness." "where is thy clothing, placid one?" "thou art wearing it." to be comic is merely to be playful, but wit is a serious matter. to laugh at it is to confess that you do not understand. if you would be accounted great by your contemporaries, be not too much greater than they. to have something that he will not desire, nor know that he has--such is the hope of him who seeks the admiration of posterity. the character of his work does not matter; he is a humorist. women, and foxes, being weak, are distinguished by superior tact. to fatten pigs, confine and feed them; to fatten rogues, cultivate a generous disposition. every heart is the lair of a ferocious animal. the greatest wrong that you can put upon a man is to provoke him to let out his beast. when two irreconcilable propositions are presented for assent the safest way is to thank heaven that we are not as the unreasoning brutes, and believe both. truth is more deceptive than falsehood, for it is more frequently presented by those from whom we do not expect it, and so has against it a numerical presumption. a bad marriage is like an electrical thrilling machine: it makes you dance, but you can't let go. meeting merit on a street-crossing, success stood still. merit stepped off into the mud and went around him, bowing his apologies, which success had the grace to accept. "i think," says the philosopher divine, "therefore i am." sir, here's a surer sign: we know we live, for with our every breath we feel the fear and imminence of death. the first man you meet is a fool. if you do not think so ask him and he will prove it. he who would rather inflict injustice than suffer it will always have his choice, for no injustice can be done to him. there are as many conceptions of a perfect happiness hereafter as there are minds that have marred their happiness here. we yearn to be, not what we are, but what we are not. if we were immortal we should not crave immortality. a rabbit's foot may bring good luck to you, but it brought none to the rabbit. before praising the wisdom of the man who knows how to hold his tongue ascertain if he knows how to hold his pen. the most charming view in the world is obtained by introspection. love is unlike chess, in that the pieces are moved secretly and the player sees most of the game. but the looker-on has one incomparable advantage: he is not the stake. it is not for nothing that tigers choose to hide in the jungle, for commerce and trade are carried on, mostly, in the open. we say that we love, not whom we will, but whom we must. our judgment need not, therefore, go to confession. of two kinds of temporary insanity, one ends in suicide, the other in marriage. if you give alms from compassion, why require the beneficiary to be "a deserving object?" no other adversity is so sharp as destitution of merit. bereavement is the name that selfishness gives to a particular privation. o proud philanthropist, your hope is vain to get by giving what you lost by gain. with every gift you do but swell the cloud of witnesses against you, swift and loud-- accomplices who turn and swear you split your life: half robber and half hypocrite. you're least unsafe when most intact you hold your curst allotment of dishonest gold. the highest and rarest form of contentment is approval of the success of another. if inclination challenge, stand and fight-- from opportunity the wise take flight. what a woman most admires in a man is distinction among men. what a man most admires in a woman is devotion to himself. those who most loudly invite god's attention to themselves when in peril of death are those who should most fervently wish to escape his observation. when you have made a catalogue of your friend's faults it is only fair to supply him with a duplicate, so that he may know yours. how fascinating is antiquity!--in what a golden haze the ancients lived their lives! we, too, are ancients. of our enchanting time posterity's great poets will sing immortal songs, and its archaeologists will reverently uncover the foundations of our palaces and temples. meantime we swap jack-knives. observe, my son, with how austere a virtue the man without a cent puts aside the temptation to manipulate the market or acquire a monopoly. for study of the good and the bad in woman two women are a needless expense. "there's no free will," says the philosopher; "to hang is most unjust." "there is no free will," assents the officer; "we hang because we must." hope is an explorer who surveys the country ahead. that is why we know so much about the hereafter and so little about the heretofore. remembering that it was a woman who lost the world, we should accept the act of cackling geese in saving rome as partial reparation. there are two classes of women who may do as they please; those who are rich and those who are poor. the former can count on assent, the latter on inattention. when into the house of the heart curiosity is admitted as the guest of love she turns her host out of doors. happiness has not to all the same name: to youth she is known as the future; age knows her as the dream. "who art thou, there in the mire?" "intuition. i leaped all the way from where thou standest in fear on the brink of the bog." "a great feat, madam; accept the admiration of reason, sometimes known as dryfoot." in eradicating an evil, it makes a difference whether it is uprooted or rooted up. the difference is in the reformer. the audible sisterhood rightly affirms the equality of the sexes: no man is so base but some woman is base enough to love him. having no eyes in the back of the head, we see ourselves on the verge of the outlook. only he who has accomplished the notable feat of turning about knows himself the central figure in the universe. truth is so good a thing that falsehood can not afford to be without it. if women did the writing of the world, instead of the talking, men would be regarded as the superior sex in beauty, grace and goodness. love is a delightful day's journey. at the farther end kiss your companion and say farewell. let him who would wish to duplicate his every experience prate of the value of life. the game of discontent has its rules, and he who disregards them cheats. it is not permitted to you to wish to add another's advantages or possessions to your own; you are permitted only to wish to be another. the creator and arbiter of beauty is the heart; to the male rattlesnake the female rattlesnake is the loveliest thing in nature. thought and emotion dwell apart. when the heart goes into the head there is no dissension; only an eviction. if you want to read a perfect book there is only one way: write it. "where goest thou, ignorance?" "to fortify the mind of a maiden against a peril." "i am going thy way. my name is knowledge." "scoundrel! thou art the peril." a prude is one who blushes modestly at the indelicacy of her thoughts and virtuously flies from the temptation of her desires. the man who is always taking you by the hand is the same who if you were hungry would take you by the cafe. when a certain sovereign wanted war he threw out a diplomatic intimation; when ready, a diplomat. if public opinion were determined by a throw of the dice, it would in the long run be half the time right. the gambling known as business looks with austere disfavor upon the business known as gambling. a virtuous widow is the most loyal of mortals; she is faithful to that which is neither pleased nor profited by her fidelity. of one who was "foolish" the creators of our language said that he was "fond." that we have not definitely reversed the meanings of the words should be set down to the credit of our courtesy. rioting gains its end by the power of numbers. to a believer in the wisdom and goodness of majorities it is not permitted to denounce a successful mob. artistically set to grace the wall of a dissecting-place, a human pericardium was fastened with a bit of gum, while, simply underrunning it, the one word, "charity," was writ to show the student band that hovered about it what it once had covered. virtue is not necessary to a good reputation, but a good reputation is helpful to virtue. when lost in a forest go always down hill. when lost in a philosophy or doctrine go up-ward. we submit to the majority because we have to. but we are not compelled to call our attitude of subjection a posture of respect. pascal says that an inch added to the length of cleopatra's nose would have changed the fortunes of the world. but having said this, he has said nothing, for all the forces of nature and all the power of dynasties could not have added an inch to the length of cleopatra's nose. our luxuries are always masquerading as necessaries. woman is the only necessary having the boldness and address to compel recognition as a luxury. "i am the seat of the affections," said the heart. "thank you," said the judgment, "you save my face." "who art thou that weepest?" "man." "nay, thou art egotism. i am the scheme of the universe. study me and learn that nothing matters." "then how does it happen that i weep?" a slight is less easily forgiven than an injury, because it implies something of contempt, indifference, an overlooking of our importance; whereas an injury presupposes some degree of consideration. "the blackguards!" said a traveler whom sicilian brigands had released without ransom; "did they think me a person of no consequence?" the people's plaudits are unheard in hell. generosity to a fallen foe is a virtue that takes no chances. if there was a world before this we must all have died impenitent. we are what we laugh at. the stupid person is a poor joke, the clever, a good one. if every man who resents being called a rogue resented being one this would be a world of wrath. force and charm are important elements of character, but it counts for little to be stronger than honey and sweeter than a lion. grief and discomfiture are coals that cool: why keep them glowing with thy sighs, poor fool? a popular author is one who writes what the people think. genius invites them to think something else. asked to describe the deity, a donkey would represent him with long ears and a tail. man's conception is higher and truer: he thinks of him as somewhat resembling a man. christians and camels receive their burdens kneeling. the sky is a concave mirror in which man sees his own distorted image and seeks to propitiate it. honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long in the land, but do not hope that the life insurance companies will offer thee special rates. persons who are horrified by what they believe to be darwin's theory of the descent of man from the ape may find comfort in the hope of his return. a strong mind is more easily impressed than a weak; you shall not so readily convince a fool that you are a philosopher as a philosopher that you are a fool. a cheap and easy cynicism rails at everything. the master of the art accomplishes the formidable task of discrimination. when publicly censured our first instinct is to make everybody a codefendant. o lady fine, fear not to lead to hymen's shrine a clown: love cannot level up, indeed, but he can level down. men are polygamous by nature and monogamous for opportunity. it is a faithful man who is willing to be watched by a half-dozen wives. the virtues chose modesty to be their queen. "i did not know that i was a virtue," she said. "why did you not choose innocence?" "because of her ignorance," they replied. "she knows nothing but that she is a virtue." it is a wise "man's man" who knows what it is that he despises in a "ladies' man." if the vices of women worshiped their creators men would boast of the adoration they inspire. the only distinction that democracies reward is a high degree of conformity. slang is the speech of him who robs the literary garbage carts on their way to the dumps. a woman died who had passed her life in affirming the superiority of her sex. "at last," she said, "i shall have rest and honors." "enter," said saint peter; "thou shalt wash the faces of the dear little cherubim." to woman a general truth has neither value nor interest unless she can make a particular application of it. and we say that women are not practical! the ignorant know not the depth of their ignorance, but the learned know the shallowness of their learning. he who relates his success in charming woman's heart may be assured of his failure to charm man's ear. what poignant memories the shadows bring what songs of triumph in the dawning ring! by night a coward and by day a king. when among the graves of thy fellows, walk with circumspection; thine own is open at thy feet. as the physiognomist takes his own face as the highest type and standard, so the critic's theories are imposed by his own limitations. "heaven lies about us in our infancy," and our neighbors take up the tale as we mature. "my laws," she said, "are of myself a part: i read them by examining my heart." "true," he replied; "like those to moses known, thine also are engraven upon stone." love is a distracted attention: from contemplation of one's self one turns to consider one's dream. "halt!--who goes there?" "death." "advance, death, and give the countersign." "how needless! i care not to enter thy camp tonight. thou shalt enter mine." "what! i a deserter?" "nay, a great soldier. thou shalt overcome all the enemies of mankind." "who are they?" "life and the fear of death." the palmist looks at the wrinkles made by closing the hand and says they signify character. the philosopher reads character by what the hand most loves to close upon. ah, woe is his, with length of living cursed, who, nearing second childhood, had no first. behind, no glimmer, and before no ray-- a night at either end of his dark day. a noble enthusiasm in praise of woman is not incompatible with a spirited zeal in defamation of women. the money-getter who pleads his love of work has a lame defense, for love of work at money-getting is a lower taste than love of money. he who thinks that praise of mediocrity atones for disparagement of genius is like one who should plead robbery in excuse of theft. the most disagreeable form of masculine hypocrisy is that which finds expression in pretended remorse for impossible gallantries. any one can say that which is new; any one that which is true. for that which is both new and true we must go duly accredited to the gods and await their pleasure. the test of truth is reason, not faith; for to the court of reason must be submitted even the claims of faith. "whither goest thou?" said the angel. "i know not." "and whence hast thou come?" "i know not." "but who art thou?" "i know not." "then thou art man. see that thou turn not back, but pass on to the place whence thou hast come." if expediency and righteousness are not father and son they are the most harmonious brothers that ever were seen. train the head, and the heart will take care of itself; a rascal is one who knows not how to think. do you to others as you would that others do to you; but see that you no service good would have from others that they could not rightly do. taunts are allowable in the case of an obstinate husband: balky horses may best be made to go by having their ears bitten. adam probably regarded eve as the woman of his choice, and exacted a certain gratitude for the distinction of his preference. a man is the sum of his ancestors; to reform him you must begin with a dead ape and work downward through a million graves. he is like the lower end of a suspended chain; you can sway him slightly to the right or the left, but remove your hand and he falls into line with the other links. he who thinks with difficulty believes with alacrity. a fool is a natural proselyte, but he must be caught young, for his convictions, unlike those of the wise, harden with age. these are the prerogatives of genius: to know without having learned; to draw just conclusions from unknown premises; to discern the soul of things. although one love a dozen times, yet will the latest love seem the first. he who says he has loved twice has not loved once. men who expect universal peace through invention of destructive weapons of war are no wiser than one who, noting the improvement of agricultural implements, should prophesy an end to the tilling of the soil. to parents only, death brings an inconsolable sorrow. when the young die and the old live, nature's machinery is working with the friction that we name grief. empty wine bottles have a bad opinion of women. civilization is the child of human ignorance and conceit. if man knew his insignificance in the scheme of things he would not think it worth while to rise from barbarity to enlightenment. but it is only through enlightenment that he can know. along the road of life are many pleasure resorts, but think not that by tarrying in them you will take more days to the journey. the day of your arrival is already recorded. the most offensive egotist is he that fears to say "i" and "me." "it will probably rain"--that is dogmatic. "i think it will rain"--that is natural and modest. montaigne is the most delightful of essayists because so great is his humility that he does not think it important that we see not montaigne. he so forgets himself that he employs no artifice to make us forget him. on fair foundations theocrats unwise rear superstructures that offend the skies. "behold," they cry, "this pile so fair and tall! come dwell within it and be happy all." but they alone inhabit it, and find, poor fools, 'tis but a prison for the mind. if thou wilt not laugh at a rich man's wit thou art an anarchist, and if thou take not his word thou shalt take nothing that he hath. make haste, therefore, to be civil to thy betters, and so prosper, for prosperity is the foundation of the state. death is not the end; there remains the litigation over the estate. when god makes a beautiful woman, the devil opens a new register. when eve first saw her reflection in a pool, she sought adam and accused him of infidelity. "why dost thou weep?" "for the death of my wife. alas! i shall never again see her!" "thy wife will never again see thee, yet she does not weep." what theology is to religion and jurisprudence to justice, etiquette is to civility. "who art thou that despite the piercing cold and thy robe's raggedness seemest to enjoy thyself?" "naught else is enjoyable--i am contentment." "ha! thine must be a magic shirt. off with it! i shiver in my fine attire." "i have no shirt. pass on, success." ignorance when inevitable is excusable. it may be harmless, even beneficial; but it is charming only to the unwise. to affect a spurious ignorance is to disclose a genuine. because you will not take by theft what you can have by cheating, think not yours is the only conscience in the world. even he who permits you to cheat his neighbor will shrink from permitting you to cheat himself. "god keep thee, stranger; what is thy name?" "wisdom. and thine?" "knowledge. how does it happen that we meet?" "this is an intersection of our paths." "will it ever be decreed that we travel always the same road?" "we were well named if we knew." nothing is more logical than persecution. religious tolerance is a kind of infidelity. convictions are variable; to be always consistent is to be sometimes dishonest. the philosopher's profoundest conviction is that which he is most reluctant to express, lest he mislead. when exchange of identities is possible, be careful; you may choose a person who is willing. the most intolerant advocate is he who is trying to convince himself. in the parliament of otumwee the chancellor of the exchequer proposed a tax on fools. "the right honorable and generous gentleman," said a member, "forgets that we already have it in the poll tax." "whose dead body is that?" "credulity's." "by whom was he slain?" "credulity." "ah, suicide." "no, surfeit. he dined at the table of science, and swallowed all that was set before him." don't board with the devil if you wish to be fat. pray do not despise your delinquent debtor; his default is no proof of poverty. courage is the acceptance of the gambler's chance: a brave man bets against the game of the gods. "who art thou?" "a philanthropist. and thou?" "a pauper." "away! you have nothing to relieve my needs." youth looks forward, for nothing is behind! age backward, for nothing is before. an occurrence at owl creek bridge by ambrose bierce the millennium fulcrum edition, a man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below. the man's hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a cord. a rope closely encircled his neck. it was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to the level of his knees. some loose boards laid upon the ties supporting the rails of the railway supplied a footing for him and his executioners--two private soldiers of the federal army, directed by a sergeant who in civil life may have been a deputy sheriff. at a short remove upon the same temporary platform was an officer in the uniform of his rank, armed. he was a captain. a sentinel at each end of the bridge stood with his rifle in the position known as "support," that is to say, vertical in front of the left shoulder, the hammer resting on the forearm thrown straight across the chest--a formal and unnatural position, enforcing an erect carriage of the body. it did not appear to be the duty of these two men to know what was occurring at the center of the bridge; they merely blockaded the two ends of the foot planking that traversed it. beyond one of the sentinels nobody was in sight; the railroad ran straight away into a forest for a hundred yards, then, curving, was lost to view. doubtless there was an outpost farther along. the other bank of the stream was open ground--a gentle slope topped with a stockade of vertical tree trunks, loopholed for rifles, with a single embrasure through which protruded the muzzle of a brass cannon commanding the bridge. midway up the slope between the bridge and fort were the spectators--a single company of infantry in line, at "parade rest," the butts of their rifles on the ground, the barrels inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands crossed upon the stock. a lieutenant stood at the right of the line, the point of his sword upon the ground, his left hand resting upon his right. excepting the group of four at the center of the bridge, not a man moved. the company faced the bridge, staring stonily, motionless. the sentinels, facing the banks of the stream, might have been statues to adorn the bridge. the captain stood with folded arms, silent, observing the work of his subordinates, but making no sign. death is a dignitary who when he comes announced is to be received with formal manifestations of respect, even by those most familiar with him. in the code of military etiquette silence and fixity are forms of deference. the man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently about thirty-five years of age. he was a civilian, if one might judge from his habit, which was that of a planter. his features were good--a straight nose, firm mouth, broad forehead, from which his long, dark hair was combed straight back, falling behind his ears to the collar of his well fitting frock coat. he wore a moustache and pointed beard, but no whiskers; his eyes were large and dark gray, and had a kindly expression which one would hardly have expected in one whose neck was in the hemp. evidently this was no vulgar assassin. the liberal military code makes provision for hanging many kinds of persons, and gentlemen are not excluded. the preparations being complete, the two private soldiers stepped aside and each drew away the plank upon which he had been standing. the sergeant turned to the captain, saluted and placed himself immediately behind that officer, who in turn moved apart one pace. these movements left the condemned man and the sergeant standing on the two ends of the same plank, which spanned three of the cross-ties of the bridge. the end upon which the civilian stood almost, but not quite, reached a fourth. this plank had been held in place by the weight of the captain; it was now held by that of the sergeant. at a signal from the former the latter would step aside, the plank would tilt and the condemned man go down between two ties. the arrangement commended itself to his judgement as simple and effective. his face had not been covered nor his eyes bandaged. he looked a moment at his "unsteadfast footing," then let his gaze wander to the swirling water of the stream racing madly beneath his feet. a piece of dancing driftwood caught his attention and his eyes followed it down the current. how slowly it appeared to move! what a sluggish stream! he closed his eyes in order to fix his last thoughts upon his wife and children. the water, touched to gold by the early sun, the brooding mists under the banks at some distance down the stream, the fort, the soldiers, the piece of drift--all had distracted him. and now he became conscious of a new disturbance. striking through the thought of his dear ones was sound which he could neither ignore nor understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stroke of a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil; it had the same ringing quality. he wondered what it was, and whether immeasurably distant or near by-- it seemed both. its recurrence was regular, but as slow as the tolling of a death knell. he awaited each new stroke with impatience and--he knew not why--apprehension. the intervals of silence grew progressively longer; the delays became maddening. with their greater infrequency the sounds increased in strength and sharpness. they hurt his ear like the thrust of a knife; he feared he would shriek. what he heard was the ticking of his watch. he unclosed his eyes and saw again the water below him. "if i could free my hands," he thought, "i might throw off the noose and spring into the stream. by diving i could evade the bullets and, swimming vigorously, reach the bank, take to the woods and get away home. my home, thank god, is as yet outside their lines; my wife and little ones are still beyond the invader's farthest advance." as these thoughts, which have here to be set down in words, were flashed into the doomed man's brain rather than evolved from it the captain nodded to the sergeant. the sergeant stepped aside. ii peyton farquhar was a well to do planter, of an old and highly respected alabama family. being a slave owner and like other slave owners a politician, he was naturally an original secessionist and ardently devoted to the southern cause. circumstances of an imperious nature, which it is unnecessary to relate here, had prevented him from taking service with that gallant army which had fought the disastrous campaigns ending with the fall of corinth, and he chafed under the inglorious restraint, longing for the release of his energies, the larger life of the soldier, the opportunity for distinction. that opportunity, he felt, would come, as it comes to all in wartime. meanwhile he did what he could. no service was too humble for him to perform in the aid of the south, no adventure too perilous for him to undertake if consistent with the character of a civilian who was at heart a soldier, and who in good faith and without too much qualification assented to at least a part of the frankly villainous dictum that all is fair in love and war. one evening while farquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic bench near the entrance to his grounds, a gray-clad soldier rode up to the gate and asked for a drink of water. mrs. farquhar was only too happy to serve him with her own white hands. while she was fetching the water her husband approached the dusty horseman and inquired eagerly for news from the front. "the yanks are repairing the railroads," said the man, "and are getting ready for another advance. they have reached the owl creek bridge, put it in order and built a stockade on the north bank. the commandant has issued an order, which is posted everywhere, declaring that any civilian caught interfering with the railroad, its bridges, tunnels, or trains will be summarily hanged. i saw the order." "how far is it to the owl creek bridge?" farquhar asked. "about thirty miles." "is there no force on this side of the creek?" "only a picket post half a mile out, on the railroad, and a single sentinel at this end of the bridge." "suppose a man--a civilian and student of hanging--should elude the picket post and perhaps get the better of the sentinel," said farquhar, smiling, "what could he accomplish?" the soldier reflected. "i was there a month ago," he replied. "i observed that the flood of last winter had lodged a great quantity of driftwood against the wooden pier at this end of the bridge. it is now dry and would burn like tinder." the lady had now brought the water, which the soldier drank. he thanked her ceremoniously, bowed to her husband and rode away. an hour later, after nightfall, he repassed the plantation, going northward in the direction from which he had come. he was a federal scout. iii as peyton farquhar fell straight downward through the bridge he lost consciousness and was as one already dead. from this state he was awakened--ages later, it seemed to him--by the pain of a sharp pressure upon his throat, followed by a sense of suffocation. keen, poignant agonies seemed to shoot from his neck downward through every fiber of his body and limbs. these pains appeared to flash along well defined lines of ramification and to beat with an inconceivably rapid periodicity. they seemed like streams of pulsating fire heating him to an intolerable temperature. as to his head, he was conscious of nothing but a feeling of fullness--of congestion. these sensations were unaccompanied by thought. the intellectual part of his nature was already effaced; he had power only to feel, and feeling was torment. he was conscious of motion. encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum. then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a frightful roaring was in his ears, and all was cold and dark. the power of thought was restored; he knew that the rope had broken and he had fallen into the stream. there was no additional strangulation; the noose about his neck was already suffocating him and kept the water from his lungs. to die of hanging at the bottom of a river!--the idea seemed to him ludicrous. he opened his eyes in the darkness and saw above him a gleam of light, but how distant, how inaccessible! he was still sinking, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a mere glimmer. then it began to grow and brighten, and he knew that he was rising toward the surface--knew it with reluctance, for he was now very comfortable. "to be hanged and drowned," he thought, "that is not so bad; but i do not wish to be shot. no; i will not be shot; that is not fair." he was not conscious of an effort, but a sharp pain in his wrist apprised him that he was trying to free his hands. he gave the struggle his attention, as an idler might observe the feat of a juggler, without interest in the outcome. what splendid effort!--what magnificent, what superhuman strength! ah, that was a fine endeavor! bravo! the cord fell away; his arms parted and floated upward, the hands dimly seen on each side in the growing light. he watched them with a new interest as first one and then the other pounced upon the noose at his neck. they tore it away and thrust it fiercely aside, its undulations resembling those of a water snake. "put it back, put it back!" he thought he shouted these words to his hands, for the undoing of the noose had been succeeded by the direst pang that he had yet experienced. his neck ached horribly; his brain was on fire, his heart, which had been fluttering faintly, gave a great leap, trying to force itself out at his mouth. his whole body was racked and wrenched with an insupportable anguish! but his disobedient hands gave no heed to the command. they beat the water vigorously with quick, downward strokes, forcing him to the surface. he felt his head emerge; his eyes were blinded by the sunlight; his chest expanded convulsively, and with a supreme and crowning agony his lungs engulfed a great draught of air, which instantly he expelled in a shriek! he was now in full possession of his physical senses. they were, indeed, preternaturally keen and alert. something in the awful disturbance of his organic system had so exalted and refined them that they made record of things never before perceived. he felt the ripples upon his face and heard their separate sounds as they struck. he looked at the forest on the bank of the stream, saw the individual trees, the leaves and the veining of each leaf--he saw the very insects upon them: the locusts, the brilliant bodied flies, the gray spiders stretching their webs from twig to twig. he noted the prismatic colors in all the dewdrops upon a million blades of grass. the humming of the gnats that danced above the eddies of the stream, the beating of the dragon flies' wings, the strokes of the water spiders' legs, like oars which had lifted their boat--all these made audible music. a fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard the rush of its body parting the water. he had come to the surface facing down the stream; in a moment the visible world seemed to wheel slowly round, himself the pivotal point, and he saw the bridge, the fort, the soldiers upon the bridge, the captain, the sergeant, the two privates, his executioners. they were in silhouette against the blue sky. they shouted and gesticulated, pointing at him. the captain had drawn his pistol, but did not fire; the others were unarmed. their movements were grotesque and horrible, their forms gigantic. suddenly he heard a sharp report and something struck the water smartly within a few inches of his head, spattering his face with spray. he heard a second report, and saw one of the sentinels with his rifle at his shoulder, a light cloud of blue smoke rising from the muzzle. the man in the water saw the eye of the man on the bridge gazing into his own through the sights of the rifle. he observed that it was a gray eye and remembered having read that gray eyes were keenest, and that all famous marksmen had them. nevertheless, this one had missed. a counter-swirl had caught farquhar and turned him half round; he was again looking at the forest on the bank opposite the fort. the sound of a clear, high voice in a monotonous singsong now rang out behind him and came across the water with a distinctness that pierced and subdued all other sounds, even the beating of the ripples in his ears. although no soldier, he had frequented camps enough to know the dread significance of that deliberate, drawling, aspirated chant; the lieutenant on shore was taking a part in the morning's work. how coldly and pitilessly--with what an even, calm intonation, presaging, and enforcing tranquility in the men--with what accurately measured interval fell those cruel words: "company! . . . attention! . . . shoulder arms! . . . ready!. . . aim! . . . fire!" farquhar dived--dived as deeply as he could. the water roared in his ears like the voice of niagara, yet he heard the dull thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattened, oscillating slowly downward. some of them touched him on the face and hands, then fell away, continuing their descent. one lodged between his collar and neck; it was uncomfortably warm and he snatched it out. as he rose to the surface, gasping for breath, he saw that he had been a long time under water; he was perceptibly farther downstream--nearer to safety. the soldiers had almost finished reloading; the metal ramrods flashed all at once in the sunshine as they were drawn from the barrels, turned in the air, and thrust into their sockets. the two sentinels fired again, independently and ineffectually. the hunted man saw all this over his shoulder; he was now swimming vigorously with the current. his brain was as energetic as his arms and legs; he thought with the rapidity of lightning: "the officer," he reasoned, "will not make that martinet's error a second time. it is as easy to dodge a volley as a single shot. he has probably already given the command to fire at will. god help me, i cannot dodge them all!" an appalling splash within two yards of him was followed by a loud, rushing sound, diminuendo, which seemed to travel back through the air to the fort and died in an explosion which stirred the very river to its deeps! a rising sheet of water curved over him, fell down upon him, blinded him, strangled him! the cannon had taken an hand in the game. as he shook his head free from the commotion of the smitten water he heard the deflected shot humming through the air ahead, and in an instant it was cracking and smashing the branches in the forest beyond. "they will not do that again," he thought; "the next time they will use a charge of grape. i must keep my eye upon the gun; the smoke will apprise me--the report arrives too late; it lags behind the missile. that is a good gun." suddenly he felt himself whirled round and round--spinning like a top. the water, the banks, the forests, the now distant bridge, fort and men, all were commingled and blurred. objects were represented by their colors only; circular horizontal streaks of color--that was all he saw. he had been caught in a vortex and was being whirled on with a velocity of advance and gyration that made him giddy and sick. in few moments he was flung upon the gravel at the foot of the left bank of the stream--the southern bank--and behind a projecting point which concealed him from his enemies. the sudden arrest of his motion, the abrasion of one of his hands on the gravel, restored him, and he wept with delight. he dug his fingers into the sand, threw it over himself in handfuls and audibly blessed it. it looked like diamonds, rubies, emeralds; he could think of nothing beautiful which it did not resemble. the trees upon the bank were giant garden plants; he noted a definite order in their arrangement, inhaled the fragrance of their blooms. a strange roseate light shone through the spaces among their trunks and the wind made in their branches the music of aeolian harps. he had not wish to perfect his escape--he was content to remain in that enchanting spot until retaken. a whiz and a rattle of grapeshot among the branches high above his head roused him from his dream. the baffled cannoneer had fired him a random farewell. he sprang to his feet, rushed up the sloping bank, and plunged into the forest. all that day he traveled, laying his course by the rounding sun. the forest seemed interminable; nowhere did he discover a break in it, not even a woodman's road. he had not known that he lived in so wild a region. there was something uncanny in the revelation. by nightfall he was fatigued, footsore, famished. the thought of his wife and children urged him on. at last he found a road which led him in what he knew to be the right direction. it was as wide and straight as a city street, yet it seemed untraveled. no fields bordered it, no dwelling anywhere. not so much as the barking of a dog suggested human habitation. the black bodies of the trees formed a straight wall on both sides, terminating on the horizon in a point, like a diagram in a lesson in perspective. overhead, as he looked up through this rift in the wood, shone great golden stars looking unfamiliar and grouped in strange constellations. he was sure they were arranged in some order which had a secret and malign significance. the wood on either side was full of singular noises, among which--once, twice, and again--he distinctly heard whispers in an unknown tongue. his neck was in pain and lifting his hand to it found it horribly swollen. he knew that it had a circle of black where the rope had bruised it. his eyes felt congested; he could no longer close them. his tongue was swollen with thirst; he relieved its fever by thrusting it forward from between his teeth into the cold air. how softly the turf had carpeted the untraveled avenue--he could no longer feel the roadway beneath his feet! doubtless, despite his suffering, he had fallen asleep while walking, for now he sees another scene--perhaps he has merely recovered from a delirium. he stands at the gate of his own home. all is as he left it, and all bright and beautiful in the morning sunshine. he must have traveled the entire night. as he pushes open the gate and passes up the wide white walk, he sees a flutter of female garments; his wife, looking fresh and cool and sweet, steps down from the veranda to meet him. at the bottom of the steps she stands waiting, with a smile of ineffable joy, an attitude of matchless grace and dignity. ah, how beautiful she is! he springs forwards with extended arms. as he is about to clasp her he feels a stunning blow upon the back of the neck; a blinding white light blazes all about him with a sound like the shock of a cannon--then all is darkness and silence! peyton farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the owl creek bridge. a son of the gods and a horseman in the sky by ambrose bierce including an introduction by w. c. morrow western classics no. four the photogravure frontispiece after a painting by will jenkins the introduction brilliant and magnetic as are these two studies by ambrose bierce, and especially significant as coming from one who was a boy soldier in the civil war, they merely reflect one side of his original and many-faceted genius. poet, critic, satirist, fun-maker, incomparable writer of fables and masterly prose sketches, a seer of startling insight, a reasoner mercilessly logical, with the delicate wit and keenness of an irving or an addison, the dramatic quality of a hugo,--all of these, and still in the prime of his powers; yet so restricted has been his output and so little exploited that only the judicious few have been impressed. although an american, he formed his bent years ago in london, where he was associated with the younger hood on fun. there he laid the foundation for that reputation which he today enjoys: the distinction of being the last of the scholarly satirists. with that training he came to san francisco, where, in an environment equally as genial, his talent grew and mellowed through the years. then he was summoned to new york to assist a newspaper fight against a great railroad, since the conclusion of which brilliant campaign eastern journalism and magazine work have claimed his attention. two volumes, "the fiend's delight" and "cobwebs from an empty skull" titles that would damn modern books--were collections published years ago from his work on london fun. their appearance made him at once the chief wit and humorist of england, and, combined with his satirical work on fun, led to his engagement by friends of the exiled eugénie to conduct a periodical against her enemies, who purposed to make her refuge in england untenable by means of newspaper attacks. it is easy to imagine the zest with which the chivalrous bierce plunged into preparations for the fight. but the struggle never came; it was sufficient to learn that bierce would be the richmond; the attack upon the stricken ex-empress was abandoned. when he was urged in san francisco, years afterward, to write more of the inimitable things that filled those two volumes, he said that it was only fun, a boy's work. only fun! there has never been such delicious fun since the beginning of literature, and there is nothing better than fun. yet it held his own peculiar quality, which is not that of american fun,--quality of a brilliant intellectuality: the keenness of a rapier, a teasing subtlety, a contempt for pharisaism and squeamishness, and above all a fine philosophy. while he has never lost his sense of the whimsical, the grotesque, the unusual, he--unfortunately, perhaps--came oftener to give it the form of pure wit rather than of cajoling humor. few americans know him as a humorist, because his humor is not built on the broad, rough lines that are typically american. it belongs to an older civilization, yet it is jollier than the english and bolder than the french. at all times his incomparable wit and satire has appealed rather to the cultured, and even the emotional quality of his fiction is frequently so profound and unusual as to be fully enjoyed only by the intellectually untrammelled. his writing was never for those who could only read and feel, not think. another factor against his wider acceptance has been the infrequency and fragmentary character of his work, particularly his satire. no sustained fort in that field has come from him. his satire was born largely of a transient stimulus, and was evanescent. even his short stories are, generally, but blinding flashes of a moment in a life. he laughingly ascribes the meagerness of his output to indolence; but there may be a deeper reason, of which he is unconscious. what is more dampening than a seeming lack of appreciation? "tales of soldiers and civilians" had a disheartening search for an established publisher, and finally was brought out by an admiring merchant of san francisco. it attracted so much critical attention that its re-publication was soon undertaken by a regular house. had bierce never produced anything but these prose tales, his right to a place high in american letters would nevertheless be secure, and of all his work, serious or otherwise, here is his greatest claim to popular and permanent recognition. no stories for which the civil war has furnished such dramatic setting surpass these masterpieces of short fiction, either in power of description, subtlety of touch or literary finish. it is deeply to be regretted that he has not given us more such prose. w. c. morrow. a son of the gods a breezy day and a sunny landscape. an open country to right and left and forward; behind, a wood. in the edge of this wood, facing the open but not venturing into it, long lines of troops halted. the wood is alive with them, and full of confused noises: the occasional rattle of wheels as a battery of artillery goes into position to cover the advance; the hum and murmur of the soldiers talking; a sound of innumerable feet in the dry leaves that strew the interspaces among the trees; hoarse commands of officers. detached groups of horsemen are well in front--not altogether exposed--many of them intently regarding the crest of a hill a mile away in the direction of the interrupted advance. for this powerful army, moving in battle order through a forest, has met with a formidable obstacle--the open country. the crest of that gentle hill a mile away has a sinister look; it says, beware! along it runs a stone wall extending to left and right a great distance. behind the wall is a hedge; behind the hedge are seen the tops of trees in rather straggling order. among the trees--what? it is necessary to know. yesterday, and for many days and nights previously, we were fighting somewhere; always there was cannonading, with occasional keen rattlings of musketry, mingled with cheers, our own or the enemy's, we seldom knew, attesting some temporary advantage. this morning at daybreak the enemy was gone. we have moved forward across his earthworks, across which we have so often vainly attempted to move before, through the debris of his abandoned camps, among the graves of his fallen, into the woods beyond. how curiously we regarded everything! how odd it all seemed! nothing appeared quite familiar; the most commonplace objects--an old saddle, a splintered wheel, a forgotten canteen everything related something of the mysterious personality of those strange men who had been killing us. the soldier never becomes wholly familiar with the conception of his foes as men like himself; he cannot divest himself of the feeling that they are another order of beings, differently conditioned, in an environment not altogether of the earth. the smallest vestiges of them rivet his attention and engage his interest. he thinks of them as inaccessible; and, catching an unexpected glimpse of them, they appear farther away, and therefore larger, than they really are--like objects in a fog. he is somewhat in awe of them. from the edge of the wood leading up the acclivity are the tracks of horses and wheels--the wheels of cannon. the yellow grass is beaten down by the feet of infantry. clearly they have passed this way in thousands; they have not withdrawn by the country roads. this is significant--it is the difference between retiring and retreating. that group of horsemen is our commander, his staff, and escort. he is facing the distant crest, holding his field-glass against his eyes with both hands, his elbows needlessly elevated. it is a fashion; it seems to dignify the act; we are all addicted to it. suddenly he lowers the glass and says a few words to those about him. two or three aides detach themselves from the group and canter away into the woods, along the lines in each direction. we did not hear his words, but we knew them: "tell general x. to send forward the skirmish line." those of us who have been out of place resume our positions; the men resting at ease straighten themselves, and the ranks are reformed without a command. some of us staff officers dismount and look at our saddle-girths; those already on the ground remount. galloping rapidly along in the edge of the open ground comes a young officer on a snow-white horse. his saddle-blanket is scarlet. what a fool! no one who has ever been in battle but remembers how naturally every rifle turns toward the man on a white horse; no one but has observed how a bit of red enrages the bull of battle. that such colors are fashionable in military life must be accepted as the most astonishing of all the phenomena of human vanity. they would seem to have been devised to increase the death-rate. this young officer is in full uniform, as if on parade. he is all agleam with bullion, a blue-and-gold edition of the poetry of war. a wave of derisive laughter runs abreast of him all along the line. but how handsome he is! with what careless grace he sits his horse! he reins up within a respectful distance of the corps commander and salutes. the old soldier nods familiarly; he evidently knows him. a brief colloquy between them is going on; the young man seems to be preferring some request which the elder one is indisposed to grant. let us ride a little nearer. ah! too late--it is ended. the young officer salutes again, wheels his horse, and rides straight toward the crest of the hill. he is deadly pale. a thin line of skirmishers, the men deployed at six paces or so apart, now pushes from the wood into the open. the commander speaks to his bugler, who claps his instrument to his lips. tra-la-la! tra-la-la! the skirmishers halt in their tracks. meantime the young horseman has advanced a hundred yards. he is riding at a walk, straight up the long slope, with never a turn of the head. how glorious! gods! what would we not give to be in his place--with his soul! he does not draw his sabre; his right hand hangs easily at his side. the breeze catches the plume in his hat and flutters it smartly. the sunshine rests upon his shoulder-straps, lovingly, like a visible benediction. straight on he rides. ten thousand pairs of eyes are fixed upon him with an intensity that he can hardly fail to feel; ten thousand hearts keep quick time to the inaudible hoof-beats of his snowy steed. he is not alone--he draws all souls after him; we are but "dead men all." but we remember that we laughed! on and on, straight for the hedge-lined wall, he rides. not a look backward. oh, if he would but turn--if he could but see the love, the adoration, the atonement! not a word is spoken; the populous depths of the forest still murmur with their unseen and unseeing swarm, but all along the fringe there is silence absolute. the burly commander is an equestrian statue of himself. the mounted staff officers, their field-glasses up, are motionless all. the line of battle in the edge of the wood stands at a new kind of "attention," each man in the attitude in which he was caught by the consciousness of what is going on. all these hardened and impenitent man-killers, to whom death in its awfulest forms is a fact familiar to their every-day observation; who sleep on hills trembling with the thunder of great guns, dine in the midst of streaming missiles, and play at cards among the dead faces of their dearest friends,--all are watching with suspended breath and beating hearts the outcome of an act involving the life of one man. such is the magnetism of courage and devotion. if now you should turn your head you would see a simultaneous movement among the spectators a start, as if they had received an electric shock--and looking forward again to the now distant horseman you would see that he has in that instant altered his direction and is riding at an angle to his former course. the spectators suppose the sudden deflection to be caused by a shot, perhaps a wound; but take this field-glass and you will observe that he is riding toward a break in the wall and hedge. he means, if not killed, to ride through and overlook the country beyond. you are not to forget the nature of this man's act; it is not permitted to you to think of it as an instance of bravado, nor, on the other hand, a needless sacrifice of self. if the enemy has not retreated, he is in force on that ridge. the investigator will encounter nothing less than a line of battle; there is no need of pickets, videttes, skirmishers, to give warning of our approach; our attacking lines will be visible, conspicuous, exposed to an artillery fire that will shave the ground the moment they break from cover, and for half the distance to a sheet of rifle bullets in which nothing can live. in short, if the enemy is there, it would be madness to attack him in front; he must be maneuvered out by the immemorial plan of threatening his line of communication, as necessary to his existence as to the diver at the bottom of the sea his air-tube. but how ascertain if the enemy is there? there is but one way: somebody must go and see. the natural and customary thing to do is to send forward a line of skirmishers. but in this case they will answer in the affirmative with all their lives; the enemy, crouching in double ranks behind the stone wall and in cover of the hedge, will wait until it is possible to count each assailant's teeth. at the first volley a half of the questioning line will fall, the other half before it can accomplish the predestined retreat. what a price to pay for gratified curiosity! at what a dear rate an army must sometimes purchase knowledge! "let me pay all," says this gallant man--this military christ! there is no hope except the hope against hope that the crest is clear. true, he might prefer capture to death. so long as he advances, the line will not fire,--why should it? he can safely ride into the hostile ranks and become a prisoner of war. but this would defeat his object. it would not answer our question; it is necessary either that he return unharmed or be shot to death before our eyes. only so shall we know how to act. if captured--why, that might have been done by a half-dozen stragglers. now begins an extraordinary contest of intellect between a man and an army. our horseman, now within a quarter of a mile of the crest, suddenly wheels to the left and gallops in a direction parallel to it. he has caught sight of his antagonist; he knows all. some slight advantage of ground has enabled him to overlook a part of the line. if he were here, he could tell us in words. but that is now hopeless; he must make the best use of the few minutes of life remaining to him, by compelling the enemy himself to tell us as much and as plainly as possible--which, naturally, that discreet power is reluctant to do. not a rifleman in those crouching ranks, not a cannoneer at those masked and shotted guns, but knows the needs of the situation, the imperative duty of forbearance. besides, there has been time enough to forbid them all to fire. true, a single rifle-shot might drop him and be no great disclosure. but firing is infectious--and see how rapidly he moves, with never a pause except as he whirls his horse about to take a new direction, never directly backward toward us, never directly forward toward his executioners. all this is visible through the glass; it seems occurring within pistol-shot; we see all but the enemy, whose presence, whose thoughts, whose motives we infer. to the unaided eye there is nothing but a black figure on a white horse, tracing slow zigzags against the slope of a distant hill--so slowly they seem almost to creep. now--the glass again--he has tired of his failure, or sees his error, or has gone mad; he is dashing directly forward at the wall, as if to take it at a leap, hedge and all! one moment only and he wheels right about and is speeding like the wind straight down the slope--toward his friends, toward his death! instantly the wall is topped with a fierce roll of smoke for a distance of hundreds of yards to, right and left. this is as instantly dissipated by the wind, and before the rattle of the rifles reaches us, he is down. no, he recovers his seat; he has but pulled his horse upon its haunches. they are up and away! a tremendous cheer bursts from our ranks, relieving the insupportable tension of our feelings. and the horse and its rider? yes, they are up and away. away, indeed--they are making directly to our left, parallel to the now steadily blazing and smoking wall. the rattle of the musketry is continuous, and every bullet's target is that courageous heart. suddenly a great bank of white smoke pushes upward from behind the wall. another and another--a dozen roll up before the thunder of the explosions and the humming of the missiles reach our ears, and the missiles themselves come bounding through clouds of dust into our covert, knocking over here and there a man and causing a temporary distraction, a passing thought of self. the dust drifts away. incredible!--that enchanted horse and rider have passed a ravine and are climbing another slope to unveil another conspiracy of silence, to thwart the will of another armed host. another moment and that crest too is in eruption. the horse rears and strikes the air with its forefeet. they are down at last. but look again--the man has detached himself from the dead animal. he stands erect, motionless, holding his sabre in his right hand straight above his head. his face is toward us. now he lowers his hand to a level with his face and moves it outward, the blade of the sabre describing a downward curve. it is a sign to us, to the world, to posterity. it is a hero's salute to death and history. again the spell is broken; our men attempt to cheer; they are choking with emotion; they utter hoarse, discordant cries; they clutch their weapons and press tumultuously forward into the open. the skirmishers, without orders, against orders, are going forward at a keen run, like hounds unleashed. our cannon speak and the enemy's now open in full chorus; to right and left as far as we can see, the distant crest, seeming now so near, erects its towers of cloud, and the great shot pitch roaring down among our moving masses. flag after flag of ours emerges from the wood, line after line sweeps forth, catching the sunlight on its burnished arms. the rear battalions alone are in obedience; they preserve their proper distance from the insurgent front. the commander has not moved. he now removes his field-glass from his eyes and glances to the right and left. he sees the human current flowing on either side of him and his huddled escort, like tide waves parted by a rock. not a sign of feeling in his face; he is thinking. again he directs his eyes forward; they slowly traverse that malign and awful crest. he addresses a calm word to his bugler. tra-la-la! tra-la-la! the injunction has an imperiousness which enforces it. it is repeated by all the bugles of all the subordinate commanders; the sharp metallic notes assert themselves above the hum of the advance, and penetrate the sound of the cannon. to halt is to withdraw. the colors move slowly back, the lines face about and sullenly follow, bearing their wounded; the skirmishers return, gathering up the dead. ah, those many, many needless dead! that great soul whose beautiful body is lying over yonder, so conspicuous against the sere hillside--could it not have been spared the bitter consciousness of a vain devotion? would one exception have marred too much the pitiless perfection of the divine, eternal plan? a horseman in the sky one sunny afternoon in the autumn of the year , a soldier lay in a clump of laurel by the side of a road in western virginia. he lay at full length, upon his stomach, his feet resting upon the toes, his head upon the left forearm. his extended right hand loosely grasped his rifle. but for the somewhat methodical disposition of his limbs and a slight rhythmic movement of the cartridge-box at the back of his belt, he might have been thought to be dead. he was asleep at his post of duty. but if detected he would be dead shortly afterward, that being the just and legal penalty of his crime. the clump of laurel in which the criminal lay was in the angle of a road which, after, ascending, southward, a steep acclivity to that point, turned sharply to the west, running along the summit for perhaps one hundred yards. there it turned southward again and went zigzagging downward through the forest. at the salient of that second angle was a large flat rock, jutting out northward, overlooking the deep valley from which the road ascended. the rock capped a high cliff; a stone dropped from its outer edge would have fallen sheer downward one thousand feet to the tops of the pines. the angle where the soldier lay was on another spur of the same cliff. had he been awake, he would have commanded a view, not only of the short arm of the road and the jutting rock, but of the entire profile of the cliff below it. it might well have made him giddy to look. the country was wooded everywhere except at the bottom of the valley to the northward, where there was a small natural meadow, through which flowed a stream scarcely visible from the valley's rim. this open ground looked hardly larger than an ordinary dooryard, but was really several acres in extent. its green was more vivid than that of the inclosing forest. away beyond it rose a line of giant cliffs similar to those upon which we are supposed to stand in our survey of the savage scene, and through which the road had some how made its climb to the summit. the configuration of the valley, indeed, was such that from this point of observation it seemed entirely shut in, and one could not but have wondered how the road which found a way out of it had found a way into it, and whence came and whither went the waters of the stream that parted the meadow two thousand feet below. no country is so wild and difficult but men will make it a theater of war; concealed in the forest at the bottom of that military rat-trap, in which half a hundred men in possession of the exits might have starved an army to submission, lay five regiments of federal infantry. they had marched all the previous day and night, and were resting. at nightfall they would take to the road again, climb to the place where their unfaithful sentinel now slept, and, descending the other slope of the ridge, fall upon a camp of the enemy at about midnight. their hope was to surprise it, for the road led to the rear of it. in case of failure, their position would be perilous in the extreme; and fail they surely would, should accident or vigilance apprise the enemy of the movement. the sleeping sentinel in the clump of laurel was a young virginian named carter druse. he was the son of wealthy parents, an only child, and had known such ease and cultivation and high living as wealth and taste were able to command in the mountain country of western virginia. his home was but a few miles from where he now lay. one morning he had risen from the breakfast table and said, quietly but gravely: "father, a union regiment has arrived at grafton. i am going to join it." the father lifted his leonine head, looked at the son a moment in silence, and replied: "well, go, sir, and, whatever may occur, do what you conceive to be your duty. virginia, to which you are a traitor, must get on without you. should we both live to the end of the war, we will speak further of the matter. your mother, as the physician has informed you, is in a most critical condition; at the best, she cannot be with us longer than a few weeks, but that time is precious. it would be better not to disturb her." so carter druse, bowing reverently to his father, who returned the salute with a stately courtesy which masked a breaking heart, left the home of his childhood to go soldiering. by conscience and courage, by deeds of devotion and daring, he soon commended himself to his fellows and his officers; and it was to these qualities and to some knowledge of the country that he owed his selection for his present perilous duty at the extreme outpost. nevertheless, fatigue had been stronger than resolution, and he had fallen asleep. what good or bad angel came in a dream to rouse him from his state of crime, who shall say? without a movement, without a sound, in the profound silence and the languor of the late afternoon, some invisible messenger of fate touched with unsealing finger the eyes of his consciousness--whispered into the ear of his spirit the mysterious awakening word which no human lips ever have spoken, no human memory ever has recalled. he quietly raised his forehead from his arm and looked between the masking stems of the laurels, instinctively closing his right hand about the stock of his rifle. his first feeling was a keen artistic delight. on a colossal pedestal, the cliff,--motionless at the extreme edge of the capping rock and sharply outlined against the sky,--was an equestrian statue of impressive dignity. the figure of the man sat the figure of the horse, straight and soldierly, but with the repose of a grecian god carved in the marble which limits the suggestion of activity. the gray costume harmonized with its aerial background; the metal of accoutrement and caparison was softened and subdued by the shadow; the animal's skin had no points of high light. a carbine, strikingly foreshortened, lay across the pommel of the saddle, kept in place by the right hand grasping it at the "grip"; the left hand, holding the bridle rein, was invisible. in silhouette against the sky, the profile of the horse was cut with the sharpness of a cameo; it looked across the heights of air to the confronting cliffs beyond. the face of the rider, turned slightly away, showed only an outline of temple and beard; he was looking downward to the bottom of the valley. magnified by its lift against the sky and by the soldier's testifying sense of the formidableness of a near enemy, the group appeared of heroic, almost colossal, size. for an instant druse had a strange, half-defined feeling that he had slept to the end of the war and was looking upon a noble work of art reared upon that commanding eminence to commemorate the deeds of an heroic past of which he had been an inglorious part. the feeling was dispelled by a slight movement of the group: the horse, without moving its feet, had drawn its body slightly backward from the verge; the man remained immobile as before. broad awake and keenly alive to the significance of the situation, druse now brought the butt of his rifle against his cheek by cautiously pushing the barrel forward through the bushes, cocked the piece, and, glancing through the sights, covered a vital spot of the horseman's breast. a touch upon the trigger and all would have been well with carter druse. at that instant the horseman turned his head and looked in the direction of his concealed foeman--seemed to look into his very face, into his eyes, into his brave, compassionate heart. is it, then, so terrible to kill an enemy in war--an enemy who has surprised a secret vital to the safety of one's self and comrades--an enemy more formidable for his knowledge than all his army for its numbers? carter druse grew pale; he shook in every limb, turned faint, and saw the statuesque group before him as black figures, rising, falling, moving unsteadily in arcs of circles in a fiery sky. his hand fell away from his weapon, his head slowly dropped until his face rested on the leaves in which he lay. this courageous gentleman and hardy soldier was near swooning from intensity of emotion. it was not for long; in another moment his face was raised from earth, his hands resumed their places on the rifle, his forefinger sought the trigger; mind, heart and eyes were clear, conscience and reason sound. he could not hope to capture that enemy; to alarm him would but send him dashing to his camp with his fatal news. the duty of the soldier was plain: the man must be shot dead from ambush--without warning, without a moment's spiritual preparation, with never so much as an unspoken prayer, he must be sent to his account. but no--there is a hope; he may have discovered nothing; perhaps he is but admiring the sublimity of the landscape. if permitted, he may turn and ride carelessly away in the direction whence he came. surely it will be possible to judge at the instant of his withdrawing whether he knows. it may well be that his fixity of attention---druse turned his head and looked through the deeps of air downward as from the surface of the bottom of a translucent sea. he saw creeping across the green meadow a sinuous line of figures of men and horses--some foolish commander was permitting the soldiers of his escort to water their beasts in the open, in plain view from a hundred summits! druse withdrew his eyes from the valley and fixed them again upon the group of man and horse in the sky, and again it was through the sights of his rifle. but this time his aim was at the horse. in his memory, as if they were a divine mandate, rang the words of his father at their parting: "whatever may occur, do what you conceive to be your duty." he was calm now. his teeth were firmly but not rigidly closed; his nerves were as tranquil as a sleeping babe's--not a tremor affected any muscle of his body; his breathing, until suspended in the act of taking aim, was regular and slow. duty had conquered; the spirit had said to the body: "peace, be still." he fired. an officer of the federal force, who, in a spirit of adventure or in quest of knowledge, had left the hidden bivouac in the valley, and, with aimless feet, had made his way to the lower edge of a small open space near the foot of the cliff, was considering what he had to gain by pushing his exploration further. at a distance of a quarter-mile before him, but apparently at a stone's throw, rose from its fringe of pines the gigantic face of rock, towering to so great a height above him that it made him giddy to look up to where its edge cut a sharp, rugged line against the sky. at some distance away to his right it presented a clean, vertical profile against a background of blue sky to a point half the way down, and of distant hills hardly less blue, thence to the tops of the trees at its base. lifting his eyes to the dizzy altitude of its summit, the officer saw an astonishing sight--a man on horseback riding down into the valley through the air! straight upright sat the rider, in military fashion, with a firm seat in the saddle, a strong clutch upon the rein to hold his charger from too impetuous a plunge. from his bare head his long hair streamed upward, waving like a plume. his hands were concealed in the cloud of the horse's lifted mane. the animal's body was as level as if every hoof-stroke encountered the resistant earth. its motions were those of a wild gallop, but even as the officer looked they ceased, with all the legs thrown sharply forward as in the act of alighting from a leap. but this was a flight! filled with amazement and terror by this apparition of a horseman in the sky-half believing himself the chosen scribe of some new apocalypse, the officer was overcome by the intensity of his emotions; his legs failed him and he fell. almost at the same instant he heard a crashing sound in the trees--a sound that died without an echo--and all was still. the officer rose to his feet, trembling. the familiar sensation of an abraded shin recalled his dazed faculties. pulling himself together, he ran obliquely away from the cliff to a point distant from its foot; thereabout he expected to find his man; and thereabout he naturally failed. in the fleeting instant of his vision his imagination had been so wrought upon by the apparent grace and ease and intention of the marvelous performance that it did not occur to him that the line of march of aerial cavalry is directly downward, and that he could find the objects of his search at the very foot of the cliff. a half-hour later he returned to camp. this officer was a wise man; he knew better than to tell an incredible truth. he said nothing of what he had seen. but when the commander asked him if in his scout he had learned anything of advantage to the expedition, he answered: "yes, sir; there is no road leading down into this valley from the southward." the commander, knowing better, smiled. after firing his shot, private carter druse reloaded his rifle and resumed his watch. ten minutes had hardly passed when a federal sergeant crept cautiously to him on hands and knees. druse neither turned his head nor looked at him, but lay without motion or sign of recognition. "did you fire?" the sergeant whispered. "yes." "at what?" "a horse. it was standing on yonder rock-pretty far out. you see it is no longer there. it went over the cliff." the man's face was white, but he showed no other sign of emotion. having answered, he turned away his eyes and said no more. the sergeant did not understand. "see here, druse," he said, after a moment's silence, "it's no use making a mystery. i order you to report. was there anybody on the horse?" "yes." "well?" "my father." the sergeant rose to his feet and walked away. "good god!" he said. here ends no. four of the western classics containing a son of the gods and a horseman in the sky by ambrose bierce with an introduction by w. c. morrow and a photogravure frontispiece after a painting by will jenkins. of this first edition one thousand copies have been issued printed on frabriano handmade paper the typography designed by j. h. nash published by paul elder and company and done into a book for them at the tomoye press in the city of new york mcmvii the devil's dictionary by ambrose bierce author's preface _the devil's dictionary_ was begun in a weekly paper in , and was continued in a desultory way at long intervals until . in that year a large part of it was published in covers with the title _the cynic's word book_, a name which the author had not the power to reject or happiness to approve. to quote the publishers of the present work: "this more reverent title had previously been forced upon him by the religious scruples of the last newspaper in which a part of the work had appeared, with the natural consequence that when it came out in covers the country already had been flooded by its imitators with a score of 'cynic' books--_the cynic's this_, _the cynic's that_, and _the cynic's t'other_. most of these books were merely stupid, though some of them added the distinction of silliness. among them, they brought the word 'cynic' into disfavor so deep that any book bearing it was discredited in advance of publication." meantime, too, some of the enterprising humorists of the country had helped themselves to such parts of the work as served their needs, and many of its definitions, anecdotes, phrases and so forth, had become more or less current in popular speech. this explanation is made, not with any pride of priority in trifles, but in simple denial of possible charges of plagiarism, which is no trifle. in merely resuming his own the author hopes to be held guiltless by those to whom the work is addressed--enlightened souls who prefer dry wines to sweet, sense to sentiment, wit to humor and clean english to slang. a conspicuous, and it is hoped not unpleasant, feature of the book is its abundant illustrative quotations from eminent poets, chief of whom is that learned and ingenious cleric, father gassalasca jape, s.j., whose lines bear his initials. to father jape's kindly encouragement and assistance the author of the prose text is greatly indebted. a.b. a abasement, n. a decent and customary mental attitude in the presence of wealth or power. peculiarly appropriate in an employee when addressing an employer. abatis, n. rubbish in front of a fort, to prevent the rubbish outside from molesting the rubbish inside. abdication, n. an act whereby a sovereign attests his sense of the high temperature of the throne. poor isabella's dead, whose abdication set all tongues wagging in the spanish nation. for that performance 'twere unfair to scold her: she wisely left a throne too hot to hold her. to history she'll be no royal riddle-- merely a plain parched pea that jumped the griddle. g.j. abdomen, n. the temple of the god stomach, in whose worship, with sacrificial rights, all true men engage. from women this ancient faith commands but a stammering assent. they sometimes minister at the altar in a half-hearted and ineffective way, but true reverence for the one deity that men really adore they know not. if woman had a free hand in the world's marketing the race would become graminivorous. ability, n. the natural equipment to accomplish some small part of the meaner ambitions distinguishing able men from dead ones. in the last analysis ability is commonly found to consist mainly in a high degree of solemnity. perhaps, however, this impressive quality is rightly appraised; it is no easy task to be solemn. abnormal, adj. not conforming to standard. in matters of thought and conduct, to be independent is to be abnormal, to be abnormal is to be detested. wherefore the lexicographer adviseth a striving toward the straiter [sic] resemblance of the average man than he hath to himself. whoso attaineth thereto shall have peace, the prospect of death and the hope of hell. aboriginies, n. persons of little worth found cumbering the soil of a newly discovered country. they soon cease to cumber; they fertilize. abracadabra. by _abracadabra_ we signify an infinite number of things. 'tis the answer to what? and how? and why? and whence? and whither?--a word whereby the truth (with the comfort it brings) is open to all who grope in night, crying for wisdom's holy light. whether the word is a verb or a noun is knowledge beyond my reach. i only know that 'tis handed down. from sage to sage, from age to age-- an immortal part of speech! of an ancient man the tale is told that he lived to be ten centuries old, in a cave on a mountain side. (true, he finally died.) the fame of his wisdom filled the land, for his head was bald, and you'll understand his beard was long and white and his eyes uncommonly bright. philosophers gathered from far and near to sit at his feet and hear and hear, though he never was heard to utter a word but "_abracadabra, abracadab_, _abracada, abracad_, _abraca, abrac, abra, ab!_" 'twas all he had, 'twas all they wanted to hear, and each made copious notes of the mystical speech, which they published next-- a trickle of text in a meadow of commentary. mighty big books were these, in number, as leaves of trees; in learning, remarkable--very! he's dead, as i said, and the books of the sages have perished, but his wisdom is sacredly cherished. in _abracadabra_ it solemnly rings, like an ancient bell that forever swings. o, i love to hear that word make clear humanity's general sense of things. jamrach holobom abridge, v.t. to shorten. when in the course of human events it becomes necessary for people to abridge their king, a decent respect for the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. oliver cromwell abrupt, adj. sudden, without ceremony, like the arrival of a cannon- shot and the departure of the soldier whose interests are most affected by it. dr. samuel johnson beautifully said of another author's ideas that they were "concatenated without abruption." abscond, v.i. to "move in a mysterious way," commonly with the property of another. spring beckons! all things to the call respond; the trees are leaving and cashiers abscond. phela orm absent, adj. peculiarly exposed to the tooth of detraction; vilifed; hopelessly in the wrong; superseded in the consideration and affection of another. to men a man is but a mind. who cares what face he carries or what form he wears? but woman's body is the woman. o, stay thou, my sweetheart, and do never go, but heed the warning words the sage hath said: a woman absent is a woman dead. jogo tyree absentee, n. a person with an income who has had the forethought to remove himself from the sphere of exaction. absolute, adj. independent, irresponsible. an absolute monarchy is one in which the sovereign does as he pleases so long as he pleases the assassins. not many absolute monarchies are left, most of them having been replaced by limited monarchies, where the sovereign's power for evil (and for good) is greatly curtailed, and by republics, which are governed by chance. abstainer, n. a weak person who yields to the temptation of denying himself a pleasure. a total abstainer is one who abstains from everything but abstention, and especially from inactivity in the affairs of others. said a man to a crapulent youth: "i thought you a total abstainer, my son." "so i am, so i am," said the scapegrace caught-- "but not, sir, a bigoted one." g.j. absurdity, n. a statement or belief manifestly inconsistent with one's own opinion. academe, n. an ancient school where morality and philosophy were taught. academy, n. [from academe] a modern school where football is taught. accident, n. an inevitable occurrence due to the action of immutable natural laws. accomplice, n. one associated with another in a crime, having guilty knowledge and complicity, as an attorney who defends a criminal, knowing him guilty. this view of the attorney's position in the matter has not hitherto commanded the assent of attorneys, no one having offered them a fee for assenting. accord, n. harmony. accordion, n. an instrument in harmony with the sentiments of an assassin. accountability, n. the mother of caution. "my accountability, bear in mind," said the grand vizier: "yes, yes," said the shah: "i do--'tis the only kind of ability you possess." joram tate accuse, v.t. to affirm another's guilt or unworth; most commonly as a justification of ourselves for having wronged him. acephalous, adj. in the surprising condition of the crusader who absently pulled at his forelock some hours after a saracen scimitar had, unconsciously to him, passed through his neck, as related by de joinville. achievement, n. the death of endeavor and the birth of disgust. acknowledge, v.t. to confess. acknowledgement of one another's faults is the highest duty imposed by our love of truth. acquaintance, n. a person whom we know well enough to borrow from, but not well enough to lend to. a degree of friendship called slight when its object is poor or obscure, and intimate when he is rich or famous. actually, adv. perhaps; possibly. adage, n. boned wisdom for weak teeth. adamant, n. a mineral frequently found beneath a corset. soluble in solicitate of gold. adder, n. a species of snake. so called from its habit of adding funeral outlays to the other expenses of living. adherent, n. a follower who has not yet obtained all that he expects to get. administration, n. an ingenious abstraction in politics, designed to receive the kicks and cuffs due to the premier or president. a man of straw, proof against bad-egging and dead-catting. admiral, n. that part of a war-ship which does the talking while the figure-head does the thinking. admiration, n. our polite recognition of another's resemblance to ourselves. admonition, n. gentle reproof, as with a meat-axe. friendly warning. consigned by way of admonition, his soul forever to perdition. judibras adore, v.t. to venerate expectantly. advice, n. the smallest current coin. "the man was in such deep distress," said tom, "that i could do no less than give him good advice." said jim: "if less could have been done for him i know you well enough, my son, to know that's what you would have done." jebel jocordy affianced, pp. fitted with an ankle-ring for the ball-and-chain. affliction, n. an acclimatizing process preparing the soul for another and bitter world. african, n. a nigger that votes our way. age, n. that period of life in which we compound for the vices that we still cherish by reviling those that we have no longer the enterprise to commit. agitator, n. a statesman who shakes the fruit trees of his neighbors --to dislodge the worms. aim, n. the task we set our wishes to. "cheer up! have you no aim in life?" she tenderly inquired. "an aim? well, no, i haven't, wife; the fact is--i have fired." g.j. air, n. a nutritious substance supplied by a bountiful providence for the fattening of the poor. alderman, n. an ingenious criminal who covers his secret thieving with a pretence of open marauding. alien, n. an american sovereign in his probationary state. allah, n. the mahometan supreme being, as distinguished from the christian, jewish, and so forth. allah's good laws i faithfully have kept, and ever for the sins of man have wept; and sometimes kneeling in the temple i have reverently crossed my hands and slept. junker barlow allegiance, n. this thing allegiance, as i suppose, is a ring fitted in the subject's nose, whereby that organ is kept rightly pointed to smell the sweetness of the lord's anointed. g.j. alliance, n. in international politics, the union of two thieves who have their hands so deeply inserted in each other's pockets that they cannot separately plunder a third. alligator, n. the crocodile of america, superior in every detail to the crocodile of the effete monarchies of the old world. herodotus says the indus is, with one exception, the only river that produces crocodiles, but they appear to have gone west and grown up with the other rivers. from the notches on his back the alligator is called a sawrian. alone, adj. in bad company. in contact, lo! the flint and steel, by spark and flame, the thought reveal that he the metal, she the stone, had cherished secretly alone. booley fito altar, n. the place whereupon the priest formerly raveled out the small intestine of the sacrificial victim for purposes of divination and cooked its flesh for the gods. the word is now seldom used, except with reference to the sacrifice of their liberty and peace by a male and a female tool. they stood before the altar and supplied the fire themselves in which their fat was fried. in vain the sacrifice!--no god will claim an offering burnt with an unholy flame. m.p. nopput ambidextrous, adj. able to pick with equal skill a right-hand pocket or a left. ambition, n. an overmastering desire to be vilified by enemies while living and made ridiculous by friends when dead. amnesty, n. the state's magnanimity to those offenders whom it would be too expensive to punish. anoint, v.t. to grease a king or other great functionary already sufficiently slippery. as sovereigns are anointed by the priesthood, so pigs to lead the populace are greased good. judibras antipathy, n. the sentiment inspired by one's friend's friend. aphorism, n. predigested wisdom. the flabby wine-skin of his brain yields to some pathologic strain, and voids from its unstored abysm the driblet of an aphorism. "the mad philosopher," apologize, v.i. to lay the foundation for a future offence. apostate, n. a leech who, having penetrated the shell of a turtle only to find that the creature has long been dead, deems it expedient to form a new attachment to a fresh turtle. apothecary, n. the physician's accomplice, undertaker's benefactor and grave worm's provider. when jove sent blessings to all men that are, and mercury conveyed them in a jar, that friend of tricksters introduced by stealth disease for the apothecary's health, whose gratitude impelled him to proclaim: "my deadliest drug shall bear my patron's name!" g.j. appeal, v.t. in law, to put the dice into the box for another throw. appetite, n. an instinct thoughtfully implanted by providence as a solution to the labor question. applause, n. the echo of a platitude. april fool, n. the march fool with another month added to his folly. archbishop, n. an ecclesiastical dignitary one point holier than a bishop. if i were a jolly archbishop, on fridays i'd eat all the fish up-- salmon and flounders and smelts; on other days everything else. jodo rem architect, n. one who drafts a plan of your house, and plans a draft of your money. ardor, n. the quality that distinguishes love without knowledge. arena, n. in politics, an imaginary rat-pit in which the statesman wrestles with his record. aristocracy, n. government by the best men. (in this sense the word is obsolete; so is that kind of government.) fellows that wear downy hats and clean shirts--guilty of education and suspected of bank accounts. armor, n. the kind of clothing worn by a man whose tailor is a blacksmith. arrayed, pp. drawn up and given an orderly disposition, as a rioter hanged to a lamppost. arrest, v.t. formally to detain one accused of unusualness. god made the world in six days and was arrested on the seventh. _the unauthorized version_ arsenic, n. a kind of cosmetic greatly affected by the ladies, whom it greatly affects in turn. "eat arsenic? yes, all you get," consenting, he did speak up; "'tis better you should eat it, pet, than put it in my teacup." joel huck art, n. this word has no definition. its origin is related as follows by the ingenious father gassalasca jape, s.j. one day a wag--what would the wretch be at?-- shifted a letter of the cipher rat, and said it was a god's name! straight arose fantastic priests and postulants (with shows, and mysteries, and mummeries, and hymns, and disputations dire that lamed their limbs) to serve his temple and maintain the fires, expound the law, manipulate the wires. amazed, the populace that rites attend, believe whate'er they cannot comprehend, and, inly edified to learn that two half-hairs joined so and so (as art can do) have sweeter values and a grace more fit than nature's hairs that never have been split, bring cates and wines for sacrificial feasts, and sell their garments to support the priests. artlessness, n. a certain engaging quality to which women attain by long study and severe practice upon the admiring male, who is pleased to fancy it resembles the candid simplicity of his young. asperse, v.t. maliciously to ascribe to another vicious actions which one has not had the temptation and opportunity to commit. ass, n. a public singer with a good voice but no ear. in virginia city, nevada, he is called the washoe canary, in dakota, the senator, and everywhere the donkey. the animal is widely and variously celebrated in the literature, art and religion of every age and country; no other so engages and fires the human imagination as this noble vertebrate. indeed, it is doubted by some (ramasilus, _lib. ii., de clem._, and c. stantatus, _de temperamente_) if it is not a god; and as such we know it was worshiped by the etruscans, and, if we may believe macrobious, by the cupasians also. of the only two animals admitted into the mahometan paradise along with the souls of men, the ass that carried balaam is one, the dog of the seven sleepers the other. this is no small distinction. from what has been written about this beast might be compiled a library of great splendor and magnitude, rivalling that of the shakespearean cult, and that which clusters about the bible. it may be said, generally, that all literature is more or less asinine. "hail, holy ass!" the quiring angels sing; "priest of unreason, and of discords king!" great co-creator, let thy glory shine: god made all else, the mule, the mule is thine!" g.j. auctioneer, n. the man who proclaims with a hammer that he has picked a pocket with his tongue. australia, n. a country lying in the south sea, whose industrial and commercial development has been unspeakably retarded by an unfortunate dispute among geographers as to whether it is a continent or an island. avernus, n. the lake by which the ancients entered the infernal regions. the fact that access to the infernal regions was obtained by a lake is believed by the learned marcus ansello scrutator to have suggested the christian rite of baptism by immersion. this, however, has been shown by lactantius to be an error. _facilis descensus averni,_ the poet remarks; and the sense of it is that when down-hill i turn i will get more of punches than pence. jehal dai lupe b baal, n. an old deity formerly much worshiped under various names. as baal he was popular with the phoenicians; as belus or bel he had the honor to be served by the priest berosus, who wrote the famous account of the deluge; as babel he had a tower partly erected to his glory on the plain of shinar. from babel comes our english word "babble." under whatever name worshiped, baal is the sun-god. as beelzebub he is the god of flies, which are begotten of the sun's rays on the stagnant water. in physicia baal is still worshiped as bolus, and as belly he is adored and served with abundant sacrifice by the priests of guttledom. babe or baby, n. a misshapen creature of no particular age, sex, or condition, chiefly remarkable for the violence of the sympathies and antipathies it excites in others, itself without sentiment or emotion. there have been famous babes; for example, little moses, from whose adventure in the bulrushes the egyptian hierophants of seven centuries before doubtless derived their idle tale of the child osiris being preserved on a floating lotus leaf. ere babes were invented the girls were contended. now man is tormented until to buy babes he has squandered his money. and so i have pondered this thing, and thought may be 't were better that baby the first had been eagled or condored. ro amil bacchus, n. a convenient deity invented by the ancients as an excuse for getting drunk. is public worship, then, a sin, that for devotions paid to bacchus the lictors dare to run us in, and resolutely thump and whack us? jorace back, n. that part of your friend which it is your privilege to contemplate in your adversity. backbite, v.t. to speak of a man as you find him when he can't find you. bait, n. a preparation that renders the hook more palatable. the best kind is beauty. baptism, n. a sacred rite of such efficacy that he who finds himself in heaven without having undergone it will be unhappy forever. it is performed with water in two ways--by immersion, or plunging, and by aspersion, or sprinkling. but whether the plan of immersion is better than simple aspersion let those immersed and those aspersed decide by the authorized version, and by matching their agues tertian. g.j. barometer, n. an ingenious instrument which indicates what kind of weather we are having. barrack, n. a house in which soldiers enjoy a portion of that of which it is their business to deprive others. basilisk, n. the cockatrice. a sort of serpent hatched from the egg of a cock. the basilisk had a bad eye, and its glance was fatal. many infidels deny this creature's existence, but semprello aurator saw and handled one that had been blinded by lightning as a punishment for having fatally gazed on a lady of rank whom jupiter loved. juno afterward restored the reptile's sight and hid it in a cave. nothing is so well attested by the ancients as the existence of the basilisk, but the cocks have stopped laying. bastinado, n. the act of walking on wood without exertion. bath, n. a kind of mystic ceremony substituted for religious worship, with what spiritual efficacy has not been determined. the man who taketh a steam bath he loseth all the skin he hath, and, for he's boiled a brilliant red, thinketh to cleanliness he's wed, forgetting that his lungs he's soiling with dirty vapors of the boiling. richard gwow battle, n. a method of untying with the teeth of a political knot that would not yield to the tongue. beard, n. the hair that is commonly cut off by those who justly execrate the absurd chinese custom of shaving the head. beauty, n. the power by which a woman charms a lover and terrifies a husband. befriend, v.t. to make an ingrate. beg, v. to ask for something with an earnestness proportioned to the belief that it will not be given. who is that, father? a mendicant, child, haggard, morose, and unaffable--wild! see how he glares through the bars of his cell! with citizen mendicant all is not well. why did they put him there, father? because obeying his belly he struck at the laws. his belly? oh, well, he was starving, my boy-- a state in which, doubtless, there's little of joy. no bite had he eaten for days, and his cry was "bread!" ever "bread!" what's the matter with pie? with little to wear, he had nothing to sell; to beg was unlawful--improper as well. why didn't he work? he would even have done that, but men said: "get out!" and the state remarked: "scat!" i mention these incidents merely to show that the vengeance he took was uncommonly low. revenge, at the best, is the act of a siou, but for trifles-- pray what did bad mendicant do? stole two loaves of bread to replenish his lack and tuck out the belly that clung to his back. is that _all_ father dear? there's little to tell: they sent him to jail, and they'll send him to--well, the company's better than here we can boast, and there's-- bread for the needy, dear father? um--toast. atka mip beggar, n. one who has relied on the assistance of his friends. behavior, n. conduct, as determined, not by principle, but by breeding. the word seems to be somewhat loosely used in dr. jamrach holobom's translation of the following lines from the _dies irae_: recordare, jesu pie, quod sum causa tuae viae. ne me perdas illa die. pray remember, sacred savior, whose the thoughtless hand that gave your death-blow. pardon such behavior. belladonna, n. in italian a beautiful lady; in english a deadly poison. a striking example of the essential identity of the two tongues. benedictines, n. an order of monks otherwise known as black friars. she thought it a crow, but it turn out to be a monk of st. benedict croaking a text. "here's one of an order of cooks," said she-- "black friars in this world, fried black in the next." "the devil on earth" (london, ) benefactor, n. one who makes heavy purchases of ingratitude, without, however, materially affecting the price, which is still within the means of all. berenice's hair, n. a constellation (_coma berenices_) named in honor of one who sacrificed her hair to save her husband. her locks an ancient lady gave her loving husband's life to save; and men--they honored so the dame-- upon some stars bestowed her name. but to our modern married fair, who'd give their lords to save their hair, no stellar recognition's given. there are not stars enough in heaven. g.j. bigamy, n. a mistake in taste for which the wisdom of the future will adjudge a punishment called trigamy. bigot, n. one who is obstinately and zealously attached to an opinion that you do not entertain. billingsgate, n. the invective of an opponent. birth, n. the first and direst of all disasters. as to the nature of it there appears to be no uniformity. castor and pollux were born from the egg. pallas came out of a skull. galatea was once a block of stone. peresilis, who wrote in the tenth century, avers that he grew up out of the ground where a priest had spilled holy water. it is known that arimaxus was derived from a hole in the earth, made by a stroke of lightning. leucomedon was the son of a cavern in mount aetna, and i have myself seen a man come out of a wine cellar. blackguard, n. a man whose qualities, prepared for display like a box of berries in a market--the fine ones on top--have been opened on the wrong side. an inverted gentleman. blank-verse, n. unrhymed iambic pentameters--the most difficult kind of english verse to write acceptably; a kind, therefore, much affected by those who cannot acceptably write any kind. body-snatcher, n. a robber of grave-worms. one who supplies the young physicians with that with which the old physicians have supplied the undertaker. the hyena. "one night," a doctor said, "last fall, i and my comrades, four in all, when visiting a graveyard stood within the shadow of a wall. "while waiting for the moon to sink we saw a wild hyena slink about a new-made grave, and then begin to excavate its brink! "shocked by the horrid act, we made a sally from our ambuscade, and, falling on the unholy beast, dispatched him with a pick and spade." bettel k. jhones bondsman, n. a fool who, having property of his own, undertakes to become responsible for that entrusted to another to a third. philippe of orleans wishing to appoint one of his favorites, a dissolute nobleman, to a high office, asked him what security he would be able to give. "i need no bondsmen," he replied, "for i can give you my word of honor." "and pray what may be the value of that?" inquired the amused regent. "monsieur, it is worth its weight in gold." bore, n. a person who talks when you wish him to listen. botany, n. the science of vegetables--those that are not good to eat, as well as those that are. it deals largely with their flowers, which are commonly badly designed, inartistic in color, and ill-smelling. bottle-nosed, adj. having a nose created in the image of its maker. boundary, n. in political geography, an imaginary line between two nations, separating the imaginary rights of one from the imaginary rights of the other. bounty, n. the liberality of one who has much, in permitting one who has nothing to get all that he can. a single swallow, it is said, devours ten millions of insects every year. the supplying of these insects i take to be a signal instance of the creator's bounty in providing for the lives of his creatures. henry ward beecher brahma, n. he who created the hindoos, who are preserved by vishnu and destroyed by siva--a rather neater division of labor than is found among the deities of some other nations. the abracadabranese, for example, are created by sin, maintained by theft and destroyed by folly. the priests of brahma, like those of abracadabranese, are holy and learned men who are never naughty. o brahma, thou rare old divinity, first person of the hindoo trinity, you sit there so calm and securely, with feet folded up so demurely-- you're the first person singular, surely. polydore smith brain, n. an apparatus with which we think what we think. that which distinguishes the man who is content to _be_ something from the man who wishes to _do_ something. a man of great wealth, or one who has been pitchforked into high station, has commonly such a headful of brain that his neighbors cannot keep their hats on. in our civilization, and under our republican form of government, brain is so highly honored that it is rewarded by exemption from the cares of office. brandy, n. a cordial composed of one part thunder-and-lightning, one part remorse, two parts bloody murder, one part death-hell-and-the grave and four parts clarified satan. dose, a headful all the time. brandy is said by dr. johnson to be the drink of heroes. only a hero will venture to drink it. bride, n. a woman with a fine prospect of happiness behind her. brute, n. see husband. c caaba, n. a large stone presented by the archangel gabriel to the patriarch abraham, and preserved at mecca. the patriarch had perhaps asked the archangel for bread. cabbage, n. a familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head. the cabbage is so called from cabagius, a prince who on ascending the throne issued a decree appointing a high council of empire consisting of the members of his predecessor's ministry and the cabbages in the royal garden. when any of his majesty's measures of state policy miscarried conspicuously it was gravely announced that several members of the high council had been beheaded, and his murmuring subjects were appeased. calamity, n. a more than commonly plain and unmistakable reminder that the affairs of this life are not of our own ordering. calamities are of two kinds: misfortune to ourselves, and good fortune to others. callous, adj. gifted with great fortitude to bear the evils afflicting another. when zeno was told that one of his enemies was no more he was observed to be deeply moved. "what!" said one of his disciples, "you weep at the death of an enemy?" "ah, 'tis true," replied the great stoic; "but you should see me smile at the death of a friend." calumnus, n. a graduate of the school for scandal. camel, n. a quadruped (the _splaypes humpidorsus_) of great value to the show business. there are two kinds of camels--the camel proper and the camel improper. it is the latter that is always exhibited. cannibal, n. a gastronome of the old school who preserves the simple tastes and adheres to the natural diet of the pre-pork period. cannon, n. an instrument employed in the rectification of national boundaries. canonicals, n. the motley worm by jesters of the court of heaven. capital, n. the seat of misgovernment. that which provides the fire, the pot, the dinner, the table and the knife and fork for the anarchist; the part of the repast that himself supplies is the disgrace before meat. _capital punishment_, a penalty regarding the justice and expediency of which many worthy persons--including all the assassins--entertain grave misgivings. carmelite, n. a mendicant friar of the order of mount carmel. as death was a-rising out one day, across mount camel he took his way, where he met a mendicant monk, some three or four quarters drunk, with a holy leer and a pious grin, ragged and fat and as saucy as sin, who held out his hands and cried: "give, give in charity's name, i pray. give in the name of the church. o give, give that her holy sons may live!" and death replied, smiling long and wide: "i'll give, holy father, i'll give thee--a ride." with a rattle and bang of his bones, he sprang from his famous pale horse, with his spear; by the neck and the foot seized the fellow, and put him astride with his face to the rear. the monarch laughed loud with a sound that fell like clods on the coffin's sounding shell: "ho, ho! a beggar on horseback, they say, will ride to the devil!"--and _thump_ fell the flat of his dart on the rump of the charger, which galloped away. faster and faster and faster it flew, till the rocks and the flocks and the trees that grew by the road were dim and blended and blue to the wild, wild eyes of the rider--in size resembling a couple of blackberry pies. death laughed again, as a tomb might laugh at a burial service spoiled, and the mourners' intentions foiled by the body erecting its head and objecting to further proceedings in its behalf. many a year and many a day have passed since these events away. the monk has long been a dusty corse, and death has never recovered his horse. for the friar got hold of its tail, and steered it within the pale of the monastery gray, where the beast was stabled and fed with barley and oil and bread till fatter it grew than the fattest friar, and so in due course was appointed prior. g.j. carnivorous, adj. addicted to the cruelty of devouring the timorous vegetarian, his heirs and assigns. cartesian, adj. relating to descartes, a famous philosopher, author of the celebrated dictum, _cogito ergo sum_--whereby he was pleased to suppose he demonstrated the reality of human existence. the dictum might be improved, however, thus: _cogito cogito ergo cogito sum_-- "i think that i think, therefore i think that i am;" as close an approach to certainty as any philosopher has yet made. cat, n. a soft, indestructible automaton provided by nature to be kicked when things go wrong in the domestic circle. this is a dog, this is a cat. this is a frog, this is a rat. run, dog, mew, cat. jump, frog, gnaw, rat. elevenson caviler, n. a critic of our own work. cemetery, n. an isolated suburban spot where mourners match lies, poets write at a target and stone-cutters spell for a wager. the inscriptions following will serve to illustrate the success attained in these olympian games: his virtues were so conspicuous that his enemies, unable to overlook them, denied them, and his friends, to whose loose lives they were a rebuke, represented them as vices. they are here commemorated by his family, who shared them. in the earth we here prepare a place to lay our little clara. thomas m. and mary frazer p.s.--gabriel will raise her. centaur, n. one of a race of persons who lived before the division of labor had been carried to such a pitch of differentiation, and who followed the primitive economic maxim, "every man his own horse." the best of the lot was chiron, who to the wisdom and virtues of the horse added the fleetness of man. the scripture story of the head of john the baptist on a charger shows that pagan myths have somewhat sophisticated sacred history. cerberus, n. the watch-dog of hades, whose duty it was to guard the entrance--against whom or what does not clearly appear; everybody, sooner or later, had to go there, and nobody wanted to carry off the entrance. cerberus is known to have had three heads, and some of the poets have credited him with as many as a hundred. professor graybill, whose clerky erudition and profound knowledge of greek give his opinion great weight, has averaged all the estimates, and makes the number twenty-seven--a judgment that would be entirely conclusive if professor graybill had known (a) something about dogs, and (b) something about arithmetic. childhood, n. the period of human life intermediate between the idiocy of infancy and the folly of youth--two removes from the sin of manhood and three from the remorse of age. christian, n. one who believes that the new testament is a divinely inspired book admirably suited to the spiritual needs of his neighbor. one who follows the teachings of christ in so far as they are not inconsistent with a life of sin. i dreamed i stood upon a hill, and, lo! the godly multitudes walked to and fro beneath, in sabbath garments fitly clad, with pious mien, appropriately sad, while all the church bells made a solemn din-- a fire-alarm to those who lived in sin. then saw i gazing thoughtfully below, with tranquil face, upon that holy show a tall, spare figure in a robe of white, whose eyes diffused a melancholy light. "god keep you, stranger," i exclaimed. "you are no doubt (your habit shows it) from afar; and yet i entertain the hope that you, like these good people, are a christian too." he raised his eyes and with a look so stern it made me with a thousand blushes burn replied--his manner with disdain was spiced: "what! i a christian? no, indeed! i'm christ." g.j. circus, n. a place where horses, ponies and elephants are permitted to see men, women and children acting the fool. clairvoyant, n. a person, commonly a woman, who has the power of seeing that which is invisible to her patron, namely, that he is a blockhead. clarionet, n. an instrument of torture operated by a person with cotton in his ears. there are two instruments that are worse than a clarionet--two clarionets. clergyman, n. a man who undertakes the management of our spiritual affairs as a method of bettering his temporal ones. clio, n. one of the nine muses. clio's function was to preside over history--which she did with great dignity, many of the prominent citizens of athens occupying seats on the platform, the meetings being addressed by messrs. xenophon, herodotus and other popular speakers. clock, n. a machine of great moral value to man, allaying his concern for the future by reminding him what a lot of time remains to him. a busy man complained one day: "i get no time!" "what's that you say?" cried out his friend, a lazy quiz; "you have, sir, all the time there is. there's plenty, too, and don't you doubt it-- we're never for an hour without it." purzil crofe close-fisted, adj. unduly desirous of keeping that which many meritorious persons wish to obtain. "close-fisted scotchman!" johnson cried to thrifty j. macpherson; "see me--i'm ready to divide with any worthy person." sad jamie: "that is very true-- the boast requires no backing; and all are worthy, sir, to you, who have what you are lacking." anita m. bobe coenobite, n. a man who piously shuts himself up to meditate upon the sin of wickedness; and to keep it fresh in his mind joins a brotherhood of awful examples. o coenobite, o coenobite, monastical gregarian, you differ from the anchorite, that solitudinarian: with vollied prayers you wound old nick; with dropping shots he makes him sick. quincy giles comfort, n. a state of mind produced by contemplation of a neighbor's uneasiness. commendation, n. the tribute that we pay to achievements that resembles, but do not equal, our own. commerce, n. a kind of transaction in which a plunders from b the goods of c, and for compensation b picks the pocket of d of money belonging to e. commonwealth, n. an administrative entity operated by an incalculable multitude of political parasites, logically active but fortuitously efficient. this commonwealth's capitol's corridors view, so thronged with a hungry and indolent crew of clerks, pages, porters and all attaches whom rascals appoint and the populace pays that a cat cannot slip through the thicket of shins nor hear its own shriek for the noise of their chins. on clerks and on pages, and porters, and all, misfortune attend and disaster befall! may life be to them a succession of hurts; may fleas by the bushel inhabit their shirts; may aches and diseases encamp in their bones, their lungs full of tubercles, bladders of stones; may microbes, bacilli, their tissues infest, and tapeworms securely their bowels digest; may corn-cobs be snared without hope in their hair, and frequent impalement their pleasure impair. disturbed be their dreams by the awful discourse of audible sofas sepulchrally hoarse, by chairs acrobatic and wavering floors-- the mattress that kicks and the pillow that snores! sons of cupidity, cradled in sin! your criminal ranks may the death angel thin, avenging the friend whom i couldn't work in. k.q. compromise, n. such an adjustment of conflicting interests as gives each adversary the satisfaction of thinking he has got what he ought not to have, and is deprived of nothing except what was justly his due. compulsion, n. the eloquence of power. condole, v.i. to show that bereavement is a smaller evil than sympathy. confidant, confidante, n. one entrusted by a with the secrets of b, confided by _him_ to c. congratulation, n. the civility of envy. congress, n. a body of men who meet to repeal laws. connoisseur, n. a specialist who knows everything about something and nothing about anything else. an old wine-bibber having been smashed in a railway collision, some wine was pouted on his lips to revive him. "pauillac, ," he murmured and died. conservative, n. a statesman who is enamored of existing evils, as distinguished from the liberal, who wishes to replace them with others. consolation, n. the knowledge that a better man is more unfortunate than yourself. consul, n. in american politics, a person who having failed to secure an office from the people is given one by the administration on condition that he leave the country. consult, v.i. to seek another's disapproval of a course already decided on. contempt, n. the feeling of a prudent man for an enemy who is too formidable safely to be opposed. controversy, n. a battle in which spittle or ink replaces the injurious cannon-ball and the inconsiderate bayonet. in controversy with the facile tongue-- that bloodless warfare of the old and young-- so seek your adversary to engage that on himself he shall exhaust his rage, and, like a snake that's fastened to the ground, with his own fangs inflict the fatal wound. you ask me how this miracle is done? adopt his own opinions, one by one, and taunt him to refute them; in his wrath he'll sweep them pitilessly from his path. advance then gently all you wish to prove, each proposition prefaced with, "as you've so well remarked," or, "as you wisely say, and i cannot dispute," or, "by the way, this view of it which, better far expressed, runs through your argument." then leave the rest to him, secure that he'll perform his trust and prove your views intelligent and just. conmore apel brune convent, n. a place of retirement for woman who wish for leisure to meditate upon the vice of idleness. conversation, n. a fair for the display of the minor mental commodities, each exhibitor being too intent upon the arrangement of his own wares to observe those of his neighbor. coronation, n. the ceremony of investing a sovereign with the outward and visible signs of his divine right to be blown skyhigh with a dynamite bomb. corporal, n. a man who occupies the lowest rung of the military ladder. fiercely the battle raged and, sad to tell, our corporal heroically fell! fame from her height looked down upon the brawl and said: "he hadn't very far to fall." giacomo smith corporation, n. an ingenious device for obtaining individual profit without individual responsibility. corsair, n. a politician of the seas. court fool, n. the plaintiff. coward, n. one who in a perilous emergency thinks with his legs. crayfish, n. a small crustacean very much resembling the lobster, but less indigestible. in this small fish i take it that human wisdom is admirably figured and symbolized; for whereas the crayfish doth move only backward, and can have only retrospection, seeing naught but the perils already passed, so the wisdom of man doth not enable him to avoid the follies that beset his course, but only to apprehend their nature afterward. sir james merivale creditor, n. one of a tribe of savages dwelling beyond the financial straits and dreaded for their desolating incursions. cremona, n. a high-priced violin made in connecticut. critic, n. a person who boasts himself hard to please because nobody tries to please him. there is a land of pure delight, beyond the jordan's flood, where saints, apparelled all in white, fling back the critic's mud. and as he legs it through the skies, his pelt a sable hue, he sorrows sore to recognize the missiles that he threw. orrin goof cross, n. an ancient religious symbol erroneously supposed to owe its significance to the most solemn event in the history of christianity, but really antedating it by thousands of years. by many it has been believed to be identical with the _crux ansata_ of the ancient phallic worship, but it has been traced even beyond all that we know of that, to the rites of primitive peoples. we have to-day the white cross as a symbol of chastity, and the red cross as a badge of benevolent neutrality in war. having in mind the former, the reverend father gassalasca jape smites the lyre to the effect following: "be good, be good!" the sisterhood cry out in holy chorus, and, to dissuade from sin, parade their various charms before us. but why, o why, has ne'er an eye seen her of winsome manner and youthful grace and pretty face flaunting the white cross banner? now where's the need of speech and screed to better our behaving? a simpler plan for saving man (but, first, is he worth saving?) is, dears, when he declines to flee from bad thoughts that beset him, ignores the law as 't were a straw, and wants to sin--don't let him. cui bono? [latin] what good would that do _me_? cunning, n. the faculty that distinguishes a weak animal or person from a strong one. it brings its possessor much mental satisfaction and great material adversity. an italian proverb says: "the furrier gets the skins of more foxes than asses." cupid, n. the so-called god of love. this bastard creation of a barbarous fancy was no doubt inflicted upon mythology for the sins of its deities. of all unbeautiful and inappropriate conceptions this is the most reasonless and offensive. the notion of symbolizing sexual love by a semisexless babe, and comparing the pains of passion to the wounds of an arrow--of introducing this pudgy homunculus into art grossly to materialize the subtle spirit and suggestion of the work-- this is eminently worthy of the age that, giving it birth, laid it on the doorstep of prosperity. curiosity, n. an objectionable quality of the female mind. the desire to know whether or not a woman is cursed with curiosity is one of the most active and insatiable passions of the masculine soul. curse, v.t. energetically to belabor with a verbal slap-stick. this is an operation which in literature, particularly in the drama, is commonly fatal to the victim. nevertheless, the liability to a cursing is a risk that cuts but a small figure in fixing the rates of life insurance. cynic, n. a blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be. hence the custom among the scythians of plucking out a cynic's eyes to improve his vision. d damn, v. a word formerly much used by the paphlagonians, the meaning of which is lost. by the learned dr. dolabelly gak it is believed to have been a term of satisfaction, implying the highest possible degree of mental tranquillity. professor groke, on the contrary, thinks it expressed an emotion of tumultuous delight, because it so frequently occurs in combination with the word _jod_ or _god_, meaning "joy." it would be with great diffidence that i should advance an opinion conflicting with that of either of these formidable authorities. dance, v.i. to leap about to the sound of tittering music, preferably with arms about your neighbor's wife or daughter. there are many kinds of dances, but all those requiring the participation of the two sexes have two characteristics in common: they are conspicuously innocent, and warmly loved by the vicious. danger, n. a savage beast which, when it sleeps, man girds at and despises, but takes himself away by leaps and bounds when it arises. ambat delaso daring, n. one of the most conspicuous qualities of a man in security. datary, n. a high ecclesiastic official of the roman catholic church, whose important function is to brand the pope's bulls with the words _datum romae_. he enjoys a princely revenue and the friendship of god. dawn, n. the time when men of reason go to bed. certain old men prefer to rise at about that time, taking a cold bath and a long walk with an empty stomach, and otherwise mortifying the flesh. they then point with pride to these practices as the cause of their sturdy health and ripe years; the truth being that they are hearty and old, not because of their habits, but in spite of them. the reason we find only robust persons doing this thing is that it has killed all the others who have tried it. day, n. a period of twenty-four hours, mostly misspent. this period is divided into two parts, the day proper and the night, or day improper--the former devoted to sins of business, the latter consecrated to the other sort. these two kinds of social activity overlap. dead, adj. done with the work of breathing; done with all the world; the mad race run through to the end; the golden goal attained and found to be a hole! squatol johnes debauchee, n. one who has so earnestly pursued pleasure that he has had the misfortune to overtake it. debt, n. an ingenious substitute for the chain and whip of the slave-driver. as, pent in an aquarium, the troutlet swims round and round his tank to find an outlet, pressing his nose against the glass that holds him, nor ever sees the prison that enfolds him; so the poor debtor, seeing naught around him, yet feels the narrow limits that impound him, grieves at his debt and studies to evade it, and finds at last he might as well have paid it. barlow s. vode decalogue, n. a series of commandments, ten in number--just enough to permit an intelligent selection for observance, but not enough to embarrass the choice. following is the revised edition of the decalogue, calculated for this meridian. thou shalt no god but me adore: 'twere too expensive to have more. no images nor idols make for robert ingersoll to break. take not god's name in vain; select a time when it will have effect. work not on sabbath days at all, but go to see the teams play ball. honor thy parents. that creates for life insurance lower rates. kill not, abet not those who kill; thou shalt not pay thy butcher's bill. kiss not thy neighbor's wife, unless thine own thy neighbor doth caress don't steal; thou'lt never thus compete successfully in business. cheat. bear not false witness--that is low-- but "hear 'tis rumored so and so." covet thou naught that thou hast not by hook or crook, or somehow, got. g.j. decide, v.i. to succumb to the preponderance of one set of influences over another set. a leaf was riven from a tree, "i mean to fall to earth," said he. the west wind, rising, made him veer. "eastward," said he, "i now shall steer." the east wind rose with greater force. said he: "'twere wise to change my course." with equal power they contend. he said: "my judgment i suspend." down died the winds; the leaf, elate, cried: "i've decided to fall straight." "first thoughts are best?" that's not the moral; just choose your own and we'll not quarrel. howe'er your choice may chance to fall, you'll have no hand in it at all. g.j. defame, v.t. to lie about another. to tell the truth about another. defenceless, adj. unable to attack. degenerate, adj. less conspicuously admirable than one's ancestors. the contemporaries of homer were striking examples of degeneracy; it required ten of them to raise a rock or a riot that one of the heroes of the trojan war could have raised with ease. homer never tires of sneering at "men who live in these degenerate days," which is perhaps why they suffered him to beg his bread--a marked instance of returning good for evil, by the way, for if they had forbidden him he would certainly have starved. degradation, n. one of the stages of moral and social progress from private station to political preferment. deinotherium, n. an extinct pachyderm that flourished when the pterodactyl was in fashion. the latter was a native of ireland, its name being pronounced terry dactyl or peter o'dactyl, as the man pronouncing it may chance to have heard it spoken or seen it printed. dejeuner, n. the breakfast of an american who has been in paris. variously pronounced. delegation, n. in american politics, an article of merchandise that comes in sets. deliberation, n. the act of examining one's bread to determine which side it is buttered on. deluge, n. a notable first experiment in baptism which washed away the sins (and sinners) of the world. delusion, n. the father of a most respectable family, comprising enthusiasm, affection, self-denial, faith, hope, charity and many other goodly sons and daughters. all hail, delusion! were it not for thee the world turned topsy-turvy we should see; for vice, respectable with cleanly fancies, would fly abandoned virtue's gross advances. mumfrey mappel dentist, n. a prestidigitator who, putting metal into your mouth, pulls coins out of your pocket. dependent, adj. reliant upon another's generosity for the support which you are not in a position to exact from his fears. deputy, n. a male relative of an office-holder, or of his bondsman. the deputy is commonly a beautiful young man, with a red necktie and an intricate system of cobwebs extending from his nose to his desk. when accidentally struck by the janitor's broom, he gives off a cloud of dust. "chief deputy," the master cried, "to-day the books are to be tried by experts and accountants who have been commissioned to go through our office here, to see if we have stolen injudiciously. please have the proper entries made, the proper balances displayed, conforming to the whole amount of cash on hand--which they will count. i've long admired your punctual way-- here at the break and close of day, confronting in your chair the crowd of business men, whose voices loud and gestures violent you quell by some mysterious, calm spell-- some magic lurking in your look that brings the noisiest to book and spreads a holy and profound tranquillity o'er all around. so orderly all's done that they who came to draw remain to pay. but now the time demands, at last, that you employ your genius vast in energies more active. rise and shake the lightnings from your eyes; inspire your underlings, and fling your spirit into everything!" the master's hand here dealt a whack upon the deputy's bent back, when straightway to the floor there fell a shrunken globe, a rattling shell a blackened, withered, eyeless head! the man had been a twelvemonth dead. jamrach holobom destiny, n. a tyrant's authority for crime and fool's excuse for failure. diagnosis, n. a physician's forecast of the disease by the patient's pulse and purse. diaphragm, n. a muscular partition separating disorders of the chest from disorders of the bowels. diary, n. a daily record of that part of one's life, which he can relate to himself without blushing. hearst kept a diary wherein were writ all that he had of wisdom and of wit. so the recording angel, when hearst died, erased all entries of his own and cried: "i'll judge you by your diary." said hearst: "thank you; 'twill show you i am saint the first"-- straightway producing, jubilant and proud, that record from a pocket in his shroud. the angel slowly turned the pages o'er, each stupid line of which he knew before, glooming and gleaming as by turns he hit on shallow sentiment and stolen wit; then gravely closed the book and gave it back. "my friend, you've wandered from your proper track: you'd never be content this side the tomb-- for big ideas heaven has little room, and hell's no latitude for making mirth," he said, and kicked the fellow back to earth. "the mad philosopher" dictator, n. the chief of a nation that prefers the pestilence of despotism to the plague of anarchy. dictionary, n. a malevolent literary device for cramping the growth of a language and making it hard and inelastic. this dictionary, however, is a most useful work. die, n. the singular of "dice." we seldom hear the word, because there is a prohibitory proverb, "never say die." at long intervals, however, some one says: "the die is cast," which is not true, for it is cut. the word is found in an immortal couplet by that eminent poet and domestic economist, senator depew: a cube of cheese no larger than a die may bait the trap to catch a nibbling mie. digestion, n. the conversion of victuals into virtues. when the process is imperfect, vices are evolved instead--a circumstance from which that wicked writer, dr. jeremiah blenn, infers that the ladies are the greater sufferers from dyspepsia. diplomacy, n. the patriotic art of lying for one's country. disabuse, v.t. to present your neighbor with another and better error than the one which he has deemed it advantageous to embrace. discriminate, v.i. to note the particulars in which one person or thing is, if possible, more objectionable than another. discussion, n. a method of confirming others in their errors. disobedience, n. the silver lining to the cloud of servitude. disobey, v.t. to celebrate with an appropriate ceremony the maturity of a command. his right to govern me is clear as day, my duty manifest to disobey; and if that fit observance e'er i shut may i and duty be alike undone. israfel brown dissemble, v.i. to put a clean shirt upon the character. let us dissemble. adam distance, n. the only thing that the rich are willing for the poor to call theirs, and keep. distress, n. a disease incurred by exposure to the prosperity of a friend. divination, n. the art of nosing out the occult. divination is of as many kinds as there are fruit-bearing varieties of the flowering dunce and the early fool. dog, n. a kind of additional or subsidiary deity designed to catch the overflow and surplus of the world's worship. this divine being in some of his smaller and silkier incarnations takes, in the affection of woman, the place to which there is no human male aspirant. the dog is a survival--an anachronism. he toils not, neither does he spin, yet solomon in all his glory never lay upon a door-mat all day long, sun-soaked and fly-fed and fat, while his master worked for the means wherewith to purchase the idle wag of the solomonic tail, seasoned with a look of tolerant recognition. dragoon, n. a soldier who combines dash and steadiness in so equal measure that he makes his advances on foot and his retreats on horseback. dramatist, n. one who adapts plays from the french. druids, n. priests and ministers of an ancient celtic religion which did not disdain to employ the humble allurement of human sacrifice. very little is now known about the druids and their faith. pliny says their religion, originating in britain, spread eastward as far as persia. caesar says those who desired to study its mysteries went to britain. caesar himself went to britain, but does not appear to have obtained any high preferment in the druidical church, although his talent for human sacrifice was considerable. druids performed their religious rites in groves, and knew nothing of church mortgages and the season-ticket system of pew rents. they were, in short, heathens and--as they were once complacently catalogued by a distinguished prelate of the church of england-- dissenters. duck-bill, n. your account at your restaurant during the canvas-back season. duel, n. a formal ceremony preliminary to the reconciliation of two enemies. great skill is necessary to its satisfactory observance; if awkwardly performed the most unexpected and deplorable consequences sometimes ensue. a long time ago a man lost his life in a duel. that dueling's a gentlemanly vice i hold; and wish that it had been my lot to live my life out in some favored spot-- some country where it is considered nice to split a rival like a fish, or slice a husband like a spud, or with a shot bring down a debtor doubled in a knot and ready to be put upon the ice. some miscreants there are, whom i do long to shoot, to stab, or some such way reclaim the scurvy rogues to better lives and manners, i seem to see them now--a mighty throng. it looks as if to challenge _me_ they came, jauntily marching with brass bands and banners! xamba q. dar dullard, n. a member of the reigning dynasty in letters and life. the dullards came in with adam, and being both numerous and sturdy have overrun the habitable world. the secret of their power is their insensibility to blows; tickle them with a bludgeon and they laugh with a platitude. the dullards came originally from boeotia, whence they were driven by stress of starvation, their dullness having blighted the crops. for some centuries they infested philistia, and many of them are called philistines to this day. in the turbulent times of the crusades they withdrew thence and gradually overspread all europe, occupying most of the high places in politics, art, literature, science and theology. since a detachment of dullards came over with the pilgrims in the _mayflower_ and made a favorable report of the country, their increase by birth, immigration, and conversion has been rapid and steady. according to the most trustworthy statistics the number of adult dullards in the united states is but little short of thirty millions, including the statisticians. the intellectual centre of the race is somewhere about peoria, illinois, but the new england dullard is the most shockingly moral. duty, n. that which sternly impels us in the direction of profit, along the line of desire. sir lavender portwine, in favor at court, was wroth at his master, who'd kissed lady port. his anger provoked him to take the king's head, but duty prevailed, and he took the king's bread, instead. g.j. e eat, v.i. to perform successively (and successfully) the functions of mastication, humectation, and deglutition. "i was in the drawing-room, enjoying my dinner," said brillat-savarin, beginning an anecdote. "what!" interrupted rochebriant; "eating dinner in a drawing-room?" "i must beg you to observe, monsieur," explained the great gastronome, "that i did not say i was eating my dinner, but enjoying it. i had dined an hour before." eavesdrop, v.i. secretly to overhear a catalogue of the crimes and vices of another or yourself. a lady with one of her ears applied to an open keyhole heard, inside, two female gossips in converse free-- the subject engaging them was she. "i think," said one, "and my husband thinks that she's a prying, inquisitive minx!" as soon as no more of it she could hear the lady, indignant, removed her ear. "i will not stay," she said, with a pout, "to hear my character lied about!" gopete sherany eccentricity, n. a method of distinction so cheap that fools employ it to accentuate their incapacity. economy, n. purchasing the barrel of whiskey that you do not need for the price of the cow that you cannot afford. edible, adj. good to eat, and wholesome to digest, as a worm to a toad, a toad to a snake, a snake to a pig, a pig to a man, and a man to a worm. editor, n. a person who combines the judicial functions of minos, rhadamanthus and aeacus, but is placable with an obolus; a severely virtuous censor, but so charitable withal that he tolerates the virtues of others and the vices of himself; who flings about him the splintering lightning and sturdy thunders of admonition till he resembles a bunch of firecrackers petulantly uttering his mind at the tail of a dog; then straightway murmurs a mild, melodious lay, soft as the cooing of a donkey intoning its prayer to the evening star. master of mysteries and lord of law, high-pinnacled upon the throne of thought, his face suffused with the dim splendors of the transfiguration, his legs intertwisted and his tongue a-cheek, the editor spills his will along the paper and cuts it off in lengths to suit. and at intervals from behind the veil of the temple is heard the voice of the foreman demanding three inches of wit and six lines of religious meditation, or bidding him turn off the wisdom and whack up some pathos. o, the lord of law on the throne of thought, a gilded impostor is he. of shreds and patches his robes are wrought, his crown is brass, himself an ass, and his power is fiddle-dee-dee. prankily, crankily prating of naught, silly old quilly old monarch of thought. public opinion's camp-follower he, thundering, blundering, plundering free. affected, ungracious, suspected, mendacious, respected contemporaree! j.h. bumbleshook education, n. that which discloses to the wise and disguises from the foolish their lack of understanding. effect, n. the second of two phenomena which always occur together in the same order. the first, called a cause, is said to generate the other--which is no more sensible than it would be for one who has never seen a dog except in the pursuit of a rabbit to declare the rabbit the cause of a dog. egotist, n. a person of low taste, more interested in himself than in me. megaceph, chosen to serve the state in the halls of legislative debate, one day with all his credentials came to the capitol's door and announced his name. the doorkeeper looked, with a comical twist of the face, at the eminent egotist, and said: "go away, for we settle here all manner of questions, knotty and queer, and we cannot have, when the speaker demands to be told how every member stands, a man who to all things under the sky assents by eternally voting 'i'." ejection, n. an approved remedy for the disease of garrulity. it is also much used in cases of extreme poverty. elector, n. one who enjoys the sacred privilege of voting for the man of another man's choice. electricity, n. the power that causes all natural phenomena not known to be caused by something else. it is the same thing as lightning, and its famous attempt to strike dr. franklin is one of the most picturesque incidents in that great and good man's career. the memory of dr. franklin is justly held in great reverence, particularly in france, where a waxen effigy of him was recently on exhibition, bearing the following touching account of his life and services to science: "monsieur franqulin, inventor of electricity. this illustrious savant, after having made several voyages around the world, died on the sandwich islands and was devoured by savages, of whom not a single fragment was ever recovered." electricity seems destined to play a most important part in the arts and industries. the question of its economical application to some purposes is still unsettled, but experiment has already proved that it will propel a street car better than a gas jet and give more light than a horse. elegy, n. a composition in verse, in which, without employing any of the methods of humor, the writer aims to produce in the reader's mind the dampest kind of dejection. the most famous english example begins somewhat like this: the cur foretells the knell of parting day; the loafing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; the wise man homeward plods; i only stay to fiddle-faddle in a minor key. eloquence, n. the art of orally persuading fools that white is the color that it appears to be. it includes the gift of making any color appear white. elysium, n. an imaginary delightful country which the ancients foolishly believed to be inhabited by the spirits of the good. this ridiculous and mischievous fable was swept off the face of the earth by the early christians--may their souls be happy in heaven! emancipation, n. a bondman's change from the tyranny of another to the despotism of himself. he was a slave: at word he went and came; his iron collar cut him to the bone. then liberty erased his owner's name, tightened the rivets and inscribed his own. g.j. embalm, v.i. to cheat vegetation by locking up the gases upon which it feeds. by embalming their dead and thereby deranging the natural balance between animal and vegetable life, the egyptians made their once fertile and populous country barren and incapable of supporting more than a meagre crew. the modern metallic burial casket is a step in the same direction, and many a dead man who ought now to be ornamenting his neighbor's lawn as a tree, or enriching his table as a bunch of radishes, is doomed to a long inutility. we shall get him after awhile if we are spared, but in the meantime the violet and rose are languishing for a nibble at his _glutoeus maximus_. emotion, n. a prostrating disease caused by a determination of the heart to the head. it is sometimes accompanied by a copious discharge of hydrated chloride of sodium from the eyes. encomiast, n. a special (but not particular) kind of liar. end, n. the position farthest removed on either hand from the interlocutor. the man was perishing apace who played the tambourine; the seal of death was on his face-- 'twas pallid, for 'twas clean. "this is the end," the sick man said in faint and failing tones. a moment later he was dead, and tambourine was bones. tinley roquot enough, pro. all there is in the world if you like it. enough is as good as a feast--for that matter enougher's as good as a feast for the platter. arbely c. strunk entertainment, n. any kind of amusement whose inroads stop short of death by injection. enthusiasm, n. a distemper of youth, curable by small doses of repentance in connection with outward applications of experience. byron, who recovered long enough to call it "entuzy-muzy," had a relapse, which carried him off--to missolonghi. envelope, n. the coffin of a document; the scabbard of a bill; the husk of a remittance; the bed-gown of a love-letter. envy, n. emulation adapted to the meanest capacity. epaulet, n. an ornamented badge, serving to distinguish a military officer from the enemy--that is to say, from the officer of lower rank to whom his death would give promotion. epicure, n. an opponent of epicurus, an abstemious philosopher who, holding that pleasure should be the chief aim of man, wasted no time in gratification from the senses. epigram, n. a short, sharp saying in prose or verse, frequently characterized by acidity or acerbity and sometimes by wisdom. following are some of the more notable epigrams of the learned and ingenious dr. jamrach holobom: we know better the needs of ourselves than of others. to serve oneself is economy of administration. in each human heart are a tiger, a pig, an ass and a nightingale. diversity of character is due to their unequal activity. there are three sexes; males, females and girls. beauty in women and distinction in men are alike in this: they seem to the unthinking a kind of credibility. women in love are less ashamed than men. they have less to be ashamed of. while your friend holds you affectionately by both your hands you are safe, for you can watch both his. epitaph, n. an inscription on a tomb, showing that virtues acquired by death have a retroactive effect. following is a touching example: here lie the bones of parson platt, wise, pious, humble and all that, who showed us life as all should live it; let that be said--and god forgive it! erudition, n. dust shaken out of a book into an empty skull. so wide his erudition's mighty span, he knew creation's origin and plan and only came by accident to grief-- he thought, poor man, 'twas right to be a thief. romach pute esoteric, adj. very particularly abstruse and consummately occult. the ancient philosophies were of two kinds,--_exoteric_, those that the philosophers themselves could partly understand, and _esoteric_, those that nobody could understand. it is the latter that have most profoundly affected modern thought and found greatest acceptance in our time. ethnology, n. the science that treats of the various tribes of man, as robbers, thieves, swindlers, dunces, lunatics, idiots and ethnologists. eucharist, n. a sacred feast of the religious sect of theophagi. a dispute once unhappily arose among the members of this sect as to what it was that they ate. in this controversy some five hundred thousand have already been slain, and the question is still unsettled. eulogy, n. praise of a person who has either the advantages of wealth and power, or the consideration to be dead. evangelist, n. a bearer of good tidings, particularly (in a religious sense) such as assure us of our own salvation and the damnation of our neighbors. everlasting, adj. lasting forever. it is with no small diffidence that i venture to offer this brief and elementary definition, for i am not unaware of the existence of a bulky volume by a sometime bishop of worcester, entitled, _a partial definition of the word "everlasting," as used in the authorized version of the holy scriptures_. his book was once esteemed of great authority in the anglican church, and is still, i understand, studied with pleasure to the mind and profit of the soul. exception, n. a thing which takes the liberty to differ from other things of its class, as an honest man, a truthful woman, etc. "the exception proves the rule" is an expression constantly upon the lips of the ignorant, who parrot it from one another with never a thought of its absurdity. in the latin, "_exceptio probat regulam_" means that the exception _tests_ the rule, puts it to the proof, not _confirms_ it. the malefactor who drew the meaning from this excellent dictum and substituted a contrary one of his own exerted an evil power which appears to be immortal. excess, n. in morals, an indulgence that enforces by appropriate penalties the law of moderation. hail, high excess--especially in wine, to thee in worship do i bend the knee who preach abstemiousness unto me-- my skull thy pulpit, as my paunch thy shrine. precept on precept, aye, and line on line, could ne'er persuade so sweetly to agree with reason as thy touch, exact and free, upon my forehead and along my spine. at thy command eschewing pleasure's cup, with the hot grape i warm no more my wit; when on thy stool of penitence i sit i'm quite converted, for i can't get up. ungrateful he who afterward would falter to make new sacrifices at thine altar! excommunication, n. this "excommunication" is a word in speech ecclesiastical oft heard, and means the damning, with bell, book and candle, some sinner whose opinions are a scandal-- a rite permitting satan to enslave him forever, and forbidding christ to save him. gat huckle executive, n. an officer of the government, whose duty it is to enforce the wishes of the legislative power until such time as the judicial department shall be pleased to pronounce them invalid and of no effect. following is an extract from an old book entitled, _the lunarian astonished_--pfeiffer & co., boston, : lunarian: then when your congress has passed a law it goes directly to the supreme court in order that it may at once be known whether it is constitutional? terrestrian: o no; it does not require the approval of the supreme court until having perhaps been enforced for many years somebody objects to its operation against himself--i mean his client. the president, if he approves it, begins to execute it at once. lunarian: ah, the executive power is a part of the legislative. do your policemen also have to approve the local ordinances that they enforce? terrestrian: not yet--at least not in their character of constables. generally speaking, though, all laws require the approval of those whom they are intended to restrain. lunarian: i see. the death warrant is not valid until signed by the murderer. terrestrian: my friend, you put it too strongly; we are not so consistent. lunarian: but this system of maintaining an expensive judicial machinery to pass upon the validity of laws only after they have long been executed, and then only when brought before the court by some private person--does it not cause great confusion? terrestrian: it does. lunarian: why then should not your laws, previously to being executed, be validated, not by the signature of your president, but by that of the chief justice of the supreme court? terrestrian: there is no precedent for any such course. lunarian: precedent. what is that? terrestrian: it has been defined by five hundred lawyers in three volumes each. so how can any one know? exhort, v.t. in religious affairs, to put the conscience of another upon the spit and roast it to a nut-brown discomfort. exile, n. one who serves his country by residing abroad, yet is not an ambassador. an english sea-captain being asked if he had read "the exile of erin," replied: "no, sir, but i should like to anchor on it." years afterwards, when he had been hanged as a pirate after a career of unparalleled atrocities, the following memorandum was found in the ship's log that he had kept at the time of his reply: aug. d, . made a joke on the ex-isle of erin. coldly received. war with the whole world! existence, n. a transient, horrible, fantastic dream, wherein is nothing yet all things do seem: from which we're wakened by a friendly nudge of our bedfellow death, and cry: "o fudge!" experience, n. the wisdom that enables us to recognize as an undesirable old acquaintance the folly that we have already embraced. to one who, journeying through night and fog, is mired neck-deep in an unwholesome bog, experience, like the rising of the dawn, reveals the path that he should not have gone. joel frad bink expostulation, n. one of the many methods by which fools prefer to lose their friends. extinction, n. the raw material out of which theology created the future state. f fairy, n. a creature, variously fashioned and endowed, that formerly inhabited the meadows and forests. it was nocturnal in its habits, and somewhat addicted to dancing and the theft of children. the fairies are now believed by naturalists to be extinct, though a clergyman of the church of england saw three near colchester as lately as , while passing through a park after dining with the lord of the manor. the sight greatly staggered him, and he was so affected that his account of it was incoherent. in the year a troop of fairies visited a wood near aix and carried off the daughter of a peasant, who had been seen to enter it with a bundle of clothing. the son of a wealthy _bourgeois_ disappeared about the same time, but afterward returned. he had seen the abduction and been in pursuit of the fairies. justinian gaux, a writer of the fourteenth century, avers that so great is the fairies' power of transformation that he saw one change itself into two opposing armies and fight a battle with great slaughter, and that the next day, after it had resumed its original shape and gone away, there were seven hundred bodies of the slain which the villagers had to bury. he does not say if any of the wounded recovered. in the time of henry iii, of england, a law was made which prescribed the death penalty for "kyllynge, wowndynge, or mamynge" a fairy, and it was universally respected. faith, n. belief without evidence in what is told by one who speaks without knowledge, of things without parallel. famous, adj. conspicuously miserable. done to a turn on the iron, behold him who to be famous aspired. content? well, his grill has a plating of gold, and his twistings are greatly admired. hassan brubuddy fashion, n. a despot whom the wise ridicule and obey. a king there was who lost an eye in some excess of passion; and straight his courtiers all did try to follow the new fashion. each dropped one eyelid when before the throne he ventured, thinking 'twould please the king. that monarch swore he'd slay them all for winking. what should they do? they were not hot to hazard such disaster; they dared not close an eye--dared not see better than their master. seeing them lacrymose and glum, a leech consoled the weepers: he spread small rags with liquid gum and covered half their peepers. the court all wore the stuff, the flame of royal anger dying. that's how court-plaster got its name unless i'm greatly lying. naramy oof feast, n. a festival. a religious celebration usually signalized by gluttony and drunkenness, frequently in honor of some holy person distinguished for abstemiousness. in the roman catholic church feasts are "movable" and "immovable," but the celebrants are uniformly immovable until they are full. in their earliest development these entertainments took the form of feasts for the dead; such were held by the greeks, under the name _nemeseia_, by the aztecs and peruvians, as in modern times they are popular with the chinese; though it is believed that the ancient dead, like the modern, were light eaters. among the many feasts of the romans was the _novemdiale_, which was held, according to livy, whenever stones fell from heaven. felon, n. a person of greater enterprise than discretion, who in embracing an opportunity has formed an unfortunate attachment. female, n. one of the opposing, or unfair, sex. the maker, at creation's birth, with living things had stocked the earth. from elephants to bats and snails, they all were good, for all were males. but when the devil came and saw he said: "by thine eternal law of growth, maturity, decay, these all must quickly pass away and leave untenanted the earth unless thou dost establish birth"-- then tucked his head beneath his wing to laugh--he had no sleeve--the thing with deviltry did so accord, that he'd suggested to the lord. the master pondered this advice, then shook and threw the fateful dice wherewith all matters here below are ordered, and observed the throw; then bent his head in awful state, confirming the decree of fate. from every part of earth anew the conscious dust consenting flew, while rivers from their courses rolled to make it plastic for the mould. enough collected (but no more, for niggard nature hoards her store) he kneaded it to flexible clay, while nick unseen threw some away. and then the various forms he cast, gross organs first and finer last; no one at once evolved, but all by even touches grew and small degrees advanced, till, shade by shade, to match all living things he'd made females, complete in all their parts except (his clay gave out) the hearts. "no matter," satan cried; "with speed i'll fetch the very hearts they need"-- so flew away and soon brought back the number needed, in a sack. that night earth rang with sounds of strife-- ten million males each had a wife; that night sweet peace her pinions spread o'er hell--ten million devils dead! g.j. fib, n. a lie that has not cut its teeth. an habitual liar's nearest approach to truth: the perigee of his eccentric orbit. when david said: "all men are liars," dave, himself a liar, fibbed like any thief. perhaps he thought to weaken disbelief by proof that even himself was not a slave to truth; though i suspect the aged knave had been of all her servitors the chief had he but known a fig's reluctant leaf is more than e'er she wore on land or wave. no, david served not naked truth when he struck that sledge-hammer blow at all his race; nor did he hit the nail upon the head: for reason shows that it could never be, and the facts contradict him to his face. men are not liars all, for some are dead. bartle quinker fickleness, n. the iterated satiety of an enterprising affection. fiddle, n. an instrument to tickle human ears by friction of a horse's tail on the entrails of a cat. to rome said nero: "if to smoke you turn i shall not cease to fiddle while you burn." to nero rome replied: "pray do your worst, 'tis my excuse that you were fiddling first." orm pludge fidelity, n. a virtue peculiar to those who are about to be betrayed. finance, n. the art or science of managing revenues and resources for the best advantage of the manager. the pronunciation of this word with the i long and the accent on the first syllable is one of america's most precious discoveries and possessions. flag, n. a colored rag borne above troops and hoisted on forts and ships. it appears to serve the same purpose as certain signs that one sees on vacant lots in london--"rubbish may be shot here." flesh, n. the second person of the secular trinity. flop, v. suddenly to change one's opinions and go over to another party. the most notable flop on record was that of saul of tarsus, who has been severely criticised as a turn-coat by some of our partisan journals. fly-speck, n. the prototype of punctuation. it is observed by garvinus that the systems of punctuation in use by the various literary nations depended originally upon the social habits and general diet of the flies infesting the several countries. these creatures, which have always been distinguished for a neighborly and companionable familiarity with authors, liberally or niggardly embellish the manuscripts in process of growth under the pen, according to their bodily habit, bringing out the sense of the work by a species of interpretation superior to, and independent of, the writer's powers. the "old masters" of literature--that is to say, the early writers whose work is so esteemed by later scribes and critics in the same language--never punctuated at all, but worked right along free-handed, without that abruption of the thought which comes from the use of points. (we observe the same thing in children to-day, whose usage in this particular is a striking and beautiful instance of the law that the infancy of individuals reproduces the methods and stages of development characterizing the infancy of races.) in the work of these primitive scribes all the punctuation is found, by the modern investigator with his optical instruments and chemical tests, to have been inserted by the writers' ingenious and serviceable collaborator, the common house-fly--_musca maledicta_. in transcribing these ancient mss, for the purpose of either making the work their own or preserving what they naturally regard as divine revelations, later writers reverently and accurately copy whatever marks they find upon the papyrus or parchment, to the unspeakable enhancement of the lucidity of the thought and value of the work. writers contemporary with the copyists naturally avail themselves of the obvious advantages of these marks in their own work, and with such assistance as the flies of their own household may be willing to grant, frequently rival and sometimes surpass the older compositions, in respect at least of punctuation, which is no small glory. fully to understand the important services that flies perform to literature it is only necessary to lay a page of some popular novelist alongside a saucer of cream-and-molasses in a sunny room and observe "how the wit brightens and the style refines" in accurate proportion to the duration of exposure. folly, n. that "gift and faculty divine" whose creative and controlling energy inspires man's mind, guides his actions and adorns his life. folly! although erasmus praised thee once in a thick volume, and all authors known, if not thy glory yet thy power have shown, deign to take homage from thy son who hunts through all thy maze his brothers, fool and dunce, to mend their lives and to sustain his own, however feebly be his arrows thrown, howe'er each hide the flying weapons blunts. all-father folly! be it mine to raise, with lusty lung, here on his western strand with all thine offspring thronged from every land, thyself inspiring me, the song of praise. and if too weak, i'll hire, to help me bawl, dick watson gilder, gravest of us all. aramis loto frope fool, n. a person who pervades the domain of intellectual speculation and diffuses himself through the channels of moral activity. he is omnific, omniform, omnipercipient, omniscient, omnipotent. he it was who invented letters, printing, the railroad, the steamboat, the telegraph, the platitude and the circle of the sciences. he created patriotism and taught the nations war--founded theology, philosophy, law, medicine and chicago. he established monarchical and republican government. he is from everlasting to everlasting--such as creation's dawn beheld he fooleth now. in the morning of time he sang upon primitive hills, and in the noonday of existence headed the procession of being. his grandmotherly hand was warmly tucked-in the set sun of civilization, and in the twilight he prepares man's evening meal of milk-and-morality and turns down the covers of the universal grave. and after the rest of us shall have retired for the night of eternal oblivion he will sit up to write a history of human civilization. force, n. "force is but might," the teacher said-- "that definition's just." the boy said naught but thought instead, remembering his pounded head: "force is not might but must!" forefinger, n. the finger commonly used in pointing out two malefactors. foreordination, n. this looks like an easy word to define, but when i consider that pious and learned theologians have spent long lives in explaining it, and written libraries to explain their explanations; when i remember that nations have been divided and bloody battles caused by the difference between foreordination and predestination, and that millions of treasure have been expended in the effort to prove and disprove its compatibility with freedom of the will and the efficacy of prayer, praise, and a religious life,--recalling these awful facts in the history of the word, i stand appalled before the mighty problem of its signification, abase my spiritual eyes, fearing to contemplate its portentous magnitude, reverently uncover and humbly refer it to his eminence cardinal gibbons and his grace bishop potter. forgetfulness, n. a gift of god bestowed upon doctors in compensation for their destitution of conscience. fork, n. an instrument used chiefly for the purpose of putting dead animals into the mouth. formerly the knife was employed for this purpose, and by many worthy persons is still thought to have many advantages over the other tool, which, however, they do not altogether reject, but use to assist in charging the knife. the immunity of these persons from swift and awful death is one of the most striking proofs of god's mercy to those that hate him. forma pauperis. [latin] in the character of a poor person--a method by which a litigant without money for lawyers is considerately permitted to lose his case. when adam long ago in cupid's awful court (for cupid ruled ere adam was invented) sued for eve's favor, says an ancient law report, he stood and pleaded unhabilimented. "you sue _in forma pauperis_, i see," eve cried; "actions can't here be that way prosecuted." so all poor adam's motions coldly were denied: he went away--as he had come--nonsuited. g.j. frankalmoigne, n. the tenure by which a religious corporation holds lands on condition of praying for the soul of the donor. in mediaeval times many of the wealthiest fraternities obtained their estates in this simple and cheap manner, and once when henry viii of england sent an officer to confiscate certain vast possessions which a fraternity of monks held by frankalmoigne, "what!" said the prior, "would you master stay our benefactor's soul in purgatory?" "ay," said the officer, coldly, "an ye will not pray him thence for naught he must e'en roast." "but look you, my son," persisted the good man, "this act hath rank as robbery of god!" "nay, nay, good father, my master the king doth but deliver him from the manifold temptations of too great wealth." freebooter, n. a conqueror in a small way of business, whose annexations lack of the sanctifying merit of magnitude. freedom, n. exemption from the stress of authority in a beggarly half dozen of restraint's infinite multitude of methods. a political condition that every nation supposes itself to enjoy in virtual monopoly. liberty. the distinction between freedom and liberty is not accurately known; naturalists have never been able to find a living specimen of either. freedom, as every schoolboy knows, once shrieked as kosciusko fell; on every wind, indeed, that blows i hear her yell. she screams whenever monarchs meet, and parliaments as well, to bind the chains about her feet and toll her knell. and when the sovereign people cast the votes they cannot spell, upon the pestilential blast her clamors swell. for all to whom the power's given to sway or to compel, among themselves apportion heaven and give her hell. blary o'gary freemasons, n. an order with secret rites, grotesque ceremonies and fantastic costumes, which, originating in the reign of charles ii, among working artisans of london, has been joined successively by the dead of past centuries in unbroken retrogression until now it embraces all the generations of man on the hither side of adam and is drumming up distinguished recruits among the pre-creational inhabitants of chaos and formless void. the order was founded at different times by charlemagne, julius caesar, cyrus, solomon, zoroaster, confucious, thothmes, and buddha. its emblems and symbols have been found in the catacombs of paris and rome, on the stones of the parthenon and the chinese great wall, among the temples of karnak and palmyra and in the egyptian pyramids--always by a freemason. friendless, adj. having no favors to bestow. destitute of fortune. addicted to utterance of truth and common sense. friendship, n. a ship big enough to carry two in fair weather, but only one in foul. the sea was calm and the sky was blue; merrily, merrily sailed we two. (high barometer maketh glad.) on the tipsy ship, with a dreadful shout, the tempest descended and we fell out. (o the walking is nasty bad!) armit huff bettle frog, n. a reptile with edible legs. the first mention of frogs in profane literature is in homer's narrative of the war between them and the mice. skeptical persons have doubted homer's authorship of the work, but the learned, ingenious and industrious dr. schliemann has set the question forever at rest by uncovering the bones of the slain frogs. one of the forms of moral suasion by which pharaoh was besought to favor the israelities was a plague of frogs, but pharaoh, who liked them _fricasees_, remarked, with truly oriental stoicism, that he could stand it as long as the frogs and the jews could; so the programme was changed. the frog is a diligent songster, having a good voice but no ear. the libretto of his favorite opera, as written by aristophanes, is brief, simple and effective--"brekekex-koax"; the music is apparently by that eminent composer, richard wagner. horses have a frog in each hoof--a thoughtful provision of nature, enabling them to shine in a hurdle race. frying-pan, n. one part of the penal apparatus employed in that punitive institution, a woman's kitchen. the frying-pan was invented by calvin, and by him used in cooking span-long infants that had died without baptism; and observing one day the horrible torment of a tramp who had incautiously pulled a fried babe from the waste-dump and devoured it, it occurred to the great divine to rob death of its terrors by introducing the frying-pan into every household in geneva. thence it spread to all corners of the world, and has been of invaluable assistance in the propagation of his sombre faith. the following lines (said to be from the pen of his grace bishop potter) seem to imply that the usefulness of this utensil is not limited to this world; but as the consequences of its employment in this life reach over into the life to come, so also itself may be found on the other side, rewarding its devotees: old nick was summoned to the skies. said peter: "your intentions are good, but you lack enterprise concerning new inventions. "now, broiling is an ancient plan of torment, but i hear it reported that the frying-pan sears best the wicked spirit. "go get one--fill it up with fat-- fry sinners brown and good in't." "i know a trick worth two o' that," said nick--"i'll cook their food in't." funeral, n. a pageant whereby we attest our respect for the dead by enriching the undertaker, and strengthen our grief by an expenditure that deepens our groans and doubles our tears. the savage dies--they sacrifice a horse to bear to happy hunting-grounds the corse. our friends expire--we make the money fly in hope their souls will chase it to the sky. jex wopley future, n. that period of time in which our affairs prosper, our friends are true and our happiness is assured. g gallows, n. a stage for the performance of miracle plays, in which the leading actor is translated to heaven. in this country the gallows is chiefly remarkable for the number of persons who escape it. whether on the gallows high or where blood flows the reddest, the noblest place for man to die-- is where he died the deadest. (old play) gargoyle, n. a rain-spout projecting from the eaves of mediaeval buildings, commonly fashioned into a grotesque caricature of some personal enemy of the architect or owner of the building. this was especially the case in churches and ecclesiastical structures generally, in which the gargoyles presented a perfect rogues' gallery of local heretics and controversialists. sometimes when a new dean and chapter were installed the old gargoyles were removed and others substituted having a closer relation to the private animosities of the new incumbents. garther, n. an elastic band intended to keep a woman from coming out of her stockings and desolating the country. generous, adj. originally this word meant noble by birth and was rightly applied to a great multitude of persons. it now means noble by nature and is taking a bit of a rest. genealogy, n. an account of one's descent from an ancestor who did not particularly care to trace his own. genteel, adj. refined, after the fashion of a gent. observe with care, my son, the distinction i reveal: a gentleman is gentle and a gent genteel. heed not the definitions your "unabridged" presents, for dictionary makers are generally gents. g.j. geographer, n. a chap who can tell you offhand the difference between the outside of the world and the inside. habeam, geographer of wide reknown, native of abu-keber's ancient town, in passing thence along the river zam to the adjacent village of xelam, bewildered by the multitude of roads, got lost, lived long on migratory toads, then from exposure miserably died, and grateful travelers bewailed their guide. henry haukhorn geology, n. the science of the earth's crust--to which, doubtless, will be added that of its interior whenever a man shall come up garrulous out of a well. the geological formations of the globe already noted are catalogued thus: the primary, or lower one, consists of rocks, bones or mired mules, gas-pipes, miners' tools, antique statues minus the nose, spanish doubloons and ancestors. the secondary is largely made up of red worms and moles. the tertiary comprises railway tracks, patent pavements, grass, snakes, mouldy boots, beer bottles, tomato cans, intoxicated citizens, garbage, anarchists, snap-dogs and fools. ghost, n. the outward and visible sign of an inward fear. he saw a ghost. it occupied--that dismal thing!-- the path that he was following. before he'd time to stop and fly, an earthquake trifled with the eye that saw a ghost. he fell as fall the early good; unmoved that awful vision stood. the stars that danced before his ken he wildly brushed away, and then he saw a post. jared macphester accounting for the uncommon behavior of ghosts, heine mentions somebody's ingenious theory to the effect that they are as much afraid of us as we of them. not quite, if i may judge from such tables of comparative speed as i am able to compile from memories of my own experience. there is one insuperable obstacle to a belief in ghosts. a ghost never comes naked: he appears either in a winding-sheet or "in his habit as he lived." to believe in him, then, is to believe that not only have the dead the power to make themselves visible after there is nothing left of them, but that the same power inheres in textile fabrics. supposing the products of the loom to have this ability, what object would they have in exercising it? and why does not the apparition of a suit of clothes sometimes walk abroad without a ghost in it? these be riddles of significance. they reach away down and get a convulsive grip on the very tap-root of this flourishing faith. ghoul, n. a demon addicted to the reprehensible habit of devouring the dead. the existence of ghouls has been disputed by that class of controversialists who are more concerned to deprive the world of comforting beliefs than to give it anything good in their place. in father secchi saw one in a cemetery near florence and frightened it away with the sign of the cross. he describes it as gifted with many heads and an uncommon allowance of limbs, and he saw it in more than one place at a time. the good man was coming away from dinner at the time and explains that if he had not been "heavy with eating" he would have seized the demon at all hazards. atholston relates that a ghoul was caught by some sturdy peasants in a churchyard at sudbury and ducked in a horsepond. (he appears to think that so distinguished a criminal should have been ducked in a tank of rosewater.) the water turned at once to blood "and so contynues unto ys daye." the pond has since been bled with a ditch. as late as the beginning of the fourteenth century a ghoul was cornered in the crypt of the cathedral at amiens and the whole population surrounded the place. twenty armed men with a priest at their head, bearing a crucifix, entered and captured the ghoul, which, thinking to escape by the stratagem, had transformed itself to the semblance of a well known citizen, but was nevertheless hanged, drawn and quartered in the midst of hideous popular orgies. the citizen whose shape the demon had assumed was so affected by the sinister occurrence that he never again showed himself in amiens and his fate remains a mystery. glutton, n. a person who escapes the evils of moderation by committing dyspepsia. gnome, n. in north-european mythology, a dwarfish imp inhabiting the interior parts of the earth and having special custody of mineral treasures. bjorsen, who died in , says gnomes were common enough in the southern parts of sweden in his boyhood, and he frequently saw them scampering on the hills in the evening twilight. ludwig binkerhoof saw three as recently as , in the black forest, and sneddeker avers that in they drove a party of miners out of a silesian mine. basing our computations upon data supplied by these statements, we find that the gnomes were probably extinct as early as . gnostics, n. a sect of philosophers who tried to engineer a fusion between the early christians and the platonists. the former would not go into the caucus and the combination failed, greatly to the chagrin of the fusion managers. gnu, n. an animal of south africa, which in its domesticated state resembles a horse, a buffalo and a stag. in its wild condition it is something like a thunderbolt, an earthquake and a cyclone. a hunter from kew caught a distant view of a peacefully meditative gnu, and he said: "i'll pursue, and my hands imbrue in its blood at a closer interview." but that beast did ensue and the hunter it threw o'er the top of a palm that adjacent grew; and he said as he flew: "it is well i withdrew ere, losing my temper, i wickedly slew that really meritorious gnu." jarn leffer good, adj. sensible, madam, to the worth of this present writer. alive, sir, to the advantages of letting him alone. goose, n. a bird that supplies quills for writing. these, by some occult process of nature, are penetrated and suffused with various degrees of the bird's intellectual energies and emotional character, so that when inked and drawn mechanically across paper by a person called an "author," there results a very fair and accurate transcript of the fowl's thought and feeling. the difference in geese, as discovered by this ingenious method, is considerable: many are found to have only trivial and insignificant powers, but some are seen to be very great geese indeed. gorgon, n. the gorgon was a maiden bold who turned to stone the greeks of old that looked upon her awful brow. we dig them out of ruins now, and swear that workmanship so bad proves all the ancient sculptors mad. gout, n. a physician's name for the rheumatism of a rich patient. graces, n. three beautiful goddesses, aglaia, thalia and euphrosyne, who attended upon venus, serving without salary. they were at no expense for board and clothing, for they ate nothing to speak of and dressed according to the weather, wearing whatever breeze happened to be blowing. grammar, n. a system of pitfalls thoughtfully prepared for the feet for the self-made man, along the path by which he advances to distinction. grape, n. hail noble fruit!--by homer sung, anacreon and khayyam; thy praise is ever on the tongue of better men than i am. the lyre in my hand has never swept, the song i cannot offer: my humbler service pray accept-- i'll help to kill the scoffer. the water-drinkers and the cranks who load their skins with liquor-- i'll gladly bear their belly-tanks and tap them with my sticker. fill up, fill up, for wisdom cools when e'er we let the wine rest. here's death to prohibition's fools, and every kind of vine-pest! jamrach holobom grapeshot, n. an argument which the future is preparing in answer to the demands of american socialism. grave, n. a place in which the dead are laid to await the coming of the medical student. beside a lonely grave i stood-- with brambles 'twas encumbered; the winds were moaning in the wood, unheard by him who slumbered, a rustic standing near, i said: "he cannot hear it blowing!" "'course not," said he: "the feller's dead-- he can't hear nowt [sic] that's going." "too true," i said; "alas, too true-- no sound his sense can quicken!" "well, mister, wot is that to you?-- the deadster ain't a-kickin'." i knelt and prayed: "o father, smile on him, and mercy show him!" that countryman looked on the while, and said: "ye didn't know him." pobeter dunko gravitation, n. the tendency of all bodies to approach one another with a strength proportion to the quantity of matter they contain-- the quantity of matter they contain being ascertained by the strength of their tendency to approach one another. this is a lovely and edifying illustration of how science, having made a the proof of b, makes b the proof of a. great, adj. "i'm great," the lion said--"i reign the monarch of the wood and plain!" the elephant replied: "i'm great-- no quadruped can match my weight!" "i'm great--no animal has half so long a neck!" said the giraffe. "i'm great," the kangaroo said--"see my femoral muscularity!" the 'possum said: "i'm great--behold, my tail is lithe and bald and cold!" an oyster fried was understood to say: "i'm great because i'm good!" each reckons greatness to consist in that in which he heads the list, and vierick thinks he tops his class because he is the greatest ass. arion spurl doke guillotine, n. a machine which makes a frenchman shrug his shoulders with good reason. in his great work on _divergent lines of racial evolution_, the learned professor brayfugle argues from the prevalence of this gesture --the shrug--among frenchmen, that they are descended from turtles and it is simply a survival of the habit of retracting the head inside the shell. it is with reluctance that i differ with so eminent an authority, but in my judgment (as more elaborately set forth and enforced in my work entitled _hereditary emotions_--lib. ii, c. xi) the shrug is a poor foundation upon which to build so important a theory, for previously to the revolution the gesture was unknown. i have not a doubt that it is directly referable to the terror inspired by the guillotine during the period of that instrument's activity. gunpowder, n. an agency employed by civilized nations for the settlement of disputes which might become troublesome if left unadjusted. by most writers the invention of gunpowder is ascribed to the chinese, but not upon very convincing evidence. milton says it was invented by the devil to dispel angels with, and this opinion seems to derive some support from the scarcity of angels. moreover, it has the hearty concurrence of the hon. james wilson, secretary of agriculture. secretary wilson became interested in gunpowder through an event that occurred on the government experimental farm in the district of columbia. one day, several years ago, a rogue imperfectly reverent of the secretary's profound attainments and personal character presented him with a sack of gunpowder, representing it as the seed of the _flashawful flabbergastor_, a patagonian cereal of great commercial value, admirably adapted to this climate. the good secretary was instructed to spill it along in a furrow and afterward inhume it with soil. this he at once proceeded to do, and had made a continuous line of it all the way across a ten-acre field, when he was made to look backward by a shout from the generous donor, who at once dropped a lighted match into the furrow at the starting-point. contact with the earth had somewhat dampened the powder, but the startled functionary saw himself pursued by a tall moving pillar of fire and smoke and fierce evolution. he stood for a moment paralyzed and speechless, then he recollected an engagement and, dropping all, absented himself thence with such surprising celerity that to the eyes of spectators along the route selected he appeared like a long, dim streak prolonging itself with inconceivable rapidity through seven villages, and audibly refusing to be comforted. "great scott! what is that?" cried a surveyor's chainman, shading his eyes and gazing at the fading line of agriculturist which bisected his visible horizon. "that," said the surveyor, carelessly glancing at the phenomenon and again centering his attention upon his instrument, "is the meridian of washington." h habeas corpus. a writ by which a man may be taken out of jail when confined for the wrong crime. habit, n. a shackle for the free. hades, n. the lower world; the residence of departed spirits; the place where the dead live. among the ancients the idea of hades was not synonymous with our hell, many of the most respectable men of antiquity residing there in a very comfortable kind of way. indeed, the elysian fields themselves were a part of hades, though they have since been removed to paris. when the jacobean version of the new testament was in process of evolution the pious and learned men engaged in the work insisted by a majority vote on translating the greek word "aides" as "hell"; but a conscientious minority member secretly possessed himself of the record and struck out the objectional word wherever he could find it. at the next meeting, the bishop of salisbury, looking over the work, suddenly sprang to his feet and said with considerable excitement: "gentlemen, somebody has been razing 'hell' here!" years afterward the good prelate's death was made sweet by the reflection that he had been the means (under providence) of making an important, serviceable and immortal addition to the phraseology of the english tongue. hag, n. an elderly lady whom you do not happen to like; sometimes called, also, a hen, or cat. old witches, sorceresses, etc., were called hags from the belief that their heads were surrounded by a kind of baleful lumination or nimbus--hag being the popular name of that peculiar electrical light sometimes observed in the hair. at one time hag was not a word of reproach: drayton speaks of a "beautiful hag, all smiles," much as shakespeare said, "sweet wench." it would not now be proper to call your sweetheart a hag--that compliment is reserved for the use of her grandchildren. half, n. one of two equal parts into which a thing may be divided, or considered as divided. in the fourteenth century a heated discussion arose among theologists and philosophers as to whether omniscience could part an object into three halves; and the pious father aldrovinus publicly prayed in the cathedral at rouen that god would demonstrate the affirmative of the proposition in some signal and unmistakable way, and particularly (if it should please him) upon the body of that hardy blasphemer, manutius procinus, who maintained the negative. procinus, however, was spared to die of the bite of a viper. halo, n. properly, a luminous ring encircling an astronomical body, but not infrequently confounded with "aureola," or "nimbus," a somewhat similar phenomenon worn as a head-dress by divinities and saints. the halo is a purely optical illusion, produced by moisture in the air, in the manner of a rainbow; but the aureola is conferred as a sign of superior sanctity, in the same way as a bishop's mitre, or the pope's tiara. in the painting of the nativity, by szedgkin, a pious artist of pesth, not only do the virgin and the child wear the nimbus, but an ass nibbling hay from the sacred manger is similarly decorated and, to his lasting honor be it said, appears to bear his unaccustomed dignity with a truly saintly grace. hand, n. a singular instrument worn at the end of the human arm and commonly thrust into somebody's pocket. handkerchief, n. a small square of silk or linen, used in various ignoble offices about the face and especially serviceable at funerals to conceal the lack of tears. the handkerchief is of recent invention; our ancestors knew nothing of it and intrusted its duties to the sleeve. shakespeare's introducing it into the play of "othello" is an anachronism: desdemona dried her nose with her skirt, as dr. mary walker and other reformers have done with their coattails in our own day--an evidence that revolutions sometimes go backward. hangman, n. an officer of the law charged with duties of the highest dignity and utmost gravity, and held in hereditary disesteem by a populace having a criminal ancestry. in some of the american states his functions are now performed by an electrician, as in new jersey, where executions by electricity have recently been ordered--the first instance known to this lexicographer of anybody questioning the expediency of hanging jerseymen. happiness, n. an agreeable sensation arising from contemplating the misery of another. harangue, n. a speech by an opponent, who is known as an harangue-outang. harbor, n. a place where ships taking shelter from stores are exposed to the fury of the customs. harmonists, n. a sect of protestants, now extinct, who came from europe in the beginning of the last century and were distinguished for the bitterness of their internal controversies and dissensions. hash, x. there is no definition for this word--nobody knows what hash is. hatchet, n. a young axe, known among indians as a thomashawk. "o bury the hatchet, irascible red, for peace is a blessing," the white man said. the savage concurred, and that weapon interred, with imposing rites, in the white man's head. john lukkus hatred, n. a sentiment appropriate to the occasion of another's superiority. head-money, n. a capitation tax, or poll-tax. in ancient times there lived a king whose tax-collectors could not wring from all his subjects gold enough to make the royal way less rough. for pleasure's highway, like the dames whose premises adjoin it, claims perpetual repairing. so the tax-collectors in a row appeared before the throne to pray their master to devise some way to swell the revenue. "so great," said they, "are the demands of state a tithe of all that we collect will scarcely meet them. pray reflect: how, if one-tenth we must resign, can we exist on t'other nine?" the monarch asked them in reply: "has it occurred to you to try the advantage of economy?" "it has," the spokesman said: "we sold all of our gray garrotes of gold; with plated-ware we now compress the necks of those whom we assess. plain iron forceps we employ to mitigate the miser's joy who hoards, with greed that never tires, that which your majesty requires." deep lines of thought were seen to plow their way across the royal brow. "your state is desperate, no question; pray favor me with a suggestion." "o king of men," the spokesman said, "if you'll impose upon each head a tax, the augmented revenue we'll cheerfully divide with you." as flashes of the sun illume the parted storm-cloud's sullen gloom, the king smiled grimly. "i decree that it be so--and, not to be in generosity outdone, declare you, each and every one, exempted from the operation of this new law of capitation. but lest the people censure me because they're bound and you are free, 'twere well some clever scheme were laid by you this poll-tax to evade. i'll leave you now while you confer with my most trusted minister." the monarch from the throne-room walked and straightway in among them stalked a silent man, with brow concealed, bare-armed--his gleaming axe revealed! g.j. hearse, n. death's baby-carriage. heart, n. an automatic, muscular blood-pump. figuratively, this useful organ is said to be the seat of emotions and sentiments--a very pretty fancy which, however, is nothing but a survival of a once universal belief. it is now known that the sentiments and emotions reside in the stomach, being evolved from food by chemical action of the gastric fluid. the exact process by which a beefsteak becomes a feeling--tender or not, according to the age of the animal from which it was cut; the successive stages of elaboration through which a caviar sandwich is transmuted to a quaint fancy and reappears as a pungent epigram; the marvelous functional methods of converting a hard-boiled egg into religious contrition, or a cream-puff into a sigh of sensibility--these things have been patiently ascertained by m. pasteur, and by him expounded with convincing lucidity. (see, also, my monograph, _the essential identity of the spiritual affections and certain intestinal gases freed in digestion_-- to, pp.) in a scientific work entitled, i believe, _delectatio demonorum_ (john camden hotton, london, ) this view of the sentiments receives a striking illustration; and for further light consult professor dam's famous treatise on _love as a product of alimentary maceration_. heat, n. heat, says professor tyndall, is a mode of motion, but i know now how he's proving his point; but this i know--hot words bestowed with skill will set the human fist a-moving, and where it stops the stars burn free and wild. _crede expertum_--i have seen them, child. gorton swope heathen, n. a benighted creature who has the folly to worship something that he can see and feel. according to professor howison, of the california state university, hebrews are heathens. "the hebrews are heathens!" says howison. he's a christian philosopher. i'm a scurril agnostical chap, if you please, addicted too much to the crime of religious discussion in my rhyme. though hebrew and howison cannot agree on a _modus vivendi_--not they!-- yet heaven has had the designing of me, and i haven't been reared in a way to joy in the thick of the fray. for this of my creed is the soul and the gist, and the truth of it i aver: who differs from me in his faith is an 'ist, and 'ite, an 'ie, or an 'er-- and i'm down upon him or her! let howison urge with perfunctory chin toleration--that's all very well, but a roast is "nuts" to his nostril thin, and he's running--i know by the smell-- a secret and personal hell! bissell gip heaven, n. a place where the wicked cease from troubling you with talk of their personal affairs, and the good listen with attention while you expound your own. hebrew, n. a male jew, as distinguished from the shebrew, an altogether superior creation. helpmate, n. a wife, or bitter half. "now, why is yer wife called a helpmate, pat?" says the priest. "since the time 'o yer wooin' she's niver [sic] assisted in what ye were at-- for it's naught ye are ever doin'." "that's true of yer riverence [sic]," patrick replies, and no sign of contrition envices; "but, bedad, it's a fact which the word implies, for she helps to mate the expinses [sic]!" marley wottel hemp, n. a plant from whose fibrous bark is made an article of neckwear which is frequently put on after public speaking in the open air and prevents the wearer from taking cold. hermit, n. a person whose vices and follies are not sociable. hers, pron. his. hibernate, v.i. to pass the winter season in domestic seclusion. there have been many singular popular notions about the hibernation of various animals. many believe that the bear hibernates during the whole winter and subsists by mechanically sucking its paws. it is admitted that it comes out of its retirement in the spring so lean that it had to try twice before it can cast a shadow. three or four centuries ago, in england, no fact was better attested than that swallows passed the winter months in the mud at the bottom of their brooks, clinging together in globular masses. they have apparently been compelled to give up the custom on account of the foulness of the brooks. sotus ecobius discovered in central asia a whole nation of people who hibernate. by some investigators, the fasting of lent is supposed to have been originally a modified form of hibernation, to which the church gave a religious significance; but this view was strenuously opposed by that eminent authority, bishop kip, who did not wish any honors denied to the memory of the founder of his family. hippogriff, n. an animal (now extinct) which was half horse and half griffin. the griffin was itself a compound creature, half lion and half eagle. the hippogriff was actually, therefore, a one-quarter eagle, which is two dollars and fifty cents in gold. the study of zoology is full of surprises. historian, n. a broad-gauge gossip. history, n. an account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, and soldiers mostly fools. of roman history, great niebuhr's shown 'tis nine-tenths lying. faith, i wish 'twere known, ere we accept great niebuhr as a guide, wherein he blundered and how much he lied. salder bupp hog, n. a bird remarkable for the catholicity of its appetite and serving to illustrate that of ours. among the mahometans and jews, the hog is not in favor as an article of diet, but is respected for the delicacy and the melody of its voice. it is chiefly as a songster that the fowl is esteemed; the cage of him in full chorus has been known to draw tears from two persons at once. the scientific name of this dicky-bird is _porcus rockefelleri_. mr. rockefeller did not discover the hog, but it is considered his by right of resemblance. homoeopathist, n. the humorist of the medical profession. homoeopathy, n. a school of medicine midway between allopathy and christian science. to the last both the others are distinctly inferior, for christian science will cure imaginary diseases, and they can not. homicide, n. the slaying of one human being by another. there are four kinds of homocide: felonious, excusable, justifiable, and praiseworthy, but it makes no great difference to the person slain whether he fell by one kind or another--the classification is for advantage of the lawyers. homiletics, n. the science of adapting sermons to the spiritual needs, capacities and conditions of the congregation. so skilled the parson was in homiletics that all his normal purges and emetics to medicine the spirit were compounded with a most just discrimination founded upon a rigorous examination of tongue and pulse and heart and respiration. then, having diagnosed each one's condition, his scriptural specifics this physician administered--his pills so efficacious and pukes of disposition so vivacious that souls afflicted with ten kinds of adam were convalescent ere they knew they had 'em. but slander's tongue--itself all coated--uttered her bilious mind and scandalously muttered that in the case of patients having money the pills were sugar and the pukes were honey. _biography of bishop potter_ honorable, adj. afflicted with an impediment in one's reach. in legislative bodies it is customary to mention all members as honorable; as, "the honorable gentleman is a scurvy cur." hope, n. desire and expectation rolled into one. delicious hope! when naught to man is left-- of fortune destitute, of friends bereft; when even his dog deserts him, and his goat with tranquil disaffection chews his coat while yet it hangs upon his back; then thou, the star far-flaming on thine angel brow, descendest, radiant, from the skies to hint the promise of a clerkship in the mint. fogarty weffing hospitality, n. the virtue which induces us to feed and lodge certain persons who are not in need of food and lodging. hostility, n. a peculiarly sharp and specially applied sense of the earth's overpopulation. hostility is classified as active and passive; as (respectively) the feeling of a woman for her female friends, and that which she entertains for all the rest of her sex. houri, n. a comely female inhabiting the mohammedan paradise to make things cheery for the good mussulman, whose belief in her existence marks a noble discontent with his earthly spouse, whom he denies a soul. by that good lady the houris are said to be held in deficient esteem. house, n. a hollow edifice erected for the habitation of man, rat, mouse, beetle, cockroach, fly, mosquito, flea, bacillus and microbe. _house of correction_, a place of reward for political and personal service, and for the detention of offenders and appropriations. _house of god_, a building with a steeple and a mortgage on it. _house-dog_, a pestilent beast kept on domestic premises to insult persons passing by and appal the hardy visitor. _house-maid_, a youngerly person of the opposing sex employed to be variously disagreeable and ingeniously unclean in the station in which it has pleased god to place her. houseless, adj. having paid all taxes on household goods. hovel, n. the fruit of a flower called the palace. twaddle had a hovel, twiddle had a palace; twaddle said: "i'll grovel or he'll think i bear him malice"-- a sentiment as novel as a castor on a chalice. down upon the middle of his legs fell twaddle and astonished mr. twiddle, who began to lift his noddle. feed upon the fiddle- faddle flummery, unswaddle a new-born self-sufficiency and think himself a [mockery.] g.j. humanity, n. the human race, collectively, exclusive of the anthropoid poets. humorist, n. a plague that would have softened down the hoar austerity of pharaoh's heart and persuaded him to dismiss israel with his best wishes, cat-quick. lo! the poor humorist, whose tortured mind see jokes in crowds, though still to gloom inclined-- whose simple appetite, untaught to stray, his brains, renewed by night, consumes by day. he thinks, admitted to an equal sty, a graceful hog would bear his company. alexander poke hurricane, n. an atmospheric demonstration once very common but now generally abandoned for the tornado and cyclone. the hurricane is still in popular use in the west indies and is preferred by certain old-fashioned sea-captains. it is also used in the construction of the upper decks of steamboats, but generally speaking, the hurricane's usefulness has outlasted it. hurry, n. the dispatch of bunglers. husband, n. one who, having dined, is charged with the care of the plate. hybrid, n. a pooled issue. hydra, n. a kind of animal that the ancients catalogued under many heads. hyena, n. a beast held in reverence by some oriental nations from its habit of frequenting at night the burial-places of the dead. but the medical student does that. hypochondriasis, n. depression of one's own spirits. some heaps of trash upon a vacant lot where long the village rubbish had been shot displayed a sign among the stuff and stumps-- "hypochondriasis." it meant the dumps. bogul s. purvy hypocrite, n. one who, professing virtues that he does not respect secures the advantage of seeming to be what he despises. i i is the first letter of the alphabet, the first word of the language, the first thought of the mind, the first object of affection. in grammar it is a pronoun of the first person and singular number. its plural is said to be _we_, but how there can be more than one myself is doubtless clearer to the grammarians than it is to the author of this incomparable dictionary. conception of two myselfs is difficult, but fine. the frank yet graceful use of "i" distinguishes a good writer from a bad; the latter carries it with the manner of a thief trying to cloak his loot. ichor, n. a fluid that serves the gods and goddesses in place of blood. fair venus, speared by diomed, restrained the raging chief and said: "behold, rash mortal, whom you've bled-- your soul's stained white with ichorshed!" mary doke iconoclast, n. a breaker of idols, the worshipers whereof are imperfectly gratified by the performance, and most strenuously protest that he unbuildeth but doth not reedify, that he pulleth down but pileth not up. for the poor things would have other idols in place of those he thwacketh upon the mazzard and dispelleth. but the iconoclast saith: "ye shall have none at all, for ye need them not; and if the rebuilder fooleth round hereabout, behold i will depress the head of him and sit thereon till he squawk it." idiot, n. a member of a large and powerful tribe whose influence in human affairs has always been dominant and controlling. the idiot's activity is not confined to any special field of thought or action, but "pervades and regulates the whole." he has the last word in everything; his decision is unappealable. he sets the fashions and opinion of taste, dictates the limitations of speech and circumscribes conduct with a dead-line. idleness, n. a model farm where the devil experiments with seeds of new sins and promotes the growth of staple vices. ignoramus, n. a person unacquainted with certain kinds of knowledge familiar to yourself, and having certain other kinds that you know nothing about. dumble was an ignoramus, mumble was for learning famous. mumble said one day to dumble: "ignorance should be more humble. not a spark have you of knowledge that was got in any college." dumble said to mumble: "truly you're self-satisfied unduly. of things in college i'm denied a knowledge--you of all beside." borelli illuminati, n. a sect of spanish heretics of the latter part of the sixteenth century; so called because they were light weights-- _cunctationes illuminati_. illustrious, adj. suitably placed for the shafts of malice, envy and detraction. imagination, n. a warehouse of facts, with poet and liar in joint ownership. imbecility, n. a kind of divine inspiration, or sacred fire affecting censorious critics of this dictionary. immigrant, n. an unenlightened person who thinks one country better than another. immodest, adj. having a strong sense of one's own merit, coupled with a feeble conception of worth in others. there was once a man in ispahan ever and ever so long ago, and he had a head, the phrenologists said, that fitted him for a show. for his modesty's bump was so large a lump (nature, they said, had taken a freak) that its summit stood far above the wood of his hair, like a mountain peak. so modest a man in all ispahan, over and over again they swore-- so humble and meek, you would vainly seek; none ever was found before. meantime the hump of that awful bump into the heavens contrived to get to so great a height that they called the wight the man with the minaret. there wasn't a man in all ispahan prouder, or louder in praise of his chump: with a tireless tongue and a brazen lung he bragged of that beautiful bump till the shah in a rage sent a trusty page bearing a sack and a bow-string too, and that gentle child explained as he smiled: "a little present for you." the saddest man in all ispahan, sniffed at the gift, yet accepted the same. "if i'd lived," said he, "my humility had given me deathless fame!" sukker uffro immoral, adj. inexpedient. whatever in the long run and with regard to the greater number of instances men find to be generally inexpedient comes to be considered wrong, wicked, immoral. if man's notions of right and wrong have any other basis than this of expediency; if they originated, or could have originated, in any other way; if actions have in themselves a moral character apart from, and nowise dependent on, their consequences--then all philosophy is a lie and reason a disorder of the mind. immortality, n. a toy which people cry for, and on their knees apply for, dispute, contend and lie for, and if allowed would be right proud eternally to die for. g.j. impale, v.t. in popular usage to pierce with any weapon which remains fixed in the wound. this, however, is inaccurate; to impale is, properly, to put to death by thrusting an upright sharp stake into the body, the victim being left in a sitting position. this was a common mode of punishment among many of the nations of antiquity, and is still in high favor in china and other parts of asia. down to the beginning of the fifteenth century it was widely employed in "churching" heretics and schismatics. wolecraft calls it the "stoole of repentynge," and among the common people it was jocularly known as "riding the one legged horse." ludwig salzmann informs us that in thibet impalement is considered the most appropriate punishment for crimes against religion; and although in china it is sometimes awarded for secular offences, it is most frequently adjudged in cases of sacrilege. to the person in actual experience of impalement it must be a matter of minor importance by what kind of civil or religious dissent he was made acquainted with its discomforts; but doubtless he would feel a certain satisfaction if able to contemplate himself in the character of a weather-cock on the spire of the true church. impartial, adj. unable to perceive any promise of personal advantage from espousing either side of a controversy or adopting either of two conflicting opinions. impenitence, n. a state of mind intermediate in point of time between sin and punishment. impiety, n. your irreverence toward my deity. imposition, n. the act of blessing or consecrating by the laying on of hands--a ceremony common to many ecclesiastical systems, but performed with the frankest sincerity by the sect known as thieves. "lo! by the laying on of hands," say parson, priest and dervise, "we consecrate your cash and lands to ecclesiastical service. no doubt you'll swear till all is blue at such an imposition. do." pollo doncas impostor n. a rival aspirant to public honors. improbability, n. his tale he told with a solemn face and a tender, melancholy grace. improbable 'twas, no doubt, when you came to think it out, but the fascinated crowd their deep surprise avowed and all with a single voice averred 'twas the most amazing thing they'd heard-- all save one who spake never a word, but sat as mum as if deaf and dumb, serene, indifferent and unstirred. then all the others turned to him and scrutinized him limb from limb-- scanned him alive; but he seemed to thrive and tranquiler grow each minute, as if there were nothing in it. "what! what!" cried one, "are you not amazed at what our friend has told?" he raised soberly then his eyes and gazed in a natural way and proceeded to say, as he crossed his feet on the mantel-shelf: "o no--not at all; i'm a liar myself." improvidence, n. provision for the needs of to-day from the revenues of to-morrow. impunity, n. wealth. inadmissible, adj. not competent to be considered. said of certain kinds of testimony which juries are supposed to be unfit to be entrusted with, and which judges, therefore, rule out, even of proceedings before themselves alone. hearsay evidence is inadmissible because the person quoted was unsworn and is not before the court for examination; yet most momentous actions, military, political, commercial and of every other kind, are daily undertaken on hearsay evidence. there is no religion in the world that has any other basis than hearsay evidence. revelation is hearsay evidence; that the scriptures are the word of god we have only the testimony of men long dead whose identity is not clearly established and who are not known to have been sworn in any sense. under the rules of evidence as they now exist in this country, no single assertion in the bible has in its support any evidence admissible in a court of law. it cannot be proved that the battle of blenheim ever was fought, that there was such as person as julius caesar, such an empire as assyria. but as records of courts of justice are admissible, it can easily be proved that powerful and malevolent magicians once existed and were a scourge to mankind. the evidence (including confession) upon which certain women were convicted of witchcraft and executed was without a flaw; it is still unimpeachable. the judges' decisions based on it were sound in logic and in law. nothing in any existing court was ever more thoroughly proved than the charges of witchcraft and sorcery for which so many suffered death. if there were no witches, human testimony and human reason are alike destitute of value. inauspiciously, adv. in an unpromising manner, the auspices being unfavorable. among the romans it was customary before undertaking any important action or enterprise to obtain from the augurs, or state prophets, some hint of its probable outcome; and one of their favorite and most trustworthy modes of divination consisted in observing the flight of birds--the omens thence derived being called _auspices_. newspaper reporters and certain miscreant lexicographers have decided that the word--always in the plural--shall mean "patronage" or "management"; as, "the festivities were under the auspices of the ancient and honorable order of body-snatchers"; or, "the hilarities were auspicated by the knights of hunger." a roman slave appeared one day before the augur. "tell me, pray, if--" here the augur, smiling, made a checking gesture and displayed his open palm, which plainly itched, for visibly its surface twitched. a _denarius_ (the latin nickel) successfully allayed the tickle, and then the slave proceeded: "please inform me whether fate decrees success or failure in what i to-night (if it be dark) shall try. its nature? never mind--i think 'tis writ on this"--and with a wink which darkened half the earth, he drew another denarius to view, its shining face attentive scanned, then slipped it into the good man's hand, who with great gravity said: "wait while i retire to question fate." that holy person then withdrew his scared clay and, passing through the temple's rearward gate, cried "shoo!" waving his robe of office. straight each sacred peacock and its mate (maintained for juno's favor) fled with clamor from the trees o'erhead, where they were perching for the night. the temple's roof received their flight, for thither they would always go, when danger threatened them below. back to the slave the augur went: "my son, forecasting the event by flight of birds, i must confess the auspices deny success." that slave retired, a sadder man, abandoning his secret plan-- which was (as well the craft seer had from the first divined) to clear the wall and fraudulently seize on juno's poultry in the trees. g.j. income, n. the natural and rational gauge and measure of respectability, the commonly accepted standards being artificial, arbitrary and fallacious; for, as "sir sycophas chrysolater" in the play has justly remarked, "the true use and function of property (in whatsoever it consisteth--coins, or land, or houses, or merchant-stuff, or anything which may be named as holden of right to one's own subservience) as also of honors, titles, preferments and place, and all favor and acquaintance of persons of quality or ableness, are but to get money. hence it followeth that all things are truly to be rated as of worth in measure of their serviceableness to that end; and their possessors should take rank in agreement thereto, neither the lord of an unproducing manor, howsoever broad and ancient, nor he who bears an unremunerate dignity, nor yet the pauper favorite of a king, being esteemed of level excellency with him whose riches are of daily accretion; and hardly should they whose wealth is barren claim and rightly take more honor than the poor and unworthy." incompatibility, n. in matrimony a similarity of tastes, particularly the taste for domination. incompatibility may, however, consist of a meek-eyed matron living just around the corner. it has even been known to wear a moustache. incompossible, adj. unable to exist if something else exists. two things are incompossible when the world of being has scope enough for one of them, but not enough for both--as walt whitman's poetry and god's mercy to man. incompossibility, it will be seen, is only incompatibility let loose. instead of such low language as "go heel yourself--i mean to kill you on sight," the words, "sir, we are incompossible," would convey an equally significant intimation and in stately courtesy are altogether superior. incubus, n. one of a race of highly improper demons who, though probably not wholly extinct, may be said to have seen their best nights. for a complete account of _incubi_ and _succubi_, including _incubae_ and _succubae_, see the _liber demonorum_ of protassus (paris, ), which contains much curious information that would be out of place in a dictionary intended as a text-book for the public schools. victor hugo relates that in the channel islands satan himself-- tempted more than elsewhere by the beauty of the women, doubtless-- sometimes plays at _incubus_, greatly to the inconvenience and alarm of the good dames who wish to be loyal to their marriage vows, generally speaking. a certain lady applied to the parish priest to learn how they might, in the dark, distinguish the hardy intruder from their husbands. the holy man said they must feel his brow for horns; but hugo is ungallant enough to hint a doubt of the efficacy of the test. incumbent, n. a person of the liveliest interest to the outcumbents. indecision, n. the chief element of success; "for whereas," saith sir thomas brewbold, "there is but one way to do nothing and divers way to do something, whereof, to a surety, only one is the right way, it followeth that he who from indecision standeth still hath not so many chances of going astray as he who pusheth forwards"--a most clear and satisfactory exposition of the matter. "your prompt decision to attack," said general grant on a certain occasion to general gordon granger, "was admirable; you had but five minutes to make up your mind in." "yes, sir," answered the victorious subordinate, "it is a great thing to know exactly what to do in an emergency. when in doubt whether to attack or retreat i never hesitate a moment--i toss up a copper." "do you mean to say that's what you did this time?" "yes, general; but for heaven's sake don't reprimand me: i disobeyed the coin." indifferent, adj. imperfectly sensible to distinctions among things. "you tiresome man!" cried indolentio's wife, "you've grown indifferent to all in life." "indifferent?" he drawled with a slow smile; "i would be, dear, but it is not worth while." apuleius m. gokul indigestion, n. a disease which the patient and his friends frequently mistake for deep religious conviction and concern for the salvation of mankind. as the simple red man of the western wild put it, with, it must be confessed, a certain force: "plenty well, no pray; big bellyache, heap god." indiscretion, n. the guilt of woman. inexpedient, adj. not calculated to advance one's interests. infancy, n. the period of our lives when, according to wordsworth, "heaven lies about us." the world begins lying about us pretty soon afterward. inferiae, n. [latin] among the greeks and romans, sacrifices for propitiation of the _dii manes_, or souls of the dead heroes; for the pious ancients could not invent enough gods to satisfy their spiritual needs, and had to have a number of makeshift deities, or, as a sailor might say, jury-gods, which they made out of the most unpromising materials. it was while sacrificing a bullock to the spirit of agamemnon that laiaides, a priest of aulis, was favored with an audience of that illustrious warrior's shade, who prophetically recounted to him the birth of christ and the triumph of christianity, giving him also a rapid but tolerably complete review of events down to the reign of saint louis. the narrative ended abruptly at that point, owing to the inconsiderate crowing of a cock, which compelled the ghosted king of men to scamper back to hades. there is a fine mediaeval flavor to this story, and as it has not been traced back further than pere brateille, a pious but obscure writer at the court of saint louis, we shall probably not err on the side of presumption in considering it apocryphal, though monsignor capel's judgment of the matter might be different; and to that i bow--wow. infidel, n. in new york, one who does not believe in the christian religion; in constantinople, one who does. (see giaour.) a kind of scoundrel imperfectly reverent of, and niggardly contributory to, divines, ecclesiastics, popes, parsons, canons, monks, mollahs, voodoos, presbyters, hierophants, prelates, obeah-men, abbes, nuns, missionaries, exhorters, deacons, friars, hadjis, high-priests, muezzins, brahmins, medicine-men, confessors, eminences, elders, primates, prebendaries, pilgrims, prophets, imaums, beneficiaries, clerks, vicars-choral, archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, preachers, padres, abbotesses, caloyers, palmers, curates, patriarchs, bonezs, santons, beadsmen, canonesses, residentiaries, diocesans, deans, subdeans, rural deans, abdals, charm-sellers, archdeacons, hierarchs, class-leaders, incumbents, capitulars, sheiks, talapoins, postulants, scribes, gooroos, precentors, beadles, fakeers, sextons, reverences, revivalists, cenobites, perpetual curates, chaplains, mudjoes, readers, novices, vicars, pastors, rabbis, ulemas, lamas, sacristans, vergers, dervises, lectors, church wardens, cardinals, prioresses, suffragans, acolytes, rectors, cures, sophis, mutifs and pumpums. influence, n. in politics, a visionary _quo_ given in exchange for a substantial _quid_. infralapsarian, n. one who ventures to believe that adam need not have sinned unless he had a mind to--in opposition to the supralapsarians, who hold that that luckless person's fall was decreed from the beginning. infralapsarians are sometimes called sublapsarians without material effect upon the importance and lucidity of their views about adam. two theologues once, as they wended their way to chapel, engaged in colloquial fray-- an earnest logomachy, bitter as gall, concerning poor adam and what made him fall. "'twas predestination," cried one--"for the lord decreed he should fall of his own accord." "not so--'twas free will," the other maintained, "which led him to choose what the lord had ordained." so fierce and so fiery grew the debate that nothing but bloodshed their dudgeon could sate; so off flew their cassocks and caps to the ground and, moved by the spirit, their hands went round. ere either had proved his theology right by winning, or even beginning, the fight, a gray old professor of latin came by, a staff in his hand and a scowl in his eye, and learning the cause of their quarrel (for still as they clumsily sparred they disputed with skill of foreordinational freedom of will) cried: "sirrahs! this reasonless warfare compose: atwixt ye's no difference worthy of blows. the sects ye belong to--i'm ready to swear ye wrongly interpret the names that they bear. _you_--infralapsarian son of a clown!-- should only contend that adam slipped down; while _you_--you supralapsarian pup!-- should nothing aver but that adam slipped up. it's all the same whether up or down you slip on a peel of banana brown. even adam analyzed not his blunder, but thought he had slipped on a peal of thunder! g.j. ingrate, n. one who receives a benefit from another, or is otherwise an object of charity. "all men are ingrates," sneered the cynic. "nay," the good philanthropist replied; "i did great service to a man one day who never since has cursed me to repay, nor vilified." "ho!" cried the cynic, "lead me to him straight-- with veneration i am overcome, and fain would have his blessing." "sad your fate-- he cannot bless you, for i grieve to state this man is dumb." ariel selp injury, n. an offense next in degree of enormity to a slight. injustice, n. a burden which of all those that we load upon others and carry ourselves is lightest in the hands and heaviest upon the back. ink, n. a villainous compound of tannogallate of iron, gum-arabic and water, chiefly used to facilitate the infection of idiocy and promote intellectual crime. the properties of ink are peculiar and contradictory: it may be used to make reputations and unmake them; to blacken them and to make them white; but it is most generally and acceptably employed as a mortar to bind together the stones of an edifice of fame, and as a whitewash to conceal afterward the rascal quality of the material. there are men called journalists who have established ink baths which some persons pay money to get into, others to get out of. not infrequently it occurs that a person who has paid to get in pays twice as much to get out. innate, adj. natural, inherent--as innate ideas, that is to say, ideas that we are born with, having had them previously imparted to us. the doctrine of innate ideas is one of the most admirable faiths of philosophy, being itself an innate idea and therefore inaccessible to disproof, though locke foolishly supposed himself to have given it "a black eye." among innate ideas may be mentioned the belief in one's ability to conduct a newspaper, in the greatness of one's country, in the superiority of one's civilization, in the importance of one's personal affairs and in the interesting nature of one's diseases. in'ards, n. the stomach, heart, soul and other bowels. many eminent investigators do not class the soul as an in'ard, but that acute observer and renowned authority, dr. gunsaulus, is persuaded that the mysterious organ known as the spleen is nothing less than our immortal part. to the contrary, professor garrett p. servis holds that man's soul is that prolongation of his spinal marrow which forms the pith of his no tail; and for demonstration of his faith points confidently to the fact that tailed animals have no souls. concerning these two theories, it is best to suspend judgment by believing both. inscription, n. something written on another thing. inscriptions are of many kinds, but mostly memorial, intended to commemorate the fame of some illustrious person and hand down to distant ages the record of his services and virtues. to this class of inscriptions belongs the name of john smith, penciled on the washington monument. following are examples of memorial inscriptions on tombstones: (see epitaph.) "in the sky my soul is found, and my body in the ground. by and by my body'll rise to my spirit in the skies, soaring up to heaven's gate. ." "sacred to the memory of jeremiah tree. cut down may th, , aged yrs. mos. and ds. indigenous." "affliction sore long time she boar, phisicians was in vain, till deth released the dear deceased and left her a remain. gone to join ananias in the regions of bliss." "the clay that rests beneath this stone as silas wood was widely known. now, lying here, i ask what good it was to let me be s. wood. o man, let not ambition trouble you, is the advice of silas w." "richard haymon, of heaven. fell to earth jan. , , and had the dust brushed off him oct. , ." insectivora, n. "see," cries the chorus of admiring preachers, "how providence provides for all his creatures!" "his care," the gnat said, "even the insects follows: for us he has provided wrens and swallows." sempen railey insurance, n. an ingenious modern game of chance in which the player is permitted to enjoy the comfortable conviction that he is beating the man who keeps the table. insurance agent: my dear sir, that is a fine house--pray let me insure it. house owner: with pleasure. please make the annual premium so low that by the time when, according to the tables of your actuary, it will probably be destroyed by fire i will have paid you considerably less than the face of the policy. insurance agent: o dear, no--we could not afford to do that. we must fix the premium so that you will have paid more. house owner: how, then, can _i_ afford _that_? insurance agent: why, your house may burn down at any time. there was smith's house, for example, which-- house owner: spare me--there were brown's house, on the contrary, and jones's house, and robinson's house, which-- insurance agent: spare _me_! house owner: let us understand each other. you want me to pay you money on the supposition that something will occur previously to the time set by yourself for its occurrence. in other words, you expect me to bet that my house will not last so long as you say that it will probably last. insurance agent: but if your house burns without insurance it will be a total loss. house owner: beg your pardon--by your own actuary's tables i shall probably have saved, when it burns, all the premiums i would otherwise have paid to you--amounting to more than the face of the policy they would have bought. but suppose it to burn, uninsured, before the time upon which your figures are based. if i could not afford that, how could you if it were insured? insurance agent: o, we should make ourselves whole from our luckier ventures with other clients. virtually, they pay your loss. house owner: and virtually, then, don't i help to pay their losses? are not their houses as likely as mine to burn before they have paid you as much as you must pay them? the case stands this way: you expect to take more money from your clients than you pay to them, do you not? insurance agent: certainly; if we did not-- house owner: i would not trust you with my money. very well then. if it is _certain_, with reference to the whole body of your clients, that they lose money on you it is _probable_, with reference to any one of them, that _he_ will. it is these individual probabilities that make the aggregate certainty. insurance agent: i will not deny it--but look at the figures in this pamph-- house owner: heaven forbid! insurance agent: you spoke of saving the premiums which you would otherwise pay to me. will you not be more likely to squander them? we offer you an incentive to thrift. house owner: the willingness of a to take care of b's money is not peculiar to insurance, but as a charitable institution you command esteem. deign to accept its expression from a deserving object. insurrection, n. an unsuccessful revolution. disaffection's failure to substitute misrule for bad government. intention, n. the mind's sense of the prevalence of one set of influences over another set; an effect whose cause is the imminence, immediate or remote, of the performance of an involuntary act. interpreter, n. one who enables two persons of different languages to understand each other by repeating to each what it would have been to the interpreter's advantage for the other to have said. interregnum, n. the period during which a monarchical country is governed by a warm spot on the cushion of the throne. the experiment of letting the spot grow cold has commonly been attended by most unhappy results from the zeal of many worthy persons to make it warm again. intimacy, n. a relation into which fools are providentially drawn for their mutual destruction. two seidlitz powders, one in blue and one in white, together drew and having each a pleasant sense of t'other powder's excellence, forsook their jackets for the snug enjoyment of a common mug. so close their intimacy grew one paper would have held the two. to confidences straight they fell, less anxious each to hear than tell; then each remorsefully confessed to all the virtues he possessed, acknowledging he had them in so high degree it was a sin. the more they said, the more they felt their spirits with emotion melt, till tears of sentiment expressed their feelings. then they effervesced! so nature executes her feats of wrath on friends and sympathetes the good old rule who won't apply, that you are you and i am i. introduction, n. a social ceremony invented by the devil for the gratification of his servants and the plaguing of his enemies. the introduction attains its most malevolent development in this country, being, indeed, closely related to our political system. every american being the equal of every other american, it follows that everybody has the right to know everybody else, which implies the right to introduce without request or permission. the declaration of independence should have read thus: "we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, and the right to make that of another miserable by thrusting upon him an incalculable quantity of acquaintances; liberty, particularly the liberty to introduce persons to one another without first ascertaining if they are not already acquainted as enemies; and the pursuit of another's happiness with a running pack of strangers." inventor, n. a person who makes an ingenious arrangement of wheels, levers and springs, and believes it civilization. irreligion, n. the principal one of the great faiths of the world. itch, n. the patriotism of a scotchman. j j is a consonant in english, but some nations use it as a vowel-- than which nothing could be more absurd. its original form, which has been but slightly modified, was that of the tail of a subdued dog, and it was not a letter but a character, standing for a latin verb, _jacere_, "to throw," because when a stone is thrown at a dog the dog's tail assumes that shape. this is the origin of the letter, as expounded by the renowned dr. jocolpus bumer, of the university of belgrade, who established his conclusions on the subject in a work of three quarto volumes and committed suicide on being reminded that the j in the roman alphabet had originally no curl. jealous, adj. unduly concerned about the preservation of that which can be lost only if not worth keeping. jester, n. an officer formerly attached to a king's household, whose business it was to amuse the court by ludicrous actions and utterances, the absurdity being attested by his motley costume. the king himself being attired with dignity, it took the world some centuries to discover that his own conduct and decrees were sufficiently ridiculous for the amusement not only of his court but of all mankind. the jester was commonly called a fool, but the poets and romancers have ever delighted to represent him as a singularly wise and witty person. in the circus of to-day the melancholy ghost of the court fool effects the dejection of humbler audiences with the same jests wherewith in life he gloomed the marble hall, panged the patrician sense of humor and tapped the tank of royal tears. the widow-queen of portugal had an audacious jester who entered the confessional disguised, and there confessed her. "father," she said, "thine ear bend down-- my sins are more than scarlet: i love my fool--blaspheming clown, and common, base-born varlet." "daughter," the mimic priest replied, "that sin, indeed, is awful: the church's pardon is denied to love that is unlawful. "but since thy stubborn heart will be for him forever pleading, thou'dst better make him, by decree, a man of birth and breeding." she made the fool a duke, in hope with heaven's taboo to palter; then told a priest, who told the pope, who damned her from the altar! barel dort jews-harp, n. an unmusical instrument, played by holding it fast with the teeth and trying to brush it away with the finger. joss-sticks, n. small sticks burned by the chinese in their pagan tomfoolery, in imitation of certain sacred rites of our holy religion. justice, n. a commodity which is a more or less adulterated condition the state sells to the citizen as a reward for his allegiance, taxes and personal service. k k is a consonant that we get from the greeks, but it can be traced away back beyond them to the cerathians, a small commercial nation inhabiting the peninsula of smero. in their tongue it was called _klatch_, which means "destroyed." the form of the letter was originally precisely that of our h, but the erudite dr. snedeker explains that it was altered to its present shape to commemorate the destruction of the great temple of jarute by an earthquake, _circa_ b.c. this building was famous for the two lofty columns of its portico, one of which was broken in half by the catastrophe, the other remaining intact. as the earlier form of the letter is supposed to have been suggested by these pillars, so, it is thought by the great antiquary, its later was adopted as a simple and natural--not to say touching--means of keeping the calamity ever in the national memory. it is not known if the name of the letter was altered as an additional mnemonic, or if the name was always _klatch_ and the destruction one of nature's puns. as each theory seems probable enough, i see no objection to believing both--and dr. snedeker arrayed himself on that side of the question. keep, v.t. he willed away his whole estate, and then in death he fell asleep, murmuring: "well, at any rate, my name unblemished i shall keep." but when upon the tomb 'twas wrought whose was it?--for the dead keep naught. durang gophel arn kill, v.t. to create a vacancy without nominating a successor. kilt, n. a costume sometimes worn by scotchmen in america and americans in scotland. kindness, n. a brief preface to ten volumes of exaction. king, n. a male person commonly known in america as a "crowned head," although he never wears a crown and has usually no head to speak of. a king, in times long, long gone by, said to his lazy jester: "if i were you and you were i my moments merrily would fly-- nor care nor grief to pester." "the reason, sire, that you would thrive," the fool said--"if you'll hear it-- is that of all the fools alive who own you for their sovereign, i've the most forgiving spirit." oogum bem king's evil, n. a malady that was formerly cured by the touch of the sovereign, but has now to be treated by the physicians. thus "the most pious edward" of england used to lay his royal hand upon the ailing subjects and make them whole-- a crowd of wretched souls that stay his cure: their malady convinces the great essay of art; but at his touch, such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, they presently amend, as the "doctor" in _macbeth_ hath it. this useful property of the royal hand could, it appears, be transmitted along with other crown properties; for according to "malcolm," 'tis spoken to the succeeding royalty he leaves the healing benediction. but the gift somewhere dropped out of the line of succession: the later sovereigns of england have not been tactual healers, and the disease once honored with the name "king's evil" now bears the humbler one of "scrofula," from _scrofa_, a sow. the date and author of the following epigram are known only to the author of this dictionary, but it is old enough to show that the jest about scotland's national disorder is not a thing of yesterday. ye kynge his evill in me laye, wh. he of scottlande charmed awaye. he layde his hand on mine and sayd: "be gone!" ye ill no longer stayd. but o ye wofull plyght in wh. i'm now y-pight: i have ye itche! the superstition that maladies can be cured by royal taction is dead, but like many a departed conviction it has left a monument of custom to keep its memory green. the practice of forming a line and shaking the president's hand had no other origin, and when that great dignitary bestows his healing salutation on strangely visited people, all swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, the mere despair of surgery, he and his patients are handing along an extinguished torch which once was kindled at the altar-fire of a faith long held by all classes of men. it is a beautiful and edifying "survival"--one which brings the sainted past close home in our "business and bosoms." kiss, n. a word invented by the poets as a rhyme for "bliss." it is supposed to signify, in a general way, some kind of rite or ceremony appertaining to a good understanding; but the manner of its performance is unknown to this lexicographer. kleptomaniac, n. a rich thief. knight, n. once a warrior gentle of birth, then a person of civic worth, now a fellow to move our mirth. warrior, person, and fellow--no more: we must knight our dogs to get any lower. brave knights kennelers then shall be, noble knights of the golden flea, knights of the order of st. steboy, knights of st. gorge and sir knights jawy. god speed the day when this knighting fad shall go to the dogs and the dogs go mad. koran, n. a book which the mohammedans foolishly believe to have been written by divine inspiration, but which christians know to be a wicked imposture, contradictory to the holy scriptures. l labor, n. one of the processes by which a acquires property for b. land, n. a part of the earth's surface, considered as property. the theory that land is property subject to private ownership and control is the foundation of modern society, and is eminently worthy of the superstructure. carried to its logical conclusion, it means that some have the right to prevent others from living; for the right to own implies the right exclusively to occupy; and in fact laws of trespass are enacted wherever property in land is recognized. it follows that if the whole area of _terra firma_ is owned by a, b and c, there will be no place for d, e, f and g to be born, or, born as trespassers, to exist. a life on the ocean wave, a home on the rolling deep, for the spark that nature gave i have there the right to keep. they give me the cat-o'-nine whenever i go ashore. then ho! for the flashing brine-- i'm a natural commodore! dodle language, n. the music with which we charm the serpents guarding another's treasure. laocoon, n. a famous piece of antique scripture representing a priest of that name and his two sons in the folds of two enormous serpents. the skill and diligence with which the old man and lads support the serpents and keep them up to their work have been justly regarded as one of the noblest artistic illustrations of the mastery of human intelligence over brute inertia. lap, n. one of the most important organs of the female system--an admirable provision of nature for the repose of infancy, but chiefly useful in rural festivities to support plates of cold chicken and heads of adult males. the male of our species has a rudimentary lap, imperfectly developed and in no way contributing to the animal's substantial welfare. last, n. a shoemaker's implement, named by a frowning providence as opportunity to the maker of puns. ah, punster, would my lot were cast, where the cobbler is unknown, so that i might forget his last and hear your own. gargo repsky laughter, n. an interior convulsion, producing a distortion of the features and accompanied by inarticulate noises. it is infectious and, though intermittent, incurable. liability to attacks of laughter is one of the characteristics distinguishing man from the animals-- these being not only inaccessible to the provocation of his example, but impregnable to the microbes having original jurisdiction in bestowal of the disease. whether laughter could be imparted to animals by inoculation from the human patient is a question that has not been answered by experimentation. dr. meir witchell holds that the infectious character of laughter is due to the instantaneous fermentation of _sputa_ diffused in a spray. from this peculiarity he names the disorder _convulsio spargens_. laureate, adj. crowned with leaves of the laurel. in england the poet laureate is an officer of the sovereign's court, acting as dancing skeleton at every royal feast and singing-mute at every royal funeral. of all incumbents of that high office, robert southey had the most notable knack at drugging the samson of public joy and cutting his hair to the quick; and he had an artistic color-sense which enabled him so to blacken a public grief as to give it the aspect of a national crime. laurel, n. the _laurus_, a vegetable dedicated to apollo, and formerly defoliated to wreathe the brows of victors and such poets as had influence at court. (_vide supra._) law, n. once law was sitting on the bench, and mercy knelt a-weeping. "clear out!" he cried, "disordered wench! nor come before me creeping. upon your knees if you appear, 'tis plain your have no standing here." then justice came. his honor cried: "_your_ status?--devil seize you!" "_amica curiae,_" she replied-- "friend of the court, so please you." "begone!" he shouted--"there's the door-- i never saw your face before!" g.j. lawful, adj. compatible with the will of a judge having jurisdiction. lawyer, n. one skilled in circumvention of the law. laziness, n. unwarranted repose of manner in a person of low degree. lead, n. a heavy blue-gray metal much used in giving stability to light lovers--particularly to those who love not wisely but other men's wives. lead is also of great service as a counterpoise to an argument of such weight that it turns the scale of debate the wrong way. an interesting fact in the chemistry of international controversy is that at the point of contact of two patriotisms lead is precipitated in great quantities. hail, holy lead!--of human feuds the great and universal arbiter; endowed with penetration to pierce any cloud fogging the field of controversial hate, and with a swift, inevitable, straight, searching precision find the unavowed but vital point. thy judgment, when allowed by the chirurgeon, settles the debate. o useful metal!--were it not for thee we'd grapple one another's ears alway: but when we hear thee buzzing like a bee we, like old muhlenberg, "care not to stay." and when the quick have run away like pellets jack satan smelts the dead to make new bullets. learning, n. the kind of ignorance distinguishing the studious. lecturer, n. one with his hand in your pocket, his tongue in your ear and his faith in your patience. legacy, n. a gift from one who is legging it out of this vale of tears. leonine, adj. unlike a menagerie lion. leonine verses are those in which a word in the middle of a line rhymes with a word at the end, as in this famous passage from bella peeler silcox: the electric light invades the dunnest deep of hades. cries pluto, 'twixt his snores: "o tempora! o mores!" it should be explained that mrs. silcox does not undertake to teach pronunciation of the greek and latin tongues. leonine verses are so called in honor of a poet named leo, whom prosodists appear to find a pleasure in believing to have been the first to discover that a rhyming couplet could be run into a single line. lettuce, n. an herb of the genus _lactuca_, "wherewith," says that pious gastronome, hengist pelly, "god has been pleased to reward the good and punish the wicked. for by his inner light the righteous man has discerned a manner of compounding for it a dressing to the appetency whereof a multitude of gustible condiments conspire, being reconciled and ameliorated with profusion of oil, the entire comestible making glad the heart of the godly and causing his face to shine. but the person of spiritual unworth is successfully tempted to the adversary to eat of lettuce with destitution of oil, mustard, egg, salt and garlic, and with a rascal bath of vinegar polluted with sugar. wherefore the person of spiritual unworth suffers an intestinal pang of strange complexity and raises the song." leviathan, n. an enormous aquatic animal mentioned by job. some suppose it to have been the whale, but that distinguished ichthyologer, dr. jordan, of stanford university, maintains with considerable heat that it was a species of gigantic tadpole (_thaddeus polandensis_) or polliwig--_maria pseudo-hirsuta_. for an exhaustive description and history of the tadpole consult the famous monograph of jane potter, _thaddeus of warsaw_. lexicographer, n. a pestilent fellow who, under the pretense of recording some particular stage in the development of a language, does what he can to arrest its growth, stiffen its flexibility and mechanize its methods. for your lexicographer, having written his dictionary, comes to be considered "as one having authority," whereas his function is only to make a record, not to give a law. the natural servility of the human understanding having invested him with judicial power, surrenders its right of reason and submits itself to a chronicle as if it were a statute. let the dictionary (for example) mark a good word as "obsolete" or "obsolescent" and few men thereafter venture to use it, whatever their need of it and however desirable its restoration to favor--whereby the process of impoverishment is accelerated and speech decays. on the contrary, the bold and discerning writer who, recognizing the truth that language must grow by innovation if it grow at all, makes new words and uses the old in an unfamiliar sense, has no following and is tartly reminded that "it isn't in the dictionary" --although down to the time of the first lexicographer (heaven forgive him!) no author ever had used a word that _was_ in the dictionary. in the golden prime and high noon of english speech; when from the lips of the great elizabethans fell words that made their own meaning and carried it in their very sound; when a shakespeare and a bacon were possible, and the language now rapidly perishing at one end and slowly renewed at the other was in vigorous growth and hardy preservation--sweeter than honey and stronger than a lion--the lexicographer was a person unknown, the dictionary a creation which his creator had not created him to create. god said: "let spirit perish into form," and lexicographers arose, a swarm! thought fled and left her clothing, which they took, and catalogued each garment in a book. now, from her leafy covert when she cries: "give me my clothes and i'll return," they rise and scan the list, and say without compassion: "excuse us--they are mostly out of fashion." sigismund smith liar, n. a lawyer with a roving commission. liberty, n. one of imagination's most precious possessions. the rising people, hot and out of breath, roared around the palace: "liberty or death!" "if death will do," the king said, "let me reign; you'll have, i'm sure, no reason to complain." martha braymance lickspittle, n. a useful functionary, not infrequently found editing a newspaper. in his character of editor he is closely allied to the blackmailer by the tie of occasional identity; for in truth the lickspittle is only the blackmailer under another aspect, although the latter is frequently found as an independent species. lickspittling is more detestable than blackmailing, precisely as the business of a confidence man is more detestable than that of a highway robber; and the parallel maintains itself throughout, for whereas few robbers will cheat, every sneak will plunder if he dare. life, n. a spiritual pickle preserving the body from decay. we live in daily apprehension of its loss; yet when lost it is not missed. the question, "is life worth living?" has been much discussed; particularly by those who think it is not, many of whom have written at great length in support of their view and by careful observance of the laws of health enjoyed for long terms of years the honors of successful controversy. "life's not worth living, and that's the truth," carelessly caroled the golden youth. in manhood still he maintained that view and held it more strongly the older he grew. when kicked by a jackass at eighty-three, "go fetch me a surgeon at once!" cried he. han soper lighthouse, n. a tall building on the seashore in which the government maintains a lamp and the friend of a politician. limb, n. the branch of a tree or the leg of an american woman. 'twas a pair of boots that the lady bought, and the salesman laced them tight to a very remarkable height-- higher, indeed, than i think he ought-- higher than _can_ be right. for the bible declares--but never mind: it is hardly fit to censure freely and fault to find with others for sins that i'm not inclined myself to commit. each has his weakness, and though my own is freedom from every sin, it still were unfair to pitch in, discharging the first censorious stone. besides, the truth compels me to say, the boots in question were _made_ that way. as he drew the lace she made a grimace, and blushingly said to him: "this boot, i'm sure, is too high to endure, it hurts my--hurts my--limb." the salesman smiled in a manner mild, like an artless, undesigning child; then, checking himself, to his face he gave a look as sorrowful as the grave, though he didn't care two figs for her pains and throes, as he stroked her toes, remarking with speech and manner just befitting his calling: "madam, i trust that it doesn't hurt your twigs." b. percival dike linen, n. "a kind of cloth the making of which, when made of hemp, entails a great waste of hemp."--calcraft the hangman. litigant, n. a person about to give up his skin for the hope of retaining his bones. litigation, n. a machine which you go into as a pig and come out of as a sausage. liver, n. a large red organ thoughtfully provided by nature to be bilious with. the sentiments and emotions which every literary anatomist now knows to haunt the heart were anciently believed to infest the liver; and even gascoygne, speaking of the emotional side of human nature, calls it "our hepaticall parte." it was at one time considered the seat of life; hence its name--liver, the thing we live with. the liver is heaven's best gift to the goose; without it that bird would be unable to supply us with the strasbourg _pate_. ll.d. letters indicating the degree _legumptionorum doctor_, one learned in laws, gifted with legal gumption. some suspicion is cast upon this derivation by the fact that the title was formerly _ll.d._, and conferred only upon gentlemen distinguished for their wealth. at the date of this writing columbia university is considering the expediency of making another degree for clergymen, in place of the old d.d.--_damnator diaboli_. the new honor will be known as _sanctorum custus_, and written _$$c_. the name of the rev. john satan has been suggested as a suitable recipient by a lover of consistency, who points out that professor harry thurston peck has long enjoyed the advantage of a degree. lock-and-key, n. the distinguishing device of civilization and enlightenment. lodger, n. a less popular name for the second person of that delectable newspaper trinity, the roomer, the bedder, and the mealer. logic, n. the art of thinking and reasoning in strict accordance with the limitations and incapacities of the human misunderstanding. the basic of logic is the syllogism, consisting of a major and a minor premise and a conclusion--thus: _major premise_: sixty men can do a piece of work sixty times as quickly as one man. _minor premise_: one man can dig a posthole in sixty seconds; therefore-- _conclusion_: sixty men can dig a posthole in one second. this may be called the syllogism arithmetical, in which, by combining logic and mathematics, we obtain a double certainty and are twice blessed. logomachy, n. a war in which the weapons are words and the wounds punctures in the swim-bladder of self-esteem--a kind of contest in which, the vanquished being unconscious of defeat, the victor is denied the reward of success. 'tis said by divers of the scholar-men that poor salmasius died of milton's pen. alas! we cannot know if this is true, for reading milton's wit we perish too. longanimity, n. the disposition to endure injury with meek forbearance while maturing a plan of revenge. longevity, n. uncommon extension of the fear of death. looking-glass, n. a vitreous plane upon which to display a fleeting show for man's disillusion given. the king of manchuria had a magic looking-glass, whereon whoso looked saw, not his own image, but only that of the king. a certain courtier who had long enjoyed the king's favor and was thereby enriched beyond any other subject of the realm, said to the king: "give me, i pray, thy wonderful mirror, so that when absent out of thine august presence i may yet do homage before thy visible shadow, prostrating myself night and morning in the glory of thy benign countenance, as which nothing has so divine splendor, o noonday sun of the universe!" please with the speech, the king commanded that the mirror be conveyed to the courtier's palace; but after, having gone thither without apprisal, he found it in an apartment where was naught but idle lumber. and the mirror was dimmed with dust and overlaced with cobwebs. this so angered him that he fisted it hard, shattering the glass, and was sorely hurt. enraged all the more by this mischance, he commanded that the ungrateful courtier be thrown into prison, and that the glass be repaired and taken back to his own palace; and this was done. but when the king looked again on the mirror he saw not his image as before, but only the figure of a crowned ass, having a bloody bandage on one of its hinder hooves--as the artificers and all who had looked upon it had before discerned but feared to report. taught wisdom and charity, the king restored his courtier to liberty, had the mirror set into the back of the throne and reigned many years with justice and humility; and one day when he fell asleep in death while on the throne, the whole court saw in the mirror the luminous figure of an angel, which remains to this day. loquacity, n. a disorder which renders the sufferer unable to curb his tongue when you wish to talk. lord, n. in american society, an english tourist above the state of a costermonger, as, lord 'aberdasher, lord hartisan and so forth. the traveling briton of lesser degree is addressed as "sir," as, sir 'arry donkiboi, or 'amstead 'eath. the word "lord" is sometimes used, also, as a title of the supreme being; but this is thought to be rather flattery than true reverence. miss sallie ann splurge, of her own accord, wedded a wandering english lord-- wedded and took him to dwell with her "paw," a parent who throve by the practice of draw. lord cadde i don't hesitate to declare unworthy the father-in-legal care of that elderly sport, notwithstanding the truth that cadde had renounced all the follies of youth; for, sad to relate, he'd arrived at the stage of existence that's marked by the vices of age. among them, cupidity caused him to urge repeated demands on the pocket of splurge, till, wrecked in his fortune, that gentleman saw inadequate aid in the practice of draw, and took, as a means of augmenting his pelf, to the business of being a lord himself. his neat-fitting garments he wilfully shed and sacked himself strangely in checks instead; denuded his chin, but retained at each ear a whisker that looked like a blasted career. he painted his neck an incarnadine hue each morning and varnished it all that he knew. the moony monocular set in his eye appeared to be scanning the sweet bye-and-bye. his head was enroofed with a billycock hat, and his low-necked shoes were aduncous and flat. in speech he eschewed his american ways, denying his nose to the use of his a's and dulling their edge till the delicate sense of a babe at their temper could take no offence. his h's--'twas most inexpressibly sweet, the patter they made as they fell at his feet! re-outfitted thus, mr. splurge without fear began as lord splurge his recouping career. alas, the divinity shaping his end entertained other views and decided to send his lordship in horror, despair and dismay from the land of the nobleman's natural prey. for, smit with his old world ways, lady cadde fell--suffering caesar!--in love with her dad! g.j. lore, n. learning--particularly that sort which is not derived from a regular course of instruction but comes of the reading of occult books, or by nature. this latter is commonly designated as folk-lore and embraces popularly myths and superstitions. in baring-gould's _curious myths of the middle ages_ the reader will find many of these traced backward, through various people on converging lines, toward a common origin in remote antiquity. among these are the fables of "teddy the giant killer," "the sleeping john sharp williams," "little red riding hood and the sugar trust," "beauty and the brisbane," "the seven aldermen of ephesus," "rip van fairbanks," and so forth. the fable which goethe so affectingly relates under the title of "the erl-king" was known two thousand years ago in greece as "the demos and the infant industry." one of the most general and ancient of these myths is that arabian tale of "ali baba and the forty rockefellers." loss, n. privation of that which we had, or had not. thus, in the latter sense, it is said of a defeated candidate that he "lost his election"; and of that eminent man, the poet gilder, that he has "lost his mind." it is in the former and more legitimate sense, that the word is used in the famous epitaph: here huntington's ashes long have lain whose loss is our eternal gain, for while he exercised all his powers whatever he gained, the loss was ours. love, n. a temporary insanity curable by marriage or by removal of the patient from the influences under which he incurred the disorder. this disease, like _caries_ and many other ailments, is prevalent only among civilized races living under artificial conditions; barbarous nations breathing pure air and eating simple food enjoy immunity from its ravages. it is sometimes fatal, but more frequently to the physician than to the patient. low-bred, adj. "raised" instead of brought up. luminary, n. one who throws light upon a subject; as an editor by not writing about it. lunarian, n. an inhabitant of the moon, as distinguished from lunatic, one whom the moon inhabits. the lunarians have been described by lucian, locke and other observers, but without much agreement. for example, bragellos avers their anatomical identity with man, but professor newcomb says they are more like the hill tribes of vermont. lyre, n. an ancient instrument of torture. the word is now used in a figurative sense to denote the poetic faculty, as in the following fiery lines of our great poet, ella wheeler wilcox: i sit astride parnassus with my lyre, and pick with care the disobedient wire. that stupid shepherd lolling on his crook with deaf attention scarcely deigns to look. i bide my time, and it shall come at length, when, with a titan's energy and strength, i'll grab a fistful of the strings, and o, the word shall suffer when i let them go! farquharson harris m mace, n. a staff of office signifying authority. its form, that of a heavy club, indicates its original purpose and use in dissuading from dissent. machination, n. the method employed by one's opponents in baffling one's open and honorable efforts to do the right thing. so plain the advantages of machination it constitutes a moral obligation, and honest wolves who think upon't with loathing feel bound to don the sheep's deceptive clothing. so prospers still the diplomatic art, and satan bows, with hand upon his heart. r.s.k. macrobian, n. one forgotten of the gods and living to a great age. history is abundantly supplied with examples, from methuselah to old parr, but some notable instances of longevity are less well known. a calabrian peasant named coloni, born in , lived so long that he had what he considered a glimpse of the dawn of universal peace. scanavius relates that he knew an archbishop who was so old that he could remember a time when he did not deserve hanging. in a linen draper of bristol, england, declared that he had lived five hundred years, and that in all that time he had never told a lie. there are instances of longevity (_macrobiosis_) in our own country. senator chauncey depew is old enough to know better. the editor of _the american_, a newspaper in new york city, has a memory that goes back to the time when he was a rascal, but not to the fact. the president of the united states was born so long ago that many of the friends of his youth have risen to high political and military preferment without the assistance of personal merit. the verses following were written by a macrobian: when i was young the world was fair and amiable and sunny. a brightness was in all the air, in all the waters, honey. the jokes were fine and funny, the statesmen honest in their views, and in their lives, as well, and when you heard a bit of news 'twas true enough to tell. men were not ranting, shouting, reeking, nor women "generally speaking." the summer then was long indeed: it lasted one whole season! the sparkling winter gave no heed when ordered by unreason to bring the early peas on. now, where the dickens is the sense in calling that a year which does no more than just commence before the end is near? when i was young the year extended from month to month until it ended. i know not why the world has changed to something dark and dreary, and everything is now arranged to make a fellow weary. the weather man--i fear he has much to do with it, for, sure, the air is not the same: it chokes you when it is impure, when pure it makes you lame. with windows closed you are asthmatic; open, neuralgic or sciatic. well, i suppose this new regime of dun degeneration seems eviler than it would seem to a better observation, and has for compensation some blessings in a deep disguise which mortal sight has failed to pierce, although to angels' eyes they're visible unveiled. if age is such a boon, good land! he's costumed by a master hand! venable strigg mad, adj. affected with a high degree of intellectual independence; not conforming to standards of thought, speech and action derived by the conformants from study of themselves; at odds with the majority; in short, unusual. it is noteworthy that persons are pronounced mad by officials destitute of evidence that themselves are sane. for illustration, this present (and illustrious) lexicographer is no firmer in the faith of his own sanity than is any inmate of any madhouse in the land; yet for aught he knows to the contrary, instead of the lofty occupation that seems to him to be engaging his powers he may really be beating his hands against the window bars of an asylum and declaring himself noah webster, to the innocent delight of many thoughtless spectators. magdalene, n. an inhabitant of magdala. popularly, a woman found out. this definition of the word has the authority of ignorance, mary of magdala being another person than the penitent woman mentioned by st. luke. it has also the official sanction of the governments of great britain and the united states. in england the word is pronounced maudlin, whence maudlin, adjective, unpleasantly sentimental. with their maudlin for magdalene, and their bedlam for bethlehem, the english may justly boast themselves the greatest of revisers. magic, n. an art of converting superstition into coin. there are other arts serving the same high purpose, but the discreet lexicographer does not name them. magnet, n. something acted upon by magnetism. magnetism, n. something acting upon a magnet. the two definitions immediately foregoing are condensed from the works of one thousand eminent scientists, who have illuminated the subject with a great white light, to the inexpressible advancement of human knowledge. magnificent, adj. having a grandeur or splendor superior to that to which the spectator is accustomed, as the ears of an ass, to a rabbit, or the glory of a glowworm, to a maggot. magnitude, n. size. magnitude being purely relative, nothing is large and nothing small. if everything in the universe were increased in bulk one thousand diameters nothing would be any larger than it was before, but if one thing remain unchanged all the others would be larger than they had been. to an understanding familiar with the relativity of magnitude and distance the spaces and masses of the astronomer would be no more impressive than those of the microscopist. for anything we know to the contrary, the visible universe may be a small part of an atom, with its component ions, floating in the life-fluid (luminiferous ether) of some animal. possibly the wee creatures peopling the corpuscles of our own blood are overcome with the proper emotion when contemplating the unthinkable distance from one of these to another. magpie, n. a bird whose thievish disposition suggested to someone that it might be taught to talk. maiden, n. a young person of the unfair sex addicted to clewless conduct and views that madden to crime. the genus has a wide geographical distribution, being found wherever sought and deplored wherever found. the maiden is not altogether unpleasing to the eye, nor (without her piano and her views) insupportable to the ear, though in respect to comeliness distinctly inferior to the rainbow, and, with regard to the part of her that is audible, bleaten out of the field by the canary--which, also, is more portable. a lovelorn maiden she sat and sang-- this quaint, sweet song sang she; "it's o for a youth with a football bang and a muscle fair to see! the captain he of a team to be! on the gridiron he shall shine, a monarch by right divine, and never to roast on it--me!" opoline jones majesty, n. the state and title of a king. regarded with a just contempt by the most eminent grand masters, grand chancellors, great incohonees and imperial potentates of the ancient and honorable orders of republican america. male, n. a member of the unconsidered, or negligible sex. the male of the human race is commonly known (to the female) as mere man. the genus has two varieties: good providers and bad providers. malefactor, n. the chief factor in the progress of the human race. malthusian, adj. pertaining to malthus and his doctrines. malthus believed in artificially limiting population, but found that it could not be done by talking. one of the most practical exponents of the malthusian idea was herod of judea, though all the famous soldiers have been of the same way of thinking. mammalia, n.pl. a family of vertebrate animals whose females in a state of nature suckle their young, but when civilized and enlightened put them out to nurse, or use the bottle. mammon, n. the god of the world's leading religion. the chief temple is in the holy city of new york. he swore that all other religions were gammon, and wore out his knees in the worship of mammon. jared oopf man, n. an animal so lost in rapturous contemplation of what he thinks he is as to overlook what he indubitably ought to be. his chief occupation is extermination of other animals and his own species, which, however, multiplies with such insistent rapidity as to infest the whole habitable earth and canada. when the world was young and man was new, and everything was pleasant, distinctions nature never drew 'mongst kings and priest and peasant. we're not that way at present, save here in this republic, where we have that old regime, for all are kings, however bare their backs, howe'er extreme their hunger. and, indeed, each has a voice to accept the tyrant of his party's choice. a citizen who would not vote, and, therefore, was detested, was one day with a tarry coat (with feathers backed and breasted) by patriots invested. "it is your duty," cried the crowd, "your ballot true to cast for the man o' your choice." he humbly bowed, and explained his wicked past: "that's what i very gladly would have done, dear patriots, but he has never run." apperton duke manes, n. the immortal parts of dead greeks and romans. they were in a state of dull discomfort until the bodies from which they had exhaled were buried and burned; and they seem not to have been particularly happy afterward. manicheism, n. the ancient persian doctrine of an incessant warfare between good and evil. when good gave up the fight the persians joined the victorious opposition. manna, n. a food miraculously given to the israelites in the wilderness. when it was no longer supplied to them they settled down and tilled the soil, fertilizing it, as a rule, with the bodies of the original occupants. marriage, n. the state or condition of a community consisting of a master, a mistress and two slaves, making in all, two. martyr, n. one who moves along the line of least reluctance to a desired death. material, adj. having an actual existence, as distinguished from an imaginary one. important. material things i know, or feel, or see; all else is immaterial to me. jamrach holobom mausoleum, n. the final and funniest folly of the rich. mayonnaise, n. one of the sauces which serve the french in place of a state religion. me, pro. the objectionable case of i. the personal pronoun in english has three cases, the dominative, the objectionable and the oppressive. each is all three. meander, n. to proceed sinuously and aimlessly. the word is the ancient name of a river about one hundred and fifty miles south of troy, which turned and twisted in the effort to get out of hearing when the greeks and trojans boasted of their prowess. medal, n. a small metal disk given as a reward for virtues, attainments or services more or less authentic. it is related of bismark, who had been awarded a medal for gallantly rescuing a drowning person, that, being asked the meaning of the medal, he replied: "i save lives sometimes." and sometimes he didn't. medicine, n. a stone flung down the bowery to kill a dog in broadway. meekness, n. uncommon patience in planning a revenge that is worth while. m is for moses, who slew the egyptian. as sweet as a rose is the meekness of moses. no monument shows his post-mortem inscription, but m is for moses who slew the egyptian. _the biographical alphabet_ meerschaum, n. (literally, seafoam, and by many erroneously supposed to be made of it.) a fine white clay, which for convenience in coloring it brown is made into tobacco pipes and smoked by the workmen engaged in that industry. the purpose of coloring it has not been disclosed by the manufacturers. there was a youth (you've heard before, this woeful tale, may be), who bought a meerschaum pipe and swore that color it would he! he shut himself from the world away, nor any soul he saw. he smoked by night, he smoked by day, as hard as he could draw. his dog died moaning in the wrath of winds that blew aloof; the weeds were in the gravel path, the owl was on the roof. "he's gone afar, he'll come no more," the neighbors sadly say. and so they batter in the door to take his goods away. dead, pipe in mouth, the youngster lay, nut-brown in face and limb. "that pipe's a lovely white," they say, "but it has colored him!" the moral there's small need to sing-- 'tis plain as day to you: don't play your game on any thing that is a gamester too. martin bulstrode mendacious, adj. addicted to rhetoric. merchant, n. one engaged in a commercial pursuit. a commercial pursuit is one in which the thing pursued is a dollar. mercy, n. an attribute beloved of detected offenders. mesmerism, n. hypnotism before it wore good clothes, kept a carriage and asked incredulity to dinner. metropolis, n. a stronghold of provincialism. millennium, n. the period of a thousand years when the lid is to be screwed down, with all reformers on the under side. mind, n. a mysterious form of matter secreted by the brain. its chief activity consists in the endeavor to ascertain its own nature, the futility of the attempt being due to the fact that it has nothing but itself to know itself with. from the latin _mens_, a fact unknown to that honest shoe-seller, who, observing that his learned competitor over the way had displayed the motto "_mens conscia recti_," emblazoned his own front with the words "men's, women's and children's conscia recti." mine, adj. belonging to me if i can hold or seize it. minister, n. an agent of a higher power with a lower responsibility. in diplomacy an officer sent into a foreign country as the visible embodiment of his sovereign's hostility. his principal qualification is a degree of plausible inveracity next below that of an ambassador. minor, adj. less objectionable. minstrel, adj. formerly a poet, singer or musician; now a nigger with a color less than skin deep and a humor more than flesh and blood can bear. miracle, n. an act or event out of the order of nature and unaccountable, as beating a normal hand of four kings and an ace with four aces and a king. miscreant, n. a person of the highest degree of unworth. etymologically, the word means unbeliever, and its present signification may be regarded as theology's noblest contribution to the development of our language. misdemeanor, n. an infraction of the law having less dignity than a felony and constituting no claim to admittance into the best criminal society. by misdemeanors he essays to climb into the aristocracy of crime. o, woe was him!--with manner chill and grand "captains of industry" refused his hand, "kings of finance" denied him recognition and "railway magnates" jeered his low condition. he robbed a bank to make himself respected. they still rebuffed him, for he was detected. s.v. hanipur misericorde, n. a dagger which in mediaeval warfare was used by the foot soldier to remind an unhorsed knight that he was mortal. misfortune, n. the kind of fortune that never misses. miss, n. the title with which we brand unmarried women to indicate that they are in the market. miss, missis (mrs.) and mister (mr.) are the three most distinctly disagreeable words in the language, in sound and sense. two are corruptions of mistress, the other of master. in the general abolition of social titles in this our country they miraculously escaped to plague us. if we must have them let us be consistent and give one to the unmarried man. i venture to suggest mush, abbreviated to mh. molecule, n. the ultimate, indivisible unit of matter. it is distinguished from the corpuscle, also the ultimate, indivisible unit of matter, by a closer resemblance to the atom, also the ultimate, indivisible unit of matter. three great scientific theories of the structure of the universe are the molecular, the corpuscular and the atomic. a fourth affirms, with haeckel, the condensation of precipitation of matter from ether--whose existence is proved by the condensation of precipitation. the present trend of scientific thought is toward the theory of ions. the ion differs from the molecule, the corpuscle and the atom in that it is an ion. a fifth theory is held by idiots, but it is doubtful if they know any more about the matter than the others. monad, n. the ultimate, indivisible unit of matter. (see _molecule_.) according to leibnitz, as nearly as he seems willing to be understood, the monad has body without bulk, and mind without manifestation--leibnitz knows him by the innate power of considering. he has founded upon him a theory of the universe, which the creature bears without resentment, for the monad is a gentleman. small as he is, the monad contains all the powers and possibilities needful to his evolution into a german philosopher of the first class --altogether a very capable little fellow. he is not to be confounded with the microbe, or bacillus; by its inability to discern him, a good microscope shows him to be of an entirely distinct species. monarch, n. a person engaged in reigning. formerly the monarch ruled, as the derivation of the word attests, and as many subjects have had occasion to learn. in russia and the orient the monarch has still a considerable influence in public affairs and in the disposition of the human head, but in western europe political administration is mostly entrusted to his ministers, he being somewhat preoccupied with reflections relating to the status of his own head. monarchical government, n. government. monday, n. in christian countries, the day after the baseball game. money, n. a blessing that is of no advantage to us excepting when we part with it. an evidence of culture and a passport to polite society. supportable property. monkey, n. an arboreal animal which makes itself at home in genealogical trees. monosyllabic, adj. composed of words of one syllable, for literary babes who never tire of testifying their delight in the vapid compound by appropriate googoogling. the words are commonly saxon--that is to say, words of a barbarous people destitute of ideas and incapable of any but the most elementary sentiments and emotions. the man who writes in saxon is the man to use an ax on judibras monsignor, n. a high ecclesiastical title, of which the founder of our religion overlooked the advantages. monument, n. a structure intended to commemorate something which either needs no commemoration or cannot be commemorated. the bones of agammemnon are a show, and ruined is his royal monument, but agammemnon's fame suffers no diminution in consequence. the monument custom has its _reductiones ad absurdum_ in monuments "to the unknown dead"--that is to say, monuments to perpetuate the memory of those who have left no memory. moral, adj. conforming to a local and mutable standard of right. having the quality of general expediency. it is sayd there be a raunge of mountaynes in the easte, on one syde of the which certayn conducts are immorall, yet on the other syde they are holden in good esteeme; wherebye the mountayneer is much conveenyenced, for it is given to him to goe downe eyther way and act as it shall suite his moode, withouten offence. _gooke's meditations_ more, adj. the comparative degree of too much. mouse, n. an animal which strews its path with fainting women. as in rome christians were thrown to the lions, so centuries earlier in otumwee, the most ancient and famous city of the world, female heretics were thrown to the mice. jakak-zotp, the historian, the only otumwump whose writings have descended to us, says that these martyrs met their death with little dignity and much exertion. he even attempts to exculpate the mice (such is the malice of bigotry) by declaring that the unfortunate women perished, some from exhaustion, some of broken necks from falling over their own feet, and some from lack of restoratives. the mice, he avers, enjoyed the pleasures of the chase with composure. but if "roman history is nine-tenths lying," we can hardly expect a smaller proportion of that rhetorical figure in the annals of a people capable of so incredible cruelty to lovely women; for a hard heart has a false tongue. mousquetaire, n. a long glove covering a part of the arm. worn in new jersey. but "mousquetaire" is a might poor way to spell muskeeter. mouth, n. in man, the gateway to the soul; in woman, the outlet of the heart. mugwump, n. in politics one afflicted with self-respect and addicted to the vice of independence. a term of contempt. mulatto, n. a child of two races, ashamed of both. multitude, n. a crowd; the source of political wisdom and virtue. in a republic, the object of the statesman's adoration. "in a multitude of counsellors there is wisdom," saith the proverb. if many men of equal individual wisdom are wiser than any one of them, it must be that they acquire the excess of wisdom by the mere act of getting together. whence comes it? obviously from nowhere--as well say that a range of mountains is higher than the single mountains composing it. a multitude is as wise as its wisest member if it obey him; if not, it is no wiser than its most foolish. mummy, n. an ancient egyptian, formerly in universal use among modern civilized nations as medicine, and now engaged in supplying art with an excellent pigment. he is handy, too, in museums in gratifying the vulgar curiosity that serves to distinguish man from the lower animals. by means of the mummy, mankind, it is said, attests to the gods its respect for the dead. we plunder his tomb, be he sinner or saint, distil him for physic and grind him for paint, exhibit for money his poor, shrunken frame, and with levity flock to the scene of the shame. o, tell me, ye gods, for the use of my rhyme: for respecting the dead what's the limit of time? scopas brune mustang, n. an indocile horse of the western plains. in english society, the american wife of an english nobleman. myrmidon, n. a follower of achilles--particularly when he didn't lead. mythology, n. the body of a primitive people's beliefs concerning its origin, early history, heroes, deities and so forth, as distinguished from the true accounts which it invents later. n nectar, n. a drink served at banquets of the olympian deities. the secret of its preparation is lost, but the modern kentuckians believe that they come pretty near to a knowledge of its chief ingredient. juno drank a cup of nectar, but the draught did not affect her. juno drank a cup of rye-- then she bad herself good-bye. j.g. negro, n. the _piece de resistance_ in the american political problem. representing him by the letter n, the republicans begin to build their equation thus: "let n = the white man." this, however, appears to give an unsatisfactory solution. neighbor, n. one whom we are commanded to love as ourselves, and who does all he knows how to make us disobedient. nepotism, n. appointing your grandmother to office for the good of the party. newtonian, adj. pertaining to a philosophy of the universe invented by newton, who discovered that an apple will fall to the ground, but was unable to say why. his successors and disciples have advanced so far as to be able to say when. nihilist, n. a russian who denies the existence of anything but tolstoi. the leader of the school is tolstoi. nirvana, n. in the buddhist religion, a state of pleasurable annihilation awarded to the wise, particularly to those wise enough to understand it. nobleman, n. nature's provision for wealthy american minds ambitious to incur social distinction and suffer high life. noise, n. a stench in the ear. undomesticated music. the chief product and authenticating sign of civilization. nominate, v. to designate for the heaviest political assessment. to put forward a suitable person to incur the mudgobbing and deadcatting of the opposition. nominee, n. a modest gentleman shrinking from the distinction of private life and diligently seeking the honorable obscurity of public office. non-combatant, n. a dead quaker. nonsense, n. the objections that are urged against this excellent dictionary. nose, n. the extreme outpost of the face. from the circumstance that great conquerors have great noses, getius, whose writings antedate the age of humor, calls the nose the organ of quell. it has been observed that one's nose is never so happy as when thrust into the affairs of others, from which some physiologists have drawn the inference that the nose is devoid of the sense of smell. there's a man with a nose, and wherever he goes the people run from him and shout: "no cotton have we for our ears if so be he blow that interminous snout!" so the lawyers applied for injunction. "denied," said the judge: "the defendant prefixion, whate'er it portend, appears to transcend the bounds of this court's jurisdiction." arpad singiny notoriety, n. the fame of one's competitor for public honors. the kind of renown most accessible and acceptable to mediocrity. a jacob's-ladder leading to the vaudeville stage, with angels ascending and descending. noumenon, n. that which exists, as distinguished from that which merely seems to exist, the latter being a phenomenon. the noumenon is a bit difficult to locate; it can be apprehended only be a process of reasoning--which is a phenomenon. nevertheless, the discovery and exposition of noumena offer a rich field for what lewes calls "the endless variety and excitement of philosophic thought." hurrah (therefore) for the noumenon! novel, n. a short story padded. a species of composition bearing the same relation to literature that the panorama bears to art. as it is too long to be read at a sitting the impressions made by its successive parts are successively effaced, as in the panorama. unity, totality of effect, is impossible; for besides the few pages last read all that is carried in mind is the mere plot of what has gone before. to the romance the novel is what photography is to painting. its distinguishing principle, probability, corresponds to the literal actuality of the photograph and puts it distinctly into the category of reporting; whereas the free wing of the romancer enables him to mount to such altitudes of imagination as he may be fitted to attain; and the first three essentials of the literary art are imagination, imagination and imagination. the art of writing novels, such as it was, is long dead everywhere except in russia, where it is new. peace to its ashes--some of which have a large sale. november, n. the eleventh twelfth of a weariness. o oath, n. in law, a solemn appeal to the deity, made binding upon the conscience by a penalty for perjury. oblivion, n. the state or condition in which the wicked cease from struggling and the dreary are at rest. fame's eternal dumping ground. cold storage for high hopes. a place where ambitious authors meet their works without pride and their betters without envy. a dormitory without an alarm clock. observatory, n. a place where astronomers conjecture away the guesses of their predecessors. obsessed, p.p. vexed by an evil spirit, like the gadarene swine and other critics. obsession was once more common than it is now. arasthus tells of a peasant who was occupied by a different devil for every day in the week, and on sundays by two. they were frequently seen, always walking in his shadow, when he had one, but were finally driven away by the village notary, a holy man; but they took the peasant with them, for he vanished utterly. a devil thrown out of a woman by the archbishop of rheims ran through the trees, pursued by a hundred persons, until the open country was reached, where by a leap higher than a church spire he escaped into a bird. a chaplain in cromwell's army exorcised a soldier's obsessing devil by throwing the soldier into the water, when the devil came to the surface. the soldier, unfortunately, did not. obsolete, adj. no longer used by the timid. said chiefly of words. a word which some lexicographer has marked obsolete is ever thereafter an object of dread and loathing to the fool writer, but if it is a good word and has no exact modern equivalent equally good, it is good enough for the good writer. indeed, a writer's attitude toward "obsolete" words is as true a measure of his literary ability as anything except the character of his work. a dictionary of obsolete and obsolescent words would not only be singularly rich in strong and sweet parts of speech; it would add large possessions to the vocabulary of every competent writer who might not happen to be a competent reader. obstinate, adj. inaccessible to the truth as it is manifest in the splendor and stress of our advocacy. the popular type and exponent of obstinacy is the mule, a most intelligent animal. occasional, adj. afflicting us with greater or less frequency. that, however, is not the sense in which the word is used in the phrase "occasional verses," which are verses written for an "occasion," such as an anniversary, a celebration or other event. true, they afflict us a little worse than other sorts of verse, but their name has no reference to irregular recurrence. occident, n. the part of the world lying west (or east) of the orient. it is largely inhabited by christians, a powerful subtribe of the hypocrites, whose principal industries are murder and cheating, which they are pleased to call "war" and "commerce." these, also, are the principal industries of the orient. ocean, n. a body of water occupying about two-thirds of a world made for man--who has no gills. offensive, adj. generating disagreeable emotions or sensations, as the advance of an army against its enemy. "were the enemy's tactics offensive?" the king asked. "i should say so!" replied the unsuccessful general. "the blackguard wouldn't come out of his works!" old, adj. in that stage of usefulness which is not inconsistent with general inefficiency, as an _old man_. discredited by lapse of time and offensive to the popular taste, as an _old_ book. "old books? the devil take them!" goby said. "fresh every day must be my books and bread." nature herself approves the goby rule and gives us every moment a fresh fool. harley shum oleaginous, adj. oily, smooth, sleek. disraeli once described the manner of bishop wilberforce as "unctuous, oleaginous, saponaceous." and the good prelate was ever afterward known as soapy sam. for every man there is something in the vocabulary that would stick to him like a second skin. his enemies have only to find it. olympian, adj. relating to a mountain in thessaly, once inhabited by gods, now a repository of yellowing newspapers, beer bottles and mutilated sardine cans, attesting the presence of the tourist and his appetite. his name the smirking tourist scrawls upon minerva's temple walls, where thundered once olympian zeus, and marks his appetite's abuse. averil joop omen, n. a sign that something will happen if nothing happens. once, adv. enough. opera, n. a play representing life in another world, whose inhabitants have no speech but song, no motions but gestures and no postures but attitudes. all acting is simulation, and the word _simulation_ is from _simia_, an ape; but in opera the actor takes for his model _simia audibilis_ (or _pithecanthropos stentor_)--the ape that howls. the actor apes a man--at least in shape; the opera performer apes an ape. opiate, n. an unlocked door in the prison of identity. it leads into the jail yard. opportunity, n. a favorable occasion for grasping a disappointment. oppose, v. to assist with obstructions and objections. how lonely he who thinks to vex with bandinage the solemn sex! of levity, mere man, beware; none but the grave deserve the unfair. percy p. orminder opposition, n. in politics the party that prevents the government from running amuck by hamstringing it. the king of ghargaroo, who had been abroad to study the science of government, appointed one hundred of his fattest subjects as members of a parliament to make laws for the collection of revenue. forty of these he named the party of opposition and had his prime minister carefully instruct them in their duty of opposing every royal measure. nevertheless, the first one that was submitted passed unanimously. greatly displeased, the king vetoed it, informing the opposition that if they did that again they would pay for their obstinacy with their heads. the entire forty promptly disemboweled themselves. "what shall we do now?" the king asked. "liberal institutions cannot be maintained without a party of opposition." "splendor of the universe," replied the prime minister, "it is true these dogs of darkness have no longer their credentials, but all is not lost. leave the matter to this worm of the dust." so the minister had the bodies of his majesty's opposition embalmed and stuffed with straw, put back into the seats of power and nailed there. forty votes were recorded against every bill and the nation prospered. but one day a bill imposing a tax on warts was defeated--the members of the government party had not been nailed to their seats! this so enraged the king that the prime minister was put to death, the parliament was dissolved with a battery of artillery, and government of the people, by the people, for the people perished from ghargaroo. optimism, n. the doctrine, or belief, that everything is beautiful, including what is ugly, everything good, especially the bad, and everything right that is wrong. it is held with greatest tenacity by those most accustomed to the mischance of falling into adversity, and is most acceptably expounded with the grin that apes a smile. being a blind faith, it is inaccessible to the light of disproof--an intellectual disorder, yielding to no treatment but death. it is hereditary, but fortunately not contagious. optimist, n. a proponent of the doctrine that black is white. a pessimist applied to god for relief. "ah, you wish me to restore your hope and cheerfulness," said god. "no," replied the petitioner, "i wish you to create something that would justify them." "the world is all created," said god, "but you have overlooked something--the mortality of the optimist." oratory, n. a conspiracy between speech and action to cheat the understanding. a tyranny tempered by stenography. orphan, n. a living person whom death has deprived of the power of filial ingratitude--a privation appealing with a particular eloquence to all that is sympathetic in human nature. when young the orphan is commonly sent to an asylum, where by careful cultivation of its rudimentary sense of locality it is taught to know its place. it is then instructed in the arts of dependence and servitude and eventually turned loose to prey upon the world as a bootblack or scullery maid. orthodox, n. an ox wearing the popular religious yoke. orthography, n. the science of spelling by the eye instead of the ear. advocated with more heat than light by the outmates of every asylum for the insane. they have had to concede a few things since the time of chaucer, but are none the less hot in defence of those to be conceded hereafter. a spelling reformer indicted for fudge was before the court cicted. the judge said: "enough-- his candle we'll snough, and his sepulchre shall not be whicted." ostrich, n. a large bird to which (for its sins, doubtless) nature has denied that hinder toe in which so many pious naturalists have seen a conspicuous evidence of design. the absence of a good working pair of wings is no defect, for, as has been ingeniously pointed out, the ostrich does not fly. otherwise, adv. no better. outcome, n. a particular type of disappointment. by the kind of intelligence that sees in an exception a proof of the rule the wisdom of an act is judged by the outcome, the result. this is immortal nonsense; the wisdom of an act is to be juded by the light that the doer had when he performed it. outdo, v.t. to make an enemy. out-of-doors, n. that part of one's environment upon which no government has been able to collect taxes. chiefly useful to inspire poets. i climbed to the top of a mountain one day to see the sun setting in glory, and i thought, as i looked at his vanishing ray, of a perfectly splendid story. 'twas about an old man and the ass he bestrode till the strength of the beast was o'ertested; then the man would carry him miles on the road till neddy was pretty well rested. the moon rising solemnly over the crest of the hills to the east of my station displayed her broad disk to the darkening west like a visible new creation. and i thought of a joke (and i laughed till i cried) of an idle young woman who tarried about a church-door for a look at the bride, although 'twas herself that was married. to poets all nature is pregnant with grand ideas--with thought and emotion. i pity the dunces who don't understand the speech of earth, heaven and ocean. stromboli smith ovation, n. in ancient rome, a definite, formal pageant in honor of one who had been disserviceable to the enemies of the nation. a lesser "triumph." in modern english the word is improperly used to signify any loose and spontaneous expression of popular homage to the hero of the hour and place. "i had an ovation!" the actor man said, but i thought it uncommonly queer, that people and critics by him had been led by the ear. the latin lexicon makes his absurd assertion as plain as a peg; in "ovum" we find the true root of the word. it means egg. dudley spink overeat, v. to dine. hail, gastronome, apostle of excess, well skilled to overeat without distress! thy great invention, the unfatal feast, shows man's superiority to beast. john boop overwork, n. a dangerous disorder affecting high public functionaries who want to go fishing. owe, v. to have (and to hold) a debt. the word formerly signified not indebtedness, but possession; it meant "own," and in the minds of debtors there is still a good deal of confusion between assets and liabilities. oyster, n. a slimy, gobby shellfish which civilization gives men the hardihood to eat without removing its entrails! the shells are sometimes given to the poor. p pain, n. an uncomfortable frame of mind that may have a physical basis in something that is being done to the body, or may be purely mental, caused by the good fortune of another. painting, n. the art of protecting flat surfaces from the weather and exposing them to the critic. formerly, painting and sculpture were combined in the same work: the ancients painted their statues. the only present alliance between the two arts is that the modern painter chisels his patrons. palace, n. a fine and costly residence, particularly that of a great official. the residence of a high dignitary of the christian church is called a palace; that of the founder of his religion was known as a field, or wayside. there is progress. palm, n. a species of tree having several varieties, of which the familiar "itching palm" (_palma hominis_) is most widely distributed and sedulously cultivated. this noble vegetable exudes a kind of invisible gum, which may be detected by applying to the bark a piece of gold or silver. the metal will adhere with remarkable tenacity. the fruit of the itching palm is so bitter and unsatisfying that a considerable percentage of it is sometimes given away in what are known as "benefactions." palmistry, n. the th method (according to mimbleshaw's classification) of obtaining money by false pretences. it consists in "reading character" in the wrinkles made by closing the hand. the pretence is not altogether false; character can really be read very accurately in this way, for the wrinkles in every hand submitted plainly spell the word "dupe." the imposture consists in not reading it aloud. pandemonium, n. literally, the place of all the demons. most of them have escaped into politics and finance, and the place is now used as a lecture hall by the audible reformer. when disturbed by his voice the ancient echoes clamor appropriate responses most gratifying to his pride of distinction. pantaloons, n. a nether habiliment of the adult civilized male. the garment is tubular and unprovided with hinges at the points of flexion. supposed to have been invented by a humorist. called "trousers" by the enlightened and "pants" by the unworthy. pantheism, n. the doctrine that everything is god, in contradistinction to the doctrine that god is everything. pantomime, n. a play in which the story is told without violence to the language. the least disagreeable form of dramatic action. pardon, v. to remit a penalty and restore to the life of crime. to add to the lure of crime the temptation of ingratitude. passport, n. a document treacherously inflicted upon a citizen going abroad, exposing him as an alien and pointing him out for special reprobation and outrage. past, n. that part of eternity with some small fraction of which we have a slight and regrettable acquaintance. a moving line called the present parts it from an imaginary period known as the future. these two grand divisions of eternity, of which the one is continually effacing the other, are entirely unlike. the one is dark with sorrow and disappointment, the other bright with prosperity and joy. the past is the region of sobs, the future is the realm of song. in the one crouches memory, clad in sackcloth and ashes, mumbling penitential prayer; in the sunshine of the other hope flies with a free wing, beckoning to temples of success and bowers of ease. yet the past is the future of yesterday, the future is the past of to-morrow. they are one--the knowledge and the dream. pastime, n. a device for promoting dejection. gentle exercise for intellectual debility. patience, n. a minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue. patriot, n. one to whom the interests of a part seem superior to those of the whole. the dupe of statesmen and the tool of conquerors. patriotism, n. combustible rubbish ready to the torch of any one ambitious to illuminate his name. in dr. johnson's famous dictionary patriotism is defined as the last resort of a scoundrel. with all due respect to an enlightened but inferior lexicographer i beg to submit that it is the first. peace, n. in international affairs, a period of cheating between two periods of fighting. o, what's the loud uproar assailing mine ears without cease? 'tis the voice of the hopeful, all-hailing the horrors of peace. ah, peace universal; they woo it-- would marry it, too. if only they knew how to do it 'twere easy to do. they're working by night and by day on their problem, like moles. have mercy, o heaven, i pray, on their meddlesome souls! ro amil pedestrian, n. the variable (an audible) part of the roadway for an automobile. pedigree, n. the known part of the route from an arboreal ancestor with a swim bladder to an urban descendant with a cigarette. penitent, adj. undergoing or awaiting punishment. perfection, n. an imaginary state of quality distinguished from the actual by an element known as excellence; an attribute of the critic. the editor of an english magazine having received a letter pointing out the erroneous nature of his views and style, and signed "perfection," promptly wrote at the foot of the letter: "i don't agree with you," and mailed it to matthew arnold. peripatetic, adj. walking about. relating to the philosophy of aristotle, who, while expounding it, moved from place to place in order to avoid his pupil's objections. a needless precaution--they knew no more of the matter than he. peroration, n. the explosion of an oratorical rocket. it dazzles, but to an observer having the wrong kind of nose its most conspicuous peculiarity is the smell of the several kinds of powder used in preparing it. perseverance, n. a lowly virtue whereby mediocrity achieves an inglorious success. "persevere, persevere!" cry the homilists all, themselves, day and night, persevering to bawl. "remember the fable of tortoise and hare-- the one at the goal while the other is--where?" why, back there in dreamland, renewing his lease of life, all his muscles preserving the peace, the goal and the rival forgotten alike, and the long fatigue of the needless hike. his spirit a-squat in the grass and the dew of the dogless land beyond the stew, he sleeps, like a saint in a holy place, a winner of all that is good in a race. sukker uffro pessimism, n. a philosophy forced upon the convictions of the observer by the disheartening prevalence of the optimist with his scarecrow hope and his unsightly smile. philanthropist, n. a rich (and usually bald) old gentleman who has trained himself to grin while his conscience is picking his pocket. philistine, n. one whose mind is the creature of its environment, following the fashion in thought, feeling and sentiment. he is sometimes learned, frequently prosperous, commonly clean and always solemn. philosophy, n. a route of many roads leading from nowhere to nothing. phoenix, n. the classical prototype of the modern "small hot bird." phonograph, n. an irritating toy that restores life to dead noises. photograph, n. a picture painted by the sun without instruction in art. it is a little better than the work of an apache, but not quite so good as that of a cheyenne. phrenology, n. the science of picking the pocket through the scalp. it consists in locating and exploiting the organ that one is a dupe with. physician, n. one upon whom we set our hopes when ill and our dogs when well. physiognomy, n. the art of determining the character of another by the resemblances and differences between his face and our own, which is the standard of excellence. "there is no art," says shakespeare, foolish man, "to read the mind's construction in the face." the physiognomists his portrait scan, and say: "how little wisdom here we trace! he knew his face disclosed his mind and heart, so, in his own defence, denied our art." lavatar shunk piano, n. a parlor utensil for subduing the impenitent visitor. it is operated by depressing the keys of the machine and the spirits of the audience. pickaninny, n. the young of the _procyanthropos_, or _americanus dominans_. it is small, black and charged with political fatalities. picture, n. a representation in two dimensions of something wearisome in three. "behold great daubert's picture here on view-- taken from life." if that description's true, grant, heavenly powers, that i be taken, too. jali hane pie, n. an advance agent of the reaper whose name is indigestion. cold pie was highly esteemed by the remains. rev. dr. mucker (in a funeral sermon over a british nobleman) cold pie is a detestable american comestible. that's why i'm done--or undone-- so far from that dear london. (from the headstone of a british nobleman in kalamazoo) piety, n. reverence for the supreme being, based upon his supposed resemblance to man. the pig is taught by sermons and epistles to think the god of swine has snout and bristles. judibras pig, n. an animal (_porcus omnivorus_) closely allied to the human race by the splendor and vivacity of its appetite, which, however, is inferior in scope, for it sticks at pig. pigmy, n. one of a tribe of very small men found by ancient travelers in many parts of the world, but by modern in central africa only. the pigmies are so called to distinguish them from the bulkier caucasians --who are hogmies. pilgrim, n. a traveler that is taken seriously. a pilgrim father was one who, leaving europe in because not permitted to sing psalms through his nose, followed it to massachusetts, where he could personate god according to the dictates of his conscience. pillory, n. a mechanical device for inflicting personal distinction --prototype of the modern newspaper conducted by persons of austere virtues and blameless lives. piracy, n. commerce without its folly-swaddles, just as god made it. pitiful, adj. the state of an enemy or opponent after an imaginary encounter with oneself. pity, n. a failing sense of exemption, inspired by contrast. plagiarism, n. a literary coincidence compounded of a discreditable priority and an honorable subsequence. plagiarize, v. to take the thought or style of another writer whom one has never, never read. plague, n. in ancient times a general punishment of the innocent for admonition of their ruler, as in the familiar instance of pharaoh the immune. the plague as we of to-day have the happiness to know it is merely nature's fortuitous manifestation of her purposeless objectionableness. plan, v.t. to bother about the best method of accomplishing an accidental result. platitude, n. the fundamental element and special glory of popular literature. a thought that snores in words that smoke. the wisdom of a million fools in the diction of a dullard. a fossil sentiment in artificial rock. a moral without the fable. all that is mortal of a departed truth. a demi-tasse of milk-and-mortality. the pope's-nose of a featherless peacock. a jelly-fish withering on the shore of the sea of thought. the cackle surviving the egg. a desiccated epigram. platonic, adj. pertaining to the philosophy of socrates. platonic love is a fool's name for the affection between a disability and a frost. plaudits, n. coins with which the populace pays those who tickle and devour it. please, v. to lay the foundation for a superstructure of imposition. pleasure, n. the least hateful form of dejection. plebeian, n. an ancient roman who in the blood of his country stained nothing but his hands. distinguished from the patrician, who was a saturated solution. plebiscite, n. a popular vote to ascertain the will of the sovereign. plenipotentiary, adj. having full power. a minister plenipotentiary is a diplomatist possessing absolute authority on condition that he never exert it. pleonasm, n. an army of words escorting a corporal of thought. plow, n. an implement that cries aloud for hands accustomed to the pen. plunder, v. to take the property of another without observing the decent and customary reticences of theft. to effect a change of ownership with the candid concomitance of a brass band. to wrest the wealth of a from b and leave c lamenting a vanished opportunity. pocket, n. the cradle of motive and the grave of conscience. in woman this organ is lacking; so she acts without motive, and her conscience, denied burial, remains ever alive, confessing the sins of others. poetry, n. a form of expression peculiar to the land beyond the magazines. poker, n. a game said to be played with cards for some purpose to this lexicographer unknown. police, n. an armed force for protection and participation. politeness, n. the most acceptable hypocrisy. politics, n. a strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. the conduct of public affairs for private advantage. politician, n. an eel in the fundamental mud upon which the superstructure of organized society is reared. when he wriggles he mistakes the agitation of his tail for the trembling of the edifice. as compared with the statesman, he suffers the disadvantage of being alive. polygamy, n. a house of atonement, or expiatory chapel, fitted with several stools of repentance, as distinguished from monogamy, which has but one. populist, n. a fossil patriot of the early agricultural period, found in the old red soapstone underlying kansas; characterized by an uncommon spread of ear, which some naturalists contend gave him the power of flight, though professors morse and whitney, pursuing independent lines of thought, have ingeniously pointed out that had he possessed it he would have gone elsewhere. in the picturesque speech of his period, some fragments of which have come down to us, he was known as "the matter with kansas." portable, adj. exposed to a mutable ownership through vicissitudes of possession. his light estate, if neither he did make it nor yet its former guardian forsake it, is portable improperty, i take it. worgum slupsky portuguese, n.pl. a species of geese indigenous to portugal. they are mostly without feathers and imperfectly edible, even when stuffed with garlic. positive, adj. mistaken at the top of one's voice. positivism, n. a philosophy that denies our knowledge of the real and affirms our ignorance of the apparent. its longest exponent is comte, its broadest mill and its thickest spencer. posterity, n. an appellate court which reverses the judgment of a popular author's contemporaries, the appellant being his obscure competitor. potable, n. suitable for drinking. water is said to be potable; indeed, some declare it our natural beverage, although even they find it palatable only when suffering from the recurrent disorder known as thirst, for which it is a medicine. upon nothing has so great and diligent ingenuity been brought to bear in all ages and in all countries, except the most uncivilized, as upon the invention of substitutes for water. to hold that this general aversion to that liquid has no basis in the preservative instinct of the race is to be unscientific--and without science we are as the snakes and toads. poverty, n. a file provided for the teeth of the rats of reform. the number of plans for its abolition equals that of the reformers who suffer from it, plus that of the philosophers who know nothing about it. its victims are distinguished by possession of all the virtues and by their faith in leaders seeking to conduct them into a prosperity where they believe these to be unknown. pray, v. to ask that the laws of the universe be annulled in behalf of a single petitioner confessedly unworthy. pre-adamite, n. one of an experimental and apparently unsatisfactory race of antedated creation and lived under conditions not easily conceived. melsius believed them to have inhabited "the void" and to have been something intermediate between fishes and birds. little its known of them beyond the fact that they supplied cain with a wife and theologians with a controversy. precedent, n. in law, a previous decision, rule or practice which, in the absence of a definite statute, has whatever force and authority a judge may choose to give it, thereby greatly simplifying his task of doing as he pleases. as there are precedents for everything, he has only to ignore those that make against his interest and accentuate those in the line of his desire. invention of the precedent elevates the trial-at-law from the low estate of a fortuitous ordeal to the noble attitude of a dirigible arbitrament. precipitate, adj. anteprandial. precipitate in all, this sinner took action first, and then his dinner. judibras predestination, n. the doctrine that all things occur according to programme. this doctrine should not be confused with that of foreordination, which means that all things are programmed, but does not affirm their occurrence, that being only an implication from other doctrines by which this is entailed. the difference is great enough to have deluged christendom with ink, to say nothing of the gore. with the distinction of the two doctrines kept well in mind, and a reverent belief in both, one may hope to escape perdition if spared. predicament, n. the wage of consistency. predilection, n. the preparatory stage of disillusion. pre-existence, n. an unnoted factor in creation. preference, n. a sentiment, or frame of mind, induced by the erroneous belief that one thing is better than another. an ancient philosopher, expounding his conviction that life is no better than death, was asked by a disciple why, then, he did not die. "because," he replied, "death is no better than life." it is longer. prehistoric, adj. belonging to an early period and a museum. antedating the art and practice of perpetuating falsehood. he lived in a period prehistoric, when all was absurd and phantasmagoric. born later, when clio, celestial recorder, set down great events in succession and order, he surely had seen nothing droll or fortuitous in anything here but the lies that she threw at us. orpheus bowen prejudice, n. a vagrant opinion without visible means of support. prelate, n. a church officer having a superior degree of holiness and a fat preferment. one of heaven's aristocracy. a gentleman of god. prerogative, n. a sovereign's right to do wrong. presbyterian, n. one who holds the conviction that the government authorities of the church should be called presbyters. prescription, n. a physician's guess at what will best prolong the situation with least harm to the patient. present, n. that part of eternity dividing the domain of disappointment from the realm of hope. presentable, adj. hideously appareled after the manner of the time and place. in boorioboola-gha a man is presentable on occasions of ceremony if he have his abdomen painted a bright blue and wear a cow's tail; in new york he may, if it please him, omit the paint, but after sunset he must wear two tails made of the wool of a sheep and dyed black. preside, v. to guide the action of a deliberative body to a desirable result. in journalese, to perform upon a musical instrument; as, "he presided at the piccolo." the headliner, holding the copy in hand, read with a solemn face: "the music was very uncommonly grand-- the best that was every provided, for our townsman brown presided at the organ with skill and grace." the headliner discontinued to read, and, spread the paper down on the desk, he dashed in at the top of the screed: "great playing by president brown." orpheus bowen presidency, n. the greased pig in the field game of american politics. president, n. the leading figure in a small group of men of whom-- and of whom only--it is positively known that immense numbers of their countrymen did not want any of them for president. if that's an honor surely 'tis a greater to have been a simple and undamned spectator. behold in me a man of mark and note whom no elector e'er denied a vote!-- an undiscredited, unhooted gent who might, for all we know, be president by acclamation. cheer, ye varlets, cheer-- i'm passing with a wide and open ear! jonathan fomry prevaricator, n. a liar in the caterpillar state. price, n. value, plus a reasonable sum for the wear and tear of conscience in demanding it. primate, n. the head of a church, especially a state church supported by involuntary contributions. the primate of england is the archbishop of canterbury, an amiable old gentleman, who occupies lambeth palace when living and westminster abbey when dead. he is commonly dead. prison, n. a place of punishments and rewards. the poet assures us that-- "stone walls do not a prison make," but a combination of the stone wall, the political parasite and the moral instructor is no garden of sweets. private, n. a military gentleman with a field-marshal's baton in his knapsack and an impediment in his hope. proboscis, n. the rudimentary organ of an elephant which serves him in place of the knife-and-fork that evolution has as yet denied him. for purposes of humor it is popularly called a trunk. asked how he knew that an elephant was going on a journey, the illustrious jo. miller cast a reproachful look upon his tormentor, and answered, absently: "when it is ajar," and threw himself from a high promontory into the sea. thus perished in his pride the most famous humorist of antiquity, leaving to mankind a heritage of woe! no successor worthy of the title has appeared, though mr. edward bok, of _the ladies' home journal_, is much respected for the purity and sweetness of his personal character. projectile, n. the final arbiter in international disputes. formerly these disputes were settled by physical contact of the disputants, with such simple arguments as the rudimentary logic of the times could supply--the sword, the spear, and so forth. with the growth of prudence in military affairs the projectile came more and more into favor, and is now held in high esteem by the most courageous. its capital defect is that it requires personal attendance at the point of propulsion. proof, n. evidence having a shade more of plausibility than of unlikelihood. the testimony of two credible witnesses as opposed to that of only one. proof-reader, n. a malefactor who atones for making your writing nonsense by permitting the compositor to make it unintelligible. property, n. any material thing, having no particular value, that may be held by a against the cupidity of b. whatever gratifies the passion for possession in one and disappoints it in all others. the object of man's brief rapacity and long indifference. prophecy, n. the art and practice of selling one's credibility for future delivery. prospect, n. an outlook, usually forbidding. an expectation, usually forbidden. blow, blow, ye spicy breezes-- o'er ceylon blow your breath, where every prospect pleases, save only that of death. bishop sheber providential, adj. unexpectedly and conspicuously beneficial to the person so describing it. prude, n. a bawd hiding behind the back of her demeanor. publish, n. in literary affairs, to become the fundamental element in a cone of critics. push, n. one of the two things mainly conducive to success, especially in politics. the other is pull. pyrrhonism, n. an ancient philosophy, named for its inventor. it consisted of an absolute disbelief in everything but pyrrhonism. its modern professors have added that. q queen, n. a woman by whom the realm is ruled when there is a king, and through whom it is ruled when there is not. quill, n. an implement of torture yielded by a goose and commonly wielded by an ass. this use of the quill is now obsolete, but its modern equivalent, the steel pen, is wielded by the same everlasting presence. quiver, n. a portable sheath in which the ancient statesman and the aboriginal lawyer carried their lighter arguments. he extracted from his quiver, did the controversial roman, an argument well fitted to the question as submitted, then addressed it to the liver, of the unpersuaded foeman. oglum p. boomp quixotic, adj. absurdly chivalric, like don quixote. an insight into the beauty and excellence of this incomparable adjective is unhappily denied to him who has the misfortune to know that the gentleman's name is pronounced ke-ho-tay. when ignorance from out of our lives can banish philology, 'tis folly to know spanish. juan smith quorum, n. a sufficient number of members of a deliberative body to have their own way and their own way of having it. in the united states senate a quorum consists of the chairman of the committee on finance and a messenger from the white house; in the house of representatives, of the speaker and the devil. quotation, n. the act of repeating erroneously the words of another. the words erroneously repeated. intent on making his quotation truer, he sought the page infallible of brewer, then made a solemn vow that he would be condemned eternally. ah, me, ah, me! stumpo gaker quotient, n. a number showing how many times a sum of money belonging to one person is contained in the pocket of another--usually about as many times as it can be got there. r rabble, n. in a republic, those who exercise a supreme authority tempered by fraudulent elections. the rabble is like the sacred simurgh, of arabian fable--omnipotent on condition that it do nothing. (the word is aristocratese, and has no exact equivalent in our tongue, but means, as nearly as may be, "soaring swine.") rack, n. an argumentative implement formerly much used in persuading devotees of a false faith to embrace the living truth. as a call to the unconverted the rack never had any particular efficacy, and is now held in light popular esteem. rank, n. relative elevation in the scale of human worth. he held at court a rank so high that other noblemen asked why. "because," 'twas answered, "others lack his skill to scratch the royal back." aramis jukes ransom, n. the purchase of that which neither belongs to the seller, nor can belong to the buyer. the most unprofitable of investments. rapacity, n. providence without industry. the thrift of power. rarebit, n. a welsh rabbit, in the speech of the humorless, who point out that it is not a rabbit. to whom it may be solemnly explained that the comestible known as toad-in-a-hole is really not a toad, and that _riz-de-veau a la financiere_ is not the smile of a calf prepared after the recipe of a she banker. rascal, n. a fool considered under another aspect. rascality, n. stupidity militant. the activity of a clouded intellect. rash, adj. insensible to the value of our advice. "now lay your bet with mine, nor let these gamblers take your cash." "nay, this child makes no bet." "great snakes! how can you be so rash?" bootle p. gish rational, adj. devoid of all delusions save those of observation, experience and reflection. rattlesnake, n. our prostrate brother, _homo ventrambulans_. razor, n. an instrument used by the caucasian to enhance his beauty, by the mongolian to make a guy of himself, and by the afro-american to affirm his worth. reach, n. the radius of action of the human hand. the area within which it is possible (and customary) to gratify directly the propensity to provide. this is a truth, as old as the hills, that life and experience teach: the poor man suffers that keenest of ills, an impediment in his reach. g.j. reading, n. the general body of what one reads. in our country it consists, as a rule, of indiana novels, short stories in "dialect" and humor in slang. we know by one's reading his learning and breeding; by what draws his laughter we know his hereafter. read nothing, laugh never-- the sphinx was less clever! jupiter muke radicalism, n. the conservatism of to-morrow injected into the affairs of to-day. radium, n. a mineral that gives off heat and stimulates the organ that a scientist is a fool with. railroad, n. the chief of many mechanical devices enabling us to get away from where we are to where we are no better off. for this purpose the railroad is held in highest favor by the optimist, for it permits him to make the transit with great expedition. ramshackle, adj. pertaining to a certain order of architecture, otherwise known as the normal american. most of the public buildings of the united states are of the ramshackle order, though some of our earlier architects preferred the ironic. recent additions to the white house in washington are theo-doric, the ecclesiastic order of the dorians. they are exceedingly fine and cost one hundred dollars a brick. realism, n. the art of depicting nature as it is seen by toads. the charm suffusing a landscape painted by a mole, or a story written by a measuring-worm. reality, n. the dream of a mad philosopher. that which would remain in the cupel if one should assay a phantom. the nucleus of a vacuum. really, adv. apparently. rear, n. in american military matters, that exposed part of the army that is nearest to congress. reason, v.i. to weigh probabilities in the scales of desire. reason, n. propensitate of prejudice. reasonable, adj. accessible to the infection of our own opinions. hospitable to persuasion, dissuasion and evasion. rebel, n. a proponent of a new misrule who has failed to establish it. recollect, v. to recall with additions something not previously known. reconciliation, n. a suspension of hostilities. an armed truce for the purpose of digging up the dead. reconsider, v. to seek a justification for a decision already made. recount, n. in american politics, another throw of the dice, accorded to the player against whom they are loaded. recreation, n. a particular kind of dejection to relieve a general fatigue. recruit, n. a person distinguishable from a civilian by his uniform and from a soldier by his gait. fresh from the farm or factory or street, his marching, in pursuit or in retreat, were an impressive martial spectacle except for two impediments--his feet. thompson johnson rector, n. in the church of england, the third person of the parochial trinity, the curate and the vicar being the other two. redemption, n. deliverance of sinners from the penalty of their sin, through their murder of the deity against whom they sinned. the doctrine of redemption is the fundamental mystery of our holy religion, and whoso believeth in it shall not perish, but have everlasting life in which to try to understand it. we must awake man's spirit from his sin, and take some special measure for redeeming it; though hard indeed the task to get it in among the angels any way but teaming it, or purify it otherwise than steaming it. i'm awkward at redemption--a beginner: my method is to crucify the sinner. golgo brone redress, n. reparation without satisfaction. among the anglo-saxon a subject conceiving himself wronged by the king was permitted, on proving his injury, to beat a brazen image of the royal offender with a switch that was afterward applied to his own naked back. the latter rite was performed by the public hangman, and it assured moderation in the plaintiff's choice of a switch. red-skin, n. a north american indian, whose skin is not red--at least not on the outside. redundant, adj. superfluous; needless; _de trop_. the sultan said: "there's evidence abundant to prove this unbelieving dog redundant." to whom the grand vizier, with mien impressive, replied: "his head, at least, appears excessive." habeeb suleiman mr. debs is a redundant citizen. theodore roosevelt referendum, n. a law for submission of proposed legislation to a popular vote to learn the nonsensus of public opinion. reflection, n. an action of the mind whereby we obtain a clearer view of our relation to the things of yesterday and are able to avoid the perils that we shall not again encounter. reform, v. a thing that mostly satisfies reformers opposed to reformation. refuge, n. anything assuring protection to one in peril. moses and joshua provided six cities of refuge--bezer, golan, ramoth, kadesh, schekem and hebron--to which one who had taken life inadvertently could flee when hunted by relatives of the deceased. this admirable expedient supplied him with wholesome exercise and enabled them to enjoy the pleasures of the chase; whereby the soul of the dead man was appropriately honored by observances akin to the funeral games of early greece. refusal, n. denial of something desired; as an elderly maiden's hand in marriage, to a rich and handsome suitor; a valuable franchise to a rich corporation, by an alderman; absolution to an impenitent king, by a priest, and so forth. refusals are graded in a descending scale of finality thus: the refusal absolute, the refusal conditional, the refusal tentative and the refusal feminine. the last is called by some casuists the refusal assentive. regalia, n. distinguishing insignia, jewels and costume of such ancient and honorable orders as knights of adam; visionaries of detectable bosh; the ancient order of modern troglodytes; the league of holy humbug; the golden phalanx of phalangers; the genteel society of expurgated hoodlums; the mystic alliances of gorgeous regalians; knights and ladies of the yellow dog; the oriental order of sons of the west; the blatherhood of insufferable stuff; warriors of the long bow; guardians of the great horn spoon; the band of brutes; the impenitent order of wife-beaters; the sublime legion of flamboyant conspicuants; worshipers at the electroplated shrine; shining inaccessibles; fee-faw-fummers of the inimitable grip; jannissaries of the broad-blown peacock; plumed increscencies of the magic temple; the grand cabal of able-bodied sedentarians; associated deities of the butter trade; the garden of galoots; the affectionate fraternity of men similarly warted; the flashing astonishers; ladies of horror; cooperative association for breaking into the spotlight; dukes of eden; disciples militant of the hidden faith; knights-champions of the domestic dog; the holy gregarians; the resolute optimists; the ancient sodality of inhospitable hogs; associated sovereigns of mendacity; dukes-guardian of the mystic cess-pool; the society for prevention of prevalence; kings of drink; polite federation of gents-consequential; the mysterious order of the undecipherable scroll; uniformed rank of lousy cats; monarchs of worth and hunger; sons of the south star; prelates of the tub-and-sword. religion, n. a daughter of hope and fear, explaining to ignorance the nature of the unknowable. "what is your religion my son?" inquired the archbishop of rheims. "pardon, monseigneur," replied rochebriant; "i am ashamed of it." "then why do you not become an atheist?" "impossible! i should be ashamed of atheism." "in that case, monsieur, you should join the protestants." reliquary, n. a receptacle for such sacred objects as pieces of the true cross, short-ribs of the saints, the ears of balaam's ass, the lung of the cock that called peter to repentance and so forth. reliquaries are commonly of metal, and provided with a lock to prevent the contents from coming out and performing miracles at unseasonable times. a feather from the wing of the angel of the annunciation once escaped during a sermon in saint peter's and so tickled the noses of the congregation that they woke and sneezed with great vehemence three times each. it is related in the "gesta sanctorum" that a sacristan in the canterbury cathedral surprised the head of saint dennis in the library. reprimanded by its stern custodian, it explained that it was seeking a body of doctrine. this unseemly levity so raged the diocesan that the offender was publicly anathematized, thrown into the stour and replaced by another head of saint dennis, brought from rome. renown, n. a degree of distinction between notoriety and fame--a little more supportable than the one and a little more intolerable than the other. sometimes it is conferred by an unfriendly and inconsiderate hand. i touched the harp in every key, but found no heeding ear; and then ithuriel touched me with a revealing spear. not all my genius, great as 'tis, could urge me out of night. i felt the faint appulse of his, and leapt into the light! w.j. candleton reparation, n. satisfaction that is made for a wrong and deducted from the satisfaction felt in committing it. repartee, n. prudent insult in retort. practiced by gentlemen with a constitutional aversion to violence, but a strong disposition to offend. in a war of words, the tactics of the north american indian. repentance, n. the faithful attendant and follower of punishment. it is usually manifest in a degree of reformation that is not inconsistent with continuity of sin. desirous to avoid the pains of hell, you will repent and join the church, parnell? how needless!--nick will keep you off the coals and add you to the woes of other souls. jomater abemy replica, n. a reproduction of a work of art, by the artist that made the original. it is so called to distinguish it from a "copy," which is made by another artist. when the two are made with equal skill the replica is the more valuable, for it is supposed to be more beautiful than it looks. reporter, n. a writer who guesses his way to the truth and dispels it with a tempest of words. "more dear than all my bosom knows, o thou whose 'lips are sealed' and will not disavow!" so sang the blithe reporter-man as grew beneath his hand the leg-long "interview." barson maith repose, v.i. to cease from troubling. representative, n. in national politics, a member of the lower house in this world, and without discernible hope of promotion in the next. reprobation, n. in theology, the state of a luckless mortal prenatally damned. the doctrine of reprobation was taught by calvin, whose joy in it was somewhat marred by the sad sincerity of his conviction that although some are foredoomed to perdition, others are predestined to salvation. republic, n. a nation in which, the thing governing and the thing governed being the same, there is only a permitted authority to enforce an optional obedience. in a republic, the foundation of public order is the ever lessening habit of submission inherited from ancestors who, being truly governed, submitted because they had to. there are as many kinds of republics as there are graduations between the despotism whence they came and the anarchy whither they lead. requiem, n. a mass for the dead which the minor poets assure us the winds sing o'er the graves of their favorites. sometimes, by way of providing a varied entertainment, they sing a dirge. resident, adj. unable to leave. resign, v.t. to renounce an honor for an advantage. to renounce an advantage for a greater advantage. 'twas rumored leonard wood had signed a true renunciation of title, rank and every kind of military station-- each honorable station. by his example fired--inclined to noble emulation, the country humbly was resigned to leonard's resignation-- his christian resignation. politian greame resolute, adj. obstinate in a course that we approve. respectability, n. the offspring of a _liaison_ between a bald head and a bank account. respirator, n. an apparatus fitted over the nose and mouth of an inhabitant of london, whereby to filter the visible universe in its passage to the lungs. respite, n. a suspension of hostilities against a sentenced assassin, to enable the executive to determine whether the murder may not have been done by the prosecuting attorney. any break in the continuity of a disagreeable expectation. altgeld upon his incandescent bed lay, an attendant demon at his head. "o cruel cook, pray grant me some relief-- some respite from the roast, however brief." "remember how on earth i pardoned all your friends in illinois when held in thrall." "unhappy soul! for that alone you squirm o'er fire unquenched, a never-dying worm. "yet, for i pity your uneasy state, your doom i'll mollify and pains abate. "naught, for a season, shall your comfort mar, not even the memory of who you are." throughout eternal space dread silence fell; heaven trembled as compassion entered hell. "as long, sweet demon, let my respite be as, governing down here, i'd respite thee." "as long, poor soul, as any of the pack you thrust from jail consumed in getting back." a genial chill affected altgeld's hide while they were turning him on t'other side. joel spate woop resplendent, adj. like a simple american citizen beduking himself in his lodge, or affirming his consequence in the scheme of things as an elemental unit of a parade. the knights of dominion were so resplendent in their velvet- and-gold that their masters would hardly have known them. "chronicles of the classes" respond, v.i. to make answer, or disclose otherwise a consciousness of having inspired an interest in what herbert spencer calls "external coexistences," as satan "squat like a toad" at the ear of eve, responded to the touch of the angel's spear. to respond in damages is to contribute to the maintenance of the plaintiff's attorney and, incidentally, to the gratification of the plaintiff. responsibility, n. a detachable burden easily shifted to the shoulders of god, fate, fortune, luck or one's neighbor. in the days of astrology it was customary to unload it upon a star. alas, things ain't what we should see if eve had let that apple be; and many a feller which had ought to set with monarchses of thought, or play some rosy little game with battle-chaps on fields of fame, is downed by his unlucky star and hollers: "peanuts!--here you are!" "the sturdy beggar" restitution, n. the founding or endowing of universities and public libraries by gift or bequest. restitutor, n. benefactor; philanthropist. retaliation, n. the natural rock upon which is reared the temple of law. retribution, n. a rain of fire-and-brimstone that falls alike upon the just and such of the unjust as have not procured shelter by evicting them. in the lines following, addressed to an emperor in exile by father gassalasca jape, the reverend poet appears to hint his sense of the imprudence of turning about to face retribution when it is taking exercise: what, what! dom pedro, you desire to go back to brazil to end your days in quiet? why, what assurance have you 'twould be so? 'tis not so long since you were in a riot, and your dear subjects showed a will to fly at your throat and shake you like a rat. you know that empires are ungrateful; are you certain republics are less handy to get hurt in? reveille, n. a signal to sleeping soldiers to dream of battlefields no more, but get up and have their blue noses counted. in the american army it is ingeniously called "rev-e-lee," and to that pronunciation our countrymen have pledged their lives, their misfortunes and their sacred dishonor. revelation, n. a famous book in which st. john the divine concealed all that he knew. the revealing is done by the commentators, who know nothing. reverence, n. the spiritual attitude of a man to a god and a dog to a man. review, v.t. to set your wisdom (holding not a doubt of it, although in truth there's neither bone nor skin to it) at work upon a book, and so read out of it the qualities that you have first read into it. revolution, n. in politics, an abrupt change in the form of misgovernment. specifically, in american history, the substitution of the rule of an administration for that of a ministry, whereby the welfare and happiness of the people were advanced a full half-inch. revolutions are usually accompanied by a considerable effusion of blood, but are accounted worth it--this appraisement being made by beneficiaries whose blood had not the mischance to be shed. the french revolution is of incalculable value to the socialist of to-day; when he pulls the string actuating its bones its gestures are inexpressibly terrifying to gory tyrants suspected of fomenting law and order. rhadomancer, n. one who uses a divining-rod in prospecting for precious metals in the pocket of a fool. ribaldry, n. censorious language by another concerning oneself. ribroaster, n. censorious language by oneself concerning another. the word is of classical refinement, and is even said to have been used in a fable by georgius coadjutor, one of the most fastidious writers of the fifteenth century--commonly, indeed, regarded as the founder of the fastidiotic school. rice-water, n. a mystic beverage secretly used by our most popular novelists and poets to regulate the imagination and narcotize the conscience. it is said to be rich in both obtundite and lethargine, and is brewed in a midnight fog by a fat witch of the dismal swamp. rich, adj. holding in trust and subject to an accounting the property of the indolent, the incompetent, the unthrifty, the envious and the luckless. that is the view that prevails in the underworld, where the brotherhood of man finds its most logical development and candid advocacy. to denizens of the midworld the word means good and wise. riches, n. a gift from heaven signifying, "this is my beloved son, in whom i am well pleased." john d. rockefeller the reward of toil and virtue. j.p. morgan the savings of many in the hands of one. eugene debs to these excellent definitions the inspired lexicographer feels that he can add nothing of value. ridicule, n. words designed to show that the person of whom they are uttered is devoid of the dignity of character distinguishing him who utters them. it may be graphic, mimetic or merely rident. shaftesbury is quoted as having pronounced it the test of truth--a ridiculous assertion, for many a solemn fallacy has undergone centuries of ridicule with no abatement of its popular acceptance. what, for example, has been more valorously derided than the doctrine of infant respectability? right, n. legitimate authority to be, to do or to have; as the right to be a king, the right to do one's neighbor, the right to have measles, and the like. the first of these rights was once universally believed to be derived directly from the will of god; and this is still sometimes affirmed _in partibus infidelium_ outside the enlightened realms of democracy; as the well known lines of sir abednego bink, following: by what right, then, do royal rulers rule? whose is the sanction of their state and pow'r? he surely were as stubborn as a mule who, god unwilling, could maintain an hour his uninvited session on the throne, or air his pride securely in the presidential chair. whatever is is so by right divine; whate'er occurs, god wills it so. good land! it were a wondrous thing if his design a fool could baffle or a rogue withstand! if so, then god, i say (intending no offence) is guilty of contributory negligence. righteousness, n. a sturdy virtue that was once found among the pantidoodles inhabiting the lower part of the peninsula of oque. some feeble attempts were made by returned missionaries to introduce it into several european countries, but it appears to have been imperfectly expounded. an example of this faulty exposition is found in the only extant sermon of the pious bishop rowley, a characteristic passage from which is here given: "now righteousness consisteth not merely in a holy state of mind, nor yet in performance of religious rites and obedience to the letter of the law. it is not enough that one be pious and just: one must see to it that others also are in the same state; and to this end compulsion is a proper means. forasmuch as my injustice may work ill to another, so by his injustice may evil be wrought upon still another, the which it is as manifestly my duty to estop as to forestall mine own tort. wherefore if i would be righteous i am bound to restrain my neighbor, by force if needful, in all those injurious enterprises from which, through a better disposition and by the help of heaven, i do myself refrain." rime, n. agreeing sounds in the terminals of verse, mostly bad. the verses themselves, as distinguished from prose, mostly dull. usually (and wickedly) spelled "rhyme." rimer, n. a poet regarded with indifference or disesteem. the rimer quenches his unheeded fires, the sound surceases and the sense expires. then the domestic dog, to east and west, expounds the passions burning in his breast. the rising moon o'er that enchanted land pauses to hear and yearns to understand. mowbray myles riot, n. a popular entertainment given to the military by innocent bystanders. r.i.p. a careless abbreviation of _requiescat in pace_, attesting an indolent goodwill to the dead. according to the learned dr. drigge, however, the letters originally meant nothing more than _reductus in pulvis_. rite, n. a religious or semi-religious ceremony fixed by law, precept or custom, with the essential oil of sincerity carefully squeezed out of it. ritualism, n. a dutch garden of god where he may walk in rectilinear freedom, keeping off the grass. road, n. a strip of land along which one may pass from where it is too tiresome to be to where it is futile to go. all roads, howsoe'er they diverge, lead to rome, whence, thank the good lord, at least one leads back home. borey the bald robber, n. a candid man of affairs. it is related of voltaire that one night he and some traveling companion lodged at a wayside inn. the surroundings were suggestive, and after supper they agreed to tell robber stories in turn. "once there was a farmer-general of the revenues." saying nothing more, he was encouraged to continue. "that," he said, "is the story." romance, n. fiction that owes no allegiance to the god of things as they are. in the novel the writer's thought is tethered to probability, as a domestic horse to the hitching-post, but in romance it ranges at will over the entire region of the imagination--free, lawless, immune to bit and rein. your novelist is a poor creature, as carlyle might say--a mere reporter. he may invent his characters and plot, but he must not imagine anything taking place that might not occur, albeit his entire narrative is candidly a lie. why he imposes this hard condition on himself, and "drags at each remove a lengthening chain" of his own forging he can explain in ten thick volumes without illuminating by so much as a candle's ray the black profound of his own ignorance of the matter. there are great novels, for great writers have "laid waste their powers" to write them, but it remains true that far and away the most fascinating fiction that we have is "the thousand and one nights." rope, n. an obsolescent appliance for reminding assassins that they too are mortal. it is put about the neck and remains in place one's whole life long. it has been largely superseded by a more complex electrical device worn upon another part of the person; and this is rapidly giving place to an apparatus known as the preachment. rostrum, n. in latin, the beak of a bird or the prow of a ship. in america, a place from which a candidate for office energetically expounds the wisdom, virtue and power of the rabble. roundhead, n. a member of the parliamentarian party in the english civil war--so called from his habit of wearing his hair short, whereas his enemy, the cavalier, wore his long. there were other points of difference between them, but the fashion in hair was the fundamental cause of quarrel. the cavaliers were royalists because the king, an indolent fellow, found it more convenient to let his hair grow than to wash his neck. this the roundheads, who were mostly barbers and soap-boilers, deemed an injury to trade, and the royal neck was therefore the object of their particular indignation. descendants of the belligerents now wear their hair all alike, but the fires of animosity enkindled in that ancient strife smoulder to this day beneath the snows of british civility. rubbish, n. worthless matter, such as the religions, philosophies, literatures, arts and sciences of the tribes infesting the regions lying due south from boreaplas. ruin, v. to destroy. specifically, to destroy a maid's belief in the virtue of maids. rum, n. generically, fiery liquors that produce madness in total abstainers. rumor, n. a favorite weapon of the assassins of character. sharp, irresistible by mail or shield, by guard unparried as by flight unstayed, o serviceable rumor, let me wield against my enemy no other blade. his be the terror of a foe unseen, his the inutile hand upon the hilt, and mine the deadly tongue, long, slender, keen, hinting a rumor of some ancient guilt. so shall i slay the wretch without a blow, spare me to celebrate his overthrow, and nurse my valor for another foe. joel buxter russian, n. a person with a caucasian body and a mongolian soul. a tartar emetic. s sabbath, n. a weekly festival having its origin in the fact that god made the world in six days and was arrested on the seventh. among the jews observance of the day was enforced by a commandment of which this is the christian version: "remember the seventh day to make thy neighbor keep it wholly." to the creator it seemed fit and expedient that the sabbath should be the last day of the week, but the early fathers of the church held other views. so great is the sanctity of the day that even where the lord holds a doubtful and precarious jurisdiction over those who go down to (and down into) the sea it is reverently recognized, as is manifest in the following deep-water version of the fourth commandment: six days shalt thou labor and do all thou art able, and on the seventh holystone the deck and scrape the cable. decks are no longer holystoned, but the cable still supplies the captain with opportunity to attest a pious respect for the divine ordinance. sacerdotalist, n. one who holds the belief that a clergyman is a priest. denial of this momentous doctrine is the hardest challenge that is now flung into the teeth of the episcopalian church by the neo-dictionarians. sacrament, n. a solemn religious ceremony to which several degrees of authority and significance are attached. rome has seven sacraments, but the protestant churches, being less prosperous, feel that they can afford only two, and these of inferior sanctity. some of the smaller sects have no sacraments at all--for which mean economy they will indubitable be damned. sacred, adj. dedicated to some religious purpose; having a divine character; inspiring solemn thoughts or emotions; as, the dalai lama of thibet; the moogum of m'bwango; the temple of apes in ceylon; the cow in india; the crocodile, the cat and the onion of ancient egypt; the mufti of moosh; the hair of the dog that bit noah, etc. all things are either sacred or profane. the former to ecclesiasts bring gain; the latter to the devil appertain. dumbo omohundro sandlotter, n. a vertebrate mammal holding the political views of denis kearney, a notorious demagogue of san francisco, whose audiences gathered in the open spaces (sandlots) of the town. true to the traditions of his species, this leader of the proletariat was finally bought off by his law-and-order enemies, living prosperously silent and dying impenitently rich. but before his treason he imposed upon california a constitution that was a confection of sin in a diction of solecisms. the similarity between the words "sandlotter" and "sansculotte" is problematically significant, but indubitably suggestive. safety-clutch, n. a mechanical device acting automatically to prevent the fall of an elevator, or cage, in case of an accident to the hoisting apparatus. once i seen a human ruin in an elevator-well, and his members was bestrewin' all the place where he had fell. and i says, apostrophisin' that uncommon woful wreck: "your position's so surprisin' that i tremble for your neck!" then that ruin, smilin' sadly and impressive, up and spoke: "well, i wouldn't tremble badly, for it's been a fortnight broke." then, for further comprehension of his attitude, he begs i will focus my attention on his various arms and legs-- how they all are contumacious; where they each, respective, lie; how one trotter proves ungracious, t'other one an _alibi_. these particulars is mentioned for to show his dismal state, which i wasn't first intentioned to specifical relate. none is worser to be dreaded that i ever have heard tell than the gent's who there was spreaded in that elevator-well. now this tale is allegoric-- it is figurative all, for the well is metaphoric and the feller didn't fall. i opine it isn't moral for a writer-man to cheat, and despise to wear a laurel as was gotten by deceit. for 'tis politics intended by the elevator, mind, it will boost a person splendid if his talent is the kind. col. bryan had the talent (for the busted man is him) and it shot him up right gallant till his head begun to swim. then the rope it broke above him and he painful come to earth where there's nobody to love him for his detrimented worth. though he's livin' none would know him, or at leastwise not as such. moral of this woful poem: frequent oil your safety-clutch. porfer poog saint, n. a dead sinner revised and edited. the duchess of orleans relates that the irreverent old calumniator, marshal villeroi, who in his youth had known st. francis de sales, said, on hearing him called saint: "i am delighted to hear that monsieur de sales is a saint. he was fond of saying indelicate things, and used to cheat at cards. in other respects he was a perfect gentleman, though a fool." salacity, n. a certain literary quality frequently observed in popular novels, especially in those written by women and young girls, who give it another name and think that in introducing it they are occupying a neglected field of letters and reaping an overlooked harvest. if they have the misfortune to live long enough they are tormented with a desire to burn their sheaves. salamander, n. originally a reptile inhabiting fire; later, an anthropomorphous immortal, but still a pyrophile. salamanders are now believed to be extinct, the last one of which we have an account having been seen in carcassonne by the abbe belloc, who exorcised it with a bucket of holy water. sarcophagus, n. among the greeks a coffin which being made of a certain kind of carnivorous stone, had the peculiar property of devouring the body placed in it. the sarcophagus known to modern obsequiographers is commonly a product of the carpenter's art. satan, n. one of the creator's lamentable mistakes, repented in sashcloth and axes. being instated as an archangel, satan made himself multifariously objectionable and was finally expelled from heaven. halfway in his descent he paused, bent his head in thought a moment and at last went back. "there is one favor that i should like to ask," said he. "name it." "man, i understand, is about to be created. he will need laws." "what, wretch! you his appointed adversary, charged from the dawn of eternity with hatred of his soul--you ask for the right to make his laws?" "pardon; what i have to ask is that he be permitted to make them himself." it was so ordered. satiety, n. the feeling that one has for the plate after he has eaten its contents, madam. satire, n. an obsolete kind of literary composition in which the vices and follies of the author's enemies were expounded with imperfect tenderness. in this country satire never had more than a sickly and uncertain existence, for the soul of it is wit, wherein we are dolefully deficient, the humor that we mistake for it, like all humor, being tolerant and sympathetic. moreover, although americans are "endowed by their creator" with abundant vice and folly, it is not generally known that these are reprehensible qualities, wherefore the satirist is popularly regarded as a sour-spirited knave, and his ever victim's outcry for codefendants evokes a national assent. hail satire! be thy praises ever sung in the dead language of a mummy's tongue, for thou thyself art dead, and damned as well-- thy spirit (usefully employed) in hell. had it been such as consecrates the bible thou hadst not perished by the law of libel. barney stims satyr, n. one of the few characters of the grecian mythology accorded recognition in the hebrew. (leviticus, xvii, .) the satyr was at first a member of the dissolute community acknowledging a loose allegiance with dionysius, but underwent many transformations and improvements. not infrequently he is confounded with the faun, a later and decenter creation of the romans, who was less like a man and more like a goat. sauce, n. the one infallible sign of civilization and enlightenment. a people with no sauces has one thousand vices; a people with one sauce has only nine hundred and ninety-nine. for every sauce invented and accepted a vice is renounced and forgiven. saw, n. a trite popular saying, or proverb. (figurative and colloquial.) so called because it makes its way into a wooden head. following are examples of old saws fitted with new teeth. a penny saved is a penny to squander. a man is known by the company that he organizes. a bad workman quarrels with the man who calls him that. a bird in the hand is worth what it will bring. better late than before anybody has invited you. example is better than following it. half a loaf is better than a whole one if there is much else. think twice before you speak to a friend in need. what is worth doing is worth the trouble of asking somebody to do it. least said is soonest disavowed. he laughs best who laughs least. speak of the devil and he will hear about it. of two evils choose to be the least. strike while your employer has a big contract. where there's a will there's a won't. scarabaeus, n. the sacred beetle of the ancient egyptians, allied to our familiar "tumble-bug." it was supposed to symbolize immortality, the fact that god knew why giving it its peculiar sanctity. its habit of incubating its eggs in a ball of ordure may also have commended it to the favor of the priesthood, and may some day assure it an equal reverence among ourselves. true, the american beetle is an inferior beetle, but the american priest is an inferior priest. scarabee, n. the same as scarabaeus. he fell by his own hand beneath the great oak tree. he'd traveled in a foreign land. he tried to make her understand the dance that's called the saraband, but he called it scarabee. he had called it so through an afternoon, and she, the light of his harem if so might be, had smiled and said naught. o the body was fair to see, all frosted there in the shine o' the moon-- dead for a scarabee and a recollection that came too late. o fate! they buried him where he lay, he sleeps awaiting the day, in state, and two possible puns, moon-eyed and wan, gloom over the grave and then move on. dead for a scarabee! fernando tapple scarification, n. a form of penance practised by the mediaeval pious. the rite was performed, sometimes with a knife, sometimes with a hot iron, but always, says arsenius asceticus, acceptably if the penitent spared himself no pain nor harmless disfigurement. scarification, with other crude penances, has now been superseded by benefaction. the founding of a library or endowment of a university is said to yield to the penitent a sharper and more lasting pain than is conferred by the knife or iron, and is therefore a surer means of grace. there are, however, two grave objections to it as a penitential method: the good that it does and the taint of justice. scepter, n. a king's staff of office, the sign and symbol of his authority. it was originally a mace with which the sovereign admonished his jester and vetoed ministerial measures by breaking the bones of their proponents. scimitar, n. a curved sword of exceeding keenness, in the conduct of which certain orientals attain a surprising proficiency, as the incident here related will serve to show. the account is translated from the japanese of shusi itama, a famous writer of the thirteenth century. when the great gichi-kuktai was mikado he condemned to decapitation jijiji ri, a high officer of the court. soon after the hour appointed for performance of the rite what was his majesty's surprise to see calmly approaching the throne the man who should have been at that time ten minutes dead! "seventeen hundred impossible dragons!" shouted the enraged monarch. "did i not sentence you to stand in the market-place and have your head struck off by the public executioner at three o'clock? and is it not now : ?" "son of a thousand illustrious deities," answered the condemned minister, "all that you say is so true that the truth is a lie in comparison. but your heavenly majesty's sunny and vitalizing wishes have been pestilently disregarded. with joy i ran and placed my unworthy body in the market-place. the executioner appeared with his bare scimitar, ostentatiously whirled it in air, and then, tapping me lightly upon the neck, strode away, pelted by the populace, with whom i was ever a favorite. i am come to pray for justice upon his own dishonorable and treasonous head." "to what regiment of executioners does the black-boweled caitiff belong?" asked the mikado. "to the gallant ninety-eight hundred and thirty-seventh--i know the man. his name is sakko-samshi." "let him be brought before me," said the mikado to an attendant, and a half-hour later the culprit stood in the presence. "thou bastard son of a three-legged hunchback without thumbs!" roared the sovereign--"why didst thou but lightly tap the neck that it should have been thy pleasure to sever?" "lord of cranes an cherry blooms," replied the executioner, unmoved, "command him to blow his nose with his fingers." being commanded, jijiji ri laid hold of his nose and trumpeted like an elephant, all expecting to see the severed head flung violently from him. nothing occurred: the performance prospered peacefully to the close, without incident. all eyes were now turned on the executioner, who had grown as white as the snows on the summit of fujiama. his legs trembled and his breath came in gasps of terror. "several kinds of spike-tailed brass lions!" he cried; "i am a ruined and disgraced swordsman! i struck the villain feebly because in flourishing the scimitar i had accidentally passed it through my own neck! father of the moon, i resign my office." so saying, he gasped his top-knot, lifted off his head, and advancing to the throne laid it humbly at the mikado's feet. scrap-book, n. a book that is commonly edited by a fool. many persons of some small distinction compile scrap-books containing whatever they happen to read about themselves or employ others to collect. one of these egotists was addressed in the lines following, by agamemnon melancthon peters: dear frank, that scrap-book where you boast you keep a record true of every kind of peppered roast that's made of you; wherein you paste the printed gibes that revel round your name, thinking the laughter of the scribes attests your fame; where all the pictures you arrange that comic pencils trace-- your funny figure and your strange semitic face-- pray lend it me. wit i have not, nor art, but there i'll list the daily drubbings you'd have got had god a fist. scribbler, n. a professional writer whose views are antagonistic to one's own. scriptures, n. the sacred books of our holy religion, as distinguished from the false and profane writings on which all other faiths are based. seal, n. a mark impressed upon certain kinds of documents to attest their authenticity and authority. sometimes it is stamped upon wax, and attached to the paper, sometimes into the paper itself. sealing, in this sense, is a survival of an ancient custom of inscribing important papers with cabalistic words or signs to give them a magical efficacy independent of the authority that they represent. in the british museum are preserved many ancient papers, mostly of a sacerdotal character, validated by necromantic pentagrams and other devices, frequently initial letters of words to conjure with; and in many instances these are attached in the same way that seals are appended now. as nearly every reasonless and apparently meaningless custom, rite or observance of modern times had origin in some remote utility, it is pleasing to note an example of ancient nonsense evolving in the process of ages into something really useful. our word "sincere" is derived from _sine cero_, without wax, but the learned are not in agreement as to whether this refers to the absence of the cabalistic signs, or to that of the wax with which letters were formerly closed from public scrutiny. either view of the matter will serve one in immediate need of an hypothesis. the initials l.s., commonly appended to signatures of legal documents, mean _locum sigillis_, the place of the seal, although the seal is no longer used --an admirable example of conservatism distinguishing man from the beasts that perish. the words _locum sigillis_ are humbly suggested as a suitable motto for the pribyloff islands whenever they shall take their place as a sovereign state of the american union. seine, n. a kind of net for effecting an involuntary change of environment. for fish it is made strong and coarse, but women are more easily taken with a singularly delicate fabric weighted with small, cut stones. the devil casting a seine of lace, (with precious stones 'twas weighted) drew it into the landing place and its contents calculated. all souls of women were in that sack-- a draft miraculous, precious! but ere he could throw it across his back they'd all escaped through the meshes. baruch de loppis self-esteem, n. an erroneous appraisement. self-evident, adj. evident to one's self and to nobody else. selfish, adj. devoid of consideration for the selfishness of others. senate, n. a body of elderly gentlemen charged with high duties and misdemeanors. serial, n. a literary work, usually a story that is not true, creeping through several issues of a newspaper or magazine. frequently appended to each installment is a "synposis of preceding chapters" for those who have not read them, but a direr need is a synposis of succeeding chapters for those who do not intend to read _them_. a synposis of the entire work would be still better. the late james f. bowman was writing a serial tale for a weekly paper in collaboration with a genius whose name has not come down to us. they wrote, not jointly but alternately, bowman supplying the installment for one week, his friend for the next, and so on, world without end, they hoped. unfortunately they quarreled, and one monday morning when bowman read the paper to prepare himself for his task, he found his work cut out for him in a way to surprise and pain him. his collaborator had embarked every character of the narrative on a ship and sunk them all in the deepest part of the atlantic. severalty, n. separateness, as, lands in severalty, i.e., lands held individually, not in joint ownership. certain tribes of indians are believed now to be sufficiently civilized to have in severalty the lands that they have hitherto held as tribal organizations, and could not sell to the whites for waxen beads and potato whiskey. lo! the poor indian whose unsuited mind saw death before, hell and the grave behind; whom thrifty settler ne'er besought to stay-- his small belongings their appointed prey; whom dispossession, with alluring wile, persuaded elsewhere every little while! his fire unquenched and his undying worm by "land in severalty" (charming term!) are cooled and killed, respectively, at last, and he to his new holding anchored fast! sheriff, n. in america the chief executive officer of a county, whose most characteristic duties, in some of the western and southern states, are the catching and hanging of rogues. john elmer pettibone cajee (i write of him with little glee) was just as bad as he could be. 'twas frequently remarked: "i swon! the sun has never looked upon so bad a man as neighbor john." a sinner through and through, he had this added fault: it made him mad to know another man was bad. in such a case he thought it right to rise at any hour of night and quench that wicked person's light. despite the town's entreaties, he would hale him to the nearest tree and leave him swinging wide and free. or sometimes, if the humor came, a luckless wight's reluctant frame was given to the cheerful flame. while it was turning nice and brown, all unconcerned john met the frown of that austere and righteous town. "how sad," his neighbors said, "that he so scornful of the law should be-- an anar c, h, i, s, t." (that is the way that they preferred to utter the abhorrent word, so strong the aversion that it stirred.) "resolved," they said, continuing, "that badman john must cease this thing of having his unlawful fling. "now, by these sacred relics"--here each man had out a souvenir got at a lynching yesteryear-- "by these we swear he shall forsake his ways, nor cause our hearts to ache by sins of rope and torch and stake. "we'll tie his red right hand until he'll have small freedom to fulfil the mandates of his lawless will." so, in convention then and there, they named him sheriff. the affair was opened, it is said, with prayer. j. milton sloluck siren, n. one of several musical prodigies famous for a vain attempt to dissuade odysseus from a life on the ocean wave. figuratively, any lady of splendid promise, dissembled purpose and disappointing performance. slang, n. the grunt of the human hog (_pignoramus intolerabilis_) with an audible memory. the speech of one who utters with his tongue what he thinks with his ear, and feels the pride of a creator in accomplishing the feat of a parrot. a means (under providence) of setting up as a wit without a capital of sense. smithareen, n. a fragment, a decomponent part, a remain. the word is used variously, but in the following verse on a noted female reformer who opposed bicycle-riding by women because it "led them to the devil" it is seen at its best: the wheels go round without a sound-- the maidens hold high revel; in sinful mood, insanely gay, true spinsters spin adown the way from duty to the devil! they laugh, they sing, and--ting-a-ling! their bells go all the morning; their lanterns bright bestar the night pedestrians a-warning. with lifted hands miss charlotte stands, good-lording and o-mying, her rheumatism forgotten quite, her fat with anger frying. she blocks the path that leads to wrath, jack satan's power defying. the wheels go round without a sound the lights burn red and blue and green. what's this that's found upon the ground? poor charlotte smith's a smithareen! john william yope sophistry, n. the controversial method of an opponent, distinguished from one's own by superior insincerity and fooling. this method is that of the later sophists, a grecian sect of philosophers who began by teaching wisdom, prudence, science, art and, in brief, whatever men ought to know, but lost themselves in a maze of quibbles and a fog of words. his bad opponent's "facts" he sweeps away, and drags his sophistry to light of day; then swears they're pushed to madness who resort to falsehood of so desperate a sort. not so; like sods upon a dead man's breast, he lies most lightly who the least is pressed. polydore smith sorcery, n. the ancient prototype and forerunner of political influence. it was, however, deemed less respectable and sometimes was punished by torture and death. augustine nicholas relates that a poor peasant who had been accused of sorcery was put to the torture to compel a confession. after enduring a few gentle agonies the suffering simpleton admitted his guilt, but naively asked his tormentors if it were not possible to be a sorcerer without knowing it. soul, n. a spiritual entity concerning which there hath been brave disputation. plato held that those souls which in a previous state of existence (antedating athens) had obtained the clearest glimpses of eternal truth entered into the bodies of persons who became philosophers. plato himself was a philosopher. the souls that had least contemplated divine truth animated the bodies of usurpers and despots. dionysius i, who had threatened to decapitate the broad-browed philosopher, was a usurper and a despot. plato, doubtless, was not the first to construct a system of philosophy that could be quoted against his enemies; certainly he was not the last. "concerning the nature of the soul," saith the renowned author of _diversiones sanctorum_, "there hath been hardly more argument than that of its place in the body. mine own belief is that the soul hath her seat in the abdomen--in which faith we may discern and interpret a truth hitherto unintelligible, namely that the glutton is of all men most devout. he is said in the scripture to 'make a god of his belly' --why, then, should he not be pious, having ever his deity with him to freshen his faith? who so well as he can know the might and majesty that he shrines? truly and soberly, the soul and the stomach are one divine entity; and such was the belief of promasius, who nevertheless erred in denying it immortality. he had observed that its visible and material substance failed and decayed with the rest of the body after death, but of its immaterial essence he knew nothing. this is what we call the appetite, and it survives the wreck and reek of mortality, to be rewarded or punished in another world, according to what it hath demanded in the flesh. the appetite whose coarse clamoring was for the unwholesome viands of the general market and the public refectory shall be cast into eternal famine, whilst that which firmly though civilly insisted on ortolans, caviare, terrapin, anchovies, _pates de foie gras_ and all such christian comestibles shall flesh its spiritual tooth in the souls of them forever and ever, and wreak its divine thirst upon the immortal parts of the rarest and richest wines ever quaffed here below. such is my religious faith, though i grieve to confess that neither his holiness the pope nor his grace the archbishop of canterbury (whom i equally and profoundly revere) will assent to its dissemination." spooker, n. a writer whose imagination concerns itself with supernatural phenomena, especially in the doings of spooks. one of the most illustrious spookers of our time is mr. william d. howells, who introduces a well-credentialed reader to as respectable and mannerly a company of spooks as one could wish to meet. to the terror that invests the chairman of a district school board, the howells ghost adds something of the mystery enveloping a farmer from another township. story, n. a narrative, commonly untrue. the truth of the stories here following has, however, not been successfully impeached. one evening mr. rudolph block, of new york, found himself seated at dinner alongside mr. percival pollard, the distinguished critic. "mr. pollard," said he, "my book, _the biography of a dead cow_, is published anonymously, but you can hardly be ignorant of its authorship. yet in reviewing it you speak of it as the work of the idiot of the century. do you think that fair criticism?" "i am very sorry, sir," replied the critic, amiably, "but it did not occur to me that you really might not wish the public to know who wrote it." mr. w.c. morrow, who used to live in san jose, california, was addicted to writing ghost stories which made the reader feel as if a stream of lizards, fresh from the ice, were streaking it up his back and hiding in his hair. san jose was at that time believed to be haunted by the visible spirit of a noted bandit named vasquez, who had been hanged there. the town was not very well lighted, and it is putting it mildly to say that san jose was reluctant to be out o' nights. one particularly dark night two gentlemen were abroad in the loneliest spot within the city limits, talking loudly to keep up their courage, when they came upon mr. j.j. owen, a well-known journalist. "why, owen," said one, "what brings you here on such a night as this? you told me that this is one of vasquez' favorite haunts! and you are a believer. aren't you afraid to be out?" "my dear fellow," the journalist replied with a drear autumnal cadence in his speech, like the moan of a leaf-laden wind, "i am afraid to be in. i have one of will morrow's stories in my pocket and i don't dare to go where there is light enough to read it." rear-admiral schley and representative charles f. joy were standing near the peace monument, in washington, discussing the question, is success a failure? mr. joy suddenly broke off in the middle of an eloquent sentence, exclaiming: "hello! i've heard that band before. santlemann's, i think." "i don't hear any band," said schley. "come to think, i don't either," said joy; "but i see general miles coming down the avenue, and that pageant always affects me in the same way as a brass band. one has to scrutinize one's impressions pretty closely, or one will mistake their origin." while the admiral was digesting this hasty meal of philosophy general miles passed in review, a spectacle of impressive dignity. when the tail of the seeming procession had passed and the two observers had recovered from the transient blindness caused by its effulgence-- "he seems to be enjoying himself," said the admiral. "there is nothing," assented joy, thoughtfully, "that he enjoys one-half so well." the illustrious statesman, champ clark, once lived about a mile from the village of jebigue, in missouri. one day he rode into town on a favorite mule, and, hitching the beast on the sunny side of a street, in front of a saloon, he went inside in his character of teetotaler, to apprise the barkeeper that wine is a mocker. it was a dreadfully hot day. pretty soon a neighbor came in and seeing clark, said: "champ, it is not right to leave that mule out there in the sun. he'll roast, sure!--he was smoking as i passed him." "o, he's all right," said clark, lightly; "he's an inveterate smoker." the neighbor took a lemonade, but shook his head and repeated that it was not right. he was a conspirator. there had been a fire the night before: a stable just around the corner had burned and a number of horses had put on their immortality, among them a young colt, which was roasted to a rich nut-brown. some of the boys had turned mr. clark's mule loose and substituted the mortal part of the colt. presently another man entered the saloon. "for mercy's sake!" he said, taking it with sugar, "do remove that mule, barkeeper: it smells." "yes," interposed clark, "that animal has the best nose in missouri. but if he doesn't mind, you shouldn't." in the course of human events mr. clark went out, and there, apparently, lay the incinerated and shrunken remains of his charger. the boys did not have any fun out of mr. clarke, who looked at the body and, with the non-committal expression to which he owes so much of his political preferment, went away. but walking home late that night he saw his mule standing silent and solemn by the wayside in the misty moonlight. mentioning the name of helen blazes with uncommon emphasis, mr. clark took the back track as hard as ever he could hook it, and passed the night in town. general h.h. wotherspoon, president of the army war college, has a pet rib-nosed baboon, an animal of uncommon intelligence but imperfectly beautiful. returning to his apartment one evening, the general was surprised and pained to find adam (for so the creature is named, the general being a darwinian) sitting up for him and wearing his master's best uniform coat, epaulettes and all. "you confounded remote ancestor!" thundered the great strategist, "what do you mean by being out of bed after naps?--and with my coat on!" adam rose and with a reproachful look got down on all fours in the manner of his kind and, scuffling across the room to a table, returned with a visiting-card: general barry had called and, judging by an empty champagne bottle and several cigar-stumps, had been hospitably entertained while waiting. the general apologized to his faithful progenitor and retired. the next day he met general barry, who said: "spoon, old man, when leaving you last evening i forgot to ask you about those excellent cigars. where did you get them?" general wotherspoon did not deign to reply, but walked away. "pardon me, please," said barry, moving after him; "i was joking of course. why, i knew it was not you before i had been in the room fifteen minutes." success, n. the one unpardonable sin against one's fellows. in literature, and particularly in poetry, the elements of success are exceedingly simple, and are admirably set forth in the following lines by the reverend father gassalasca jape, entitled, for some mysterious reason, "john a. joyce." the bard who would prosper must carry a book, do his thinking in prose and wear a crimson cravat, a far-away look and a head of hexameter hair. be thin in your thought and your body'll be fat; if you wear your hair long you needn't your hat. suffrage, n. expression of opinion by means of a ballot. the right of suffrage (which is held to be both a privilege and a duty) means, as commonly interpreted, the right to vote for the man of another man's choice, and is highly prized. refusal to do so has the bad name of "incivism." the incivilian, however, cannot be properly arraigned for his crime, for there is no legitimate accuser. if the accuser is himself guilty he has no standing in the court of opinion; if not, he profits by the crime, for a's abstention from voting gives greater weight to the vote of b. by female suffrage is meant the right of a woman to vote as some man tells her to. it is based on female responsibility, which is somewhat limited. the woman most eager to jump out of her petticoat to assert her rights is first to jump back into it when threatened with a switching for misusing them. sycophant, n. one who approaches greatness on his belly so that he may not be commanded to turn and be kicked. he is sometimes an editor. as the lean leech, its victim found, is pleased to fix itself upon a part diseased till, its black hide distended with bad blood, it drops to die of surfeit in the mud, so the base sycophant with joy descries his neighbor's weak spot and his mouth applies, gorges and prospers like the leech, although, unlike that reptile, he will not let go. gelasma, if it paid you to devote your talent to the service of a goat, showing by forceful logic that its beard is more than aaron's fit to be revered; if to the task of honoring its smell profit had prompted you, and love as well, the world would benefit at last by you and wealthy malefactors weep anew-- your favor for a moment's space denied and to the nobler object turned aside. is't not enough that thrifty millionaires who loot in freight and spoliate in fares, or, cursed with consciences that bid them fly to safer villainies of darker dye, forswearing robbery and fain, instead, to steal (they call it "cornering") our bread may see you groveling their boots to lick and begging for the favor of a kick? still must you follow to the bitter end your sycophantic disposition's trend, and in your eagerness to please the rich hunt hungry sinners to their final ditch? in morgan's praise you smite the sounding wire, and sing hosannas to great havemeyer! what's satan done that him you should eschew? he too is reeking rich--deducting _you_. syllogism, n. a logical formula consisting of a major and a minor assumption and an inconsequent. (see logic.) sylph, n. an immaterial but visible being that inhabited the air when the air was an element and before it was fatally polluted with factory smoke, sewer gas and similar products of civilization. sylphs were allied to gnomes, nymphs and salamanders, which dwelt, respectively, in earth, water and fire, all now insalubrious. sylphs, like fowls of the air, were male and female, to no purpose, apparently, for if they had progeny they must have nested in inaccessible places, none of the chicks having ever been seen. symbol, n. something that is supposed to typify or stand for something else. many symbols are mere "survivals"--things which having no longer any utility continue to exist because we have inherited the tendency to make them; as funereal urns carved on memorial monuments. they were once real urns holding the ashes of the dead. we cannot stop making them, but we can give them a name that conceals our helplessness. symbolic, adj. pertaining to symbols and the use and interpretation of symbols. they say 'tis conscience feels compunction; i hold that that's the stomach's function, for of the sinner i have noted that when he's sinned he's somewhat bloated, or ill some other ghastly fashion within that bowel of compassion. true, i believe the only sinner is he that eats a shabby dinner. you know how adam with good reason, for eating apples out of season, was "cursed." but that is all symbolic: the truth is, adam had the colic. g.j. t t, the twentieth letter of the english alphabet, was by the greeks absurdly called _tau_. in the alphabet whence ours comes it had the form of the rude corkscrew of the period, and when it stood alone (which was more than the phoenicians could always do) signified _tallegal_, translated by the learned dr. brownrigg, "tanglefoot." table d'hote, n. a caterer's thrifty concession to the universal passion for irresponsibility. old paunchinello, freshly wed, took madam p. to table, and there deliriously fed as fast as he was able. "i dote upon good grub," he cried, intent upon its throatage. "ah, yes," said the neglected bride, "you're in your _table d'hotage_." associated poets tail, n. the part of an animal's spine that has transcended its natural limitations to set up an independent existence in a world of its own. excepting in its foetal state, man is without a tail, a privation of which he attests an hereditary and uneasy consciousness by the coat-skirt of the male and the train of the female, and by a marked tendency to ornament that part of his attire where the tail should be, and indubitably once was. this tendency is most observable in the female of the species, in whom the ancestral sense is strong and persistent. the tailed men described by lord monboddo are now generally regarded as a product of an imagination unusually susceptible to influences generated in the golden age of our pithecan past. take, v.t. to acquire, frequently by force but preferably by stealth. talk, v.t. to commit an indiscretion without temptation, from an impulse without purpose. tariff, n. a scale of taxes on imports, designed to protect the domestic producer against the greed of his consumer. the enemy of human souls sat grieving at the cost of coals; for hell had been annexed of late, and was a sovereign southern state. "it were no more than right," said he, "that i should get my fuel free. the duty, neither just nor wise, compels me to economize-- whereby my broilers, every one, are execrably underdone. what would they have?--although i yearn to do them nicely to a turn, i can't afford an honest heat. this tariff makes even devils cheat! i'm ruined, and my humble trade all rascals may at will invade: beneath my nose the public press outdoes me in sulphureousness; the bar ingeniously applies to my undoing my own lies; my medicines the doctors use (albeit vainly) to refuse to me my fair and rightful prey and keep their own in shape to pay; the preachers by example teach what, scorning to perform, i teach; and statesmen, aping me, all make more promises than they can break. against such competition i lift up a disregarded cry. since all ignore my just complaint, by hokey-pokey! i'll turn saint!" now, the republicans, who all are saints, began at once to bawl against _his_ competition; so there was a devil of a go! they locked horns with him, tete-a-tete in acrimonious debate, till democrats, forlorn and lone, had hopes of coming by their own. that evil to avert, in haste the two belligerents embraced; but since 'twere wicked to relax a tittle of the sacred tax, 'twas finally agreed to grant the bold insurgent-protestant a bounty on each soul that fell into his ineffectual hell. edam smith technicality, n. in an english court a man named home was tried for slander in having accused his neighbor of murder. his exact words were: "sir thomas holt hath taken a cleaver and stricken his cook upon the head, so that one side of the head fell upon one shoulder and the other side upon the other shoulder." the defendant was acquitted by instruction of the court, the learned judges holding that the words did not charge murder, for they did not affirm the death of the cook, that being only an inference. tedium, n. ennui, the state or condition of one that is bored. many fanciful derivations of the word have been affirmed, but so high an authority as father jape says that it comes from a very obvious source--the first words of the ancient latin hymn _te deum laudamus_. in this apparently natural derivation there is something that saddens. teetotaler, n. one who abstains from strong drink, sometimes totally, sometimes tolerably totally. telephone, n. an invention of the devil which abrogates some of the advantages of making a disagreeable person keep his distance. telescope, n. a device having a relation to the eye similar to that of the telephone to the ear, enabling distant objects to plague us with a multitude of needless details. luckily it is unprovided with a bell summoning us to the sacrifice. tenacity, n. a certain quality of the human hand in its relation to the coin of the realm. it attains its highest development in the hand of authority and is considered a serviceable equipment for a career in politics. the following illustrative lines were written of a californian gentleman in high political preferment, who has passed to his accounting: of such tenacity his grip that nothing from his hand can slip. well-buttered eels you may o'erwhelm in tubs of liquid slippery-elm in vain--from his detaining pinch they cannot struggle half an inch! 'tis lucky that he so is planned that breath he draws not with his hand, for if he did, so great his greed he'd draw his last with eager speed. nay, that were well, you say. not so he'd draw but never let it go! theosophy, n. an ancient faith having all the certitude of religion and all the mystery of science. the modern theosophist holds, with the buddhists, that we live an incalculable number of times on this earth, in as many several bodies, because one life is not long enough for our complete spiritual development; that is, a single lifetime does not suffice for us to become as wise and good as we choose to wish to become. to be absolutely wise and good--that is perfection; and the theosophist is so keen-sighted as to have observed that everything desirous of improvement eventually attains perfection. less competent observers are disposed to except cats, which seem neither wiser nor better than they were last year. the greatest and fattest of recent theosophists was the late madame blavatsky, who had no cat. tights, n. an habiliment of the stage designed to reinforce the general acclamation of the press agent with a particular publicity. public attention was once somewhat diverted from this garment to miss lillian russell's refusal to wear it, and many were the conjectures as to her motive, the guess of miss pauline hall showing a high order of ingenuity and sustained reflection. it was miss hall's belief that nature had not endowed miss russell with beautiful legs. this theory was impossible of acceptance by the male understanding, but the conception of a faulty female leg was of so prodigious originality as to rank among the most brilliant feats of philosophical speculation! it is strange that in all the controversy regarding miss russell's aversion to tights no one seems to have thought to ascribe it to what was known among the ancients as "modesty." the nature of that sentiment is now imperfectly understood, and possibly incapable of exposition with the vocabulary that remains to us. the study of lost arts has, however, been recently revived and some of the arts themselves recovered. this is an epoch of _renaissances_, and there is ground for hope that the primitive "blush" may be dragged from its hiding-place amongst the tombs of antiquity and hissed on to the stage. tomb, n. the house of indifference. tombs are now by common consent invested with a certain sanctity, but when they have been long tenanted it is considered no sin to break them open and rifle them, the famous egyptologist, dr. huggyns, explaining that a tomb may be innocently "glened" as soon as its occupant is done "smellynge," the soul being then all exhaled. this reasonable view is now generally accepted by archaeologists, whereby the noble science of curiosity has been greatly dignified. tope, v. to tipple, booze, swill, soak, guzzle, lush, bib, or swig. in the individual, toping is regarded with disesteem, but toping nations are in the forefront of civilization and power. when pitted against the hard-drinking christians the abstemious mahometans go down like grass before the scythe. in india one hundred thousand beef-eating and brandy-and-soda guzzling britons hold in subjection two hundred and fifty million vegetarian abstainers of the same aryan race. with what an easy grace the whisky-loving american pushed the temperate spaniard out of his possessions! from the time when the berserkers ravaged all the coasts of western europe and lay drunk in every conquered port it has been the same way: everywhere the nations that drink too much are observed to fight rather well and not too righteously. wherefore the estimable old ladies who abolished the canteen from the american army may justly boast of having materially augmented the nation's military power. tortoise, n. a creature thoughtfully created to supply occasion for the following lines by the illustrious ambat delaso: to my pet tortoise my friend, you are not graceful--not at all; your gait's between a stagger and a sprawl. nor are you beautiful: your head's a snake's to look at, and i do not doubt it aches. as to your feet, they'd make an angel weep. 'tis true you take them in whene'er you sleep. no, you're not pretty, but you have, i own, a certain firmness--mostly you're [sic] backbone. firmness and strength (you have a giant's thews) are virtues that the great know how to use-- i wish that they did not; yet, on the whole, you lack--excuse my mentioning it--soul. so, to be candid, unreserved and true, i'd rather you were i than i were you. perhaps, however, in a time to be, when man's extinct, a better world may see your progeny in power and control, due to the genesis and growth of soul. so i salute you as a reptile grand predestined to regenerate the land. father of possibilities, o deign to accept the homage of a dying reign! in the far region of the unforeknown i dream a tortoise upon every throne. i see an emperor his head withdraw into his carapace for fear of law; a king who carries something else than fat, howe'er acceptably he carries that; a president not strenuously bent on punishment of audible dissent-- who never shot (it were a vain attack) an armed or unarmed tortoise in the back; subject and citizens that feel no need to make the march of mind a wild stampede; all progress slow, contemplative, sedate, and "take your time" the word, in church and state. o tortoise, 'tis a happy, happy dream, my glorious testudinous regime! i wish in eden you'd brought this about by slouching in and chasing adam out. tree, n. a tall vegetable intended by nature to serve as a penal apparatus, though through a miscarriage of justice most trees bear only a negligible fruit, or none at all. when naturally fruited, the tree is a beneficient agency of civilization and an important factor in public morals. in the stern west and the sensitive south its fruit (white and black respectively) though not eaten, is agreeable to the public taste and, though not exported, profitable to the general welfare. that the legitimate relation of the tree to justice was no discovery of judge lynch (who, indeed, conceded it no primacy over the lamp-post and the bridge-girder) is made plain by the following passage from morryster, who antedated him by two centuries: while in yt londe i was carried to see ye ghogo tree, whereof i had hearde moch talk; but sayynge yt i saw naught remarkabyll in it, ye hed manne of ye villayge where it grewe made answer as followeth: "ye tree is not nowe in fruite, but in his seasonne you shall see dependynge fr. his braunches all soch as have affroynted ye king his majesty." and i was furder tolde yt ye worde "ghogo" sygnifyeth in yr tong ye same as "rapscal" in our owne. _trauvells in ye easte_ trial, n. a formal inquiry designed to prove and put upon record the blameless characters of judges, advocates and jurors. in order to effect this purpose it is necessary to supply a contrast in the person of one who is called the defendant, the prisoner, or the accused. if the contrast is made sufficiently clear this person is made to undergo such an affliction as will give the virtuous gentlemen a comfortable sense of their immunity, added to that of their worth. in our day the accused is usually a human being, or a socialist, but in mediaeval times, animals, fishes, reptiles and insects were brought to trial. a beast that had taken human life, or practiced sorcery, was duly arrested, tried and, if condemned, put to death by the public executioner. insects ravaging grain fields, orchards or vineyards were cited to appeal by counsel before a civil tribunal, and after testimony, argument and condemnation, if they continued _in contumaciam_ the matter was taken to a high ecclesiastical court, where they were solemnly excommunicated and anathematized. in a street of toledo, some pigs that had wickedly run between the viceroy's legs, upsetting him, were arrested on a warrant, tried and punished. in naples an ass was condemned to be burned at the stake, but the sentence appears not to have been executed. d'addosio relates from the court records many trials of pigs, bulls, horses, cocks, dogs, goats, etc., greatly, it is believed, to the betterment of their conduct and morals. in a suit was brought against the leeches infesting some ponds about berne, and the bishop of lausanne, instructed by the faculty of heidelberg university, directed that some of "the aquatic worms" be brought before the local magistracy. this was done and the leeches, both present and absent, were ordered to leave the places that they had infested within three days on pain of incurring "the malediction of god." in the voluminous records of this _cause celebre_ nothing is found to show whether the offenders braved the punishment, or departed forthwith out of that inhospitable jurisdiction. trichinosis, n. the pig's reply to proponents of porcophagy. moses mendlessohn having fallen ill sent for a christian physician, who at once diagnosed the philosopher's disorder as trichinosis, but tactfully gave it another name. "you need an immediate change of diet," he said; "you must eat six ounces of pork every other day." "pork?" shrieked the patient--"pork? nothing shall induce me to touch it!" "do you mean that?" the doctor gravely asked. "i swear it!" "good!--then i will undertake to cure you." trinity, n. in the multiplex theism of certain christian churches, three entirely distinct deities consistent with only one. subordinate deities of the polytheistic faith, such as devils and angels, are not dowered with the power of combination, and must urge individually their claims to adoration and propitiation. the trinity is one of the most sublime mysteries of our holy religion. in rejecting it because it is incomprehensible, unitarians betray their inadequate sense of theological fundamentals. in religion we believe only what we do not understand, except in the instance of an intelligible doctrine that contradicts an incomprehensible one. in that case we believe the former as a part of the latter. troglodyte, n. specifically, a cave-dweller of the paleolithic period, after the tree and before the flat. a famous community of troglodytes dwelt with david in the cave of adullam. the colony consisted of "every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented"--in brief, all the socialists of judah. truce, n. friendship. truth, n. an ingenious compound of desirability and appearance. discovery of truth is the sole purpose of philosophy, which is the most ancient occupation of the human mind and has a fair prospect of existing with increasing activity to the end of time. truthful, adj. dumb and illiterate. trust, n. in american politics, a large corporation composed in greater part of thrifty working men, widows of small means, orphans in the care of guardians and the courts, with many similar malefactors and public enemies. turkey, n. a large bird whose flesh when eaten on certain religious anniversaries has the peculiar property of attesting piety and gratitude. incidentally, it is pretty good eating. twice, adv. once too often. type, n. pestilent bits of metal suspected of destroying civilization and enlightenment, despite their obvious agency in this incomparable dictionary. tzetze (or tsetse) fly, n. an african insect (_glossina morsitans_) whose bite is commonly regarded as nature's most efficacious remedy for insomnia, though some patients prefer that of the american novelist (_mendax interminabilis_). u ubiquity, n. the gift or power of being in all places at one time, but not in all places at all times, which is omnipresence, an attribute of god and the luminiferous ether only. this important distinction between ubiquity and omnipresence was not clear to the mediaeval church and there was much bloodshed about it. certain lutherans, who affirmed the presence everywhere of christ's body were known as ubiquitarians. for this error they were doubtless damned, for christ's body is present only in the eucharist, though that sacrament may be performed in more than one place simultaneously. in recent times ubiquity has not always been understood--not even by sir boyle roche, for example, who held that a man cannot be in two places at once unless he is a bird. ugliness, n. a gift of the gods to certain women, entailing virtue without humility. ultimatum, n. in diplomacy, a last demand before resorting to concessions. having received an ultimatum from austria, the turkish ministry met to consider it. "o servant of the prophet," said the sheik of the imperial chibouk to the mamoosh of the invincible army, "how many unconquerable soldiers have we in arms?" "upholder of the faith," that dignitary replied after examining his memoranda, "they are in numbers as the leaves of the forest!" "and how many impenetrable battleships strike terror to the hearts of all christian swine?" he asked the imaum of the ever victorious navy. "uncle of the full moon," was the reply, "deign to know that they are as the waves of the ocean, the sands of the desert and the stars of heaven!" for eight hours the broad brow of the sheik of the imperial chibouk was corrugated with evidences of deep thought: he was calculating the chances of war. then, "sons of angels," he said, "the die is cast! i shall suggest to the ulema of the imperial ear that he advise inaction. in the name of allah, the council is adjourned." un-american, adj. wicked, intolerable, heathenish. unction, n. an oiling, or greasing. the rite of extreme unction consists in touching with oil consecrated by a bishop several parts of the body of one engaged in dying. marbury relates that after the rite had been administered to a certain wicked english nobleman it was discovered that the oil had not been properly consecrated and no other could be obtained. when informed of this the sick man said in anger: "then i'll be damned if i die!" "my son," said the priest, "this is what we fear." understanding, n. a cerebral secretion that enables one having it to know a house from a horse by the roof on the house. its nature and laws have been exhaustively expounded by locke, who rode a house, and kant, who lived in a horse. his understanding was so keen that all things which he'd felt, heard, seen, he could interpret without fail if he was in or out of jail. he wrote at inspiration's call deep disquisitions on them all, then, pent at last in an asylum, performed the service to compile 'em. so great a writer, all men swore, they never had not read before. jorrock wormley unitarian, n. one who denies the divinity of a trinitarian. universalist, n. one who forgoes the advantage of a hell for persons of another faith. urbanity, n. the kind of civility that urban observers ascribe to dwellers in all cities but new york. its commonest expression is heard in the words, "i beg your pardon," and it is not inconsistent with disregard of the rights of others. the owner of a powder mill was musing on a distant hill-- something his mind foreboded-- when from the cloudless sky there fell a deviled human kidney! well, the man's mill had exploded. his hat he lifted from his head; "i beg your pardon, sir," he said; "i didn't know 'twas loaded." swatkin usage, n. the first person of the literary trinity, the second and third being custom and conventionality. imbued with a decent reverence for this holy triad an industrious writer may hope to produce books that will live as long as the fashion. uxoriousness, n. a perverted affection that has strayed to one's own wife. v valor, n. a soldierly compound of vanity, duty and the gambler's hope. "why have you halted?" roared the commander of a division and chickamauga, who had ordered a charge; "move forward, sir, at once." "general," said the commander of the delinquent brigade, "i am persuaded that any further display of valor by my troops will bring them into collision with the enemy." vanity, n. the tribute of a fool to the worth of the nearest ass. they say that hens do cackle loudest when there's nothing vital in the eggs they've laid; and there are hens, professing to have made a study of mankind, who say that men whose business 'tis to drive the tongue or pen make the most clamorous fanfaronade o'er their most worthless work; and i'm afraid they're not entirely different from the hen. lo! the drum-major in his coat of gold, his blazing breeches and high-towering cap-- imperiously pompous, grandly bold, grim, resolute, an awe-inspiring chap! who'd think this gorgeous creature's only virtue is that in battle he will never hurt you? hannibal hunsiker virtues, n.pl. certain abstentions. vituperation, n. satire, as understood by dunces and all such as suffer from an impediment in their wit. vote, n. the instrument and symbol of a freeman's power to make a fool of himself and a wreck of his country. w w (double u) has, of all the letters in our alphabet, the only cumbrous name, the names of the others being monosyllabic. this advantage of the roman alphabet over the grecian is the more valued after audibly spelling out some simple greek word, like _epixoriambikos_. still, it is now thought by the learned that other agencies than the difference of the two alphabets may have been concerned in the decline of "the glory that was greece" and the rise of "the grandeur that was rome." there can be no doubt, however, that by simplifying the name of w (calling it "wow," for example) our civilization could be, if not promoted, at least better endured. wall street, n. a symbol of sin for every devil to rebuke. that wall street is a den of thieves is a belief that serves every unsuccessful thief in place of a hope in heaven. even the great and good andrew carnegie has made his profession of faith in the matter. carnegie the dauntless has uttered his call to battle: "the brokers are parasites all!" carnegie, carnegie, you'll never prevail; keep the wind of your slogan to belly your sail, go back to your isle of perpetual brume, silence your pibroch, doff tartan and plume: ben lomond is calling his son from the fray-- fly, fly from the region of wall street away! while still you're possessed of a single baubee (i wish it were pledged to endowment of me) 'twere wise to retreat from the wars of finance lest its value decline ere your credit advance. for a man 'twixt a king of finance and the sea, carnegie, carnegie, your tongue is too free! anonymus bink war, n. a by-product of the arts of peace. the most menacing political condition is a period of international amity. the student of history who has not been taught to expect the unexpected may justly boast himself inaccessible to the light. "in time of peace prepare for war" has a deeper meaning than is commonly discerned; it means, not merely that all things earthly have an end--that change is the one immutable and eternal law--but that the soil of peace is thickly sown with the seeds of war and singularly suited to their germination and growth. it was when kubla khan had decreed his "stately pleasure dome"--when, that is to say, there were peace and fat feasting in xanadu--that he heard from afar ancestral voices prophesying war. one of the greatest of poets, coleridge was one of the wisest of men, and it was not for nothing that he read us this parable. let us have a little less of "hands across the sea," and a little more of that elemental distrust that is the security of nations. war loves to come like a thief in the night; professions of eternal amity provide the night. washingtonian, n. a potomac tribesman who exchanged the privilege of governing himself for the advantage of good government. in justice to him it should be said that he did not want to. they took away his vote and gave instead the right, when he had earned, to _eat_ his bread. in vain--he clamors for his "boss," pour soul, to come again and part him from his roll. offenbach stutz weaknesses, n.pl. certain primal powers of tyrant woman wherewith she holds dominion over the male of her species, binding him to the service of her will and paralyzing his rebellious energies. weather, n. the climate of the hour. a permanent topic of conversation among persons whom it does not interest, but who have inherited the tendency to chatter about it from naked arboreal ancestors whom it keenly concerned. the setting up official weather bureaus and their maintenance in mendacity prove that even governments are accessible to suasion by the rude forefathers of the jungle. once i dipt into the future far as human eye could see, and i saw the chief forecaster, dead as any one can be-- dead and damned and shut in hades as a liar from his birth, with a record of unreason seldom paralleled on earth. while i looked he reared him solemnly, that incandescent youth, from the coals that he'd preferred to the advantages of truth. he cast his eyes about him and above him; then he wrote on a slab of thin asbestos what i venture here to quote-- for i read it in the rose-light of the everlasting glow: "cloudy; variable winds, with local showers; cooler; snow." halcyon jones wedding, n. a ceremony at which two persons undertake to become one, one undertakes to become nothing, and nothing undertakes to become supportable. werewolf, n. a wolf that was once, or is sometimes, a man. all werewolves are of evil disposition, having assumed a bestial form to gratify a beastial appetite, but some, transformed by sorcery, are as humane as is consistent with an acquired taste for human flesh. some bavarian peasants having caught a wolf one evening, tied it to a post by the tail and went to bed. the next morning nothing was there! greatly perplexed, they consulted the local priest, who told them that their captive was undoubtedly a werewolf and had resumed its human form during the night. "the next time that you take a wolf," the good man said, "see that you chain it by the leg, and in the morning you will find a lutheran." whangdepootenawah, n. in the ojibwa tongue, disaster; an unexpected affliction that strikes hard. should you ask me whence this laughter, whence this audible big-smiling, with its labial extension, with its maxillar distortion and its diaphragmic rhythmus like the billowing of an ocean, like the shaking of a carpet, i should answer, i should tell you: from the great deeps of the spirit, from the unplummeted abysmus of the soul this laughter welleth as the fountain, the gug-guggle, like the river from the canon [sic], to entoken and give warning that my present mood is sunny. should you ask me further question-- why the great deeps of the spirit, why the unplummeted abysmus of the soule extrudes this laughter, this all audible big-smiling, i should answer, i should tell you with a white heart, tumpitumpy, with a true tongue, honest injun: william bryan, he has caught it, caught the whangdepootenawah! is't the sandhill crane, the shankank, standing in the marsh, the kneedeep, standing silent in the kneedeep with his wing-tips crossed behind him and his neck close-reefed before him, with his bill, his william, buried in the down upon his bosom, with his head retracted inly, while his shoulders overlook it? does the sandhill crane, the shankank, shiver grayly in the north wind, wishing he had died when little, as the sparrow, the chipchip, does? no 'tis not the shankank standing, standing in the gray and dismal marsh, the gray and dismal kneedeep. no, 'tis peerless william bryan realizing that he's caught it, caught the whangdepootenawah! wheat, n. a cereal from which a tolerably good whisky can with some difficulty be made, and which is used also for bread. the french are said to eat more bread _per capita_ of population than any other people, which is natural, for only they know how to make the stuff palatable. white, adj. and n. black. widow, n. a pathetic figure that the christian world has agreed to take humorously, although christ's tenderness towards widows was one of the most marked features of his character. wine, n. fermented grape-juice known to the women's christian union as "liquor," sometimes as "rum." wine, madam, is god's next best gift to man. wit, n. the salt with which the american humorist spoils his intellectual cookery by leaving it out. witch, n. ( ) any ugly and repulsive old woman, in a wicked league with the devil. ( ) a beautiful and attractive young woman, in wickedness a league beyond the devil. witticism, n. a sharp and clever remark, usually quoted, and seldom noted; what the philistine is pleased to call a "joke." woman, n. an animal usually living in the vicinity of man, and having a rudimentary susceptibility to domestication. it is credited by many of the elder zoologists with a certain vestigial docility acquired in a former state of seclusion, but naturalists of the postsusananthony period, having no knowledge of the seclusion, deny the virtue and declare that such as creation's dawn beheld, it roareth now. the species is the most widely distributed of all beasts of prey, infesting all habitable parts of the globe, from greenland's spicy mountains to india's moral strand. the popular name (wolfman) is incorrect, for the creature is of the cat kind. the woman is lithe and graceful in its movement, especially the american variety (_felis pugnans_), is omnivorous and can be taught not to talk. balthasar pober worms'-meat, n. the finished product of which we are the raw material. the contents of the taj mahal, the tombeau napoleon and the grantarium. worms'-meat is usually outlasted by the structure that houses it, but "this too must pass away." probably the silliest work in which a human being can engage is construction of a tomb for himself. the solemn purpose cannot dignify, but only accentuates by contrast the foreknown futility. ambitious fool! so mad to be a show! how profitless the labor you bestow upon a dwelling whose magnificence the tenant neither can admire nor know. build deep, build high, build massive as you can, the wanton grass-roots will defeat the plan by shouldering asunder all the stones in what to you would be a moment's span. time to the dead so all unreckoned flies that when your marble is all dust, arise, if wakened, stretch your limbs and yawn-- you'll think you scarcely can have closed your eyes. what though of all man's works your tomb alone should stand till time himself be overthrown? would it advantage you to dwell therein forever as a stain upon a stone? joel huck worship, n. homo creator's testimony to the sound construction and fine finish of deus creatus. a popular form of abjection, having an element of pride. wrath, n. anger of a superior quality and degree, appropriate to exalted characters and momentous occasions; as, "the wrath of god," "the day of wrath," etc. amongst the ancients the wrath of kings was deemed sacred, for it could usually command the agency of some god for its fit manifestation, as could also that of a priest. the greeks before troy were so harried by apollo that they jumped out of the frying-pan of the wrath of chryses into the fire of the wrath of achilles, though agamemnon, the sole offender, was neither fried nor roasted. a similar noted immunity was that of david when he incurred the wrath of yahveh by numbering his people, seventy thousand of whom paid the penalty with their lives. god is now love, and a director of the census performs his work without apprehension of disaster. x x in our alphabet being a needless letter has an added invincibility to the attacks of the spelling reformers, and like them, will doubtless last as long as the language. x is the sacred symbol of ten dollars, and in such words as xmas, xn, etc., stands for christ, not, as is popular supposed, because it represents a cross, but because the corresponding letter in the greek alphabet is the initial of his name --_xristos_. if it represented a cross it would stand for st. andrew, who "testified" upon one of that shape. in the algebra of psychology x stands for woman's mind. words beginning with x are grecian and will not be defined in this standard english dictionary. y yankee, n. in europe, an american. in the northern states of our union, a new englander. in the southern states the word is unknown. (see damnyank.) year, n. a period of three hundred and sixty-five disappointments. yesterday, n. the infancy of youth, the youth of manhood, the entire past of age. but yesterday i should have thought me blest to stand high-pinnacled upon the peak of middle life and look adown the bleak and unfamiliar foreslope to the west, where solemn shadows all the land invest and stilly voices, half-remembered, speak unfinished prophecy, and witch-fires freak the haunted twilight of the dark of rest. yea, yesterday my soul was all aflame to stay the shadow on the dial's face at manhood's noonmark! now, in god his name i chide aloud the little interspace disparting me from certitude, and fain would know the dream and vision ne'er again. baruch arnegriff it is said that in his last illness the poet arnegriff was attended at different times by seven doctors. yoke, n. an implement, madam, to whose latin name, _jugum_, we owe one of the most illuminating words in our language--a word that defines the matrimonial situation with precision, point and poignancy. a thousand apologies for withholding it. youth, n. the period of possibility, when archimedes finds a fulcrum, cassandra has a following and seven cities compete for the honor of endowing a living homer. youth is the true saturnian reign, the golden age on earth again, when figs are grown on thistles, and pigs betailed with whistles and, wearing silken bristles, live ever in clover, and cows fly over, delivering milk at every door, and justice never is heard to snore, and every assassin is made a ghost and, howling, is cast into baltimost! polydore smith z zany, n. a popular character in old italian plays, who imitated with ludicrous incompetence the _buffone_, or clown, and was therefore the ape of an ape; for the clown himself imitated the serious characters of the play. the zany was progenitor to the specialist in humor, as we to-day have the unhappiness to know him. in the zany we see an example of creation; in the humorist, of transmission. another excellent specimen of the modern zany is the curate, who apes the rector, who apes the bishop, who apes the archbishop, who apes the devil. zanzibari, n. an inhabitant of the sultanate of zanzibar, off the eastern coast of africa. the zanzibaris, a warlike people, are best known in this country through a threatening diplomatic incident that occurred a few years ago. the american consul at the capital occupied a dwelling that faced the sea, with a sandy beach between. greatly to the scandal of this official's family, and against repeated remonstrances of the official himself, the people of the city persisted in using the beach for bathing. one day a woman came down to the edge of the water and was stooping to remove her attire (a pair of sandals) when the consul, incensed beyond restraint, fired a charge of bird-shot into the most conspicuous part of her person. unfortunately for the existing _entente cordiale_ between two great nations, she was the sultana. zeal, n. a certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. a passion that goeth before a sprawl. when zeal sought gratitude for his reward he went away exclaiming: "o my lord!" "what do you want?" the lord asked, bending down. "an ointment for my cracked and bleeding crown." jum coople zenith, n. the point in the heavens directly overhead to a man standing or a growing cabbage. a man in bed or a cabbage in the pot is not considered as having a zenith, though from this view of the matter there was once a considerably dissent among the learned, some holding that the posture of the body was immaterial. these were called horizontalists, their opponents, verticalists. the horizontalist heresy was finally extinguished by xanobus, the philosopher-king of abara, a zealous verticalist. entering an assembly of philosophers who were debating the matter, he cast a severed human head at the feet of his opponents and asked them to determine its zenith, explaining that its body was hanging by the heels outside. observing that it was the head of their leader, the horizontalists hastened to profess themselves converted to whatever opinion the crown might be pleased to hold, and horizontalism took its place among _fides defuncti_. zeus, n. the chief of grecian gods, adored by the romans as jupiter and by the modern americans as god, gold, mob and dog. some explorers who have touched upon the shores of america, and one who professes to have penetrated a considerable distance to the interior, have thought that these four names stand for as many distinct deities, but in his monumental work on surviving faiths, frumpp insists that the natives are monotheists, each having no other god than himself, whom he worships under many sacred names. zigzag, v.t. to move forward uncertainly, from side to side, as one carrying the white man's burden. (from _zed_, _z_, and _jag_, an icelandic word of unknown meaning.) he zedjagged so uncomen wyde thet non coude pas on eyder syde; so, to com saufly thruh, i been constreynet for to doodge betwene. munwele zoology, n. the science and history of the animal kingdom, including its king, the house fly (_musca maledicta_). the father of zoology was aristotle, as is universally conceded, but the name of its mother has not come down to us. two of the science's most illustrious expounders were buffon and oliver goldsmith, from both of whom we learn (_l'histoire generale des animaux_ and _a history of animated nature_) that the domestic cow sheds its horn every two years. the parenticide club by ambrose bierce contents my favorite murder oil of dog an imperfect conflagration the hypnotist my favorite murder having murdered my mother under circumstances of singular atrocity, i was arrested and put upon my trial, which lasted seven years. in charging the jury, the judge of the court of acquittal remarked that it was one of the most ghastly crimes that he had ever been called upon to explain away. at this, my attorney rose and said: "may it please your honor, crimes are ghastly or agreeable only by comparison. if you were familiar with the details of my client's previous murder of his uncle you would discern in his later offense (if offense it may be called) something in the nature of tender forbearance and filial consideration for the feelings of the victim. the appalling ferocity of the former assassination was indeed inconsistent with any hypothesis but that of guilt; and had it not been for the fact that the honorable judge before whom he was tried was the president of a life insurance company that took risks on hanging, and in which my client held a policy, it is hard to see how he could decently have been acquitted. if your honor would like to hear about it for instruction and guidance of your honor's mind, this unfortunate man, my client, will consent to give himself the pain of relating it under oath." the district attorney said: "your honor, i object. such a statement would be in the nature of evidence, and the testimony in this case is closed. the prisoner's statement should have been introduced three years ago, in the spring of ." "in a statutory sense," said the judge, "you are right, and in the court of objections and technicalities you would get a ruling in your favor. but not in a court of acquittal. the objection is overruled." "i except," said the district attorney. "you cannot do that," the judge said. "i must remind you that in order to take an exception you must first get this case transferred for a time to the court of exceptions on a formal motion duly supported by affidavits. a motion to that effect by your predecessor in office was denied by me during the first year of this trial. mr. clerk, swear the prisoner." the customary oath having been administered, i made the following statement, which impressed the judge with so strong a sense of the comparative triviality of the offense for which i was on trial that he made no further search for mitigating circumstances, but simply instructed the jury to acquit, and i left the court, without a stain upon my reputation: "i was born in in kalamakee, mich., of honest and reputable parents, one of whom heaven has mercifully spared to comfort me in my later years. in the family came to california and settled near nigger head, where my father opened a road agency and prospered beyond the dreams of avarice. he was a reticent, saturnine man then, though his increasing years have now somewhat relaxed the austerity of his disposition, and i believe that nothing but his memory of the sad event for which i am now on trial prevents him from manifesting a genuine hilarity. "four years after we had set up the road agency an itinerant preacher came along, and having no other way to pay for the night's lodging that we gave him, favored us with an exhortation of such power that, praise god, we were all converted to religion. my father at once sent for his brother, the hon. william ridley of stockton, and on his arrival turned over the agency to him, charging him nothing for the franchise nor plant--the latter consisting of a winchester rifle, a sawed-off shotgun, and an assortment of masks made out of flour sacks. the family then moved to ghost rock and opened a dance house. it was called 'the saints' rest hurdy-gurdy,' and the proceedings each night began with prayer. it was there that my now sainted mother, by her grace in the dance, acquired the _sobriquet_ of 'the bucking walrus.' "in the fall of ' i had occasion to visit coyote, on the road to mahala, and took the stage at ghost rock. there were four other passengers. about three miles beyond nigger head, persons whom i identified as my uncle william and his two sons held up the stage. finding nothing in the express box, they went through the passengers. i acted a most honorable part in the affair, placing myself in line with the others, holding up my hands and permitting myself to be deprived of forty dollars and a gold watch. from my behavior no one could have suspected that i knew the gentlemen who gave the entertainment. a few days later, when i went to nigger head and asked for the return of my money and watch my uncle and cousins swore they knew nothing of the matter, and they affected a belief that my father and i had done the job ourselves in dishonest violation of commercial good faith. uncle william even threatened to retaliate by starting an opposition dance house at ghost rock. as 'the saints' rest' had become rather unpopular, i saw that this would assuredly ruin it and prove a paying enterprise, so i told my uncle that i was willing to overlook the past if he would take me into the scheme and keep the partnership a secret from my father. this fair offer he rejected, and i then perceived that it would be better and more satisfactory if he were dead. "my plans to that end were soon perfected, and communicating them to my dear parents i had the gratification of receiving their approval. my father said he was proud of me, and my mother promised that although her religion forbade her to assist in taking human life i should have the advantage of her prayers for my success. as a preliminary measure looking to my security in case of detection i made an application for membership in that powerful order, the knights of murder, and in due course was received as a member of the ghost rock commandery. on the day that my probation ended i was for the first time permitted to inspect the records of the order and learn who belonged to it--all the rites of initiation having been conducted in masks. fancy my delight when, in looking over the roll of membership, i found the third name to be that of my uncle, who indeed was junior vice-chancellor of the order! here was an opportunity exceeding my wildest dreams--to murder i could add insubordination and treachery. it was what my good mother would have called 'a special providence.' "at about this time something occurred which caused my cup of joy, already full, to overflow on all sides, a circular cataract of bliss. three men, strangers in that locality, were arrested for the stage robbery in which i had lost my money and watch. they were brought to trial and, despite my efforts to clear them and fasten the guilt upon three of the most respectable and worthy citizens of ghost rock, convicted on the clearest proof. the murder would now be as wanton and reasonless as i could wish. "one morning i shouldered my winchester rifle, and going over to my uncle's house, near nigger head, asked my aunt mary, his wife, if he were at home, adding that i had come to kill him. my aunt replied with her peculiar smile that so many gentlemen called on that errand and were afterward carried away without having performed it that i must excuse her for doubting my good faith in the matter. she said i did not look as if i would kill anybody, so, as a proof of good faith i leveled my rifle and wounded a chinaman who happened to be passing the house. she said she knew whole families that could do a thing of that kind, but bill ridley was a horse of another color. she said, however, that i would find him over on the other side of the creek in the sheep lot; and she added that she hoped the best man would win. "my aunt mary was one of the most fair-minded women that i have ever met. "i found my uncle down on his knees engaged in skinning a sheep. seeing that he had neither gun nor pistol handy i had not the heart to shoot him, so i approached him, greeted him pleasantly and struck him a powerful blow on the head with the butt of my rifle. i have a very good delivery and uncle william lay down on his side, then rolled over on his back, spread out his fingers and shivered. before he could recover the use of his limbs i seized the knife that he had been using and cut his hamstrings. you know, doubtless, that when you sever the _tendo achillis_ the patient has no further use of his leg; it is just the same as if he had no leg. well, i parted them both, and when he revived he was at my service. as soon as he comprehended the situation, he said: "'samuel, you have got the drop on me and can afford to be generous. i have only one thing to ask of you, and that is that you carry me to the house and finish me in the bosom of my family.' "i told him i thought that a pretty reasonable request and i would do so if he would let me put him into a wheat sack; he would be easier to carry that way and if we were seen by the neighbors _en route_ it would cause less remark. he agreed to that, and going to the barn i got a sack. this, however, did not fit him; it was too short and much wider than he; so i bent his legs, forced his knees up against his breast and got him into it that way, tying the sack above his head. he was a heavy man and i had all that i could do to get him on my back, but i staggered along for some distance until i came to a swing that some of the children had suspended to the branch of an oak. here i laid him down and sat upon him to rest, and the sight of the rope gave me a happy inspiration. in twenty minutes my uncle, still in the sack, swung free to the sport of the wind. "i had taken down the rope, tied one end tightly about the mouth of the bag, thrown the other across the limb and hauled him up about five feet from the ground. fastening the other end of the rope also about the mouth of the sack, i had the satisfaction to see my uncle converted into a large, fine pendulum. i must add that he was not himself entirely aware of the nature of the change that he had undergone in his relation to the exterior world, though in justice to a good man's memory i ought to say that i do not think he would in any case have wasted much of my time in vain remonstrance. "uncle william had a ram that was famous in all that region as a fighter. it was in a state of chronic constitutional indignation. some deep disappointment in early life had soured its disposition and it had declared war upon the whole world. to say that it would butt anything accessible is but faintly to express the nature and scope of its military activity: the universe was its antagonist; its methods that of a projectile. it fought like the angels and devils, in mid-air, cleaving the atmosphere like a bird, describing a parabolic curve and descending upon its victim at just the exact angle of incidence to make the most of its velocity and weight. its momentum, calculated in foot-tons, was something incredible. it had been seen to destroy a four year old bull by a single impact upon that animal's gnarly forehead. no stone wall had ever been known to resist its downward swoop; there were no trees tough enough to stay it; it would splinter them into matchwood and defile their leafy honors in the dust. this irascible and implacable brute--this incarnate thunderbolt--this monster of the upper deep, i had seen reposing in the shade of an adjacent tree, dreaming dreams of conquest and glory. it was with a view to summoning it forth to the field of honor that i suspended its master in the manner described. "having completed my preparations, i imparted to the avuncular pendulum a gentle oscillation, and retiring to cover behind a contiguous rock, lifted up my voice in a long rasping cry whose diminishing final note was drowned in a noise like that of a swearing cat, which emanated from the sack. instantly that formidable sheep was upon its feet and had taken in the military situation at a glance. in a few moments it had approached, stamping, to within fifty yards of the swinging foeman, who, now retreating and anon advancing, seemed to invite the fray. suddenly i saw the beast's head drop earthward as if depressed by the weight of its enormous horns; then a dim, white, wavy streak of sheep prolonged itself from that spot in a generally horizontal direction to within about four yards of a point immediately beneath the enemy. there it struck sharply upward, and before it had faded from my gaze at the place whence it had set out i heard a horrid thump and a piercing scream, and my poor uncle shot forward, with a slack rope higher than the limb to which he was attached. here the rope tautened with a jerk, arresting his flight, and back he swung in a breathless curve to the other end of his arc. the ram had fallen, a heap of indistinguishable legs, wool and horns, but pulling itself together and dodging as its antagonist swept downward it retired at random, alternately shaking its head and stamping its fore-feet. when it had backed about the same distance as that from which it had delivered the assault it paused again, bowed its head as if in prayer for victory and again shot forward, dimly visible as before--a prolonging white streak with monstrous undulations, ending with a sharp ascension. its course this time was at a right angle to its former one, and its impatience so great that it struck the enemy before he had nearly reached the lowest point of his arc. in consequence he went flying round and round in a horizontal circle whose radius was about equal to half the length of the rope, which i forgot to say was nearly twenty feet long. his shrieks, _crescendo_ in approach and _diminuendo_ in recession, made the rapidity of his revolution more obvious to the ear than to the eye. he had evidently not yet been struck in a vital spot. his posture in the sack and the distance from the ground at which he hung compelled the ram to operate upon his lower extremities and the end of his back. like a plant that has struck its root into some poisonous mineral, my poor uncle was dying slowly upward. "after delivering its second blow the ram had not again retired. the fever of battle burned hot in its heart; its brain was intoxicated with the wine of strife. like a pugilist who in his rage forgets his skill and fights ineffectively at half-arm's length, the angry beast endeavored to reach its fleeting foe by awkward vertical leaps as he passed overhead, sometimes, indeed, succeeding in striking him feebly, but more frequently overthrown by its own misguided eagerness. but as the impetus was exhausted and the man's circles narrowed in scope and diminished in speed, bringing him nearer to the ground, these tactics produced better results, eliciting a superior quality of screams, which i greatly enjoyed. "suddenly, as if the bugles had sung truce, the ram suspended hostilities and walked away, thoughtfully wrinkling and smoothing its great aquiline nose, and occasionally cropping a bunch of grass and slowly munching it. it seemed to have tired of war's alarms and resolved to beat the sword into a plowshare and cultivate the arts of peace. steadily it held its course away from the field of fame until it had gained a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile. there it stopped and stood with its rear to the foe, chewing its cud and apparently half asleep. i observed, however, an occasional slight turn of its head, as if its apathy were more affected than real. "meantime uncle william's shrieks had abated with his motion, and nothing was heard from him but long, low moans, and at long intervals my name, uttered in pleading tones exceedingly grateful to my ear. evidently the man had not the faintest notion of what was being done to him, and was inexpressibly terrified. when death comes cloaked in mystery he is terrible indeed. little by little my uncle's oscillations diminished, and finally he hung motionless. i went to him and was about to give him the _coup de grace_, when i heard and felt a succession of smart shocks which shook the ground like a series of light earthquakes, and turning in the direction of the ram, saw a long cloud of dust approaching me with inconceivable rapidity and alarming effect! at a distance of some thirty yards away it stopped short, and from the near end of it rose into the air what i at first thought a great white bird. its ascent was so smooth and easy and regular that i could not realize its extraordinary celerity, and was lost in admiration of its grace. to this day the impression remains that it was a slow, deliberate movement, the ram--for it was that animal--being upborne by some power other than its own impetus, and supported through the successive stages of its flight with infinite tenderness and care. my eyes followed its progress through the air with unspeakable pleasure, all the greater by contrast with my former terror of its approach by land. onward and upward the noble animal sailed, its head bent down almost between its knees, its fore-feet thrown back, its hinder legs trailing to rear like the legs of a soaring heron. "at a height of forty or fifty feet, as fond recollection presents it to view, it attained its zenith and appeared to remain an instant stationary; then, tilting suddenly forward without altering the relative position of its parts, it shot downward on a steeper and steeper course with augmenting velocity, passed immediately above me with a noise like the rush of a cannon shot and struck my poor uncle almost squarely on the top of the head! so frightful was the impact that not only the man's neck was broken, but the rope too; and the body of the deceased, forced against the earth, was crushed to pulp beneath the awful front of that meteoric sheep! the concussion stopped all the clocks between lone hand and dutch dan's, and professor davidson, a distinguished authority in matters seismic, who happened to be in the vicinity, promptly explained that the vibrations were from north to southwest. "altogether, i cannot help thinking that in point of artistic atrocity my murder of uncle william has seldom been excelled." oil of dog my name is boffer bings. i was born of honest parents in one of the humbler walks of life, my father being a manufacturer of dog-oil and my mother having a small studio in the shadow of the village church, where she disposed of unwelcome babes. in my boyhood i was trained to habits of industry; i not only assisted my father in procuring dogs for his vats, but was frequently employed by my mother to carry away the debris of her work in the studio. in performance of this duty i sometimes had need of all my natural intelligence for all the law officers of the vicinity were opposed to my mother's business. they were not elected on an opposition ticket, and the matter had never been made a political issue; it just happened so. my father's business of making dog-oil was, naturally, less unpopular, though the owners of missing dogs sometimes regarded him with suspicion, which was reflected, to some extent, upon me. my father had, as silent partners, all the physicians of the town, who seldom wrote a prescription which did not contain what they were pleased to designate as _ol. can._ it is really the most valuable medicine ever discovered. but most persons are unwilling to make personal sacrifices for the afflicted, and it was evident that many of the fattest dogs in town had been forbidden to play with me--a fact which pained my young sensibilities, and at one time came near driving me to become a pirate. looking back upon those days, i cannot but regret, at times, that by indirectly bringing my beloved parents to their death i was the author of misfortunes profoundly affecting my future. one evening while passing my father's oil factory with the body of a foundling from my mother's studio i saw a constable who seemed to be closely watching my movements. young as i was, i had learned that a constable's acts, of whatever apparent character, are prompted by the most reprehensible motives, and i avoided him by dodging into the oilery by a side door which happened to stand ajar. i locked it at once and was alone with my dead. my father had retired for the night. the only light in the place came from the furnace, which glowed a deep, rich crimson under one of the vats, casting ruddy reflections on the walls. within the cauldron the oil still rolled in indolent ebullition, occasionally pushing to the surface a piece of dog. seating myself to wait for the constable to go away, i held the naked body of the foundling in my lap and tenderly stroked its short, silken hair. ah, how beautiful it was! even at that early age i was passionately fond of children, and as i looked upon this cherub i could almost find it in my heart to wish that the small, red wound upon its breast--the work of my dear mother--had not been mortal. it had been my custom to throw the babes into the river which nature had thoughtfully provided for the purpose, but that night i did not dare to leave the oilery for fear of the constable. "after all," i said to myself, "it cannot greatly matter if i put it into this cauldron. my father will never know the bones from those of a puppy, and the few deaths which may result from administering another kind of oil for the incomparable _ol. can._ are not important in a population which increases so rapidly." in short, i took the first step in crime and brought myself untold sorrow by casting the babe into the cauldron. the next day, somewhat to my surprise, my father, rubbing his hands with satisfaction, informed me and my mother that he had obtained the finest quality of oil that was ever seen; that the physicians to whom he had shown samples had so pronounced it. he added that he had no knowledge as to how the result was obtained; the dogs had been treated in all respects as usual, and were of an ordinary breed. i deemed it my duty to explain--which i did, though palsied would have been my tongue if i could have foreseen the consequences. bewailing their previous ignorance of the advantages of combining their industries, my parents at once took measures to repair the error. my mother removed her studio to a wing of the factory building and my duties in connection with the business ceased; i was no longer required to dispose of the bodies of the small superfluous, and there was no need of alluring dogs to their doom, for my father discarded them altogether, though they still had an honorable place in the name of the oil. so suddenly thrown into idleness, i might naturally have been expected to become vicious and dissolute, but i did not. the holy influence of my dear mother was ever about me to protect me from the temptations which beset youth, and my father was a deacon in a church. alas, that through my fault these estimable persons should have come to so bad an end! finding a double profit in her business, my mother now devoted herself to it with a new assiduity. she removed not only superfluous and unwelcome babes to order, but went out into the highways and byways, gathering in children of a larger growth, and even such adults as she could entice to the oilery. my father, too, enamored of the superior quality of oil produced, purveyed for his vats with diligence and zeal. the conversion of their neighbors into dog-oil became, in short, the one passion of their lives--an absorbing and overwhelming greed took possession of their souls and served them in place of a hope in heaven--by which, also, they were inspired. so enterprising had they now become that a public meeting was held and resolutions passed severely censuring them. it was intimated by the chairman that any further raids upon the population would be met in a spirit of hostility. my poor parents left the meeting broken-hearted, desperate and, i believe, not altogether sane. anyhow, i deemed it prudent not to enter the oilery with them that night, but slept outside in a stable. at about midnight some mysterious impulse caused me to rise and peer through a window into the furnace-room, where i knew my father now slept. the fires were burning as brightly as if the following day's harvest had been expected to be abundant. one of the large cauldrons was slowly "walloping" with a mysterious appearance of self-restraint, as if it bided its time to put forth its full energy. my father was not in bed; he had risen in his night clothes and was preparing a noose in a strong cord. from the looks which he cast at the door of my mother's bedroom i knew too well the purpose that he had in mind. speechless and motionless with terror, i could do nothing in prevention or warning. suddenly the door of my mother's apartment was opened, noiselessly, and the two confronted each other, both apparently surprised. the lady, also, was in her night clothes, and she held in her right hand the tool of her trade, a long, narrow-bladed dagger. she, too, had been unable to deny herself the last profit which the unfriendly action of the citizens and my absence had left her. for one instant they looked into each other's blazing eyes and then sprang together with indescribable fury. round and round, the room they struggled, the man cursing, the woman shrieking, both fighting like demons--she to strike him with the dagger, he to strangle her with his great bare hands. i know not how long i had the unhappiness to observe this disagreeable instance of domestic infelicity, but at last, after a more than usually vigorous struggle, the combatants suddenly moved apart. my father's breast and my mother's weapon showed evidences of contact. for another instant they glared at each other in the most unamiable way; then my poor, wounded father, feeling the hand of death upon him, leaped forward, unmindful of resistance, grasped my dear mother in his arms, dragged her to the side of the boiling cauldron, collected all his failing energies, and sprang in with her! in a moment, both had disappeared and were adding their oil to that of the committee of citizens who had called the day before with an invitation to the public meeting. convinced that these unhappy events closed to me every avenue to an honorable career in that town, i removed to the famous city of otumwee, where these memoirs are written with a heart full of remorse for a heedless act entailing so dismal a commercial disaster. an imperfect conflagration early one june morning in i murdered my father--an act which made a deep impression on me at the time. this was before my marriage, while i was living with my parents in wisconsin. my father and i were in the library of our home, dividing the proceeds of a burglary which we had committed that night. these consisted of household goods mostly, and the task of equitable division was difficult. we got on very well with the napkins, towels and such things, and the silverware was parted pretty nearly equally, but you can see for yourself that when you try to divide a single music-box by two without a remainder you will have trouble. it was that music-box which brought disaster and disgrace upon our family. if we had left it my poor father might now be alive. it was a most exquisite and beautiful piece of workmanship--inlaid with costly woods and carven very curiously. it would not only play a great variety of tunes, but would whistle like a quail, bark like a dog, crow every morning at daylight whether it was wound up or not, and break the ten commandments. it was this last mentioned accomplishment that won my father's heart and caused him to commit the only dishonorable act of his life, though possibly he would have committed more if he had been spared: he tried to conceal that music-box from me, and declared upon his honor that he had not taken it, though i know very well that, so far as he was concerned, the burglary had been undertaken chiefly for the purpose of obtaining it. my father had the music-box hidden under his cloak; we had worn cloaks by way of disguise. he had solemnly assured me that he did not take it. i knew that he did, and knew something of which he was evidently ignorant; namely, that the box would crow at daylight and betray him if i could prolong the division of profits till that time. all occurred as i wished: as the gaslight began to pale in the library and the shape of the windows was seen dimly behind the curtains, a long cock-a-doodle-doo came from beneath the old gentleman's cloak, followed by a few bars of an aria from _tannhauser_, ending with a loud click. a small hand-axe, which we had used to break into the unlucky house, lay between us on the table; i picked it up. the old man seeing that further concealment was useless took the box from under his cloak and set it on the table. "cut it in two if you prefer that plan," said he; "i tried to save it from destruction." he was a passionate lover of music and could himself play the concertina with expression and feeling. i said: "i do not question the purity of your motive: it would be presumptuous of me to sit in judgment on my father. but business is business, and with this axe i am going to effect a dissolution of our partnership unless you will consent in all future burglaries to wear a bell-punch." "no," he said, after some reflection, "no, i could not do that; it would look like a confession of dishonesty. people would say that you distrusted me." i could not help admiring his spirit and sensitiveness; for a moment i was proud of him and disposed to overlook his fault, but a glance at the richly jeweled music-box decided me, and, as i said, i removed the old man from this vale of tears. having done so, i was a trifle uneasy. not only was he my father--the author of my being--but the body would be certainly discovered. it was now broad daylight and my mother was likely to enter the library at any moment. under the circumstances, i thought it expedient to remove her also, which i did. then i paid off all the servants and discharged them. that afternoon i went to the chief of police, told him what i had done and asked his advice. it would be very painful to me if the facts became publicly known. my conduct would be generally condemned; the newspapers would bring it up against me if ever i should run for office. the chief saw the force of these considerations; he was himself an assassin of wide experience. after consulting with the presiding judge of the court of variable jurisdiction he advised me to conceal the bodies in one of the bookcases, get a heavy insurance on the house and burn it down. this i proceeded to do. in the library was a book-case which my father had recently purchased of some cranky inventor and had not filled. it was in shape and size something like the old-fashioned "ward-robes" which one sees in bed-rooms without closets, but opened all the way down, like a woman's night-dress. it had glass doors. i had recently laid out my parents and they were now rigid enough to stand erect; so i stood them in this book-case, from which i had removed the shelves. i locked them in and tacked some curtains over the glass doors. the inspector from the insurance office passed a half-dozen times before the case without suspicion. that night, after getting my policy, i set fire to the house and started through the woods to town, two miles away, where i managed to be found about the time the excitement was at its height. with cries of apprehension for the fate of my parents, i joined the rush and arrived at the fire some two hours after i had kindled it. the whole town was there as i dashed up. the house was entirely consumed, but in one end of the level bed of glowing embers, bolt upright and uninjured, was that book-case! the curtains had burned away, exposing the glass-doors, through which the fierce, red light illuminated the interior. there stood my dear father "in his habit as he lived," and at his side the partner of his joys and sorrows. not a hair of them was singed, their clothing was intact. on their heads and throats the injuries which in the accomplishment of my designs i had been compelled to inflict were conspicuous. as in the presence of a miracle, the people were silent; awe and terror had stilled every tongue. i was myself greatly affected. some three years later, when the events herein related had nearly faded from my memory, i went to new york to assist in passing some counterfeit united states bonds. carelessly looking into a furniture store one day, i saw the exact counterpart of that book-case. "i bought it for a trifle from a reformed inventor," the dealer explained. "he said it was fireproof, the pores of the wood being filled with alum under hydraulic pressure and the glass made of asbestos. i don't suppose it is really fireproof--you can have it at the price of an ordinary book-case." "no," i said, "if you cannot warrant it fireproof i won't take it"--and i bade him good morning. i would not have had it at any price: it revived memories that were exceedingly disagreeable. the hypnotist by those of my friends who happen to know that i sometimes amuse myself with hypnotism, mind reading and kindred phenomena, i am frequently asked if i have a clear conception of the nature of whatever principle underlies them. to this question i always reply that i neither have nor desire to have. i am no investigator with an ear at the key-hole of nature's workshop, trying with vulgar curiosity to steal the secrets of her trade. the interests of science are as little to me as mine seem to have been to science. doubtless the phenomena in question are simple enough, and in no way transcend our powers of comprehension if only we could find the clew; but for my part i prefer not to find it, for i am of a singularly romantic disposition, deriving more gratification from mystery than from knowledge. it was commonly remarked of me when i was a child that my big blue eyes appeared to have been made rather to look into than look out of--such was their dreamful beauty, and in my frequent periods of abstraction, their indifference to what was going on. in those peculiarities they resembled, i venture to think, the soul which lies behind them, always more intent upon some lovely conception which it has created in its own image than concerned about the laws of nature and the material frame of things. all this, irrelevant and egotistic as it may seem, is related by way of accounting for the meagreness of the light that i am able to throw upon a subject that has engaged so much of my attention, and concerning which there is so keen and general a curiosity. with my powers and opportunities, another person might doubtless have an explanation for much of what i present simply as narrative. my first knowledge that i possessed unusual powers came to me in my fourteenth year, when at school. happening one day to have forgotten to bring my noon-day luncheon, i gazed longingly at that of a small girl who was preparing to eat hers. looking up, her eyes met mine and she seemed unable to withdraw them. after a moment of hesitancy she came forward in an absent kind of way and without a word surrendered her little basket with its tempting contents and walked away. inexpressibly pleased, i relieved my hunger and destroyed the basket. after that i had not the trouble to bring a luncheon for myself: that little girl was my daily purveyor; and not infrequently in satisfying my simple need from her frugal store i combined pleasure and profit by constraining her attendance at the feast and making misleading proffer of the viands, which eventually i consumed to the last fragment. the girl was always persuaded that she had eaten all herself; and later in the day her tearful complaints of hunger surprised the teacher, entertained the pupils, earned for her the sobriquet of greedy-gut and filled me with a peace past understanding. a disagreeable feature of this otherwise satisfactory condition of things was the necessary secrecy: the transfer of the luncheon, for example, had to be made at some distance from the madding crowd, in a wood; and i blush to think of the many other unworthy subterfuges entailed by the situation. as i was (and am) naturally of a frank and open disposition, these became more and more irksome, and but for the reluctance of my parents to renounce the obvious advantages of the new regime i would gladly have reverted to the old. the plan that i finally adopted to free myself from the consequences of my own powers excited a wide and keen interest at the time, and that part of it which consisted in the death of the girl was severely condemned, but it is hardly pertinent to the scope of this narrative. for some years afterward i had little opportunity to practice hypnotism; such small essays as i made at it were commonly barren of other recognition than solitary confinement on a bread-and-water diet; sometimes, indeed, they elicited nothing better than the cat-o'-nine-tails. it was when i was about to leave the scene of these small disappointments that my one really important feat was performed. i had been called into the warden's office and given a suit of civilian's clothing, a trifling sum of money and a great deal of advice, which i am bound to confess was of a much better quality than the clothing. as i was passing out of the gate into the light of freedom i suddenly turned and looking the warden gravely in the eye, soon had him in control. "you are an ostrich," i said. at the post-mortem examination the stomach was found to contain a great quantity of indigestible articles mostly of wood or metal. stuck fast in the esophagus and constituting, according to the coroner's jury, the immediate cause of death, one door-knob. i was by nature a good and affectionate son, but as i took my way into the great world from which i had been so long secluded i could not help remembering that all my misfortunes had flowed like a stream from the niggard economy of my parents in the matter of school luncheons; and i knew of no reason to think they had reformed. on the road between succotash hill and south asphyxia is a little open field which once contained a shanty known as pete gilstrap's place, where that gentleman used to murder travelers for a living. the death of mr. gilstrap and the diversion of nearly all the travel to another road occurred so nearly at the same time that no one has ever been able to say which was cause and which effect. anyhow, the field was now a desolation and the place had long been burned. it was while going afoot to south asphyxia, the home of my childhood, that i found both my parents on their way to the hill. they had hitched their team and were eating luncheon under an oak tree in the center of the field. the sight of the luncheon called up painful memories of my school days and roused the sleeping lion in my breast. approaching the guilty couple, who at once recognized me, i ventured to suggest that i share their hospitality. "of this cheer, my son," said the author of my being, with characteristic pomposity, which age had not withered, "there is sufficient for but two. i am not, i hope, insensible to the hunger-light in your eyes, but--" my father has never completed that sentence; what he mistook for hunger-light was simply the earnest gaze of the hypnotist. in a few seconds he was at my service. a few more sufficed for the lady, and the dictates of a just resentment could be carried into effect. "my former father," i said, "i presume that it is known to you that you and this lady are no longer what you were?" "i have observed a certain subtle change," was the rather dubious reply of the old gentleman; "it is perhaps attributable to age." "it is more than that," i explained; "it goes to character--to species. you and the lady here are, in truth, two broncos--wild stallions both, and unfriendly." "why, john," exclaimed my dear mother, "you don't mean to say that i am--" "madam," i replied, solemnly, fixing my eyes again upon hers, "you are." scarcely had the words fallen from my lips when she dropped upon her hands and knees, and backing up to the old man squealed like a demon and delivered a vicious kick upon his shin! an instant later he was himself down on all-fours, headed away from her and flinging his feet at her simultaneously and successively. with equal earnestness but inferior agility, because of her hampering body-gear, she plied her own. their flying legs crossed and mingled in the most bewildering way; their feet sometimes meeting squarely in midair, their bodies thrust forward, falling flat upon the ground and for a moment helpless. on recovering themselves they would resume the combat, uttering their frenzy in the nameless sounds of the furious brutes which they believed themselves to be--the whole region rang with their clamor! round and round they wheeled, the blows of their feet falling "like lightnings from the mountain cloud." they plunged and reared backward upon their knees, struck savagely at each other with awkward descending blows of both fists at once, and dropped again upon their hands as if unable to maintain the upright position of the body. grass and pebbles were torn from the soil by hands and feet; clothing, hair, faces inexpressibly defiled with dust and blood. wild, inarticulate screams of rage attested the delivery of the blows; groans, grunts and gasps their receipt. nothing more truly military was ever seen at gettysburg or waterloo: the valor of my dear parents in the hour of danger can never cease to be to me a source of pride and gratification. at the end of it all two battered, tattered, bloody and fragmentary vestiges of mortality attested the solemn fact that the author of the strife was an orphan. arrested for provoking a breach of the peace, i was, and have ever since been, tried in the court of technicalities and continuances whence, after fifteen years of proceedings, my attorney is moving heaven and earth to get the case taken to the court of remandment for new trials. such are a few of my principal experiments in the mysterious force or agency known as hypnotic suggestion. whether or not it could be employed by a bad man for an unworthy purpose i am unable to say. write it right _a little blacklist of literary faults_ by ambrose bierce aims and the plan the author's main purpose in this book is to teach precision in writing; and of good writing (which, essentially, is clear thinking made visible) precision is the point of capital concern. it is attained by choice of the word that accurately and adequately expresses what the writer has in mind, and by exclusion of that which either denotes or connotes something else. as quintilian puts it, the writer should so write that his reader not only may, but must, understand. few words have more than one literal and serviceable meaning, however many metaphorical, derivative, related, or even unrelated, meanings lexicographers may think it worth while to gather from all sorts and conditions of men, with which to bloat their absurd and misleading dictionaries. this actual and serviceable meaning--not always determined by derivation, and seldom by popular usage--is the one affirmed, according to his light, by the author of this little manual of solecisms. narrow etymons of the mere scholar and loose locutions of the ignorant are alike denied a standing. the plan of the book is more illustrative than expository, the aim being to use the terms of etymology and syntax as little as is compatible with clarity, familiar example being more easily apprehended than technical precept. when both are employed the precept is commonly given after the example has prepared the student to apply it, not only to the matter in mind, but to similar matters not mentioned. everything in quotation marks is to be understood as disapproved. not all locutions blacklisted herein are always to be reprobated as universal outlaws. excepting in the case of capital offenders--expressions ancestrally vulgar or irreclaimably degenerate--absolute proscription is possible as to serious composition only; in other forms the writer must rely on his sense of values and the fitness of things. while it is true that some colloquialisms and, with less of license, even some slang, may be sparingly employed in light literature, for point, piquancy or any of the purposes of the skilled writer sensible to the necessity and charm of keeping at least one foot on the ground, to others the virtue of restraint may be commended as distinctly superior to the joy of indulgence. precision is much, but not all; some words and phrases are disallowed on the ground of taste. as there are neither standards nor arbiters of taste, the book can do little more than reflect that of its author, who is far indeed from professing impeccability. in neither taste nor precision is any man's practice a court of last appeal, for writers all, both great and small, are habitual sinners against the light; and their accuser is cheerfully aware that his own work will supply (as in making this book it has supplied) many "awful examples"--his later work less abundantly, he hopes, than his earlier. he nevertheless believes that this does not disqualify him for showing by other instances than his own how not to write. the infallible teacher is still in the forest primeval, throwing seeds to the white blackbirds. a.b. the blacklist _a_ for _an_. "a hotel." "a heroic man." before an unaccented aspirate use an. the contrary usage in this country comes of too strongly stressing our aspirates. _action_ for _act_. "in wrestling, a blow is a reprehensible action." a blow is not an action but an act. an action may consist of many acts. _admission_ for _admittance_. "the price of admission is one dollar." _admit_ for _confess_. to admit is to concede something affirmed. an unaccused offender cannot admit his guilt. _adopt_. "he adopted a disguise." one may adopt a child, or an opinion, but a disguise is assumed. _advisedly_ for _advertently_, _intentionally_. "it was done advisedly" should mean that it was done after advice. _afford_. it is not well to say "the fact affords a reasonable presumption"; "the house afforded ample accommodation." the fact supplies a reasonable presumption. the house offered, or gave, ample accommodation. _afraid_. do not say, "i am afraid it will rain." say, i fear that it will rain. _afterwards_ for _afterward_. _aggravate_ for _irritate_. "he aggravated me by his insolence." to aggravate is to augment the disagreeableness of something already disagreeable, or the badness of something bad. but a person cannot be aggravated, even if disagreeable or bad. women are singularly prone to misuse of this word. _all of_. "he gave all of his property." the words are contradictory: an entire thing cannot be of itself. omit the preposition. _alleged_. "the alleged murderer." one can allege a murder, but not a murderer; a crime, but not a criminal. a man that is merely suspected of crime would not, in any case, be an alleged criminal, for an allegation is a definite and positive statement. in their tiresome addiction to this use of alleged, the newspapers, though having mainly in mind the danger of libel suits, can urge in further justification the lack of any other single word that exactly expresses their meaning; but the fact that a mud-puddle supplies the shortest route is not a compelling reason for walking through it. one can go around. _allow_ for _permit_. "i allow you to go." precision is better attained by saying permit, for allow has other meanings. _allude to_ for _mention_. what is alluded to is not mentioned, but referred to indirectly. originally, the word implied a playful, or sportive, reference. that meaning is gone out of it. _and so_. _and yet_. "and so they were married." "and yet a woman." omit the conjunction. _and which_. _and who_. these forms are incorrect unless the relative pronoun has been used previously in the sentence. "the colt, spirited and strong, and which was unbroken, escaped from the pasture." "john smith, one of our leading merchants, and who fell from a window yesterday, died this morning." omit the conjunction. _antecedents_ for _personal history_. antecedents are predecessors. _anticipate_ for _expect_. "i anticipate trouble." to anticipate is to act on an expectation in a way to promote or forestall the event expected. _anxious_ for _eager_. "i was anxious to go." anxious should not be followed by an infinitive. anxiety is contemplative; eagerness, alert for action. _appreciate_ for _highly value_. in the sense of value, it means value justly, not highly. in another and preferable sense it means to increase in value. _approach_. "the juror was approached"; that is, overtures were made to him with a view to bribing him. as there is no other single word for it, approach is made to serve, figuratively; and being graphic, it is not altogether objectionable. _appropriated_ for _took_. "he appropriated his neighbor's horse to his own use." to appropriate is to set apart, as a sum of money, for a special purpose. _approve of_ for _approve_. there is no sense in making approve an intransitive verb. _apt_ for _likely_. "one is apt to be mistaken." apt means facile, felicitous, ready, and the like; but even the dictionary-makers cannot persuade a person of discriminating taste to accept it as synonymous with likely. _around_ for _about_. "the débris of battle lay around them." "the huckster went around, crying his wares." around carries the concept of circularity. _article_. a good and useful word, but used without meaning by shopkeepers; as, "a good article of vinegar," for a good vinegar. _as_ for _that_, or _if_. "i do not know as he is living." this error is not very common among those who can write at all, but one sometimes sees it in high place. _as--as_ for _so--as_. "he is not as good as she." say, not so good. in affirmative sentences the rule is different: he is as good as she. _as for_ for _as to_. "as for me, i am well." say, as to me. _at auction_ for _by auction_. "the goods were sold at auction." _at_ for _by_. "she was shocked at his conduct." this very common solecism is without excuse. _attain_ for _accomplish_. "by diligence we attain our purpose." a purpose is accomplished; success is attained. _authoress_. a needless word--as needless as "poetess." _avocation_ for _vocation_. a vocation is, literally, a calling; that is, a trade or profession. an avocation is something that calls one away from it. if i say that farming is some one's avocation i mean that he practises it, not regularly, but at odd times. _avoid_ for _avert_. "by displaying a light the skipper avoided a collision." to avoid is to shun; the skipper could have avoided a collision only by getting out of the way. _avoirdupois_ for _weight_. mere slang. _back of_ for _behind_, _at the back of_. "back of law is force." _backwards_ for _backward_. _badly_ for _bad_. "i feel badly." "he looks badly." the former sentence implies defective nerves of sensation, the latter, imperfect vision. use the adjective. _balance_ for _remainder_. "the balance of my time is given to recreation." in this sense balance is a commercial word, and relates to accounting. _banquet_. a good enough word in its place, but its place is the dictionary. say, dinner. _bar_ for _bend_. "bar sinister." there is no such thing in heraldry as a bar sinister. _because_ for _for_. "i knew it was night, because it was dark." "he will not go, because he is ill." _bet_ for _betted_. the verb to bet forms its preterite regularly, as do wet, wed, knit, quit and others that are commonly misconjugated. it seems that we clip our short words more than we do our long. _body_ for _trunk_. "the body lay here, the head there." the body is the entire physical person (as distinguished from the soul, or mind) and the head is a part of it. as distinguished from head, trunk may include the limbs, but anatomically it is the torso only. _bogus_ for _counterfeit_, or _false_. the word is slang; keep it out. _both_. this word is frequently misplaced; as, "a large mob, both of men and women." say, of both men and women. _both alike_. "they are both alike." say, they are alike. one of them could not be alike. _brainy_. pure slang, and singularly disagreeable. _bug_ for _beetle_, or for anything. do not use it. _business_ for _right_. "he has no business to go there." _build_ for _make_. "build a fire." "build a canal." even "build a tunnel" is not unknown, and probably if the wood-chuck is skilled in the american tongue he speaks of building a hole. _but_. by many writers this word (in the sense of except) is regarded as a preposition, to be followed by the objective case: "all went but him." it is not a preposition and may take either the nominative or objective case, to agree with the subject or the object of the verb. all went but he. the natives killed all but him. _but what_. "i did not know but what he was an enemy." omit what. if condemnation of this dreadful locution seem needless bear the matter in mind in your reading and you will soon be of a different opinion. _by_ for _of_. "a man by the name of brown." say, of the name. better than either form is: a man named brown. _calculated_ for _likely_. "the bad weather is calculated to produce sickness." calculated implies calculation, design. _can_ for _may_. "can i go fishing?" "he can call on me if he wishes to." _candidate_ for _aspirant_. in american politics, one is not a candidate for an office until formally named (nominated) for it by a convention, or otherwise, as provided by law or custom. so when a man who is moving heaven and earth to procure the nomination protests that he is "not a candidate" he tells the truth in order to deceive. _cannot_ for _can_. "i cannot but go." say, i can but go. _capable_. "men are capable of being flattered." say, susceptible to flattery. "capable of being refuted." vulnerable to refutation. unlike capacity, capability is not passive, but active. we are capable of doing, not of having something done to us. _capacity_ for _ability_. "a great capacity for work." capacity is receptive; ability, potential. a sponge has capacity for water; the hand, ability to squeeze it out. _casket_ for _coffin_. a needless euphemism affected by undertakers. _casualties_ for _losses_ in battle. the essence of casualty is accident, absence of design. death and wounds in battle are produced otherwise, are expectable and expected, and, by the enemy, intentional. _chance_ for _opportunity_. "he had a good chance to succeed." _chin whiskers_. the whisker grows on the cheek, not the chin. _chivalrous_. the word is popularly used in the southern states only, and commonly has reference to men's manner toward women. archaic, stilted and fantastic. _citizen_ for _civilian_. a soldier may be a citizen, but is not a civilian. _claim_ for _affirm_. "i claim that he is elected." to claim is to assert ownership. _clever_ for _obliging_. in this sense the word was once in general use in the united states, but is now seldom heard and life here is less insupportable. _climb down_. in climbing one ascends. _coat_ for _coating_. "a coat of paint, or varnish." if we coat something we produce a coating, not a coat. _collateral descendant_. there can be none: a "collateral descendant" is not a descendant. _colonel_, _judge_, _governor_, etc., for _mister_. give a man a title only if it belongs to him, and only while it belongs to him. _combine_ for _combination_. the word, in this sense, has something of the meaning of conspiracy, but there is no justification for it as a noun, in any sense. _commence_ for _begin_. this is not actually incorrect, but--well, it is a matter of taste. _commencement_ for _termination_. a contribution to our noble tongue by its scholastic conservators, "commencement day" being their name for the last day of the collegiate year. it is ingeniously defended on the ground that on that day those on whom degrees are bestowed commence to hold them. lovely! _commit suicide_. instead of "he committed suicide," say, he killed himself, or, he took his life. for married we do not say "committed matrimony." unfortunately most of us do say, "got married," which is almost as bad. for lack of a suitable verb we just sometimes say committed this or that, as in the instance of bigamy, for the verb to bigam is a blessing that is still in store for us. _compare with_ for _compare to_. "he had the immodesty to compare himself with shakespeare." nothing necessarily immodest in that. comparison with may be for observing a difference; comparison to affirms a similarity. _complected_. anticipatory past participle of the verb "to complect." let us wait for that. _conclude_ for _decide_. "i concluded to go to town." having concluded a course of reasoning (implied) i decided to go to town. a decision is supposed to be made at the conclusion of a course of reasoning, but is not the conclusion itself. conversely, the conclusion of a syllogism is not a decision, but an inference. _connection_. "in this connection i should like to say a word or two." in connection with this matter. _conscious_ for _aware_. "the king was conscious of the conspiracy." we are conscious of what we feel; aware of what we know. _consent_ for _assent_. "he consented to that opinion." to consent is to agree to a proposal; to assent is to agree with a proposition. _conservative_ for _moderate_. "a conservative estimate"; "a conservative forecast"; "a conservative statement," and so on. these and many other abuses of the word are of recent growth in the newspapers and "halls of legislation." having been found to have several meanings, conservative seems to be thought to mean everything. _continually_ and _continuously_. it seems that these words should have the same meaning, but in their use by good writers there is a difference. what is done continually is not done all the time, but continuous action is without interruption. a loquacious fellow, who nevertheless finds time to eat and sleep, is continually talking; but a great river flows continuously. _convoy_ for _escort_. "a man-of-war acted as convoy to the flotilla." the flotilla is the convoy, the man-of-war the escort. _couple_ for _two_. for two things to be a couple they must be of one general kind, and their number unimportant to the statement made of them. it would be weak to say, "he gave me only one, although he took a couple for himself." couple expresses indifference to the exact number, as does several. that is true, even in the phrase, a married couple, for the number is carried in the adjective and needs no emphasis. _created_ for _first performed_. stage slang. "burbage created the part of hamlet." what was it that its author did to it? _critically_ for _seriously_. "he has long been critically ill." a patient is critically ill only at the crisis of his disease. _criticise_ for _condemn_, or _disparage_. criticism is not necessarily censorious; it may approve. _cunning_ for _amusing_. usually said of a child, or pet. this is pure americanese, as is its synonym, "cute." _curious_ for _odd_, or _singular_. to be curious is to have an inquiring mind, or mood--curiosity. _custom_ for _habit_. communities have customs; individuals, habits--commonly bad ones. _decease_ for _die_. _decidedly_ for _very_, or _certainly_. "it is decidedly cold." _declared_ for _said_. to a newspaper reporter no one seems ever to say anything; all "declare." like "alleged" (which see) the word is tiresome exceedingly. _defalcation_ for _default_. a defalcation is a cutting off, a subtraction; a default is a failure in duty. _definitely_ for _definitively_. "it was definitely decided." definitely means precisely, with exactness; definitively means finally, conclusively. _deliver_. "he delivered an oration," or "delivered a lecture." say, he made an oration, or gave a lecture. _demean_ for _debase_ or _degrade_. "he demeaned himself by accepting charity." the word relates, not to meanness, but to demeanor, conduct, behavior. one may demean oneself with dignity and credit. _demise_ for _death_. usually said of a person of note. demise means the lapse, as by death, of some authority, distinction or privilege, which passes to another than the one that held it; as the demise of the crown. _democracy_ for _democratic party_. one could as properly call the christian church "the christianity." _dépôt_ for _station_. "railroad dépôt." a dépôt is a place of deposit; as, a dépôt of supply for an army. _deprivation_ for _privation_. "the mendicant showed the effects of deprivation." deprivation refers to the act of depriving, taking away from; privation is the state of destitution, of not having. _dilapidated_ for _ruined_. said of a building, or other structure. but the word is from the latin _lapis_, a stone, and cannot properly be used of any but a stone structure. _directly_ for _immediately_. "i will come directly" means that i will come by the most direct route. _dirt_ for _earth_, _soil_, or _gravel_. a most disagreeable americanism, discredited by general (and presidential) use. "make the dirt fly." dirt means filth. _distinctly_ for _distinctively_. "the custom is distinctly oriental." distinctly is plainly; distinctively, in a way to distinguish one thing from others. _donate_ for _give_. good american, but not good english. _doubtlessly_. a doubly adverbial form, like "illy." _dress_ for _gown_. not so common as it was a few years ago. dress means the entire costume. _each other_ for _one another_. "the three looked at each other." that is, each looked at the other. but there were more than one other; so we should say they looked at one another, which means that each looked at another. of two, say each other; of more than two, one another. _edify_ for _please_, or _entertain_. edify means to build; it has, therefore, the sense of uplift, improvement--usually moral, or spiritual. _electrocution_. to one having even an elementary knowledge of latin grammar this word is no less than disgusting, and the thing meant by it is felt to be altogether too good for the word's inventor. _empty_ for _vacant_. say, an empty bottle; but, a vacant house. _employé_. good french, but bad english. say, employee. _endorse_ for _approve_. to endorse is to write upon the back of, or to sign the promissory note of another. it is a commercial word, having insufficient dignity for literary use. you may endorse a check, but you approve a policy, or statement. _endways_. a corruption of endwise. _entitled_ for _authorized_, _privileged._ "the man is not entitled to draw rations." say, entitled to rations. entitled is not to be followed by an infinitive. _episode_ for _occurrence_, _event_, etc. properly, an episode is a narrative that is a subordinate part of another narrative. an occurrence considered by itself is not an episode. _equally as_ for _equally_. "this is equally as good." omit as. "he was of the same age, and equally as tall." say, equally tall. _equivalent_ for _equal_. "my salary is equivalent to yours." _essential_ for _necessary_. this solecism is common among the best writers of this country and england. "it is essential to go early"; "irrigation is essential to cultivation of arid lands," and so forth. one thing is essential to another thing only if it is of the essence of it--an important and indispensable part of it, determining its nature; the soul of it. _even_ for _exact_. "an even dozen." _every_ for _entire_, _full_. "the president had every confidence in him." _every_ for _ever_. "every now and then." this is nonsense: there can be no such thing as a now and then, nor, of course, a number of now and thens. now and then is itself bad enough, reversing as it does the sequence of things, but it is idiomatic and there is no quarreling with it. but "every" is here a corruption of ever, meaning repeatedly, continually. _ex_. "ex-president," "an ex-convict," and the like. say, former. in england one may say, mr. roosevelt, sometime president; though the usage is a trifle archaic. _example_ for _problem_. a heritage from the text-books. "an example in arithmetic." an equally bad word for the same thing is "sum": "do the sum," for solve the problem. _excessively_ for _exceedingly_. "the disease is excessively painful." "the weather is excessively cold." anything that is painful at all is excessively so. even a slight degree or small amount of what is disagreeable or injurious is excessive--that is to say, redundant, superfluous, not required. _executed_. "the condemned man was executed." he was hanged, or otherwise put to death; it is the sentence that is executed. _executive_ for _secret_. an executive session of a deliberative body is a session for executive business, as distinguished from legislative. it is commonly secret, but a secret session is not necessarily executive. _expect_ for _believe_, or _suppose_. "i expect he will go." say, i believe (suppose or think) he will go; or, i expect him to go. _expectorate_ for _spit_. the former word is frequently used, even in laws and ordinances, as a euphemism for the latter. it not only means something entirely different, but to one with a latin ear is far more offensive. _experience_ for _suffer_, or _undergo_. "the sinner experienced a change of heart." this will do if said lightly or mockingly. it does not indicate a serious frame of mind in the speaker. _extend_ for _proffer_. "he extended an invitation." one does not always hold out an invitation in one's hand; it may be spoken or sent. _fail_. "he failed to note the hour." that implies that he tried to note it, but did not succeed. failure carries always the sense of endeavor; when there has been no endeavor there is no failure. a falling stone cannot fail to strike you, for it does not try; but a marksman firing at you may fail to hit you; and i hope he always will. _favor_ for _resemble_. "the child favors its father." _feel of_ for _feel_. "the doctor felt of the patient's head." "smell of" and "taste of" are incorrect too. _feminine_ for _female_. "a feminine member of the club." feminine refers, not to sex proper, but to gender, which may be defined as the sex of words. the same is true of masculine. _fetch_ for _bring_. fetching includes, not only bringing, but going to get--going for and returning with. you may bring what you did not go for. _finances_ for _wealth_, or _pecuniary resources_. _financial_ for _pecuniary_. "his financial reward"; "he is financially responsible," and so forth. _firstly_. if this word could mean anything it would mean firstlike, whatever that might mean. the ordinal numbers should have no adverbial form: "firstly," "secondly," and the rest are words without meaning. _fix_. this is, in america, a word-of-all-work, most frequently meaning repair, or prepare. do not so use it. _forebears_ for _ancestors_. the word is sometimes spelled forbears, a worse spelling than the other, but not much. if used at all it should be spelled _forebeers_, for it means those who have _been_ before. a forebe-er is one who fore-was. considered in any way, it is a senseless word. _forecasted_. for this abominable word we are indebted to the weather bureau--at least it was not sent upon us until that affliction was with us. let us hope that it may some day be losted from the language. _former_ and _latter_. indicating the first and the second of things previously named, these words are unobjectionable if not too far removed from the names that they stand for. if they are they confuse, for the reader has to look back to the names. use them sparingly. _funeral obsequies_. tautological. say, obsequies; the word is now used in none but a funereal sense. _fully_ for _definitively_, or _finally_. "after many preliminary examinations he was fully committed for trial." the adverb is meaningless: a defendant is never partly committed for trial. this is a solecism to which lawyers are addicted. and sometimes they have been heard to say "fullied." _funds_ for _money_. "he was out of funds." funds are not money in general, but sums of money or credit available for particular purposes. _furnish_ for _provide_, or _supply_. "taxation furnished the money." a pauper may furnish a house if some one will provide the furniture, or the money to buy it. "his flight furnishes a presumption of guilt." it supplies it. _generally_ for _usually_. "the winds are generally high." "a fool is generally vain." this misuse of the word appears to come of abbreviating: generally speaking, the weather is bad. a fool, to speak generally, is vain. _gent_ for _gentleman_. vulgar exceedingly. _genteel_. this word, meaning polite, or well mannered, was once in better repute than it is now, and its noun, gentility, is still not infrequently found in the work of good writers. genteel is most often used by those who write, as the scotchman of the anecdote joked--wi' deeficulty. _gentleman_. it is not possible to teach the correct use of this overworked word: one must be bred to it. everybody knows that it is not synonymous with man, but among the "genteel" and those ambitious to be thought "genteel" it is commonly so used in discourse too formal for the word "gent." to use the word gentleman correctly, be one. _genuine_ for _authentic_, or _veritable._ "a genuine document," "a genuine surprise," and the like. _given_. "the soldier was given a rifle." what was given is the rifle, not the soldier. "the house was given a coat (coating) of paint." nothing can be "given" anything. _goatee_. in this country goatee is frequently used for a tuft of beard on the point of the chin--what is sometimes called "an imperial," apparently because the late emperor napoleon iii wore his beard so. his majesty the goat is graciously pleased to wear his beneath the chin. _got married_ for _married_. if this is correct we should say, also, "got dead" for died; one expression is as good as the other. _gotten_ for _got_. this has gone out of good use, though in such compounded words as begotten and misbegotten it persists respectably. _graduated_ for _was graduated_. _gratuitous_ for _unwarranted_. "a gratuitous assertion." gratuitous means without cost. _grueling_. used chiefly by newspaper reporters; as, "he was subjected to a grueling cross-examination." "it was grueling weather." probably a corruption of grilling. _gubernatorial_. eschew it; it is not english, is needless and bombastic. leave it to those who call a political office a "chair." "gubernatorial chair" is good enough for them. so is hanging. _had better_ for _would better_. this is not defensible as an idiom, as those who always used it before their attention was directed to it take the trouble to point out. it comes of such contractions as he'd for he would, i'd for i would. these clipped words are erroneously restored as "he had," "i had." so we have such monstrosities as "he had better beware," "i had better go." _hail_ for _come_. "he hails from chicago." this is sea speech, and comes from the custom of hailing passing ships. it will not do for serious discourse. _have got_ for _have_. "i have got a good horse" directs attention rather to the act of getting than to the state of having, and represents the capture as recently completed. _head over heels_. a transposition of words hardly less surprising than (to the person most concerned) the mischance that it fails to describe. what is meant is heels over head. _healthy_ for _wholesome_. "a healthy climate." "a healthy occupation." only a living thing can be healthy. _helpmeet_ for _helpmate_. in genesis adam's wife is called "an help meet for him," that is, fit for him. the ridiculous word appears to have had no other origin. _hereafter_ for _henceforth_. hereafter means at some time in the future; henceforth, always in the future. the penitent who promises to be good hereafter commits himself to the performance of a single good act, not to a course of good conduct. _honeymoon_. moon here means month, so it is incorrect to say, "a week's honeymoon," or, "their honeymoon lasted a year." _horseflesh_ for _horses_. a singularly senseless and disagreeable word which, when used, as it commonly is, with reference to hippophilism, savors rather more of the spit than of the spirit. _humans_ as a noun. we have no single word having the general yet limited meaning that this is sometimes used to express--a meaning corresponding to that of the word animals, as the word men would if it included women and children. but there is time enough to use two words. _hung_ for _hanged_. a bell, or a curtain, is hung, but a man is hanged. hung is the junior form of the participle, and is now used for everything but man. perhaps it is our reverence for the custom of hanging men that sacredly preserves the elder form--as some, even, of the most zealous american spelling reformers still respect the u in saviour. _hurry_ for _haste_ and _hasten_. to hurry is to hasten in a more or less disorderly manner. hurry is misused, also, in another sense: "there is no hurry"--meaning, there is no reason for haste. _hurt_ for _harm_. "it does no hurt." to be hurt is to feel pain, but one may be harmed without knowing it. to spank a child, or flout a fool, hurts without harming. _idea_ for _thought_, _purpose_, _expectation_, etc. "i had no idea that it was so cold." "when he went abroad it was with no idea of remaining." _identified with_. "he is closely identified with the temperance movement." say, connected. _ilk_ for _kind_. "men of that ilk." this scotch word has a narrowly limited and specific meaning. it relates to an ancestral estate having the same name as the person spoken of. macdonald of that ilk means, macdonald of macdonald. the phrase quoted above is without meaning. _illy_ for _ill_. there is no such word as illy, for ill itself is an adverb. _imaginary line_. the adjective is needless. geometrically, every line is imaginary; its graphic representation is a mark. true the text-books say, draw a line, but in a mathematical sense the line already exists; the drawing only makes its course visible. _in_ for _into_. "he was put in jail." "he went in the house." a man may be in jail, or be in a house, but when the act of entrance--the movement of something from the outside to the inside of another thing--is related the correct word is into if the latter thing is named. _inaugurate_ for _begin_, _establish_, etc. inauguration implies some degree of formality and ceremony. _incumbent_ for _obligatory_. "it was incumbent upon me to relieve him." infelicitous and work-worn. say, it was my duty, or, if enamored of that particular metaphor, it lay upon me. _individual_. as a noun, this word means something that cannot be considered as divided, a unit. but it is incorrect to call a man, woman or child an individual, except with reference to mankind, to society or to a class of persons. it will not do to say, "an individual stood in the street," when no mention nor allusion has been made, nor is going to be made, to some aggregate of individuals considered as a whole. _indorse_. see _endorse_. _insane asylum_. obviously an asylum cannot be unsound in mind. say, asylum for the insane. _in spite of_. in most instances it is better to say despite. _inside of_. omit the preposition. _insignificant_ for _trivial_, or _small_. insignificant means not signifying anything, and should be used only in contrast, expressed or implied, with something that is important for what it implies. the bear's tail may be insignificant to a naturalist tracing the animal's descent from an earlier species, but to the rest of us, not concerned with the matter, it is merely small. _insoluble_ for _unsolvable_. use the former word for material substances, the latter for problems. _inst._, _prox._, _ult._ these abbreviations of _instante mense_ (in the present month), _proximo mense_ (in the next month) and _ultimo mense_ (in the last month), are serviceable enough in commercial correspondence, but, like a.m., p.m. and many other contractions of latin words, could profitably be spared from literature. _integrity_ for _honesty_. the word means entireness, wholeness. it may be rightly used to affirm possession of all the virtues, that is, unity of moral character. _involve_ for _entail_. "proof of the charges will involve his dismissal." not at all; it will entail it. to involve is, literally, to infold, not to bring about, nor cause to ensue. an unofficial investigation, for example, may involve character and reputation, but the ultimate consequence is entailed. a question, in the parliamentary sense, may involve a principle; its settlement one way or another may entail expense, or injury to interests. an act may involve one's honor and entail disgrace. _it_ for _so_. "going into the lion's cage is dangerous; you should not do it." do so is the better expression, as a rule, for the word it is a pronoun, meaning a thing, or object, and therefore incapable of being done. colloquially we may say do it, or do this, or do that, but in serious written discourse greater precision is desirable, and is better obtained, in most cases, by use of the adverb. _item_ for _brief article_. commonly used of a narrative in a newspaper. item connotes an aggregate of which it is a unit--one thing of many. hence it suggests more than we may wish to direct attention to. _jackies_ for _sailors_. vulgar, and especially offensive to seamen. _jeopardize_ for _imperil_, or _endanger_. the correct word is jeopard, but in any case there is no need for anything so farfetched and stilted. _juncture_. juncture means a joining, a junction; its use to signify a time, however critical a time, is absurd. "at this juncture the woman screamed." in reading that account of it we scream too. _just exactly_. nothing is gained in strength nor precision by this kind of pleonasm. omit just. _juvenile_ for _child_. this needless use of the adjective for the noun is probably supposed to be humorous, like "canine" for dog, "optic" for eye, "anatomy" for body, and the like. happily the offense is not very common. _kind of a_ for _kind of_. "he was that kind of a man." say that kind of man. man here is generic, and a genus comprises many kinds. but there cannot be more than one kind of one thing. _kind of_ followed by an adjective, as, "kind of good," is almost too gross for censure. _landed estate_ for _property in land_. dreadful! _last_ and _past_. "last week." "the past week." neither is accurate: a week cannot be the last if another is already begun; and all weeks except this one are past. here two wrongs seem to make a right: we can say the week last past. but will we? i trow not. _later on_. on is redundant; say, later. _laundry_. meaning a place where clothing is washed, this word cannot mean, also, clothing sent there to be washed. _lay_ (to place) for _lie_ (to recline). "the ship lays on her side." a more common error is made in the past tense, as, "he laid down on the grass." the confusion comes of the identity of a present tense of the transitive verb to lay and the past tense of the intransitive verb to lie. _leading question_. a leading question is not necessarily an important one; it is one that is so framed as to suggest, or lead to, the answer desired. few others than lawyers use the term correctly. _lease_. to say of a man that he leases certain premises leaves it doubtful whether he is lessor or lessee. being ambiguous, the word should be used with caution. _leave_ for _go away_. "he left yesterday." leave is a transitive verb; name the place of departure. _leave_ for _let_. "leave it alone." by this many persons mean, not that it is to be left in solitude, but that it is to be untouched, or unmolested. _lengthways_ for _lengthwise_. _lengthy_. usually said in disparagement of some wearisome discourse. it is no better than breadthy, or thicknessy. _leniency_ for _lenity_. the words are synonymous, but the latter is the better. _less_ for _fewer_. "the regiment had less than five hundred men." less relates to quantity, fewer, to number. _limited_ for _small_, _inadequate_, etc. "the army's operations were confined to a limited area." "we had a limited supply of food." a large area and an adequate supply would also be limited. everything that we know about is limited. _liable_ for _likely_. "man is liable to err." man is not liable to err, but to error. liable should be followed, not by an infinitive, but by a preposition. _like_ for _as_, or _as if_. "the matter is now like it was." "the house looked like it would fall." _likely_ for _probably_. "he will likely be elected." if likely is thought the better word (and in most cases it is) put it this way: "it is likely that he will be elected," or, "he is likely to be elected." _line_ for _kind_, or _class_. "this line of goods." leave the word to "salesladies" and "salesgentlemen." "that line of business." say, that business. _literally_ for _figuratively_. "the stream was literally alive with fish." "his eloquence literally swept the audience from its feet." it is bad enough to exaggerate, but to affirm the truth of the exaggeration is intolerable. _loan_ for _lend_. "i loaned him ten dollars." we lend, but the act of lending, or, less literally, the thing lent, is a loan. _locate_. "after many removals the family located at smithville." some dictionaries give locate as an intransitive verb having that meaning, but--well, dictionaries are funny. _lots_, or _a lot_, for _much_, or _many_. "lots of things." "a lot of talk." _love_ for _like_. "i love to travel." "i love apples." keep the stronger word for a stronger feeling. _lunch_ for _luncheon_. but do not use luncheon as a verb. _mad_ for _angry_. an americanism of lessening prevalence. it is probable that anger is a kind of madness (insanity), but that is not what the misusers of the word mad mean to affirm. _maintain_ for _contend_. "the senator maintained that the tariff was iniquitous." he maintained it only if he proved it. _majority_ for _plurality_. concerning votes cast in an election, a majority is more than half the total; a plurality is the excess of one candidate's votes over another's. commonly the votes compared are those for the successful candidate and those for his most nearly successful competitor. _make_ for _earn_. "he makes fifty dollars a month by manual labor." _mansion_ for _dwelling_, or _house_. usually mere hyperbole, a lamentable fault of our national literature. even our presidents, before roosevelt, called their dwelling the executive mansion. _masculine_ for _male_. see _feminine_. _mend_ for _repair_. "they mended the road." to mend is to repair, but to repair is not always to mend. a stocking is mended, a road repaired. _meet_ for _meeting_. this belongs to the language of sport, which persons of sense do not write--nor read. _militate_. "negligence militates against success." if "militate" meant anything it would mean fight, but there is no such word. _mind_ for _obey_. this is a reasonless extension of one legitimate meaning of mind, namely, to heed, to give attention. _minus_ for _lacking_, or _without_. "after the battle he was minus an ear." it is better in serious composition to avoid such alien words as have vernacular equivalents. _mistaken_ for _mistake_. "you are mistaken." for whom? say, you mistake. _monarch_ for _king, emperor_, or _sovereign_. not only hyperbolical, but inaccurate. there is not a monarch in christendom. _moneyed_ for _wealthy_. "the moneyed men of new york." one might as sensibly say, "the cattled men of texas," or, "the lobstered men of the fish market." _most_ for _almost_. "the apples are most all gone." "the returning travelers were most home." _moved_ for _removed_. "the family has moved to another house." "the joneses were moving." _mutual_. by this word we express a reciprocal relation. it implies exchange, a giving and taking, not a mere possessing in common. there can be a mutual affection, or a mutual hatred, but not a mutual friend, nor a mutual horse. _name_ for _title and name_. "his name was mr. smith." surely no babe was ever christened mister. _necessaries_ for _means_. "bread and meat are necessaries of life." not so; they are the mere means, for one can, and many do, live comfortably without them. food and drink are necessaries of life, but particular kinds of food and drink are not. _necessities_ for _necessaries_. "necessities of life are those things without which we cannot live." _née_. feminine of _né_, born. "mrs. jones, _née_ lucy smith." she could hardly have been christened before her birth. if you must use the french word say, _née_ smith. _negotiate_. from the latin _negotium_. it means, as all know, to fix the terms for a transaction, to bargain. but when we say, "the driver negotiated a difficult turn of the road," or, "the chauffeur negotiated a hill," we speak nonsense. _neither--or_ for _neither--nor_. "neither a cat or fish has wool." always after neither use nor. _new beginner_ for _beginner_. _nice_ for _good_, or _agreeable_. "a nice girl." nice means fastidious, delicately discriminative, and the like. pope uses the word admirably of a dandy who was skilled in the nice conduct [management] of a clouded cane. _noise_ for _sound_. "a noise like a flute"; "a noise of twittering birds," etc. a noise is a loud or disagreeable sound, or combination or succession of sounds. _none_. usually, and in most cases, singular; as, none has come. but it is not singular because it always means not one, for frequently it does not, as, the bottle was full of milk, but none is left. when it refers to numbers, not quantity, popular usage stubbornly insists that it is plural, and at least one respectable authority says that as a singular it is offensive. one is sorry to be offensive to a good man. _no use_. "he tried to smile, but it was no use." say, of no use, or, less colloquially, in vain. _novel_ for _romance_. in a novel there is at least an apparent attention to considerations of probability; it is a narrative of what might occur. romance flies with a free wing and owns no allegiance to likelihood. both are fiction, both works of imagination, but should not be confounded. they are as distinct as beast and bird. _numerous_ for _many_. rightly used, numerous relates to numbers, but does not imply a great number. a correct use is seen in the term numerous verse--verse consisting of poetic numbers; that is, rhythmical feet. _obnoxious_ for _offensive_. obnoxious means exposed to evil. a soldier in battle is obnoxious to danger. _occasion_ for _induce_, or _cause_. "his arrival occasioned a great tumult." as a verb, the word is needless and unpleasing. _occasional poems_. these are not, as so many authors and compilers seem to think, poems written at irregular and indefinite intervals, but poems written for _occasions_, such as anniversaries, festivals, celebrations and the like. _of any_ for _of all_. "the greatest poet of any that we have had." _offhanded_ and _offhandedly_. offhand is both adjective and adverb; these are bastard forms. _on the street_. a street comprises the roadway and the buildings at each side. say, in the street. he lives in broadway. _one another_ for _each other_. see _each other_. _only_. "he only had one." say, he had only one, or, better, one only. the other sentence might be taken to mean that only he had one; that, indeed, is what it distinctly says. the correct placing of only in a sentence requires attention and skill. _opine_ for _think_. the word is not very respectably connected. _opposite_ for _contrary_. "i hold the opposite opinion." "the opposite practice." _or_ for _nor_. probably our most nearly universal solecism. "i cannot see the sun or the moon." this means that i am unable to see one of them, though i may see the other. by using nor, i affirm the invisibility of both, which is what i wanted to do. if a man is not white or black he may nevertheless be a negro or a caucasian; but if he is not white nor black he belongs to some other race. see _neither_. _ordinarily_ for _usually_. clumsy. _ovation_. in ancient rome an ovation was an inferior triumph accorded to victors in minor wars or unimportant battle. its character and limitations, like those of the triumph, were strictly defined by law and custom. an enthusiastic demonstration in honor of an american civilian is nothing like that, and should not be called by its name. _over_ for _about_, _in_, or _concerning_. "don't cry over spilt milk." "he rejoiced over his acquittal." _over_ for _more than_. "a sum of over ten thousand dollars." "upward of ten thousand dollars" is equally objectionable. _over_ for _on_. "the policeman struck him over the head." if the blow was over the head it did not hit him. _over with_. "let us have it over with." omit with. a better expression is, let us get done with it. _outside of_. omit the preposition. _pair_ for _pairs_. if a word has a good plural use each form in its place. _pants_ for _trousers_. abbreviated from pantaloons, which are no longer worn. vulgar exceedingly. _partially_ for _partly_. a dictionary word, to swell the book. _party_ for _person_. "a party named brown." the word, used in that sense, has the excuse that it is a word. otherwise it is no better than "pants" and "gent." a person making an agreement, however, is a party to that agreement. _patron_ for _customer_. _pay_ for _give_, _make_, etc. "he pays attention." "she paid a visit to niagara." it is conceivable that one may owe attention or a visit to another person, but one cannot be indebted to a place. _pay_. "laziness does not pay." "it does not pay to be uncivil." this use of the word is grossly commercial. say, indolence is unprofitable. there is no advantage in incivility. _peek_ for _peep_. seldom heard in england, though common here. "i peeked out through the curtain and saw him." that it is a variant of peep is seen in the child's word peek-a-boo, equivalent to bo-peep. better use the senior word. _peculiar_ for _odd_, or _unusual_. also sometimes used to denote distinction, or particularity. properly a thing is peculiar only to another thing, of which it is characteristic, nothing else having it; as knowledge of the use of fire is peculiar to man. _people_ for _persons_. "three people were killed." "many people are superstitious." people has retained its parity of meaning with the latin _populus_, whence it comes, and the word is not properly used except to designate a population, or large fractions of it considered in the mass. to speak of any stated or small number of persons as people is incorrect. _per_. "five dollars _per_ day." "three _per_ hundred." say, three dollars a day; three in a hundred. if you must use the latin preposition use the latin noun too: _per diem; per centum_. _perpetually_ for _continually_. "the child is perpetually asking questions." what is done perpetually is done continually and forever. _phenomenal_ for _extraordinary_, or _surprising_. everything that occurs is phenomenal, for all that we know about is phenomena, appearances. of realities, noumena, we are ignorant. _plead_ (pronounced "pled") for _pleaded_. "he plead guilty." _plenty_ for _plentiful_. "fish and fowl were plenty." _poetess_. a foolish word, like "authoress." _poetry_ for _verse_. not all verse is poetry; not all poetry is verse. few persons can know, or hope to know, the one from the other, but he who has the humility to doubt (if such a one there be) should say verse if the composition is metrical. _point blank_. "he fired at him point blank." this usually is intended to mean directly, or at short range. but point blank means the point at which the line of sight is crossed downward by the trajectory--the curve described by the missile. _poisonous_ for _venomous_. hemlock is poisonous, but a rattlesnake is venomous. _politics_. the word is not plural because it happens to end with s. _possess_ for _have_. "to possess knowledge is to possess power." possess is lacking in naturalness and unduly emphasizes the concept of ownership. _practically_ for _virtually_. this error is very common. "it is practically conceded." "the decision was practically unanimous." "the panther and the cougar are practically the same animal." these and similar misapplications of the word are virtually without excuse. _predicate_ for _found_, or _base_. "i predicate my argument on universal experience." what is predicated of something is affirmed as an attribute of it, as omnipotence is predicated of the deity. _prejudice_ for _prepossession_. literally, a prejudice is merely a prejudgment--a decision before evidence--and may be favorable or unfavorable, but it is so much more frequently used in the latter sense than in the former that clarity is better got by the other word for reasonless approval. _preparedness_ for _readiness_. an awkward and needless word much used in discussion of national armaments, as, "our preparedness for war." _preside_. "professor swackenhauer presided at the piano." "the deviled crab table was presided over by mrs. dooley." how would this sound? "the ginger pop stand was under the administration of president woolwit, and professor sooffle presided at the flute." _pretend_ for _profess_. "i do not pretend to be infallible." of course not; one does not care to confess oneself a pretender. to pretend is to try to deceive; one may profess quite honestly. _preventative_ for _preventive_. no such word as preventative. _previous_ for _previously_. "the man died previous to receipt of the letter." _prior to_ for _before_. stilted. _propose_ for _purpose_, or _intend_. "i propose to go to europe." a mere intention is not a proposal. _proposition_ for _proposal_. "he made a proposition." in current slang almost anything is a proposition. a difficult enterprise is "a tough proposition," an agile wrestler, "a slippery proposition," and so forth. _proportions_ for _dimensions_. "a rock of vast proportions." proportions relate to form; dimensions to magnitude. _proven_ for _proved_. good scotch, but bad english. _proverbial_ for _familiar_. "the proverbial dog in the manger." the animal is not "proverbial" for it is not mentioned in a proverb, but in a fable. _quit_ for _cease_, _stop_. "jones promises to quit drinking." in another sense, too, the word is commonly misused, as, "he has quit the town." say, quitted. _quite_. "she is quite charming." if it is meant that she is entirely charming this is right, but usually the meaning intended to be conveyed is less than that--that she is rather, or somewhat, charming. _raise_ for _bring up_, _grow_, _breed_, etc. in this country a word-of-all-work: "raise children," "raise wheat," "raise cattle." children are brought up, grain, hay and vegetables are grown, animals and poultry are bred. _real_ for _really_, or _very_. "it is real good of him." "the weather was real cold." _realize_ for _conceive_, or _comprehend_. "i could not realize the situation." writers caring for precision use this word in the sense of to make real, not to make seem real. a dream seems real, but is actually realized when made to come true. _recollect_ for _remember_. to remember is to have in memory; to recollect is to recall what has escaped from memory. we remember automatically; in recollecting we make a conscious effort. _redeem_ for _retrieve_. "he redeemed his good name." redemption (latin _redemptio_, from _re_ and _dimere_) is allied to ransom, and carries the sense of buying back; whereas to retrieve is merely to recover what was lost. _redound_ for _conduce_. "a man's honesty redounds to his advantage." we make a better use of the word if we say of one (for example) who has squandered a fortune, that its loss redounds to his advantage, for the word denotes a fluctuation, as from seeming evil to actual good; as villification may direct attention to one's excellent character. _refused_. "he was refused a crown." it is the crown that was refused to him. see _given_. _regular_ for _natural_, or _customary_. "flattery of the people is the demagogue's regular means to political preferment." regular properly relates to a rule (_regula_) more definite than the law of antecedent and consequent. _reliable_ for _trusty_, or _trustworthy_. a word not yet admitted to the vocabulary of the fastidious, but with a strong backing for the place. _remit_ for _send_. "on receiving your bill i will remit the money." remit does not mean that; it means give back, yield up, relinquish, etc. it means, also, to cancel, as in the phrase, the remission of sins. _rendition_ for _interpretation_, or _performance_. "the actor's rendition of the part was good." rendition means a surrender, or a giving back. _reportorial_. a vile word, improperly made. it assumes the latinized spelling, "reporter." the romans had not the word, for they were, fortunately for them, without the thing. _repudiate_ for _deny_. "he repudiated the accusation." _reside_ for _live_. "they reside in hohokus." stilted. _residence_ for _dwelling_, or _house._ see _mansion_. _respect_ for _way_, or _matter_. "they were alike in that respect." the misuse comes of abbreviating: the sentence properly written might be, they were alike in respect of that--i.e., with regard to that. the word in the bad sense has even been pluralized: "in many respects it is admirable." _respective_. "they went to their respective homes." the adjective here (if an adjective is thought necessary) should be several. in the adverbial form the word is properly used in the sentence following: john and james are bright and dull, respectively. that is, john is bright and james dull. _responsible_. "the bad weather is responsible for much sickness." "his intemperance was responsible for his crime." responsibility is not an attribute of anything but human beings, and few of these can respond, in damages or otherwise. responsible is nearly synonymous with accountable and answerable, which, also, are frequently misused. _restive_ for _restless_. these words have directly contrary meanings; the dictionaries' disallowance of their identity would be something to be thankful for, but that is a dream. _retire_ for _go to bed_. english of the "genteel" sort. see _genteel_. _rev_. for _the rev_. "rev. dr. smith." _reverence_ for _revere_. _ride_ for _drive_. on horseback one does drive, and in a vehicle one does ride, but a distinction is needed here, as in england; so, here as there, we may profitably make it, riding in the saddle and driving in the carriage. _roomer_ for _lodger_. see _bedder_ and _mealer_--if you can find them. _round_ for _about_. "they stood round." see _around_. _ruination_ for _ruin_. questionably derived and problematically needful. _run_ for _manage_, or _conduct_. vulgar--hardly better than slang. _say_ for _voice_. "he had no say in determining the matter." vulgar. _scholar_ for _student_, or _pupil_. a scholar is a person who is learned, not a person who is learning. _score_ for _win_, _obtain_, etc. "he scored an advantage over his opponent." to score is not to win a point, but to record it. _second-handed_ for _second-hand_. there is no such word. _secure_ for _procure_. "he secured a position as book-keeper." "the dwarf secured a stick and guarded the jewels that he had found." then it was the jewels that were secured. _seldom ever_. a most absurd locution. _self-confessed_. "a self-confessed assassin." self is superfluous: one's sins cannot be confessed by another. _sensation_ for _emotion_. "the play caused a great sensation." "a sensational newspaper." a sensation is a physical feeling; an emotion, a mental. doubtless the one usually accompanies the other, but the good writer will name the one that he has in mind, not the other. there are few errors more common than the one here noted. _sense_ for _smell_. "she sensed the fragrance of roses." society english. _set_ for _sit_. "a setting hen." _settee_ for _settle_. this word belongs to the peasantry of speech. _settle_ for _pay_. "settle the bill." "i shall take it now and settle for it later." _shades_ for _shade_. "shades of noah! how it rained!" "o shades of caesar!" a shade is a departed soul, as conceived by the ancients; one to each mortal part is the proper allowance. _show_ for _chance_, or _opportunity_. "he didn't stand a show." say, he had no chance. _sick_ for _ill_. good usage now limits this word to cases of nausea, but it is still legitimate in sickly, sickness, love-sick, and the like. _side_ for _agree_, or _stand_. "i side with the democrats." "he always sided with what he thought right." _sideburns_ for _burnsides_. a form of whiskers named from a noted general of the civil war, ambrose e. burnside. it seems to be thought that the word side has something to do with it, and that as an adjective it should come first, according to our idiom. _side-hill_ for _hillside_. a reasonless transposition for which it is impossible to assign a cause, unless it is abbreviated from side o' the hill. _sideways_ for _sidewise_. see _endways_. _since_ for _ago_. "he came here not long since and died." _smart_ for _bright_, or _able_. an americanism that is dying out. but "smart" has recently come into use for fashionable, which is almost as bad. _snap_ for _period_ (of time) or _spell_. "a cold snap." this is a word of incomprehensible origin in that sense; we can know only that its parents were not respectable. "spell" is itself not very well-born. _so--as_. see _as--as_. _so_ for _true_. "if you see it in the daily livercomplaint it is so." "is that so?" colloquial and worse. _solemnize_. this word rightly means to make solemn, not to perform, or celebrate, ceremoniously something already solemn, as a marriage, or a mass. we have no exact synonym, but this explains, rather than justifies, its use. _some_ for _somewhat_. "he was hurt some." _soon_ for _willingly_. "i would as soon go as stay." "that soldier would sooner eat than fight." say, rather eat. _space_ for _period_. "a long space of time." space is so different a thing from time that the two do not go well together. _spend_ for _pass_. "we shall spend the summer in europe." spend denotes a voluntary relinquishment, but time goes from us against our will. _square_ for _block_. "he lives three squares away." a city block is seldom square. _squirt_ for _spurt_. absurd. _stand_ and _stand for_ for _endure_. "the patient stands pain well." "he would not stand for misrepresentation." _standpoint_ for _point of view_, or _viewpoint_. _state_ for _say_. "he stated that he came from chicago." "it is stated that the president is angry." we state a proposition, or a principle, but say that we are well. and we say our prayers--some of us. _still continue_. "the rain still continues." omit still; it is contained in the other word. _stock_. "i take no stock in it." disagreeably commercial. say, i have no faith in it. many such metaphorical expressions were unobjectionable, even pleasing, in the mouth of him who first used them, but by constant repetition by others have become mere slang, with all the offensiveness of plagiarism. the prime objectionableness of slang is its hideous lack of originality. until mouth-worn it is not slang. _stop_ for _stay_. "prayer will not stop the ravages of cholera." stop is frequently misused for stay in another sense of the latter word: "he is stopping at the hotel." stopping is not a continuing act; one cannot be stopping who has already stopped. _stunt_. a word recently introduced and now overworked, meaning a task, or performance in one's trade, or calling,--doubtless a variant of stint, without that word's suggestion of allotment and limitation. it is still in the reptilian stage of evolution. _subsequent_ for _later_, or _succeeding_. legitimate enough, but ugly and needless. "he was subsequently hanged." say, afterward. _substantiate_ for _prove_. why? _success_. "the project was a success." say, was successful. success should not have the indefinite article. _such another_ for _another such_. there is illustrious authority for this--in poetry. poets are a lawless folk, and may do as they please so long as they do please. _such_ for _so_. "he had such weak legs that he could not stand." the absurdity of this is made obvious by changing the form of the statement: "his legs were such weak that he could not stand." if the word is an adverb in the one sentence it is in the other. "he is such a great bore that none can endure him." say, so great a bore. _suicide_. this is never a verb. "he suicided." say, he killed himself, or he took his own life. see _commit suicide_. _supererogation_. to supererogate is to overpay, or to do more than duty requires. but the excess must be in the line of duty; merely needless and irrelevant action is not supererogation. the word is not a natural one, at best. _sure_ for _surely_. "they will come, sure." slang. _survive_ for _live_, or _persist_. survival is an outliving, or outlasting of something else. "the custom survives" is wrong, but a custom may survive its utility. survive is a transitive verb. _sustain_ for _incur_. "he sustained an injury." "he sustained a broken neck." that means that although his neck was broken he did not yield to the mischance. _talented_ for _gifted_. these are both past participles, but there was once the verb to gift, whereas there was never the verb "to talent." if nature did not talent a person the person is not talented. _tantamount_ for _equivalent_. "apology is tantamount to confession." let this ugly word alone; it is not only illegitimate, but ludicrously suggests catamount. _tasty_ for _tasteful_. vulgar. _tear down_ for _pull down_. "the house was torn down." this is an indigenous solecism; they do not say so in england. _than whom_. see _whom_. _the_. a little word that is terribly overworked. it is needlessly affixed to names of most diseases: "the cholera," "the smallpox," "the scarlet fever," and such. some escape it: we do not say, "the sciatica," nor "the locomotor ataxia." it is too common in general propositions, as, "the payment of interest is the payment of debt." "the virtues that are automatic are the best." "the tendency to falsehood should be checked." "kings are not under the control of the law." it is impossible to note here all forms of this misuse, but a page of almost any book will supply abundant instance. we do not suffer so abject slavery to the definite article as the french, but neither do we manifest their spirit of rebellion by sometimes cutting off the oppressor's tail. one envies the romans, who had no article, definite or indefinite. _the following_. "washington wrote the following." the following what? put in the noun. "the following animals are ruminants." it is not the animals that follow, but their names. _the same_. "they cooked the flesh of the lion and ate the same." "an old man lived in a cave, and the same was a cripple." in humorous composition this may do, though it is not funny; but in serious work use the regular pronoun. _then_ as an adjective. "the then governor of the colony." say, the governor of the colony at that time. _those kind_ for _that kind_. "those kind of things." almost too absurd for condemnation, and happily not very common out of the class of analphabets. _though_ for _if_. "she wept as though her heart was broken." many good writers, even some devoid of the lexicographers' passion for inclusion and approval, have specifically defended this locution, backing their example by their precept. perhaps it is a question of taste; let us attend their cry and pass on. _thrifty_ for _thriving_. "a thrifty village." to thrive is an end; thrift is a means to that end. _through_ for _done_. "the lecturer is through talking." "i am through with it." say, i have done with it. _to_. as part of an infinitive it should not be separated from the other part by an adverb, as, "to hastily think," for hastily to think, or, to think hastily. condemnation of the split infinitive is now pretty general, but it is only recently that any one seems to have thought of it. our forefathers and we elder writers of this generation used it freely and without shame--perhaps because it had not a name, and our crime could not be pointed out without too much explanation. _to_ for _at_. "we have been to church," "i was to the theater." one can go to a place, but one cannot be to it. _total_. "the figures totaled , ." say, the total of the figures was , . _transaction_ for _action_, or _incident_. "the policeman struck the man with his club, but the transaction was not reported." "the picking of a pocket is a criminal transaction." in a transaction two or more persons must have an active or assenting part; as, a business transaction, transactions of the geographical society, etc. the society's action would be better called proceedings. _transpire_ for _occur_, _happen_, etc. "this event transpired in ." transpire (_trans_, through, and _spirare_, to breathe) means leak out, that is, become known. what transpired in may have occurred long before. _trifling_ for _trivial_. "a trifling defect"; "a trifling error." _trust_ for _wealthy corporation_. there are few trusts; capitalists have mostly abandoned the trust form of combination. _try an experiment_. an experiment is a trial; we cannot try a trial. say, make. _try and_ for _try to_. "i will try and see him." this plainly says that my effort to see him will succeed--which i cannot know and do not wish to affirm. "please try and come." this colloquial slovenliness of speech is almost universal in this country, but freedom of speech is one of our most precious possessions. _ugly_ for _ill-natured_, _quarrelsome_. what is ugly is the temper, or disposition, not the person having it. _under-handed_ and _under-handedly_ for _under-hand._ see _off-handed._ _unique_. "this is very unique." "the most unique house in the city." there are no degrees of uniqueness: a thing is unique if there is not another like it. the word has nothing to do with oddity, strangeness, nor picturesqueness. _united states_ as a singular noun. "the united states is for peace." the fact that we are in some ways one nation has nothing to do with it; it is enough to know that the word states is plural--if not, what is state? it would be pretty hard on a foreigner skilled in the english tongue if he could not venture to use our national name without having made a study of the history of our constitution and political institutions. grammar has not a speaking acquaintance with politics, and patriotic pride is not schoolmaster to syntax. _unkempt_ for _disordered_, _untidy_, etc. unkempt means uncombed, and can properly be said of nothing but the hair. _use_ for _treat_. "the inmates were badly used." "they use him harshly." _utter_ for _absolute_, _entire_, etc. utter has a damnatory signification and is to be used of evil things only. it is correct to say utter misery, but not "utter happiness;" utterly bad, but not "utterly good." _various_ for _several_. "various kinds of men." kinds are various of course, for they vary--that is what makes them kinds. use various only when, in speaking of a number of things, you wish to direct attention to their variety--their difference, one from another. "the dividend was distributed among the various stockholders." the stockholders vary, as do all persons, but that is irrelevant and was not in mind. "various persons have spoken to me of you." their variation is unimportant; what is meant is that there was a small indefinite number of them; that is, several. _ventilate_ for _express, disclose_, etc. "the statesman ventilated his views." a disagreeable and dog-eared figure of speech. _verbal_ for _oral_. all language is verbal, whether spoken or written, but audible speech is oral. "he did not write, but communicated his wishes verbally." it would have been a verbal communication, also, if written. _vest_ for _waistcoat_. this is american, but as all americans are not in agreement about it it is better to use the english word. _vicinity_ for _vicinage_, or _neighborhood_. "he lives in this vicinity." if neither of the other words is desired say, he lives in the vicinity of this place, or, better, he lives near by. _view of_. "he invested with the view of immediate profit." "he enlisted with the view of promotion." say, with a view to. _vulgar_ for _immodest_, _indecent_. it is from _vulgus_, the common people, the mob, and means both common and unrefined, but has no relation to indecency. _way_ for _away_. "way out at sea." "way down south." _ways_ for _way_. "a squirrel ran a little ways along the road." "the ship looked a long ways off." this surprising word calls loudly for depluralization. _wed_ for _wedded_. "they were wed at noon." "he wed her in boston." the word wed in all its forms as a substitute for marry, is pretty hard to bear. _well_. as a mere meaningless prelude to a sentence this word is overtasked. "well, i don't know about that." "well, you may try." "well, have your own way." _wet_ for _wetted_. see _bet_. _where_ for _when_. "where there is reason to expect criticism write discreetly." _which_ for _that_. "the boat which i engaged had a hole in it." but a parenthetical clause may rightly be introduced by which; as, the boat, which had a hole in it, i nevertheless engaged. which and that are seldom interchangeable; when they are, use that. it sounds better. _whip_ for _chastise_, or _defeat_. to whip is to beat with a whip. it means nothing else. _whiskers_ for _beard_. the whisker is that part of the beard that grows on the cheek. see _chin whiskers_. _who_ for _whom_. "who do you take me for?" _whom_ for _who_. "the man whom they thought was dead is living." here the needless introduction of was entails the alteration of whom to who. "remember whom it is that you speak of." "george washington, than whom there was no greater man, loved a jest." the misuse of whom after than is almost universal. who and whom trip up many a good writer, although, unlike which and who, they require nothing but knowledge of grammar. _widow woman_. omit woman. _will_ and _shall_. proficiency in the use of these apparently troublesome words must be sought in text-books on grammar and rhetoric, where the subject will be found treated with a more particular attention, and at greater length, than is possible in a book of the character of this. briefly and generally, in the first person, a mere intention is indicated by shall, as, i shall go; whereas will denotes some degree of compliance or determination, as, i will go--as if my going had been requested or forbidden. in the second and the third person, will merely forecasts, as, you (or he) will go; but shall implies something of promise, permission or compulsion by the speaker, as, you (or he) shall go. another and less obvious compulsion--that of circumstance--speaks in shall, as sometimes used with good effect: in germany you shall not turn over a chip without uncovering a philosopher. the sentence is barely more than indicative, shall being almost, but not quite, equivalent to can. _win out_. like its antithesis, "lose out," this reasonless phrase is of sport, "sporty." _win_ for _won_. "i went to the race and win ten dollars." this atrocious solecism seems to be unknown outside the world of sport, where may it ever remain. _without_ for _unless_. "i cannot go without i recover." peasantese. _witness_ for _see_. to witness is more than merely to see, or observe; it is to observe, and to tell afterward. _would-be_. "the would-be assassin was arrested." the word doubtless supplies a want, but we can better endure the want than the word. in the instance of the assassin, it is needless, for he who attempts to murder is an assassin, whether he succeeds or not. proofreaders [illustration: ambrose bierce.] shapes of clay by ambrose bierce author of "in the midst of life," "can such things be?" "black beetles in amber," and "fantastic fables" dedication. with pride in their work, faith in their future and affection for themselves, an old writer dedicates this book to his young friends and pupils, george sterling and herman scheffauer. a.b. preface. some small part of this book being personally censorious, and in that part the names of real persons being used without their assent, it seems fit that a few words be said of the matter in sober prose. what it seems well to say i have already said with sufficient clarity in the preface of another book, somewhat allied to this by that feature of its character. i quote from "black beetles in amber:" "many of the verses in this book are republished, with considerable alterations, from various newspapers. of my motives in writing and in now republishing i do not care to make either defence or explanation, except with reference to those who since my first censure of them have passed away. to one having only a reader's interest in the matter it may easily seem that the verses relating to those might properly have been omitted from this collection. but if these pieces, or indeed, if any considerable part of my work in literature, have the intrinsic worth which by this attempt to preserve some of it i have assumed, their permanent suppression is impossible, and it is only a question of when and by whom they will be republished. some one will surely search them out and put them in circulation. "i conceive it the right of an author to have his fugitive work collected in his lifetime; and this seems to me especially true of one whose work, necessarily engendering animosities, is peculiarly exposed to challenge as unjust. that is a charge that can best be examined before time has effaced the evidence. for the death of a man of whom i have written what i may venture to think worthy to live i am no way responsible; and however sincerely i may regret it, i can hardly consent that it shall affect my literary fortunes. if the satirist who does not accept the remarkable doctrine that, while condemning the sin he should spare the sinner, were bound to let the life of his work be coterminous with that of his subject his were a lot of peculiar hardship. "persuaded of the validity of all this i have not hesitated to reprint even certain 'epitaphs' which, once of the living, are now of the dead, as all the others must eventually be. the objection inheres in all forms of applied satire--my understanding of whose laws and liberties is at least derived from reverent study of the masters. that in respect of matters herein mentioned i have but followed their practice can be shown by abundant instance and example." in arranging these verses for publication i have thought it needless to classify them according to character, as "serious," "comic," "sentimental," "satirical," and so forth. i do the reader the honor to think that he will readily discern the nature of what he is reading; and i entertain the hope that his mood will accommodate itself without disappointment to that of his author. ambrose bierce. contents. the passing show elixir vitae convalescent at the close of the canvass novum organum geotheos yorick a vision of doom politics poesy in defense an invocation religion a morning fancy visions of sin the town of dae an anarchist an offer of marriage arma virumque on a proposed crematory a demand the weather wight t.a.h. my monument mad hospitality for a certain critic religious progress magnanimity to her to a summer poet arthur mcewen charles and peter contemplation creation business a possibility to a censor the hesitating veteran a year's casualties inspiration to-day an alibi rebuke j.f.b. the dying statesman the death of grant the fountain refilled laus lucis nanine technology a reply to a letter to oscar wilde prayer a "born leader of men" to the bartholdi statue an unmerry christmas by a defeated litigant an epitaph the politician an inscription from virginia to paris a "mute inglorious milton" the free trader's lament subterranean phantasies in memoriam the statesmen the brothers the cynic's bequest corrected news an explanation justice mr. fink's debating donkey to my laundress fame omnes vanitas aspiration democracy the new "ulalume" consolation fate philosopher bimm reminded salvini in america another way art an enemy to law and order to one across the way the debtor abroad foresight a fair division genesis liberty the passing of "boss" shepherd to maude the birth of virtue stoneman in heaven the scurril press stanley one of the unfair sex the lord's prayer on a coin a lacking factor the royal jester a career in letters the following pair political economy vanished at cock-crow the unpardonable sin industrial discontent tempora mutantur contentment the new enoch disavowal an average woman incurable the pun a partisan's protest to nanine vice versa a black-list a bequest to music authority the psoriad oneiromancy peace thanksgiving l'audace the god's view-point the aesthetes july fourth with mine own petard constancy sires and sons a challenge two shows a poet's hope the woman and the devil two rogues beecher not guilty presentiment a study in gray a paradox for merit a bit of science the tables turned to a dejected poet a fool the humorist montefiore a warning discretion an exile the division superintendent psychographs to a professional eulogist for wounds election day the militiaman a literary method a welcome a serenade the wise and good the lost colonel for tat a dilemma metempsychosis the saint and the monk the opposing sex a whipper-in judgment the fall of miss larkin in high life a bubble a rendezvous francine an example revenge the genesis of embarrassment in contumaciam re-edified a bulletin from the minutes woman in politics to an aspirant a ballad of pikeville a builder an augury lusus politicus bereavement an inscription a pickbrain convalescent the naval constructor detected bimetalism the rich testator two methods foundations of the state in imposter unexpounded france the eastern question a guest a false prophecy two types some ante-mortem epitaphs a hymn of the many one morning an error at the "national encampment" the king of bores history the hermit to a critic of tennyson the yearly lie co-operation an apologue diagnosis fallen dies irae the day of wrath one mood's expression something in the papers in the binnacle humility one president the bride strained relations the man born blind a nightmare a wet season the confederate flags haec farula docet exoneration azrael again homo podunkensis a social call shapes of clay the passing show. i. i know not if it was a dream. i viewed a city where the restless multitude, between the eastern and the western deep had roared gigantic fabrics, strong and rude. colossal palaces crowned every height; towers from valleys climbed into the light; o'er dwellings at their feet, great golden domes hung in the blue, barbarically bright. but now, new-glimmering to-east, the day touched the black masses with a grace of gray, dim spires of temples to the nation's god studding high spaces of the wide survey. well did the roofs their solemn secret keep of life and death stayed by the truce of sleep, yet whispered of an hour-when sleepers wake, the fool to hope afresh, the wise to weep. the gardens greened upon the builded hills above the tethered thunders of the mills with sleeping wheels unstirred to service yet + by the tamed torrents and the quickened rills. a hewn acclivity, reprieved a space, looked on the builder's blocks about his base and bared his wounded breast in sign to say: "strike! 't is my destiny to lodge your race. "'t was but a breath ago the mammoth browsed upon my slopes, and in my caves i housed your shaggy fathers in their nakedness, while on their foeman's offal they caroused." ships from afar afforested the bay. within their huge and chambered bodies lay the wealth of continents; and merrily sailed the hardy argosies to far cathay. beside the city of the living spread-- strange fellowship!--the city of the dead; and much i wondered what its humble folk, to see how bravely they were housed, had said. noting how firm their habitations stood, broad-based and free of perishable wood-- how deep in granite and how high in brass the names were wrought of eminent and good, i said: "when gold or power is their aim, the smile of beauty or the wage of shame, men dwell in cities; to this place they fare when they would conquer an abiding fame." from the red east the sun--a solemn rite-- crowned with a flame the cross upon a height above the dead; and then with all his strength struck the great city all aroar with light! ii. i know not if it was a dream. i came unto a land where something seemed the same that i had known as 't were but yesterday, but what it was i could not rightly name. it was a strange and melancholy land. silent and desolate. on either hand lay waters of a sea that seemed as dead, and dead above it seemed the hills to stand, grayed all with age, those lonely hills--ah me, how worn and weary they appeared to be! between their feet long dusty fissures clove the plain in aimless windings to the sea. one hill there was which, parted from the rest, stood where the eastern water curved a-west. silent and passionless it stood. i thought i saw a scar upon its giant breast. the sun with sullen and portentous gleam hung like a menace on the sea's extreme; nor the dead waters, nor the far, bleak bars of cloud were conscious of his failing beam. it was a dismal and a dreadful sight, that desert in its cold, uncanny light; no soul but i alone to mark the fear and imminence of everlasting night! all presages and prophecies of doom glimmered and babbled in the ghastly gloom, and in the midst of that accursèd scene a wolf sat howling on a broken tomb. elixer vitae. of life's elixir i had writ, when sleep (pray heaven it spared him who the writing read!) sealed upon my senses with so deep a stupefaction that men thought me dead. the centuries stole by with noiseless tread, like spectres in the twilight of my dream; i saw mankind in dim procession sweep through life, oblivion at each extreme. meanwhile my beard, like barbarossa's growing, loaded my lap and o'er my knees was flowing. the generations came with dance and song, and each observed me curiously there. some asked: "who was he?" others in the throng replied: "a wicked monk who slept at prayer." some said i was a saint, and some a bear-- these all were women. so the young and gay, visibly wrinkling as they fared along, doddered at last on failing limbs away; though some, their footing in my beard entangled, fell into its abysses and were strangled. at last a generation came that walked more slowly forward to the common tomb, then altogether stopped. the women talked excitedly; the men, with eyes agloom looked darkly on them with a look of doom; and one cried out: "we are immortal now-- how need we these?" and a dread figure stalked, silent, with gleaming axe and shrouded brow, and all men cried: "decapitate the women, or soon there'll be no room to stand or swim in!" so (in my dream) each lovely head was chopped from its fair shoulders, and but men alone were left in all the world. birth being stopped, enough of room remained in every zone, and peace ascended woman's vacant throne. thus, life's elixir being found (the quacks their bread-and-butter in it gladly sopped) 'twas made worth having by the headsman's axe. seeing which, i gave myself a hearty shaking, and crumbled all to powder in the waking. convalescent. what! "out of danger?" can the slighted dame or canting pharisee no more defame? will treachery caress my hand no more, nor hatred he alurk about my door?-- ingratitude, with benefits dismissed, not close the loaded palm to make a fist? will envy henceforth not retaliate for virtues it were vain to emulate? will ignorance my knowledge fail to scout, not understanding what 'tis all about, yet feeling in its light so mean and small that all his little soul is turned to gall? what! "out of danger?" jealousy disarmed? greed from exaction magically charmed? ambition stayed from trampling whom it meets, like horses fugitive in crowded streets? the bigot, with his candle, book and bell, tongue-tied, unlunged and paralyzed as well? the critic righteously to justice haled, his own ear to the post securely nailed-- what most he dreads unable to inflict, and powerless to hawk the faults he's picked? the liar choked upon his choicest lie, and impotent alike to villify or flatter for the gold of thrifty men who hate his person but employ his pen-- who love and loathe, respectively, the dirt belonging to his character and shirt? what! "out of danger?"--nature's minions all, like hounds returning to the huntsman's call, obedient to the unwelcome note that stays them from the quarry's bursting throat?-- famine and pestilence and earthquake dire, torrent and tempest, lightning, frost and fire, the soulless tiger and the mindless snake, the noxious insect from the stagnant lake (automaton malevolences wrought out of the substance of creative thought)-- these from their immemorial prey restrained, their fury baffled and their power chained? i'm safe? is that what the physician said? what! "out of danger?" then, by heaven, i'm dead! at the close of the canvass. 'twas a venerable person, whom i met one sunday morning, all appareled as a prophet of a melancholy sect; and in a jeremaid of objurgatory warning he lifted up his _jodel_ to the following effect: o ye sanguinary statesmen, intermit your verbal tussles o ye editors and orators, consent to hear my lay! and a little while the digital and maxillary muscles and attend to what a venerable person has to say. cease your writing, cease your shouting, cease your wild unearthly lying; cease to bandy such expressions as are never, never found in the letter of a lover; cease "exposing" and "replying"-- let there be abated fury and a decrement of sound. for to-morrow will be monday and the fifth day of november-- only day of opportunity before the final rush. _carpe diem!_ go conciliate each person who's a member of the other party--do it while you can without a blush. "lo! the time is close upon you when the madness of the season having howled itself to silence, like a minnesota 'clone, will at last be superseded by the still, small voice of reason, when the whelpage of your folly you would willingly disown. "ah, 'tis mournful to consider what remorses will be thronging, with a consciousness of having been so ghastly indiscreet, when by accident untoward two ex-gentlemen belonging to the opposite political denominations meet! "yes, 'tis melancholy, truly, to forecast the fierce, unruly supersurging of their blushes, like the flushes upon high when aurora borealis lights her circumpolar palace and in customary manner sets her banner in the sky. "each will think: 'this falsifier knows that i too am a liar. curse him for a son of satan, all unholily compound! curse my leader for another! curse that pelican, my mother! would to god that i when little in my victual had been drowned!'" then that venerable person went away without returning and, the madness of the season having also taken flight, all the people soon were blushing like the skies to crimson burning when aurora borealis fires her premises by night. novum organum. in bacon see the culminating prime of anglo-saxon intellect and crime. he dies and nature, settling his affairs, parts his endowments among us, his heirs: to every one a pinch of brain for seed, and, to develop it, a pinch of greed. each thrifty heir, to make the gift suffice, buries the talent to manure the vice. geotheos. as sweet as the look of a lover saluting the eyes of a maid, that blossom to blue as the maid is ablush to the glances above her, the sunshine is gilding the glade and lifting the lark out of shade. sing therefore high praises, and therefore sing songs that are ancient as gold, of earth in her garments of gold; nor ask of their meaning, nor wherefore they charm as of yore, for behold! the earth is as fair as of old. sing songs of the pride of the mountains, and songs of the strength of the seas, and the fountains that fall to the seas from the hands of the hills, and the fountains that shine in the temples of trees, in valleys of roses and bees. sing songs that are dreamy and tender, of slender arabian palms, and shadows that circle the palms, where caravans, veiled from the splendor, are kneeling in blossoms and balms, in islands of infinite calms. barbaric, o man, was thy runing when mountains were stained as with wine by the dawning of time, and as wine were the seas, yet its echoes are crooning, achant in the gusty pine and the pulse of the poet's line. yorick. hard by an excavated street one sat in solitary session on the sand; and ever and anon he spake and spat and spake again--a yellow skull in hand, to which that retrospective pioneer addressed the few remarks that follow here: "who are you? did you come 'der blains agross,' or 'horn aroundt'? in days o' ' did them thar eye-holes see the southern cross from the antarctic sea git up an' shine? or did you drive a bull team 'all the way from pike,' with mr. joseph bowers?--say! "was you in frisco when the water came up to montgum'ry street? and do you mind the time when peters run the faro game-- jim peters from old mississip--behind wells fargo's, where he subsequent was bust by sandy, as regards both bank and crust? "i wonder was you here when casey shot james king o' william? and did you attend the neck-tie dance ensuin'? _i_ did not, but j'ined the rush to go creek with my friend ed'ard mcgowan; for we was resolved in sech diversions not to be involved. "maybe i knowed you; seems to me i've seed your face afore. i don't forget a face, but names i disremember--i'm that breed of owls. i'm talking some'at into space an' maybe my remarks is too derned free, seein' yer name is unbeknown to me. "ther' was a time, i reckon, when i knowed nigh onto every dern galoot in town. that was as late as ' . now she's growed surprisin'! yes, me an' my pardner, brown, was wide acquainted. if ther' was a cuss we didn't know, the cause was--he knowed us. "maybe you had that claim adjoinin' mine up thar in calaveras. was it you to which long mary took a mighty shine, an' throwed squar' off on jake the kangaroo? i guess if she could see ye now she'd take her chance o' happiness along o' jake. "you ain't so purty now as you was then: yer eyes is nothin' but two prospect holes, an' women which are hitched to better men would hardly for sech glances damn their souls, as lengthie did. by g----! i _hope_ it's you, for" _(kicks the skull)_ "i'm jake the kangaroo." a vision of doom. i stood upon a hill. the setting sun was crimson with a curse and a portent, and scarce his angry ray lit up the land that lay below, whose lurid gloom appeared freaked with a moving mist, which, reeking up from dim tarns hateful with some horrid ban, took shapes forbidden and without a name. gigantic night-birds, rising from the reeds with cries discordant, startled all the air, and bodiless voices babbled in the gloom-- the ghosts of blasphemies long ages stilled, and shrieks of women, and men's curses. all these visible shapes, and sounds no mortal ear had ever heard, some spiritual sense interpreted, though brokenly; for i was haunted by a consciousness of crime, some giant guilt, but whose i knew not. all these things malign, by sight and sound revealed, were sin-begotten; that i knew--no more-- and that but dimly, as in dreadful dreams the sleepy senses babble to the brain imperfect witness. as i stood a voice, but whence it came i knew not, cried aloud some words to me in a forgotten tongue, yet straight i knew me for a ghost forlorn, returned from the illimited inane. again, but in a language that i knew, as in reply to something which in me had shaped itself a thought, but found no words, it spake from the dread mystery about: "immortal shadow of a mortal soul that perished with eternity, attend. what thou beholdest is as void as thou: the shadow of a poet's dream--himself as thou, his soul as thine, long dead, but not like thine outlasted by its shade. his dreams alone survive eternity as pictures in the unsubstantial void. excepting thee and me (and we because the poet wove us in his thought) remains of nature and the universe no part or vestige but the poet's dreams. this dread, unspeakable land about thy feet, with all its desolation and its terrors--lo! 't is but a phantom world. so long ago that god and all the angels since have died that poet lived--yourself long dead--his mind filled with the light of a prophetic fire, and standing by the western sea, above the youngest, fairest city in the world, named in another tongue than his for one ensainted, saw its populous domain plague-smitten with a nameless shame. for there red-handed murder rioted; and there the people gathered gold, nor cared to loose the assassin's fingers from the victim's throat, but said, each in his vile pursuit engrossed: 'am i my brother's keeper? let the law look to the matter.' but the law did not. and there, o pitiful! the babe was slain within its mother's breast and the same grave held babe and mother; and the people smiled, still gathering gold, and said: 'the law, the law,' then the great poet, touched upon the lips with a live coal from truth's high altar, raised his arms to heaven and sang a song of doom-- sang of the time to be, when god should lean indignant from the throne and lift his hand, and that foul city be no more!--a tale, a dream, a desolation and a curse! no vestige of its glory should survive in fact or memory: its people dead, its site forgotten, and its very name disputed." "was the prophecy fulfilled?" the sullen disc of the declining sun was crimson with a curse and a portent, and scarce his angry ray lit up the land that lay below, whose lurid gloom appeared freaked with a moving mist, which, reeking up from dim tarns hateful with a horrid ban, took shapes forbidden and without a name. gigantic night-birds, rising from the reeds with cries discordant, startled all the air, and bodiless voices babbled in the gloom. but not to me came any voice again; and, covering my face with thin, dead hands, i wept, and woke, and cried aloud to god! politics. that land full surely hastens to its end where public sycophants in homage bend the populace to flatter, and repeat the doubled echoes of its loud conceit. lowly their attitude but high their aim, they creep to eminence through paths of shame, till fixed securely in the seats of pow'r, the dupes they flattered they at last devour. poesy. successive bards pursue ambition's fire that shines, oblivion, above thy mire. the latest mounts his predecessor's trunk, and sinks his brother ere himself is sunk. so die ingloriously fame's _élite_, but dams of dunces keep the line complete. in defense. you may say, if you please, johnny bull, that our girls are crazy to marry your dukes and your earls; but i've heard that the maids of your own little isle greet bachelor lords with a favoring smile. nay, titles, 'tis said in defense of our fair, are popular here because popular there; and for them our ladies persistently go because 'tis exceedingly english, you know. whatever the motive, you'll have to confess the effort's attended with easy success; and--pardon the freedom--'tis thought, over here, 'tis mortification you mask with a sneer. it's all very well, sir, your scorn to parade of the high nasal twang of the yankee maid, but, ah, to my lord when he dares to propose no sound is so sweet as that "yes" from the nose. our ladies, we grant, walk alone in the street (observe, by-the-by, on what delicate feet!) 'tis a habit they got here at home, where they say the men from politeness go seldom astray. ah, well, if the dukes and the earls and that lot can stand it (god succor them if they cannot!) your commoners ought to assent, i am sure, and what they 're not called on to suffer, endure. "'tis nothing but money?" "your nobles are bought?" as to that, i submit, it is commonly thought that england's a country not specially free of croesi and (if you'll allow it) croesae. you've many a widow and many a girl with money to purchase a duke or an earl. 'tis a very remarkable thing, you'll agree, when goods import buyers from over the sea. alas for the woman of albion's isle! she may simper; as well as she can she may smile; she may wear pantalettes and an air of repose-- but my lord of the future will talk through his nose. an invocation. [read at the celebration of independence day in san francisco, in .] goddess of liberty! o thou whose tearless eyes behold the chain, and look unmoved upon the slain, eternal peace upon thy brow,-- before thy shrine the races press, thy perfect favor to implore-- the proudest tyrant asks no more, the ironed anarchist no less. thine altar-coals that touch the lips of prophets kindle, too, the brand by discord flung with wanton hand among the houses and the ships. upon thy tranquil front the star burns bleak and passionless and white, its cold inclemency of light more dreadful than the shadows are. thy name we do not here invoke our civic rites to sanctify: enthroned in thy remoter sky, thou heedest not our broken yoke. thou carest not for such as we: our millions die to serve the still and secret purpose of thy will. they perish--what is that to thee? the light that fills the patriot's tomb is not of thee. the shining crown compassionately offered down to those who falter in the gloom, and fall, and call upon thy name, and die desiring--'tis the sign of a diviner love than thine, rewarding with a richer fame. to him alone let freemen cry who hears alike the victor's shout, the song of faith, the moan of doubt, and bends him from his nearer sky. god of my country and my race! so greater than the gods of old-- so fairer than the prophets told who dimly saw and feared thy face,-- who didst but half reveal thy will and gracious ends to their desire, behind the dawn's advancing fire thy tender day-beam veiling still,-- to whom the unceasing suns belong, and cause is one with consequence,-- to whose divine, inclusive sense the moan is blended with the song,-- whose laws, imperfect and unjust, thy just and perfect purpose serve: the needle, howsoe'er it swerve, still warranting the sailor's trust,-- god, lift thy hand and make us free to crown the work thou hast designed. o, strike away the chains that bind our souls to one idolatry! the liberty thy love hath given we thank thee for. we thank thee for our great dead fathers' holy war wherein our manacles were riven. we thank thee for the stronger stroke ourselves delivered and incurred when--thine incitement half unheard-- the chains we riveted we broke. we thank thee that beyond the sea the people, growing ever wise, turn to the west their serious eyes and dumbly strive to be as we. as when the sun's returning flame upon the nileside statue shone, and struck from the enchanted stone the music of a mighty fame, let man salute the rising day of liberty, but not adore. 'tis opportunity--no more-- a useful, not a sacred, ray. it bringeth good, it bringeth ill, as he possessing shall elect. he maketh it of none effect who walketh not within thy will. give thou or more or less, as we shall serve the right or serve the wrong. confirm our freedom but so long as we are worthy to be free. but when (o, distant be the time!) majorities in passion draw insurgent swords to murder law, and all the land is red with crime; or--nearer menace!--when the band of feeble spirits cringe and plead to the gigantic strength of greed, and fawn upon his iron hand;-- nay, when the steps to state are worn in hollows by the feet of thieves, and mammon sits among the sheaves and chuckles while the reapers mourn; then stay thy miracle!--replace the broken throne, repair the chain, restore the interrupted reign and veil again thy patient face. lo! here upon the world's extreme we stand with lifted arms and dare by thine eternal name to swear our country, which so fair we deem-- upon whose hills, a bannered throng, the spirits of the sun display their flashing lances day by day and hear the sea's pacific song-- shall be so ruled in right and grace that men shall say: "o, drive afield the lawless eagle from the shield, and call an angel to the place!" religion. hassan bedreddin, clad in rags, ill-shod, sought the great temple of the living god. the worshippers arose and drove him forth, and one in power beat him with a rod. "allah," he cried, "thou seest what i got; thy servants bar me from the sacred spot." "be comforted," the holy one replied; "it is the only place where i am not." a morning fancy. i drifted (or i seemed to) in a boat upon the surface of a shoreless sea whereon no ship nor anything did float, save only the frail bark supporting me; and that--it was so shadowy--seemed to be almost from out the very vapors wrought of the great ocean underneath its keel; and all that blue profound appeared as naught but thicker sky, translucent to reveal, miles down, whatever through its spaces glided, or at the bottom traveled or abided. great cities there i saw--of rich and poor, the palace and the hovel; mountains, vales, forest and field, the desert and the moor, tombs of the good and wise who'd lived in jails, and seas of denser fluid, white with sails pushed at by currents moving here and there and sensible to sight above the flat of that opaquer deep. ah, strange and fair the nether world that i was gazing at with beating heart from that exalted level, and--lest i founder--trembling like the devil! the cities all were populous: men swarmed in public places--chattered, laughed and wept; and savages their shining bodies warmed at fires in primal woods. the wild beast leapt upon its prey and slew it as it slept. armies went forth to battle on the plain so far, far down in that unfathomed deep the living seemed as silent as the slain, nor even the widows could be heard to weep. one might have thought their shaking was but laughter; and, truly, most were married shortly after. above the wreckage of that silent fray strange fishes swam in circles, round and round-- black, double-finned; and once a little way a bubble rose and burst without a sound and a man tumbled out upon the ground. lord! 'twas an eerie thing to drift apace on that pellucid sea, beneath black skies and o'er the heads of an undrowning race; and when i woke i said--to her surprise who came with chocolate, for me to drink it: "the atmosphere is deeper than you think it." visions of sin. kraslajorsk, siberia, march . "my eyes are better, and i shall travel slowly toward home." danenhower. from the regions of the night, coming with recovered sight-- from the spell of darkness free, what will danenhower see? he will see when he arrives, doctors taking human lives. he will see a learned judge whose decision will not budge till both litigants are fleeced and his palm is duly greased. lawyers he will see who fight day by day and night by night; never both upon a side, though their fees they still divide. preachers he will see who teach that it is divine to preach-- that they fan a sacred fire and are worthy of their hire. he will see a trusted wife (pride of some good husband's life) enter at a certain door and--but he will see no more. he will see good templars reel-- see a prosecutor steal, and a father beat his child. he'll perhaps see oscar wilde. from the regions of the night coming with recovered sight-- from the bliss of blindness free, that's what danenhower'll see. . the town of dae. _swains and maidens, young and old, you to me this tale have told._ where the squalid town of dae irks the comfortable sea, spreading webs to gather fish, as for wealth we set a wish, dwelt a king by right divine, sprung from adam's royal line, town of dae by the sea, divers kinds of kings there be. name nor fame had picklepip: ne'er a soldier nor a ship bore his banners in the sun; naught knew he of kingly sport, and he held his royal court under an inverted tun. love and roses, ages through, bloom where cot and trellis stand; never yet these blossoms grew-- never yet was room for two-- in a cask upon the strand. so it happened, as it ought, that his simple schemes he wrought through the lagging summer's day in a solitary way. so it happened, as was best, that he took his nightly rest with no dreadful incubus this way eyed and that way tressed, featured thus, and thus, and thus, lying lead-like on a breast by cares of state enough oppressed. yet in dreams his fancies rude claimed a lordly latitude. town of dae by the sea, dreamers mate above their state and waken back to their degree. once to cask himself away he prepared at close of day. as he tugged with swelling throat at a most unkingly coat-- not to get it off, but on, for the serving sun was gone-- passed a silk-appareled sprite toward her castle on the height, seized and set the garment right. turned the startled picklepip-- splendid crimson cheek and lip! turned again to sneak away, but she bade the villain stay, bade him thank her, which he did with a speech that slipped and slid, sprawled and stumbled in its gait as a dancer tries to skate. town of dae by the sea, in the face of silk and lace rags too bold should never be. lady minnow cocked her head: "mister picklepip," she said, "do you ever think to wed?" town of dae by the sea, no fair lady ever made a wicked speech like that to me! wretched little picklepip said he hadn't any ship, any flocks at his command, nor to feed them any land; said he never in his life owned a mine to keep a wife. but the guilty stammer so that his meaning wouldn't flow; so he thought his aim to reach by some figurative speech: said his fate had been unkind had pursued him from behind (how the mischief could it else?) came upon him unaware, caught him by the collar--there gushed the little lady's glee like a gush of golden bells: "picklepip, why, that is _me_!" town of dae by the sea, grammar's for great scholars--she loved the summer and the lea. stupid little picklepip allowed the subtle hint to slip-- maundered on about the ship that he did not chance to own; told this grievance o'er and o'er, knowing that she knew before; told her how he dwelt alone. lady minnow, for reply, cut him off with "so do i!" but she reddened at the fib; servitors had she, _ad lib._ town of dae by the sea, in her youth who speaks no truth ne'er shall young and honest be. witless little picklepip manned again his mental ship and veered her with a sudden shift. painted to the lady's thought how he wrestled and he wrought stoutly with the swimming drift by the kindly river brought from the mountain to the sea, fuel for the town of dae. tedious tale for lady's ear: from her castle on the height, she had watched her water-knight through the seasons of a year, challenge more than met his view and conquer better than he knew. now she shook her pretty pate and stamped her foot--'t was growing late: "mister picklepip, when i drifting seaward pass you by; when the waves my forehead kiss and my tresses float above-- dead and drowned for lack of love-- you'll be sorry, sir, for this!" and the silly creature cried-- feared, perchance, the rising tide. town of dae by the sea, madam adam, when she had 'em, may have been as bad as she. _fiat lux!_ love's lumination fell in floods of revelation! blinded brain by world aglare, sense of pulses in the air, sense of swooning and the beating of a voice somewhere repeating something indistinctly heard! and the soul of picklepip sprang upon his trembling lip, but he spake no further word of the wealth he did not own; in that moment had outgrown ship and mine and flock and land-- even his cask upon the strand. dropped a stricken star to earth, type of wealth and worldly worth. clomb the moon into the sky, type of love's immensity! shaking silver seemed the sea, throne of god the town of dae! town of dae by the sea, from above there cometh love, blessing all good souls that be. an anarchist. false to his art and to the high command god laid upon him, markham's rebel hand beats all in vain the harp he touched before: it yields a jingle and it yields no more. no more the strings beneath his finger-tips sing harmonies divine. no more his lips, touched with a living coal from sacred fires, lead the sweet chorus of the golden wires. the voice is raucous and the phrases squeak; they labor, they complain, they sweat, they reek! the more the wayward, disobedient song errs from the right to celebrate the wrong, more diligently still the singer strums, to drown the horrid sound, with all his thumbs. gods, what a spectacle! the angels lean out of high heaven to view the sorry scene, and israfel, "whose heart-strings are a lute," though now compassion makes their music mute, among the weeping company appears, pearls in his eyes and cotton in his ears. an offer of marriage. once i "dipt into the future far as human eye could see," and saw--it was not sandow, nor john sullivan, but she-- the emancipated woman, who was weeping as she ran here and there for the discovery of expurgated man. but the sun of evolution ever rose and ever set, and that tardiest of mortals hadn't evoluted yet. hence the tears that she cascaded, hence the sighs that tore apart all the tendinous connections of her indurated heart. cried emancipated woman, as she wearied of the search: "in advancing i have left myself distinctly in the lurch! seeking still a worthy partner, from the land of brutes and dudes i have penetrated rashly into manless solitudes. now without a mate of any kind where am i?--that's to say, where shall i be to-morrow?--where exert my rightful sway and the purifying strength of my emancipated mind? can solitude be lifted up, vacuity refined? calling, calling from the shadows in the rear of my advance-- from the region of unprogress in the dark domain of chance-- long i heard the unevolvable beseeching my return to share the degradation he's reluctant to unlearn. but i fancy i detected--though i pray it wasn't that-- a low reverberation, like an echo in a hat. so i've held my way regardless, evoluting year by year, till i'm what you now behold me--or would if you were here-- a condensed emancipation and a purifier proud an independent entity appropriately loud! independent? yes, in spirit, but (o, woful, woful state!) doomed to premature extinction by privation of a mate-- to extinction or reversion, for unexpurgated man still awaits me in the backward if i sicken of the van. o the horrible dilemma!--to be odiously linked with an undeveloped species, or become a type extinct!" as emancipated woman wailed her sorrow to the air, stalking out of desolation came a being strange and rare-- plato's man!--bipedal, featherless from mandible to rump, its wings two quilless flippers and its tail a plumeless stump. first it scratched and then it clucked, as if in hospitable terms it invited her to banquet on imaginary worms. then it strutted up before her with a lifting of the head, and in accents of affection and of sympathy it said: "my estate is some 'at 'umble, but i'm qualified to draw near the hymeneal altar and whack up my heart and claw to emancipated anything as walks upon the earth; and them things is at your service for whatever they are worth. i'm sure to be congenial, marm, nor e'er deserve a scowl-- i'm emancipated rooster, i am expurgated fowl!" from the future and its wonders i withdrew my gaze, and then wrote this wild unfestive prophecy about the coming hen. arma virumque. "ours is a christian army"; so he said a regiment of bangomen who led. "and ours a christian navy," added he who sailed a thunder-junk upon the sea. better they know than men unwarlike do what is an army and a navy, too. pray god there may be sent them by-and-by the knowledge what a christian is, and why. for somewhat lamely the conception runs of a brass-buttoned jesus firing guns. on a proposed crematory. when a fair bridge is builded o'er the gulf between two cities, some ambitious fool, hot for distinction, pleads for earliest leave to push his clumsy feet upon the span, that men in after years may single him, saying: "behold the fool who first went o'er!" so be it when, as now the promise is, next summer sees the edifice complete which some do name a crematorium, within the vantage of whose greater maw's quicker digestion we shall cheat the worm and circumvent the handed mole who loves, with tunnel, adit, drift and roomy stope, to mine our mortal parts in all their dips and spurs and angles. let the fool stand forth to link his name with this fair enterprise, as first decarcassed by the flame. and if with rival greedings for the fiery fame they push in clamoring multitudes, or if with unaccustomed modesty they all hold off, being something loth to qualify, let me select the fittest for the rite. by heaven! i'll make so warrantable, wise and excellent censure of their true deserts, and such a searching canvass of their claims, that none shall bait the ballot. i'll spread my choice upon the main and general of those who, moved of holy impulse, pulpit-born, protested 'twere a sacrilege to burn god's gracious images, designed to rot, and bellowed for the right of way for each distempered carrion through the water pipes. with such a sturdy, boisterous exclaim they did discharge themselves from their own throats against the splintered gates of audience 'twere wholesomer to take them in at mouth than ear. these shall burn first: their ignible and seasoned substances--trunks, legs and arms, blent indistinguishable in a mass, like winter-woven serpents in a pit-- none vantaged of his fellow-fools in point of precedence, and all alive--shall serve as fueling to fervor the retort for after cineration of true men. a demand. you promised to paint me a picture, dear mat, and i was to pay you in rhyme. although i am loth to inflict your most easy of consciences, i'm of opinion that fibbing is awful, and breaking a contract unlawful, indictable, too, as a crime, a slight and all that. if, lady unbountiful, any of that by mortals called pity has part in your obdurate soul--if a penny you care for the health of my heart, by performing your undertaking you'll succor that organ from breaking-- and spare it for some new smart, as puss does a rat. do you think it is very becoming, dear mat, to deny me my rights evermore and--bless you! if i begin summing your sins they will make a long score! you never were generous, madam, if you had been eve and i adam you'd have given me naught but the core, and little of that. had i been content with a titian, a cat by landseer, a meadow by claude, no doubt i'd have had your permission to take it--by purchase abroad. but why should i sail o'er the ocean for landseers and claudes? i've a notion all's bad that the critics belaud. i wanted a mat. presumption's a sin, and i suffer for that: but still you _did_ say that sometime, if i'd pay you enough (here's enougher-- that's more than enough) of rhyme you'd paint me a picture. i pay you hereby in advance; and i pray you condone, while you can, your crime, and send me a mat. but if you don't do it i warn you, dear mat, i'll raise such a clamor and cry on parnassus the muses will scorn you as mocker of poets and fly with bitter complaints to apollo: "her spirit is proud, her heart hollow, her beauty"--they'll hardly deny, on second thought, _that_! the weather wight. the way was long, the hill was steep, my footing scarcely i could keep. the night enshrouded me in gloom, i heard the ocean's distant boom-- the trampling of the surges vast was borne upon the rising blast. "god help the mariner," i cried, "whose ship to-morrow braves the tide!" then from the impenetrable dark a solemn voice made this remark: "for this locality--warm, bright; barometer unchanged; breeze light." "unseen consoler-man," i cried, "whoe'er you are, where'er abide, "thanks--but my care is somewhat less for jack's, than for my own, distress. "could i but find a friendly roof, small odds what weather were aloof. "for he whose comfort is secure another's woes can well endure." "the latch-string's out," the voice replied, "and so's the door--jes' step inside." then through the darkness i discerned a hovel, into which i turned. groping about beneath its thatch, i struck my head and then a match. a candle by that gleam betrayed soon lent paraffinaceous aid. a pallid, bald and thin old man i saw, who this complaint began: "through summer suns and winter snows i sets observin' of my toes. "i rambles with increasin' pain the path of duty, but in vain. "rewards and honors pass me by-- no congress hears this raven cry!" filled with astonishment, i spoke: "thou ancient raven, why this croak? "with observation of your toes what congress has to do, heaven knows! "and swallow me if e'er i knew that one could sit and ramble too!" to answer me that ancient swain took up his parable again: "through winter snows and summer suns a weather bureau here i runs. "i calls the turn, and can declare jes' when she'll storm and when she'll fair. "three times a day i sings out clear the probs to all which wants to hear. "some weather stations run with light frivolity is seldom right. "a scientist from times remote, in scienceville my birth is wrote. "and when i h'ist the 'rainy' sign jes' take your clo'es in off the line." "not mine, o marvelous old man, the methods of your art to scan, "yet here no instruments there be-- nor 'ometer nor 'scope i see. "did you (if questions you permit) at the asylum leave your kit?" that strange old man with motion rude grew to surprising altitude. "tools (and sarcazzems too) i scorns-- i tells the weather by my corns. "no doors and windows here you see-- the wind and m'isture enters free. "no fires nor lights, no wool nor fur here falsifies the tempercher. "my corns unleathered i expose to feel the rain's foretellin' throes. "no stockin' from their ears keeps out the comin' tempest's warnin' shout. "sich delicacy some has got they know next summer's to be hot. "this here one says (for that he's best): 'storm center passin' to the west.' "this feller's vitals is transfixed with frost for janawary sixt'. "one chap jes' now is occy'pied in fig'rin on next fridy's tide. "i've shaved this cuss so thin and true he'll spot a fog in south peru. "sech are my tools, which ne'er a swell observatory can excel. "by long a-studyin' their throbs i catches onto all the probs." much more, no doubt, he would have said, but suddenly he turned and fled; for in mine eye's indignant green lay storms that he had not foreseen, till all at once, with silent squeals, his toes "caught on" and told his heels. t.a.h. yes, he was that, or that, as you prefer-- did so and so, though, faith, it wasn't all; lived like a fool, or a philosopher. and had whatever's needful for a fall. as rough inflections on a planet merge in the true bend of the gigantic sphere, nor mar the perfect circle of its verge, so in the survey of his worth the small asperities of spirit disappear, lost in the grander curves of character. he lately was hit hard: none knew but i the strength and terror of that ghastly stroke-- not even herself. he uttered not a cry, but set his teeth and made a revelry; drank like a devil--staining sometimes red the goblet's edge; diced with his conscience; spread, like sisyphus, a feast for death, and spoke his welcome in a tongue so long forgot that even his ancient guest remembered not what race had cursed him in it. thus my friend still conjugating with each failing sense the verb "to die" in every mood and tense, pursued his awful humor to the end. when like a stormy dawn the crimson broke from his white lips he smiled and mutely bled, and, having meanly lived, is grandly dead. my monument. it is pleasant to think, as i'm watching my ink a-drying along my paper, that a monument fine will surely be mine when death has extinguished my taper. from each rhyming scribe of the journalist tribe purged clean of all sentiments narrow, a pebble will mark his respect for the stark stiff body that's under the barrow. by fellow-bards thrown, thus stone upon stone will make my celebrity deathless. o, i wish i could think, as i gaze at my ink, they'd wait till my carcass is breathless. mad. o ye who push and fight to hear a wanton sing-- who utter the delight that has the bogus ring,-- o men mature in years, in understanding young, the membranes of whose ears she tickles with her tongue,-- o wives and daughters sweet, who call it love of art to kiss a woman's feet that crush a woman's heart,-- o prudent dams and sires, your docile young who bring to see how man admires a sinner if she sing,-- o husbands who impart to each assenting spouse the lesson that shall start the buds upon your brows,-- all whose applauding hands assist to rear the fame that throws o'er all the lands the shadow of its shame,-- go drag her car!--the mud through which its axle rolls is partly human blood and partly human souls. mad, mad!--your senses whirl like devils dancing free, because a strolling girl can hold the note high c. for this the avenging rod of heaven ye dare defy, and tear the law that god thundered from sinai! hospitality. why ask me, gastrogogue, to dine (unless to praise your rascal wine) yet never ask some luckless sinner who needs, as i do not, a dinner? for a certain critic. let lowly themes engage my humble pen-- stupidities of critics, not of men. be it mine once more the maunderings to trace of the expounders' self-directed race-- their wire-drawn fancies, finically fine, of diligent vacuity the sign. let them in jargon of their trade rehearse the moral meaning of the random verse that runs spontaneous from the poet's pen to be half-blotted by ambitious men who hope with his their meaner names to link by writing o'er it in another ink the thoughts unreal which they think they think, until the mental eye in vain inspects the hateful palimpsest to find the text. the lark ascending heavenward, loud and long sings to the dawning day his wanton song. the moaning dove, attentive to the sound, its hidden meaning hastens to expound: explains its principles, design--in brief, pronounces it a parable of grief! the bee, just pausing ere he daubs his thigh with pollen from a hollyhock near by, declares he never heard in terms so just the labor problem thoughtfully discussed! the browsing ass looks up and clears his whistle to say: "a monologue upon the thistle!" meanwhile the lark, descending, folds his wing and innocently asks: "what!--did i sing?" o literary parasites! who thrive upon the fame of better men, derive your sustenance by suction, like a leech, and, for you preach of them, think masters preach,-- who find it half is profit, half delight, to write about what you could never write,-- consider, pray, how sharp had been the throes of famine and discomfiture in those you write of if they had been critics, too, and doomed to write of nothing but of you! lo! where the gaping crowd throngs yonder tent, to see the lion resolutely bent! the prosing showman who the beast displays grows rich and richer daily in its praise. but how if, to attract the curious yeoman, the lion owned the show and showed the showman? religious progress. every religion is important. when men rise above existing conditions a new religion comes in, and it is better than the old one.--_professor howison_. professor dear, i think it queer that all these good religions ('twixt you and me, some two or three are schemes for plucking pigeons)-- i mean 'tis strange that every change our poor minds to unfetter entails a new religion--true as t' other one, and better. from each in turn the truth we learn, that wood or flesh or spirit may justly boast it rules the roast until we cease to fear it. nay, once upon a time long gone man worshipped cat and lizard: his god he'd find in any kind of beast, from a to izzard. when risen above his early love of dirt and blood and slumber, he pulled down these vain deities, and made one out of lumber. "far better that than even a cat," the howisons all shouted; "when god is wood religion's good!" but one poor cynic doubted. "a timber god--that's very odd!" said progress, and invented the simple plan to worship man, who, kindly soul! consented. but soon our eye we lift asky, our vows all unregarded, and find (at least so says the priest) the truth--and man's discarded. along our line of march recline dead gods devoid of feeling; and thick about each sun-cracked lout dried howisons are kneeling. magnanimity. "to the will of the people we loyally bow!" that's the minority shibboleth now. o noble antagonists, answer me flat-- what would you do if you didn't do that? to her. o, sinner a, to me unknown be such a conscience as your own! to ease it you to sinner b confess the sins of sinner c. to a summer poet. yes, the summer girl is flirting on the beach, with a him. and the damboy is a-climbing for the peach, on the limb; yes, the bullfrog is a-croaking and the dudelet is a-smoking cigarettes; and the hackman is a-hacking and the showman is a-cracking up his pets; yes, the jersey 'skeeter flits along the shore and the snapdog--we have heard it o'er and o'er; yes, my poet, well we know it-- know the spooners how they spoon in the bright dollar light of the country tavern moon; yes, the caterpillars fall from the trees (we know it all), and with beetles all the shelves are alive. please unbuttonhole us--o, have the grace to let us go, for we know how you summer poets thrive, by the recapitulation and insistent iteration of the wondrous doings incident to life among ourselves! so, i pray you stop the fervor and the fuss. for you, poor human linnet, there's a half a living in it, but there's not a copper cent in it for us! arthur mcewen. posterity with all its eyes will come and view him where he lies. then, turning from the scene away with a concerted shrug, will say: "h'm, scarabaeus sisyphus-- what interest has that to us? we can't admire at all, at all, a tumble-bug without its ball." and then a sage will rise and say: "good friends, you err--turn back, i pray: this freak that you unwisely shun is bug and ball rolled into one." charles and peter. ere gabriel's note to silence died all graves of men were gaping wide. then charles a. dana, of "the sun," rose slowly from the deepest one. "the dead in christ rise first, 't is writ," quoth he--"ick, bick, ban, doe,--i'm it!" (his headstone, footstone, counted slow, were "ick" and "bick," he "ban" and "doe": of beating nick the subtle art was part of his immortal part.) then straight to heaven he took his flight, arriving at the gates of light. there warden peter, in the throes of sleep, lay roaring in the nose. "get up, you sluggard!" dana cried-- "i've an engagement there inside." the saint arose and scratched his head. "i recollect your face," he said. "(and, pardon me, 't is rather hard), but----" dana handed him a card. "ah, yes, i now remember--bless my soul, how dull i am i--yes, yes, "we've nothing better here than bliss. walk in. but i must tell you this: "we've rest and comfort, though, and peace." "h'm--puddles," dana said, "for geese. "have you in heaven no hell?" "why, no," said peter, "nor, in truth, below. "'t is not included in our scheme-- 't is but a preacher's idle dream." the great man slowly moved away. "i'll call," he said, "another day. "on earth i played it, o'er and o'er, and heaven without it were a bore." "o, stuff!--come in. you'll make," said pete, "a hell where'er you set your feet." . contemplation. i muse upon the distant town in many a dreamy mood. above my head the sunbeams crown the graveyard's giant rood. the lupin blooms among the tombs. the quail recalls her brood. ah, good it is to sit and trace the shadow of the cross; it moves so still from place to place o'er marble, bronze and moss; with graves to mark upon its arc our time's eternal loss. and sweet it is to watch the bee that reve's in the rose, and sense the fragrance floating free on every breeze that blows o'er many a mound, where, safe and sound, mine enemies repose. creation. god dreamed--the suns sprang flaming into place, and sailing worlds with many a venturous race! he woke--his smile alone illumined space. business. two villains of the highest rank set out one night to rob a bank. they found the building, looked it o'er, each window noted, tried each door, scanned carefully the lidded hole for minstrels to cascade the coal-- in short, examined five-and-twenty good paths from poverty to plenty. but all were sealed, they saw full soon, against the minions of the moon. "enough," said one: "i'm satisfied." the other, smiling fair and wide, said: "i'm as highly pleased as you: no burglar ever can get through. fate surely prospers our design-- the booty all is yours and mine." so, full of hope, the following day to the exchange they took their way and bought, with manner free and frank, some stock of that devoted bank; and they became, inside the year, one president and one cashier. their crime i can no further trace-- the means of safety to embrace, i overdrew and left the place. a possibility. if the wicked gods were willing (pray it never may be true!) that a universal chilling should ensue of the sentiment of loving,-- if they made a great undoing of the plan of turtle-doving, then farewell all poet-lore, evermore. if there were no more of billing there would be no more of cooing and we all should be but owls-- lonely fowls blinking wonderfully wise, with our great round eyes-- sitting singly in the gloaming and no longer two and two, as unwilling to be wedded as unpracticed how to woo; with regard to being mated, asking still with aggravated ungrammatical acerbity: "to who? to who?" to a censor. "the delay granted by the weakness and good nature of our judges is responsible for half the murders."--_daily newspaper_. delay responsible? why, then; my friend, impeach delay and you will make an end. thrust vile delay in jail and let it rot for doing all the things that it should not. put not good-natured judges under bond, but make delay in damages respond. minos, aeacus, rhadamanthus, rolled into one pitiless, unsmiling scold-- unsparing censor, be your thongs uncurled to "lash the rascals naked through the world." the rascals? nay, rascality's the thing above whose back your knotted scourges sing. _your_ satire, truly, like a razor keen, "wounds with a touch that's neither felt nor seen;" for naught that you assail with falchion free has either nerves to feel or eyes to see. against abstractions evermore you charge you hack no helmet and you need no targe. that wickedness is wrong and sin a vice, that wrong's not right and foulness never nice, fearless affirm. all consequences dare: smite the offense and the offender spare. when ananias and sapphira lied falsehood, had you been there, had surely died. when money-changers in the temple sat, at money-changing you'd have whirled the "cat" (that john-the-baptist of the modern pen) and all the brokers would have cried amen! good friend, if any judge deserve your blame have you no courage, or has he no name? upon his method will you wreak your wrath, himself all unmolested in his path? fall to! fall to!--your club no longer draw to beat the air or flail a man of straw. scorn to do justice like the saxon thrall who cuffed the offender's shadow on a wall. let rascals in the flesh attest your zeal-- knocked on the mazzard or tripped up at heel! we know that judges are corrupt. we know that crimes are lively and that laws are slow. we know that lawyers lie and doctors slay; that priests and preachers are but birds of pray; that merchants cheat and journalists for gold flatter the vicious while at vice they scold. 'tis all familiar as the simple lore that two policemen and two thieves make four. but since, while some are wicked, some are good, (as trees may differ though they all are wood) names, here and there, to show whose head is hit, the bad would sentence and the good acquit. in sparing everybody none you spare: rebukes most personal are least unfair. to fire at random if you still prefer, and swear at dog but never kick a cur, permit me yet one ultimate appeal to something that you understand and feel: let thrift and vanity your heart persuade-- you might be read if you would learn your trade. good brother cynics (you have doubtless guessed not one of you but all are here addressed) remember this: the shaft that seeks a heart draws all eyes after it; an idle dart shot at some shadow flutters o'er the green, its flight unheeded and its fall unseen. the hesitating veteran. when i was young and full of faith and other fads that youngsters cherish a cry rose as of one that saith with unction: "help me or i perish!" 'twas heard in all the land, and men the sound were each to each repeating. it made my heart beat faster then than any heart can now be beating. for the world is old and the world is gray-- grown prudent and, i guess, more witty. she's cut her wisdom teeth, they say, and doesn't now go in for pity. besides, the melancholy cry was that of one, 'tis now conceded, whose plight no one beneath the sky felt half so poignantly as he did. moreover, he was black. and yet that sentimental generation with an austere compassion set its face and faith to the occasion. then there were hate and strife to spare, and various hard knocks a-plenty; and i ('twas more than my true share, i must confess) took five-and-twenty. that all is over now--the reign of love and trade stills all dissensions, and the clear heavens arch again above a land of peace and pensions. the black chap--at the last we gave him everything that he had cried for, though many white chaps in the grave 'twould puzzle to say what they died for. i hope he's better off--i trust that his society and his master's are worth the price we paid, and must continue paying, in disasters; but sometimes doubts press thronging round ('tis mostly when my hurts are aching) if war for union was a sound and profitable undertaking. 'tis said they mean to take away the negro's vote for he's unlettered. 'tis true he sits in darkness day and night, as formerly, when fettered; but pray observe--howe'er he vote to whatsoever party turning, he'll be with gentlemen of note and wealth and consequence and learning. with hales and morgans on each side, how could a fool through lack of knowledge, vote wrong? if learning is no guide why ought one to have been in college? o son of day, o son of night! what are your preferences made of? i know not which of you is right, nor which to be the more afraid of. the world is old and the world is bad, and creaks and grinds upon its axis; and man's an ape and the gods are mad!-- there's nothing sure, not even our taxes. no mortal man can truth restore, or say where she is to be sought for. i know what uniform i wore-- o, that i knew which side i fought for! a year's casualties. slain as they lay by the secret, slow, pitiless hand of an unseen foe, two score thousand old soldiers have crossed the river to join the loved and lost. in the space of a year their spirits fled, silent and white, to the camp of the dead. one after one, they fall asleep and the pension agents awake to weep, and orphaned statesmen are loud in their wail as the souls flit by on the evening gale. o father of battles, pray give us release from the horrors of peace, the horrors of peace! inspiration. o hoary sculptor, stay thy hand: i fain would view the lettered stone. what carvest thou?--perchance some grand and solemn fancy all thine own. for oft to know the fitting word some humble worker god permits. "jain ann meginnis, agid rd. he givith his beluved fits." to-day. i saw a man who knelt in prayer, and heard him say: "i'll lay my inmost spirit bare to-day. "lord, for to-morrow and its need i do not pray; let me upon my neighbor feed to-day. "let me my duty duly shirk and run away from any form or phase of work to-day. "from thy commands exempted still let me obey the promptings of my private will to-day. "let me no word profane, no lie unthinking say if anyone is standing by to-day. "my secret sins and vices grave let none betray; the scoffer's jeers i do not crave to-day. "and if to-day my fortune all should ebb away, help me on other men's to fall to-day. "so, for to-morrow and its mite i do not pray; just give me everything in sight to-day." i cried: "amen!" he rose and ran like oil away. i said: "i've seen an honest man to-day." an alibi. a famous journalist, who long had told the great unheaded throng whate'er they thought, by day or night. was true as holy writ, and right, was caught in--well, on second thought, it is enough that he was caught, and being thrown in jail became the fuel of a public flame. "_vox populi vox dei_," said the jailer. inxling bent his head without remark: that motto good in bold-faced type had always stood above the columns where his pen had rioted in praise of men and all they said--provided he was sure they mostly did agree. meanwhile a sharp and bitter strife to take, or save, the culprit's life or liberty (which, i suppose, was much the same to him) arose outside. the journal that his pen adorned denounced his crime--but then its editor in secret tried to have the indictment set aside. the opposition papers swore his father was a rogue before, and all his wife's relations were like him and similar to her. they begged their readers to subscribe a dollar each to make a bribe that any judge would feel was large enough to prove the gravest charge-- unless, it might be, the defense put up superior evidence. the law's traditional delay was all too short: the trial day dawned red and menacing. the judge sat on the bench and wouldn't budge, and all the motions counsel made could not move _him_--and there he stayed. "the case must now proceed," he said, "while i am just in heart and head, it happens--as, indeed, it ought-- both sides with equal sums have bought my favor: i can try the cause impartially." (prolonged applause.) the prisoner was now arraigned and said that he was greatly pained to be suspected--_he_, whose pen had charged so many other men with crimes and misdemeanors! "why," he said, a tear in either eye, "if men who live by crying out 'stop thief!' are not themselves from doubt of their integrity exempt, let all forego the vain attempt to make a reputation! sir, i'm innocent, and i demur." whereat a thousand voices cried amain he manifestly lied-- _vox populi_ as loudly roared as bull by _picadores_ gored, in his own coin receiving pay to make a spanish holiday. the jury--twelve good men and true-- were then sworn in to see it through, and each made solemn oath that he as any babe unborn was free from prejudice, opinion, thought, respectability, brains--aught that could disqualify; and some explained that they were deaf and dumb. a better twelve, his honor said, was rare, except among the dead. the witnesses were called and sworn. the tales they told made angels mourn, and the good book they'd kissed became red with the consciousness of shame. whenever one of them approached the truth, "that witness wasn't coached, your honor!" cried the lawyers both. "strike out his testimony," quoth the learned judge: "this court denies its ear to stories which surprise. i hold that witnesses exempt from coaching all are in contempt." both prosecution and defense applauded the judicial sense, and the spectators all averred such wisdom they had never heard: 'twas plain the prisoner would be found guilty in the first degree. meanwhile that wight's pale cheek confessed the nameless terrors in his breast. he felt remorseful, too, because he wasn't half they said he was. "if i'd been such a rogue," he mused on opportunities unused, "i might have easily become as wealthy as methusalum." this journalist adorned, alas, the middle, not the bible, class. with equal skill the lawyers' pleas attested their divided fees. each gave the other one the lie, then helped him frame a sharp reply. good lord! it was a bitter fight, and lasted all the day and night. when once or oftener the roar had silenced the judicial snore the speaker suffered for the sport by fining for contempt of court. twelve jurors' noses good and true unceasing sang the trial through, and even _vox populi_ was spent in rattles through a nasal vent. clerk, bailiff, constables and all heard morpheus sound the trumpet call to arms--his arms--and all fell in save counsel for the man of sin. that thaumaturgist stood and swayed the wand their faculties obeyed-- that magic wand which, like a flame. leapt, wavered, quivered and became a wonder-worker--known among the ignoble vulgar as a tongue. how long, o lord, how long my verse runs on for better or for worse in meter which o'ermasters me, octosyllabically free!-- a meter which, the poets say, no power of restraint can stay;-- a hard-mouthed meter, suited well to him who, having naught to tell, must hold attention as a trout is held, by paying out and out the slender line which else would break should one attempt the fish to take. thus tavern guides who've naught to show but some adjacent curio by devious trails their patrons lead and make them think 't is far indeed. where was i? while the lawyer talked the rogue took up his feet and walked: while all about him, roaring, slept, into the street he calmly stepped. in very truth, the man who thought the people's voice from heaven had caught god's inspiration took a change of venue--it was passing strange! straight to his editor he went and that ingenious person sent a negro to impersonate the fugitive. in adequate disguise he took his vacant place and buried in his arms his face. when all was done the lawyer stopped and silence like a bombshell dropped upon the court: judge, jury, all within that venerable hall (except the deaf and dumb, indeed, and one or two whom death had freed) awoke and tried to look as though slumber was all they did not know. and now that tireless lawyer-man took breath, and then again began: "your honor, if you did attend to what i've urged (my learned friend nodded concurrence) to support the motion i have made, this court may soon adjourn. with your assent i've shown abundant precedent for introducing now, though late, new evidence to exculpate my client. so, if you'll allow, i'll prove an _alibi_!" "what?--how?" stammered the judge. "well, yes, i can't deny your showing, and i grant the motion. do i understand you undertake to prove--good land!-- that when the crime--you mean to show your client wasn't _there_?" "o, no, i cannot quite do that, i find: my _alibi's_ another kind of _alibi_,--i'll make it clear, your honor, that he isn't _here_." the darky here upreared his head, tranquillity affrighted fled and consternation reigned instead! rebuke. when admonition's hand essays our greed to curse, its lifted finger oft displays our missing purse. j.f.b. how well this man unfolded to our view the world's beliefs of death and heaven and hell-- this man whose own convictions none could tell, nor if his maze of reason had a clew. dogmas he wrote for daily bread, but knew the fair philosophies of doubt so well that while we listened to his words there fell some that were strangely comforting, though true. marking how wise we grew upon his doubt, we said: "if so, by groping in the night, he can proclaim some certain paths of trust, how great our profit if he saw about his feet the highways leading to the light." now he sees all. ah, christ! his mouth is dust! the dying statesman. it is a politician man-- he draweth near his end, and friends weep round that partisan, of every man the friend. between the known and the unknown he lieth on the strand; the light upon the sea is thrown that lay upon the land. it shineth in his glazing eye, it burneth on his face; god send that when we come to die we know that sign of grace! upon his lips his blessed sprite poiseth her joyous wing. "how is it with thee, child of light? dost hear the angels sing?" "the song i hear, the crown i see, and know that god is love. farewell, dark world--i go to be a postmaster above!" for him no monumental arch, but, o, 'tis good and brave to see the grand old party march to office o'er his grave! the death of grant. father! whose hard and cruel law is part of thy compassion's plan, thy works presumptuously we scan for what the prophets say they saw. unbidden still the awful slope walling us in we climb to gain assurance of the shining plain that faith has certified to hope. in vain!--beyond the circling hill the shadow and the cloud abide. subdue the doubt, our spirits guide to trust the record and be still. to trust it loyally as he who, heedful of his high design, ne'er raised a seeking eye to thine, but wrought thy will unconsciously, disputing not of chance or fate, nor questioning of cause or creed; for anything but duty's deed too simply wise, too humbly great. the cannon syllabled his name; his shadow shifted o'er the land, portentous, as at his command successive cities sprang to flame! he fringed the continent with fire, the rivers ran in lines of light! thy will be done on earth--if right or wrong he cared not to inquire. his was the heavy hand, and his the service of the despot blade; his the soft answer that allayed war's giant animosities. let us have peace: our clouded eyes, fill, father, with another light, that we may see with clearer sight thy servant's soul in paradise. the fountain refilled. of hans pietro shanahan (who was a most ingenious man) the muse of history records that he'd get drunk as twenty lords. he'd get so truly drunk that men stood by to marvel at him when his slow advance along the street was but a vain cycloidal feat. and when 'twas fated that he fall with a wide geographical sprawl, they signified assent by sounds heard (faintly) at its utmost bounds. and yet this mr. shanahan (who was a most ingenious man) cast not on wine his thirsty eyes when it was red or otherwise. all malt, or spirituous, tope he loathed as cats dissent from soap; and cider, if it touched his lip, evoked a groan at every sip. but still, as heretofore explained, he not infrequently was grained. (i'm not of those who call it "corned." coarse speech i've always duly scorned.) though truth to say, and that's but right, strong drink (it hath an adder's bite!) was what had put him in the mud, the only kind he used was blood! alas, that an immortal soul addicted to the flowing bowl, the emptied flagon should again replenish from a neighbor's vein. but, mr. shanahan was so constructed, and his taste that low. nor more deplorable was he in kind of thirst than in degree; for sometimes fifty souls would pay the debt of nature in a day to free him from the shame and pain of dread sobriety's misreign. his native land, proud of its sense of his unique inabstinence, abated something of its pride at thought of his unfilled inside. and some the boldness had to say 'twere well if he were called away to slake his thirst forevermore in oceans of celestial gore. but hans pietro shanahan (who was a most ingenious man) knew that his thirst was mortal; so remained unsainted here below-- unsainted and unsaintly, for he neither went to glory nor to abdicate his power deigned where, under providence, he reigned, but kept his boss's power accurst to serve his wild uncommon thirst. which now had grown so truly great it was a drain upon the state. soon, soon there came a time, alas! when he turned down an empty glass-- all practicable means were vain his special wassail to obtain. in vain poor decimation tried to furnish forth the needful tide; and civil war as vainly shed her niggard offering of red. poor shanahan! his thirst increased until he wished himself deceased, invoked the firearm and the knife, but could not die to save his life! he was so dry his own veins made no answer to the seeking blade; so parched that when he would have passed away he could not breathe his last. 'twas then, when almost in despair, (unlaced his shoon, unkempt his hair) he saw as in a dream a way to wet afresh his mortal clay. yes, hans pietro shanahan (who was a most ingenious man) saw freedom, and with joy and pride "thalassa! (or thalatta!)" cried. straight to the aldermen went he, with many a "pull" and many a fee, and many a most corrupt "combine" (the press for twenty cents a line held out and fought him--o, god, bless forevermore the holy press!) till he had franchises complete for trolley lines on every street! the cars were builded and, they say, were run on rails laid every way-- rhomboidal roads, and circular, and oval--everywhere a car-- square, dodecagonal (in great esteem the shape called figure ) and many other kinds of shapes as various as tails of apes. no other group of men's abodes e'er had such odd electric roads, that winding in and winding out, began and ended all about. no city had, unless in mars, that city's wealth of trolley cars. they ran by day, they flew by night, and o, the sorry, sorry sight! and hans pietro shanahan (who was a most ingenious man) incessantly, the muse records, lay drunk as twenty thousand lords! laus lucis. theosophists are about to build a "temple for the revival of the mysteries of antiquity."--_vide the newspapers, passim_. each to his taste: some men prefer to play at mystery, as others at piquet. some sit in mystic meditation; some parade the street with tambourine and drum. one studies to decipher ancient lore which, proving stuff, he studies all the more; another swears that learning is but good to darken things already understood, then writes upon simplicity so well that none agree on what he wants to tell, and future ages will declare his pen inspired by gods with messages to men. to found an ancient order those devote their time--with ritual, regalia, goat, blankets for tossing, chairs of little ease and all the modern inconveniences; these, saner, frown upon unmeaning rites and go to church for rational delights. so all are suited, shallow and profound, the prophets prosper and the world goes round. for me--unread in the occult, i'm fain to damn all mysteries alike as vain, spurn the obscure and base my faith upon the revelations of the good st. john. . nanine. we heard a song-bird trilling-- 't was but a night ago. such rapture he was rilling as only we could know. this morning he is flinging his music from the tree, but something in the singing is not the same to me. his inspiration fails him, or he has lost his skill. nanine, nanine, what ails him that he should sing so ill? nanine is not replying-- she hears no earthly song. the sun and bird are lying and the night is, o, so long! technology. 'twas a serious person with locks of gray and a figure like a crescent; his gravity, clearly, had come to stay, but his smile was evanescent. he stood and conversed with a neighbor, and with (likewise) a high falsetto; and he stabbed his forefinger into his hand as if it had been a stiletto. his words, like the notes of a tenor drum, came out of his head unblended, and the wonderful altitude of some was exceptionally splendid. while executing a shake of the head, with the hand, as it were, of a master, this agonizing old gentleman said: "'twas a truly sad disaster! "four hundred and ten longs and shorts in all, went down"--he paused and snuffled. a single tear was observed to fall, and the old man's drum was muffled. "a very calamitous year," he said. and again his head-piece hoary he shook, and another pearl he shed, as if he wept _con amore._ "o lacrymose person," i cried, "pray why should these failures so affect you? with speculators in stocks no eye that's normal would ever connect you." he focused his orbs upon mine and smiled in a sinister sort of manner. "young man," he said, "your words are wild: i spoke of the steamship 'hanner.' "for she has went down in a howlin' squall, and my heart is nigh to breakin'-- four hundred and ten longs and shorts in all will never need undertakin'! "i'm in the business myself," said he, "and you've mistook my expression; for i uses the technical terms, you see, employed in my perfession." that old undertaker has joined the throng on the other side of the river, but i'm still unhappy to think i'm a "long," and a tape-line makes me shiver. a reply to a letter. o nonsense, parson--tell me not they thrive and jubilate who follow your dictation. the good are the unhappiest lot alive-- i know they are from careful observation. if freedom from the terrors of damnation lengthens the visage like a telescope, and lacrymation is a sign of hope, then i'll continue, in my dreadful plight, to tread the dusky paths of sin, and grope contentedly without your lantern's light; and though in many a bog beslubbered quite, refuse to flay me with ecclesiastic soap. you say 'tis a sad world, seeing i'm condemned, with many a million others of my kidney. each continent's hammed, japheted and shemmed with sinners--worldlings like sir philip sidney and scoffers like voltaire, who thought it bliss to simulate respect for genesis-- who bent the mental knee as if in prayer, but mocked at moses underneath his hair, and like an angry gander bowed his head to hiss. seeing such as these, who die without contrition, must go to--beg your pardon, sir--perdition, the sons of light, you tell me, can't be gay, but count it sin of the sort called omission the groan to smother or the tear to stay or fail to--what is that they live by?--pray. so down they flop, and the whole serious race is put by divine compassion on a praying basis. well, if you take it so to heart, while yet our own hearts are so light with nature's leaven, you'll weep indeed when we in hades sweat, and you look down upon us out of heaven. in fancy, lo! i see your wailing shades thronging the crystal battlements. cascades of tears spring singing from each golden spout, run roaring from the verge with hoarser sound, dash downward through the glimmering profound, quench the tormenting flame and put the devil out! presumptuous ass! to you no power belongs to pitchfork me to heaven upon the prongs of a bad pen, whose disobedient sputter, with less of ink than incoherence fraught befits the folly that it tries to utter. brains, i observe, as well as tongues, can stutter: you suffer from impediment of thought. when next you "point the way to heaven," take care: your fingers all being thumbs, point, heaven knows where! farewell, poor dunce! your letter though i blame, bears witness how my anger i can tame: i've called you everything except your hateful name! to oscar wilde. because from folly's lips you got some babbled mandate to subdue the realm of common sense, and you made promise and considered not-- because you strike a random blow at what you do not understand, and beckon with a friendly hand to something that you do not know, i hold no speech of your desert, nor answer with porrected shield the wooden weapon that you wield, but meet you with a cast of dirt. dispute with such a thing as you-- twin show to the two-headed calf? why, sir, if i repress my laugh, 't is more than half the world can do. . prayer. fear not in any tongue to call upon the lord--he's skilled in all. but if he answereth my plea he speaketh one unknown to me. a "born leader of men." tuckerton tamerlane morey mahosh is a statesman of world-wide fame, with a notable knack at rhetorical bosh to glorify somebody's name-- somebody chosen by tuckerton's masters to succor the country from divers disasters portentous to mr. mahosh. percy o'halloran tarpy cabee is in the political swim. he cares not a button for men, not he: great principles captivate him-- principles cleverly cut out and fitted to percy's capacity, duly submitted, and fought for by mr. cabee. drusus turn swinnerton porfer fitzurse holds office the most of his life. for men nor for principles cares he a curse, but much for his neighbor's wife. the ship of state leaks, but _he_ doesn't pump any, messrs. mahosh, cabee & company pump for good mr. fitzurse. to the bartholdi statue. o liberty, god-gifted-- young and immortal maid-- in your high hand uplifted; the torch declares your trade. its crimson menace, flaming upon the sea and shore, is, trumpet-like, proclaiming that law shall be no more. austere incendiary, we're blinking in the light; where is your customary grenade of dynamite? where are your staves and switches for men of gentle birth? your mask and dirk for riches? your chains for wit and worth? perhaps, you've brought the halters you used in the old days, when round religion's altars you stabled cromwell's bays? behind you, unsuspected, have you the axe, fair wench, wherewith you once collected a poll-tax from the french? america salutes you-- preparing to disgorge. take everything that suits you, and marry henry george. an unmerry christmas. christmas, you tell me, comes but once a year. one place it never comes, and that is here. here, in these pages no good wishes spring, no well-worn greetings tediously ring-- for christmas greetings are like pots of ore: the hollower they are they ring the more. here shall no holly cast a spiny shade, nor mistletoe my solitude invade, no trinket-laden vegetable come, no jorum steam with sheolate of rum. no shrilling children shall their voices rear. hurrah for christmas without christmas cheer! no presents, if you please--i know too well what herbert spencer, if he didn't tell (i know not if he did) yet might have told of present-giving in the days of old, when early man with gifts propitiated the chiefs whom most he doubted, feared and hated, or tendered them in hope to reap some rude advantage from the taker's gratitude. since thus the gift its origin derives (how much of its first character survives you know as well as i) my stocking's tied, my pocket buttoned--with my soul inside. i save my money and i save my pride. dinner? yes; thank you--just a human body done to a nutty brown, and a tear toddy to give me appetite; and as for drink, about a half a jug of blood, i think, will do; for still i love the red, red wine, coagulating well, with wrinkles fine fretting the satin surface of its flood. o tope of kings--divine falernian--blood! duse take the shouting fowls upon the limb, the kneeling cattle and the rising hymn! has not a pagan rights to be regarded-- his heart assaulted and his ear bombarded with sentiments and sounds that good old pan even in his demonium would ban? no, friends--no christmas here, for i have sworn to keep my heart hard and my knees unworn. enough you have of jester, player, priest: i as the skeleton attend your feast, in the mad revelry to make a lull with shaken finger and with bobbing skull. however you my services may flout, philosophy disdain and reason doubt, i mean to hold in customary state, my dismal revelry and celebrate my yearly rite until the crack o' doom, ignore the cheerful season's warmth and bloom and cultivate an oasis of gloom. by a defeated litigant. liars for witnesses; for lawyers brutes who lose their tempers to retrieve their suits; cowards for jurors; and for judge a clown who ne'er took up the law, yet lays it down; justice denied, authority abused, and the one honest person the accused-- thy courts, my country, all these awful years, move fools to laughter and the wise to tears. an epitaph. here lies greer harrison, a well cracked louse-- so small a tenant of so big a house! he joyed in fighting with his eyes (his fist prudently pendent from a peaceful wrist) and loved to loll on the parnassian mount, his pen to suck and all his thumbs to count,-- what poetry he'd written but for lack of skill, when he had counted, to count back! alas, no more he'll climb the sacred steep to wake the lyre and put the world to sleep! to his rapt lip his soul no longer springs and like a jaybird from a knot-hole sings. no more the clubmen, pickled with his wine, spread wide their ears and hiccough "that's divine!" the genius of his purse no longer draws the pleasing thunders of a paid applause. all silent now, nor sound nor sense remains, though riddances of worms improve his brains. all his no talents to the earth revert, and fame concludes the record: "dirt to dirt!" the politician. "let glory's sons manipulate the tiller of the ship of state. be mine the humble, useful toil to work the tiller of the soil." an inscription for a proposed monument in washington to him who made it beautiful. erected to "boss" shepherd by the dear good folk he lived and moved among in peace-- guarded on either hand by the police, with soldiers in his front and in his rear. from virginia to paris. the polecat, sovereign of its native wood, dashes damnation upon bad and good; the health of all the upas trees impairs by exhalations deadlier than theirs; poisons the rattlesnake and warts the toad-- the creeks go rotten and the rocks corrode! she shakes o'er breathless hill and shrinking dale the horrid aspergillus of her tail! from every saturated hair, till dry, the spargent fragrances divergent fly, deafen the earth and scream along the sky! removed to alien scenes, amid the strife of urban odors to ungladden life-- where gas and sewers and dead dogs conspire the flesh to torture and the soul to fire-- where all the "well defined and several stinks" known to mankind hold revel and high jinks-- humbled in spirit, smitten with a sense of lost distinction, leveled eminence, she suddenly resigns her baleful trust, nor ever lays again our mortal dust. her powers atrophied, her vigor sunk, she lives deodorized, a sweeter skunk. a "mute inglorious milton." "o, i'm the unaverage man, but you never have heard of me, for my brother, the average man, outran my fame with rapiditee, and i'm sunk in oblivion's sea, but my bully big brother the world can span with his wide notorietee. i do everything that i can to make 'em attend to me, but the papers ignore the unaverage man with a weird uniformitee." so sang with a dolorous note a voice that i heard from the beach; on the sable waters it seemed to float like a mortal part of speech. the sea was oblivion's sea, and i cried as i plunged to swim: "the unaverage man shall reside with me." but he didn't--i stayed with him! the free trader's lament. oft from a trading-boat i purchased spice and shells and corals, brought for my inspection from the fair tropics--paid a christian price and was content in my fool's paradise, where never had been heard the word "protection." 't was my sole island; there i dwelt alone-- no customs-house, collector nor collection, but a man came, who, in a pious tone condoled with me that i had never known the manifest advantage of protection. so, when the trading-boat arrived one day, he threw a stink-pot into its mid-section. the traders paddled for their lives away, nor came again into that haunted bay, the blessed home thereafter of protection. then down he sat, that philanthropic man, and spat upon some mud of his selection, and worked it, with his knuckles in a pan, to shapes of shells and coral things, and span a thread of song in glory of protection. he baked them in the sun. his air devout enchanted me. i made a genuflexion: "god help you, gentle sir," i said. "no doubt," he answered gravely, "i'll get on without assistance now that we have got protection." thenceforth i bought his wares--at what a price for shells and corals of such imperfection! "ah, now," said he, "your lot is truly nice." but still in all that isle there was no spice to season to my taste that dish, protection. subterranean phantasies. i died. as meekly in the earth i lay, with shriveled fingers reverently folded, the worm--uncivil engineer!--my clay tunneled industriously, and the mole did. my body could not dodge them, but my soul did; for that had flown from this terrestrial ball and i was rid of it for good and all. so there i lay, debating what to do-- what measures might most usefully be taken to circumvent the subterranean crew of anthropophagi and save my bacon. my fortitude was all this while unshaken, but any gentleman, of course, protests against receiving uninvited guests. however proud he might be of his meats, not even apicius, nor, i think, lucullus, wasted on tramps his culinary sweets; "_aut caesar_," say judicious hosts, "_aut nullus_." and though when marcius came unbidden tullus aufidius feasted him because he starved, marcius by tullus afterward was carved. we feed the hungry, as the book commands (for men might question else our orthodoxy) but do not care to see the outstretched hands, and so we minister to them by proxy. when want, in his improper person, knocks he finds we're engaged. the graveworm's very fresh to think we like his presence in the flesh. so, as i said, i lay in doubt; in all that underworld no judges could determine my rights. when death approaches them they fall, and falling, naturally soil their ermine. and still below ground, as above, the vermin that work by dark and silent methods win the case--the burial case that one is in. cases at law so slowly get ahead, even when the right is visibly unclouded, that if all men are classed as quick and dead, the judges all are dead, though some unshrouded. pray jove that when they're actually crowded on styx's brink, and charon rows in sight, his bark prove worse than cerberus's bite. ah! cerberus, if you had but begot a race of three-mouthed dogs for man to nourish and woman to caress, the muse had not lamented the decay of virtues currish, and triple-hydrophobia now would flourish, for barking, biting, kissing to employ canine repeaters were indeed a joy. lord! how we cling to this vile world! here i, whose dust was laid ere i began this carping, by moles and worms and such familiar fry run through and through, am singing still and harping of mundane matters--flatting, too, and sharping. i hate the angel of the sleeping cup: so i'm for getting--and for shutting--up. in memoriam beauty (they called her) wasn't a maid of many things in the world afraid. she wasn't a maid who turned and fled at sight of a mouse, alive or dead. she wasn't a maid a man could "shoo" by shouting, however abruptly, "boo!" she wasn't a maid who'd run and hide if her face and figure you idly eyed. she was'nt a maid who'd blush and shake when asked what part of the fowl she'd take. (i blush myself to confess she preferred, and commonly got, the most of the bird.) she wasn't a maid to simper because she was asked to sing--if she ever was. in short, if the truth must be displayed _in puris_--beauty wasn't a maid. beauty, furry and fine and fat, yawny and clawy, sleek and all that, was a pampered and spoiled angora cat! i loved her well, and i'm proud that she wasn't indifferent, quite, to me; in fact i have sometimes gone so far (you know, mesdames, how silly men are) as to think she preferred--excuse the conceit-- _my_ legs upon which to sharpen her feet. perhaps it shouldn't have gone for much, but i started and thrilled beneath her touch! ah, well, that's ancient history now: the fingers of time have touched my brow, and i hear with never a start to-day that beauty has passed from the earth away. gone!--her death-song (it killed her) sung. gone!--her fiddlestrings all unstrung. gone to the bliss of a new _régime_ of turkey smothered in seas of cream; of roasted mice (a superior breed, to science unknown and the coarser need of the living cat) cooked by the flame of the dainty soul of an erring dame who gave to purity all her care, neglecting the duty of daily prayer,-- crisp, delicate mice, just touched with spice by the ghost of a breeze from paradise; a very digestible sort of mice. let scoffers sneer, i propose to hold that beauty has mounted the stair of gold, to eat and eat, forever and aye, on a velvet rug from a golden tray. but the human spirit--that is my creed-- rots in the ground like a barren seed. that is my creed, abhorred by man but approved by cat since time began. till death shall kick at me, thundering "scat!" i shall hold to that, i shall hold to that. the statesmen. how blest the land that counts among her sons so many good and wise, to execute great feats of tongue when troubles rise. behold them mounting every stump our liberty by speech to guard. observe their courage:--see them jump and come down hard! "walk up, walk up!" each cries aloud, "and learn from me what you must do to turn aside the thunder cloud, the earthquake too. "beware the wiles of yonder quack who stuffs the ears of all that pass. i--i alone can show that black is white as grass." they shout through all the day and break the silence of the night as well. they'd make--i wish they'd _go_ and make-- of heaven a hell. a advocates free silver, b free trade and c free banking laws. free board, clothes, lodging would from me win warm applause. lo, d lifts up his voice: "you see the single tax on land would fall on all alike." more evenly no tax at all. "with paper money" bellows e "we'll all be rich as lords." no doubt-- and richest of the lot will be the chap without. as many "cures" as addle wits who know not what the ailment is! meanwhile the patient foams and spits like a gin fizz. alas, poor body politic, your fate is all too clearly read: to be not altogether quick, nor very dead. you take your exercise in squirms, your rest in fainting fits between. 't is plain that your disorder's worms-- worms fat and lean. worm capital, worm labor dwell within your maw and muscle's scope. their quarrels make your life a hell, your death a hope. god send you find not such an end to ills however sharp and huge! god send you convalesce! god send you vermifuge. the brothers. scene--_a lawyer's dreadful den. enter stall-fed citizen._ lawyer.--'mornin'. how-de-do? citizen.--sir, same to you. called as counsel to retain you in a case that i'll explain you. sad, _so_ sad! heart almost broke. hang it! where's my kerchief? smoke? brother, sir, and i, of late, came into a large estate. brother's--h'm, ha,--rather queer sometimes _(tapping forehead) _here. what he needs--you know--a "writ"-- something, eh? that will permit me to manage, sir, in fine, his estate, as well as mine. 'course he'll _kick_; 't will break, i fear, his loving heart--excuse this tear. lawyer.--have you nothing more? all of this you said before-- when last night i took your case. citizen.--why, sir, your face ne'er before has met my view! lawyer.--eh? the devil! true: my mistake--it was your brother. but you're very like each other. the cynic's bequest in that fair city, ispahan, there dwelt a problematic man, whose angel never was released, who never once let out his beast, but kept, through all the seasons' round, silence unbroken and profound. no prophecy, with ear applied to key-hole of the future, tried successfully to catch a hint of what he'd do nor when begin 't; as sternly did his past defy mild retrospection's backward eye. though all admired his silent ways, the women loudest were in praise: for ladies love those men the most who never, never, never boast-- who ne'er disclose their aims and ends to naughty, naughty, naughty friends. yet, sooth to say, the fame outran the merit of this doubtful man, for taciturnity in him, though not a mere caprice or whim, was not a virtue, such as truth, high birth, or beauty, wealth or youth. 'twas known, indeed, throughout the span of ispahan, of gulistan-- these utmost limits of the earth knew that the man was dumb from birth. unto the sun with deep salaams the parsee spreads his morning palms (a beacon blazing on a height warms o'er his piety by night.) the moslem deprecates the deed, cuts off the head that holds the creed, then reverently goes to grass, muttering thanks to balaam's ass for faith and learning to refute idolatry so dissolute! but should a maniac dash past, with straws in beard and hands upcast, to him (through whom, whene'er inclined to preach a bit to madmankind, the holy prophet speaks his mind) our true believer lifts his eyes devoutly and his prayer applies; but next to solyman the great reveres the idiot's sacred state. small wonder then, our worthy mute was held in popular repute. had he been blind as well as mum, been lame as well as blind and dumb, no bard that ever sang or soared could say how he had been adored. more meagerly endowed, he drew an homage less prodigious. true, no soul his praises but did utter-- all plied him with devotion's butter, but none had out--'t was to their credit-- the proselyting sword to spread it. i state these truths, exactly why the reader knows as well as i; they've nothing in the world to do with what i hope we're coming to if pegasus be good enough to move when he has stood enough. egad! his ribs i would examine had i a sharper spur than famine, or even with that if 'twould incline to examine his instead of mine. where was i? ah, that silent man who dwelt one time in ispahan-- he had a name--was known to all as meerza solyman zingall. there lived afar in astrabad, a man the world agreed was mad, so wickedly he broke his joke upon the heads of duller folk, so miserly, from day to day, he gathered up and hid away in vaults obscure and cellars haunted what many worthy people wanted, a stingy man!--the tradesmen's palms were spread in vain: "i give no alms without inquiry"--so he'd say, and beat the needy duns away. the bastinado did, 'tis true, persuade him, now and then, a few odd tens of thousands to disburse to glut the taxman's hungry purse, but still, so rich he grew, his fear was constant that the shah might hear. (the shah had heard it long ago, and asked the taxman if 'twere so, who promptly answered, rather airish, the man had long been on the parish.) the more he feared, the more he grew a cynic and a miser, too, until his bitterness and pelf made him a terror to himself; then, with a razor's neckwise stroke, he tartly cut his final joke. so perished, not an hour too soon, the wicked muley ben maroon. from astrabad to ispahan at camel speed the rumor ran that, breaking through tradition hoar, and throwing all his kinsmen o'er, the miser'd left his mighty store of gold--his palaces and lands-- to needy and deserving hands (except a penny here and there to pay the dervishes for prayer.) 'twas known indeed throughout the span of earth, and into hindostan, that our beloved mute was the residuary legatee. the people said 'twas very well, and each man had a tale to tell of how he'd had a finger in 't by dropping many a friendly hint at astrabad, you see. but ah, they feared the news might reach the shah! to prove the will the lawyers bore 't before the kadi's awful court, who nodded, when he heard it read, confirmingly his drowsy head, nor thought, his sleepiness so great, himself to gobble the estate. "i give," the dead had writ, "my all to meerza solyman zingall of ispahan. with this estate i might quite easily create ten thousand ingrates, but i shun temptation and create but one, in whom the whole unthankful crew the rich man's air that ever drew to fat their pauper lungs i fire vicarious with vain desire! from foul ingratitude's base rout i pick this hapless devil out, bestowing on him all my lands, my treasures, camels, slaves and bands of wives--i give him all this loot, and throw my blessing in to boot. behold, o man, in this bequest philanthropy's long wrongs redressed: to speak me ill that man i dower with fiercest will who lacks the power. allah il allah! now let him bloat with rancor till his heart's afloat, unable to discharge the wave upon his benefactor's grave!" forth in their wrath the people came and swore it was a sin and shame to trick their blessed mute; and each protested, serious of speech, that though _he'd_ long foreseen the worst he'd been against it from the first. by various means they vainly tried the testament to set aside, each ready with his empty purse to take upon himself the curse; for _they_ had powers of invective enough to make it ineffective. the ingrates mustered, every man, and marched in force to ispahan (which had not quite accommodation) and held a camp of indignation. the man, this while, who never spoke-- on whom had fallen this thunder-stroke of fortune, gave no feeling vent nor dropped a clue to his intent. whereas no power to him came his benefactor to defame, some (such a length had slander gone to) even whispered that he didn't want to! but none his secret could divine; if suffering he made no sign, until one night as winter neared from all his haunts he disappeared-- evanished in a doubtful blank like little crayfish in a bank, their heads retracting for a spell, and pulling in their holes as well. all through the land of gul, the stout young spring is kicking winter out. the grass sneaks in upon the scene, defacing it with bottle-green. the stumbling lamb arrives to ply his restless tail in every eye, eats nasty mint to spoil his meat and make himself unfit to eat. madly his throat the bulbul tears-- in every grove blasphemes and swears as the immodest rose displays her shameless charms a dozen ways. lo! now, throughout the utmost span of ispahan--of gulistan-- a big new book's displayed in all the shops and cumbers every stall. the price is low--the dealers say 'tis-- and the rich are treated to it gratis. engraven on its foremost page these title-words the eye engage: "the life of muley ben maroon, of astrabad--rogue, thief, buffoon and miser--liver by the sweat of better men: a lamponette composed in rhyme and written all by meerza solyman zingall!" corrected news. 't was a maiden lady (the newspapers say) pious and prim and a bit gone-gray. she slept like an angel, holy and white, till ten o' the clock in the shank o' the night (when men and other wild animals prey) and then she cried in the viewless gloom: "there's a man in the room, a man in the room!" and this maiden lady (they make it appear) leapt out of the window, five fathom sheer! alas, that lying is such a sin when newspaper men need bread and gin and none can be had for less than a lie! for the maiden lady a bit gone-gray saw the man in the room from across the way, and leapt, not out of the window but in-- _ten_ fathom sheer, as i hope to die! an explanation. "i never yet exactly could determine just how it is that the judicial ermine is kept so safely from predacious vermin." "it is not so, my friend: though in a garret 'tis kept in camphor, and you often air it, the vermin will get into it and wear it." justice. jack doe met dick roe, whose wife he loved, and said: "i will get the best of him." so pulling a knife from his boot, he shoved it up to the hilt in the breast of him. then he moved that weapon forth and back, enlarging the hole he had made with it, till the smoking liver fell out, and jack merrily, merrily played with it. then he reached within and he seized the slack of the lesser bowel, and, traveling hither and thither, looked idly back on that small intestine, raveling. the wretched richard, with many a grin laid on with exceeding suavity, curled up and died, and they ran john in and charged him with sins of gravity. the case was tried and a verdict found: the jury, with great humanity, acquitted the prisoner on the ground of extemporary insanity. mr. fink's debating donkey. of a person known as peters i will humbly crave your leave an unusual adventure into narrative to weave-- mr. william perry peters, of the town of muscatel, a public educator and an orator as well. mr. peters had a weakness which, 'tis painful to relate, was a strong predisposition to the pleasures of debate. he would foster disputation wheresoever he might be; in polygonal contention none so happy was as he. 'twas observable, however, that the exercises ran into monologue by peters, that rhetorical young man. and the muscatelian rustics who assisted at the show, by involuntary silence testified their overthrow-- mr. peters, all unheedful of their silence and their grief, still effacing every vestige of erroneous belief. o, he was a sore affliction to all heretics so bold as to entertain opinions that he didn't care to hold. one day--'t was in pursuance of a pedagogic plan for the mental elevation of uncultivated man-- mr. peters, to his pupils, in dismissing them, explained that the friday evening following (unless, indeed, it rained) would be signalized by holding in the schoolhouse a debate free to all who their opinions might desire to ventilate on the question, "which is better, as a serviceable gift, speech or hearing, from barbarity the human mind to lift?" the pupils told their fathers, who, forehanded always, met at the barroom to discuss it every evening, dry or wet, they argued it and argued it and spat upon the stove, and the non-committal "barkeep" on their differences throve. and i state it as a maxim in a loosish kind of way: you'll have the more to back your word the less you have to say. public interest was lively, but one ebenezer fink of the rancho del jackrabbit, only seemed to sit and think. on the memorable evening all the men of muscatel came to listen to the logic and the eloquence as well-- all but william perry peters, whose attendance there, i fear. was to wreak his ready rhetoric upon the public ear, and prove (whichever side he took) that hearing wouldn't lift the human mind as ably as the other, greater gift. the judges being chosen and the disputants enrolled, the question he proceeded _in extenso_ to unfold: "_resolved_--the sense of hearing lifts the mind up out of reach of the fogs of error better than the faculty of speech." this simple proposition he expounded, word by word, until they best understood it who least perfectly had heard. even the judges comprehended as he ventured to explain-- the impact of a spit-ball admonishing in vain. beginning at a period before creation's morn, he had reached the bounds of tolerance and adam yet unborn. as down the early centuries of pre-historic time he tracked important principles and quoted striking rhyme, and whisky bill, prosaic soul! proclaiming him a jay, had risen and like an earthquake, "reeled unheededly away," and a late lamented cat, when opportunity should serve, was preparing to embark upon her parabolic curve, a noise arose outside--the door was opened with a bang and old ebenezer fink was heard ejaculating "g'lang!" straight into that assembly gravely marched without a wink an ancient ass--the property it was of mr. fink. its ears depressed and beating time to its infestive tread, silent through silence moved amain that stately quadruped! it stopped before the orator, and in the lamplight thrown upon its tail they saw that member weighted with a stone. then spake old ebenezer: "gents, i heern o' this debate on w'ether v'ice or y'ears is best the mind to elevate. now 'yer's a bird ken throw some light uponto that tough theme: he has 'em both, i'm free to say, oncommonly extreme. he wa'n't invited for to speak, but he will not refuse (if t'other gentleman ken wait) to exposay his views." ere merriment or anger o'er amazement could prevail; he cut the string that held the stone on that canary's tail. freed from the weight, that member made a gesture of delight, then rose until its rigid length was horizontal quite. with lifted head and level ears along his withers laid, jack sighed, refilled his lungs and then--to put it mildly--brayed! he brayed until the stones were stirred in circumjacent hills, and sleeping women rose and fled, in divers kinds of frills. 't is said that awful bugle-blast--to make the story brief-- wafted william perry peters through the window, like a leaf! such is the tale. if anything additional occurred 'tis not set down, though, truly, i remember to have heard that a gentleman named peters, now residing at soquel, a considerable distance from the town of muscatel, is opposed to education, and to rhetoric, as well. to my laundress. saponacea, wert thou not so fair i'd curse thee for thy multitude of sins-- for sending home my clothes all full of pins-- a shirt occasionally that's a snare and a delusion, got, the lord knows where, the lord knows why--a sock whose outs and ins none know, nor where it ends nor where begins, and fewer cuffs than ought to be my share. but when i mark thy lilies how they grow, and the red roses of thy ripening charms, i bless the lovelight in thy dark eyes dreaming. i'll never pay thee, but i'd gladly go into the magic circle of thine arms, supple and fragrant from repeated steaming. fame. one thousand years i slept beneath the sod, my sleep in beginning, then, by the action of some scurvy god who happened then to recollect my sinning, i was revived and given another inning. on breaking from my grave i saw a crowd-- a formless multitude of men and women, gathered about a ruin. clamors loud i heard, and curses deep enough to swim in; and, pointing at me, one said: "let's put _him_ in." then each turned on me with an evil look, as in my ragged shroud i stood and shook. "nay, good posterity," i cried, "forbear! if that's a jail i fain would be remaining outside, for truly i should little care to catch my death of cold. i'm just regaining the life lost long ago by my disdaining to take precautions against draughts like those that, haply, penetrate that cracked and splitting old structure." then an aged wight arose from a chair of state in which he had been sitting, and with preliminary coughing, spitting and wheezing, said: "'t is not a jail, we're sure, whate'er it may have been when it was newer. "'t was found two centuries ago, o'ergrown with brush and ivy, all undoored, ungated; and in restoring it we found a stone set here and there in the dilapidated and crumbling frieze, inscribed, in antiquated big characters, with certain uncouth names, which we conclude were borne of old by awful rapscallions guilty of all sinful games-- vagrants engaged in purposes unlawful, and orators less sensible than jawful. so each ten years we add to the long row a name, the most unworthy that we know." "but why," i asked, "put _me_ in?" he replied: "you look it"--and the judgment pained me greatly; right gladly would i then and there have died, but that i'd risen from the grave so lately. but on examining that solemn, stately old ruin i remarked: "my friend, you err-- the truth of this is just what i expected. this building in its time made quite a stir. i lived (was famous, too) when 't was erected. the names here first inscribed were much respected. this is the hall of fame, or i'm a stork, and this goat pasture once was called new york." omnes vanitas. alas for ambition's possessor! alas for the famous and proud! the isle of manhattan's best dresser is wearing a hand-me-down shroud. the world has forgotten his glory; the wagoner sings on his wain, and chauncey depew tells a story, and jackasses laugh in the lane. aspiration. no man can truthfully say that he would not like to be president.--_william c. whitney._ lo! the wild rabbit, happy in the pride of qualities to meaner beasts denied, surveys the ass with reverence and fear, adoring his superior length of ear, and says: "no living creature, lean or fat, but wishes in his heart to be like that!" democracy. let slaves and subjects with unvaried psalms before their sovereign execute salaams; the freeman scorns one idol to adore-- tom, dick and harry and himself are four. the new "ulalume." the skies they were ashen and sober, the leaves they were crisped and sere,-- " " " withering " " it was night in the lonesome october of my most immemorial year; it was hard by the dim lake of auber,-- " " down " " dark tarn " " in the misty mid region of weir,-- " " ghoul-haunted woodland " " consolation. little's the good to sit and grieve because the serpent tempted eve. better to wipe your eyes and take a club and go out and kill a snake. what do you gain by cursing nick for playing her such a scurvy trick? better go out and some villain find who serves the devil, and beat him blind. but if you prefer, as i suspect, to philosophize, why, then, reflect: if the cunning rascal upon the limb hadn't tempted her she'd have tempted him. fate. alas, alas, for the tourist's guide!-- he turned from the beaten trail aside, wandered bewildered, lay down and died. o grim is the irony of fate: it switches the man of low estate and loosens the dogs upon the great. it lights the fireman to roast the cook; the fisherman squirms upon the hook, and the flirt is slain with a tender look. the undertaker it overtakes; it saddles the cavalier, and makes the haughtiest butcher into steaks. assist me, gods, to balk the decree! nothing i'll do and nothing i'll be, in order that nothing be done to me. philosopher bimm. republicans think jonas bimm a democrat gone mad, and democrats consider him republican and bad. the tough reviles him as a dude and gives it him right hot; the dude condemns his crassitude and calls him _sans culottes._ derided as an anglophile by anglophobes, forsooth, as anglophobe he feels, the while, the anglophilic tooth. the churchman calls him atheist; the atheists, rough-shod, have ridden o'er him long and hissed "the wretch believes in god!" the saints whom clergymen we call would kill him if they could; the sinners (scientists and all) complain that he is good. all men deplore the difference between themselves and him, and all devise expedients for paining jonas bimm. i too, with wild demoniac glee, would put out both his eyes; for mr. bimm appears to me insufferably wise! reminded. beneath my window twilight made familiar mysteries of shade. faint voices from the darkening down were calling vaguely to the town. intent upon a low, far gleam that burned upon the world's extreme, i sat, with short reprieve from grief, and turned the volume, leaf by leaf, wherein a hand, long dead, had wrought a million miracles of thought. my fingers carelessly unclung the lettered pages, and among them wandered witless, nor divined the wealth in which, poor fools, they mined. the soul that should have led their quest was dreaming in the level west, where a tall tower, stark and still, uplifted on a distant hill, stood lone and passionless to claim its guardian star's returning flame. i know not how my dream was broke, but suddenly my spirit woke filled with a foolish fear to look upon the hand that clove the book, significantly pointing; next i bent attentive to the text, and read--and as i read grew old-- the mindless words: "poor tom's a-cold!" ah me! to what a subtle touch the brimming cup resigns its clutch upon the wine. dear god, is 't writ that hearts their overburden bear of bitterness though thou permit the pranks of chance, alurk in nooks, and striking coward blows from books, and dead hands reaching everywhere? salvini in america. come, gentlemen--your gold. thanks: welcome to the show. to hear a story told in words you do not know. now, great salvini, rise and thunder through your tears, aha! friends, let your eyes interpret to your ears. gods! 't is a goodly game. observe his stride--how grand! when legs like his declaim who can misunderstand? see how that arm goes round. it says, as plain as day: "i love," "the lost is found," "well met, sir," or, "away!" and mark the drawing down of brows. how accurate the language of that frown: pain, gentlemen--or hate. those of the critic trade swear it is all as clear as if his tongue were made to fit an english ear. hear that italian phrase! greek to your sense, 't is true; but shrug, expression, gaze-- well, they are grecian too. but it is art! god wot its tongue to all is known. faith! he to whom 't were not would better hold his own. shakespeare says act and word must match together true. from what you've seen and heard, how can you doubt they do? enchanting drama! mark the crowd "from pit to dome", one box alone is dark-- the prompter stays at home. stupendous artist! you are lord of joy and woe: we thrill if you say "boo," and thrill if you say "bo." another way. i lay in silence, dead. a woman came and laid a rose upon my breast and said: "may god be merciful." she spoke my name, and added: "it is strange to think him dead. "he loved me well enough, but 't was his way to speak it lightly." then, beneath her breath: "besides"--i knew what further she would say, but then a footfall broke my dream of death. to-day the words are mine. i lay the rose upon her breast, and speak her name and deem it strange indeed that she is dead. god knows i had more pleasure in the other dream. art. for gladstone's portrait five thousand pounds were paid, 't is said, to sir john millais. i cannot help thinking that such fine pay transcended reason's uttermost bounds. for it seems to me uncommonly queer that a painted british stateman's price exceeds the established value thrice of a living statesman over here. an enemy to law and order. a is defrauded of his land by b, who's driven from the premises by c. d buys the place with coin of plundered e. "that a's an anarchist!" says f to g. to one across the way. when at your window radiant you've stood i've sometimes thought--forgive me if i've erred-- that some slight thought of me perhaps has stirred your heart to beat less gently than it should. i know you beautiful; that you are good i hope--or fear--i cannot choose the word, nor rightly suit it to the thought. i've heard reason at love's dictation never could. blindly to this dilemma so i grope, as one whose every pathway has a snare: if you are minded in the saintly fashion of your pure face my passion's without hope; if not, alas! i equally despair, for what to me were hope without the passion? the debtor abroad. grief for an absent lover, husband, friend, is barely felt before it comes to end: a score of early consolations serve to modify its mouth's dejected curve. but woes of creditors when debtors flee forever swell the separating sea. when standing on an alien shore you mark the steady course of some intrepid bark, how sweet to think a tear for you abides, not all unuseful, in the wave she rides!-- that sighs for you commingle in the gale beneficently bellying her sail! foresight. an "actors' cemetery"! sure the devil never tires of planning places to procure the sticks to feed his fires. a fair division. another irish landlord gone to grass, slain by the bullets of the tenant class! pray, good agrarians, what wrong requires such foul redress? between you and the squires all ireland's parted with an even hand-- for you have all the ire, they all the land. genesis. god said: "let there be man," and from the clay adam came forth and, thoughtful, walked away. the matrix whence his body was obtained, an empty, man-shaped cavity, remained all unregarded from that early time till in a recent storm it filled with slime. now satan, envying the master's power to make the meat himself could but devour, strolled to the place and, standing by the pool, exerted all his will to make a fool. a miracle!--from out that ancient hole rose morehouse, lacking nothing but a soul. "to give him that i've not the power divine," said satan, sadly, "but i'll lend him mine." he breathed it into him, a vapor black, and to this day has never got it back. liberty. "'let there be liberty!' god said, and, lo! the red skies all were luminous. the glow struck first columbia's kindling mountain peaks one hundred and eleven years ago!" so sang a patriot whom once i saw descending bunker's holy hill. with awe i noted that he shone with sacred light, like moses with the tables of the law. one hundred and eleven years? o small and paltry period compared with all the tide of centuries that flowed and ebbed to etch yosemite's divided wall! ah, liberty, they sing you always young whose harps are in your adoration strung (each swears you are his countrywoman, too, and speak no language but his mother tongue). and truly, lass, although with shout and horn man has all-hailed you from creation's morn, i cannot think you old--i think, indeed, you are by twenty centuries unborn. . the passing of "boss" shepherd. the sullen church-bell's intermittent moan, the dirge's melancholy monotone, the measured march, the drooping flags, attest a great man's progress to his place of rest. along broad avenues himself decreed to serve his fellow men's disputed need-- past parks he raped away from robbers' thrift and gave to poverty, wherein to lift its voice to curse the giver and the gift-- past noble structures that he reared for men to meet in and revile him, tongue and pen, draws the long retinue of death to show the fit credentials of a proper woe. "boss" shepherd, you are dead. your hand no more throws largess to the mobs that ramp and roar for blood of benefactors who disdain their purity of purpose to explain, their righteous motive and their scorn of gain. your period of dream--'twas but a breath-- is closed in the indifference of death. sealed in your silences, to you alike if hands are lifted to applaud or strike. no more to your dull, inattentive ear praise of to-day than curse of yesteryear. from the same lips the honied phrases fall that still are bitter from cascades of gall. we note the shame; you in your depth of dark the red-writ testimony cannot mark on every honest cheek; your senses all locked, _incommunicado_, in your pall, know not who sit and blush, who stand and bawl. "seven grecian cities claim great homer dead, through which the living homer begged his bread." so sang, as if the thought had been his own, an unknown bard, improving on a known. "neglected genius!"--that is sad indeed, but malice better would ignore than heed, and shepherd's soul, we rightly may suspect, prayed often for the mercy of neglect when hardly did he dare to leave his door without a guard behind him and before to save him from the gentlemen that now in cheap and easy reparation bow their corrigible heads above his corse to counterfeit a grief that's half remorse. the pageant passes and the exile sleeps, and well his tongue the solemn secret keeps of the great peace he found afar, until, death's writ of extradition to fulfill, they brought him, helpless, from that friendly zone to be a show and pastime in his own-- a final opportunity to those who fling with equal aim the stone and rose; that at the living till his soul is freed, this at the body to conceal the deed! lone on his hill he's lying to await what added honors may befit his state-- the monument, the statue, or the arch (where knaves may come to weep and dupes to march) builded by clowns to brutalize the scenes his genius beautified. to get the means, his newly good traducers all are dunned for contributions to the conscience fund. if each subscribe (and pay) one cent 'twill rear a structure taller than their tallest ear. washington, may , . to maude. not as two errant spheres together grind with monstrous ruin in the vast of space, destruction born of that malign embrace, their hapless peoples all to death consigned-- not so when our intangible worlds of mind, even mine and yours, each with its spirit race of beings shadowy in form and face, shall drift together on some blessed wind. no, in that marriage of gloom and light all miracles of beauty shall be wrought, attesting a diviner faith than man's; for all my sad-eyed daughters of the night shall smile on your sweet seraphim of thought, nor any jealous god forbid the banns. the birth of virtue. when, long ago, the young world circling flew through wider reaches of a richer blue, new-eyed, the men and maids saw, manifest, the thoughts untold in one another's breast: each wish displayed, and every passion learned-- a look revealed them as a look discerned. but sating time with clouds o'ercast their eyes; desire was hidden, and the lips framed lies. a goddess then, emerging from the dust, fair virtue rose, the daughter of distrust. stoneman in heaven. the seraphs came to christ, and said: "behold! the man, presumptuous and overbold, who boasted that his mercy could excel thine own, is dead and on his way to hell." gravely the saviour asked: "what did he do to make his impious assertion true?" "he was a governor, releasing all the vilest felons ever held in thrall. no other mortal, since the dawn of time, has ever pardoned such a mass of crime!" christ smiled benignly on the seraphim: "yet i am victor, for i pardon _him_." the scurril press. tom jonesmith _(loquitur)_: i've slept right through the night--a rather clever thing to do. how soundly women sleep _(looks at his wife.)_ they're all alike. the sweetest thing in life is woman when she lies with folded tongue, its toil completed and its day-song sung. (_thump_) that's the morning paper. what a bore that it should be delivered at the door. there ought to be some expeditious way to get it _to_ one. by this long delay the fizz gets off the news _(a rap is heard)_. that's jane, the housemaid; she's an early bird; she's brought it to the bedroom door, good soul. _(gets up and takes it in.)_ upon the whole the system's not so bad a one. what's here? gad, if they've not got after--listen dear _(to sleeping wife)_--young gastrotheos! well, if freedom shrieked when kosciusko fell she'll shriek again--with laughter--seeing how they treated gast. with her. yet i'll allow 't is right if he goes dining at the pup with mrs. thing. wife _(briskly, waking up)_: with her? the hussy! yes, it serves him right. jonesmith (_continuing to "seek the light"_): what's this about old impycu? that's good! grip--that's the funny man--says impy should be used as a decoy in shooting tramps. i knew old impy when he had the "stamps" to buy us all out, and he wasn't then so bad a chap to have about. grip's pen is just a tickler!--and the world, no doubt, is better with it than it was without. what? thirteen ladies--jumping jove! we know them nearly all!--who gamble at a low and very shocking game of cards called "draw"! o cracky, how they'll squirm! ha-ha! haw-haw! let's see what else (_wife snores_). well, i'll be blest! a woman doesn't understand a jest. hello! what, what? the scurvy wretch proceeds to take a fling at _me_, condemn him! (_reads_): tom jonesmith--my name's thomas, vulgar cad!--_of the new shavings bank_--the man's gone mad! that's libelous; i'll have him up for that--_has had his corns cut_. devil take the rat! what business is 't of his, i'd like to know? he didn't have to cut them. gods! what low and scurril things our papers have become! you skim their contents and you get but scum. here, mary, (_waking wife_) i've been attacked in this vile sheet. by jove, it is a fact! wife (_reading it_): how wicked! who do you suppose 't was wrote it? jonesmith: who? why, who but grip, the so-called funny man--he wrote me up because i'd not discount his note. (_blushes like sunset at the hideous lie-- he'll think of one that's better by and by-- throws down the paper on the floor, and treads a lively measure on it--kicks the shreds and patches all about the room, and still performs his jig with unabated will._) wife (_warbling sweetly, like an elfland horn_): dear, do be careful of that second corn. stanley. noting some great man's composition vile: a head of wisdom and a heart of guile, a will to conquer and a soul to dare, joined to the manners of a dancing bear, fools unaccustomed to the wide survey of various nature's compensating sway, untaught to separate the wheat and chaff, to praise the one and at the other laugh, yearn all in vain and impotently seek some flawless hero upon whom to wreak the sycophantic worship of the weak. not so the wise, from superstition free, who find small pleasure in the bended knee; quick to discriminate 'twixt good and bad, and willing in the king to find the cad-- no reason seen why genius and conceit, the power to dazzle and the will to cheat, the love of daring and the love of gin, should not dwell, peaceful, in a single skin. to such, great stanley, you're a hero still, despite your cradling in a tub for swill. your peasant manners can't efface the mark of light you drew across the land of dark. in you the extremes of character are wed, to serve the quick and villify the dead. hero and clown! o, man of many sides, the muse of truth adores you and derides, and sheds, impartial, the revealing ray upon your head of gold and feet of clay. one of the unfair sex. she stood at the ticket-seller's serenely removing her glove, while hundreds of strugglers and yellers, and some that were good at a shove, were clustered behind her like bats in a cave and unwilling to speak their love. at night she still stood at that window endeavoring her money to reach; the crowds right and left, how they sinned--o, how dreadfully sinned in their speech! ten miles either way they extended their lines, the historians teach. she stands there to-day--legislation has failed to remove her. the trains no longer pull up at that station; and over the ghastly remains of the army that waited and died of old age fall the snows and the rains. the lord's prayer on a coin. upon this quarter-eagle's leveled face, the lord's prayer, legibly inscribed, i trace. "our father which"--the pronoun there is funny, and shows the scribe to have addressed the money-- "which art in heaven"--an error this, no doubt: the preposition should be stricken out. needless to quote; i only have designed to praise the frankness of the pious mind which thought it natural and right to join, with rare significancy, prayer and coin. a lacking factor. "you acted unwisely," i cried, "as you see by the outcome." he calmly eyed me: "when choosing the course of my action," said he, "i had not the outcome to guide me." the royal jester. once on a time, so ancient poets sing, there reigned in godknowswhere a certain king. so great a monarch ne'er before was seen: he was a hero, even to his queen, in whose respect he held so high a place that none was higher,--nay, not even the ace. he was so just his parliament declared those subjects happy whom his laws had spared; so wise that none of the debating throng had ever lived to prove him in the wrong; so good that crime his anger never feared, and beauty boldly plucked him by the beard; so brave that if his army got a beating none dared to face him when he was retreating. this monarch kept a fool to make his mirth, and loved him tenderly despite his worth. prompted by what caprice i cannot say, he called the fool before the throne one day and to that jester seriously said: "i'll abdicate, and you shall reign instead, while i, attired in motley, will make sport to entertain your majesty and court." 't was done and the fool governed. he decreed the time of harvest and the time of seed; ordered the rains and made the weather clear, and had a famine every second year; altered the calendar to suit his freak, ordaining six whole holidays a week; religious creeds and sacred books prepared; made war when angry and made peace when scared. new taxes he inspired; new laws he made; drowned those who broke them, who observed them, flayed, in short, he ruled so well that all who'd not been starved, decapitated, hanged or shot made the whole country with his praises ring, declaring he was every inch a king; and the high priest averred 't was very odd if one so competent were not a god. meantime, his master, now in motley clad, wore such a visage, woeful, wan and sad, that some condoled with him as with a brother who, having lost a wife, had got another. others, mistaking his profession, often approached him to be measured for a coffin. for years this highborn jester never broke the silence--he was pondering a joke. at last, one day, in cap-and-bells arrayed, he strode into the council and displayed a long, bright smile, that glittered in the gloom like a gilt epithet within a tomb. posing his bauble like a leader's staff, to give the signal when (and why) to laugh, he brought it down with peremptory stroke and simultaneously cracked his joke! i can't repeat it, friends. i ne'er could school myself to quote from any other fool: a jest, if it were worse than mine, would start my tears; if better, it would break my heart. so, if you please, i'll hold you but to state that royal jester's melancholy fate. the insulted nation, so the story goes, rose as one man--the very dead arose, springing indignant from the riven tomb, and babes unborn leapt swearing from the womb! all to the council chamber clamoring went, by rage distracted and on vengeance bent. in that vast hall, in due disorder laid, the tools of legislation were displayed, and the wild populace, its wrath to sate, seized them and heaved them at the jester's pate. mountains of writing paper; pools and seas of ink, awaiting, to become decrees, royal approval--and the same in stacks lay ready for attachment, backed with wax; pens to make laws, erasers to amend them; with mucilage convenient to extend them; scissors for limiting their application, and acids to repeal all legislation-- these, flung as missiles till the air was dense, were most offensive weapons of offense, and by their aid the fool was nigh destroyed. they ne'er had been so harmlessly employed. whelmed underneath a load of legal cap, his mouth egurgitating ink on tap, his eyelids mucilaginously sealed, his fertile head by scissors made to yield abundant harvestage of ears, his pelt, in every wrinkle and on every welt, quickset with pencil-points from feet to gills and thickly studded with a pride of quills, the royal jester in the dreadful strife was made (in short) an editor for life! an idle tale, and yet a moral lurks in this as plainly as in greater works. i shall not give it birth: one moral here would die of loneliness within a year. a career in letters. when liberverm resigned the chair of this or that in college, where for two decades he'd gorged his brain with more than it could well contain, in order to relieve the stress he took to writing for the press. then pondronummus said, "i'll help this mine of talent to devel'p;" and straightway bought with coin and credit the _thundergust_ for him to edit. the great man seized the pen and ink and wrote so hard he couldn't think; ideas grew beneath his fist and flew like falcons from his wrist. his pen shot sparks all kinds of ways till all the rivers were ablaze, and where the coruscations fell men uttered words i dare not spell. eftsoons with corrugated brow, wet towels bound about his pow, locked legs and failing appetite, he thought so hard he couldn't write. his soaring fancies, chickenwise, came home to roost and wouldn't rise. with dimmer light and milder heat his goose-quill staggered o'er the sheet, then dragged, then stopped; the finish came-- he couldn't even write his name. the _thundergust_ in three short weeks had risen, roared, and split its cheeks. said pondronummus, "how unjust! the storm i raised has laid my dust!" when, moneybagger, you have aught invested in a vein of thought, be sure you've purchased not, instead, that salted claim, a bookworm's head. the following pair. o very remarkable mortal, what food is engaging your jaws and staining with amber their portal? "it's 'baccy i chaws." and why do you sway in your walking, to right and left many degrees, and hitch up your trousers when talking? "i follers the seas." great indolent shark in the rollers, is "'baccy," too, one of your faults?-- you, too, display maculate molars. "i dines upon salts." strange diet!--intestinal pain it is commonly given to nip. and how can you ever obtain it? "i follers the ship." political economy. "i beg you to note," said a man to a goose, as he plucked from her bosom the plumage all loose, "that pillows and cushions of feathers and beds as warm as maids' hearts and as soft as their heads, increase of life's comforts the general sum-- which raises the standard of living." "come, come," the goose said, impatiently, "tell me or cease, how that is of any advantage to geese." "what, what!" said the man--"you are very obtuse! consumption no profit to those who produce? no good to accrue to supply from a grand progressive expansion, all round, of demand? luxurious habits no benefit bring to those who purvey the luxurious thing? consider, i pray you, my friend, how the growth of luxury promises--" "promises," quoth the sufferer, "what?--to what course is it pledged to pay me for being so often defledged?" "accustomed"--this notion the plucker expressed as he ripped out a handful of down from her breast-- "to one kind of luxury, people soon yearn for others and ever for others in turn; and the man who to-night on your feathers will rest, his mutton or bacon or beef to digest, his hunger to-morrow will wish to assuage by dining on goose with a dressing of sage." vanished at cock-crow. "i've found the secret of your charm," i said, expounding with complacency my guess. alas! the charm, even as i named it, fled, for all its secret was unconsciousness. the unpardonable sin. i reckon that ye never knew, that dandy slugger, tom carew, he had a touch as light an' free as that of any honey-bee; but where it lit there wasn't much to jestify another touch. o, what a sunday-school it was to watch him puttin' up his paws an' roominate upon their heft-- particular his holy left! tom was my style--that's all i say; some others may be equal gay. what's come of him? dunno, i'm sure-- he's dead--which make his fate obscure. i only started in to clear one vital p'int in his career, which is to say--afore he died he soiled his erming mighty snide. ye see he took to politics and learnt them statesmen-fellers' tricks; pulled wires, wore stovepipe hats, used scent, just like he was the president; went to the legislator; spoke right out agin the british yoke-- but that was right. he let his hair grow long to qualify for mayor, an' once or twice he poked his snoot in congress like a low galoot! it had to come--no gent can hope to wrastle god agin the rope. tom went from bad to wuss. being dead, i s'pose it oughtn't to be said, for sech inikities as flow from politics ain't fit to know; but, if you think it's actin' white to tell it--thomas throwed a fight! industrial discontent. as time rolled on the whole world came to be a desolation and a darksome curse; and some one said: "the changes that you see in the fair frame of things, from bad to worse, are wrought by strikes. the sun withdrew his glimmer because the moon assisted with her shimmer. "then, when poor luna, straining very hard, doubled her light to serve a darkling world, he called her 'scab,' and meanly would retard her rising: and at last the villain hurled a heavy beam which knocked her o'er the lion into the nebula of great o'ryan. "the planets all had struck some time before, demanding what they said were equal rights: some pointing out that others had far more that a fair dividend of satellites. so all went out--though those the best provided, if they had dared, would rather have abided. "the stars struck too--i think it was because the comets had more liberty than they, and were not bound by any hampering laws, while _they_ were fixed; and there are those who say the comets' tresses nettled poor altair, an aged orb that hasn't any hair. "the earth's the only one that isn't in the movement--i suppose because she's watched with horror and disgust how her fair skin her pranking parasites have fouled and blotched with blood and grease in every labor riot, when seeing any purse or throat to fly at." tempora mutantur. "the world is dull," i cried in my despair: "its myths and fables are no longer fair. "roll back thy centuries, o father time. to greece transport me in her golden prime. "give back the beautiful old gods again-- the sportive nymphs, the dryad's jocund train, "pan piping on his reeds, the naiades, the sirens singing by the sleepy seas. "nay, show me but a gorgon and i'll dare to lift mine eyes to her peculiar hair "(the fatal horrors of her snaky pate, that stiffen men into a stony state) "and die--erecting, as my soul goes hence, a statue of myself, without expense." straight as i spoke i heard the voice of fate: "look up, my lad, the gorgon sisters wait." raising my eyes, i saw medusa stand, stheno, euryale, on either hand. i gazed unpetrified and unappalled-- the girls had aged and were entirely bald! contentment. sleep fell upon my senses and i dreamed long years had circled since my life had fled. the world was different, and all things seemed remote and strange, like noises to the dead. and one great voice there was; and something said: "posterity is speaking--rightly deemed infallible:" and so i gave attention, hoping posterity my name would mention. "illustrious spirit," said the voice, "appear! while we confirm eternally thy fame, before our dread tribunal answer, here, why do no statues celebrate thy name, no monuments thy services proclaim? why did not thy contemporaries rear to thee some schoolhouse or memorial college? it looks almighty queer, you must acknowledge." up spake i hotly: "that is where you err!" but some one thundered in my ear: "you shan't be interrupting these proceedings, sir; the question was addressed to general grant." some other things were spoken which i can't distinctly now recall, but i infer, by certain flushings of my cheeks and forehead, posterity's environment is torrid. then heard i (this was in a dream, remark) another voice, clear, comfortable, strong, as grant's great shade, replying from the dark, said in a tone that rang the earth along, and thrilled the senses of the judges' throng: "i'd rather you would question why, in park and street, my monuments were not erected than why they were." then, waking, i reflected. the new enoch. enoch arden was an able seaman; hear of his mishap-- not in wild mendacious fable, as 't was told by t' other chap; for i hold it is a youthful indiscretion to tell lies, and the writer that is truthful has the reader that is wise. enoch arden, able seaman, on an isle was cast away, and before he was a freeman time had touched him up with gray. long he searched the fair horizon, seated on a mountain top; vessel ne'er he set his eyes on that would undertake to stop. seeing that his sight was growing dim and dimmer, day by day, enoch said he must be going. so he rose and went away-- went away and so continued till he lost his lonely isle: mr. arden was so sinewed he could row for many a mile. compass he had not, nor sextant, to direct him o'er the sea: ere 't was known that he was extant, at his widow's home was he. when he saw the hills and hollows and the streets he could but know, he gave utterance as follows to the sentiments below: "blast my tarry toplights! (shiver, too, my timbers!) but, i say, w'at a larruk to diskiver, i have lost me blessid way! "w'at, alas, would be my bloomin' fate if philip now i see, which i lammed?--or my old 'oman, which has frequent basted _me_?" scenes of childhood swam around him at the thought of such a lot: in a swoon his annie found him and conveyed him to her cot. 't was the very house, the garden, where their honeymoon was passed: 't was the place where mrs. arden would have mourned him to the last. ah, what grief she'd known without him! now what tears of joy she shed! enoch arden looked about him: "shanghaied!"--that was all he said. disavowal. two bodies are lying in phoenix park, grim and bloody and stiff and stark, and a land league man with averted eye crosses himself as he hurries by. and he says to his conscience under his breath: "i have had no hand in this deed of death!" a fenian, making a circuit wide and passing them by on the other side, shudders and crosses himself and cries: "who says that i did it, he lies, he lies!" gingerly stepping across the gore, pat satan comes after the two before, makes, in a solemnly comical way, the sign of the cross and is heard to say: "o dear, what a terrible sight to see, for babes like them and a saint like me!" . an average. i ne'er could be entirely fond of any maiden who's a blonde, and no brunette that e'er i saw had charms my heart's whole warmth to draw. yet sure no girl was ever made just half of light and half of shade. and so, this happy mean to get, i love a blonde and a brunette. woman. study good women and ignore the rest, for he best knows the sex who knows the best. incurable. from pride, joy, hate, greed, melancholy-- from any kind of vice, or folly, bias, propensity or passion that is in prevalence and fashion, save one, the sufferer or lover may, by the grace of god, recover: alone that spiritual tetter, the zeal to make creation better, glows still immedicably warmer. who knows of a reformed reformer? the pun. hail, peerless pun! thou last and best, most rare and excellent bequest of dying idiot to the wit he died of, rat-like, in a pit! thyself disguised, in many a way thou let'st thy sudden splendor play, adorning all where'er it turns, as the revealing bull's-eye burns, of the dim thief, and plays its trick upon the lock he means to pick. yet sometimes, too, thou dost appear as boldly as a brigadier tricked out with marks and signs, all o'er, of rank, brigade, division, corps, to show by every means he can an officer is not a man; or naked, with a lordly swagger, proud as a cur without a wagger, who says: "see simple worth prevail-- all dog, sir--not a bit of tail!" 't is then men give thee loudest welcome, as if thou wert a soul from hell come. o obvious pun! thou hast the grace of skeleton clock without a case-- with all its boweling displayed, and all its organs on parade. dear pun, you're common ground of bliss, where _punch_ and i can meet and kiss; than thee my wit can stoop no low'r-- no higher his does ever soar. a partisan's protest. o statesmen, what would you be at, with torches, flags and bands? you make me first throw up my hat, and then my hands. to nanine. dear, if i never saw your face again; if all the music of your voice were mute as that of a forlorn and broken lute; if only in my dreams i might attain the benediction of your touch, how vain were faith to justify the old pursuit of happiness, or reason to confute the pessimist philosophy of pain. yet love not altogether is unwise, for still the wind would murmur in the corn, and still the sun would splendor all the mere; and i--i could not, dearest, choose but hear your voice upon the breeze and see your eyes shine in the glory of the summer morn. vice versa. down in the state of maine, the story goes, a woman, to secure a lapsing pension, married a soldier--though the good lord knows that very common act scarce calls for mention. what makes it worthy to be writ and read-- the man she married had been nine hours dead! now, marrying a corpse is not an act familiar to our daily observation, and so i crave her pardon if the fact suggests this interesting speculation: should some mischance restore the man to life would she be then a widow, or a wife? let casuists contest the point; i'm not disposed to grapple with so great a matter. 't would tie my thinker in a double knot and drive me staring mad as any hatter-- though i submit that hatters are, in fact, sane, and all other human beings cracked. small thought have i of destiny or chance; luck seems to me the same thing as intention; in metaphysics i could ne'er advance, and think it of the devil's own invention. enough of joy to know though when i wed i _must_ be married, yet i _may_ be dead. a black-list. "resolved that we will post," the tradesmen say, "all names of debtors who do never pay." "whose shall be first?" inquires the ready scribe-- "who are the chiefs of the marauding tribe?" lo! high parnassus, lifting from the plain, upon his hoary peak, a noble fane! within that temple all the names are scrolled of village bards upon a slab of gold; to that bad eminence, my friend, aspire, and copy thou the roll of fame, entire. yet not to total shame those names devote, but add in mercy this explaining note: "these cheat because the law makes theft a crime, and they obey all laws but laws of rhyme." a bequest to music. "let music flourish!" so he said and died. hark! ere he's gone the minstrelsy begins: the symphonies ascend, a swelling tide, melodious thunders fill the welkin wide-- the grand old lawyers, chinning on their chins! authority. "authority, authority!" they shout whose minds, not large enough to hold a doubt, some chance opinion ever entertain, by dogma billeted upon their brain. "ha!" they exclaim with choreatic glee, "here's dabster if you won't give in to me-- dabster, sir, dabster, to whom all men look with reverence!" the fellow wrote a book. it matters not that many another wight has thought more deeply, could more wisely write on t' other side--that you yourself possess knowledge where dabster did but faintly guess. god help you if ambitious to persuade the fools who take opinion ready-made and "recognize authorities." be sure no tittle of their folly they'll abjure for all that you can say. but write it down, publish and die and get a great renown-- faith! how they'll snap it up, misread, misquote, swear that they had a hand in all you wrote, and ride your fame like monkeys on a goat! the psoriad. the king of scotland, years and years ago, convened his courtiers in a gallant row and thus addressed them: "gentle sirs, from you abundant counsel i have had, and true: what laws to make to serve the public weal; what laws of nature's making to repeal; what old religion is the only true one, and what the greater merit of some new one; what friends of yours my favor have forgot; which of your enemies against me plot. in harvests ample to augment my treasures, behold the fruits of your sagacious measures! the punctual planets, to their periods just, attest your wisdom and approve my trust. lo! the reward your shining virtues bring: the grateful placemen bless their useful king! but while you quaff the nectar of my favor i mean somewhat to modify its flavor by just infusing a peculiar dash of tonic bitter in the calabash. and should you, too abstemious, disdain it, egad! i'll hold your noses till you drain it! "you know, you dogs, your master long has felt a keen distemper in the royal pelt-- a testy, superficial irritation, brought home, i fancy, from some foreign nation. for this a thousand simples you've prescribed-- unguents external, draughts to be imbibed. you've plundered scotland of its plants, the seas you've ravished, and despoiled the hebrides, to brew me remedies which, in probation, were sovereign only in their application. in vain, and eke in pain, have i applied your flattering unctions to my soul and hide: physic and hope have been my daily food-- i've swallowed treacle by the holy rood! "your wisdom, which sufficed to guide the year and tame the seasons in their mad career, when set to higher purposes has failed me and added anguish to the ills that ailed me. nor that alone, but each ambitious leech his rivals' skill has labored to impeach by hints equivocal in secret speech. for years, to conquer our respective broils, we've plied each other with pacific oils. in vain: your turbulence is unallayed, my flame unquenched; your rioting unstayed; my life so wretched from your strife to save it that death were welcome did i dare to brave it. with zeal inspired by your intemperate pranks, my subjects muster in contending ranks. those fling their banners to the startled breeze to champion some royal ointment; these the standard of some royal purge display and 'neath that ensign wage a wasteful fray! brave tongues are thundering from sea to sea, torrents of sweat roll reeking o'er the lea! my people perish in their martial fear, and rival bagpipes cleave the royal ear! "now, caitiffs, tremble, for this very hour your injured sovereign shall assert his power! behold this lotion, carefully compound of all the poisons you for me have found-- of biting washes such as tan the skin, and drastic drinks to vex the parts within. what aggravates an ailment will produce-- i mean to rub you with this dreadful juice! divided counsels you no more shall hatch-- at last you shall unanimously scratch. kneel, villains, kneel, and doff your shirts--god bless us! they'll seem, when you resume them, robes of nessus!" the sovereign ceased, and, sealing what he spoke, from arthur's seat[ ] confirming thunders broke. the conscious culprits, to their fate resigned, sank to their knees, all piously inclined. this act, from high ben lomond where she floats, the thrifty goddess, caledonia, notes. glibly as nimble sixpence, down she tilts headlong, and ravishes away their kilts, tears off each plaid and all their shirts discloses, removes each shirt and their broad backs exposes. the king advanced--then cursing fled amain dashing the phial to the stony plain (where't straight became a fountain brimming o'er, whence father tweed derives his liquid store) for lo! already on each back _sans_ stitch the red sign manual of the rosy witch! [footnote : a famous height overlooking edinburgh.] oneiromancy. i fell asleep and dreamed that i was flung, like vulcan, from the sky; like him was lamed--another part: his leg was crippled and my heart. i woke in time to see my love conceal a letter in her glove. peace. when lion and lamb have together lain down spectators cry out, all in chorus; "the lamb doesn't shrink nor the lion frown-- a miracle's working before us!" but 't is patent why hot-head his wrath holds in, and faint-heart her terror and loathing; for the one's but an ass in a lion's skin, the other a wolf in sheep's clothing. thanksgiving. _the superintendent of an almshouse. a pauper._ superintendent: so _you're_ unthankful--you'll not eat the bird? you sit about the place all day and gird. i understand you'll not attend the ball that's to be given to-night in pauper hall. pauper: why, that is true, precisely as you've heard: i have no teeth and i will eat no bird. superintendent: ah! see how good is providence. because of teeth he has denuded both your jaws the fowl's made tender; you can overcome it by suction; or at least--well, you can gum it, attesting thus the dictum of the preachers that providence is good to all his creatures-- turkeys excepted. come, ungrateful friend, if our thanksgiving dinner you'll attend you shall say grace--ask god to bless at least the soft and liquid portions of the feast. pauper. without those teeth my speech is rather thick-- he'll hardly understand gum arabic. no, i'll not dine to-day. as to the ball, 'tis known to you that i've no legs at all. i had the gout--hereditary; so, as it could not be cornered in my toe they cut my legs off in the fond belief that shortening me would make my anguish brief. lacking my legs i could not prosecute with any good advantage a pursuit; and so, because my father chose to court heaven's favor with his ortolans and port (thanksgiving every day!) the lord supplied saws for my legs, an almshouse for my pride and, once a year, a bird for my inside. no, i'll not dance--my light fantastic toe took to its heels some twenty years ago. some small repairs would be required for putting my feelings on a saltatory footing. _(sings)_ o the legless man's an unhappy chap-- _tum-hi, tum-hi, tum-he o'haddy._ the favors o' fortune fall not in his lap-- _tum-hi, tum-heedle-do hum._ the plums of office avoid his plate no matter how much he may stump the state-- _tum-hi, ho-heeee._ the grass grows never beneath his feet, but he cannot hope to make both ends meet-- _tum-hi._ with a gleeless eye and a somber heart, he plays the role of his mortal part: wholly himself he can never be. o, a soleless corporation is he! _tum_. superintendent: the chapel bell is calling, thankless friend, balls you may not, but church you _shall_, attend. some recognition cannot be denied to the great mercy that has turned aside the sword of death from us and let it fall upon the people's necks in montreal; that spared our city, steeple, roof and dome, and drowned the texans out of house and home; blessed all our continent with peace, to flood the balkan with a cataclysm of blood. compared with blessings of so high degree, your private woes look mighty small--to me. l'audace. daughter of god! audacity divine-- of clowns the terror and of brains the sign-- not thou the inspirer of the rushing fool, not thine of idiots the vocal drool: thy bastard sister of the brow of brass, presumption, actuates the charging ass. sky-born audacity! of thee who sings should strike with freer hand than mine the strings; the notes should mount on pinions true and strong, for thou, the subject shouldst sustain the song, till angels lean from heaven, a breathless throng! alas! with reeling heads and wavering tails, they (notes, not angels) drop and the hymn fails; the minstrel's tender fingers and his thumbs are torn to rags upon the lyre he strums. have done! the lofty thesis makes demand for stronger voices and a harder hand: night-howling apes to make the notes aspire, and poet riley's fist to slug the rebel wire! the god's view-point. cheeta raibama chunder sen, the wisest and the best of men, betook him to the place where sat with folded feet upon a mat of precious stones beneath a palm, in sweet and everlasting calm, that ancient and immortal gent, the god of rational content. as tranquil and unmoved as fate, the deity reposed in state, with palm to palm and sole to sole, and beaded breast and beetling jowl, and belly spread upon his thighs, and costly diamonds for eyes. as chunder sen approached and knelt to show the reverence he felt; then beat his head upon the sod to prove his fealty to the god; and then by gestures signified the other sentiments inside; the god's right eye (as chunder sen, the wisest and the best of men, half-fancied) grew by just a thought more narrow than it truly ought. yet still that prince of devotees, persistent upon bended knees and elbows bored into the earth, declared the god's exceeding worth, and begged his favor. then at last, within that cavernous and vast thoracic space was heard a sound like that of water underground-- a gurgling note that found a vent at mouth of that immortal gent in such a chuckle as no ear had e'er been privileged to hear! cheeta raibama chunder sen, the wisest, greatest, best of men, heard with a natural surprise that mighty midriff improvise. and greater yet the marvel was when from between those massive jaws fell words to make the views more plain the god was pleased to entertain: "cheeta raibama chunder sen," so ran the rede in speech of men-- "foremost of mortals in assent to creed of rational content, why come you here to impetrate a blessing on your scurvy pate? can you not rationally be content without disturbing me? can you not take a hint--a wink-- of what of all this rot i think? is laughter lost upon you quite, to check you in your pious rite? what! know you not we gods protest that all religion is a jest? you take me seriously?--you about me make a great ado (when i but wish to be alone) with attitudes supine and prone, with genuflexions and with prayers, and putting on of solemn airs, to draw my mind from the survey of rational content away! learn once for all, if learn you can, this truth, significant to man: a pious person is by odds the one most hateful to the gods." then stretching forth his great right hand, which shadowed all that sunny land, that deity bestowed a touch which chunder sen not overmuch enjoyed--a touch divine that made the sufferer hear stars! they played and sang as on creation's morn when spheric harmony was born. cheeta raibama chunder sen, the most astonished man of men, fell straight asleep, and when he woke the deity nor moved nor spoke, but sat beneath that ancient palm in sweet and everlasting calm. the aesthetes. the lily cranks, the lily cranks, the loppy, loony lasses! they multiply in rising ranks to execute their solemn pranks, they moon along in masses. blow, sweet lily, in the shade! o, sunflower decorate the dado! the maiden ass, the maiden ass, the tall and tailless jenny! in limp attire as green as grass, she stands, a monumental brass, the one of one too many. blow, sweet lily, in the shade! o, sunflower decorate the dado! july fourth. god said: "let there be noise." the dawning fire of independence gilded every spire. with mine own petard. time was the local poets sang their songs beneath their breath in terror of the thongs i snapped about their shins. though mild the stroke bards, like the conies, are "a feeble folk," fearing all noises but the one they make themselves--at which all other mortals quake. now from their cracked and disobedient throats, like rats from sewers scampering, their notes pour forth to move, where'er the season serves, if not our legs to dance, at least our nerves; as once a ram's-horn solo maddened all the sober-minded stones in jerich's wall. a year's exemption from the critic's curse mends the bard's courage but impairs his verse. thus poolside frogs, when croaking in the night, are frayed to silence by a meteor's flight, or by the sudden plashing of a stone from some adjacent cottage garden thrown, but straight renew the song with double din whene'er the light goes out or man goes in. shall i with arms unbraced (my casque unlatched, my falchion pawned, my buckler, too, attached) resume the cuishes and the broad cuirass, accomplishing my body all in brass, and arm in battle royal to oppose a village poet singing through the nose, or strolling troubadour his lyre who strums with clumsy hand whose fingers all are thumbs? no, let them rhyme; i fought them once before and stilled their songs--but, satan! how they swore!-- cuffed them upon the mouth whene'er their throats they cleared for action with their sweetest notes; twisted their ears (they'd oft tormented mine) and damned them roundly all along the line; clubbed the whole crew from the parnassian slopes, a wreck of broken heads and broken hopes! what gained i so? i feathered every curse launched at the village bards with lilting verse. the town approved and christened me (to show its high admiration) chief of local poets! constancy. dull were the days and sober, the mountains were brown and bare, for the season was sad october and a dirge was in the air. the mated starlings flew over to the isles of the southern sea. she wept for her warrior lover-- wept and exclaimed: "ah, me! "long years have i mourned my darling in his battle-bed at rest; and it's o, to be a starling, with a mate to share my nest!" the angels pitied her sorrow, restoring her warrior's life; and he came to her arms on the morrow to claim her and take her to wife. an aged lover--a portly, bald lover, a trifle too stiff, with manners that would have been courtly, and would have been graceful, if-- if the angels had only restored him without the additional years that had passed since the enemy bored him to death with their long, sharp spears. as it was, he bored her, and she rambled away with her father's young groom, and the old lover smiled as he ambled contentedly back to the tomb. sires and sons. wild wanton luxury lays waste the land with difficulty tilled by thrift's hard hand! then dies the state!--and, in its carcass found, the millionaires, all maggot-like, abound. alas! was it for this that warren died, and arnold sold himself to t' other side, stark piled at bennington his british dead, and gates at camden, lee at monmouth, fled?-- for this that perry did the foeman fleece, and hull surrender to preserve the peace? degenerate countrymen, renounce, i pray, the slothful ease, the luxury, the gay and gallant trappings of this idle life, and be more fit for one another's wife. a challenge. a bull imprisoned in a stall broke boldly the confining wall, and found himself, when out of bounds, within a washerwoman's grounds. where, hanging on a line to dry, a crimson skirt inflamed his eye. with bellowings that woke the dead, he bent his formidable head, with pointed horns and gnarly forehead; then, planting firm his shoulders horrid, began, with rage made half insane, to paw the arid earth amain, flinging the dust upon his flanks in desolating clouds and banks, the while his eyes' uneasy white betrayed his doubt what foe the bright red tent concealed, perchance, from sight. the garment, which, all undismayed, had never paled a single shade, now found a tongue--a dangling sock, left carelessly inside the smock: "i must insist, my gracious liege, that you'll be pleased to raise the siege: my colors i will never strike. i know your sex--you're all alike. some small experience i've had-- you're not the first i've driven mad." two shows. the showman (blessing in a thousand shapes!) parades a "school of educated apes!" small education's needed, i opine, or native wit, to make a monkey shine; the brute exhibited has naught to do but ape the larger apes who come to view-- the hoodlum with his horrible grimace, long upper lip and furtive, shuffling pace, significant reminders of the time when hunters, not policemen, made him climb; the lady loafer with her draggling "trail," that free translation of an ancient tail; the sand-lot quadrumane in hairy suit, whose heels are thumbs perverted by the boot; the painted actress throwing down the gage to elder artists of the sylvan stage, proving that in the time of noah's flood two ape-skins held her whole profession's blood; the critic waiting, like a hungry pup, to write the school--perhaps to eat it--up, as chance or luck occasion may reveal to earn a dollar or maraud a meal. to view the school of apes these creatures go, unconscious that themselves are half the show. these, if the simian his course but trim to copy them as they have copied him, will call him "educated." of a verity there's much to learn by study of posterity. a poet's hope. 'twas a weary-looking mortal, and he wandered near the portal of the melancholy city of the discontented dead. he was pale and worn exceeding and his manner was unheeding, as if it could not matter what he did nor what he said. "sacred stranger"--i addressed him with a reverence befitting the austere, unintermitting, dread solemnity he wore; 'tis the custom, too, prevailing in that vicinage when hailing one who possibly may be a person lately "gone before"-- "sacred stranger, much i ponder on your evident dejection, but my carefulest reflection leaves the riddle still unread. how do you yourself explain your dismal tendency to wander by the melancholy city of the discontented dead?" then that solemn person, pausing in the march that he was making, roused himself as if awaking, fixed his dull and stony eye on my countenance and, slowly, like a priest devout and holy, chanted in a mournful monotone the following reply: "o my brother, do not fear it; i'm no disembodied spirit-- i am lampton, the slang poet, with a price upon my head. i am watching by this portal for some late lamented mortal to arise in his disquietude and leave his earthy bed. "then i hope to take possession and pull in the earth above me and, renouncing my profession, ne'er be heard of any more. for there's not a soul to love me and no living thing respects me, which so painfully affects me that i fain would 'go before.'" then i felt a deep compassion for the gentleman's dejection, for privation of affection would refrigerate a frog. so i said: "if nothing human, and if neither man nor woman can appreciate the fashion of your merit--buy a dog." the woman and the devil. when man and woman had been made, all but the disposition, the devil to the workshop strayed, and somehow gained admission. the master rested from his work, for this was on a sunday, the man was snoring like a turk, content to wait till monday. "too bad!" the woman cried; "oh, why, does slumber not benumb me? a disposition! oh, i die to know if 'twill become me!" the adversary said: "no doubt 'twill be extremely fine, ma'am, though sure 'tis long to be without-- i beg to lend you mine, ma'am." the devil's disposition when she'd got, of course she wore it, for she'd no disposition then, nor now has, to restore it. two rogues. dim, grim, and silent as a ghost, the sentry occupied his post, to all the stirrings of the night alert of ear and sharp of sight. a sudden something--sight or sound, about, above, or underground, he knew not what, nor where--ensued, thrilling the sleeping solitude. the soldier cried: "halt! who goes there?" the answer came: "death--in the air." "advance, death--give the countersign, or perish if you cross that line!" to change his tone death thought it wise-- reminded him they 'd been allies against the russ, the frank, the turk, in many a bloody bit of work. "in short," said he, "in every weather we've soldiered, you and i, together." the sentry would not let him pass. "go back," he growled, "you tiresome ass-- go back and rest till the next war, nor kill by methods all abhor: miasma, famine, filth and vice, with plagues of locusts, plagues of lice, foul food, foul water, and foul gases, rank exhalations from morasses. if you employ such low allies this business you will vulgarize. renouncing then the field of fame to wallow in a waste of shame, i'll prostitute my strength and lurk about the country doing work-- these hands to labor i'll devote, nor cut, by heaven, another throat!" beecher. so, beecher's dead. his was a great soul, too-- great as a giant organ is, whose reeds hold in them all the souls of all the creeds that man has ever taught and never knew. when on this mighty instrument he laid his hand who fashioned it, our common moan was suppliant in its thundering. the tone grew more vivacious when the devil played. no more those luring harmonies we hear, and lo! already men forget the sound. they turn, retracing all the dubious ground o'er which it led them, pigwise, by the ear. not guilty. "i saw your charms in another's arms," said a grecian swain with his blood a-boil; "and he kissed you fair as he held you there, a willing bird in a serpent's coil!" the maid looked up from the cinctured cup wherein she was crushing the berries red, pain and surprise in her honest eyes-- "it was only one o' those gods," she said. presentiment. with saintly grace and reverent tread, she walked among the graves with me; her every foot-fall seemed to be a benediction on the dead. the guardian spirit of the place she seemed, and i some ghost forlorn surprised in the untimely morn she made with her resplendent face. moved by some waywardness of will, three paces from the path apart she stepped and stood--my prescient heart was stricken with a passing chill. the folk-lore of the years agone remembering, i smiled and thought: "who shudders suddenly at naught, his grave is being trod upon." but now i know that it was more than idle fancy. o, my sweet, i did not think such little feet could make a buried heart so sore! a study in gray. i step from the door with a shiver (this fog is uncommonly cold) and ask myself: what did i give her?-- the maiden a trifle gone-old, with the head of gray hair that was gold. ah, well, i suppose 'twas a dollar, and doubtless the change is correct, though it's odd that it seems so much smaller than what i'd a right to expect. but you pay when you dine, i reflect. so i walk up the street--'twas a saunter a score of years back, when i strolled from this door; and our talk was all banter those days when her hair was of gold, and the sea-fog less searching and cold. i button my coat (for i'm shaken, and fevered a trifle, and flushed with the wine that i ought to have taken,) time was, at this coat i'd have blushed, though truly, 'tis cleverly brushed. a score? why, that isn't so very much time to have lost from a life. there's reason enough to be merry: i've not fallen down in the strife, but marched with the drum and the fife. if hope, when she lured me and beckoned, had pushed at my shoulders instead, and fame, on whose favors i reckoned, had laureled the worthiest head, i could garland the years that are dead. believe me, i've held my own, mostly through all of this wild masquerade; but somehow the fog is more ghostly to-night, and the skies are more grayed, like the locks of the restaurant maid. if ever i'd fainted and faltered i'd fancy this did but appear; but the climate, i'm certain, has altered-- grown colder and more austere than it was in that earlier year. the lights, too, are strangely unsteady, that lead from the street to the quay. i think they'll go out--and i'm ready to follow. out there in the sea the fog-bell is calling to me. a paradox. "if life were not worth having," said the preacher, "'t would have in suicide one pleasant feature." "an error," said the pessimist, "you're making: what's not worth having cannot be worth taking." for merit. to parmentier parisians raise a statue fine and large: he cooked potatoes fifty ways, nor ever led a charge. "_palmam qui meruit"_--the rest you knew as well as i; and best of all to him that best of sayings will apply. let meaner men the poet's bays or warrior's medal wear; who cooks potatoes fifty ways shall bear the palm--de terre. a bit of science. what! photograph in colors? 'tis a dream and he who dreams it is not overwise, if colors are vibration they but seem, and have no being. but if tyndall lies, why, come, then--photograph my lady's eyes. nay, friend, you can't; the splendor of their blue, as on my own beclouded orbs they rest, to naught but vibratory motion's due, as heart, head, limbs and all i am attest. how could her eyes, at rest themselves, be making in me so uncontrollable a shaking? the tables turned. over the man the street car ran, and the driver did never grin. "o killer of men, pray tell me when your laughter means to begin. "ten years to a day i've observed you slay, and i never have missed before your jubilant peals as your crunching wheels were spattered with human gore. "why is it, my boy, that you smother your joy, and why do you make no sign of the merry mind that is dancing behind a solemner face than mine?" the driver replied: "i would laugh till i cried if i had bisected you; but i'd like to explain, if i can for the pain, 't is myself that i've cut in two." to a dejected poet. thy gift, if that it be of god, thou hast no warrant to appraise, nor say: "here part, o muse, our ways, the road too stony to be trod." not thine to call the labor hard and the reward inadequate. who haggles o'er his hire with fate is better bargainer than bard. what! count the effort labor lost when thy good angel holds the reed? it were a sorry thing indeed to stay him till thy palm be crossed. "the laborer is worthy"--nay, the sacred ministry of song is rapture!--'t were a grievous wrong to fix a wages-rate for play. a fool. says anderson, theosophist: "among the many that exist in modern halls, some lived in ancient egypt's clime and in their childhood saw the prime of karnak's walls." ah, anderson, if that is true 't is my conviction, sir, that you are one of those that once resided by the nile, peer to the sacred crocodile, heir to his woes. my judgment is, the holy cat mews through your larynx (and your hat) these many years. through you the godlike onion brings its melancholy sense of things, and moves to tears. in you the bull divine again bellows and paws the dusty plain, to nature true. i challenge not his ancient hate but, lowering my knurly pate, lock horns with you. and though reincarnation prove a creed too stubborn to remove, and all your school of theosophs i cannot scare-- all the more earnestly i swear that you're a fool. you'll say that this is mere abuse without, in fraying you, a use. that's plain to see with only half an eye. come, now, be fair, be fair,--consider how it eases _me_! the humorist. "what is that, mother?" "the funny man, child. his hands are black, but his heart is mild." "may i touch him, mother?" "'t were foolishly done: he is slightly touched already, my son." "o, why does he wear such a ghastly grin?" "that's the outward sign of a joke within." "will he crack it, mother?" "not so, my saint; 't is meant for the _saturday livercomplaint."_ "does he suffer, mother?" "god help him, yes!-- a thousand and fifty kinds of distress." "what makes him sweat so?" "the demons that lurk in the fear of having to go to work." "why doesn't he end, then, his life with a rope?" "abolition of hell has deprived him of hope." montefiore. i saw--'twas in a dream, the other night-- a man whose hair with age was thin and white: one hundred years had bettered by his birth, and still his step was firm, his eye was bright. before him and about him pressed a crowd. each head in reverence was bared and bowed, and jews and gentiles in a hundred tongues extolled his deeds and spoke his fame aloud. i joined the throng and, pushing forward, cried, "montefiore!" with the rest, and vied in efforts to caress the hand that ne'er to want and worth had charity denied. so closely round him swarmed our shouting clan he scarce could breathe, and taking from a pan a gleaming coin he tossed it o'er our heads, and in a moment was a lonely man! a warning. cried age to youth: "abate your speed!-- the distance hither's brief indeed." but youth pressed on without delay-- the shout had reached but half the way. discretion. she: i'm told that men have sometimes got too confidential, and have said to one another what they--well, you understand. i hope i don't offend you, sweet, but are you sure that _you're_ discreet? he: 'tis true, sometimes my friends in wine their conquests _do_ recall, but none can truly say that mine are known to him at all. i never, never talk you o'er-- in truth, i never get the floor. an exile. 'tis the census enumerator a-singing all forlorn: it's ho! for the tall potater, and ho! for the clustered corn. the whiffle-tree bends in the breeze and the fine large eggs are a-ripening on the vine. "some there must be to till the soil and the widow's weeds keep down. i wasn't cut out for rural toil but they _won't_ let me live in town! they 're not so many by two or three, as they think, but ah! they 're too many for me." thus the census man, bowed down with care, warbled his wood-note high. there was blood on his brow and blood in his hair, but he had no blood in his eye. the division superintendent. baffled he stands upon the track-- the automatic switches clack. where'er he turns his solemn eyes the interlocking signals rise. the trains, before his visage pale, glide smoothly by, nor leave the rail. no splinter-spitted victim he hears uttering the note high c. in sorrow deep he hangs his head, a-weary--would that he were dead. now suddenly his spirits rise-- a great thought kindles in his eyes. hope, like a headlight's vivid glare, splendors the path of his despair. his genius shines, the clouds roll back-- "i'll place obstructions on the track!" psychographs. says gerald massey: "when i write, a band of souls of the departed guides my hand." how strange that poems cumbering our shelves, penned by immortal parts, have none themselves! to a professional eulogist. newman, in you two parasites combine: as tapeworm and as graveworm too you shine. when on the virtues of the quick you've dwelt, the pride of residence was all you felt (what vain vulgarian the wish ne'er knew to paint his lodging a flamboyant hue?) and when the praises of the dead you've sung, 'twas appetite, not truth, inspired your tongue; as ill-bred men when warming to their wine boast of its merit though it be but brine. nor gratitude incites your song, nor should-- even charity would shun you if she could. you share, 'tis true, the rich man's daily dole, but what you get you take by way of toll. vain to resist you--vermifuge alone has power to push you from your robber throne. when to escape you he's compelled to die hey! presto!--in the twinkling of an eye you vanish as a tapeworm, reappear as graveworm and resume your curst career. as host no more, to satisfy your need he serves as dinner your unaltered greed. o thrifty sycophant of wealth and fame, son of servility and priest of shame, while naught your mad ambition can abate to lick the spittle of the rich and great; while still like smoke your eulogies arise to soot your heroes and inflame our eyes; while still with holy oil, like that which ran down aaron's beard, you smear each famous man, i cannot choose but think it very odd it ne'er occurs to you to fawn on god. for wounds. o bear me, gods, to some enchanted isle where woman's tears can antidote her smile. election day. despots effete upon tottering thrones unsteadily poised upon dead men's bones, walk up! walk up! the circus is free, and this wonderful spectacle you shall see: millions of voters who mostly are fools-- demagogues' dupes and candidates' tools, armies of uniformed mountebanks, and braying disciples of brainless cranks. many a week they've bellowed like beeves, bitterly blackguarding, lying like thieves, libeling freely the quick and the dead and painting the new jerusalem red. tyrants monarchical--emperors, kings, princes and nobles and all such things-- noblemen, gentlemen, step this way: there's nothing, the devil excepted, to pay, and the freaks and curios here to be seen are very uncommonly grand and serene. no more with vivacity they debate, nor cheerfully crack the illogical pate; no longer, the dull understanding to aid, the stomach accepts the instructive blade, nor the stubborn heart learns what is what from a revelation of rabbit-shot; and vilification's flames--behold! burn with a bickering faint and cold. magnificent spectacle!--every tongue suddenly civil that yesterday rung (like a clapper beating a brazen bell) each fair reputation's eternal knell; hands no longer delivering blows, and noses, for counting, arrayed in rows. walk up, gentlemen--nothing to pay-- the devil goes back to hell to-day. the militiaman. "o warrior with the burnished arms-- with bullion cord and tassel-- pray tell me of the lurid charms of service and the fierce alarms: the storming of the castle, the charge across the smoking field, the rifles' busy rattle-- what thoughts inspire the men who wield the blade--their gallant souls how steeled and fortified in battle." "nay, man of peace, seek not to know war's baleful fascination-- the soldier's hunger for the foe, his dread of safety, joy to go to court annihilation. though calling bugles blow not now, nor drums begin to beat yet, one fear unmans me, i'll allow, and poisons all my pleasure: how if i should get my feet wet!" "a literary method." his poems riley says that he indites upon an empty stomach. heavenly powers, feed him throat-full: for what the beggar writes upon his empty stomach empties ours! a welcome. because you call yourself knights templar, and there's neither knight nor temple in the land,-- because you thus by vain pretense degrade to paltry purposes traditions grand,-- because to cheat the ignorant you say the thing that's not, elated still to sway the crass credulity of gaping fools and women by fantastical display,-- because no sacred fires did ever warm your hearts, high knightly service to perform-- a woman's breast or coffer of a man the only citadel you dare to storm,-- because while railing still at lord and peer, at pomp and fuss-and-feathers while you jeer, each member of your order tries to graft a peacock's tail upon his barren rear,-- because that all these things are thus and so, i bid you welcome to our city. lo! you're free to come, and free to stay, and free as soon as it shall please you, sirs--to go. a serenade. "sas agapo sas agapo," he sang beneath her lattice. "'sas agapo'?" she murmured--"o, i wonder, now, what _that_ is!" was she less fair that she did bear so light a load of knowledge? are loving looks got out of books, or kisses taught in college? of woman's lore give me no more than how to love,--in many a tongue men brawl: she speaks them all who says "i love," in any. the wise and good. "o father, i saw at the church as i passed the populace gathered in numbers so vast that they couldn't get in; and their voices were low, and they looked as if suffering terrible woe." "'twas the funeral, child, of a gentleman dead for whom the great heart of humanity bled." "what made it bleed, father, for every day somebody passes forever away? do the newspaper men print a column or more of every person whose troubles are o'er?" "o, no; they could never do that--and indeed, though printers might print it, no reader would read. to the sepulcher all, soon or late, must be borne, but 'tis only the wise and the good that all mourn." "that's right, father dear, but how can our eyes distinguish in dead men the good and the wise?" "that's easy enough to the stupidest mind: they're poor, and in dying leave nothing behind." "seest thou in mine eye, father, anything green? and takest thy son for a gaping marine? go tell thy fine tale of the wise and the good who are poor and lamented to babes in the wood." and that horrible youth as i hastened away was building a wink that affronted the day. the lost colonel. "'tis a woeful yarn," said the sailor man bold who had sailed the northern-lakes-- "no woefuler one has ever been told exceptin' them called 'fakes.'" "go on, thou son of the wind and fog, for i burn to know the worst!" but his silent lip in a glass of grog was dreamily immersed. then he wiped it on his sleeve and said: "it's never like that i drinks but what of the gallant gent that's dead i truly mournful thinks. "he was a soldier chap--leastways as 'colonel' he was knew; an' he hailed from some'rs where they raise a grass that's heavenly blue. "he sailed as a passenger aboard the schooner 'henery jo.' o wild the waves and galeses roared, like taggers in a show! "but he sat at table that calm an' mild as if he never had let his sperit know that the waves was wild an' everlastin' wet!-- "jest set with a bottle afore his nose, as was labeled 'total eclipse' (the bottle was) an' he frequent rose a glass o' the same to his lips. "an' he says to me (for the steward slick of the 'henery jo' was i): 'this sailor life's the very old nick-- on the lakes it's powerful dry!' "i says: 'aye, aye, sir, it beats the dutch. i hopes you'll outlast the trip.' but if i'd been him--an' i said as much-- i'd 'a' took a faster ship. "his laughture, loud an' long an' free, rang out o'er the tempest's roar. 'you're an elegant reasoner,' says he, 'but it's powerful dry ashore!'" "o mariner man, why pause and don a look of so deep concern? have another glass--go on, go on, for to know the worst i burn." "one day he was leanin' over the rail, when his footing some way slipped, an' (this is the woefulest part o' my tale), he was accidental unshipped! "the empty boats was overboard hove, as he swum in the 'henery's wake'; but 'fore we had 'bouted ship he had drove from sight on the ragin' lake!" "and so the poor gentleman was drowned-- and now i'm apprised of the worst." "what! him? 'twas an hour afore he was found-- in the yawl--stone dead o' thirst!" for tat. o, heavenly powers! will wonders never cease?-- hair upon dogs and feathers upon geese! the boys in mischief and the pigs in mire! the drinking water wet! the coal on fire! in meadows, rivulets surpassing fair, forever running, yet forever there! a tail appended to the gray baboon! a person coming out of a saloon! last, and of all most marvelous to see, a female yahoo flinging filth at me! if 'twould but stick i'd bear upon my coat may little's proof that she is fit to vote. a dilemma. filled with a zeal to serve my fellow men, for years i criticised their prose and verges: pointed out all their blunders of the pen, their shallowness of thought and feeling; then damned them up hill and down with hearty curses! they said: "that's all that he can do--just sneer, and pull to pieces and be analytic. why doesn't he himself, eschewing fear, publish a book or two, and so appear as one who has the right to be a critic? "let him who knows it all forbear to tell how little others know, but show his learning." the public added: "who has written well may censure freely"--quoting pope. i fell into the trap and books began out-turning,-- books by the score--fine prose and poems fair, and not a book of them but was a terror, they were so great and perfect; though i swear i tried right hard to work in, here and there, (my nature still forbade) a fault or error. 'tis true, some wretches, whom i'd scratched, no doubt, professed to find--but that's a trifling matter. now, when the flood of noble books was out i raised o'er all that land a joyous shout, till i was thought as mad as any hatter! (why hatters all are mad, i cannot say. 't were wrong in their affliction to revile 'em, but truly, you'll confess 'tis very sad we wear the ugly things they make. begad, they'd be less mischievous in an asylum!) "consistency, thou art a"--well, you're _paste_! when next i felt my demon in possession, and made the field of authorship a waste, all said of me: "what execrable taste, to rail at others of his own profession!" good lord! where do the critic's rights begin who has of literature some clear-cut notion, and hears a voice from heaven say: "pitch in"? he finds himself--alas, poor son of sin-- between the devil and the deep blue ocean! metempsychosis. once with christ he entered salem, once in moab bullied balaam, once by apuleius staged he the pious much enraged. and, again, his head, as beaver, topped the neck of nick the weaver. omar saw him (minus tether-- free and wanton as the weather: knowing naught of bit or spur) stamping over bahram-gur. now, as altgeld, see him joy as governor of illinois! the saint and the monk. saint peter at the gate of heaven displayed the tools and terrors of his awful trade; the key, the frown as pitiless as night, that slays intending trespassers at sight, and, at his side in easy reach, the curled interrogation points all ready to be hurled. straight up the shining cloudway (it so chanced no others were about) a soul advanced-- a fat, orbicular and jolly soul with laughter-lines upon each rosy jowl-- a monk so prepossessing that the saint admired him, breathless, until weak and faint, forgot his frown and all his questions too, forgoing even the customary "who?"-- threw wide the gate and, with a friendly grin, said, "'tis a very humble home, but pray walk in." the soul smiled pleasantly. "excuse me, please-- who's in there?" by insensible degrees the impudence dispelled the saint's esteem, as growing snores annihilate a dream. the frown began to blacken on his brow, his hand to reach for "whence?" and "why?" and "how?" "o, no offense, i hope," the soul explained; "i'm rather--well, particular. i've strained a point in coming here at all; 'tis said that susan anthony (i hear she's dead at last) and all her followers are here. as company, they'd be--confess it--rather queer." the saint replied, his rising anger past: "what can i do?--the law is hard-and-fast, albeit unwritten and on earth unknown-- an oral order issued from the throne. by but one sin has woman e'er incurred god's wrath. to accuse them loud of that would be absurd." that friar sighed, but, calling up a smile, said, slowly turning on his heel the while: "farewell, my friend. put up the chain and bar-- i'm going, so please you, where the pretty women are." . the opposing sex. the widows of ashur are loud in their wailing: "no longer the 'masher' sees widows of ashur!" so each is a lasher of man's smallest failing. the widows of ashur are loud in their wailing. the cave of adullam, that home of reviling-- no wooing can gull 'em in cave of adullam. no angel can lull 'em to cease their defiling the cave of adullam, that home of reviling. at men they are cursing-- the widows of ashur; themselves, too, for nursing the men they are cursing. the praise they're rehearsing of every slasher at men. _they_ are cursing the widows of ashur. a whipper-in. [commissioner of pensions dudley has established a sunday-school and declares he will remove any clerk in his department who does not regularly attend.--_n.y. world.]_ dudley, great placeman, man of mark and note, worthy of honor from a feeble pen blunted in service of all true, good men, you serve the lord--in courses, _table d'hôte: au, naturel,_ as well as _à la nick_-- "eat and be thankful, though it make you sick." o, truly pious caterer, forbear to push the saviour and him crucified _(brochette_ you'd call it) into their inside who're all unused to such ambrosial fare. the stomach of the soul makes quick revulsion of aught that it has taken on compulsion. i search the scriptures, but i do not find that e'er the spirit beats with angry wings for entrance to the heart, but sits and sings to charm away the scruples of the mind. it says: "receive me, please; i'll not compel"-- though if you don't you will go straight to hell! well, that's compulsion, you will say. 't is true: we cower timidly beneath the rod lifted in menace by an angry god, but won't endure it from an ape like you. detested simian with thumb prehensile, switch _me_ and i would brain you with my pencil! face you the throne, nor dare to turn your back on its transplendency to flog some wight who gropes and stumbles in the infernal night your ugly shadow lays along his track. o, thou who from the temple scourged the sin, behold what rascals try to scourge it in! judgment. i drew aside the future's veil and saw upon his bier the poet whitman. loud the wail and damp the falling tear. "he's dead--he is no more!" one cried, with sobs of sorrow crammed; "no more? he's this much more," replied another: "he is damned!" . the fall of miss larkin. hear me sing of sally larkin who, i'd have you understand, played accordions as well as any lady in the land; and i've often heard it stated that her fingering was such that professor schweinenhauer was enchanted with her touch; and that beasts were so affected when her apparatus rang that they dropped upon their haunches and deliriously sang. this i know from testimony, though a critic, i opine, needs an ear that is dissimilar in some respects to mine. she could sing, too, like a jaybird, and they say all eyes were wet when sally and the ranch-dog were performing a duet-- which i take it is a song that has to be so loudly sung as to overtax the strength of any single human lung. that, at least, would seem to follow from the tale i have to tell, which (i've told you how she flourished) is how sally larkin fell. one day there came to visit sally's dad as sleek and smart a chap as ever wandered there from any foreign part. though his gentle birth and breeding he did not at all obtrude it was somehow whispered round he was a simon-pure dude. howsoe'er that may have been, it was conspicuous to see that he _was_ a real gent of an uncommon high degree. that sally cast her tender and affectionate regards on this exquisite creation was, of course, upon the cards; but he didn't seem to notice, and was variously blind to her many charms of person and the merits of her mind, and preferred, i grieve to say it, to play poker with her dad, and acted in a manner that in general was bad. one evening--'twas in summer--she was holding in her lap her accordion, and near her stood that melancholy chap, leaning up against a pillar with his lip in grog imbrued, thinking, maybe, of that ancient land in which he was a dude. then sally, who was melancholy too, began to hum and elongate the accordion with a preluding thumb. then sighs of amorosity from sally l. exhaled, and her music apparatus sympathetically wailed. "in the gloaming, o my darling!" rose that wild impassioned strain, and her eyes were fixed on his with an intensity of pain, till the ranch-dog from his kennel at the postern gate came round, and going into session strove to magnify the sound. he lifted up his spirit till the gloaming rang and rang with the song that to _his_ darling he impetuously sang! then that musing youth, recalling all his soul from other scenes, where his fathers all were dudes and his mothers all dudines, from his lips removed the beaker and politely, o'er the grog, said: "miss larkin, please be quiet: you will interrupt the dog." in high life. sir impycu lackland, from over the sea, has led to the altar miss bloatie bondee. the wedding took place at the church of st. blare; the fashion, the rank and the wealth were all there-- no person was absent of all whom one meets. lord mammon himself bowed them into their seats, while good sir john satan attended the door and sexton beelzebub managed the floor, respectfully keeping each dog to its rug, preserving the peace between poodle and pug. twelve bridesmaids escorted the bride up the aisle to blush in her blush and to smile in her smile; twelve groomsmen supported the eminent groom to scowl in his scowl and to gloom in his gloom. the rites were performed by the hand and the lip of his grace the diocesan, billingham pip, assisted by three able-bodied divines. he prayed and they grunted, he read, they made signs. such fashion, such beauty, such dressing, such grace were ne'er before seen in that heavenly place! that night, full of gin, and all blazing inside, sir impycu blackened the eyes of his bride. a bubble. mrs. mehitable marcia moore was a dame of superior mind, with a gown which, modestly fitting before, was greatly puffed up behind. the bustle she wore was ingeniously planned with an inspiration bright: it magnified seven diameters and was remarkably nice and light. it was made of rubber and edged with lace and riveted all with brass, and the whole immense interior space inflated with hydrogen gas. the ladies all said when she hove in view like the round and rising moon: "she's a stuck up thing!" which was partly true, and men called her the captive balloon. to manhattan beach for a bath one day she went and she said: "o dear! if i leave off _this_ what will people say? i shall look so uncommonly queer!" so a costume she had accordingly made to take it all nicely in, and when she appeared in that suit arrayed, she was greeted with many a grin. proudly and happily looking around, she waded out into the wet, but the water was very, very profound, and her feet and her forehead met! as her bubble drifted away from the shore, on the glassy billows borne, all cried: "why, where is mehitable moore? i saw her go in, i'll be sworn!" then the bulb it swelled as the sun grew hot, till it burst with a sullen roar, and the sea like oil closed over the spot-- farewell, o mehitable moore! a rendezvous. nightly i put up this humble petition: "forgive me, o father of glories, my sins of commission, my sins of omission, my sins of the mission dolores." francine. did i believe the angels soon would call you, my beloved, to the other shore, and i should never see you any more, i love you so i know that i should fall into dejection utterly, and all love's pretty pageantry, wherein we bore twin banners bravely in the tumult's fore, would seem as shadows idling on a wall. so daintily i love you that my love endures no rumor of the winter's breath, and only blossoms for it thinks the sky forever gracious, and the stars above forever friendly. even the fear of death were frost wherein its roses all would die. an example. they were two deaf mutes, and they loved and they resolved to be groom and bride; and they listened to nothing that any could say, nor ever a word replied. from wedlock when warned by the married men, maintain an invincible mind: be deaf and dumb until wedded--and then be deaf and dumb and blind. revenge. a spitcat sate on a garden gate and a snapdog fared beneath; careless and free was his mien, and he held a fiddle-string in his teeth. she marked his march, she wrought an arch of her back and blew up her tail; and her eyes were green as ever were seen, and she uttered a woful wail. the spitcat's plaint was as follows: "it ain't that i am to music a foe; for fiddle-strings bide in my own inside, and i twang them soft and low. "but that dog has trifled with art and rifled a kitten of mine, ah me! that catgut slim was marauded from him: 'tis the string that men call e." then she sounded high, in the key of y, a note that cracked the tombs; and the missiles through the firmament flew from adjacent sleeping-rooms. as her gruesome yell from the gate-post fell she followed it down to earth; and that snapdog wears a placard that bears the inscription: "blind from birth." the genesis of embarrassment. when adam first saw eve he said: "o lovely creature, share my bed." before consenting, she her gaze fixed on the greensward to appraise, as well as vision could avouch, the value of the proffered couch. and seeing that the grass was green and neatly clipped with a machine-- observing that the flow'rs were rare varieties, and some were fair, the posts of precious woods, besprent with fragrant balsams, diffluent, and all things suited to her worth, she raised her angel eyes from earth to his and, blushing to confess, murmured: "i love you, adam--yes." since then her daughters, it is said, look always down when asked to wed. in contumaciam. och! father mcglynn, ye appear to be in fer a bit of a bout wid the pope; an' there's divil a doubt but he's knockin' ye out while ye're hangin' onto the rope. an' soon ye'll lave home to thravel to rome, for its bound to canossa ye are. persistin' to shtay when ye're ordered away-- bedad! that is goin' too far! re-edified. lord of the tempest, pray refrain from leveling this church again. now in its doom, as so you've willed it, we acquiesce. but _you'll_ rebuild it. a bulletin. "lothario is very low," so all the doctors tell. nay, nay, not _so_--he will be, though, if ever he get well. from the minutes. when, with the force of a ram that discharges its ponderous body straight at the rear elevation of the luckless culler of simples, the foot of herculean kilgore--statesman of surname suggestive or carnage unspeakable!--lit like a missile prodigious upon the congressional door with a monstrous and mighty momentum, causing that vain ineffective bar to political freedom to fly from its hinges, effacing the nasal excrescence of dingley, that luckless one, decently veiling the ruin with ready bandanna, lamented the loss of his eminence, sadly with sobs as follows: "ah, why was i ever elected to the halls of legislation, so soon to be shown the door with pitiless emphasis? truly, i've leaned on a broken reed, and the same has gone back on me meanly. where now is my prominence, erstwhile in council conspicuous, patent? alas, i did never before understand what i now see clearly, to wit, that democracy tends to level all human distinctions!" his fate so untoward and sad the pine-tree statesman, bewailing, stood in the corridor there while democrats freed from confinement came trooping forth from the chamber, dissembling all, as they passed him, hilarious sentiments painful indeed to observe, and remarking: "o friend and colleague of the speaker, what ails the unjoyous proboscis?" woman in politics. what, madam, run for school director? you? and want my vote and influence? well, well, that beats me! gad! where _are_ we drifting to? in all my life i never have heard tell of such sublime presumption, and i smell a nigger in the fence! excuse me, madam; we statesmen sometimes speak like the old adam. but now you mention it--well, well, who knows? we might, that's certain, give the sex a show. i have a cousin--teacher. i suppose if i stand in and you 're elected--no? you'll make no bargains? that's a pretty go! but understand that school administration belongs to politics, not education. we'll pass the teacher deal; but it were wise to understand each other at the start. you know my business--books and school supplies; you'd hardly, if elected, have the heart some small advantage to deny me--part of all my profits to be yours. what? stealing? please don't express yourself with so much feeling. you pain me, truly. now one question more. suppose a fair young man should ask a place as teacher--would you (pardon) shut the door of the department in his handsome face until--i know not how to put the case-- would you extort a kiss to pay your favor? good lord! you laugh? i thought the matter graver. well, well, we can't do business, i suspect: a woman has no head for useful tricks. my profitable offers you reject and will not promise anything to fix the opposition. that's not politics. good morning. stay--i'm chaffing you, conceitedly. madam, i mean to vote for you--repeatedly. to an aspirant. what! you a senator--you, mike de young? still reeking of the gutter whence you sprung? sir, if all senators were such as you, their hands so crimson and so slender, too,-- (shaped to the pocket for commercial work, for literary, fitted to the dirk)-- so black their hearts, so lily-white their livers, the toga's touch would give a man the shivers. a ballad of pikeville. down in southern arizona where the gila monster thrives, and the "mescalero," gifted with a hundred thousand lives, every hour renounces one of them by drinking liquid flame-- the assassinating wassail that has given him his name; where the enterprising dealer in caucasian hair is seen to hold his harvest festival upon his village-green, while the late lamented tenderfoot upon the plain is spread with a sanguinary circle on the summit of his head; where the cactuses (or cacti) lift their lances in the sun, and incautious jackass-rabbits come to sorrow as they run, lived a colony of settlers--old missouri was the state where they formerly resided at a prehistoric date. now, the spot that had been chosen for this colonizing scheme was as waterless, believe me, as an arizona stream. the soil was naught but ashes, by the breezes driven free, and an acre and a quarter were required to sprout a pea. so agriculture languished, for the land would not produce, and for lack of water, whisky was the beverage in use-- costly whisky, hauled in wagons many a weary, weary day, mostly needed by the drivers to sustain them on their way. wicked whisky! king of evils! why, o, why did god create such a curse and thrust it on us in our inoffensive state? once a parson came among them, and a holy man was he; with his ailing stomach whisky wouldn't anywise agree; so he knelt upon the _mesa_ and he prayed with all his chin that the lord would send them water or incline their hearts to gin. scarcely was the prayer concluded ere an earthquake shook the land, and with copious effusion springs burst out on every hand! merrily the waters gurgled, and the shock which gave them birth fitly was by some declared a temperance movement of the earth. astounded by the miracle, the people met that night to celebrate it properly by some religious rite; and 'tis truthfully recorded that before the moon had sunk every man and every woman was devotionally drunk. a half a standard gallon (says history) per head of the best kentucky prime was at that ceremony shed. o, the glory of that country! o, the happy, happy folk. by the might of prayer delivered from nature's broken yoke! lo! the plains to the horizon all are yellowing with rye, and the corn upon the hill-top lifts its banners to the sky! gone the wagons, gone the drivers, and the road is grown to grass, over which the incalescent bourbon did aforetime pass. pikeville (that's the name they've given, in their wild, romantic way, to that irrigation district) now distills, statistics say, something like a hundred gallons, out of each recurrent crop, to the head of population--and consumes it, every drop! a builder. i saw the devil--he was working free: a customs-house he builded by the sea. "why do you this?" the devil raised his head; "churches and courts i've built enough," he said. an augury. upon my desk a single spray, with starry blossoms fraught. i write in many an idle way, thinking one serious thought. "o flowers, a fine greek name ye bear, and with a fine greek grace." be still, o heart, that turns to share the sunshine of a face. "have ye no messages--no brief, still sign: 'despair', or 'hope'?" a sudden stir of stem and leaf-- a breath of heliotrope! lusus politicus. come in, old gentleman. how do you do? delighted, i'm sure, that you've called. i'm a sociable sort of a chap and you are a pleasant-appearing person, too, with a head agreeably bald. that's right--sit down in the scuttle of coal and put up your feet in a chair. it is better to have them there: and i've always said that a hat of lead, such as i see you wear, was a better hat than a hat of glass. and your boots of brass are a natural kind of boots, i swear. "may you blow your nose on a paper of pins?" why, certainly, man, why not? i rather expected you'd do it before, when i saw you poking it in at the door. it's dev'lish hot-- the weather, i mean. "you are twins"? why, that was evident at the start, from the way that you paint your head in stripes of purple and red, with dots of yellow. that proves you a fellow with a love of legitimate art. "you've bitten a snake and are feeling bad"? that's very sad, but longfellow's words i beg to recall: your lot is the common lot of all. "horses are trees and the moon is a sneeze"? that, i fancy, is just as you please. some think that way and others hold the opposite view; i never quite knew, for the matter o' that, when everything's been said-- may i offer this mat if you _will_ stand on your head? i suppose i look to be upside down from your present point of view. it's a giddy old world, from king to clown, and a topsy-turvy, too. but, worthy and now uninverted old man, _you're_ built, at least, on a normal plan if ever a truth i spoke. smoke? your air and conversation are a liberal education, and your clothes, including the metal hat and the brazen boots--what's that? "you never could stomach a democrat since general jackson ran? you're another sort, but you predict that your party'll get consummately licked?" good god! what a queer old man! bereavement. a countess (so they tell the tale) who dwelt of old in arno's vale, where ladies, even of high degree, know more of love than of a.b.c, came once with a prodigious bribe unto the learned village scribe, that most discreet and honest man who wrote for all the lover clan, nor e'er a secret had betrayed-- save when inadequately paid. "write me," she sobbed--"i pray thee do-- a book about the prince di giu-- a book of poetry in praise of all his works and all his ways; the godlike grace of his address, his more than woman's tenderness, his courage stern and lack of guile, the loves that wantoned in his smile. so great he was, so rich and kind, i'll not within a fortnight find his equal as a lover. o, my god! i shall be drowned in woe!" "what! prince di giu has died!" exclaimed the honest man for letters famed, the while he pocketed her gold; "of what'?--if i may be so bold." fresh storms of tears the lady shed: "i stabbed him fifty times," she said. an inscription for a statue of napoleon, at west point. a famous conqueror, in battle brave, who robbed the cradle to supply the grave. his reign laid quantities of human dust: he fell upon the just and the unjust. a pickbrain. what! imitate me, friend? suppose that you with agony and difficulty do what i do easily--what then? you've got a style i heartily wish _i_ had not. if i from lack of sense and you from choice grieve the judicious and the unwise rejoice, no equal censure our deserts will suit-- we both are fools, but you're an ape to boot! convalescent. "by good men's prayers see grant restored!" shouts talmage, pious creature! yes, god, by supplication bored from every droning preacher, exclaimed: "so be it, tiresome crew-- but i've a crow to pick with _you_." the naval constructor. he looked upon the ships as they all idly lay at anchor, their sides with gorgeous workmen gay-- the riveter and planker-- republicans and democrats, statesmen and politicians. he saw the swarm of prudent rats swimming for land positions. he marked each "belted cruiser" fine, her poddy life-belts floating in tether where the hungry brine impinged upon her coating. he noted with a proud regard, as any of his class would, the poplar mast and poplar yard above the hull of bass-wood. he saw the eastlake frigate tall, with quaintly carven gable, hip-roof and dormer-window--all with ivy formidable. in short, he saw our country's hope in best of all conditions-- equipped, to the last spar and rope, by working politicians. he boarded then the noblest ship and from the harbor glided. "adieu, adieu!" fell from his lip. verdict: "he suicided." . detected. in congress once great mowther shone, debating weighty matters; now into an asylum thrown, he vacuously chatters. if in that legislative hall his wisdom still he 'd vented, it never had been known at all that mowther was demented. bimetalism. ben bulger was a silver man, though not a mine had he: he thought it were a noble plan to make the coinage free. "there hain't for years been sech a time," said ben to his bull pup, "for biz--the country's broke and i'm the hardest kind of up. "the paper says that that's because the silver coins is sea'ce, and that the chaps which makes the laws puts gold ones in their place. "they says them nations always be most prosperatin' where the wolume of the currency ain't so disgustin' rare." his dog, which hadn't breakfasted, dissented from his view, and wished that he could swell, instead, the volume of cold stew. "nobody'd put me up," said ben, "with patriot galoots which benefits their feller men by playin' warious roots; "but havin' all the tools about, i'm goin' to commence a-turnin' silver dollars out wuth eighty-seven cents. "the feller takin' 'em can't whine: (no more, likewise, can i): they're better than the genooine, which mostly satisfy. "it's only makin' coinage free, and mebby might augment the wolume of the currency a noomerous per cent." i don't quite see his error nor malevolence prepense, but fifteen years they gave him for that technical offense. the rich testator. he lay on his bed and solemnly "signed," gasping--perhaps 'twas a jest he meant: "this of a sound and disposing mind is the last ill-will and contestament." two methods. to bucks and ewes by the good shepherd fed the priest delivers masses for the dead, and even from estrays outside the fold death for the masses he would not withhold. the parson, loth alike to free or kill, forsakes the souls already on the grill, and, god's prerogative of mercy shamming, spares living sinners for a harder damning. foundations of the state observe, dear lord, what lively pranks are played by sentimental cranks! first this one mounts his hinder hoofs and brays the chimneys off the roofs; then that one, with exalted voice, expounds the thesis of his choice, our understandings to bombard, till all the window panes are starred! a third augments the vocal shock till steeples to their bases rock, confessing, as they humbly nod, they hear and mark the will of god. a fourth in oral thunder vents his awful penury of sense till dogs with sympathetic howls, and lowing cows, and cackling fowls, hens, geese, and all domestic birds, attest the wisdom of his words. cranks thus their intellects deflate of theories about the state. this one avers 'tis built on truth, and that on temperance. this youth declares that science bears the pile; that graybeard, with a holy smile, says faith is the supporting stone; while women swear that love alone could so unflinchingly endure the heavy load. and some are sure the solemn vow of christian wedlock is the indubitable bedrock. physicians once about the bed of one whose life was nearly sped blew up a disputatious breeze about the cause of his disease: this, that and t' other thing they blamed. "tut, tut!" the dying man exclaimed, "what made me ill i do not care; you've not an ounce of it, i'll swear. and if you had the skill to make it i'd see you hanged before i'd take it!" an imposter. must you, carnegie, evermore explain your worth, and all the reasons give again why black and red are similarly white, and you and god identically right? still must our ears without redress submit to hear you play the solemn hypocrite walking in spirit some high moral level, raising at once his eye-balls and the devil? great king of cant! if nature had but made your mouth without a tongue i ne'er had prayed to have an earless head. since she did not, bear me, ye whirlwinds, to some favored spot-- some mountain pinnacle that sleeps in air so delicately, mercifully rare that when the fellow climbs that giddy hill, as, for my sins, i know at last he will, to utter twaddle in that void inane his soundless organ he will play in vain. unexpounded. on evidence, on deeds, on bills, on copyhold, on loans, on wills, lawyers great books indite; the creaking of their busy quills i've never heard on right. france. unhappy state! with horrors still to strive: thy hugo dead, thy boulanger alive; a prince who'd govern where he dares not dwell, and who for power would his birthright sell-- who, anxious o'er his enemies to reign, grabs at the scepter and conceals the chain; while pugnant factions mutually strive by cutting throats to keep the land alive. perverse in passion, as in pride perverse-- to all a mistress, to thyself a curse; sweetheart of europe! every sun's embrace matures the charm and poison of thy grace. yet time to thee nor peace nor wisdom brings: in blood of citizens and blood of kings the stones of thy stability are set, and the fair fabric trembles at a threat. the eastern question. looking across the line, the grecian said: "this border i will stain a turkey red." the moslem smiled securely and replied: "no greek has ever for his country dyed." while thus each patriot guarded his frontier, the powers stole all the country in his rear. a guest. death, are you well? i trust you have no cough that's painful or in any way annoying-- no kidney trouble that may carry you off, or heart disease to keep you from enjoying your meals--and ours. 't were very sad indeed to have to quit the busy life you lead. you've been quite active lately for so old a person, and not very strong-appearing. i'm apprehensive, somehow, that my bold, bad brother gave you trouble in the spearing. and my two friends--i fear, sir, that you ran quite hard for them, especially the man. i crave your pardon: 'twas no fault of mine; if you are overworked i'm sorry, very. come in, old man, and have a glass of wine. what shall it be--marsala, port or sherry? what! just a mug of blood? that's funny grog to ask a friend for, eh? well, take it, hog! a false prophecy. dom pedro, emperor of far brazil (whence coffee comes and the three-cornered nut), they say that you're imperially ill, and threatened with paralysis. tut-tut! though emperors are mortal, nothing but a nimble thunderbolt could catch and kill a man predestined to depart this life by the assassin's bullet, bomb or knife. sir, once there was a president who freed ten million slaves; and once there was a czar who freed five times as many serfs. sins breed the means of punishment, and tyrants are hurled headlong out of the triumphal car if faster than the law allows they speed. lincoln and alexander struck a rut; _you_ freed slaves too. paralysis--tut-tut! . two types. courageous fool!--the peril's strength unknown. courageous man!--so conscious of your own. some ante-mortem epitaphs. stephen dorsey. fly, heedless stranger, from this spot accurst, where rests in satan an offender first in point of greatness, as in point of time, of new-school rascals who proclaim their crime. skilled with a frank loquacity to blab the dark arcana of each mighty grab, and famed for lying from his early youth, he sinned secure behind a veil of truth. some lock their lips upon their deeds; some write a damning record and conceal from sight; some, with a lust of speaking, die to quell it. his way to keep a secret was to tell it. stephen j. field. here sleeps one of the greatest students of jurisprudence. nature endowed him with the gift of the juristhrift. all points of law alike he threw the dice to settle. those honest cubes were loaded true with railway metal. general b.f. butler. thy flesh to earth, thy soul to god, we gave, o gallant brother; and o'er thy grave the awkward squad fired into one another! beneath this monument which rears its head. a giant note of admiration--dead, his life extinguished like a taper's flame. john ericsson is lying in his fame. behold how massive is the lofty shaft; how fine the product of the sculptor's craft; the gold how lavishly applied; the great man's statue how impressive and sedate! think what the cost-was! it would ill become our modesty to specify the sum; suffice it that a fair per cent, we're giving of what we robbed him of when he was living. of corporal tanner the head and the trunk are here in unconsecrate ground duly sunk. his legs in the south claim the patriot's tear, but, stranger, you needn't be blubbering here. jay gould lies here. when he was newly dead he looked so natural that round his bed the people stood, in silence all, to weep. they thought, poor souls! that he did only sleep. here ingalls, sorrowing, has laid the tools of his infernal trade-- his pen and tongue. so sharp and rude they grew--so slack in gratitude, his hand was wounded as he wrote, and when he spoke he cut his throat. within this humble mausoleum poor guiteau's flesh you'll find. his bones are kept in a museum, and tillman has his mind. stranger, uncover; here you have in view the monument of chauncey m. depew. eater and orator, the whole world round for feats of tongue and tooth alike renowned. pauper in thought but prodigal in speech, nothing he knew excepting how to teach. but in default of something to impart he multiplied his words with all his heart: when least he had to say, instructive most-- a clam in wisdom and in wit a ghost. dining his way to eminence, he rowed with knife and fork up water-ways that flowed from lakes of favor--pulled with all his force and found each river sweeter than the source. like rats, obscure beneath a kitchen floor, gnawing and rising till obscure no more, he ate his way to eminence, and fame inscribes in gravy his immortal name. a trencher-knight, he, mounted on his belly, so spurred his charger that its sides were jelly. grown desperate at last, it reared and threw him, and indigestion, overtaking, slew him. here the remains of schuyler colfax lie; born, all the world knows when, and heaven knows why. in ' he filled the public eye, in ' he bade the world good-bye, in god's good time, with a protesting sigh, he came to life just long enough to die. of morgan here lies the unspirited clay, who secrets of masonry swore to betray. he joined the great order and studied with zeal the awful arcana he meant to reveal. at last in chagrin by his own hand he fell-- there was nothing to learn, there was nothing to tell. a hymn of the many. god's people sorely were oppressed, i heard their lamentations long;-- i hear their singing, clear and strong, i see their banners in the west! the captains shout the battle-cry, the legions muster in their might; they turn their faces to the light, they lift their arms, they testify: "we sank beneath the master's thong, our chafing chains were ne'er undone;-- now clash your lances in the sun and bless your banners with a song! "god bides his time with patient eyes while tyrants build upon the land;-- he lifts his face, he lifts his hand, and from the stones his temples rise. "now freedom waves her joyous wing beyond the foemen's shields of gold. march forward, singing, for, behold, the right shall rule while god is king!" one morning. because that i am weak, my love, and ill, i cannot follow the impatient feet of my desire, but sit and watch the beat of the unpitying pendulum fulfill the hour appointed for the air to thrill and brighten at your coming. o my sweet, the tale of moments is at last complete-- the tryst is broken on the gusty hill! o lady, faithful-footed, loyal-eyed, the long leagues silence me; yet doubt me not; think rather that the clock and sun have lied and all too early, you have sought the spot. for lo! despair has darkened all the light, and till i see your face it still is night. an error. good for he's old? ah, youth, you do not dream how sweet the roses in the autumn seem! at the "national encampment." you 're grayer than one would have thought you: the climate you have over there in the east has apparently brought you disorders affecting the hair, which--pardon me--seems a thought spare. you'll not take offence at my giving expression to notions like these. you might have been stronger if living out here in our sanative breeze. it's unhealthy here for disease. no, i'm not as plump as a pullet. but that's the old wound, you see. remember my paunching a bullet?-- and how that it didn't agree with--well, honest hardtack for me. just pass me the wine--i've a helly and horrible kind of drouth! when a fellow has that in his belly which didn't go in at his mouth he's hotter than all down south! great scott! what a nasty day _that_ was-- when every galoot in our crack division who didn't lie flat was dissuaded from further attack by the bullet's felicitous whack. 'twas there that our major slept under some cannon of ours on the crest, till they woke him by stilling their thunder, and he cursed them for breaking his rest, and died in the midst of his jest. that night--it was late in november-- the dead seemed uncommonly chill to the touch; and one chap i remember who took it exceedingly ill when i dragged myself over his bill. well, comrades, i'm off now--good morning. your talk is as pleasant as pie, but, pardon me, one word of warning: speak little of self, say i. that's my way. god bless you. good-bye. the king of bores. abundant bores afflict this world, and some are bores of magnitude that-come and--no, they're always coming, but they never go-- like funeral pageants, as they drone and hum their lurid nonsense like a muffled drum, or bagpipe's dread unnecessary flow. but one superb tormentor i can show-- prince fiddlefaddle, duc de feefawfum. he the johndonkey is who, when i pen amorous verses in an idle mood to nobody, or of her, reads them through and, smirking, says he knows the lady; then calls me sly dog. i wish he understood this tender sonnet's application too. history. what wrecked the roman power? one says vice, another indolence, another dice. emascle says polygamy. "not so," says impycu--"'twas luxury and show." the parson, lifting up a brow of brass, swears superstition gave the _coup de grâce_, great allison, the statesman-chap affirms 'twas lack of coins (croaks medico: "'t was worms") and john p. jones the swift suggestion collars, averring the no coins were silver dollars. thus, through the ages, each presuming quack turns the poor corpse upon its rotten back, holds a new "autopsy" and finds that death resulted partly from the want of breath, but chiefly from some visitation sad that points his argument or serves his fad. they're all in error--never human mind the cause of the disaster has divined. what slew the roman power? well, provided you'll keep the secret, i will tell you. i did. the hermit. to a hunter from the city, overtaken by the night, spake, in tones of tender pity for himself, an aged wight: "i have found the world a fountain of deceit and life a sham. i have taken to the mountain and a holy hermit am. "sternly bent on contemplation, far apart from human kind---- in the hill my habitation, in the infinite my mind. "ten long years i've lived a dumb thing, growing bald and bent with dole. vainly seeking for a something to engage my gloomy soul. "gentle pilgrim, while my roots you eat, and quaff my simple drink, please suggest whatever suits you as a theme for me to think." then the hunter answered gravely: "from distraction free, and strife, you could ponder very bravely on the vanity of life." "o, thou wise and learned teacher, you have solved the problem well-- you have saved a grateful creature from the agonies of hell. "take another root, another cup of water: eat and drink. now i have a subject, brother, tell me what, and how, to think." to a critic of tennyson. affronting fool, subdue your transient light; when wisdom's dull dares folly to be bright: if genius stumble in the path to fame, 'tis decency in dunces to go lame. the yearly lie. a merry christmas? prudent, as i live!-- you wish me something that you need not give. merry or sad, what does it signify? to you 't is equal if i laugh, or die. your hollow greeting, like a parrot's jest, finds all its meaning in the ear addressed. why "merry" christmas? faith, i'd rather frown than grin and caper like a tickled clown. when fools are merry the judicious weep; the wise are happy only when asleep. a present? pray you give it to disarm a man more powerful to do you harm. 't was not your motive? well, i cannot let you pay for favors that you'll never get. perish the savage custom of the gift, founded in terror and maintained in thrift! what men of honor need to aid their weal they purchase, or, occasion serving, steal. go celebrate the day with turkeys, pies, sermons and psalms, and, for the children, lies. let santa claus descend again the flue; if baby doubt it, swear that it is true. "a lie well stuck to is as good as truth," and god's too old to legislate for youth. hail christmas! on my knees and fowl i fall: for greater grace and better gravy call. _vive l'humbug!_--that's to say, god bless us all! cooperation. no more the swindler singly seeks his prey; to hunt in couples is the modern way-- a rascal, from the public to purloin, an honest man to hide away the coin. an apologue. a traveler observed one day a loaded fruit-tree by the way. and reining in his horse exclaimed: "the man is greatly to be blamed who, careless of good morals, leaves temptation in the way of thieves. now lest some villain pass this way and by this fruit be led astray to bag it, i will kindly pack it snugly in my saddle-sack." he did so; then that salt o' the earth rode on, rejoicing in his worth. diagnosis. cried allen forman: "doctor, pray compose my spirits' strife: o what may be my chances, say, of living all my life? "for lately i have dreamed of high and hempen dissolution! o doctor, doctor, how can i amend my constitution?" the learned leech replied: "you're young and beautiful and strong-- permit me to inspect your tongue: h'm, ah, ahem!--'tis long." fallen. o, hadst thou died when thou wert great, when at thy feet a nation knelt to sob the gratitude it felt and thank the saviour of the state, gods might have envied thee thy fate! then was the laurel round thy brow, and friend and foe spoke praise of thee, while all our hearts sang victory. alas! thou art too base to bow to hide the shame that brands it now. dies irae. a recent republication of the late gen. john a. dix's disappointing translation of this famous medieval hymn, together with some researches into its history which i happened to be making at the time, induces me to undertake a translation myself. it may seem presumption in me to attempt that which so many eminent scholars of so many generations have attempted before me; but the conspicuous failure of others encourages me to hope that success, being still unachieved, is still achievable. the fault of previous translations, from lord macaulay's to that of gen. dix, has been, i venture to think, a too strict literalness, whereby the delicate irony and subtle humor of the immortal poem--though doubtless these admirable qualities were well appreciated by the translators--have been utterly sacrificed in the result. in none of the english versions that i have examined is more than a trace of the mocking spirit of insincerity pervading the whole prayer,--the cool effrontery of the suppliant in enumerating his demerits, his serenely illogical demands of salvation in spite, or rather because, of them, his meek submission to the punishment of others, and the many similarly pleasing characteristics of this amusing work, being most imperfectly conveyed. by permitting myself a reasonable freedom of rendering--in many cases boldly supplying that "missing link" between the sublime and the ridiculous which the author, writing for the acute monkish apprehension of the th century, did not deem it necessary to insert--i have hoped at least partially to liberate the lurking devil of humor from his fetters, letting him caper, not, certainly, as he does in the latin, but as he probably would have done had his creator written in english. in preserving the metre and double rhymes of the original, i have acted from the same reverent regard for the music with which, in the liturgy of the church, the verses have become inseparably wedded that inspired gen. dix; seeking rather to surmount the obstacles to success by honest effort, than to avoid them by the adoption of an easier versification which would have deprived my version of all utility in religious service. i must bespeak the reader's charitable consideration in respect of the first stanza, the insuperable difficulties of which seem to have been purposely contrived in order to warn off trespassers at the very boundary of the alluring domain. i have got over the inhibition--somehow--but david and the sibyl must try to forgive me if they find themselves represented merely by the names of those conspicuous personal qualities to which they probably owed, respectively, their powers of prophecy, as samson's strength lay in his hair. dies irae. dies irae! dies ilia! solvet saeclum in favilla teste david cum sibylla. quantus tremor est futurus, quando judex est venturus. cuncta stricte discussurus. tuba mirum spargens sonum per sepulchra regionem, coget omnes ante thronum. mors stupebit, et natura, quum resurget creatura judicanti responsura. liber scriptus proferetur, in quo totum continetur, unde mundus judicetur. judex ergo quum sedebit, quicquid latet apparebit, nil inultum remanebit. quid sum miser tunc dicturus, quem patronem rogaturus, quum vix justus sit securus? rex tremendae majestatis, qui salvandos salvas gratis; salva me, fons pietatis recordare, jesu pie quod sum causa tuae viae; ne me perdas illa die. quarens me sedisti lassus redimisti crucem passus, tantus labor non sit cassus. juste judex ultionis, donum fac remissionis ante diem rationis. ingemisco tanquam reus, culpa rubet vultus meus; supplicanti parce, deus. qui mariam absolvisti et latronem exaudisti, mihi quoque spem dedisti. preces meae non sunt dignae, sed tu bonus fac benigne ne perenni cremer igne. inter oves locum praesta. et ab haedis me sequestra, statuens in parte dextra. confutatis maledictis, flammis acribus addictis, voca me cum benedictis. oro supplex et acclinis, cor contritum quasi cinis; gere curam mei finis. lacrymosa dies illa qua resurgent et favilla, judicandus homo reus huic ergo parce, deus! the day of wrath. day of satan's painful duty! earth shall vanish, hot and sooty; so says virtue, so says beauty. ah! what terror shall be shaping when the judge the truth's undraping! cats from every bag escaping! now the trumpet's invocation calls the dead to condemnation; all receive an invitation. death and nature now are quaking, and the late lamented, waking, in their breezy shrouds are shaking. lo! the ledger's leaves are stirring, and the clerk, to them referring, makes it awkward for the erring. when the judge appears in session, we shall all attend confession, loudly preaching non-suppression. how shall i then make romances mitigating circumstances? even the just must take their chances. king whose majesty amazes. save thou him who sings thy praises; fountain, quench my private blazes. pray remember, sacred savior, mine the playful hand that gave your death-blow. pardon such behavior. seeking me fatigue assailed thee, calvary's outlook naught availed thee: now 't were cruel if i failed thee. righteous judge and learned brother, pray thy prejudices smother ere we meet to try each other. sighs of guilt my conscience gushes, and my face vermilion flushes; spare me for my pretty blushes. thief and harlot, when repenting, thou forgav'st--be complimenting me with sign of like relenting. if too bold is my petition i'll receive with due submission my dismissal--from perdition. when thy sheep thou hast selected from the goats, may i, respected, stand amongst them undetected. when offenders are indicted, and with trial-flames ignited, elsewhere i'll attend if cited. ashen-hearted, prone, and prayerful, when of death i see the air full, lest i perish, too, be careful. on that day of lamentation, when, to enjoy the conflagration. men come forth, o, be not cruel. spare me, lord--make them thy fuel. one mood's expression. see, lord, fanatics all arrayed for revolution! to foil their villainous crusade unsheathe again the sacred blade of persecution. what though through long disuse 't is grown a trifle rusty? 'gainst modern heresy, whose bone is rotten, and the flesh fly-blown, it still is trusty. of sterner stuff thine ancient foes, unapprehensive, sprang forth to meet thy biting blows; our zealots chiefly to the nose assume the offensive. then wield the blade their necks to hack, nor ever spare one. thy crowns of martyrdom unpack, but see that every martyr lack the head to wear one. something in the papers. "what's in the paper?" oh, it's dev'lish dull: there's nothing happening at all--a lull after the war-storm. mr. someone's wife killed by her lover with, i think, a knife. a fire on blank street and some babies--one, two, three or four, i don't remember, done to quite a delicate and lovely brown. a husband shot by woman of the town-- the same old story. shipwreck somewhere south. the crew, all saved--or lost. uncommon drouth makes hundreds homeless up the river mud-- though, come to think, i guess it was a flood. 't is feared some bank will burst--or else it won't they always burst, i fancy--or they don't; who cares a cent?--the banker pays his coin and takes his chances: bullet in the groin-- but that's another item--suicide-- fool lost his money (serve him right) and died. heigh-ho! there's noth--jerusalem! what's this: tom jones has failed! my god, what an abyss of ruin!--owes me seven hundred clear! was ever such a damned disastrous year! in the binnacle. [the church possesses the unerring compass whose needle points directly and persistently to the star of the eternal law of god.--_religious weekly._] the church's compass, if you please, has two or three (or more) degrees of variation; and many a soul has gone to grief on this or that or t'other reef through faith unreckoning or brief miscalculation. misguidance is of perils chief to navigation. the obsequious thing makes, too, you'll mark, obeisance through a little arc of declination; for satan, fearing witches, drew from death's pale horse, one day, a shoe, and nailed it to his door to undo their machination. since then the needle dips to woo his habitation. humility. great poets fire the world with fagots big that make a crackling racket, but i'm content with but a whispering twig to warm some single jacket. one president. "what are those, father?" "statesmen, my child-- lacrymose, unparliamentary, wild." "what are they that way for, father?" "last fall, 'our candidate's better,' they said, 'than all!'" "what did they say he was, father?" "a man built on a straight incorruptible plan-- believing that none for an office would do unless he were honest and capable too." "poor gentlemen--_so_ disappointed!" "yes, lad, that is the feeling that's driving them mad; they're weeping and wailing and gnashing because they find that he's all that they said that he was." the bride. "you know, my friends, with what a brave carouse i made a second marriage in my house-- divorced old barren reason from my bed and took the daughter of the vine to spouse." so sang the lord of poets. in a gleam of light that made her like an angel seem, the daughter of the vine said: "i myself am reason, and the other was a dream." strained relations. says england to germany: "africa's ours." says germany: "ours, i opine." says africa: "tell me, delectable pow'rs, what is it that ought to be mine?" the man born blind. a man born blind received his sight by a painful operation; and these are things he saw in the light of an infant observation. he saw a merchant, good and wise. and greatly, too, respected, who looked, to those imperfect eyes, like a swindler undetected. he saw a patriot address a noisy public meeting. and said: "why, that's a calf. i guess. that for the teat is bleating." a doctor stood beside a bed and shook his summit sadly. "o see that foul assassin!" said the man who saw so badly. he saw a lawyer pleading for a thief whom they'd been jailing, and said: "that's an accomplice, or my sight again is failing." upon the bench a justice sat, with nothing to restrain him; "'tis strange," said the observer, "that they ventured to unchain him." with theologic works supplied, he saw a solemn preacher; "a burglar with his kit," he cried, "to rob a fellow creature." a bluff old farmer next he saw sell produce in a village, and said: "what, what! is there no law to punish men for pillage?" a dame, tall, fair and stately, passed, who many charms united; he thanked his stars his lot was cast where sepulchers were whited. he saw a soldier stiff and stern, "full of strange oaths" and toddy; but was unable to discern a wound upon his body. ten square leagues of rolling ground to one great man belonging, looked like one little grassy mound with worms beneath it thronging. a palace's well-carven stones, where dives dwelt contented, seemed built throughout of human bones with human blood cemented. he watched the yellow shining thread a silk-worm was a-spinning; "that creature's coining gold." he said, "to pay some girl for sinning." his eyes were so untrained and dim all politics, religions, arts, sciences, appeared to him but modes of plucking pigeons. and so he drew his final breath, and thought he saw with sorrow some persons weeping for his death who'd be all smiles to-morrow. a nightmare. i dreamed that i was dead. the years went by: the world forgot that such a man as i had ever lived and written: other names were hailed with homage, in their turn to die. out of my grave a giant beech upgrew. its roots transpierced my body, through and through, my substance fed its growth. from many lands men came in troops that giant tree to view. 't was sacred to my memory and fame-- my monument. but allen forman came, filled with the fervor of a new untruth, and carved upon the trunk his odious name! a wet season. horas non numero nisi serenas. the rain is fierce, it flogs the earth, and man's in danger. o that my mother at my birth had borne a stranger! the flooded ground is all around. the depth uncommon. how blest i'd be if only she had borne a salmon. if still denied the solar glow 't were bliss ecstatic to be amphibious--but o, to be aquatic! we're worms, men say, o' the dust, and they that faith are firm of. o, then, be just: show me some dust to be a worm of. the pines are chanting overhead a psalm uncheering. it's o, to have been for ages dead and hard of hearing! restore, ye pow'rs, the last bright hours the dial reckoned; 'twas in the time of egypt's prime-- rameses ii. the confederate flags. tut-tut! give back the flags--how can you care you veterans and heroes? why should you at a kind intention swear like twenty neroes? suppose the act was not so overwise-- suppose it was illegal-- is 't well on such a question to arise and pinch the eagle? nay, let's economize his breath to scold and terrify the alien who tackles him, as hercules of old the bird stymphalian. among the rebels when we made a breach was it to get their banners? that was but incidental--'t was to teach them better manners. they know the lesson well enough to-day; now, let us try to show them that we 're not only stronger far than they. (how we did mow them!) but more magnanimous. you see, my lads, 't was an uncommon riot; the warlike tribes of europe fight for "fads," we fought for quiet. if we were victors, then we all must live with the same flag above us; 'twas all in vain unless we now forgive and make them love us. let kings keep trophies to display above their doors like any savage; the freeman's trophy is the foeman's love, despite war's ravage. "make treason odious?" my friends, you'll find you can't, in right and reason, while "washington" and "treason" are combined-- "hugo" and "treason." all human governments must take the chance and hazard of sedition. o, wretch! to pledge your manhood in advance to blind submission. it may be wrong, it may be right, to rise in warlike insurrection: the loyalty that fools so dearly prize may mean subjection. be loyal to your country, yes--but how if tyrants hold dominion? the south believed they did; can't you allow for that opinion? he who will never rise though rulers plods his liberties despising how is he manlier than the _sans culottes_ who's always rising? give back the foolish flags whose bearers fell too valiant to forsake them. is it presumptuous, this counsel? well, i helped to take them. haec fabula docet. a rat who'd gorged a box of bane and suffered an internal pain, came from his hole to die (the label required it if the rat were able) and found outside his habitat a limpid stream. of bane and rat 't was all unconscious; in the sun it ran and prattled just for fun. keen to allay his inward throes, the beast immersed his filthy nose and drank--then, bloated by the stream, and filled with superheated steam, exploded with a rascal smell, remarking, as his fragments fell astonished in the brook: "i'm thinking this water's damned unwholesome drinking!" exoneration. when men at candidacy don't connive, from that suspicion if their friends would free 'em, the teeth and nails with which they did not strive should be exhibited in a museum. azrael. the moon in the field of the keel-plowed main was watching the growing tide: a luminous peasant was driving his wain, and he offered my soul a ride. but i nourished a sorrow uncommonly tall, and i fixed him fast with mine eye. "o, peasant," i sang with a dying fall, "go leave me to sing and die." the water was weltering round my feet, as prone on the beach they lay. i chanted my death-song loud and sweet; "kioodle, ioodle, iay!" then i heard the swish of erecting ears which caught that enchanted strain. the ocean was swollen with storms of tears that fell from the shining swain. "o, poet," leapt he to the soaken sand, "that ravishing song would make the devil a saint." he held out his hand and solemnly added: "shake." we shook. "i crave a victim, you see," he said--"you came hither to die." the angel of death, 't was he! 't was he! and the victim he crove was i! 't was i, fred emerson brooks, the bard; and he knocked me on the head. o lord! i thought it exceedingly hard, for i didn't want to be dead. "you'll sing no worser for that," said he, and he drove with my soul away, o, death-song singers, be warned by me, kioodle, ioodle, iay! again. well, i've met her again--at the mission. she'd told me to see her no more; it was not a command--a petition; i'd granted it once before. yes, granted it, hoping she'd write me. repenting her virtuous freak-- subdued myself daily and nightly for the better part of a week. and then ('twas my duty to spare her the shame of recalling me) i just sought her again to prepare her for an everlasting good-bye. o, that evening of bliss--shall i ever forget it?--with shakespeare and poe! she said, when 'twas ended: "you're never to see me again. and now go." as we parted with kisses 'twas human and natural for me to smile as i thought, "she's in love, and a woman: she'll send for me after a while." but she didn't; and so--well, the mission is fine, picturesque and gray; it's an excellent place for contrition-- and sometimes she passes that way. that's how it occurred that i met her, and that's ah there is to tell-- except that i'd like to forget her calm way of remarking: "i'm well." it was hardly worth while, all this keying my soul to such tensions and stirs to learn that her food was agreeing with that little stomach of hers. homo podunkensis. as the poor ass that from his paddock strays might sound abroad his field-companions' praise, recounting volubly their well-bred leer, their port impressive and their wealth of ear, mistaking for the world's assent the clang of echoes mocking his accurst harangue; so the dull clown, untraveled though at large, visits the city on the ocean's marge, expands his eyes and marvels to remark each coastwise schooner and each alien bark; prates of "all nations," wonders as he stares that native merchants sell imported wares, nor comprehends how in his very view a foreign vessel has a foreign crew; yet, faithful to the hamlet of his birth, swears it superior to aught on earth, sighs for the temples locally renowned-- the village school-house and the village pound-- and chalks upon the palaces of rome the peasant sentiments of "home, sweet home!" a social call. well, well, old father christmas, is it you, with your thick neck and thin pretense of virtue? less redness in the nose--nay, even some blue would not, i think, particularly hurt you. when seen close to, not mounted in your car, you look the drunkard and the pig you are. no matter, sit you down, for i am not in a gray study, as you sometimes find me. merry? o, no, nor wish to be, god wot, but there's another year of pain behind me. that's something to be thankful for: the more there are behind, the fewer are before. i know you, father christmas, for a scamp, but heaven endowed me at my soul's creation with an affinity to every tramp that walks the world and steals its admiration. for admiration is like linen left upon the line--got easiest by theft. good god! old man, just think of it! i've stood, with brains and honesty, some five-and-twenty long years as champion of all that's good, and taken on the mazzard thwacks a-plenty. yet now whose praises do the people bawl? those of the fellows whom i live to maul! why, this is odd!--the more i try to talk of you the more my tongue grows egotistic to prattle of myself! i'll try to balk its waywardness and be more altruistic. so let us speak of others--how they sin, and what a devil of a state they 're in! that's all i have to say. good-bye, old man. next year you possibly may find me scolding-- or miss me altogether: nature's plan includes, as i suppose, a final folding of these poor empty hands. then drop a tear to think they'll never box another ear. [illustration: ambrose bierce.] black beetles in amber by ambrose bierce the order in which the beetles are shown in explanation the key note cain an obituarian a commuted sentence a lifted finger two statesmen matter for gratitude three kinds of a rogue a man ye foe to cathaye samuel shortridge surprised posterity's award an art critic the spirit of a sponge ornithanthropos to e.s. salomon dennis kearney finis Æternitatis the veteran an "exhibit" the transmigrations of a soul an actor famine's realm the mackaiad a song in praise a poet's father a coward to my liars phil crimmins codex honoris to w.h.l.b. emancipation johndonkey hell by false pretenses lucifer of the torch the "whirligig of time" a railroad lackey the legatee "died of a rose" a literary hangman at the eleventh hour a controversialist mendax the retrospective bird the oakland dog the unfallen brave a celebrated case couplets a retort a vision of resurrection master of three arts thersites a society leader expositor veritatis to "colonel" dan burns george a. knight unarmed a political violet the subdued editor "black bart, po " a "scion of nobility" the night of election the convicts' ball a prayer to one detested the boss's choice a merciful governor an interpretation a soaring toad an undress uniform the perverted village mr. sheets a jack-at-all-views my lord poet to the fool killer one and one are two montague leverson the woful tale of mr. peters twin unworthies another plan a political apostate tinker dick bats in sunshine a word to the unwise on the platform a dampened ardor adair welcker, poet to a word-warrior a culinary candidate the oleomargarine man genesis llewellen powell the sunset gun the "viduate dame" four of a kind reconciliation a vision of climate a "mass" meeting for president, leland stanford for mayor a cheating preacher a crocodile the american party uncoloneled the gates ajar tidings of good arboriculture a silurian holiday rejected judex judicatus on the wedding of an aËronaut a hasty inference a voluptuary ad cattonum the national guardsman the barking weasel a rear elevation in upper san francisco nimrod censor literarum borrowed brains the fyghtynge seventh indicted over the border one judge to an insolent attorney accepted a promised fast train one off the saints a military incident substance versus shadow the committee on public morals california de young--a prophecy to either disappointment the valley of the shadow of theft down among the dead men the last man arbor day the piute fame one of the redeemed a critic a question of eligibility fleet strother californian summer pictures slander james l. flood four candidates for senator a growler ad moodium an epitaph a spade the van nessiad a fish commissioner to a stray dog in his hand a demagogue ignis fatuus from top to bottom an idler the dead king a patter song a caller the shafter shafted the mummery the two cavees metempsychosis slickens "peaceable expulsion" aspirants three the birth of the rail a bad night on stone a wreath of immortelles in explanation many of the verses in this book are republished, with considerable alterations, from various newspapers. the collection includes few not relating to persons and events more or less familiar to the people of the pacific coast--to whom the volume may be considered as especially addressed, though, not without a hope that some part of the contents may be found to have sufficient intrinsic interest to commend it to others. in that case, doubtless, commentators will be "raised up" to make exposition of its full meaning, with possibly an added meaning read into it by themselves. of my motives in writing, and in now republishing, i do not care to make either defense or explanation, except with reference to those persons who since my first censure of them have passed away. to one having only a reader's interest in the matter it may easily seem that the verses relating to those might more properly have been omitted from this collection. but if these pieces, or, indeed, if any considerable part of my work in literature, have the intrinsic worth which by this attempt to preserve some of it i have assumed, their permanent suppression is impossible, and it is only a question of when and by whom they shall be republished. some one will surely search them out and put them in circulation. i conceive it the right of an author to have his fugitive work collected in his lifetime; and this seems to me especially true of one whose work, necessarily engendering animosities, is peculiarly exposed to challenge as unjust. that is a charge that can be best examined before time has effaced the evidence. for the death of a man of whom i may have written what i venture to think worthy to live i am no way responsible; and, however sincerely i may regret it, i can hardly be expected to consent that it shall affect my fortunes. if the satirist who does not accept the remarkable doctrine that while condemning the sin he should spare the sinner were bound to let the life of his work be coterminous with that of his subject his were a lot of peculiar hardship. persuaded of the validity of all this, i have not hesitated to reprint even certain "epitaphs" which, once of the living, are now of the dead, as all the others must eventually be. the objection inheres in all forms of applied satire--my understanding of whose laws and liberties is at least derived from reverent study of the masters. that in respect of matters herein mentioned i have but followed their practice can be shown by abundant instance and example. ambrose bierce. the key note i dreamed i was dreaming one morn as i lay in a garden with flowers teeming. on an island i lay in a mystical bay, in the dream that i dreamed i was dreaming. the ghost of a scent--had it followed me there from the place where i truly was resting? it filled like an anthem the aisles of the air, the presence of roses attesting. yet i thought in the dream that i dreamed i dreamed that the place was all barren of roses-- that it only seemed; and the place, i deemed, was the isle of bewildered noses. full many a seaman had testified how all who sailed near were enchanted, and landed to search (and in searching died) for the roses the sirens had planted. for the sirens were dead, and the billows boomed in the stead of their singing forever; but the roses bloomed on the graves of the doomed, though man had discovered them never. i thought in my dream 'twas an idle tale, a delusion that mariners cherished-- that the fragrance loading the conscious gale was the ghost of a rose long perished. i said, "i will fly from this island of woes." and acting on that decision, by that odor of rose i was led by the nose, for 'twas truly, ah! truly, elysian. i ran, in my madness, to seek out the source of the redolent river--directed by some supernatural, sinister force to a forest, dark, haunted, infected. and still as i threaded ('twas all in the dream that i dreamed i was dreaming) each turning there were many a scream and a sudden gleam of eyes all uncannily burning! the leaves were all wet with a horrible dew that mirrored the red moon's crescent, and all shapes were fringed with a ghostly blue, dim, wavering, phosphorescent. but the fragrance divine, coming strong and free, led me on, though my blood was clotting, till--ah, joy!--i could see, on the limbs of a tree, mine enemies hanging and rotting! cain lord, shed thy light upon his desert path, and gild his branded brow, that no man spill his forfeit life to balk thy holy will that spares him for the ripening of wrath. already, lo! the red sign is descried, to trembling jurors visibly revealed: the prison doors obediently yield, the baffled hangman flings the cord aside. powell, the brother's blood that marks your trail-- hark, how it cries against you from the ground, like the far baying of the tireless hound. faith! to your ear it is no nightingale. what signifies the date upon a stone? to-morrow you shall die if not to-day. what matter when the avenger choose to slay or soon or late the devil gets his own. thenceforth through all eternity you'll hold no one advantage of the later death. though you had granted ralph another breath would _he_ to-day less silent lie and cold? earth cares not, curst assassin, when you die; you never will be readier than now. wear, in god's name, that mark upon your brow, and keep the life you purchased with a lie! an obituarian death-poet pickering sat at his desk, wrapped in appropriate gloom; his posture was pensive and picturesque, like a raven charming a tomb. enter a party a-drinking the cup of sorrow--and likewise of woe: "some harrowing poetry, mister, whack up, all wrote in the key of o. "for the angels has called my old woman hence from the strife (where she fit mighty free). it's a nickel a line? cond--n the expense! for wealth is now little to me." the bard of mortality looked him through in the piercingest sort of a way: "it is much to me though it's little to you-- i've _taken_ a wife to-day." so he twisted the tail of his mental cow and made her give down her flow. the grief of that bard was long-winded, somehow-- there was reams and reamses of woe. the widower man which had buried his wife grew lily-like round each gill, for she turned in her grave and came back to life-- then he cruel ignored the bill! then sorrow she opened her gates a-wide, as likewise did also woe, and the death-poet's song, as is heard inside, is sang in the key of o. a commuted sentence boruck and waterman upon their grills in hades lay, with many a sigh and groan, hotly disputing, for each swore his own were clearly keener than the other's ills. and, truly, each had much to boast of--bone and sinew, muscle, tallow, nerve and skin, blood in the vein and marrow in the shin, teeth, eyes and other organs (for the soul has all of these and even a wagging chin) blazing and coruscating like a coal! for lower sacramento, you remember, has trying weather, even in mid-december. now this occurred in the far future. all mankind had been a million ages dead, and each to her reward above had sped, each to his punishment below,--i call that quite a just arrangement. as i said, boruck and waterman in warmest pain crackled and sizzed with all their might and main. for, when on earth, they'd freed a scurvy host of crooks from the state prison, who again had robbed and ravaged the pacific coast and (such the felon's predatory nature) even got themselves into the legislature. so waterman and boruck lay and roared in hades. it is true all other males felt the like flames and uttered equal wails, but did not suffer _them_; whereas _they_ bored each one the other. but indeed my tale's not getting on at all. they lay and browned till boruck (who long since his teeth had ground away and spoke gum arabic and made stump speeches even in praying) looked around and said to bob's incinerated shade: "your excellency, this is mighty hard on the inventors of the unpardonable pardon." the other soul--his right hand all aflame, for 'twas with that he'd chiefly sinned, although his tongue, too, like a wick was working woe to the reserve of tallow in his frame-- said, with a sputtering, uncertain flow, and with a gesture like a shaken torch: "yes, but i'm sure we'll not much longer scorch. although this climate is not good for hope, whose joyous wing 'twould singe, i think the porch of hell we'll quit with a pacific slope. last century i signified repentance and asked for commutation of our sentence." even as he spoke, the form of satan loomed in sight, all crimson with reflections's fire, like some tall tower or cathedral spire touched by the dawn while all the earth is gloomed in mists and shadows of the night time. "sire," said waterman, his agitable wick still sputtering, "what calls you back so quick? it scarcely was a century ago you left us." "i have come to bring," said nick, "st. peter's answer (he is never slow in correspondence) to your application for pardon--pardon me!--for commutation. "he says that he's instructed to reply (and he has so instructed me) that sin like yours--and this poor gentleman's who's in for bad advice to you--comes rather high; but since, apparently, you both begin to feel some pious promptings to the right, and fain would turn your faces to the light, eternity seems all too long a term. so 'tis commuted to one-half. i'm quite prepared, when that expires, to free the worm and quench the fire." and, civilly retreating, he left them holding their protracted meeting. a lifted finger [the _chronicle_ did a great public service in whipping ---- and his fellow-rascals out of office.--_m.h. de young's newspaper_.] what! _you_ whip rascals?--_you_, whose gutter blood bears, in its dark, dishonorable flood, enough of prison-birds' prolific germs to serve a whole eternity of terms? _you_, for whose back the rods and cudgels strove ere yet the ax had hewn them from the grove? _you_, the de young whose splendor bright and brave is phosphorescence from another's grave-- till now unknown, by any chance or luck, even to the hearts at which you, feebly struck? _you_ whip a rascal out of office?--_you_ whose leadless weapon once ignobly blew its smoke in six directions to assert your lack of appetite for others' dirt? practice makes perfect: when for fame you thirst, then whip a rascal. whip a cripple first. or, if for action you're less free than bold-- your palms both brimming with dishonest gold-- entrust the castigation that you've planned, as once before, to woman's idle hand. so in your spirit shall two pleasures join to slake the sacred thirst for blood and coin. blood? souls have blood, even as the body hath, and, spilled, 'twill fertilize the field of wrath. lo! in a purple gorge of yonder hills, where o'er a grave a bird its day-song stills, a woman's blood, through roses ever red, mutely appeals for vengeance on your head. slandered to death to serve a sordid end, she called you murderer and called me friend. now, mark you, libeler, this course if you dare to maintain, or rather to renew; if one short year's immunity has made you blink again the perils of your trade-- the ghastly sequence of the maddened "knave," the hot encounter and the colder grave; if the grim, dismal lesson you ignore while yet the stains are fresh upon your floor, and calmly march upon the fatal brink with eyes averted to your trail of ink, counting unkind the services of those who pull, to hold you back, your stupid nose, the day for you to die is not so far, or, at the least, to live the thing you are! pregnant with possibilities of crime, and full of felons for all coming time, your blood's too precious to be lightly spilt in testimony to a venial guilt. live to get whelpage and preserve a name no praise can sweeten and no lie unshame. live to fulfill the vision that i see down the dim vistas of the time to be: a dream of clattering beaks and burning eyes of hungry ravens glooming all the skies; a dream of gleaming teeth and foetid breath of jackals wrangling at the feast of death; a dream of broken necks and swollen tongues-- the whole world's gibbets loaded with de youngs! _ ._ two statesmen in that fair city by the inland sea, where blaine unhived his presidential bee, frank pixley's meeting with george gorham sing, celestial muse, and what events did spring from the encounter of those mighty sons of thunder, and of slaughter, and of guns. great gorham first, his yearning tooth to sate and give him stomach for the day's debate, entering a restaurant, with eager mien, demands an ounce of bacon and a bean. the trembling waiter, by the statesman's eye smitten with terror, hastens to comply; nor chairs nor tables can his speed retard, for famine's fixed and horrible regard he takes for menace. as he shaking flew, lo! the portentous pixley heaved in view! before him yawned invisible the cell, unheard, behind, the warden's footsteps fell. thrice in convention rising to his feet, he thrice had been thrust back into his seat; thrice had protested, been reminded thrice the nation had no need of his advice. balked of his will to set the people right, his soul was gloomy though his hat was white, so fierce his mien, with provident accord the waiters swarmed him, thinking him a lord. he spurned them, roaring grandly to their chief: "give me (fred. crocker pays) a leg of beef!" his wandering eye's deluminating flame fell upon gorham and the crisis came! for pixley scowled and darkness filled the room till gorham's flashing orbs dispelled the gloom. the patrons of the place, by fear dismayed, sprang to the street and left their scores unpaid. so, when jove thunders and his lightnings gleam to sour the milk and curdle, too, the cream, and storm-clouds gather on the shadowed hill, the ass forsakes his hay, the pig his swill. hotly the heroes now engaged--their breath came short and hard, as in the throes of death. they clenched their hands, their weapons brandished high, cut, stabbed, and hewed, nor uttered any cry, but gnashed their teeth and struggled on! in brief, one ate his bacon, t'other one his beef. matter for gratitude [especially should we be thankful for having escaped the ravages of the yellow scourge by which our neighbors have been so sorely afflicted.--_governor stoneman's thanksgiving proclamation._] be pleased, o lord, to take a people's thanks that thine avenging sword has spared our ranks-- that thou hast parted from our lips the cup and forced our neighbors' lips to drink it up. father of mercies, with a heart contrite we thank thee that thou goest south to smite, and sparest san francisco's loins, to crack thy lash on hermosillo's bleeding back-- that o'er our homes thine awful angel spread his wings in vain, and guaymas weeps instead. we praise thee, god, that yellow fever here his horrid banner has not dared to rear, consumption's jurisdiction to contest, her dagger deep in every second breast! catarrh and asthma and congestive chill attest thy bounty and perform thy will. these native messengers obey thy call-- they summon singly, but they summon all. not, as in mexico's impested clime, can yellow jack commit recurring crime. we thank thee that thou killest all the time. thy tender mercies, father, never end: upon all heads thy blessings still descend, though their forms vary. here the sown seeds yield abundant grain that whitens all the field-- there the smit corn stands barren on the plain, thrift reaps the straw and famine gleans in vain. here the fat priest to the contented king points out the contrast and the people sing-- there mothers eat their offspring. well, at least thou hast provided offspring for the feast. an earthquake here rolls harmless through the land, and thou art good because the chimneys stand-- there templed cities sink into the sea, and damp survivors, howling as they flee, skip to the hills and hold a celebration in honor of thy wise discrimination. o god, forgive them all, from stoneman down, thy smile who construe and expound thy frown, and fall with saintly grace upon their knees to render thanks when thou dost only sneeze. three kinds of a rogue i sharon, ambitious of immortal shame, fame's dead-wall daubed with his illustrious name-- served in the senate, for our sins, his time, each word a folly and each vote a crime; law for our governance well skilled to make by knowledge gained in study how to break; yet still by the presiding eye ignored, which only sought him when too loud he snored. auspicious thunder!--when he woke to vote he stilled his own to cut his country's throat; that rite performed, fell off again to sleep, while statesmen ages dead awoke to weep! for sedentary service all unfit, by lying long disqualified to sit, wasting below as he decayed aloft, his seat grown harder as his brain grew soft, he left the hall he could not bring away, and grateful millions blessed the happy day! whate'er contention in that hall is heard, his sovereign state has still the final word: for disputatious statesmen when they roar startle the ancient echoes of his snore, which from their dusty nooks expostulate and close with stormy clamor the debate. to low melodious thunders then they fade; their murmuring lullabies all ears invade; peace takes the chair; the portal silence keeps; no motion stirs the dark lethean deeps-- washoe has spoken and the senate sleeps. ii lo! the new sharon with a new intent, making no laws, but keen to circumvent the laws of nature (since he can't repeal) that break his failing body on the wheel. as tantalus again and yet again the elusive wave endeavors to restrain to slake his awful thirst, so sharon tries to purchase happiness that age denies; obtains the shadow, but the substance goes, and hugs the thorn, but cannot keep the rose; for dead sea fruits bids prodigally, eats, and then, with tardy reformation--cheats. alert his faculties as three score years and four score vices will permit, he nears-- dicing with death--the finish of the game, and curses still his candle's wasting flame, the narrow circle of whose feeble glow dims and diminishes at every throw. moments his losses, pleasures are his gains, which even in his grasp revert to pains. the joy of grasping them alone remains. iii ring up the curtain and the play protract! behold our sharon in his last mad act. with man long warring, quarreling with god, he crouches now beneath a woman's rod predestined for his back while yet it lay closed in an acorn which, one luckless day, he stole, unconscious of its foetal twig, from the scant garner of a sightless pig. with bleeding shoulders pitilessly scored, he bawls more lustily than once he snored. the sympathetic comstocks droop to hear, and carson river sheds a viscous tear, which sturdy tumble-bugs assail amain, with ready thrift, and urge along the plain. the jackass rabbit sorrows as he lopes; the sage-brush glooms along the mountain slopes; in rising clouds the poignant alkali, tearless itself, makes everybody cry. washoe canaries on the geiger grade subdue the singing of their cavalcade, and, wiping with their ears the tears unshed, grieve for their family's unlucky head. virginia city intermits her trade and well-clad strangers walk her streets unflayed. nay, all nevada ceases work to weep and the recording angel goes to sleep. but in his dreams his goose-quill's creaking fount augments the debits in the long account. and still the continents and oceans ring with royal torments of the silver king! incessant bellowings fill all the earth, mingled with inextinguishable mirth. he roars, men laugh, nevadans weep, beasts howl, plash the affrighted fish, and shriek the fowl! with monstrous din their blended thunders rise, peal upon peal, and brawl along the skies, startle in hell the sharons as they groan, and shake the splendors of the great white throne! still roaring outward through the vast profound, the spreading circles of receding sound pursue each other in a failing race to the cold confines of eternal space; there break and die along that awful shore which god's own eyes have never dared explore-- dark, fearful, formless, nameless evermore! look to the west! against yon steely sky lone mountain rears its holy cross on high. about its base the meek-faced dead are laid to share the benediction of its shade. with crossed white hands, shut eyes and formal feet, their nights are innocent, their days discreet. sharon, some years, perchance, remain of life-- of vice and greed, vulgarity and strife; and then--god speed the day if such his will-- you'll lie among the dead you helped to kill, and be in good society at last, your purse unsilvered and your face unbrassed. a man pennoyer, governor of oregon, casting to south his eye across the bourne of his dominion (where the palmiped, with leathers 'twixt his toes, paddles his marsh, amphibious) saw a rising cloud of hats, and heard a faint, far sound of distant cheers below the swell of the horizon. "lo," cried one, "the president! the president!" all footed webwise then took up the word-- the hill tribes and the tribes lacustrine and the folk riparian and littoral, cried with one voice: "the president! he comes!" and some there were who flung their headgear up in emulation of the southern mob; while some, more soberly disposed, stood still and silently had fits; and others made such reverent genuflexions as they could, having that climate in their bones. then spake the court dunce, humbly, as became him: "sire, if thou, as heretofore thou hast, wilt deign to reap advantage of a fool's advice by action ordered after nature's way, as in thy people manifest (for still stupidity's the only wisdom) thou wilt get thee straight unto to the border land to mark the president's approach with such due, decent courtesy as it shall seem we have in custom the best warrant for." pennoyer, governor of oregon, eyeing the storm of hats which darkened all the southern sky, and hearing far hurrahs of an exulting people, answered not. then some there were who fell upon their knees, and some upon their governor, and sought each in his way, by blandishment or force, to gain his action to their end. "behold," they said, "thy brother governor to south met him even at the gateway of his realm, crook-kneed, magnetic-handed and agrin, backed like a rainbow--all things done in form of due observance and respect. shall we alone of all his servitors refuse swift welcome to our master and our lord?" pennoyer, governor of oregon, answered them not, but turned his back to them and as if speaking to himself, the while he started to retire, said: "he be damned!" to that high place o'er portland's central block, where the recording angel stands to view the sinning world, nor thinks to move his feet aside and look below, came flocking up inferior angels, all aghast, and cried: "pennoyer, governor of oregon, has said, o what an awful word!--too bad to be by us repeated!" "yes, i know," said the superior bird--"i heard it too, and have already booked it. pray observe." splitting the giant tome, whose covers fell apart, o'ershadowing to right and left the eastern and the western world, he showed the newly written entry, black and big, upon the credit side of thine account, pennoyer, governor of oregon. y'e foe to cathaye o never an oathe sweares he, and never a pig-taile jerkes; with a brick-batte he ne lurkes for to buste y'e crust, perdie, of y'e man from over sea, a-synging as he werkes. for he knows ful well, y's youth, a tricke of exceeding worth: and he plans withouten ruth a conflagration's birth! samuel shortridge like a worn mother he attempts in vain to still the unruly crier of his brain: the more he rocks the cradle of his chin the more uproarious grows the brat within. surprised "o son of mine age, these eyes lose their fire: be eyes, i pray, to thy dying sire." "o father, fear not, for mine eyes are bright-- i read through a millstone at dead of night." "my son, o tell me, who are those men, rushing like pigs to the feeding-pen?" "welcomers they of a statesman grand. they'll shake, and then they will pocket; his hand." "sagacious youth, with the wondrous eye, they seem to throw up their headgear. why?" "because they've thrown up their hands until, o, they're so tired!--and dinners they've none to throw." "my son, my son, though dull are mine ears, i hear a great sound like the people's cheers." "he's thanking them, father, with tears in his eyes, for giving him lately that fine surprise." "my memory fails as i near mine end; how _did_ they astonish their grateful friend?" "by letting him buy, like apples or oats, with that which has made him so good, the votes which make him so wise and grand and great. now, father, please die, for 'tis growing late." posterity's award i'd long been dead, but i returned to earth. some small affairs posterity was making a mess of, and i came to see that worth received its dues. i'd hardly finished waking, the grave-mould still upon me, when my eye perceived a statue standing straight and high. 'twas a colossal figure--bronze and gold-- nobly designed, in attitude commanding. a toga from its shoulders, fold on fold, fell to the pedestal on which 'twas standing. nobility it had and splendid grace, and all it should have had--except a face! it showed no features: not a trace nor sign of any eyes or nose could be detected-- on the smooth oval of its front no line where sites for mouths are commonly selected. all blank and blind its faulty head it reared. let this be said: 'twas generously eared. seeing these things, i straight began to guess for whom this mighty image was intended. "the head," i cried, "is upton's, and the dress is parson bartlett's own." true, _his_ cloak ended flush with his lowest vertebra, but no sane sculptor ever made a toga so. then on the pedestal these words i read: "_erected eighteen hundred ninety-seven_" (saint christofer! how fast the time had sped! of course it naturally does in heaven) "_to_ ----" (here a blank space for the name began) "_the nineteenth century's great foremost man_!" "_completed_" the inscription ended, "_in the year three thousand_"--which was just arriving. by jove! thought i, 'twould make the founders grin to learn whose fame so long has been surviving-- to read the name posterity will place in that blank void, and view the finished face. even as i gazed, the year three thousand came, and then by acclamation all the people decreed whose was our century's best fame; then scaffolded the statue like a steeple, to make the likeness; and the name was sunk deep in the pedestal's metallic trunk. whose was it? gentle reader, pray excuse the seeming rudeness, but i can't consent to be so forehanded with important news. 'twas neither yours nor mine--let that content you. if not, the name i must surrender, which, upon a dead man's word, was george k. fitch! an art critic ira p. rankin, you've a nasal name-- i'll sound it through "the speaking-trump of fame," and wondering nations, hearing from afar the brazen twang of its resounding jar, shall say: "these bards are an uncommon class-- they blow their noses with a tube of brass!" rankin! ye gods! if influenza pick our names at christening, and such names stick, let's all be born when summer suns withstand her prevalence and chase her from the land, and healing breezes generously help to shield from death each ailing human whelp! "what's in a name?" there's much at least in yours that the pained ear unwillingly endures, and much to make the suffering soul, i fear, envy the lesser anguish of the ear. so you object to cytherea! do, the picture was not painted, sir, for you! _your_ mind to gratify and taste address, the masking dove had been a dove the less. provincial censor! all untaught in art, with mind indecent and indecent heart, do you not know--nay, why should i explain? instruction, argument alike were vain-- i'll show you reasons when you show me brain. the spirit of a sponge i dreamed one night that stephen massett died, and for admission up at heaven applied. "who are you?" asked st. peter. massett said: "jeems pipes, of pipesville." peter bowed his head, opened the gates and said: "i'm glad to know you, and wish we'd something better, sir, to show you." "don't mention it," said stephen, looking bland, and was about to enter, hat in hand, when from a cloud below such fumes arose as tickled tenderly his conscious nose. he paused, replaced his hat upon his head, turned back and to the saintly warden said, o'er his already sprouting wings: "i swear i smell some broiling going on down there!" so massett's paunch, attracted by the smell, followed his nose and found a place in hell. ornithanthropos "let john p. irish rise!" the edict rang as when creation into being sprang! nature, not clearly understanding, tried to make a bird that on the air could ride. but naught could baffle the creative plan-- despite her efforts 'twas almost a man. yet he had risen--to the bird a twin-- had she but fixed a wing upon his chin. to e.s. salomon who in a memorial day oration protested bitterly against decorating the graves of confederate dead. what! salomon! such words from you, who call yourself a soldier? well, the southern brother where he fell slept all your base oration through. alike to him--he cannot know your praise or blame: as little harm your tongue can do him as your arm a quarter-century ago. the brave respect the brave. the brave respect the dead; but _you_--you draw that ancient blade, the ass's jaw, and shake it o'er a hero's grave. are you not he who makes to-day a merchandise of old renown which he persuades this easy town he won in battle far away? nay, those the fallen who revile have ne'er before the living stood and stoutly made their battle good and greeted danger with a smile. what if the dead whom still you hate were wrong? are you so surely right? we know the issue of the fight-- the sword is but an advocate. men live and die, and other men arise with knowledges diverse: what seemed a blessing seems a curse, and now is still at odds with then. the years go on, the old comes back to mock the new--beneath the sun. is _nothing_ new; ideas run recurrent in an endless track. what most we censure, men as wise have reverently practiced; nor will future wisdom fail to war on principles we dearly prize. we do not know--we can but deem, and he is loyalest and best who takes the light full on his breast and follows it throughout the dream. the broken light, the shadows wide-- behold the battle-field displayed! god save the vanquished from the blade, the victor from the victor's pride! if, salomon, the blessed dew that falls upon the blue and gray is powerless to wash away the sin of differing from you. remember how the flood of years has rolled across the erring slain; remember, too, the cleansing rain of widows' and of orphans' tears. the dead are dead--let that atone: and though with equal hand we strew the blooms on saint and sinner too, yet god will know to choose his own. the wretch, whate'er his life and lot, who does not love the harmless dead with all his heart and all his head-- may god forgive him--_i_ shall not. when, salomon, you come to quaff the darker cup with meeker face, i, loving you at last, shall trace upon your tomb this epitaph: "draw near, ye generous and brave-- kneel round this monument and weep: it covers one who tried to keep a flower from a dead man's grave." dennis kearney your influence, my friend, has gathered head-- to east and west its tides encroaching spread. there'll be, on all god's foot-stool, when they meet, no clean spot left for god to set his feet. finis Æternitatis strolling at sunset in my native land, with fruits and flowers thick on either hand, i crossed a shadow flung athwart my way, emerging on a waste of rock and sand. "the apples all are gone from here," i said, "the roses perished and their spirits fled. i will go back." a voice cried out: "the man is risen who eternally was dead!" i turned and saw an angel standing there, newly descended from the heights of air. sweet-eyed compassion filled his face, his hands a naked sword and golden trumpet bare. "nay, 'twas not death, the shadow that i crossed," i said. "its chill was but a touch of frost. it made me gasp, but quickly i came through, with breath recovered ere it scarce was lost." 'twas the same land! remembered mountains thrust grayed heads asky, and every dragging gust, in ashen valleys where my sons had reaped, stirred in familiar river-beds the dust. some heights, where once the traveler was shown the youngest and the proudest city known, lifted smooth ridges in the steely light-- bleak, desolate acclivities of stone. where i had worshiped at my father's tomb, within a massive temple's awful gloom, a jackal slunk along the naked rock, affrighted by some prescience of doom. man's vestiges were nowhere to be found, save one brass mausoleum on a mound (i knew it well) spared by the artist time to emphasize the desolation round. into the stagnant sea the sullen sun sank behind bars of crimson, one by one. "eternity's at hand!" i cried aloud. "eternity," the angel said, "is done. for man is ages dead in every zone; the angels all are dead but i alone; the devils, too, are cold enough at last, and god lies dead before the great white throne! 'tis foreordained that i bestride the shore when all are gone (as gabriel did before, when i had throttled the last man alive) and swear eternity shall be no more." "o azrael--o prince of death, declare why conquered i the grave?" i cried. "what rare, conspicuous virtues won this boon for me?" "you've been revived," he said, "to hear me swear." "then let me creep again beneath the grass, and knock thou at yon pompous tomb of brass. if ears are what you want, charles crocker's there-- betwixt the greatest ears, the greatest ass." he rapped, and while the hollow echoes rang, out at the door a curst hyena sprang and fled! said azrael: "his soul's escaped," and closed the brazen portal with a bang. the veteran john jackson, once a soldier bold, hath still a martial feeling; so, when he sees a foe, behold! he charges him--with stealing. he cares not how much ground to-day he gives for men to doubt him; he's used to giving ground, they say, who lately fought with--out him. when, for the battle to be won, his gallantry was needed, they say each time a loaded gun went off--so, likewise, he did. and when discharged (for war's a sport so hot he had to leave it) he made a very loud report, but no one did believe it. an "exhibit" goldenson hanged! well, heaven forbid that i should smile above him: though truth to tell, i never did exactly love him. it can't be wrong, though, to rejoice that his unpleasing capers are ended. silent is his voice in all the papers. no longer he's a show: no more, bear-like, his den he's walking. no longer can he hold the floor when i'd be talking. the laws that govern jails are bad if such displays are lawful. the fate of the assassin's sad, but ours is awful! what! shall a wretch condemned to die in shame upon the gibbet be set before the public eye as an "exhibit"?-- his looks, his actions noted down, his words if light or solemn, and all this hawked about the town-- so much a column? the press, of course, will publish news however it may get it; but blast the sheriff who'll abuse his powers to let it! nay, this is not ingratitude; i'm no reporter, truly, nor yet an editor. i'm rude because unruly-- because i burn with shame and rage beyond my power of telling to see assassins in a cage and keepers yelling. "walk up! walk up!" the showman cries: "observe the lion's poses, his stormy mane, his glooming eyes. his--hold your noses!" how long, o lord, shall law and right be mocked for gain or glory, and angels weep as they recite the shameful story? the transmigrations of a soul what! pixley, must i hear you call the roll of all the vices that infest your soul? was't not enough that lately you did bawl your money-worship in the ears of all?[a] still must you crack your brazen cheek to tell that though a miser you're a sot as well? still must i hear how low your taste has sunk-- from getting money down to getting drunk?[b] who worships money, damning all beside, and shows his callous knees with pious pride, speaks with half-knowledge, for no man e'er scorns his own possessions, be they coins or corns. you've money, neighbor; had you gentle birth you'd know, as now you never can, its worth. you've money; learning is beyond your scope, deaf to your envy, stubborn to your hope. but if upon your undeserving head science and letters had their glory shed; if in the cavern of your skull the light of knowledge shone where now eternal night breeds the blind, poddy, vapor-fatted naughts of cerebration that you think are thoughts-- black bats in cold and dismal corners hung that squeak and gibber when you move your tongue-- you would not write, in avarice's defense, a senseless eulogy on lack of sense, nor show your eagerness to sacrifice all noble virtues to one loathsome vice. you've money; if you'd manners too you'd shame to boast your weakness or your baseness name. appraise the things you have, but measure not the things denied to your unhappy lot. he values manners lighter than a cork who combs his beard at table with a fork. hare to seek sin and tortoise to forsake, the laws of taste condemn you to the stake to expiate, where all the world may see, the crime of growing old disgracefully. religion, learning, birth and manners, too, all that distinguishes a man from you, pray damn at will: all shining virtues gain an added luster from a rogue's disdain. but spare the young that proselyting sin, a toper's apotheosis of gin. if not our young, at least our pigs may claim exemption from the spectacle of shame! are you not he who lately out of shape blew a brass trumpet to denounce the grape?-- who led the brave teetotalers afield and slew your leader underneath your shield?-- swore that no man should drink unless he flung himself across your body at the bung? who vowed if you'd the power you would fine the son of god for making water wine? all trails to odium you tread and boast, yourself enamored of the dirtiest most. one day to be a miser you aspire, the next to wallow drunken in the mire; the third, lo! you're a meritorious liar![c] pray, in the catalogue of all your graces, have theft and cowardice no honored places? yield thee, great satan--here's a rival name with all thy vices and but half thy shame! quick to the letter of the precept, quick to the example of the elder nick; with as great talent as was e'er applied to fool a teacher and to fog a guide; with slack allegiance and boundless greed, to paunch the profit of a traitor deed, he aims to make thy glory all his own, and crowd his master from the infernal throne! [footnote a: we are not writing this paragraph for any other purpose than to protest against this never ending cant, affectation, and hypocrisy about money. it is one of the best things in this world--better than religion, or good birth, or learning, or good manners.--_the argonaut_.] [footnote b: now, it just occurs to us that some of our temperance friends will take issue with us, and say that this is bad doctrine, and that it is ungentlemanly to get drunk under any circumstances or under any possible conditions. we do not think so.--_the same_.] [footnote c: the man or woman who, for the sake of benefiting others, protecting them in their lives, property, or reputation, sparing their feelings, contributing to their enjoyment, or increasing their pleasures, will tell a lie, deserves to be rewarded.--_the same_.] an actor some one ('tis hardly new) has oddly said the color of a trumpet's blare is red; and joseph emmett thinks the crimson shame on woman's cheek a trumpet-note of fame. the more the red storm rises round her nose-- the more her eyes averted seek her toes, he fancies all the louder he can hear the tube resounding in his spacious ear, and, all his varied talents to exert, darkens his dullness to display his dirt. and when the gallery's indecent crowd, and gentlemen below, with hisses loud, in hot contention (these his art to crown, and those his naked nastiness to drown) make such a din that cheeks erewhile aflame grow white and in their fear forget their shame, with impudence imperial, sublime, unmoved, the patient actor bides his time, till storm and counter-storm are both allayed, like donkeys, each by t'other one outbrayed. when all the place is silent as a mouse one slow, suggestive gesture clears the house! famine's realm to him in whom the love of nature has imperfectly supplanted the desire and dread necessity of food, your shore, fair oakland, is a terror. over all your sunny level, from tamaletown to where the pestuary's fragrant slime, with dead dogs studded, bears its ailing fleet, broods the still menace of starvation. bones of men and women bleach along the ways and pampered vultures sleep upon the trees. it is a land of death, and famine there holds sovereignty; though some there be her sway who challenge, and intrenched in larders live, drawing their sustentation from abroad. but woe to him, the stranger! he shall die as die the early righteous in the bud and promise of their prime. he, venturesome to penetrate the wilds rectangular of grass-grown ways luxuriant of blooms, frequented of the bee and of the blithe, bold squirrel, strays with heedless feet afar from human habitation and is lost in mid-broadway. there hunger seizes him, and (careless man! deeming god's providence extends so far) he has not wherewithal to bate its urgency. then, lo! appears a mealery--a restaurant--a place where poison battles famine, and the two, like fish-hawks warring in the upper sky for that which one has taken from the deep, manage between them to dispatch the prey. he enters and leaves hope behind. there ends his history. anon his bones, clean-picked by buzzards (with the bones himself had picked, incautious) line the highway. o, my friends, of all felonious and deadlywise devices of the enemy of souls, planted along the ways of life to snare man's mortal and immortal part alike, the oakland restaurant is chief. it lives that man may die. it flourishes that life may wither. its foundation stones repose on human hearts and hopes. i've seen in it crabs stewed in milk and salad offered up with dressing so unholily compound that it included flour and sugar! yea, i've eaten dog there!--dog, as i'm a man, dog seethed in sewage of the town! no more-- thy hand, dyspepsia, assumes the pen and scrawls a tortured "finis" on the page. the mackaiad mackay's hot wrath to bonynge, direful spring of blows unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing-- that wrath which hurled to hellman's office floor two heroes, mutually smeared with gore, whose hair in handfuls marked the dire debate, and riven coat-tails testified their hate. sing, muse, what first their indignation fired, what words augmented it, by whom inspired. first, the great bonynge comes upon the scene and asks the favor of the british queen. suppliant he stands and urges all his claim: his wealth, his portly person and his name, his habitation in the setting sun, as child of nature; and his suit he won. no more the sovereign, wearied with his plea, from slumber's chain her faculties can free. low and more low the royal eyelids creep, she gives the assenting nod and falls asleep. straightway the bonynges all invade the court and telegraph the news to every port. beneath the seas, red-hot, the tidings fly, the cables crinkle and the fishes fry! the world, awaking like a startled bat, exclaims: "a bonynge? what the devil's that?" mackay, meanwhile, to envy all attent, untaught to spare, unable to relent, walks in our town on needles and on pins, and in a mean, revengeful spirit--grins! sing, muse, what next to break the peace occurred-- what act uncivil, what unfriendly word? the god of bosh ascending from his pool, where since creation he has played the fool, clove the blue slush, as other gods the sky, and, waiting but a moment's space to dry, touched bonynge with his finger-tip. "o son," he said, "alike of nature and a gun, knowest not mackay's insufferable sin? hast thou not heard that he doth stand and grin? arise! assert thy manhood, and attest the uncommercial spirit in thy breast. avenge thine honor, for by jove i swear thou shalt not else be my peculiar care!" he spake, and ere his worshiper could kneel had dived into his slush pool, head and heel. full of the god and to revenges nerved, and conscious of a will that never swerved, bonynge set sail: the world beyond the wave as gladly took him as the other gave. new york received him, but a shudder ran through all the western coast, which knew the man; and science said that the seismic action was owing to an asteroid's impaction. o goddess, sing what bonynge next essayed. did he unscabbard the avenging blade, the long spear brandish and porrect the shield, havoc the town and devastate the field? his sacred thirst for blood did he allay by halving the unfortunate mackay? small were the profit and the joy to him to hew a base-born person, limb from limb. let vulgar souls to low revenge incline, that of diviner spirits is divine. bonynge at noonday stood in public places and (with regard to the mackays) made faces! before those formidable frowns and scowls the dogs fled, tail-tucked, with affrighted howls, and horses, terrified, with flying feet o'erthrew the apple-stands along the street, involving the metropolis in vast financial ruin! man himself, aghast, retreated east and west and north and south before the menace of that twisted mouth, till jove, in answer to their prayers, sent night to veil the dreadful visage from their sight! such were the causes of the horrid strife-- the mother-wrongs which nourished it to life. o, for a quill from an archangel's wing! o, for a voice that's adequate to sing the splendor and the terror of the fray, the scattered hair, the coat-tails all astray, the parted collars and the gouts of gore reeking and smoking on the banker's floor, the interlocking limbs, embraces dire, revolving bodies and deranged attire! vain, vain the trial: 'tis vouchsafed to none to sing two millionaires rolled into one! my hand and pen their offices refuse, and hoarse and hoarser grows the weary muse. alone remains, to tell of the event, abandoned, lost and variously rent, the bonynge nethermost habiliment. a song in praise hail, blessed blunder! golden idol, hail!-- clay-footed deity of all who fail. celestial image, let thy glory shine, thy feet concealing, but a lamp to mine. let me, at seasons opportune and fit, by turns adore thee and by turns commit. in thy high service let me ever be (yet never serve thee as my critics me) happy and fallible, content to feel i blunder chiefly when to thee i kneel. but best felicity is his thy praise who utters unaware in works and ways-- who _laborare est orare_ proves, and feels thy suasion wheresoe'er he moves, serving thy purpose, not thine altar, still, and working, for he thinks it his, thy will. if such a life with blessings be not fraught, i envy peter robertson for naught. a poet's father welcker, i'm told, can boast a father great and honored in the service of the state. public instruction all his mind employs-- he guides its methods and its wage enjoys. prime pedagogue, imperious and grand, he waves his ferule o'er a studious land where humming youth, intent upon the page, thirsting for knowledge with a noble rage, drink dry the whole pierian spring and ask to slake their fervor at his private flask. arrested by the terror of his frown, the vaulting spit-ball drops untimely down; the fly impaled on the tormenting pin stills in his awful glance its dizzy din; beneath that stern regard the chewing-gum which writhed and squeaked between the teeth is dumb; obedient to his will the dunce-cap flies to perch upon the brows of the unwise; the supple switch forsakes the parent wood to settle where 'twill do the greatest good, puissant still, as when of old it strove with solomon for spitting on the stove learned professor, variously great, guide, guardian, instructor of the state-- quick to discern and zealous to correct the faults which mar the public intellect from where of siskiyou the northern bound is frozen eternal to the sunless ground to where in san diego's torrid clime the swarthy greaser swelters in his grime-- beneath your stupid nose can you not see the dunce whom once you dandled on your knee? o mighty master of a thousand schools, stop teaching wisdom, or stop breeding fools. a coward when pickering, distressed by an "attack," has the strange insolence to answer back he hides behind a name that is a lie, and out of shadow falters his reply. god knows him, though--identified alike by hardihood to rise and fear to strike, and fitly to rebuke his sins decrees, that, hide from others with what care he please, night sha'n't be black enough nor earth so wide that from himself himself can ever hide! hard fate indeed to feel at every breath his burden of identity till death!-- no moment's respite from the immortal load, to think himself a serpent or a toad, or dream, with a divine, ecstatic glow, he's long been dead and canonized a crow! to my liars attend, mine enemies of all degrees, from sandlot orators and sandlot fleas to fallen gentlemen and rising louts who babble slander at your drinking bouts, and, filled with unfamiliar wine, begin lies drowned, ere born, in more congenial gin. but most attend, ye persons of the press who live (though why, yourselves alone can guess) in hope deferred, ambitious still to shine by hating me at half a cent a line-- like drones among the bees of brighter wing, sunless to shine and impotent to sting. to estimate in easy verse i'll try the controversial value of a lie. so lend your ears--god knows you have enough!-- i mean to teach, and if i can't i'll cuff. a lie is wicked, so the priests declare; but that to us is neither here nor there. 'tis worse than wicked, it is vulgar too; _n'importe_--with that we've nothing here to do. if 'twere artistic i would lie till death, and shape a falsehood with my latest breath. parrhasius never more did pity lack, the while his model writhed upon the rack, than i for my collaborator's pain, who, stabbed with fibs again and yet again, would vainly seek to move my stubborn heart if slander were, and wit were not, an art. the ill-bred and illiterate can lie as fast as you, and faster far than i. shall i compete, then, in a strife accurst where allen forman is an easy first, and where the second prize is rightly flung to charley shortridge or to mike de young? in mental combat but a single end inspires the formidable to contend. not by the raw recruit's ambition fired, by whom foul blows, though harmless, are admired; not by the coward's zeal, who, on his knee behind the bole of his protecting tree, so curves his musket that the bark it fits, and, firing, blows the weapon into bits; but with the noble aim of one whose heart values his foeman for he loves his art the veteran debater moves afield, untaught to libel as untaught to yield. dear foeman mine, i've but this end in view-- that to prevent which most you wish to do. what, then, are you most eager to be at? to hate me? nay, i'll help you, sir, at that. this only passion does your soul inspire: you wish to scorn me. well, you shall admire. 'tis not enough my neighbors that you school in the belief that i'm a rogue or fool; that small advantage you would gladly trade for what one moment would _yourself_ persuade. write, then, your largest and your longest lie: _you_ sha'n't believe it, howsoe'er you try. no falsehood you can tell, no evil do, shall turn me from the truth to injure you. so all your war is barren of effect; i find my victory in your respect. what profit have you if the world you set against me? for the world will soon forget it thought me this or that; but i'll retain a vivid picture of your moral stain, and cherish till my memory expire the sweet, soft consciousness that you're a liar is it _your_ triumph, then, to prove that you will do the thing that i would scorn to do? god grant that i forever be exempt from such advantage as my foe's contempt. "phil" crimmins still as he climbed into the public view his charms of person more apparent grew, till the pleased world that watched his airy grace saw nothing of him but his nether face-- forgot his follies with his head's retreat, and blessed his virtues as it viewed their seat. codex honoris jacob jacobs, of oakland, he swore: "dat solomon martin--i'll haf his gore!" solomon martin, of oakland, he said: "of shacob shacobs der bleed i vill shed!" so they met, with seconds and surgeon at call, and fought with pistol and powder and--all was done in good faith,--as before i said, they fought with pistol and powder and--shed tears, o my friends, for each other they marred fighting with pistol and powder and--lard! for the lead had been stolen away, every trace, and christian hog-product supplied its place. then the shade of moses indignant arose: "quvicker dan lighdnings go vosh yer glose!" jacob jacobs, of oakland, they say, applied for a pension the following day. solomon martin, of oakland, i hear, will call himself colonel for many a year. to w.h.l.b. refrain, dull orator, from speaking out, for silence deepens when you raise the shout; but when you hold your tongue we hear, at least, your noise in mastering that little beast. emancipation behold! the days of miracle at last return--if ever they were truly past: from sinful creditors' unholy greed the church called calvary at last is freed-- so called for there the savior's crucified, roberts and carmany on either side. the circling contribution-box no more provokes the nod and simulated snore; no more the lottery, no more the fair, lure the reluctant dollar from its lair, nor ladies' lunches at a bit a bite destroy the health yet spare the appetite, while thrifty sisters o'er the cauldron stoop to serve their god with zeal, their friends with soup, and all the brethren mendicate the earth with viewless placards: "we've been _so_ from birth!" sure of his wage, the pastor now can lend his whole attention to his latter end, remarking with a martyr's prescient thrill the hemp maturing on the cheerless hill. the holy brethren, lifting pious palms, pour out their gratitude in prayer and psalms, chant _de profundis_, meaning "out of debt," and dance like mad--or would if they were let. deeply disguised (a deacon newly dead supplied the means) jack satan holds his head as high as any and as loudly sings his _jubilate_ till each rafter rings. "rejoice, ye ever faithful," bellows he, "the debt is lifted and the temple free!" then says, aside, with gentle cachination: "i've got a mortgage on the congregation." johndonkey [there isn't a man living who does not have at least a sneaking reverence for a horse-shoe.--_evening post_.] thus the poor ass whose appetite has ne'er known than the thistle any sweeter fare thinks all the world eats thistles. thus the clown, the wit and mentor of the country town, grins through the collar of a horse and thinks others for pleasure do as he for drinks, though secretly, because unwilling still in public to attest their lack of skill. each dunce whose life and mind all follies mar believes as he is all men living are-- his vices theirs, their understandings his; naught that he knows not, all he fancies, _is_. how odd that any mind such stuff should boast! how natural to write it in the _post_! hell the friends who stood about my bed looked down upon my face and said: "god's will be done--the fellow's dead." when from my body i was free i straightway felt myself, ah me! sink downward to the life to be. full twenty centuries i fell, and then alighted. "here you dwell for aye," a voice cried--"this is hell!" a landscape lay about my feet, where trees were green and flowers sweet. the climate was devoid of heat. the sun looked down with gentle beam upon the bosom of the stream, nor saw i any sign of steam. the waters by the sky were tinged, the hills with light and color fringed. birds warbled on the wing unsinged. "ah, no, this is not hell," i cried; "the preachers ne'er so greatly lied. this is earth's spirit glorified! "good souls do not in hades dwell, and, look, there's john p. irish!" "well," the voice said, "that's what makes it hell." by false pretenses john s. hittell, whose sovereign genius wields the quill his tributary body yields; the author of an opera--that is, all but the music and libretto's his: a work renowned, whose formidable name, linked with his own, repels the assault of fame from the high vantage of a dusty shelf, secure from all the world except himself;-- who told the tale of "culture" in a screed that all might understand if some would read;-- master of poesy and lord of prose, dowered, like a setter, with a double nose; that one for erato, for clio this; he flushes both--not his fault if we miss;-- judge of the painter's art, who'll straight proclaim the hue of any color you can name, and knows a painting with a canvas back distinguished from a duck by the duck's quack;-- this thinker and philosopher, whose work is famous from commercial street to turk, has got a fortune now, his talent's meed. a woman left it him who could not read, and so went down to death's eternal night sweetly unconscious that the wretch could write. lucifer of the torch o reverend ravlin, once with sounding lung you shook the bloody banner of your tongue, urged all the fiery boycotters afield and swore you'd rather follow them than yield, alas, how brief the time, how great the change!-- your dogs of war are ailing all of mange; the loose leash dangles from your finger-tips, but the loud "havoc" dies upon your lips. no spirit animates your feeble clay-- you'd rather yield than even run away. in vain mcglashan labors to inspire your pallid nostril with his breath of fire: the light of battle's faded from your face-- you keep the peace, john chinaman his place. o ravlin, what cold water, thrown by whom upon the kindling boycott's ruddy bloom, has slaked your parching blood-thirst and allayed the flash and shimmer of your lingual blade? your salary--your salary's unpaid! in the old days, when christ with scourges drave the ravlins headlong from the temple's nave, each bore upon his pelt the mark divine-- the boycott's red authenticating sign. birth-marked forever in surviving hurts, glowing and smarting underneath their shirts, successive ravlins have revenged their shame by blowing every coal and flinging flame. and you, the latest (may you be the last!) endorsed with that hereditary, vast and monstrous rubric, would the feud prolong, save that cupidity forbids the wrong. in strife you preferably pass your days-- but brawl no moment longer than it pays. by shouting when no more you can incite the dogs to put the timid sheep to flight to load, for you, the brambles with their fleece, you cackle concord to congenial geese, put pinches of goodwill upon their tails and pluck them with a touch that never fails. the "whirligig of time" dr. jewell speaks of balaam and his vices, to assail 'em. ancient enmities how cruel!-- balaam cudgeled once a jewell. a railroad lackey ben truman, you're a genius and can write, though one would not suspect it from your looks. you lack that certain spareness which is quite distinctive of the persons who make books. you show the workmanship of stanford's cooks about the region of the appetite, where geniuses are singularly slight. your friends the chinamen are understood, indeed, to speak of you as "belly good." still, you can write--spell, too, i understand-- though how two such accomplishments can go, like sentimental schoolgirls, hand in hand is more than ever i can hope to know. to have one talent good enough to show has always been sufficient to command the veneration of the brilliant band of railroad scholars, who themselves, indeed, although they cannot write, can mostly read. there's towne and fillmore, goodman and steve gage, ned curtis of napoleonic face, who used to dash his name on glory's page "a.m." appended to denote his place among the learned. now the last faint trace of nap. is all obliterate with age, and ned's degree less precious than his wage. he says: "i done it," with his every breath. "thou canst not say i did it," says macbeth. good land! how i run on! i quite forgot whom this was meant to be about; for when i think upon that odd, unearthly lot-- not quite creedhaymonds, yet not wholly men-- i'm dominated by my rebel pen that, like the stubborn bird from which 'twas got, goes waddling forward if i will or not. to leave your comrades, ben, i'm now content: i'll meet them later if i don't repent. you've writ a letter, i observe--nay, more, you've published it--to say how good you think the coolies, and invite them to come o'er in thicker quantity. perhaps you drink no corporation's wine, but love its ink; or when you signed away your soul and swore on railrogue battle-fields to shed your gore you mentally reserved the right to shed the raiment of your character instead. you're naked, anyhow: unragged you stand in frank and stark simplicity of shame. and here upon your flank, in letters grand, the iron has marked you with your owner's name. needless, for none would steal and none reclaim. but "£eland $tanford" is a pretty brand, wrought by an artist with a cunning hand but come--this naked unreserve is flat: don your habiliment--you're fat, you're fat! the legatee in fair san francisco a good man did dwell, and he wrote out a will, for he didn't feel well, said he: "it is proper, when making a gift, to stimulate virtue by comforting thrift." so he left all his property, legal and straight, to "the cursedest rascal in all of the state." but the name he refused to insert, for, said he; "let each man consider himself legatee." in due course of time that philanthropist died, and all san francisco, and oakland beside-- save only the lawyers--came each with his claim the lawyers preferring to manage the same. the cases were tried in department thirteen, judge murphy presided, sedate and serene, but couldn't quite specify, legal and straight, the cursedest rascal in all of the state. and so he remarked to them, little and big-- to claimants: "you skip!" and to lawyers: "you dig!" they tumbled, tumultuous, out of his court and left him victorious, holding the fort. 'twas then that he said: "it is plain to my mind this property's ownerless--how can i find the cursedest rascal in all of the state?" so he took it himself, which was legal and straight. "died of a rose" a reporter he was, and he wrote, wrote he: "the grave was covered as thick as could be with floral tributes"--which reading, the editor man he said, he did so: "for 'floral tributes' he's got for to go, for i hold the same misleading." then he called him in and he pointed sweet to a blooming garden across the street, inquiring: "what's them a-growing?" the reporter chap said: "why, where's your eyes? them's floral tributes!" "arise, arise," the editor said, "and be going." a literary hangman beneath his coat of dirt great neilson loves to hide the avenging rope. he handles all he touches without gloves, excepting soap. at the eleventh hour as through the blue expanse he skims on joyous wings, the late frank hutchings overtakes miss sims, both bound for heaven's high gate. in life they loved and (god knows why a lover so should sue) he slew her, on the gallows high died pious--and they flew. her pinions were bedraggled, soiled and torn as by a gale, while his were bright--all freshly oiled the feathers of his tail. her visage, too, was stained and worn and menacing and grim; his sweet and mild--you would have sworn that _she_ had murdered _him_. when they'd arrived before the gate he said to her: "my dear, 'tis hard once more to separate, but _you_ can't enter here. "for you, unluckily, were sent so quickly to the grave you had no notice to repent, nor time your soul to save." "'tis true," said she, "and i should wail in hell even now, but i have lingered round the county jail to see a christian die." a controversialist i've sometimes wished that ingersoll were wise to hold his tongue, nor rail against the skies; for when he's made a point some pious dunce like bartlett of the _bulletin_ "replies." i brandish no iconoclastic fist, nor enter the debate an atheist; but when they say there is a god i ask why bartlett, then, is suffered to exist. even infidels that logic might resent, saying: "there's no place for his punishment that's worse than earth." but humbly i submit that he would make a hell wherever sent. mendax high lord of liars, pickering, to thee let meaner mortals bend the subject knee! thine is mendacity's imperial crown, alike by genius, action and renown. no man, since words could set a cheek aflame e'er lied so greatly with so little shame! o bad old man, must thy remaining years be passed in leading idiots by their ears-- thine own (which justice, if she ruled the roast would fasten to the penitential post) still wagging sympathetically--hung the same rocking-bar that bears thy tongue? thou dog of darkness, dost thou hope to stay time's dread advance till thou hast had thy day? dost think the strangler will release his hold because, forsooth, some fibs remain untold? no, no--beneath thy multiplying load of years thou canst not tarry on the road to dabble in the blood thy leaden feet have pressed from bosoms that have ceased to beat of reputations margining thy way, nor wander from the path new truth to slay. tell to thyself whatever lies thou wilt, catch as thou canst at pennies got by guilt-- straight down to death this blessed year thou'lt sink, thy life washed out as with a wave of ink. but if this prophecy be not fulfilled, and thou who killest patience be not killed; if age assail in vain and vice attack only by folly to be beaten back; yet nature can this consolation give: the rogues who die not are condemned to live! the retrospective bird his caw is a cackle, his eye is dim, and he mopes all day on the lowest limb; not a word says he, but he snaps his bill and twitches his palsied head, as a quill, the ultimate plume of his pride and hope, quits his now featherless nose-of-the-pope, leaving that eminence brown and bare exposed to the prince of the power of the air. and he sits and he thinks: "i'm an old, old man, mateless and chickless, the last of my clan, but i'd give the half of the days gone by to perch once more on the branches high, and hear my great-grand-daddy's comical croaks in authorized versions of _bulletin_ jokes." the oakland dog i lay one happy night in bed and dreamed that all the dogs were dead. they'd all been taken out and shot-- their bodies strewed each vacant lot. o'er all the earth, from berkeley down to san leandro's ancient town, and out in space as far as niles-- i saw their mortal parts in piles. one stack upreared its ridge so high against the azure of the sky that some good soul, with pious views, put up a steeple and sold pews. no wagging tail the scene relieved: i never in my life conceived (i swear it on the decalogue!) such penury of living dog. the barking and the howling stilled, the snarling with the snarler killed, all nature seemed to hold its breath: the silence was as deep as death. true, candidates were all in roar on every platform, as before; and villains, as before, felt free to finger the calliope. true, the salvationist by night, and milkman in the early light, the lonely flutist and the mill performed their functions with a will. true, church bells on a sunday rang the sick man's curtain down--the bang of trains, contesting for the track, out of the shadow called him back. true, cocks, at all unheavenly hours, crew with excruciating powers, cats on the woodshed rang and roared, fat citizens and fog-horns snored. but this was all too fine for ears accustomed, through the awful years, to the nocturnal monologues and day debates of oakland dogs. and so the world was silent. now what else befell--to whom and how? _imprimis_, then, there were no fleas, and days of worth brought nights of ease. men walked about without the dread of being torn to many a shred, each fragment holding half a cruse of hydrophobia's quickening juice. they had not to propitiate some curst kioodle at each gate, but entered one another's grounds, unscared, and were not fed to hounds. women could drive and not a pup would lift the horse's tendons up and let them go--to interject a certain musical effect. even children's ponies went about, all grave and sober-paced, without a bulldog hanging to each nose-- proud of his fragrance, i suppose. dog being dead, man's lawless flame burned out: he granted woman's claim, children's and those of country, art-- all took lodgings in his heart. when memories of his former shame crimsoned his cheeks with sudden flame he said; "i know my fault too well-- they fawned upon me and i fell." ah! 'twas a lovely world!--no more i met that indisposing bore, the unseraphic cynogogue-- the man who's proud to love a dog. thus in my dream the golden reign of reason filled the world again, and all mankind confessed her sway, from walnut creek to san jose. the unfallen brave not all in sorrow and in tears, to pay of gratitude's arrears the yearly sum-- not prompted, wholly by the pride of those for whom their friends have died, to-day we come. another aim we have in view than for the buried boys in blue to drop a tear: memorial day revives the chin of barnes, and salomon chimes in-- that's why we're here. and when in after-ages they shall pass, like mortal men, away, their war-song sung, then fame will tell the tale anew of how intrepidly they drew the deadly tongue. then cull white lilies for the graves of liberty's loquacious braves, and roses red. those represent their livers, these the blood that in unmeasured seas they did not shed. a celebrated case way down in the boom belt lived mrs. roselle; a person named petrie, he lived there as well; but mr. roselle he resided away-- sing tooral iooral iooral iay. once mrs. roselle in her room was alone: the flesh of her flesh and the bone of her bone neglected the wife of his bosom to woo-- sing tooral iooral iooral ioo. then petrie, her lover, appeared at the door, remarking: "my dear; i don't love you no more." "that's awfully rough," said the lady, "on me-- sing tooral iooral iooral iee." "come in, mr. petrie," she added, "pray do: although you don't love me no more, i love you. sit down while i spray you with vitriol now-- sing tooral iooral iooral iow." said petrie: "that liquid i know won't agree with my beauty, and then you'll no longer love me; so spray and be "--o, what a word he did say!-- sing tooral iooral iooral iay. she deluged his head and continued to pour till his bonny blue eyes, like his love, were no more. it was seldom he got such a hearty shampoo-- sing tooral iooral iooral ioo. then petrie he rose and said: "mrs. roselle, i have an engagement and bid you farewell." "you see," she began to explain--but not he!-- sing tooral, iooral, iooral iee. the sheriff he came and he offered his arm, saying, "sorry i am for disturbin' you, marm, but business is business." said she, "so they say-- sing tooral, iooral, iooral iay." the judge on the bench he looked awfully stern; the district attorney began to attorn; the witnesses lied and the lawyers--o my!-- sing tooral, iooral, iooral iyi. the chap that defended her said: "it's our claim that he loved us no longer and told us the same. what else than we did could we decently do?-- sing tooral, iooral, iooral ioo." the district attorney, sarcastic, replied: "we loved you no longer--that can't be denied. not having no eyes we may dote on you now-- sing tooral, iooral, iooral iow." the prisoner wept to entoken her fears; the sockets of petrie were flooded with tears. o heaven-born sympathy, bully for you!-- sing tooral, iooral, iooral ioo. four jurors considered the prisoner mad, and four thought her victim uncommonly bad, and four that the acid was all in his eye-- sing rum tiddy iddity iddity hi. couplets intended for inscription on a sword presented to colonel cutting of the national guard of california. i am for cutting. i'm a blade designed for use at dress parade. my gleaming length, when i display peace rules the land with gentle sway; but when the war-dogs bare their teeth go seek me in the modest sheath. i am for cutting. not for me the task of setting nations free. let soulless blades take human life, my softer metal shuns the strife. the annual review is mine, when gorgeous shopmen sweat and shine, and biddy, tip-toe on the pave, adores the cobble-trotting brave. i am for cutting. 'tis not mine to hew amain the hostile line; not mine all pitiless to spread the plain with tumuli of dead. my grander duty lies afar from haunts of the insane hussar, where charging horse and struggling foot are grimed alike with cannon-soot. when loveliness and valor meet beneath the trees to dance, and eat, and sing, and much beside, behold my golden glories all unfold! there formidably are displayed the useful horrors of my blade in time of feast and dance and ballad, i am for cutting chicken salad. a retort as vicious women think all men are knaves, and shrew-bound gentlemen discourse of slaves; as reeling drunkards judge the world unsteady and idlers swear employers ne'er get ready-- thieves that the constable stole all they had, the mad that all except themselves are mad; so, in another's clear escutcheon shown, barnes rails at stains reflected from his own; prates of "docility," nor feels the dark ring round his neck--the ralston collar mark. back, man, to studies interrupted once, ere yet the rogue had merged into the dunce. back, back to yale! and, grown with years discreet, the course a virgin's lust cut short, complete. go drink again at the pierian pool, and learn--at least to better play the fool. no longer scorn the draught, although the font, unlike pactolus, waters not belmont. a vision of resurrection i had a dream. the habitable earth-- its continents and islands, all were bare of cities and of forests. naught remained of its old aspect, and i only knew (as men know things in dreams, unknowing how) that this was earth and that all men were dead. on every side i saw the barren land, even to the distant sky's inclosing blue, thick-pitted all with graves; and all the graves save one were open--not as newly dug, but rather as by some internal force riven for egress. tombs of stone were split and wide agape, and in their iron decay the massive mausoleums stood in halves. with mildewed linen all the ground was white. discarded shrouds upon memorial stones hung without motion in the soulless air. while greatly marveling how this should be i heard, or fancied that i heard, a voice, low like an angel's, delicately strong, and sweet as music. --"spirit," it said, "behold the burial place of universal man! a million years have rolled away since here his sheeted multitudes (save only some whose dark misdeeds required a separate and individual arraignment) rose to judgment at the trumpet's summoning and passed into the sky for their award, leaving behind these perishable things which yet, preserved by miracle, endure till all are up. then they and all of earth, rock-hearted mountain and storm-breasted sea, river and wilderness and sites of dead and vanished capitals of men, shall spring to flame, and naught shall be for evermore! when all are risen that wonder will occur. 'twas but ten centuries ago the last but one came forth--a soul so black with sin, against whose name so many crimes were set that only now his trial is at end. but one remains." straight, as the voice was stilled-- that single rounded mound cracked lengthliwise and one came forth in grave-clothes. for a space he stood and gazed about him with a smile superior; then laying off his shroud disclosed his two attenuated legs which, like parentheses, bent outwardly as by the weight of saintliness above, and so sprang upward and was lost to view noting his headstone overthrown, i read: "sacred to memory of george k. fitch, deacon and editor--a holy man who fell asleep in jesus, full of years and blessedness. the dead in christ rise first." master of three arts your various talents, goldenson, command respect: you are a poet and can draw. it is a pity that your gifted hand should ever have been raised against the law. if you had drawn no pistol, but a picture, you would have saved your throttle from a stricture. about your poetry i'm not so sure: 'tis certain we have much that's quite as bad, whose hardy writers have not to endure the hangman's fondling. it is said they're mad: though lately mr. brooks (i mean the poet) looked well, and if demented didn't show it. well, goldenson, i am a poet, too-- taught by the muses how to smite the harp and lift the tuneful voice, although, like you and brooks, i sometimes flat and sometimes sharp. but let me say, with no desire to taunt you, i never murder even the girls i want to. i hold it one of the poetic laws to sing of life, not take. i've ever shown a high regard for human life because i have such trouble to support my own. and you--well, you'll find trouble soon in blowing your private coal to keep it red and glowing. i fancy now i see you at the gate approach st. peter, crawling on your belly, you cry: "good sir, take pity on my state-- forgive the murderer of mamie kelly!" and peter says: "o, that's all right--but, mister, you scribbled rhymes. in hell i'll make you blister!" thersites so, in the sunday papers _you_, del mar, damn, all great englishmen in english speech? i am no englishman, but in my reach a rogue shall never rail where heroes are. you are the man, if i mistake you not, who lately with a supplicating twitch plucked at the pockets of the london rich and paid your share-engraver all you got. because that you have greatly lied, because you libel nations, and because no hand of officer is raised to bid you stand, and falsehood is unpunished of the laws, i stand here in a public place to mark with level finger where you part the crowd-- i stand to name you and to cry aloud: "behold mendacity's great hierarch!" a society leader "the social world"! o what a world it is-- where full-grown men cut capers in the german, cotillion, waltz, or what you will, and whizz and spin and hop and sprawl about like mermen! i wonder if our future grant or sherman, as these youths pass their time, is passing his-- if eagles ever come from painted eggs, or deeds of arms succeed to deeds of legs. i know they tell us about waterloo: how, "foremost fighting," fell the evening's dancers. i don't believe it: i regard it true that soldiers who are skillful in "the lancers" less often die of cannon than of cancers. moreover, i am half-persuaded, too, that david when he danced before the ark had the reporter's word to keep it dark. ed. greenway, you fatigue. your hateful name like maiden's curls, is in the papers daily. you think it, doubtless, honorable fame, and contemplate the cheap distinction gaily, as does the monkey the blue-painted tail he believes becoming to him. 'tis the same with men as other monkeys: all their souls crave eminence on any kind of poles. but cynics (barking tribe!) are all agreed that monkeys upon poles performing capers are not exalted, they are only "treed." a glory that is kindled by the papers is transient as the phosphorescent vapors that shine in graveyards and are seen, indeed, but while the bodies that supply the gas are turning into weeds to feed an ass. one can but wonder sometimes how it feels to _be_ an ass--a beast we beat condignly because, like yours, his life is in his heels and he is prone to use them unbenignly. the ladies (bless them!) say you dance divinely. i like st. vitus better, though, who deals his feet about him with a grace more just, and hops, not for he will, but for he must. doubtless it gratifies you to observe elbowy girls and adipose mamas all looking adoration as you swerve this way and that; but prosperous papas laugh in their sleeves at you, and their ha-has, if heard, would somewhat agitate your nerve. and dames and maids who keep you on their shelves don't seem to want a closer tie themselves. gods! what a life you live!--by day a slave to your exacting back and urgent belly; intent to earn and vigilant to save-- by night, attired so sightly and so smelly, with countenance as luminous as jelly, bobbing and bowing! king of hearts and knave of diamonds, i'd bet a silver brick if brains were trumps you'd never take a trick. expositor veritatis i slept, and, waking in the years to be, heard voices, and approaching whence they came, listened indifferently where a key had lately been removed. an ancient dame said to her daughter: "go to yonder caddy and get some emery to scour your daddy." and then i knew--some intuition said-- that tombs were not and men had cleared their shelves of urns; and the electro-plated dead stood pedestaled as statues of themselves. with famous dead men all the public places were thronged, and some in piles awaited bases. one mighty structure's high façade alone contained a single monumental niche, where, central in that steep expanse of stone, gleamed the familiar form of thomas fitch. a man cried: "lo! truth's temple and its founder!" then gravely added: "i'm her chief expounder." to "colonel" dan. burns they say, my lord, that you're a warwick. well, the title's an absurd one, i believe: you make no kings, you have no kings to sell, though really 'twere easy to conceive you stuffing half-a-dozen up your sleeve. no, you're no warwick, skillful from the shell to hatch out sovereigns. on a mare's nest, maybe, you'd incubate a little jackass baby. i fancy, too, that it is naught but stuff, this "power" that you're said to be "behind the throne." i'm sure 'twere accurate enough to represent you simply as inclined to push poor markham (ailing in his mind and body, which were never very tough) round in an invalid's wheeled chair. such menial employment to low natures is congenial. no, dan, you're an impostor every way: a human bubble, for "the earth," you know, "hath bubbles, as the water hath." some day some careless hand will prick your film, and o, how utterly you'll vanish! daniel, throw (as fallen woolsey might to cromwell say) your curst ambition to the pigs--though truly 'twould make them greater pigs, and more unruly. george a. knight attorney knight, it happens so sometimes that lawyers, justifying cut-throats' crimes for hire--calumniating, too, for gold, the dead, dumb victims cruelly unsouled-- speak, through the press, to a tribunal far more honorable than their honors are,-- a court that sits not with assenting smile while living rogues dead gentleman revile,-- a court where scoundrel ethics of your trade confuse no judgment and no cheating aid,-- the court of honest souls, where you in vain may plead your right to falsify for gain, sternly reminded if a man engage to serve assassins for the liar's wage, his mouth with vilifying falsehoods crammed, he's twice detestable and doubly damned! attorney knight, defending powell, you, to earn your fee, so energetic grew (so like a hound, the pride of all the pack, clapping your nose upon the dead man's track to run his faults to earth--at least proclaim at vacant holes the overtaken game) that men who marked you nourishing the tongue, and saw your arms so vigorously swung, all marveled how so light a breeze could stir so great a windmill to so great a whirr! little they knew, or surely they had grinned, the mill was laboring to raise the wind. ralph smith a "shoulder-striker"! god, o hear this hardy man's description of thy dear dead child, the gentlest soul, save only one, e'er born in any land beneath the sun. all silent benefactions still he wrought: high deed and gracious speech and noble thought, kept all thy law, and, seeking still the right, upon his blameless breast received the light. "avenge, o lord, thy slaughtered saints," he cried whose wrath was deep as his comparison wide-- milton, thy servant. nay, thy will be done: to smite or spare--to me it all is one. can vengeance bring my sorrow to an end, or justice give me back my buried friend? but if some milton vainly now implore, and powell prosper as he did before, yet 'twere too much that, making no ado, thy saints be slaughtered and be slandered too. so, lord, make knight his weapon keep in sheath, or do thou wrest it from between his teeth! unarmed saint peter sat at the jasper gate, when stephen m. white arrived in state. "admit me." "with pleasure," peter said, pleased to observe that the man was dead; "that's what i'm here for. kindly show your ticket, my lord, and in you go." white stared in blank surprise. said he "i _run_ this place--just turn that key." "yes?" said the saint; and stephen heard with pain the inflection of that word. but, mastering his emotion, he remarked: "my friend, you're too d---- free; "i'm stephen m., by thunder, white!" and, "yes?" the guardian said, with quite the self-same irritating stress distinguishing his former yes. and still demurely as a mouse he twirled the key to that upper house. then stephen, seeing his bluster vain admittance to those halls to gain, said, neighborly: "pray tell me. pete, does any one contest my seat?" the saint replied: "nay, nay, not so; but you voted always wrong below: "whate'er the question, clear and high you're voice rang: '_i_,' '_i_,' ever '_i_.'" now indignation fired the heart of that insulted immortal part. "die, wretch!" he cried, with blanching lip, and made a motion to his hip, with purpose murderous and hearty, to draw the democratic party! he felt his fingers vainly slide upon his unappareled hide (the dead arise from their "silent tents" but not their late habiliments) then wailed--the briefest of his speeches: "i've left it in my other breeches!" a political violet come, stanford, let us sit at ease and talk as old friends do. you talk of anything you please, and i will talk of you. you recently have said, i hear, that you would like to go to serve as senator. that's queer! have you told william stow? once when the legislature said: "go, stanford, and be great!" you lifted up your jovian head and everlooked the state. as one made leisurely awake, you lightly rubbed your eyes and answered: "thank you--please to make a note of my surprise. "but who are they who skulk aside, as to get out of reach, and in their clothing strive to hide three thousand dollars each? "not members of your body, sure? no, that can hardly be: all statesmen, i suppose, are pure. what! there are rogues? dear me!" you added, you'll recall, that though you were surprised and pained, you thought, upon the whole, you'd go, and in that mind remained. now, what so great a change has wrought that you so frankly speak of "seeking" honors once unsought because you "scorned to seek"? do you not fear the grave reproof in good creed haymond's eye? will stephen gage not stand aloof and pass you coldly by? o, fear you not that vrooman's lich will rise from earth and point at you a scornful finger which may lack, perchance, a joint? go, stanford, where the violets grow, and join their modest train. await the work of william stow and be surprised again. the subdued editor pope-choker pixley sat in his den a-chewin' upon his quid. he thought it was leo thirteen, and then he bit it intenser, he did. the amber which overflew from the cud like rivers which burst out of bounds-- 'twas peculiar grateful to think it blood a-gushin' from papal wounds. a knockin' was heard uponto the door where some one a-waitin' was. "come in," said the shedder of priestly gore, arrestin' to once his jaws. the person which entered was curly of hair and smilin' as ever you see; his eyes was blue, and uncommon fair was his physiognomee. and yet there was some'at remarkable grand-- and the editor says as he looks: "your height" (it was highness, you understand, that he meant, but he spoke like books)-- "your height, i am in. i'm the editor man of this paper--which is to say, i'm the owner, too, and it's alway ran in the independentest way! "not a damgaloot can interfere, a-shapin' my course for me: this paper's (and nothing can make it veer) pixleian in policee!" "it's little to me," said the sunny youth, "if journals is better or worse where i am to home they won't keep, in truth, the climate is that perverse. "i've come, howsomever, your mind to light with a more superior fire: you'll have naught hencefor'ard to do but write, while i sets by and inspire. "we'll make it hot all round, bedad!" and his laughture was loud and free. "the devil!" cried pixley, surpassin' mad. "exactly, my friend--that's me." so he took a chair and a feather fan, and he sets and sets and sets, inspirin' that humbled editor man, which sweats and sweats and sweats! all unavailin' his struggles be, and it's, o, a weepin' sight to see a great editor bold and free reducted to sech a plight! "black bart, po " welcome, good friend; as you have served your term, and found the joy of crime to be a fiction, i hope you'll hold your present faith, stand firm and not again be open to conviction. your sins, though scarlet once, are now as wool: you've made atonement for all past offenses, and conjugated--'twas an awful pull!-- the verb "to pay" in all its moods and tenses. you were a dreadful criminal--by heaven, i think there never was a man so sinful! we've all a pinch or two of satan's leaven, but you appeared to have an even skinful. earth shuddered with aversion at your name; rivers fled backward, gravitation scorning; the sea and sky, from thinking on your shame, grew lobster-red at eve and in the morning. but still red-handed at your horrid trade you wrought, to reason deaf, and to compassion. but now with gods and men your peace is made i beg you to be good and in the fashion. what's that?--you "ne'er again will rob a stage"? what! did you do so? faith, i didn't know it. was _that_ what threw poor themis in a rage? i thought you were convicted as a poet! i own it was a comfort to my soul, and soothed it better than the deepest curses, to think they'd got one poet in a hole where, though he wrote, he could not print, his verses. i thought that welcker, plunkett, brooks, and all the ghastly crew who always are begriming with villain couplets every page and wall, might be arrested and "run in" for rhyming. and then parnassus would be left to me, and pegasus should bear me up it gaily, nor down a steep place run into the sea, as now he must be tempted to do daily. well, grab the lyre-strings, hearties, and begin: bawl your harsh souls all out upon the gravel. i must endure you, for you'll never sin by robbing coaches, until dead men travel. a "scion of nobility" come, sisters, weep!--our baron dear, alas! has run away. if always we had kept him here he had not gone astray. painter and grainer it were vain to say he was, before; and if he were, yet ne'er again he'll darken here a door. we mourn each matrimonial plan-- even tradesmen join the cry: he was so promising a man whenever he did buy. he was a fascinating lad, deny it all who may; even moneyed men confess he had a very taking way. so from our tables he is gone-- our tears descend in showers; we loved the very fat upon. his kidneys, for 'twas ours. to women he was all respect to duns as cold as ice; no lady could his suit reject, no tailor get its price. he raised our hope above the sky; alas! alack! and o! that one who worked it up so high should play it down so low! the night of election "o venerable patriot, i pray stand not here coatless; at the break of day we'll know the grand result--and even now the eastern sky is faintly touched with gray. "it ill befits thine age's hoary crown-- this rude environment of rogue and clown, who, as the lying bulletins appear, with drunken cries incarnadine the town. "but if with noble zeal you stay to note the outcome of your patriotic vote for blaine, or cleveland, and your native land, take--and god bless you!--take my overcoat." "done, pard--and mighty white of you. and now guess the country'll keep the trail somehow. i aint allowed to vote, the warden said, but whacked my coat up on old stanislow." the convicts' ball san quentin was brilliant. within the halls of the noble pile with the frowning walls (god knows they've enough to make them frown, with a governor trying to break them down!) was a blaze of light. 'twas the natal day of his nibs the popular john s. gray, and many observers considered his birth the primary cause of his moral worth. "the ball is free!" cried black bart, and they all said a ball with no chain was a novel ball; "and i never have seed," said jimmy hope, "sech a lightsome dance withouten a rope." chinamen, indians, portuguese, blacks, russians, italians, kanucks and kanaks, chilenos, peruvians, mexicans--all greased with their presence that notable ball. none were excluded excepting, perhaps, the rev. morrison's churchly chaps, whom, to prevent a religious debate, the warden had banished outside of the gate. the fiddler, fiddling his hardest the while, "called off" in the regular foot-hill style: "circle to the left!" and "forward and back!" and "hellum to port for the stabbard tack!" (this great _virtuoso_, it would appear, was mate of the _gatherer_ many a year.) "_ally man_ left!"--to a painful degree his french was unlike to the french of paree, as heard from our countrymen lately abroad, and his "_doe cee doe_" was the gem of the fraud. but what can you hope from a gentleman barred from circles of culture by dogs in the yard? 'twas a glorious dance, though, all the same, the jardin mabille in the days of its fame never saw legs perform such springs-- the cold-chisel's magic had given them wings. they footed it featly, those lades and gents: dull care (said long moll) had a helly go-hence! 'twas a very aristocratic affair: the _crême de la crême_ and _élite_ were there-- rank, beauty and wealth from the highest sets, and hubert howe bancroft sent his regrets. a prayer sweet spirit of cesspool, hear a mother's prayer: her terrors pacify and offspring spare! upon silurians alone let fall (and god in heaven have mercy on them all!) the red revenges of your fragrant breath, hot with the flames invisible of death. sing in each nose a melody of smells, and lead them snoutwise to their several hells! to one detested sir, you're a veteran, revealed in history and fable as warrior since you took the field, defeating abel. as commissary later (or if not, in every cottage the tale is) you contracted for a mess of pottage. in civil life you were, we read (and our respect increases) a man of peace--a man, indeed, of thirty pieces. to paying taxes when you turned your mind, or what you call so, a wide celebrity you earned-- saphira also. in every age, by various names, you've won renown in story, but on your present record flames a greater glory. cain, esau, and iscariot, too, and ananias, likewise, each had peculiar powers, but who could lie as mike lies? the boss's choice listen to his wild romances: he advances foolish fancies, each expounded as his "view"-- gu. in his brain's opacous clot, ah he has got a maggot! what a man with "views" to overwhelm us!-- gulielmus. hear his demagogic clamor-- hear him stammer in his grammar! teaching, he will learn to spell-- gulielmus l. slave who paid the price demanded-- with two-handed iron branded by the boss--pray cease to dose us, gulielmus l. jocosus. a merciful governor standing within the triple wall of hell, and flattening his nose against a grate behind whose brazen bars he'd had to dwell a thousand million ages to that date, stoneman bewailed his melancholy fate, and his big tear-drops, boiling as they fell, had worn between his feet, the record mentions, a deep depression in the "good intentions." imperfectly by memory taught how-- for prayer in hell is a lost art--he prayed, uplifting his incinerated brow and flaming hands in supplication's aid. "o grant," he cried, "my torment may be stayed-- in mercy, some short breathing spell allow! if one good deed i did before my ghosting, spare me and give delmas a double roasting." breathing a holy harmony in hell, down through the appalling clamors of the place, charming them all to willing concord, fell a voice ineffable and full of grace: "because of all the law-defying race one single malefactor of the cell thou didst not free from his incarceration, take thou ten thousand years of condonation." back from their fastenings began to shoot the rusted bolts; with dreadful roar, the gate laboriously turned; and, black with soot, the extinguished spirit passed that awful strait, and as he legged it into space, elate, muttered: "yes, i remember that galoot-- i'd signed his pardon, ready to allot it, but stuck it in my desk and quite forgot it." an interpretation now lonergan appears upon the boards, and truth and error sheathe their lingual swords. no more in wordy warfare to engage, the commentators bow before the stage, and bookworms, militant for ages past, confess their equal foolishness at last, reread their shakspeare in the newer light and swear the meaning's obvious to sight. for centuries the question has been hot: was hamlet crazy, or was hamlet not? now, lonergan's illuminating art reveals the truth of the disputed "part," and shows to all the critics of the earth that hamlet was an idiot from birth! a soaring toad so, governor, you would not serve again although we'd all agree to pay you double. you find it all is vanity and pain-- one clump of clover in a field of stubble-- one grain of pleasure in a peck of trouble. 'tis sad, at your age, having to complain of disillusion; but the fault is whose when pigmies stumble, wearing giants' shoes? i humbly told you many moons ago for high preferment you were all unfit. a clumsy bear makes but a sorry show climbing a pole. let him, judicious, sit with dignity at bottom of his pit, and none his awkwardness will ever know. some beasts look better, and feel better, too, seen from above; and so, i think, would you. why, you were mad! did you suppose because our foolish system suffers foolish men to climb to power, make, enforce the laws, and, it is whispered, break them now and then, we love the fellows and respect them when we've stilled the volume of our loud hurrahs? when folly blooms we trample it the more for having fertilized it heretofore. behold yon laborer! his garb is mean, his face is grimy, but who thinks to ask the measure of his brains? 'tis only seen he's fitted for his honorable task, and so delights the mind. but let him bask in droll prosperity, absurdly clean-- is that the man whom we admired before? good lord, how ignorant, and what a bore! better for you that thoughtless men had said (noting your fitness in the humbler sphere): "why don't they make him governor?" instead of, "why the devil did they?" but i fear my words on your inhospitable ear are wasted like a sermon to the dead. still, they may profit you if studied well: you can't be taught to think, but may to spell. an undress uniform the apparel does _not_ proclaim the man-- polonius lied like a partisan, and salomon still would a hero seem if (heaven dispel the impossible dream!) he stood in a shroud on the hangman's trap, his eye burning holes in the black, black cap. and the crowd below would exclaim amain: "he's ready to fall for his country again!" the perverted village after goldsmith sweet auburn! liveliest village of the plain, where health and slander welcome every train, whence smiling innocence, its tribute paid, retires in terror, wounded and dismayed-- dear lovely bowers of gossip and disease, whose climate cures us that thy dames may tease, how often have i knelt upon thy green and prayed for death, to mitigate their spleen! how often have i paused on every charm with mingled admiration and alarm-- the brook that runs by many a scandal-mill, the church whose pastor groans upon the grill, the cowthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, where hearts are struck and reputations flayed; how often wished thine idle wives, some day, might more at whist, less at the devil, play. unblest retirement! ere my life's decline (killed by detraction) may i witness thine. how happy she who, shunning shades like these, finds in a wolf-den greater peace and ease; who quits the place whence truth did earlier fly, and rather than come back prefers to die! for her no jealous maids renounce their sleep, contriving malices to make her weep; no iron-faced dames her character debate and spurn imploring mercy from the gate; but down she lies to a more peaceful end, for wolves do not calumniate, but rend-- sinks piecemeal to their maws, a willing prey, while resignation lubricates the way, and all her prospects brighten at the last: to wolves, not women, an approved repast. _ _. mr. sheets the devil stood before the gate of heaven. he had a single mate: behind him, in his shadow, slunk clay sheets in a perspiring funk. "saint peter, see this season ticket," said satan; "pray undo the wicket." the sleepy saint threw slight regard upon the proffered bit of card, signed by some clerical dead-beats: "admit the bearer and clay sheets." peter expanded all his eyes: "'clay sheets?'--well, i'll be damned!" he cries. "our couches are of golden cloud; nothing of earth is here allowed. i'll let you in," he added, shedding on nick a smile--"but not your bedding." a jack-at-all-views so, estee, you are still alive! i thought that you had died and were a blessed ghost i know at least your coffin once was bought with railroad money; and 'twas said by most historians that stanford made a boast the seller "threw you in." that goes for naught-- man takes delight in fancy's fine inventions, and woman too, 'tis said, if they are french ones. do you remember, estee--ah, 'twas long and long ago!--how fierce you grew and hot when anything impeded the straight, strong, wild sweep of the great billow you had got atop of, like a swimmer bold? great scott! how fine your wavemanship! how loud your song of "down with railroads!" when the wave subsided and left you stranded you were much divided. then for a time you were content to wade the waters of the "robber barons'" moat. to fetch, and carry was your humble trade, and ferry stanford over in a boat, well paid if he bestowed the kindly groat and spoke you fair and called you pretty maid. and when his stomach seemed a bit unsteady you got your serviceable basin ready. strange man! how odd to see you, smug and spruce, there at chicago, burrowed in a chair, not made to measure and a deal too loose, and see you lift your little arm and swear democracy shall be no more! if it's a fair and civil question, and not too abstruse, were you elected as a "robber baron," or as a communist whose teeth had hair on? my lord poet "who drives fat oxen should himself be fat;" who sings for nobles, he should noble be. there's no _non sequitur_, i think, in that, and this is logic plain as a, b, c. now, hector stuart, you're a scottish prince, if right you fathom your descent--that fall from grace; and since you have no peers, and since you have no kind of nobleness at all, 'twere better to sing little, lest you wince when made by heartless critics to sing small. and yet, my liege, i bid you not despair-- ambition conquers but a realm at once: for european bays arrange your hair-- two continents, in time, shall crown you dunce! to the fool-killer ah, welcome, welcome! sit you down, old friend; your pipe i'll serve, your bottle i'll attend. 'tis many a year since you and i have known society more pleasant than our own in our brief respites from excessive work-- i pointing out the hearts for you to dirk. what have you done since lately at this board we canvassed the deserts of all the horde and chose what names would please the people best, engraved on coffin-plates--what bounding breast would give more satisfaction if at rest? but never mind--the record cannot fail: the loftiest monuments will tell the tale. i trust ere next we meet you'll slay the chap who calls old tyler "judge" and merry "cap"-- calls john p. irish "colonel" and john p., whose surname jack-son speaks his pedigree, by the same title--men of equal rank though one is belly all, and one all shank, showing their several service in the fray: one fought for food and one to get away. i hope, i say, you'll kill the "title" man who saddles one on every back he can, then rides it from beërsheba to dan! another fool, i trust, you will perform your office on while my resentment's warm: he shakes my hand a dozen times a day if, luckless, i so often cross his way, though i've three senses besides that of touch, to make me conscious of a fool too much. seek him, friend killer, and your purpose make apparent as his guilty hand you take, and set him trembling with a solemn: "shake!" but chief of all the addle-witted crew conceded by the hangman's league to you, the fool (his dam's acquainted with a knave) whose fluent pen, of his no-brain the slave, strews notes of introduction o'er the land and calls it hospitality--his hand may palsy seize ere he again consign to me his friend, as i to hades mine! pity the wretch, his faults howe'er you see, whom a accredits to his victim, b. like shuttlecock which battledores attack (one speeds it forward, one would drive it back) the trustful simpleton is twice unblest-- a rare good riddance, an unwelcome guest. the glad consignor rubs his hands to think how duty is commuted into ink; the consignee (his hands he cannot rub-- he has the man upon them) mutters: "cub!" and straightway plans to lose him at the club. you know, good killer, where this dunce abides-- the secret jungle where he writes and hides-- though no exploring foot has e'er upstirred his human elephant's exhaustless herd. go, bring his blood! we'll drink it--letting fall a due libation to the gods of gall. on second thought, the gods may have it all. one and one are two the trumpet sounded and the dead came forth from earth and ocean, and pickering arose and sped aloft with wobbling motion. "what makes him fly lop-sided?" cried a soul of the elected. "one ear was wax," a rogue replied, "and isn't resurrected." below him on the pitted plain, by his abandoned hollow, his hair and teeth tried all in vain the rest of him to follow. saint peter, seeing him ascend, came forward to the wicket, and said: "my mutilated friend, i'll thank you for your ticket." "the _call_," said pickering, his hand to reach the latch extended. said peter, affable and bland: "the free-list is suspended-- "what claim have you that's valid here?" that ancient vilifier reflected; then, with look austere, replied: "i am a liar." said peter: "that is simple, neat and candid anglo-saxon, but--well, come in, and take a seat up there by colonel jackson." montague leverson as some enormous violet that towers colossal o'er the heads of lowlier flowers-- its giant petals royally displayed, and casting half the landscape into shade; delivering its odors, like the blows of some strong slugger, at the public nose; pride of two nations--for a single state would scarce suffice to sprout a plant so great; so leverson's humility, outgrown the meaner virtues that he deigns to own, to the high skies its great corolla rears, o'ertopping all he has except his ears. the woful tale of mr. peters i should like, good friends, to mention the disaster which befell mr. william perry peters, of the town of muscatel, whose fate is full of meaning, if correctly understood-- admonition to the haughty, consolation to the good. it happened in the hot snap which we recently incurred, when 'twas warm enough to carbonize the feathers of a bird, and men exclaimed: "by hunky!" who were bad enough to swear, and pious persons supervised their adjectives with care. mr. peters was a pedagogue of honor and repute, his learning comprehensive, multifarious, minute. it was commonly conceded in the section whence he came that the man who played against him needed knowledge of the game. and some there were who whispered, in the town of muscatel, that besides the game of draw he knew orthography as well; though, the school directors, frigidly contemning that as stuff, thought that draw (and maybe spelling, if it pleased him) was enough. withal, he was a haughty man--indubitably great, but too vain of his attainments and his power in debate. his mien was contumelious to men of lesser gift: "it's only _me_," he said, "can give the human mind a lift. "before a proper audience, if ever i've a chance, you'll see me chipping in, the cause of learning to advance. just let me have a decent chance to back my mental hand and i'll come to center lightly in a way they'll understand." such was william perry peters, and i feel a poignant sense of grief that i'm unable to employ the present tense; but providence disposes, be our scheming what it may, and disposed of mr. peters in a cold, regardless way. it occurred in san francisco, whither mr. peters came in the cause of education, feeling still the holy flame of ambition to assist in lifting up the human mind to a higher plane of knowledge than its architect designed. he attended the convention of the pedagogic host; he was first in the pavilion, he was last to leave his post. for days and days he narrowly observed the chairman's eye, his efforts ineffectual to catch it on the fly. the blessed moment came at last: the chairman tipped his head. "the gentleman from ah--um--er," that functionary said. the gentleman from ah--um--er reflected with a grin: "they'll know me better by-and-by, when i'm a-chipping in." so william perry peters mounted cheerfully his feet-- and straightway was aglow with an incalculable heat! his face was as effulgent as a human face could be, and caloric emanated from his whole periphery; for he felt himself the focus of non-muscatelish eyes, and the pain of their convergence was a terror and surprise. as with pitiless impaction all their heat-waves on him broke he was seen to be evolving awful quantities of smoke! "put him out!" cried all in chorus; but the meaning wasn't clear of that succoring suggestion to his obfuscated ear; and it notably augmented his incinerating glow to regard himself excessive, or in any way _de trop_. gone was all his wild ambition to lift up the human mind!-- gone the words he would have uttered!--gone the thought that lay behind! for "words that burn" may be consumed in a superior flame, and "thoughts that breathe" may breathe their last, and die a death of shame. he'd known himself a shining light, but never had he known himself so very luminous as now he knew he shone. "a pillar, i, of fire," he'd said, "to guide my race will be;" and now that very inconvenient thing to him was he. he stood there all irresolute; the seconds went and came; the minutes passed and did but add fresh fuel to his flame. how long he stood he knew not--'twas a century or more-- and then that incandescent man levanted for the door! he darted like a comet from the building to the street, where fahrenheit attested ninety-five degrees of heat. vicissitudes of climate make the tenure of the breath precarious, and william perry peters froze to death! twin unworthies ye parasites that to the rich men stick, as to the fattest sheep the thrifty tick-- ed'ard to stanford and to crocker ben (to ben and ed'ard many meaner men, and lice to these)--who do the kind of work that thieves would have the honesty to shirk-- whose wages are that your employers own the fat that reeks upon your every bone and deigns to ask (the flattery how sweet!) about its health and how it stands the heat,-- hail and farewell! i meant to write about you, but, no, my page is cleaner far without you. another plan editor owen, of san jose, commonly known as "our friend j.j." weary of scribbling for daily bread, weary of writing what nobody read, slept one day at his desk and dreamed that an angel before him stood and beamed with compassionate eyes upon him there. editor owen is not so fair in feature, expression, form or limb but glances like that are familiar to him; and so, to arrive by the shortest route at his visitor's will he said, simply: "toot." "editor owen," the angel said, "scribble no more for your daily bread. your intellect staggers and falls and bleeds, weary of writing what nobody reads. eschew now the quill--in the coming years homilize man through his idle ears. go lecture!" "just what i intended to do," said owen. the angel looked pained and flew. editor owen, of san jose, commonly known as "our friend j.j." scribbling no more to supply his needs, weary of writing what nobody reads, passes of life each golden year speaking what nobody comes to hear. a political apostate good friend, it is with deep regret i note the latest, strangest turning of your coat; though any way you wear that mental clout the seamy side seems always to be out. who could have thought that you would e'er sustain the southern shotgun's arbitrary reign!-- your sturdy hand assisting to replace the broken yoke on a delivered race; the ballot's purity no more your care, with equal privilege to dark and fair. to yesterday a traitor, to to-day you're constant but the better to betray to-morrow. your convictions all are naught but the wild asses of the world of thought, which, flying mindless o'er the barren plain, perceive at last they've nothing so to gain, and, turning penitent upon their track, economize their strength by flying back. ex-champion of freedom, battle-lunged, no more, red-handed, or at least red-tongued, brandish the javelin which by others thrown clove sambo's heart to quiver in your own! confess no more that when his blood was shed, and you so sympathetically bled, the bow that spanned the mutual cascade was but the promise of a roaring trade in offices. your fingering now the trigger shows that you _knew_ your negro was a nigger! _ad hominem_ this _argumentum_ runs: peace!--let us fire another kind of guns. i grant you, friend, that it is very true the blacks are ignorant--and sable, too. what then? one way of two a fool must vote, and either way with gentlemen of note whose villain feuds the fact attest too well that pedagogues nor vice nor error quell. the fiercest controversies ever rage when miltons and salmasii engage. no project wide attention ever drew but it disparted all the learned crew. as through their group the cleaving line's prolonged with fiery combatants each field is thronged. in battle-royal they engage at once for guidance of the hesitating dunce. the titans on the heights contend full soon-- on this side webster and on that calhoun, the monstrous conflagration of their fight startling the day and splendoring the night! both are unconquerable--_one_ is right. will't keep the pigmy, if we make him strong, from siding with a giant in the wrong? when genius strikes for error, who's afraid to arm poor folly with a wooden blade? o rabelais, you knew it all!--your good and honest judge (by men misunderstood) knew to be right there was but one device less fallible than ignorance--the dice. the time must come--heaven expedite the day!-- when all mankind shall their decrees obey, and nations prosper in their peaceful sway. tinker dick good parson dickson preached, i'm told, a sermon--ah, 'twas very old and very, very, bald! 'twas all about--i know not what it was about, nor what 'twas not. "a screw loose" it was called. whatever, parson dick, you say, the world will get each blessed day still more and more askew, and fall apart at last. great snakes! what skillful tinker ever takes his tongue to turn a screw? bats in sunshine well, mr. kemble, you are called, i think, a great divine, and i'm a great profane. you as a congregationalist blink some certain truths that i esteem a gain, and drop them in the coffers of my brain, pleased with the pretty music of their chink. perhaps your spiritual wealth is such a golden truth or two don't count for much. you say that you've no patience with such stuff as by rénan is writ, and when you read (why _do_ you read?) have hardly strength enough to hold your hand from flinging the vile screed into the fire. that were a wasteful deed which you'd repent in sackcloth extra rough; for books cost money, and i'm told you care to lay up treasures here as well as there. i fear, good, pious soul, that you mistake your thrift for toleration. never mind: rénan in any case would hardly break his great, strong, charitable heart to find the bats and owls of your myopic kind pained by the light that his ideas make. 'tis truth's best purpose to shine in at holes where cower the kembles, to confound their souls! a word to the unwise [charles main, of the firm of main & winchester, has ordered a grand mausoleum for his plot in mountain view cemetery.--_city newspaper_.] charles main, of main & winchester, attend with friendly ear the chit-chat of a friend who knows you not, yet knows that you and he travel two roads that have a common end. we journey forward through the time allowed, i humbly bending, you erect and proud. our heads alike will stable soon the worm-- the one that's lifted, and the one that's bowed. you in your mausoleum shall repose, i where it pleases him who sleep bestows; what matter whether one so little worth shall stain the marble or shall feed the rose? charles main, i had a friend who died one day. a metal casket held his honored clay. of cyclopean architecture stood the splendid vault where he was laid away. a dozen years, and lo! the roots of grass had burst asunder all the joints; the brass, the gilded ornaments, the carven stones lay tumbled all together in a mass. a dozen years! that taxes your belief. make it a thousand if the time's too brief. 'twill be the same to you; when you are dead you cannot even count your days of grief. suppose a pompous monument you raise till on its peak the solar splendor blaze while yet about its base the night is black; but will it give your glory length of days? say, when beneath your rubbish has been thrown, some rogue to reputation all unknown-- men's backs being turned--should lift his thieving hand, efface your name and substitute his own. whose then would be the monument? to whom would be the fame? forgotten in your gloom, your very name forgotten--ah, my friend, the name is all that's rescued by the tomb. for memory of worth and work we go to other records than a stone can show. these lacking, naught remains; with these the stone is needless for the world will know. then build your mausoleum if you must, and creep into it with a perfect trust; but in the twinkling of an eye the plow shall pass without obstruction through your dust. another movement of the pendulum, and, lo! the desert-haunting wolf shall come, and, seated on the spot, shall howl by night o'er rotting cities, desolate and dumb. on the platform when dr. bill bartlett stepped out of the hum of mammon's distracting and wearisome strife to stand and deliver a lecture on "some conditions of intellectual life," i cursed the offender who gave him the hall to lecture on any conditions at all! but he rose with a fire divine in his eye, haranguing with endless abundance of breath, till i slept; and i dreamed of a gibbet reared high, and dr. bill bartlett was dressing for death. and i thought in my dream: "these conditions, no doubt, are bad for the life he was talking about." so i cried (pray remember this all was a dream): "get off of the platform!--it isn't the kind!" but he fell through the trap, with a jerk at the beam, and wiggled his toes to unburden his mind. and, o, so bewitching the thoughts he advanced, that i clung to his ankles, attentive, entranced! a dampened ardor the chinatown at bakersfield was blazing bright and high; the flames to water would not yield, though torrents drenched the sky and drowned the ground for miles around-- the houses were so dry. then rose an aged preacher man whom all did much admire, who said: "to force on you my plan i truly don't aspire, but streams, it seems, might quench these beams if turned upon the fire." the fireman said: "this hoary wight his folly dares to thrust on _us_! 'twere well he felt our might-- nay, he shall feel our must!" with jet of wet and small regret they laid that old man's dust. adair welcker, poet the swan of avon died--the swan of sacramento'll soon be gone; and when his death-song he shall coo, stand back, or it will kill you too. to a word-warrior frank pixley, you, who kiss the hand that strove to cut the country's throat, cannot forgive the hands that smote applauding in a distant land,-- applauding carelessly, as one the weaker willing to befriend until the quarrel's at an end, then learn by whom it was begun. when north was pitted against south non-combatants on either side in calculating fury vied, and fought their foes by word of mouth. that devil's-camisade you led with formidable feats of tongue. upon the battle's rear you hung-- with samson's weapon slew the dead! so hot the ardor of your soul that every fierce civilian came, his torch to kindle at your name, or have you blow his cooling coal. men prematurely left their beds and sought the gelid bath--so great the heat and splendor of your hate of englishmen and "copperheads." king liar of deceitful men, for imposition doubly armed! the patriots whom your speaking charmed you stung to madness with your pen. there was a certain journal here, its english owner growing rich-- your hand the treason wrote for which a mob cut short its curst career. if, pixley, you had not the brain to know the true from false, or you to truth had courage to be true, and loyal to her perfect reign; if you had not your powers arrayed to serve the wrong by tricksy speech, nor pushed yourself within the reach of retribution's accolade, i had not had the will to go outside the olive-bordered path of peace to cut the birch of wrath, and strip your body for the blow. behold how dark the war-clouds rise about the mother of our race! the lightnings gild her tranquil face and glitter in her patient eyes. her children throng the hither flood and lean intent above the beach. their beating hearts inhibit speech with stifling tides of english blood. "their skies, but not their hearts, they change who go in ships across the sea"-- through all centuries to be the strange new land will still be strange. the island mother holds in gage the souls of sons she never saw; superior to law, the law of sympathetic heritage. forgotten now the foolish reign of wrath which sundered trivial ties. a soldier's sabre vainly tries to cleave a spiritual chain. the iron in our blood affines, though fratricidal hands may spill. shall hate be throned on bunker hill, yet love abide at seven pines? a culinary candidate a cook adorned with paper cap, or waiter with a tray, may be a worthy kind of chap in his way, but when we want one for recorder, then, mr. walton, take our order. the oleomargarine man once--in the county of marin, where milk is sold to purchase gin-- renowned for butter and renowned for fourteen ounces to the pound-- a bull stood watching every turn of mr. wilson with a churn, as that deigning worthy stalked about him, eying as he walked, el toro's sleek and silken hide, his neck, his flank and all beside; thinking with secret joy: "i'll spread that mammal on a slice of bread!" soon mr. wilson's keen concern to get the creature in his churn unhorsed his caution--made him blind to the fell vigor of bullkind, till, filled with valor to the teeth, he drew his dasher from its sheath and bravely brandished it; the while he smiled a dark, portentous smile; a deep, sepulchral smile; a wide and open smile, which, at his side, the churn to copy vainly tried; a smile so like the dawn of doom that all the field was palled in gloom, and all the trees within a mile, as tribute to that awful smile, made haste, with loyalty discreet, to fling their shadows at his feet. then rose his battle-cry: "i'll spread that mammal on a slice of bread!" to such a night the day had turned that taurus dimly was discerned. he wore so meek and grave an air it seemed as if, engaged in prayer this thunderbolt incarnate had no thought of anything that's bad: this concentrated earthquake stood and gave his mind to being good. lightly and low he drew his breath-- this magazine of sudden death! all this the thrifty wilson's glance took in, and, crying, "now's my chance!" upon the bull he sprang amain to put him in his churn. again rang out his battle-yell: "i'll spread that mammal on a slice of bread!" sing, muse, that battle-royal--sing the deeds that made the region ring, the blows, the bellowing, the cries, the dust that darkened all the skies, the thunders of the contest, all-- nay, none of these things did befall. a yell there was--a rush--no more: el toro, tranquil as before, still stood there basking in the sun, nor of his legs had shifted one-- stood there and conjured up his cud and meekly munched it. scenes of blood had little charm for him. his head he merely nodded as he said: "i've spread that butterman upon a slice of southern oregon." genesis god said, "let there be crime," and the command brought satan, leading stoneman by the hand. "why, that's stupidity, not crime," said god-- "bring what i ordered." satan with a nod replied, "this is _one_ element--when i the _other_--opportunity--supply in just equivalent, the two'll affine and in a chemical embrace combine and crime result--for crime can only be stupiditate of opportunity." so leaving stoneman (not as yet endowed with soul) in special session on a cloud, nick to his sooty laboratory went, returning soon with t'other element. "here's opportunity," he said, and put pen, ink, and paper down at stoneman's foot. he seized them--heaven was filled with fires and thunders, and crime was added to creation's wonders! llewellen powell villain, when the word is spoken, and your chains at last are broken when the gibbet's chilling shade ceases darkly to enfold you, and the angel who enrolled you as a master of the trade of assassination sadly blots the record he has made, and your name and title paints in the calendar of saints; when the devils, dancing madly in the midmost hell, are very multitudinously merry-- then beware, beware, beware!--- nemesis is everywhere! you shall hear her at your back, and, your hunted visage turning, fancy that her eyes are burning like a tiger's on your track! you shall hear her in the breeze whispering to summer trees. you shall hear her calling, calling to your spirit through the storm when the giant billows form and the splintered lightning, falling down the heights of heaven, appalling, splendors all the tossing seas! on your bed at night reclining, stars into your chamber shining as they roll around the pole, none their purposes divining, shall appear to search your soul, and to gild the mark of cain that burns into your tortured brain! and the dead man's eyes shall ever meet your own wherever you, desperate, shall turn you to, and you shall escape them never! by your heritage of guilt; by the blood that you have spilt; by the law that you have broken; by the terrible red token that you bear upon your brow; by the awful sentence spoken and irrevocable vow which consigns you to a living death and to the unforgiving furies who avenge your crime through the periods of time; by that dread eternal doom hinted in your future's gloom, as the flames infernal tell of their power and perfection in their wavering reflection on the battlements of hell; by the mercy you denied, i condemn your guilty soul in your body to abide, like a serpent in a hole! the sunset gun. off santa cruz the western wave was crimson as with blood: the sun was sinking to his grave beneath that angry flood. sir walter turnbull, brave and stout, then shouted, "ho! lads; run-- the powder and the ball bring out to fire the sunset gun. "that punctual orb did ne'er omit to keep, by land or sea, its every engagement; it shall never wait for me." behold the black-mouthed cannon stand, ready with charge and prime, the lanyard in the gunner's hand. sir walter waits the time. the glowing orb sinks in the sea, and clouds of steam aspire, then fade, and the horizon's free. sir walter thunders: "fire!" the gunner pulls--the lanyard parts and not a sound ensues. the beating of ten thousand hearts was heard at santa cruz! off santa cruz the western wave was crimson as with blood; the sun, with visage stern and grave, came back from out the flood. the "viduate dame" 'tis the widow of thomas blythe, and she goeth upon the spree, and red are cheeks of the bystanders for her acts are light and free. in a seven-ounce costume the widow of thomas blythe, y-perched high on the window ledge, the difficult can-can tryeth. ten constables they essay to bate the dame's halloing. with the widow of thomas blythe their hands are overflowing, and they cry: "call the national guard to quell this parlous muss-- for all of the widows of thomas blythe are upon the spree and us!" o long shall the eerie tale be told by that posse's surviving tithe; and with tears bedewed he'll sing this rude ballàd of the widow of thomas blythe. four of a kind robert f. morrow dear man! although a stranger and a foe to soft affection's humanizing glow; although untaught how manly hearts may throb with more desires than the desire to rob; although as void of tenderness as wit, and owning nothing soft but maurice schmitt; although polluted, shunned and in disgrace, you fill me with a passion to embrace! attentive to your look, your smile, your beck, i watch and wait to fall upon your neck. lord of my love, and idol of my hope, you are my valentine, and i'm a rope. alfred clarke jr. illustrious son of an illustrious sire-- entrusted with the duty to cry "fire!" and call the engines out, exert your power with care. when, looking from your lofty tower, you see a ruddy light on every wall, pause for a moment ere you sound the call: it may be from a fire, it may be, too, from good men's blushes when they think of you. judge rutledge sultan of stupids! with enough of brains to go indoors in all uncommon rains, but not enough to stay there when the storm is past. when all the world is dry and warm, in irking comfort, lamentably gay, keeping the evil tenor of your way, you walk abroad, sweet, beautiful and smug, and justice hears you with her wonted shrug, lifts her broad bandage half-an-inch and keeps one eye upon you while the other weeps. w.h.l. barnes happy the man who sin's proverbial wage receives on the instalment plan--in age. for him the bulldog pistol's honest bark has naught of terror in its blunt remark. he looks with calmness on the gleaming steel-- if e'er it touched his heart he did not feel: superior hardness turned its point away, though urged by fond affinity to stay; his bloodless veins ignored the futile stroke, and moral mildew kept the cut in cloak. happy the man, i say, to whom the wage of sin has been commuted into age. yet not _quite_ happy--hark, that horrid cry!-- his cruel mirror wounds him in the eye! reconciliation stanford and huntington, so long at outs, kissed and made up. if you have any doubts dismiss them, for i saw them do it, man; and then--why, then i clutched my purse and ran. a vision of climate i dreamed that i was poor and sick and sad, broken in hope and weary of my life; my ventures all miscarrying--naught had for all my labor in the heat and strife. and in my heart some certain thoughts were rife of an unsummoned exit. as i lay considering my bitter state, i cried: "alas! that hither i did ever stray. better in some fair country to have died than live in such a land, where fortune never (unless he be successful) crowns endeavor." then, even as i lamented, lo! there came a troop of presences--i knew not whence nor what they were: thought cannot rightly name what's known through spiritual evidence, reported not by gross material sense. "why come ye here?" i seemed to cry (though naught my sleeping tongue did utter) to the first-- "what are ye?--with what woful message fraught? ye have a ghastly look, as ye had burst some sepulcher in memory. weird creatures, i'm sure i'd know you if ye had but features." some subtle organ noted the reply (inaudible to ear of flesh the tone): "the finest climate in the world am i, from siskiyou to san diego known-- from the sierra to the sea. the zone called semi-tropical i've pulled about and placed it where it does most good, i trust. i shake my never-failing bounty out alike upon the just and the unjust." "that's very true," said i, "but when 'tis shaken my share by the unjust is ever taken." "permit me," it resumed, "now to present my eldest son, the champagne atmosphere, and others to rebuke your discontent-- the mammoth squash, strawberry all the year, the fair no lightning--flashing only here-- the wholesome earthquake and italian sky, with its unstriking sun; and last, not least, the compos mentis dog. now, ingrate, try to bring a better stomach to the feast: when nature makes a dance and pays the piper, to be unhappy is to be a viper!" "why, yet," said i, "with all your blessings fine (and heaven forbid that i should speak them ill) i yet am poor and sick and sad. ye shine with more of splendor than of heat: for still, although my will is warm, my bones are chill." "then warm you with enthusiasm's blaze-- fortune waits not on toil," they cried; "o then join the wild chorus clamoring our praise-- throw up your beaver and throw down you pen!" "begone!" i shouted. they bewent, a-smirking, and i, awakening, fell straight a-working. a "mass" meeting it was a solemn rite as e'er was seen by mortal man. the celebrants, the people there, were all republican. there estee bent his grizzled head, and general dimond, too, and one--'twas reddick, some one said, though no one clearly knew. i saw the priest, white-robed and tall (assistant, father stow)-- he was the pious man men call dan burns of mexico. ah, 'twas a high and holy rite as any one could swear. "what does it mean?" i asked a wight who knelt apart in prayer. "a mass for the repose," he said, "of colonel markham's"----"what, is gallant colonel markham dead? 'tis sad, 'tis sad, god wot!" "a mass"--repeated he, and rose to go and kneel among the worshipers--"for the repose of colonel markham's tongue." for president, leland stanford mahomet stanford, with covetous stare, gazed on a vision surpassingly fair: far on the desert's remote extreme a mountain of gold with a mellow gleam reared its high pinnacles into the sky, the work of _mirage_ to delude the eye. pixley pasha, at the prophet's feet piously licking them, swearing them sweet, ventured, observing his master's glance, to beg that he order the mountain's advance. mahomet stanford exerted his will, commanding: "in allah's name, hither, hill!" never an inch the mountain came. mahomet stanford, with face aflame, lifted his foot and kicked, alack! pixley pasha on the end of the back. mollified thus and smiling free, he said: "since the mountain won't come to me, i'll go to the mountain." with infinite pains, camels in caravans, negroes in trains, warriors, workmen, women, and fools, food and water and mining tools he gathered about him, a mighty array, and the journey began at the close of day. all night they traveled--at early dawn many a wearisome league had gone. morning broke fair with a golden sheen, mountain, alas, was nowhere seen! mahomet stanford pounded his breast, pixley pasha he thus addressed: "dog of mendacity, cheat and slave, may jackasses sing o'er your grandfather's grave!" for mayor o abner doble--whose "catarrhal name" budd of that ilk might envy--'tis a rough rude thing to say, but it is plain enough your name is to be sneezed at: its acclaim will "fill the speaking trump of future fame" with an impeded utterance--a puff suggesting that a pinch or two of snuff would clear the tube and somewhat disinflame. nay, abner doble, you'll not get from me my voice and influence: i'll cheer instead, some other man; for when my voice ascends a tall pinnacle of praise, and at high c sustains a chosen name, it shan't be said my influence is naught but influenza. a cheating preacher munhall, to save my soul you bravely try, although, to save my soul, i can't say why. 'tis naught to you, to me however much-- why, bless it! you might save a million such yet lose your own; for still the "means of grace" that you employ to turn us from the place by the arch-enemy of souls frequented are those which to ensnare us he invented! i do not say you utter falsehoods--i would scorn to give to ministers the lie: they cannot fight--their calling has estopped it. true, i did not persuade them to adopt it. but, munhall, when you say the devil dwells in all the breasts of all the infidels-- making a lot of individual hells in gentlemen instinctively who shrink from thinking anything that you could think, you talk as i should if some world i trod where lying is acceptable to god. i don't at all object--forbid it heaven!-- that your discourse you temperately leaven with airy reference to wicked souls cursing impenitent on glowing coals, nor quarrel with your fancy, blithe and fine, which represents the wickedest as mine. each ornament of style my spirit eases: the subject saddens, but the manner pleases. but when you "deal damnation round" 'twere sweet to think hereafter that you did not cheat. deal, and let all accept what you allot 'em. but, blast you! you are dealing from the bottom! a crocodile nay, peter robertson, 'tis not for you to blubber o'er max taubles for he's dead. by heaven! my hearty, if you only knew how better is a grave-worm in the head than brains like yours--how far more decent, too, a tomb in far corea than a bed where peter lies with peter, you would covet his happier state and, dying, learn to love it. in the recesses of the silent tomb no maunderings of yours disturb the peace. your mental bag-pipe, droning like the gloom of hades audible, perforce must cease from troubling further; and that crack o' doom, your mouth, shaped like a long bow, shall release in vain such shafts of wit as it can utter-- the ear of death can't even hear them flutter. the american party oh, marcus d. boruck, me hearty, i sympathize wid ye, poor lad! a man that's shot out of his party is mighty onlucky, bedad! an' the sowl o' that man is sad. but, marcus, gossoon, ye desarve it-- ye know for yerself that ye do, for ye j'ined not intendin' to sarve it, but hopin' to make it sarve you, though the roll of its members wuz two. the other wuz pixley, an' "surely," ye said, "he's a kite that wall sail." an' so ye hung till him securely, enactin' the role of a tail. but there wuzn't the ghost of a gale! but the party to-day has behind it a powerful backin', i'm told; for just enough irish have j'ined it (an' i'm m'anin' to be enrolled) to kick ye out into the cold. it's hard on ye, darlint, i'm thinkin'-- so young--so american, too-- wid bypassers grinnin' an' winkin', an' sayin', wid ref'rence to you: "get onto the murtherin' joo!" republicans never will take ye-- they had ye for many a year; an' dimocrats--angels forsake ye!-- if ever ye come about here we'll brand ye and scollop yer ear! uncoloneled though war-signs fail in time of peace, they say, two awful portents gloom the public mind: all mexico is arming for the fray and colonel mark mcdonald has resigned! we know not by what instinct he divined the coming trouble--may be, like the steed described by job, he smelled the fight afar. howe'er it be, he left, and for that deed is an aspirant to the g.a.r. when cannon flame along the rio grande a citizen's commission will be handy. the gates ajar the day of judgment spread its glare o'er continents and seas. the graves cracked open everywhere, like pods of early peas. up to the court of heaven sped the souls of all mankind; republicans were at the head and democrats behind. reub. lloyd was there before the tube of gabriel could call: the dead in christ rise first, and reub. had risen first of all. he sat beside the throne of flame as, to the trumpet's sound, four statesmen of the party came and ranged themselves around-- pure spirits shining like the sun, from taint and blemish free-- great william stow was there for one, and george a. knight for three. souls less indubitably white approached with anxious air, judge blake at head of them by right of having been a mayor. his ermine he had donned again, long laid away in gums. 'twas soiled a trifle by the stains of politicians' thumbs. then knight addressed the judge of heaven: "your honor, would it trench on custom here if blake were given a seat upon the bench?" 'twas done. "tom shannon!" peter cried. he came, without ado, _in forma pauperis_ was tried, and was acquitted, too! stow rose, remarking: "i concur." lloyd added: "that suits _us_. i move tom's nomination, sir, be made unanimous." tidings of good old nick from his place of last resort came up and looked the world over. he saw how the grass of the good was short and the wicked lived in clover. and he gravely said: "this is all, all wrong, and never by me intended. if to me the power should ever belong i shall have this thing amended." he looked so solemn and good and wise as he made this observation that the men who heard him believed their eyes instead of his reputation. so they bruited the matter about, and each reported the words as nearly as memory served--with additional speech to bring out the meaning clearly. the consequence was that none understood, and the wildest rumors started of something intended to help the good and injure the evil-hearted. then robert morrow was seen to smile with a bright and lively joyance. "a man," said he, "that is free from guile will now be free from annoyance. "the featherstones doubtless will now increase and multiply like the rabbits, while jailers, deputy sheriffs, police, and writers will form good habits. "the widows more easily robbed will be, and no juror will ever heed 'em, but open his purse to my eloquent plea for security, gain, or freedom." when benson heard of the luck of the good (he was eating his dinner) he muttered: "it cannot help _me_, for 'tis understood my bread is already buttered. "my plats of surveys are all false, they say, but that cannot greatly matter to me, for i'll tell the jurors that they may lick, if they please, my platter." arboriculture [californians are asking themselves how joaquin miller will make the trees grow which he proposes to plant in the form of a maltese cross on goat island, in san francisco bay.--_new york graphic_.] you may say they won't grow, and say they'll decay-- say it again till you're sick of the say, get up on your ear, blow your blaring bazoo and hire a hall to proclaim it; and you may stand on a stump with a lifted hand as a pine may stand or a redwood stand, and stick to your story and cheek it through. but i point with pride to the far divide where the snake from its groves is seen to glide-- to mariposa's arboreal suit, and the shaggy shoulders of shasta butte, and the feathered firs of siskiyou; and i swear as i sit on my marvelous hair-- i roll my marvelous eyes and swear, and sneer, and ask where would your forests be to-day if it hadn't been for me! then i rise tip-toe, with a brow of brass, like a bully boy with an eye of glass; i look at my gum sprouts, red and blue, and i say it loud and i say it low: "they know their man and you bet they'll grow!" a silurian holiday 'tis master fitch, the editor; he takes an holiday. now wherefore, venerable sir, so resolutely gay? he lifts his head, he laughs aloud, odzounds! 'tis drear to see! "because the boodle-scribbler crowd will soon be far from me. "full many a year i've striven well to freeze the caitiffs out by making this good town a hell, but still they hang about. "they maken mouths and eke they grin at the dollar limit game; and they are holpen in that sin by many a wicked dame. "in sylvan bowers hence i'll dwell my bruisèd mind to ease. farewell, ye urban scenes, farewell! hail, unfamiliar trees!" forth master fitch did bravely hie, and all the country folk besought him that he come not nigh the deadly poison oak! he smiled a cheerful smile (the day was straightway overcast)-- the poison oak along his way was blighted as he passed! rejected when dr. charles o'donnell died they sank a box with him inside. the plate with his initials three was simply graven--"c.o.d." that night two demons of the pit adown the coal-hole shunted it. ten million million leagues it fell, alighting at the gate of hell. nick looked upon it with surprise, a night-storm darkening his eyes. "they've sent this rubbish, c.o.d.-- i'll never pay a cent!" said he. judex judicatus judge armstrong, when the poor have sought your aid, to be released from vows that they have made in haste, and leisurely repented, you, as stern as rhadamanthus (minos too, and Æeacus) have drawn your fierce brows down and petrified them with a moral frown! with iron-faced rigor you have made them run the gauntlet of publicity--each hun or vandal of the public press allowed to throw their households open to the crowd and bawl their secret bickerings aloud. when wealth before you suppliant appears, bang! go the doors and open fly your ears! the blinds are drawn, the lights diminished burn, lest eyes too curious should look and learn that gold refines not, sweetens not a life of conjugal brutality and strife-- that vice is vulgar, though it gilded shine upon the curve of a judicial spine. the veiled complainant's whispered evidence, the plain collusion and the no defense, the sealed exhibits and the secret plea, the unrecorded and unseen decree, the midnight signature and--_chink! chink! chink!_-- nay, pardon, upright judge, i did but think i heard that sound abhorred of honest men; no doubt it was the scratching of your pen. o california! long-enduring land, where judges fawn upon the golden hand, proud of such service to that rascal thing as slaves would blush to render to a king-- judges, of judgment destitute and heart, of conscience conscious only by the smart from the recoil (so insight is enlarged) of duty accidentally discharged;-- invoking still a "song o' sixpence" from the scottish fiddle of each lusty palm, thy judges, california, skilled to play this silent music, through the livelong-day perform obsequious before the rich, and still the more they scratch the more they itch! on the wedding of an aËronaut aëronaut, you're fairly caught, despite your bubble's leaven: out of the skies a lady's eyes have brought you down to heaven! no more, no more you'll freely soar above the grass and gravel: henceforth you'll walk--and she will chalk the line that you're to travel! a hasty inference the devil one day, coming up from the pit, all grimy with perspiration, applied to st. peter and begged he'd admit him a moment for consultation. the saint showed him in where the master reclined on the throne where petitioners sought him; both bowed, and the evil one opened his mind concerning the business that brought him: "for ten million years i've been kept in a stew because you have thought me immoral; and though i have had my opinion of you, you've had the best end of the quarrel. "but now--well, i venture to hope that the past with its misunderstandings we'll smother; and you, sir, and i, sir, be throned here at last as equals, the one to the other." "indeed!" said the master (i cannot convey a sense of his tone by mere letters) "what makes you presume you'll be bidden to stay up here on such terms with your betters?" "why, sure you can't mean it!" said satan. "i've seen how stanford and crocker you've nourished, and huntington--bless me! the three like a green umbrageous great bay-tree have flourished. they are fat, they are rolling in gold, they command all sources and well-springs of power; you've given them houses, you've given them land-- before them the righteous all cower." "what of that?" "what of that?" cried the father of sin; "why, i thought when i saw you were winking at crimes such as theirs that perhaps you had been converted to my way of thinking." a voluptuary who's this that lispeth in the thickening throng which crowds to claim distinction in my song? fresh from "the palms and temples of the south," the mixed aromas quarrel in his mouth: of orange blossoms this the lingering gale, and that the odor of a spicy tale. sir, in thy pleasure-dome down by the sea (no finer one did kubla khan decree) where, master of the revels, thou dost stand with joys and mysteries on either hand, dost keep a poet to report the rites and sing the tale of those elysian nights? faith, sir, i'd like the place if not too young. i'm no great bard, but--i can hold my tongue. ad cattonum i know not, mr. catton, who you are, nor very clearly why; but you go far to show that you are many things beside a chilean consul with a tempting hide; but what they are i hardly could explain without afflicting you with mental pain. your name (gods! what a name the muse to woo-- suggesting cats, and hinting kittens, too!) points to an origin--perhaps maltese, perhaps angoran--where the wicked cease from fiddling, and the animals that grow the strings that groan to the tormenting bow live undespoiled of their insides, resigned to give their name and nature to mankind. with chilean birth your name but poorly tallies; the test is--did you ever sell tamales? it matters very little, though, my boy, if you're from chile or from illinois; you can't, because you serve a foreign land, spit with impunity on ours, expand, cock-turkeywise, and strut with blind conceit, all heedless of the hearts beneath your feet, fling falsehoods as a sower scatters grain and, for security, invoke disdain. sir, there are laws that men of sense observe, no matter whence they come nor whom they serve-- the laws of courtesy; and these forbid you to malign, as recently you did, as servant of another state, a state wherein your duties all are concentrate; branding its ministers as rogues--in short, inviting cuffs as suitable retort. chileno or american, 'tis one-- of any land a citizen, or none-- if like a new thersites here you rail, loading with libels every western gale, you'll feel the cudgel on your scurvy hump impinging with a salutary thump. 'twill make you civil or 'twill make you jump! the national guardsman i'm a gorgeous golden hero and my trade is taking life. hear the twittle-twittle-tweero of my sibillating fife and the rub-a-dub-a-dum of my big bass drum! i'm an escort strong and bold, the grand army to protect. my countenance is cold and my attitude erect. i'm a californian guard and my banner flies aloft, but the stones are o, so hard! and my feet are o, so soft! the barking weasel you say, john irish, mr. taylor hath a painted beard. quite likely that is true, and sure 'tis natural you spend your wrath on what has been least merciful to you. by taylor's chin, if i am not mistaken, you like a rat have recently been shaken. to wear a beard of artificial hue may be or this or that, i know not what; but, faith, 'tis better to be black-and-blue in beard from dallying with brush and pot than to be so in body from the beating that hardy rogues get when detected cheating. you're whacked about the mazzard rather more of late than any other man in town. certes your vulnerable back is sore and tender, too, your corrigible crown. in truth your whole periphery discloses more vivid colors than a bed of posies! you call it glory! put your tongue in sheath!-- scars got in battle, even if on the breast, may be a shameful record if, beneath, a robber heart a lawless strife attest. john sullivan had wounds, and paddy ryan-- nay, as to that, even masten has, and bryan. 'tis willingly conceded you've a knack at holding the attention of the town; the worse for you when you have on your back what did not grow there--prithee put it down! for pride kills thrift, and you lack board and lodging, even while the brickbats of renown you're dodging. a rear elevation [he can speak with his eyes, his hands, arms, legs, body--nay, with his very bones, for he turned the broad of his back upon us in "conrad," the other night, and his shoulder-blades spoke to us a volume of hesitation, fear, submission, desperation--everything which could haunt a man at the moment of inevitable detection.--_a "dramatic critic."_] once moses (in scripture the story is told) entreated the favor god's face to behold. compassion divine the petition denied lest vision be blasted and body be fried. yet this much, the record informs us, took place: jehovah, concealing his terrible face, protruded his rear from behind a great rock, and edification ensued without shock. so godlike salvini, lest worshipers die, averting the blaze of his withering eye, tempers his terrors and shows to the pack of feeble adorers the broad of his back. the fires of their altars, which, paled and declined before him, burn all the more brightly behind. o happy adorers, to care not at all where fawning may tickle or lip-service fall! in upper san francisco i heard that heaven was bright and fair, and politicians dwelt not there. 'twas said by knowing ones that they were in the elsewhere--so to say. so, waking from my last long sleep, i took my place among the sheep. i passed the gate--saint peter eyed me sharply as i stepped inside. he thought, as afterward i learned, that i was chris, the unreturned. the new jerusalem--ah me, it was a sorry sight to see! the mansions of the blest were there, and mostly they were fine and fair; but o, such streets!--so deep and wide, and all unpaved, from side to side! and in a public square there grew a blighted tree, most sad to view. from off its trunk the bark was ripped-- its very branches all were stripped! an angel perched upon the fence with all the grace of indolence. "celestial bird," i cried, in pain, "what vandal wrought this wreck? explain." he raised his eyelids as if tired: "what is a vandal?" he inquired. "this is the tree of life. 'twas stripped by durst and siebe, who have shipped "the bark across the jordan--see?-- and sold it to a tannery." "alas," i sighed, "their old-time tricks! that pavement, too, of golden bricks-- "they've gobbled that?" but with a scowl, "you greatly wrong them," said the fowl: "'twas gilleran did that, i fear-- head of the street department here." "what! what!" cried i--"you let such chaps come here? you've satan, too, perhaps." "we had him, yes, but off he went, yet showed some purpose to repent; "but since your priests and parsons filled the place with those their preaching killed"-- (here siebe passed along with durst, psalming as if their lungs would burst)-- "he swears his foot no more shall press ('tis cloven, anyhow, i guess) "our soil. in short, he's out on strike-- but devils are not all alike." lo! gilleran came down the street, pressing the soil with broad, flat feet! nimrod there were brave men, some one has truly said, before atrides (those were mostly dead behind him) and ere you could e'er occur actaeon lived, nimrod and bahram-gur. in strength and speed and daring they excelled: the stag they overtook, the lion felled. ah, yes, great hunters flourished before you, and--for munchausen lived--great talkers too. there'll be no more; there's much to kill, but--well, _you_ have left nothing in the world to tell! censor literarum so, parson stebbins, you've released your chin to say that here, and here, we press-folk ail. 'tis a great thing an editor to skin and hang his faulty pelt upon a nail (if over-eared, it has, at least, no tail) and, for an admonition against sin, point out its maculations with a rod, and act, in short, the gentleman of god. 'twere needless cruelty to spoil your sport by comment, critical or merely rude; but you, too, have, according to report, despite your posing as a holy dude, imperfect spiritual pulchritude for so severe a judge. may't please the court, we shall appeal and take our case at once before that higher court, a taller dunce. sir, what were _you_ without the press? what spreads the fame of your existence, once a week, from the pacific mail dock to the heads, warning the people you're about to wreak upon the human ear your sunday freak?-- whereat the most betake them to their bed though some prefer to slumber in the pews and nod assent to your hypnotic views. unhappy man! can you not still your tongue when (like a luckless brat afflict with worms, by cruel fleas intolerably stung, or with a pang in its small lap) it squirms? still must it vulgarize your feats of lung? no preaching better were, the sun beneath, if you had nothing there behind your teeth. borrowed brains writer folk across the bay take the pains to see and say-- all their upward palms in air: "joaquin miller's cut his hair!" hasten, hasten, writer folk-- in the gutters rake and poke, if by god's exceeding grace you may hit upon the place where the barber threw at length samson's literary strength. find it, find it if you can; happy the successful man! he has but to put one strand in his beaver's inner band and his intellect will soar as it never did before! while an inch of it remains he will noted be for brains, and at last ('twill so befall) fit to cease to write at all. the fyghtynge seventh it is the gallant seventh-- it fyghteth faste and free! god wot the where it fyghteth i ne desyre to be. the gonfalon it flyeth, seeming a flayme in sky; the bugel loud yblowen is, which sayeth, doe and dye! and (o good saints defende us agaynst the woes of warr) drawn tongues are flashing deadly to smyte the foeman sore! with divers kinds of riddance the smoaking earth is wet, and all aflowe to seaward goe the torrents wide of sweat! the thunder of the captens, and eke the shouting, mayketh such horrid din the soule within the boddy of me quayketh! who fyghteth the bold seventh? what haughty power defyes? their colonel 'tis they drubben sore, and dammen too his eyes! indicted dear bruner, once we had a little talk (that is to say, 'twas i did all the talking) about the manner of your moral walk: how devious the trail you made in stalking, on level ground, your law-protected game-- "another's dollar" is, i think, its name. your crooked course more recently is not so blamable; for, truly, you have stumbled on evil days; and 'tis your luckless lot to traverse spaces (with a spirit humbled, contrite, dejected and divinely sad) where, 'tis confessed, the walking's rather bad. jordan, the song says, is a road (i thought it was a river) that is hard to travel; and dublin, if you'd find it, must be sought along a highway with more rocks than gravel. in difficulty neither can compete with that wherein you navigate your feet. as once george gorham said of pixley, so i say of you: "the prison yawns before you, the turnkey stalks behind!" now will you go? or lag, and let that functionary floor you? to change the metaphor--you seem to be between judge wallace and the deep, deep sea! over the border o, justice, you have fled, to dwell in mexico, unstrangled, lest you should hang as high as--well, as haman dangled. (i know not if his cord he twanged, or the king proved forgiving. 'tis hard to think of haman hanged, and haymond living.) yes, as i said: in mortal fear to mexico you journeyed; for you were on your trial here, and ill attorneyed. the law had long regarded you as an extreme offender. religion looked upon you, too, with thoughts untender. the press to you was cold as snow, for sin you'd always call so. in politics you were _de trop_, in morals also. all this is accurately true and, faith! there might be more said; but--well, to save your thrapple you fled, as aforesaid. you're down in mexico--that's plain as that the sun is risen; for daniel burns, down there, his chain drags round in prison. one judge wallace, created on a noble plan to show us that a judge can be a man; through moral mire exhaling mortal stench god-guided sweet and foot-clean to the bench; in salutation here and sign i lift a hand as free as yours from lawless thrift, a heart--ah, would i truly could proclaim my bosom lighted with so pure a flame! alas, not love of justice moves my pen to praise, or to condemn, my fellow men. good will and ill its busy point incite: i do but gratify them when i write. in palliation, though, i'd humbly state, i love the righteous and the wicked hate. so, sir, although we differ we agree, our work alike from persecution free, and heaven, approving you, consents to me. take, therefore, from this not all useless hand the crown of honor--not in all the land one honest man dissenting from the choice, nor in approval one fred. crocker's voice! to an insolent attorney so, hall mcallister, you'll not be warned-- my protest slighted, admonition scorned! to save your scoundrel client from a cell as loth to swallow him as he to swell its sum of meals insurgent (it decries all wars intestinal with meats that rise) you turn your scurril tongue against the press and damn the agency you ought to bless. had not the press with all its hundred eyes discerned the wolf beneath the sheep's disguise and raised the cry upon him, he to-day would lack your company, and you would lack his pay. talk not of "hire" and consciences for sale-- you whose profession 'tis to threaten, rail, calumniate and libel at the will of any villain who can pay the bill-- you whose most honest dollars all were got by saying for a fee "the thing that's not!" to you 'tis one, to challenge or defend; clients are means, their money is an end. in my profession sometimes, as in yours always, a payment large enough secures a mercenary service to defend the guilty or the innocent to rend. but mark the difference, nor think it slight: _we_ do not hold it proper, just and right; of selfish lies a little still we shame and give our villainies another name. hypocrisy's an ugly vice, no doubt, but blushing sinners can't get on without. happy the lawyer!--at his favored hands nor truth nor decency the world demands. secure in his immunity from shame, his cheek ne'er kindles with the tell-tale flame. his brains for sale, morality for hire, in every land and century a licensed liar! no doubt, mcallister, you can explain how honorable 'tis to lie for gain, provided only that the jury's made to understand that lying is your trade. a hundred thousand volumes, broad and flat, (the bible not included) proving that, have been put forth, though still the doubt remains if god has read them with befitting pains. no morrow could get justice, you'll declare, if none who knew him foul affirmed him fair. ingenious man! how easy 'tis to raise an argument to justify the course that pays! i grant you, if you like, that men may need the services performed for crime by greed,-- grant that the perfect welfare of the state requires the aid of those who in debate as mercenaries lost in early youth the fine distinction between lie and truth-- who cheat in argument and set a snare to take the feet of justice unaware-- who serve with livelier zeal when rogues assist with perjury, embracery (the list is long to quote) than when an honest soul, scorning to plot, conspire, intrigue, cajole, reminds them (their astonishment how great!) he'd rather suffer wrong than perpetrate. i grant, in short, 'tis better all around that ambidextrous consciences abound in courts of law to do the dirty work that self-respecting scavengers would shirk. what then? who serves however clean a plan by doing dirty work, he is a dirty man! accepted charles shortridge once to st. peter came. "down!" cried the saint with his face aflame; "'tis writ that every hardy liar shall dwell forever and ever in fire!" "that's what i said the night that i died," the sinner, turning away, replied. "what! _you_ said that?" cried the saint--"what! what! _you_ said 'twas so writ? then, faith, 'tis _not!_ i'm a devil at quoting, but i begin to fail in my memory. pray walk in." a promised fast train i turned my eyes upon the future's scroll and saw its pictured prophecies unroll. i saw that magical life-laden train flash its long glories o'er nebraska's plain. i saw it smoothly up the mountain glide. "o happy, happy passengers!" i cried. for pleasure, singing, drowned the engine's roar, and hope on joyous pinions flew before. then dived the train adown the sunset slope-- pleasure was silent and unseen was hope. crashes and shrieks attested the decay that greed had wrought upon that iron way. the rusted rails broke down the rotting ties, and clouds of flying spikes obscured the skies. my coward eyes i drew away, distressed, and fixed them on the terminus to-west, where soon, its melancholy tale to tell, one bloody car-wheel wabbled in and fell! one of the saints big smith is an oakland school board man, and he looks as good as ever he can; and he's such a cold and a chaste big smith that snowflakes all are his kin and kith. wherever his eye he chances to throw the crystals of ice begin to grow; and the fruits and flowers he sees are lost by the singeing touch of a sudden frost. the women all shiver whenever he's near, and look upon _us_ with a look austere-- effect of the smithian atmosphere. such, in a word, is the moral plan of the big, big smith, the school board man. when told that madame ferrier had taught _hernani_ in school, his fist he brought like a trip-hammer down on his bulbous knee, and he roared: "her nanny? by gum, we'll see if the public's time she dares devote to the educatin' of any dam goat!" "you do not entirely comprehend-- _hernani's_ a play," said his learned friend, "by victor hugo--immoral and bad. what's worse, it's french!" "well, well, my lad," said smith, "if he cuts a swath so wide i'll have him took re'glar up and tried!" and he smiled so sweetly the other chap thought that himself was a finn or lapp caught in a storm of his native snows, with a purple ear and an azure nose. the smith continued: "i never pursue immoral readin'." and that is true: he's a saint of remarkably high degree, with a mind as chaste as a mind can be; but read!--the devil a word can he! a military incident dawn heralded the coming sun-- fort douglas was computing the minutes--and the sunrise gun was manned for his saluting. the gunner at that firearm stood, the which he slowly loaded, when, bang!--i know not how it could, but sure the charge exploded! yes, to that veteran's surprise the gun went off sublimely, and both his busy arms likewise went off with it, untimely. then said that gunner to his mate (he was from ballyshannon): "bedad, the sun's a minute late, accardin' to this cannon!" substance versus shadow so, gentle critics, you would have me tilt, not at the guilty, only just at guilt!-- spare the offender and condemn offense, and make life miserable to pretense! "whip vice and folly--that is satire's use-- but be not personal, for _that's_ abuse; nor e'er forget what, 'like a razor keen, wounds with a touch that's neither felt nor seen.'" well, friends, i venture, destitute of awe, to think that razor but an old, old saw, a trifle rusty; and a wound, i'm sure, that's felt not, seen not, one can well endure. go to! go to!--you're as unfitted quite to give advice to writers as to write. i find in folly and in vice a lack of head to hit, and for the lash no back; whilst pixley has a pow that's easy struck, and though good deacon fitch (a fitch for luck!) has none, yet, lest he go entirely free, god gave to him a corn, a heel to me. he, also, sets his face (so like a flint the wonder grows that pickering doesn't skin't) with cold austerity, against these wars on scamps--'tis scampery that _he_ abhors! behold advance in dignity and state-- grave, smug, serene, indubitably great-- stanford, philanthropist! one hand bestows in alms what t'other one as justice owes. rascality attends him like a shade, but closes, woundless, o'er my baffled blade, its limbs unsevered, spirit undismayed. faith! i'm for something can be made to feel, if, like pelides, only in the heel. the fellow's self invites assault; his crimes will each bear killing twenty thousand times! anon creed haymond--but the list is long of names to point the moral of my song. rogues, fools, impostors, sycophants, they rise, they foul the earth and horrify the skies-- with mr. huntington (sole honest man in all the reek of that rapscallion clan) denouncing theft as hard as e'er he can! the committee on public morals the senate met in sacramento city; on public morals it had no committee though greatly these abounded. soon the quiet was broken by the senators in riot. now, at the end of their contagious quarrels, there's a committee but no public morals. california [the chinaman's assailant was allowed to walk quietly away, although the street was filled with pedestrians.--_newspaper_.] why should he not have been allowed to thread with peaceful feet the crowd which filled that christian street? the decalogue he had observed, from faith in jesus had not swerved, and scorning pious platitudes, he saw in the beatitudes a lamp to guide his feet. he knew that jonah downed the whale and made no bones of it. the tale that ananias told he swore was true. he had no doubt that daniel laid the lions out. in short, he had all holiness, all meekness and all lowliness, and was with saints enrolled. 'tis true, some slight excess of zeal sincerely to promote the weal of this most christian state had moved him rudely to divide the queue that was a pagan's pride, and in addition certify the faith by making fur to fly from pelt as well as pate? but, heavenly father, thou dost know that in this town these actions go for nothing worth a name. nay, every editorial ass, to prove they never come to pass will damn his soul eternally, although in his own journal he may read the printed shame. from bloody hands the reins of pow'r fall slack; the high-decisive hour strikes not for liars' ears. remove, o father, the disgrace that stains our california's face, and consecrate to human good the strength of her young womanhood and all her golden years! de young--a prophecy running for senator with clumsy pace, he stooped so low, to win at least a place, that fortune, tempted by a mark so droll, sprang in an kicked him to the winning pole. to either back further than i know, in san francisco dwelt a wealthy man. so rich was he that none could be wise, good and great in like degree. 'tis true he wrought, in deed or thought, but few of all the things he ought; but men said: "who would wish him to? great souls are born to be, not do!" one thing, indeed, he did, we read, which was becoming, all agreed: grown provident, ere life was spent he built a mighty monument. for longer than i know, in san francisco lived a beggar man; and when in bed they found him dead-- "just like the scamp!" the people said. he died, they say, on the same day his wealthy neighbor passed away. what matters it when beggars quit their beats? i answer: not a bit. they got a spade and pick and made a hole, and there the chap was laid. "he asked for bread," 'twas neatly said: "he'll get not even a stone instead." the years rolled round: his humble mound sank to the level of the ground; and men forgot that the bare spot was like (and was) the beggar's lot. forgotten, too, was t'other, who had reared the monument to woo inconstant fame, though still his name shouted in granite just the same. that name, i swear, they both did bear the beggar and the millionaire. that lofty tomb, then, honored--whom? for argument here's ample room. i'll not debate, but only state the scamp first claimed it at the gate. st. peter, proud to serve him, bowed and showed him to the softest cloud. disappointment the senate woke; the chairman's snore was stilled, its echoes balking; the startled members dreamed no more, for steele, who long had held the floor, had suddenly ceased talking. as, like elijah, in his pride, he to his seat was passing, "go up thou baldhead!" reddy cried. then six fierce bears ensued and tried to sunder him for "sassing." two seized his legs, and one his head, the fourth his trunk, to munch on; the fifth preferred an arm instead; the last, with rueful visage, said: "pray what have _i_ for luncheon?" then to that disappointed bear said steele, serene and chipper, "my friend, you shall not lack your share: look in the treasury, and there you'll find his other flipper." the valley of the shadow of theft in fair yosemite, that den of thieves wherein the minions of the moon divide the travelers' purses, lo! the devil grieves, his larger share as leader still denied. el capitan, foreseeing that _his_ reign may be disputed too, beclouds his head. the joyous bridal veil is torn in twain and the crêpe steamer dangles there instead. the vernal fall abates her pleasant speed and hesitates to take the final plunge, for rumors reach her that another greed awaits her in the valley of the sponge. the brothers envy the accord of mind and peace of purpose (by the good deplored as honor among commissioners) which bind that confraternity of crime, the board. the half-dome bows its riven face to weep, but not, as formerly, because bereft: prophetic dreams afflict him when asleep of losing his remaining half by theft. ambitious knaves! has not the upper sod enough of room for every crime that crawls but you must loot the palaces of god and daub your filthy names upon the walls? down among the dead men within my dark and narrow bed i rested well, new-laid: i heard above my fleshless head the grinding of a spade. a gruffer note ensued and grew to harsh and harsher strains: the poet welcker then i knew was "snatching" my remains. "o welcker, let your hand be stayed and leave me here in peace. of your revenge you should have made an end with my decease." "hush, mouldyshanks, and hear my moan: i once, as you're aware, was eminent in letters--known and honored everywhere. "my splendor made all berkeley bright and sacramento blind. men swore no writer e'er could write like me--if i'd a mind. "with honors all insatiate, with curst ambition smit, too far, alas! i tempted fate-- i _published_ what i'd writ! "good heaven! with what a hunger wild oblivion swallows fame! men who have known me from a child forget my very name! "even creditors with searching looks my face cannot recall; my heaviest one--he prints my books-- oblivious most of all. "o i should feel a sweet content if one poor dun his claim would bring to me for settlement, and bully me by name. "my dog is at my gate forlorn; it howls through all the night, and when i greet it in the morn it answers with a bite!" "o poet, what in satan's name to me's all this ado? will snatching me restore the fame that printing snatched from you?" "peace, dread remains; i'm not about to do a deed of sin. i come not here to hale you out-- i'm trying to get in." the last man i dreamed that gabriel took his horn on resurrection's fateful morn, and lighting upon laurel hill blew long, blew loud, blew high and shrill. the houses compassing the ground rattled their windows at the sound. but no one rose. "alas!" said he, "what lazy bones these mortals be!" again he plied the horn, again deflating both his lungs in vain; then stood astonished and chagrined at raising nothing but the wind. at last he caught the tranquil eye of an observer standing by-- last of mankind, not doomed to die. to him thus gabriel: "sir, i pray this mystery you'll clear away. why do i sound my note in vain? why spring they not from out the plain? where's luning, blythe and michael reese, magee, who ran the _golden fleece?_ where's asa fisk? jim phelan, who was thought to know a thing or two of land which rose but never sank? where's con o'conor of the bank, and all who consecrated lands of old by laying on of hands? i ask of them because their worth was known in all they wished--the earth. brisk boomers once, alert and wise, why don't they rise, why don't they rise?" the man replied: "reburied long with others of the shrouded throng in san mateo--carted there and dumped promiscuous, anywhere, in holes and trenches--all misfits-- mixed up with one another's bits: one's back-bone with another's shin, a third one's skull with a fourth one's grin-- your eye was never, never fixed upon a company so mixed! go now among them there and blow: 'twill be as good as any show to see them, when they hear the tones, compiling one another's bones! but here 'tis vain to sound and wait: naught rises here but real estate. i own it all and shan't disgorge. don't know me? i am henry george." arbor day hasten, children, black and white-- celebrate the yearly rite. every pupil plant a tree: it will grow some day to be big and strong enough to bear a school director hanging there. the piute unbeautiful is the piute! howe'er bedecked with bravery, his person is unsavory-- of soap he's destitute. he multiplies upon the earth in spite of all admonishing; all censure his astonishing and versatile unworth. upon the reservation wide we give for his inhabiting he goes a-jackass rabbiting to furnish his inside. the hopper singing in the grass he seizes with avidity: he loves its tart acidity, and gobbles all that pass. he penetrates the spider's veil, industriously pillages the toads' defenseless villages, and shadows home the snail. he lightly runs to earth the quaint red worm and, deftly troweling, he makes it with his boweling familiarly acquaint. he tracks the pine-nut to its lair, surrounds it with celerity, regards it with asperity-- smiles, and it isn't there! i wish he'd open up a grin of adequate vivacity and carrying capacity to take his agent in. fame he held a book in his knotty paws, and its title grand read he: "the chronicles of the kings" it was, by the history companee. "i'm a monarch," he said (but a tear he shed) "and my picter here you see. "great and lasting is my renown, however the wits may flout-- as wide almost as this blessed town" (but he winced as if with gout). "i paid 'em like sin for to put me in, but it's o, and o, to be out!" one of the redeemed saint peter, standing at the gate, beheld a soul whose body death had lately felled. a pleasant soul as ever was, he seemed: his step was joyous and his visage beamed. "good morning, peter." there was just a touch of foreign accent, but not overmuch. the saint bent gravely, like a stately tree, and said: "you have the advantage, sir, of me." "rénan of paris," said the immortal part-- "a master of the literary art. "i'm somewhat famous, too, i grieve to tell, as controversialist and infidel." "that's of no consequence," the saint replied, "why, i myself my master once denied. "no one up here cares anything for that. but is there nothing you were always at? "it seems to me you were accused one day of _something_--what it was i can't just say." "quite likely," said the other; "but i swear my life was irreproachable and fair." just then a soul appeared upon the wall, singing a hymn as loud as he could bawl. about his head a golden halo gleamed, as well befitted one of the redeemed. a harp he bore and vigorously thumbed, strumming he sang, and, singing, ever strummed. his countenance, suffused with holy pride, glowed like a pumpkin with a light inside. "ah! that's the chap," said peter, "who declares: 'rénan's a rake and drunkard--smokes and swears.' "yes, that's the fellow--he's a preacher--came from san francisco. mansfield was his name." "do you believe him?" said rénan. "great scott! believe? believe the blackguard? of course _not!_ "just walk right in and make yourself at home. and if he pecks at you i'll cut his comb. "he's only here because the devil swore he wouldn't have him, for the smile he wore." resting his eyes one moment on that proof of saving grace, the frenchman turned aloof, and stepping down from cloud to cloud, said he: "thank you, monsieur,--i'll see if he'll have _me_." a critic [apparently the cleveland _leader_ is not a good judge of poetry.--_the morning call_.] that from _you_, neighbor! to whose vacant lot each rhyming literary knacker scourges his cart-compelling pegasus to trot, as folly, fame or famine smartly urges? admonished by the stimulating goad, how gaily, lo! the spavined crow-bait prances-- its cart before it--eager to unload the dead-dog sentiments and swill-tub fancies. gravely the sweating scavenger pulls out the tail-board of his curst imagination, shoots all his rascal rubbish, and, no doubt, thanks fortune for so good a dumping-station. to improve your property, the vile cascade your thrift invites--to make a higher level. in vain: with tons of garbage overlaid, your baseless bog sinks slowly to the devil. "rubbish may be shot here"--familiar sign! i seem to see it in your every column. you have your wishes, but if i had mine 'twould to your editor mean something solemn. a question of eligibility it was a bruised and battered chap the victim of some dire mishap, who sat upon a rock and spent his breath in this ungay lament: "some wars--i've frequent heard of such-- has beat the everlastin' dutch! but never fight was fit by man to equal this which has began in our (i'm in it, if you please) academy of sciences. for there is various gents belong to it which go persistent wrong, and loving the debates' delight calls one another names at sight. their disposition, too, accords with fighting like they all was lords! sech impulses should be withstood: 'tis scientific to be good. "'twas one of them, one night last week, rose up his figure for to speak: 'please, mr. chair, i'm holding here a resolution which, i fear, some ancient fossils that has bust their cases and shook off their dust to sit as members here will find unpleasant, not to say unkind.' and then he read it every word, and silence fell on all which heard. that resolution, wild and strange, proposed a fundamental change, which was that idiots no more could join us as they had before! "no sooner was he seated than the members rose up, to a man. each chap was primed with a reply and tried to snatch the chairman's eye. they stomped and shook their fists in air, and, o, what words was uttered there! "the chair was silent, but at last he hove up his proportions vast and stilled them tumults with a look by which the undauntedest was shook. he smiled sarcastical and said: 'if argus was the chair, instead of me, he'd lack enough of eyes each orator to recognize! and since, denied a hearing, you might maybe undertake to do each other harm before you cease, i've took some steps to keep the peace: i've ordered out--alas, alas, that science e'er to such a pass should come!--i've ordered out--the gas!' "o if a tongue or pen of fire was mine i could not tell entire what the ensuin' actions was. when swollered up in darkness' jaws we fit and fit and fit and fit, and everything we felt we hit! we gouged, we scratched and we pulled hair, and o, what words was uttered there! and when at last the day dawn came three hundred scientists was lame; two hundred others couldn't stand, they'd been so careless handled, and one thousand at the very least was spread upon the floor deceased! 'twere easy to exaggerate, but lies is things i mortal hate. "such, friends, is the disaster sad which has befel the cal. acad. and now the question is of more importance than it was before: shall vacancies among us be to idiots threw open free?" fleet strother what! you were born, you animated doll, within the shadow of the capitol? 'twas always thought (and bancroft so assures his trusting readers) it was reared in yours. californian summer pictures the foot-hill resort assembled in the parlor of the place of last resort, the smiler and the snarler and the guests of every sort-- the elocution chap with rhetoric on tap; the mimic and the funny dog; the social sponge; the money-hog; vulgarian and dude; and the prude; the adiposing dame with pimply face aflame; the kitten-playful virgin-- vergin' on to fifty years; the solemn-looking sturgeon of a firm of auctioneers; the widower flirtatious; the widow all too gracious; the man with a proboscis and a sepulcher beneath. one assassin picks the banjo, and another picks his teeth. at anchor the soft asphaltum in the sun; betrays a tendency to run; whereas the dog that takes his way across its course concludes to stay. the in-coming climate now o' nights the ocean breeze makes the patient flinch, for that zephyr bears a sneeze in every cubic inch. lo! the lively population chorusing in sternutation a catarrhal acclamation! a long-felt want dimly apparent, through the gloom of market-street's opaque simoom, a queue of people, parti-sexed, awaiting the command of "next!" a sidewalk booth, a dingy sign: "teeth dusted nice--five cents a shine." to the happy hunting grounds wide windy reaches of high stubble field; a long gray road, bordered with dusty pines; a wagon moving in a "cloud by day." two city sportsmen with a dove between, breast-high upon a fence and fast asleep-- a solitary dove, the only dove in twenty counties, and it sick, or else it were not there. two guns that fire as one, with thunder simultaneous and loud; two shattered human wrecks of blood and bone! and later, in the gloaming, comes a man-- the worthy local coroner is he, renowned all thereabout, and popular with many a remain. all tenderly compiling in a game-bag the débris, he glides into the gloom and fades from sight. the dove, cured of its ailment by the shock, has flown, meantime, on pinions strong and fleet, to die of age in some far foreign land. slander fitch: "all vices you've exhausted, friend; so all the papers say." pickering: "ah, what vile calumnies are penned!-- 'tis just the other way." james l. flood as oft it happens in the youth of day that mists obscure the sun's imperfect ray, who, as he's mounting to the dome's extreme, smites and dispels them with a steeper beam, so you the vapors that begirt your birth consumed, and manifested all your worth. but still one early vice obstructs the light and sullies all the visible and bright display of mind and character. you write. four candidates for senator to flatter your way to the goad of your hope, o plausible mr. perkins, you'll need ten tons of the softest soap and butter a thousand firkins. the soap you could put to a better use in washing your hands of ambition ere the butter's used for cooking your goose to a beautiful brown condition. * * * * * "the railroad can't run stanford." that is so-- the tail can't curl the pig; but then, you know, inside the vegetable-garden's pale the pig will eat more cabbage than the tail. * * * * * when sargent struts by all the lawmakers say: "right--left!" it is fair to infer the right will get left, nor polar the day when he makes that thing to occur. not so, not so, 'tis a joke, that cry-- foolish and dull and small: he so bores them for votes that they mean to imply he's a drill-sargent, that is all. * * * * * gods! what a sight! astride mcclure's broad back estee jogs round the senatorial track, the crowd all undecided, as they pass, whether to cheer the man or cheer the ass. they stop: the man to lower his feet is seen and the tired beast, withdrawing from between, mounts, as they start again, the biped's neck, and scarce the crowd can say which one's on deck. a growler judge shafter, you're an aged man, i know, and learned too, i doubt not, in the law; and a head white with many a winter's snow (i wish, however that your heart would thaw) claims reverence and honor; but the jaw that's always wagging with a word malign, nagging and scolding every one in sight as harshly as a jaybird in a pine, and with as little sense of wrong and right as animates that irritable creature, is not a very venerable feature. you damn all witnesses, all jurors too (and swear at the attorneys, i suppose, but _that's_ commendable) "till all is blue"; and what it's all about, the good lord knows, not you; but all the hotter, fiercer glows your wrath for that--as dogs the louder howl with only moonshine to incite their rage, and bears with more ferocious menace growl, even when their food is flung into the cage. reform, your honor, and forbear to curse us. lest all men, hearing you, cry: "_ecce ursus_!" ad moodium tut! moody, do not try to show to gentlemen and ladies that if they have not "faith," they'll go headlong to hades. faith is belief; and how can i have that by being willing? this dime i cannot, though i try, believe a shilling. perhaps you can. if so, pray do-- believe you own it, also. but what seems evidence to you i may not call so. heaven knows i'd like the faith to think this little vessel's contents are liquid gold. i see 'tis ink for writing nonsense. minds prone to faith, however, may come now and then to sorrow: they put their trust in truth to-day, in lies to-morrow. no doubt the happiness is great to think as one would wish to; but not to swallow every bait, as certain fish do. to think a snake a cord, i hope, would bolden and delight me; but some day i might think a rope would chase and bite me. "curst reason! faith forever blest!" you're crying all the season. well, who decides that faith is best? why, mr. reason. he's right or wrong; he answers you according to your folly, and says what you have taught him to, like any polly. an epitaph hangman's hands laid in this tomb an imp of satan's getting, whom an ancient legend says that woman never bore--he owed his birth to sin herself. from hell to earth she brought the brat in secret state and laid him at the golden gate, and they named him henry vrooman. while with mortals here he stayed, his father frequently he played. raised his birth-place and in other playful ways begot his mother. a spade [the spade that was used to turn the first sod in the construction of the central pacific railroad is to be exhibited at the new orleans exposition.--_press telegram_.] precursor of our woes, historic spade, what dismal records burn upon thy blade! on thee i see the maculating stains of passengers' commingled blood and brains. in this red rust a widow's curse appears, and here an orphan tarnished thee with tears. upon thy handle sanguinary bands reveal the clutching of thine owner's hands when first he wielded thee with vigor brave to cut a sod and dig a people's grave-- (for they who are debauched are dead and ought, in god's name, to be hid from sight and thought.) within thee, as within a magic glass, i seem to see a foul procession pass-- judges with ermine dragging in the mud and spotted here and there with guiltless blood; gold-greedy legislators jingling bribes; kept editors and sycophantic scribes; liars in swarms and plunderers in tribes; they fade away before the night's advance, and fancy figures thee a devil's lance gleaming portentous through the misty shade, while ghosts of murdered virtues shriek about my blade! the van nessiad from end to end, thine avenue, van ness, rang with the cries of battle and distress! brave lungs were thundering with dreadful sound and perspiration smoked along the ground! sing, heavenly muse, to ears of mortal clay, the meaning, cause and finish of the fray. great porter ashe (invoking first the gods, who signed their favor with assenting nods that snapped off half their heads--their necks grown dry since last the nectar cup went circling by) resolved to build a stable on his lot, his neighbors fiercely swearing he should not. said he: "i build that stable!" "no, you don't," said they. "i can!" "you can't!" "i will!" "you won't!" "by heaven!" he swore; "not only will i build, but purchase donkeys till the place is filled!" "needless expense," they sneered in tones of ice-- "the owner's self, if lodged there, would suffice." for three long months the awful war they waged: with women, women, men with men engaged, while roaring babes and shrilling poodles raged! jove, from olympus, where he still maintains his ancient session (with rheumatic pains touched by his long exposure) marked the strife, interminable but by loss of life; for malediction soon exhausts the breath-- if not, old age itself is certain death. lo! he holds high in heaven the fatal beam; a golden pan depends from each, extreme; this feels of porter's fate the downward stress, that bears the destiny of all van ness. alas! the rusted scales, their life all gone, deliver judgment neither pro nor con: the dooms hang level and the war goes on. with a divine, contemptuous disesteem jove dropped the pans and kicked, himself, the beam: then, to decide the strife, with ready wit, the nickel that he did not care for it twirled absently, remarking: "see it spin: head, porter loses; tail, the others win." the conscious nickel, charged with doom, spun round, portentously and made a ringing sound, then, staggering beneath its load of fate, sank rattling, died at last and lay in state. jove scanned the disk and then, as is his wont, raised his considering orbs, exclaiming: "front!" with leisurely alacrity approached the herald god, to whom his mind he broached: "in san francisco two belligerent powers, such as contended round great ilion's towers, fight for a stable, though in either class there's not a horse, and but a single ass. achilles ashe, with formidable jaw assails a trojan band with fierce hee-haw, firing the night with brilliant curses. they with dark vituperation gloom the day. fate, against which nor gods nor men compete, decrees their victory and his defeat. with haste, good mercury, betake thee hence and salivate him till he has no sense!" sheer downward shot the messenger afar, trailing a splendor like a falling star! with dimming lustre through the air he burned, vanished, nor till another sun returned. the sovereign of the gods superior smiled, beaming benignant, fatherly and mild: "is destiny's decree performed, my lad?-- and has he now no sense?" "ah, sire, he never had." a fish commissioner great joseph d. redding--illustrious name!-- considered a fish-horn the trumpet of fame. that goddess was angry, and what do you think? her trumpet she filled with a gallon of ink, and all through the press, with a devilish glee, she sputtered and spattered the name of j.d. to a stray dog well, towser (i'm thinking your name must be towser), you're a decentish puppy as puppy dogs go, for you never, i'm sure, could have dined upon trowser, and your tail's unimpeachably curled just so. but, dear me! your name--if 'tis yours--is a "poser": its meaning i cannot get anywise at, when spoken correctly perhaps it is toser, and means one who toses. max muller, how's that? i ne'er was ingenious at all at divining a word's prehistorical, primitive state, or finding its root, like a mole, by consigning its bloom to the turnep-top's sorrowful fate. and, now that i think of it well, i'm no nearer the riddle's solution than ever--for how's my pretty invented word, "tose," any clearer in point of its signification than "towse"? so, towser (or toser), i mean to rename you in honor of some good and eminent man, in the light and the heat of whose quickening fame you may grow to an eminent dog if you can. in sunshine like his you'll not long be a croucher: the senate shall hear you--for that i will vouch. come here, sir. stand up. i rechristen you goucher. but damn you! i'll shoot you if ever you gouch! in his hand de young (in chicago the story is told) "took his life in his hand," like a warrior bold, and stood before buckley--who thought him behind, for buckley, the man-eating monster is blind. "count fairly the ballots!" so rang the demand of the gallant de young, with his life in his hand. 'tis done, and the struggle is ended. no more he havocs the battle-field, gilt with the gore of slain reputations. no more he defies his "lying opponents" with deadlier lies. his trumpet is hushed and his belt is unbound-- his enemies' characters cumber the ground. they bloat on the war-plain with ink all asoak, the fortunate candidates perching to croak. no more he will charge, with a daring divine, his foes with corruption, his friends by the line. the thunders are stilled of the horrid campaign, de young is triumphant, and never again will he need, with his life in his hand, to roar: "count fair or, by g----, i will die on your floor!" his life has been spared, for his sins to atone, and the hand that he took it in washed with cologne. a demagogue "yawp, yawp, yawp! under the moon and sun. it's aye the rabble, and i to gabble, and hey! for the tale that is never done. "chant, chant, chant! to woo the reluctant vote. i would i were dead and my say were said and my song were sung to its ultimate note. "stab, stab, stab! ah! the weapon between my teeth-- i'm sick of the flash of it; see how the slash of it misses the foeman to mangle the sheath! "boom, boom, boom! i'm beating the mammoth drum. my nethermost tripes i blow into the pipes-- it's oh! for the honors that never come!" 'twas the dolorous blab of a tramping "scab"-- 'twas the eloquent swift of the marvelous gift-- the wild, weird, wonderful gift of gab! ignis fatuus weep, weep, each loyal partisan, for buckley, king of hearts; a most accomplished man; a man of parts--of foreign parts. long years he ruled with gentle sway, nor grew his glory dim; and he would be with us to-day if we were but with him. men wondered at his going off in such a sudden way; 'twas thought, as he had come to scoff he would remain to prey. since he is gone we're all agreed that he is what men call a crook: his very steps, indeed, are bent--to montreal. so let our tears unhindered flow, our sighs and groans have way: it matters not how much we oh!-- the devil is to pay. from top to bottom [japan has , buddhist priests, "most of whom," says a christian missionary, "are grossly ignorant, and many of them lead scandalous lives."] o buddha, had you but foreknown the vices of your priesthood it would have made you twist and moan as any wounded beast would. you would have damned the entire lot and turned a christian, would you not? there were no christians, i'll allow, in your day; that would only have brought distinction. even now a christian might feel lonely. all take the name, but facts are things as stubborn as the will of kings. the priests were ignorant and low when ridiculed by lucian; the records, could we read, might show the same of times confucian. and yet the fact i can't disguise that deacon rankin's good and wise. 'tis true he is not quite a priest, nor more than half a preacher; but he exhorts as loud at least as any living creature. and when the plate is passed about he never takes a penny out. from buddha down to rankin! there,-- i never did intend to. this pen's a buzzard's quill, i swear, such subjects to descend to. when from the humming-bird i've wrung a plume i'll write of mike de young. an idler who told creed haymond he was witty?--who had nothing better in this world to do? could no greased pig's appeal to his embrace kindle his ardor for the friendly chase? did no dead dog upon a vacant lot, bloated and bald, or curdled in a clot, stir his compassion and inspire his arms to hide from human eyes its faded charms? if not to works of piety inclined, then recreation might have claimed his mind. the harmless game that shows the feline greed to cinch the shorts and make the market bleed[a] is better sport than victimizing creed; and a far livelier satisfaction comes of knowing simon, autocrat of thumbs.[b] if neither worthy work nor play command this gentleman of leisure's heart and hand, then mammon might his idle spirit lift by hope of profit to some deed of thrift. is there no cheese to pare, no flint to skin, no tin to mend, no glass to be put in, no housewife worthy of a morning visit, her rags and sacks and bottles to solicit? lo! the blind sow's precarious pursuit of the aspiring oak's familiar fruit!-- 'twould more advantage any man to steal this easy victim's undefended meal than tell creed haymond he has wit, and so expose the state to his narcotic flow! [footnote a: "pussy wants a corner."] [footnote b: "simon says thumbs up."] the dead king hawaii's king resigned his breath-- our legislature guffawed. the awful dignity of death not any single rough awed. but when our legislators die all kings, queens, jacks and aces cry. a patter song there was a cranky governor-- his name it wasn't waterman. for office he was hotter than the love of any lover, nor was boruck's threat of aiding him effective in dissuading him-- this pig-headed, big-headed, singularly self-conceited governor nonwaterman. to citrus fairs, _et cætera_, he went about philandering, to pride of parish pandering. he knew not any better--ah, his early education had not taught the abnegation fad-- the wool-witted, bull-witted, fabulously feeble-minded king of gabble-gandering! he conjured up, _ad libitum_, with postures energetical, one day (this is prophetical) his graces, to exhibit 'em. he straddled in each attitude, four parallels of latitude-- the slab-footed, crab-footed, galloping gregarian, of presence unæsthetical! an ancient cow, perceiving that his powers of agility transcended her ability (a circumstance for grieving at) upon her horns engrafted him and to the welkin wafted him-- the high-rolling, sky-rolling, hurtling hallelujah-lad of peerless volatility! a caller "why, goldenson, you're looking very well." said death as, strolling through the county jail, he entered that serene assassin's cell and hung his hat and coat upon a nail. "i think that life in this secluded spot agrees with men of your trade, does it not?" "well, yes," said goldenson, "i can't complain: life anywhere--provided it is mine-- agrees with me; but i observe with pain that still the people murmur and repine. it hurts their sense of harmony, no doubt, to see a persecuted man grow stout." "o no, 'tis not your growing stout," said death, "which makes these malcontents complain and scold-- they like you to be, somehow, scant of breath. what they object to is your growing old. and--though indifferent to lean or fat-- i don't myself entirely favor _that_." with brows that met above the orbs beneath, and nose that like a soaring hawk appeared, and lifted lip, uncovering his teeth, the mamikellikiller coldly sneered: "o, so you don't! well, how will you assuage your spongy passion for the blood of age?" death with a clattering convulsion, drew his coat on, hatted his unmeated pow, unbarred the door and, stepping partly through, turned and made answer: "i will _show_ you how. i'm going to the bench you call supreme and tap the old women who sit there and dream." the shafter shafted well, james mcmillan shafter, you're a judge-- at least you were when last i knew of you; and if the people since have made you budge i did not notice it. i've much to do without endeavoring to follow, through the miserable squabbles, dust and smudge, the fate of even the veteran contenders who fight with flying colors and suspenders. being a judge, 'tis natural and wrong that you should villify the public press-- save while you are a candidate. that song is easy quite to sing, and i confess it wins applause from hearers who have less of spiritual graces than belong to audiences of another kidney-- men, for example, like sir philip sidney. newspapers, so you say, don't always treat the judges with respect. that may be so and still no harm done, for i swear i'll eat my legs and in the long hereafter go, snake-like, upon my belly if you'll show all judges are respectable and sweet. for some of them are rogues and the world's laughter's directed at some others, for they're shafters. the mummery the two cavees dramatis personÆ. fitch _a pelter of railrogues_ pickering _his partner, an enemy to sin_ old nick _a general blackwasher_ dead cat _a missile_ antique egg _another_ railrogues, dump-carters. navvies and unassorted shovelry in the lower distance _scene_--the brink of a railway cut, a mile deep. _time_-- . fitch: gods! what a steep declivity! below i see the lazy dump-carts come and go, creeping like beetles and about as big. the delving paddies-- pickering: case of _infra dig._ fitch: loring, light-minded and unmeaning quips come with but scant propriety from lips fringed with the blue-black evidence of age. 'twere well to cultivate a style more sage, for men will fancy, hearing how you pun, our foulest missiles are but thrown in fun. (_enter dead cat._) here's one that thoughtfully has come to hand; slant your fine eye below and see it land. (_seizes dead cat by the tail and swings it in act to throw._) dead cat (_singing_): merrily, merrily, round i go-- over and under and at. swing wide and free, swing high and low the anti-monopoly cat! o, who wouldn't be in the place of me, the anti-monopoly cat? designed to admonish, persuade and astonish the capitalist and-- fitch _(letting go):_ scat! _(exit dead cat.)_ pickering: huzza! good deacon, well and truly flung! pat stanford it has grassed, and mike de young. mike drives a dump-cart for the villains, though 'twere fitter that he pull it. well, we owe the traitor one for leaving us!--some day we'll get, if not his place, his cart away. meantime fling missiles--any kind will do. _(enter antique egg.)_ ha! we can give them an _ovation_, too! antique egg: in the valley of the nile, where the holy crocodile of immeasurable smile blossoms like the early rose, and the sacred onion grows-- when the pyramids were new and the sphinx possessed a nose, by a storkess i was laid in the cool papyrus shade, where the rushes later grew, that concealed the little jew, baby mose. straining very hard to hatch, i disrupted there my yolk; and i felt my yellow streaming through my white; and the dream that i was dreaming of posterity was broke in a night. then from the papyrus-patch by the rising waters rolled, passing many a temple old, i proceeded to the sea. memnon sang, one morn, to me, and i heard cambyses sass the tomb of ozymandias! fitch: o, venerablest orb of all the earth, god rest the lady fowl that gave thee birth! fit missile for the vilest hand to throw-- i freely tender thee mine own. although as a bad egg i am myself no slouch, thy riper years thy ranker worth avouch. now, pickering, please expose your eye and say if--whoop!-- _(exit egg.)_ i've got the range. pickering: hooray! hooray! a grand good shot, and teddy colton's down: it burst in thunderbolts upon his crown! larry o'crocker drops his pick and flies, and deafening odors scream along the skies! pelt 'em some more. fitch: there's nothing left but tar-- wish i were a yahoo. pickering: well, you are. but keep the tar. how well i recollect, when mike was in with us--proud, strong, erect-- _mens conscia recti_--flinging mud, he stood, austerely brave, incomparably good, ere yet for filthy lucre he began to drive a cart as stanford's hired man, that pitch-pot bearing in his hand, old nick appeared and tarred us all with the same stick. _(enter old nick)_. i hope he won't return and use his arts to make us part with our immortal parts. old nick: make yourself easy on that score my lamb; for both your souls i wouldn't give a damn! i want my tar-pot--hello! where's the stick? fitch: don't look at _me_ that fashion!--look at pick. pickering: forgive me, father--pity my remorse! truth is--mike took that stick to spank his horse. it fills my pericardium with grief that i kept company with such a thief. (_endeavoring to get his handkerchief, he opens his coat and the tar-stick falls out. nick picks it up, looks at the culprit reproachfully and withdraws in tears._) fitch (_excitedly_): o pickering, come hither to the brink-- there's something going on down there, i think! with many an upward smile and meaning wink the navvies all are running from the cut like lunatics, to right and left-- pickering: tut, tut-- 'tis only some poor sport or boisterous joke. let us sit down and have a quiet smoke. (_they sit and light cigars._) fitch (_singing_): when first i met miss toughie i smoked a fine cigyar, an' i was on de dummy and she was in de cyar. both (_singing_): an' i was on de dummy and she was in de cyar. fitch (_singing_): i couldn't go to her, an' she wouldn't come to me; an' i was as oneasy as a gander on a tree. both (_singing_): an' i was as oneasy as a gander on a tree. fitch (_singing_): but purty soon i weakened an' lef' de dummy's bench, an' frew away a ten-cent weed to win a five-cent wench! both (_singing_) an' frew away a ten-cent weed to win a five-cent wench! fitch: is there not now a certain substance sold under the name of fulminate of gold, a high explosive, popular for blasting, producing an effect immense and lasting? pickering: nay, that's mere superstition. rocks are rent and excavations made by argument. explosives all have had their day and season; the modern engineer relies on reason. he'll talk a tunnel through a mountain's flank and by fair speech cave down the tallest bank. (_the earth trembles, a deep subterranean explosion is heard and a section of the bank as big as el capitan starts away and plunges thunderously into the cut. a part of it strikes de young's dumpcart abaft the axletree and flings him, hurtling, skyward, a thing of legs and arms, to descend on the distant mountains, where it is cold. fitch and pickering pull themselves out of the débris and stand ungraveling their eyes and noses._) fitch: well, since i'm down here i will help to grade, and do dirt-throwing henceforth with a spade. pickering: god bless my soul! it gave me quit a start. well, fate is fate--i guess i'll drive this cart. (_curtain._) metempsychosis dramatis personÆ. st. john _a presidential candidate_ mcdonald _a defeated aspirant_ mrs. hayes _an ex-president_ pitts-stevens _a water nymph_ _scene_--a small lake in the alleghany mountains. st. john: hours i've immersed my muzzle in this tarn and, quaffing copious potations, tried to suck it dry; but ever as i pumped its waters into my distended skin the labor of my zeal extruded them in perspiration from my pores; and so, rilling the marginal declivity, they fell again into their source. ah, me! could i but find within these ancient hills some long extinct volcano, by the rains of countless ages in its crater brimmed like a full goblet, i would lay me down prone on the outer slope, and o'er its edge arching my neck, i'd siphon out its store and flood the valleys with my sweat for aye. so should i be accounted as a god, even as father nilus is. what's that? methought i heard some sawyer draw his file with jarring, stridulous cacophany across his notchy blade, to set its teeth and mine on edge. ha! there it goes again! _song, within_. cold water's the milk of the mountains, and nature's our wet-nurse. o then, glue thou thy blue lips to her fountains forever and ever, amen! st. john: why surely there's congenial company aloof--the spirit, i suppose, that guards this sacred spot; perchance some water-nymph who laving in the crystal flood her limbs has taken cold, and so, with raucous voice afflicts the sensitive membrane of mine ear the while she sings my sentiments. _(enter pitts-stevens.)_ hello! what fiend is this? pitts-stevens: 'tis i, be not afraid. st. john: and who, thou antiquated crone, art thou? i ne'er forget a face, but names i can't so well remember. i have seen thee oft. when in the middle season of the night, curved with a cucumber, or knotted hard with an eclectic pie, i've striven to keep my head and heels asunder, thou has come, with sociable familiarity, into my dream, but not, alas, to bless. pitts-stevens: my name's pitts-stevens, age just seventeen years; talking teetotaler, professional beauty. st. john: what dost them here? pitts-stevens: i'm come, fair sir, with paint and brush to blazon on these rocks the merits of my master's nostrum--so: _(paints rapidly.)_ "mcdonald's vinegar bitters!" st. john: what are they? pitts-stevens: a woman suffering from widowhood took a full bottle and was cured. a man there was--a murderer; the doctors all had given him up--he'd but an hour to live. he swallowed half a glassful. he is dead, but not of vinegar bitters. a wee babe lay sick and cried for it. the mother gave that innocent a spoonful and it smoothed its pathway to the tomb. 'tis warranted to cause a boy to strike his father, make a pig squeal, start the hair upon a stone, or play the fiddle for a country dance. _(enter mcdonald, reading a sunday-school book.)_ good morrow, sir; i trust you're well. mcdonald: h'lo, pitts! observe, good friends, i have a volume here myself am author of--a noble book to train the infant mind (delightful task!) it tells how one samantha brown, age, six, a gutter-bunking slave to rum, was saved by vinegar bitters, went to church and now has an account at the pacific bank. i'll read the whole work to you. st john: heaven forbid! i've elsewhere an engagement. pitts-stevens: i am deaf. mcdonald _(reading regardless):_ "once on a time there lived"---- _(enter mrs. hayes.)_ behold our queen! all: her eyes upon the ground before her feet she low'rs, walking, in thought profound, as 'twere, upon all fours. her visage is austere, her gait a high parade; at every step you hear the sloshing lemonade! mrs. hayes _(to herself):_ once, sitting in the white house, hard at work signing state papers (rutherford was there, knitting some hose) a sudden glory fell upon my paper. i looked up and saw an angel, holding in his hand a rod wherewith he struck me. smarting with the blow i rose and (cuffing rutherford) inquired: "wherefore this chastisement?" the angel said: "four years you have been president, and still there's rum!"--then flew to heaven. contrite, i swore such oath as lady methodist might take, my second term should medicine my first. the people would not have it that way; so i seek some candidate who'll take my soul-- my spirit of reform, fresh from my breast, and give me his instead; and thus equipped with my imperious and fiery essence, drive the drink-demon from the land and fill the people up with water till their teeth are all afloat. (_st. john discovers himself_.) what, _you_? st. john: aye, madam, i'll swap souls with you and lead the cold sea-green amphibians of prohibition on, pallid of nose and webbed of foot, swim-bladdered, gifted with gills, invincible! mrs. hayes: enough, stand forth and consummate the interchange. (_while mcdonald and pitts-stevens modestly turn their backs, the latter blushing a delicate shrimp-pink, st. john and mrs. hayes effect an exchange of immortal parts. when the transfer is complete mcdonald turns and advances, uncorking a bottle of vinegar bitters_.) mcdonald (_chanting_): nectar compounded of simples cocted in stygian shades-- acids of wrinkles and pimples from faces of ancient maids-- acrid precipitates sunken from tempers of scolding wives whose husbands, uncommonly drunken, are commonly found in dives,-- with this i baptize and appoint thee (_to st. john_.) to marshal the vinophobe ranks. in the name of dambosh i anoint thee (_pours the liquid down st. john's back_.) as king of aquatical cranks! (_the liquid blisters the royal back, and his majesty starts on a dead run, energetically exclaiming. exit st. john_.) mrs. hayes: my soul! my soul! i'll never get it back unless i follow nimbly on his track. (_exit mrs. hayes_.) pitts-stevens: o my! he's such a beautiful young man! i'll follow, too, and catch him if i can. (_exit pitts-stevens_.) mcdonald: he scarce is visible, his dust so great! methinks for so obscure a candidate he runs quite well. but as for prohibition-- i mean myself to hold the first position. (_produces a pocket flask, topes a cruel quantity of double-distilled thunder-and-lightning out of it, smiles so grimly as to darken all the stage and sings_): though fortunes vary let all be merry, and then if e'er a disaster befall, at styx's ferry is charon's wherry in easy call. upon a ripple of golden tipple that tipsy ship'll convey you best. to king and cripple, the bottle's the nipple of nature's breast! (_curtain_.) slickens dramatis personÆ. hayseed _a granger_ nozzle _a miner_ ringdivvy _a statesman_ feegobble _a lawyer_ junket _a committee_ _scene_--yuba dam. _feegobble, ringdivvy, nozzle_. nozzle: my friends, since ' i have pursued the evil tenor of my watery way, removing hills as by an act of faith-- ringdivvy: just so; the steadfast faith of those who hold, in foreign lands beyond the eastern sea, the shares in your concern--a simple, blind, unreasoning belief in dividends, still stimulated by assessments which, when the skies fall, ensnaring all the larks, will bring, no doubt, a very great return. all (_singing_): o the beautiful assessment, the exquisite assessment, the regular assessment, that makes the water flow. ringdivvy: the rascally-assessment! feegobble: the murderous assessment! nozzle: the glorious assessment that makes my mare to go! feegobble: but, nozzle, you, i think, were on the point of making a remark about some rights-- some certain vested rights you have acquired by long immunity; for still the law holds that if one do evil undisturbed his right to do so ripens with the years; and one may be a villain long enough to make himself an honest gentleman. all (_singing_): hail, holy law, the soul with awe bows to thy dispensation. nozzle: it breaks my jaw! ringdivvy: it qualms my maw! feegobble: it feeds my jaw, it crams my maw, it is my soul's salvation! nozzle: why, yes, i've floated mountains to the sea for lo! these many years; though some, they say, do strand themselves along the bottom lands and cover up a village here and there, and here and there a ranch. 'tis said, indeed, the granger with his female and his young do not infrequently go to the dickens by premature burial in slickens. all (_singing_): could slickens forever choke up the river, and slime's endeavor be tried on grain, how small the measure of granger's treasure, how keen his pain! ringdivvy: "a consummation devoutly to be wished!" these rascal grangers would long since have been submerged in slimes, to the last man of them, but for the fact that all their wicked tribes affect our legislation with their bribes. all (_singing_): o bribery's great-- 'tis a pillar of state, and the people they are free. feegobble: it smashes my slate! nozzle: it is thievery straight! ringdivvy: but it's been the making of me! nozzle: i judge by certain shrewd sensations here in these callosities i call my thumbs-- thrilling sense as of ten thousand pins, red-hot and penetrant, transpiercing all the cuticle and tickling through the nerves-- that some malign and awful thing draws near. (_enter hayseed._) good lord! here are the ghosts and spooks of all the grangers i have decently interred, rolled into one! feegobble: plead, phantom. ringdivvy: you've the floor. hayseed: from the margin of the river (bitter creek, they sometimes call it) where i cherished once the pumpkin, and the summer squash promoted, harvested the sweet potato, dallied with the fatal melon and subdued the fierce cucumber, i've been driven by the slickens, driven by the slimes and tailings! all my family--my polly ann and all my sons and daughters, dog and baby both included-- all were swamped in seas of slickens, buried fifty fathoms under, where they lie, prepared to play their gentle prank on geologic gents that shall exhume them later, in the dim and distant future, taking them for melancholy relics antedating adam. i alone got up and dusted. nozzle: avaunt! you horrid and infernal cuss! what dire distress have you prepared for us? ringdivvy: were i a buzzard stooping from the sky my craw with filth to fill, into your honorable body i would introduce a bill. feegobble: defendant, hence, or, by the gods, i'll brain thee!-- unless you saved some turneps to retain me. hayseed: as i was saying, i got up and dusted, my ranch a graveyard and my business busted! but hearing that a fellow from the city, who calls himself a citizens' committee, was coming up to play the very dickens, with those who cover up our farms with slickens, and make himself--unless i am in error-- to all such miscreants a holy terror, i thought if i would join the dialogue i maybe might get payment for my dog. all (_singing_): o the dog is the head of creation, prime work of the master's hand; he hasn't a known occupation, yet lives on the fat of the land. adipose, indolent, sleek and orbicular, sun-soaken, door matted, cross and particular, men, women, children, all coddle and wait on him, then, accidentally shutting the gate on him, miss from their calves, ever after, the rifted out mouthful of tendons that doggy has lifted out! (_enter junket_.) junket: well met, my hearties! i must trouble you jointly and severally to provide a comfortable carriage, with relays of hardy horses. this committee means to move in state about the country here. i shall expect at every place i stop good beds, of course, and everything that's nice, with bountiful repast of meat and wine. for this committee comes to sea and mark and inwardly digest. hayseed: digest my dog! nozzle: first square my claim for damages: the gold escaping with the slickens keeps me poor! ringdivvy: i merely would remark that if you'd grease my itching palm it would more glibly glide into the public pocket. feegobble: sir, the wheels of justice move but slowly till they're oiled. i have some certain writs and warrants here, prepared against your advent. you recall the tale of zaccheus, who did climb a tree, and jesus said: "come down"? junket: why, bless your souls! i've got no money; i but came to see what all this noisy babble is about, make a report and file the same away. nozzle, ringdivvy, feegobble, hayseed: how'll that help _us_? reports are not our style of provender! junket: well, you can gnaw the file. (_curtain._) "peaceable expulsion" dramatis personÆ. mountwave _a politician_ hardhand _a workingman_ tok bak _a chinaman_ satan _a friend to mountwave_ chorus of foreign voters. mountwave: my friend, i beg that you will lend your ears (i know 'tis asking a good deal of you) while i for your instruction nominate some certain wrongs you suffer. men like you imperfectly are sensible of all the miseries they actually feel. hence, providence has prudently raised up clear-sighted men like me to diagnose their cases and inform them where they're hurt. the wounds of honest workingmen i've made a specialty, and probing them's my trade. hardhand: well, mister, s'pose you let yer bossest eye camp on my mortal part awhile; then you jes' toot my sufferin's an' tell me what's the fashionable caper now in writhes-- the very swellest wiggle. mountwave: well, my lad, 'tis plain as is the long, conspicuous nose borne, ponderous and pendulous, between the elephant's remarkable eye-teeth (_enter tok bak._) that chinese competition's what ails _you_. both (_singing_): o pig-tail celestial, o barbarous bestial, abominable chinee! simian fellow man, primitive yellow man, joshian devotee! shoe-and-cigar machine, oleomargarine you are, and butter are we-- fat of the land are we, salt of the earth; in god's image planned to be-- noble in birth! you, on the contrary, modeled upon very different lines indeed, show in conspicuous, base and ridiculous ways your inferior breed. wretched apology, shame of ethnology, monster unspeakably low! fit to be buckshotted-- be you 'steboycotted. vanish--vamoose--mosy--go! tok bak: you listen me! you beatee the big dlum an' tell me go to flowly kingdom come. you all too muchee fool. you chinnee heap. such talkee like my washee--belly cheap! (_enter satan._) you dlive me outee clunty towns all way; why you no tackle me safflisco, hay? satan: methought i heard a murmuring of tongues sound through the ceiling of the hollow earth, as if the anti-coolie ques----ha! friends, well met. you see i keep my ancient word: where two or three are gathered in my name, there am i in their midst. mountwave: o monstrous thief! to quote the words of shakespeare as your own. i know his work. hardhand: who's shakespeare?--what's his trade? i've heard about the work o' that galoot till i'm jest sick! tok bak: go sunny school--you'll know mo' bible. bime by pleach--hell-talkee. tell 'bout abel--mebby so he live too cheap. he mebby all time dig on lanch--no dlink, no splee--no go plocession fo' make vote-- no sendee money out of clunty fo' to helpee ilishmen. cain killum. josh he catchee at it, an' he belly mad-- say: "allee melicans boycottee cain." not muchee--you no pleachee that: you all same lie. mountwave: this cuss must be expelled. (_draws pistol_.) mountwave, hardhand, satan (_singing_): for chinese expulsion, hurrah! to mobbing and murder, all hail! away with your justice and law-- we'll make every pagan turn tail. chorus of foreign voters: bedad! oof dot tief o'ze vorld-- zat ivan tchanay vos got hurled in hella, da debil he say: "wor be yer return pairmit, hey?" und gry as 'e shaka da boot: "zis haythen haf nevaire been oot!" hardhand: too many cooks are working at this broth-- i think, by thunder, t'will be mostly froth! i'm cussed ef i can sarvy, up to date, what good this dern fandango does the state. mountwave: the state's advantage, sir, you may not see, but think how good it is for me. satan: and me. (_curtain_.) aspirants three dramatis personÆ. _quick_: de young _a brother to mushrooms_ _dead_: swift _an heirloom_ estee _a relic_ _immortals_: the spirit of broken hopes. the author. _miscellaneous_: a troupe of coffins. the moon. various colored fires. _scene_--the political graveyard at bone mountain. de young: this is the spot agreed upon. here rest the sainted statesman who upon the field of honor have at various times laid down their own, and ended, ignominious, their lives political. about me, lo! their silent headstones, gilded by the moon, half-full and near her setting--midnight. hark! through the white mists of this portentous night (which throng in moving shapes about my way, as they were ghosts of candidates i've slain, to fray their murderer) my open ear, spacious to maw the noises of the world, engulfs a footstep. (_enter estee from his tomb._) ah, 'tis he, my foe, true to appointment; and so here we fight-- though truly 'twas my firm belief that he would send regrets, or i had not been here. estee: o moon that hast so oft surprised the deeds whereby i rose to greatness!--tricksy orb, the type and symbol of my politics, now draw my ebbing fortunes to their flood, as, by the magic of a poultice, boils that burn ambitions with defeated fires are lifted into eminence. (_sees de young._) what? you! faith, if i had suspected you would come from the fair world of politics wherein so lately you were whelped, and which, alas, i vainly to revisit strive, though still rapped on the rotting head and bidden sleep till resurrection's morn,--if i had thought you would accept the challenge that i flung i would have seen you damned ere i came forth in the night air, shroud-clad and shivering, to fight so mean a thing! but since you're here, draw and defend yourself. by gad, we'll _see_ who'll be postmaster-general! de young: we will-- i'll fight (for i am lame) with any blue and redolent remain that dares aspire to wreck the grand old grandson's cabinet. here's at you, nosegay! (_they draw tongues and are about to fight, when from an adjacent whited sepulcher, enter swift._) swift: hold! put up your tongues! within the confines of this sacred spot broods such a holy calm as none may break by clash of weapons, without sacrilege. (_beats down their tongues with a bone._) madmen! what profits it? for though you fought with such heroic skill that both survived, yet neither should achieve the prize, for i would wrest it from him. let us not contend, but friendliwise by stipulation fix a slate for mutual advantage. why, having the pick and choice of seats, should we forego them all but one? nay, we'll take three, and part them so among us that to each shall fall the fittest to his powers. in brief, let us establish a portfolio trust. estee: agreed. de young: aye, truly, 'tis a greed--and one the offices imperfectly will sate, but i'll stand in. swift: well, so 'tis understood, as you're the junior member of the trust, politically younger and undead, speak, michael: what portfolio do you choose? de young: i've thought the postal service best would serve my interest; but since i have my pick, i'll take the war department. it is known throughout the world, from market street to pine, (for a chicago journal told the tale) how in this hand i lately took my life and marched against great buckley, thundering my mandate that he count the ballots fair! earth heard and shrank to half her size! yon moon, which rivaled then a liver's whiteness, paused that night at butchertown and daubed her face with sheep's blood! then my serried rank i drew back to my stronghold without loss. to mark my care in saving human life and limb, the peace society bestowed on me its leather medal and the title, too, of colonel. yes, my genius is for war. good land! i naturally dote on a brass band! (_sings._) o, give me a life on the tented field, where the cannon roar and ring, where the flag floats free and the foemen yield and bleed as the bullets sing. but be it not mine to wage the fray where matters are ordered the other way, for that is a different thing. o, give me a life in the fierce campaign-- let it be the life of my foe: i'd rather fall upon him than the plain; that service i'd fain forego. o, a warrior's life is fine and free, but a warrior's death--ah me! ah me! that's a different thing, you know. estee: some claim i might myself advance to that portfolio. when rebellion raised its head, and you, my friends, stayed meekly in your shirts, i marched with banners to the party stump, spat on my hands, made faces fierce as death, shook my two fists at once and introduced brave resolutions terrible to read! nay, only recently, as you do know, i conquered treason by the word of mouth, and slew, with samson's weapon, the whole south! swift: you once fought stanford, too. estee: enough of that-- give me the interior and i'll devote my mind to agriculture and improve the breed of cabbages, especially the _brassica celeritatis_, named for _you_ because in days of long ago you sold it at your market stall,--and, faith, 'tis said you were an honest huckster then. i'll be attorney-general if you prefer; for know i am a lawyer too! swift: i never have heard that!--did you, de young? de young: never, so help me! and i swear i've heard a score of judges say that he is not. swift (_to estee_): you take the interior. i might aspire to military station too, for once i led my party into pixley's camp, and he paroled me. i defended, too, the state of oregon against the sharp and bloody tooth of the australian sheep. but i've an aptitude exceeding neat for bloodless battles of diplomacy. my cobweb treaty of exclusion once, through which a hundred thousand coolies sailed, was much admired, but most by colonel bee. though born a tinker i'm a diplomat from old missouri, and i--ha! what's that? (_exit moon. enter blue lights on all the tombs, and a circle of red fire on the grass; in the center the spirit of broken hopes, and round about, a troupe of coffins, dancing and singing._) chorus of coffins: two bodies dead and one alive-- yo, ho, merrily all! now for boodle strain and strive-- buzzards all a-warble, o! prophets three, agape for bread; raven with a stone instead-- providential raven! judges two and colonel one-- run, run, rustics, run! but it's o, the pig is shaven, and oily, oily all! (_exeunt coffins, dancing. the spirit of broken hopes advances, solemnly pointing at each of the three worthies in turn._) spirit of broken hopes: governor, governor, editor man, rusty, musty, spick-and-span, harlequin, harridan, dicky-dout, demagogue, charlatan--o, u, t, out! (_de young falls and sleeps._) antimonopoler, diplomat, railroad lackey, political rat, one, two, three--scat! (_swift falls and sleeps._) boycotting chin-worker, working to woo fortune, the fickle, to smile upon _you_, jo-coated acrobat, shuttle-cock--shoo! (_estee falls and sleeps._) now they lie in slumber sweet, now the charm is all complete, hasten i with flying feet where beyond the further sea a babe upon its mother's knee is gazing into skies afar and crying for a golden star. i'll drag a cloud across the blue and break that infant's heart in two! (_exeunt the spirit of broken hopes and the red and blue fires. re-enter moon._) estee (_waking_): why, this is strange! i dreamed i know not what, it seemed that certain apparitions were, which sang uncanny words, significant and yet ambiguous--half-understood-- portending evil; and an awful spook, even as i stood with my accomplices, counted me out, as children do in play. is that you, mike? de young _(waking):_ it was. swift _(waking):_ am i all that? then i'll reform my ways. _(reforms his ways.)_ ah! had i known how sweet it is to be an honest man i never would have stooped to turn my coat for public favor, as chameleons take the hue (as near as they can judge) of that supporting them. henceforth i'll buy with money all the offices i need, and know the pleasure of an honest life, or stay forever in this dismal place. now that i'm good, it will no longer do to make a third with such, a wicked two. _(returns to his tomb.)_ de young: prophetic dream! by some good angel sent to make me with a quiet life content. the question shall no more my bosom irk, to go to washington or go to work. from fame's debasing struggle i'll withdraw, and taking up the pen lay down the law. i'll leave this rogue, lest my example make an honest man of him--his heart would break. _(exit de young.)_ estee: out of my company these converts flee, but that advantage is denied to me: my curst identity's confining skin nor lets me out nor tolerates me in. well, since my hopes eternally have fled, and, dead before, i'm more than ever dead, to find a grander tomb be now my task, and pack my pork into a stolen cask. _(exit, searching. loud calls for the author, who appears, bowing and smiling_.) author _(singing):_ jack satan's the greatest of gods, and hell is the best of abodes. 'tis reached, through the valley of clods, by seventy different roads. hurrah for the seventy roads! hurrah for the clods that resound with a hollow, thundering sound! hurrah for the best of abodes! we'll serve him as long as we've breath-- jack satan the greatest of gods. to all of his enemies, death!-- a home in the valley of clods. hurrah for the thunder of clods that smother the soul of his foe! hurrah for the spirits that go to dwell with the greatest of gods; _(curtain falls to faint odor of mortality. exit the gas_.) the birth of the rail dramatis personÆ leland, the kid _a road agent_ cowboy charley _same line of business_ happy hunty _ditto in all respects_ sootymug _a devil_ _scene_--the dutch flat stage road, at p.m., on a night of . cowboy charley: my boss, i fear she is delayed to-night. already it is past the hour, and yet my ears have reached no sound of wheels; no note melodious, of long, luxurious oaths betokens the traditional dispute (unsettled from the dawn of time) between the driver and off wheeler; no clear chant nor carol of wells fargo's messenger unbosoming his soul upon the air-- his prowess to the tender-foot, and how at divers times in sundry ways he strewed the roadside with our carcasses. clearly, the stage will not come by to-night. leland, the kid: i now remember that but yesterday i saw three ugly looking fellows start from colfax with a gun apiece, and they did seem on business of importance bent. furtively casting all their eyes about and covering their tracks with all the care that business men do use. i think perhaps they were directors of that rival line, the great pacific mail. if so, they have indubitably taken in that coach, and we are overreached. three times before this thing has happened, and if once again these outside operators dare to cut our rates of profit i shall quit the road and take my money out of this concern. when robbery no longer pays expense it loses then its chiefest charm for me, and i prefer to cheat--you hear me shout! happy hunty: my chief, you do but echo back my thoughts: this competition is the death of trade. 'tis plain (unless we wish to go to work) some other business we must early find. what shall it be? the field of usefulness is yearly narrowing with the advance of wealth and population on this coast. there's little left that any man can do without some other fellow stepping in and doing it as well. if one essay to pick a pocket he is sure to feel (with what disgust i need not say to you) another hand inserted in the same. you crack a crib at dead of night, and lo! as you explore the dining-room for plate you find, in session there, a graceless band stuffing their coats with spoons, their skins with wine. and so it goes. why even undertake to salt a mine and you will find it rich with noble specimens placed there before! leland, the kid: and yet this line of immigration has advantages superior to aught that elsewhere offers: all these passengers, if punched with care-- cowboy charley: significant remark! it opens up a prospect wide and fair, suggesting to the thoughtful mind--_my_ mind-- a scheme that is the boss lay-out. instead of stopping passengers, let's carry them. instead of crying out: "throw up your hands!" let's say: "walk up and buy a ticket!" why should we unwieldy goods and bullion take, watches and all such trifles, when we might far better charge their value three times o'er for carrying them to market? leland, the kid: put it there, old son! happy hunty: you take the cake, my dear. we'll build a mighty railroad through this pass, and then the stage folk will come up to us and squeal, and say: "it is bad medicine for both: what will you give or take?" and then we'll sell. cowboy charley: enlarge your notions, little one; this is no petty, slouching, opposition scheme, to be bought off like honest men and fools; mine eye prophetic pierces through the mists that cloud the future, and i seem to see a well-devised and executed scheme of wholesale robbery within the law (made by ourselves)--great, permanent, sublime, and strong to grapple with the public throat-- shaking the stuffing from the public purse, the tears from bankrupt merchants' eyes, the blood from widows' famished carcasses, the bread from orphans' mouths! happy hunty: hooray! leland, the; kid: hooray! all: hooray! _(they tear the masks from their faces, and discharging their shotguns, throw them into the chapparal. then they join hands, dance and sing the following song:)_ ah! blessèd to measure the glittering treasure! ah! blessèd to heap up the gold untold that flows in a wide and deepening tide-- rolled, rolled, rolled from multifold sources, converging its courses upon our-- leland, the kid: just wait a bit, my pards, i thought i heard a sneaking grizzly cracking the dry twigs. such an intrusion might deprive the state of all the good that we intend it. ha! _(enter sootymug. he saunters carelessly in and gracefully leans his back against a redwood.)_ sootymug: my boys, i thought i heard some careless revelry, as if your minds were stirred by some new devilry. i too am in that line. indeed, the mission on which i come-- happy hunty: here's more damned competition! _(curtain.)_ a bad night dramatis personÆ. villiam _a sen_ needleson _a sidniduc_ smiler _a scheister_ ki-yi _a trader_ grimghast _a spader_ saralthia _a love-lorn nymph_ nellibrac _a sweetun_ a body; a ghost; an unmentionable thing; skulls; hoodoos; etc. _scene_--a cemetery in san francisco. _saralthia, nellibrac, grimghast._ saralthia: the red half-moon is dipping to the west, and the cold fog invades the sleeping land. lo! how the grinning skulls in the level light litter the place! methinks that every skull is a most lifelike portrait of my sen, drawn by the hand of death; each fleshless pate, cursed with a ghastly grin to eyes unrubbed with love's magnetic ointment, seems to mine to smile an amiable smile like his whose amiable smile i--i alone am able to distinguish from his leer! see how the gathering coyotes flit through the lit spaces, or with burning eyes star the black shadows with a steadfast gaze! about my feet the poddy toads at play, bulbously comfortable, try to hop, and tumble clumsily with all their warts; while pranking lizards, sliding up and down my limbs, as they were public roads, impart a singularly interesting chill. the circumstance and passion of the time, the cast and manner of the place--the spirit of this confederate environment, command the rights we come to celebrate obedient to the inspired hag-- the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, who rules all destinies from minna street, a dollar a destiny. here at this grave, which for my purposes thou, jack of spades-- _(to grimghast_) corrupter than the thing that reeks below-- hast opened secretly, we'll work the charm. now what's the hour? _(distant clock strikes thirteen_.) enough--hale forth the stiff! _(grimghast by means of a boat-hook stands the coffin on end in the excavation; the lid crumbles, exposing the remains of a man.)_ ha! master mouldybones, how fare you, sir? the body: poorly, i thank your ladyship; i miss some certain fingers and an ear or two. there's something, too, gone wrong with my inside, and my periphery's not what it was. how can we serve each other, you and i? nellibrac: o what a personable man! _(blushes bashfully, drops her eyes and twists the corner of her apron_.) saralthia: yes, dear, a very proper and alluring male, and quite superior to lubin rroyd, who has, however, this distinct advantage-- he is alive. grimghast: missus, these yer remains was the boss singer back in ' , and used to allers git invites to go down to swellmont and sing at every feed. in t'other villiam's time, that was, afore the gent that you've hooked onto bought the place. the body _(singing):_ down among the sainted dead many years i lay; beetles occupied my head, moles explored my clay. there we feasted day and night-- i and bug and beast; they provided appetite and i supplied the feast. the raven is a dicky-bird, saralthia _(singing):_ the jackal is a daisy, nellibrac _(singing):_ the wall-mouse is a worthy third, a spook _(singing):_ but mortals all are crazy. chorus of skulls: o mortals all are crazy, their intellects are hazy; in the growing moon they shake their shoon and trip it in the mazy. but when the moon is waning, their senses they're regaining: they fall to prayer and from their hair remove the straws remaining. saralthia: that's right, rogues gallery, pray keep it up: your song recalls my villiam's "auld lang syne," what time he came and (like an amorous bird that struts before the female of its kind, warbling to cave her down the bank) piped high his cracked falsetto out of reach. enough-- now let's to business. nellibrac, sweet child, st. cloacina's future devotee, the time is ripe and rotten--gut the grip! _(nellibrac brings forward a valise and takes from it five articles of clothing, which, one by one, she lays upon the points of a magic pentagram that has thoughtfully inscribed itself in lines of light on the wet grass. the body holds its late lamented nose.)_ nellibrac _(singing):_ fragrant socks, by villiam's toes consecrated to the nose; shirt that shows the well worn track of the knuckles of his back, handkerchief with mottled stains, into which he blew his brains; collar crying out for soap-- prophet of the future rope; an unmentionable thing it would sicken me to sing. unmentionable thing _(aside):_ what! _i_ unmentionable? just you wait! in all the family journals of the state you'll sometime see that i'm described at length, with supereditorial grace and strength. saralthia _(singing):_ throw them in the open tomb they will cause his love to bloom with an amatory boom! chorus of invisible hoodoos: hoodoo, hoodoo, voudou-vet villiam struggles in the net! by the power and intent of the charm his strength is spent! by the virtue in each rag blessed by the inspired hag he will be a willing victim limp as if a donkey kicked him! by this awful incantation we decree his animation-- by the magic of our art warm the cockles of his heart, villiam, if alive or dead, thou saralthia shalt wed! _(they cast the garments into the grave and push over the coffin. grimghast fills up the hole. hoodoos gradually become apparent in a phosphorescent light about the grave, holding one another's back-hair and dancing in a circle.)_ hoodoo song and dance: o we're the larrikin hoodoos! the chirruping, lirruping hoodoos! we mix things up that the fates ordain, bring back the past and the present detain, postpone the future and sometimes tether the three and drive them abreast together-- we rollicking, frolicking hoodoos! to us all things are the same as none and nothing is that is under the sun. seven's a dozen and never is then, whether is what and what is when, a man is a tree and a cuckoo a cow for gold galore and silver enow to magical, mystical hoodoos! saralthia: what monstrous shadow darkens all the place, _(enter smyler.)_ flung like a doom athwart--ha!--thou? portentous presence, art thou not the same that stalks with aspect horrible among small youths and maidens, baring snaggy teeth, champing their tender limbs till crimson spume, flung from, thy lips in cursing god and man, incarnadines the land? smyler: thou dammid slut! _(exit smyler.)_ nellibrac: o what a pretty man! saralthia now who is next? of tramps and casuals this graveyard seems prolific to a fault! _(enter needleson, exhaling, prophetically, an odor of decayed eggs and, actually, one of unlaundried linen. he darts an intense regard at an adjacent marble angel and places his open hand behind his ear.)_ needleson: hay? _(exit needleson.)_ nellibrac: sweet, sweet male! i yearn to play at copenhagen with him! _(blushes diligently and energetically.)_ chorus of skulls: hoodoos, hoodoos, disappear-- some dread deity draws near! _(exeunt hoodos.)_ smitten with a sense of doom, the dead are cowering in the tomb, seas are calling, stars are falling and appalling is the gloom! fragmentary flames are flung through the air the trees among! lo! each hill inclines its head-- earth is bending 'neath his thread! _(on the contrary, enter villiam on a chip, navigating an odor of mignonette. saralthia springs forward to put him in her pocket, but he is instantly retracted by an invisible string. she falls headlong, breaking her heart. reënter villiam, needleson, smyler. all gather about saralthia, who loudly laments her accident. the spirit of tar-and feathers, rising like a black smoke in their midst, executes a monstrous wink of graphic and vivid significance, then contemplates them with an obviously baptismal intention. the cross on lone mountain takes fire, splendoring the peninsula. tableau. curtain.)_ on stone _as in a dream, strange epitaphs i see, inscribed on yet unquarried stone, where wither flowers yet unstrown-- the campo santo of the time to be_. a wreath of immortelles * * * * * loring pickering _(after pope)_ here rests a writer, great but not immense, born destitute of feeling and of sense. no power he but o'er his brain desired-- how not to suffer it to be inspired. ideas unto him were all unknown, proud of the words which, only, were his own. so unreflecting, so confused his mind, torpid in error, indolently blind, a fever heaven, to quicken him, applied, but, rather than revive, the sluggard died. * * * * * a water-pirate pause, stranger--whence you lightly tread bill carr's immoral part has fled. for him no heart of woman burned, but all the rivers' heads he turned. alas! he now lifts up his eyes in torment and for water cries, entreating that he may procure one drop to cool his parched mcclure! * * * * * c.p. berry here's crowbait!--ravens, too, and daws flock hither to advance their caws, and, with a sudden courage armed, devour the foe who once alarmed-- in life and death a fair deceit: nor strong to harm nor good to eat. king bogey of the scarecrow host, when known the least affrighting most, though light his hand (his mind was dark) he left on earth a straw berry mark. * * * * * the rev. joseph he preached that sickness he could floor by prayer and by commanding; when sick himself he sent for four physicians in good standing. he was struck dead despite their care, for, fearing their dissension, he secretly put up a prayer, thus drawing god's attention. * * * * * cynic perforce from studying mankind in the false volume of his single mind, he damned his fellows for his own unworth, and, bad himself, thought nothing good on earth. yet, still so judging and so erring still, observing well, but understanding ill, his learning all was got by dint of sight, and what he learned by day he lost by night. when hired to flatter he would never cease till those who'd paid for praises paid for peace. not wholly miser and but half a knave, he yearned to squander but he lived to save, and did not, for he could not, cheat the grave. _hic jacet_ pixley, scribe and muleteer: step lightly, stranger, anywhere but here. * * * * * mcallister, of talents rich and rare, lies at this spot at finish of his race. alike to him if it is here or there: the one spot that he cared for was the ace. * * * * * here lies joseph redding, who gave us the catfish. he dined upon every fish except that fish. 'twas touching to hear him expounding his fad with a heart full of zeal and a mouth full of shad. the catfish miaowed with unspeakable woe when death, the lone fisherman, landed their jo. * * * * * judge sawyer, whom in vain the people tried to push from power, here is laid aside. death only from the bench could ever start the sluggish load of his immortal part. * * * * * john irish went, one luckless day, to loaf and fish at san jose. he got no loaf, he got no fish: they brained him with an empty dish! they laid him in this place asleep-- o come, ye crocodiles, and weep. * * * * * in sacramento city here this wooden monument we rear in memory of dr. may, whose smile even death could not allay. he's buried, heaven alone knows where, and only the hyenas care; this may-pole merely marks the spot where, ere the wretch began to rot, fame's trumpet, with its brazen bray, bawled; "who (and why) was dr. may?" * * * * * dennis spencer's mortal coil here is laid away to spoil-- great riparian, who said not a stream should leave its bed. now his soul would like a river turned upon its parching liver. * * * * * for those this mausoleum is erected who stanford to the upper house elected. their luck is less or their promotion slower, for, dead, they were elected to the lower. * * * * * beneath this stone lies reuben lloyd, of breath deprived, of sense devoid. the templars' captain-general, he so formidable seemed to be, that had he not been on his back death ne'er had ventured to attack. * * * * * here lies barnes in all his glory-- master he of oratory. when he died the people weeping, (for they thought him only sleeping) cried: "although he now is quiet and his tongue is not a riot, soon, the spell that binds him breaking, he a motion will be making. then, alas, he'll rise and speak in support of it a week." * * * * * rash mortal! stay thy feet and look around-- this vacant tomb as yet is holy ground; but soon, alas! jim fair will occupy these premises--then, holiness, good-bye! * * * * * here salomon's body reposes; bring roses, ye rebels, bring roses. set all of your drumsticks a-rolling, discretion and valor extrolling: discretion--he always retreated-- and valor--the dead he defeated. brings roses, ye loyal, bring roses: as patriot here he re-poses. * * * * * when waterman ended his bright career he left his wet name to history here. to carry it with him he did not care: 'twould tantalize spirits of statesmen there. * * * * * here lie the remains of fred emerson brooks, a poet, as every one knew by his looks who hadn't unluckily met with his books. on civic occasions he sprang to the fore with poems consisting of stanzas three score. the men whom they deafened enjoyed them the more. of reason his fantasy knew not the check: all forms of inharmony came at his beck. the weight of his ignorance fractured his neck. in this peaceful spot, so the grave-diggers say, with pen, ink and paper they laid him away-- the poet-elect of the judgment day. * * * * * george perry here lies stiff and stark, with stone at foot and stone at head. his heart was dark, his mind was dark-- "ignorant ass!" the people said. not ignorant but skilled, alas, in all the secrets of his trade: he knew more ways to be an ass than any ass that ever brayed. * * * * * here lies the last of deacon fitch, whose business was to melt the pitch. convenient to this sacred spot lies sammy, who applied it, hot. 'tis hard--so much alike they smell-- one's grave from t'other's grave to tell, but when his tomb the deacon's burst (of two he'll always be the first) he'll see by studying the stones that he's obtained his proper bones, then, seeking sammy's vault, unlock it, and put that person in his pocket. * * * * * beneath this stone o'donnell's tongue's at rest-- our noses by his spirit still addressed. living or dead, he's equally satanic-- his noise a terror and his smell a panic. * * * * * when gabriel blows a dreadful blast and swears that time's forever past, days, weeks, months, years all one at last, then asa fiske, laid here, distressed, will beat (and skin his hand) his breast: there'll be no rate of interest! * * * * * step lightly, stranger: here jerome b. cox is for the second time in a bad box. he killed a man--the labor party rose and showed him by its love how killing goes. * * * * * when vrooman here lay down to sleep, the other dead awoke to weep. "since he no longer lives," they said "small honor comes of being dead." * * * * * here porter ashe is laid to rest green grows the grass upon his breast. this patron of the turf, i vow, ne'er served it half so well as now. * * * * * like a cold fish escaping from its tank, hence fled the soul of joe russel, crank. he cried: "cold water!" roaring like a beast. 'twas thrown upon him and the music ceased. * * * * * here estee rests. he shook a basket, when, like a jewel from its casket, fell felton out. said estee, shouting with mirth; "i've given you an outing." then told him to go back. he wouldn't. then tried to _put_ him back. he couldn't. so estee died (his blood congealing in felton's growing shadow) squealing. * * * * * mourn here for one bruner, called elwood. he doesn't--he never did--smell good to noses of critics and scholars. if now he'd an office to sell could he sell it? o, no--where (in hell) could he find a cool four hundred dollars? * * * * * here stanford lies, who thought it odd that he should go to meet his god. he looked, until his eyes grew dim, for god to hasten to meet him. [illustration] cobwebs from an empty skull. by dod grile. illustrated with engravings by dalziel brothers. [illustration] _london and new york:_ george routledge and sons to my friend, sherburne b. eaton. contents fables of zambri, the parsee. brief seasons of intellectual dissipation. divers tales. . the grateful bear. . the setting sachem. . feodora. . the legend of immortal truth. . converting a prodigal. . four jacks and a knave. . dr. deadwood, i presume. . nut-cracking . the magician's little joke . seafaring. . tony rollo's conclusion. . no charge for attendance. . pernicketty's fright. . juniper. . following the sea. . a tale of spanish vengeance. . mrs. dennison's head. . a fowl witch. . the civil service in florida. . a tale of the bosphorus. . john smith. . sundered hearts. . the early history of bath. . the following dorg. . snaking. . maud's papa. . jim beckwourth's pond. . stringing a bear. preface. the matter of which this volume is composed appeared originally in the columns of "fun," when the wisdom of the fables and the truth of the tales tended to wholesomely diminish the levity of that jocund sheet. their publication in a new form would seem to be a fitting occasion to say something as to their merit. homer's "iliad," it will be remembered, was but imperfectly appreciated by homer's contemporaries. milton's "paradise lost" was so lightly regarded when first written, that the author received but twenty-five pounds for it. ben jonson was for some time blind to the beauties of shakespeare, and shakespeare himself had but small esteem for his own work. appearing each week in "fun," these fables and tales very soon attracted the notice of the editor, who was frank enough to say, afterward, that when he accepted the manuscript he did not quite perceive the quality of it. the printers, too, into whose hands it came, have since admitted that for some days they felt very little interest in it, and could not even make out what it was all about. when to these evidences i add the confession that at first i did not myself observe anything extraordinary in my work, i think i need say no more: the discerning public will note the parallel, and my modesty be spared the necessity of making an ass of itself. d.g. fables of zambri, the parsee. [illustration] i. a certain persian nobleman obtained from a cow gipsy a small oyster. holding him up by the beard, he addressed him thus: "you must try to forgive me for what i am about to do; and you might as well set about it at once, for you haven't much time. i should never think of swallowing you if it were not so easy; but opportunity is the strongest of all temptations. besides, i am an orphan, and very hungry." "very well," replied the oyster; "it affords me genuine pleasure to comfort the parentless and the starving. i have already done my best for our friend here, of whom you purchased me; but although she has an amiable and accommodating stomach, _we couldn't agree_. for this trifling incompatibility--would you believe it?--she was about to stew me! saviour, benefactor, proceed." "i think," said the nobleman, rising and laying down the oyster, "i ought to know something more definite about your antecedents before succouring you. if you couldn't agree with your mistress, you are probably no better than you should be." people who begin doing something from a selfish motive frequently drop it when they learn that it is a real benevolence. ii. a rat seeing a cat approaching, and finding no avenue of escape, went boldly up to her, and said: "madam, i have just swallowed a dose of powerful bane, and in accordance with instructions upon the label, have come out of my hole to die. will you kindly direct me to a spot where my corpse will prove peculiarly offensive?" "since you are so ill," replied the cat, "i will myself transport you to a spot which i think will suit." so saying, she struck her teeth through the nape of his neck and trotted away with him. this was more than he had bargained for, and he squeaked shrilly with the pain. "ah!" said the cat, "a rat who knows he has but a few minutes to live, never makes a fuss about a little agony. i don't think, my fine fellow, you have taken poison enough to hurt either you or me." so she made a meal of him. if this fable does not teach that a rat gets no profit by lying, i should be pleased to know what it does teach. iii. a frog who had been sitting up all night in neighbourly converse with an echo of elegant leisure, went out in the grey of the morning to obtain a cheap breakfast. seeing a tadpole approach, "halt!" he croaked, "and show cause why i should not eat you." the tadpole stopped and displayed a fine tail. "enough," said the frog: "i mistook you for one of us; and if there is anything i like, it is frog. but no frog has a tail, as a matter of course." while he was speaking, however, the tail ripened and dropped off, and its owner stood revealed in his edible character. "aha!" ejaculated the frog, "so that is your little game! if, instead of adopting a disguise, you had trusted to my mercy, i should have spared you. but i am down upon all manner of deceit." and he had him down in a moment. learn from this that he would have eaten him anyhow. iv. an old man carrying, for no obvious reason, a sheaf of sticks, met another donkey whose cargo consisted merely of a bundle of stones. "suppose we swop," said the donkey. "very good, sir," assented the old man; "lay your load upon my shoulders, and take off my parcel, putting it upon your own back." the donkey complied, so far as concerned his own encumbrance, but neglected to remove that of the other. "how clever!" said the merry old gentleman, "i knew you would do that. if you had done any differently there would have been no point to the fable." and laying down both burdens by the roadside, he trudged away as merry as anything. v. an elephant meeting a mouse, reproached him for not taking a proper interest in growth. "it is all very well," retorted the mouse, "for people who haven't the capacity for anything better. let them grow if they like; but _i_ prefer toasted cheese." the stupid elephant, not being able to make very much sense of this remark, essayed, after the manner of persons worsted at repartee, to set his foot upon his clever conqueror. in point of fact, he did set his foot upon him, and there wasn't any more mouse. the lesson imparted by this fable is open, palpable: mice and elephants look at things each after the manner of his kind; and when an elephant decides to occupy the standpoint of a mouse, it is unhealthy for the latter. vi. a wolf was slaking his thirst at a stream, when a lamb left the side of his shepherd, came down the creek to the wolf, passed round him with considerable ostentation, and began drinking below. "i beg you to observe," said the lamb, "that water does not commonly run uphill; and my sipping here cannot possibly defile the current where you are, even supposing my nose were no cleaner than yours, which it is. so you have not the flimsiest pretext for slaying me." "i am not aware, sir," replied the wolf, "that i require a pretext for loving chops; it never occurred to me that one was necessary." and he dined upon that lambkin with much apparent satisfaction. this fable ought to convince any one that of two stories very similar one needs not necessarily be a plagiarism. vii. [illustration] an old gentleman sat down, one day, upon an acorn, and finding it a very comfortable seat, went soundly to sleep. the warmth of his body caused the acorn to germinate, and it grew so rapidly, that when the sleeper awoke he found himself sitting in the fork of an oak, sixty feet from the ground. "ah!" said he, "i am fond of having an extended view of any landscape which happens to please my fancy; but this one does not seem to possess that merit. i think i will go home." it is easier to say go home than to go. "well, well!" he resumed, "if i cannot compel circumstances to my will, i can at least adapt my will to circumstances. i decide to remain. 'life'--as a certain eminent philosopher in england wilt say, whenever there shall be an england to say it in--'is the definite combination of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous and successive, in correspondence with external co-existences and sequences.' i have, fortunately, a few years of this before me yet; and i suppose i can permit my surroundings to alter me into anything i choose." and he did; but what a choice! i should say that the lesson hereby imparted is one of contentment combined with science. viii. a caterpillar had crawled painfully to the top of a hop-pole, and not finding anything there to interest him, began to think of descending. "now," soliloquized he, "if i only had a pair of wings, i should be able to manage it very nicely." so saying, he turned himself about to go down, but the heat of his previous exertion, and that of the sun, had by this time matured him into a butterfly. "just my luck!" he growled, "i never wish for anything without getting it. i did not expect this when i came out this morning, and have nothing prepared. but i suppose i shall have to stand it." so he spread his pinions and made for the first open flower he saw. but a spider happened to be spending the summer in that vegetable, and it was not long before mr. butterfly was wishing himself back atop of that pole, a simple caterpillar. he had at last the pleasure of being denied a desire. _hæc fabula docet_ that it is not a good plan to call at houses without first ascertaining who is at home there. ix. it is related of a certain tartar priest that, being about to sacrifice a pig, he observed tears in the victim's eyes. "now, i'd like to know what is the matter with _you_?" he asked. "sir," replied the pig, "if your penetration were equal to that of the knife you hold, you would know without inquiring; but i don't mind telling you. i weep because i know i shall be badly roasted." "ah," returned the priest, meditatively, having first killed the pig, "we are all pretty much alike: it is the bad roasting that frightens us. mere death has no terrors." from this narrative learn that even priests sometimes get hold of only half a truth. x. a dog being very much annoyed by bees, ran, quite accidentally, into an empty barrel lying on the ground, and looking out at the bung-hole, addressed his tormenters thus: "had you been temperate, stinging me only one at a time, you might have got a good deal of fun out of me. as it is, you have driven me into a secure retreat; for i can snap you up as fast as you come in through the bung-hole. learn from this the folly of intemperate zeal." when he had concluded, he awaited a reply. there wasn't any reply; for the bees had never gone near the bung-hole; they went in the same way as he did, and made it very warm for him. the lesson of this fable is that one cannot stick to his pure reason while quarrelling with bees. xi. a fox and a duck having quarrelled about the ownership of a frog, agreed to refer the dispute to a lion. after hearing a great deal of argument, the lion opened his mouth to speak. "i am very well aware," interrupted the duck, "what your decision is. it is that by our own showing the frog belongs to neither of us, and you will eat him yourself. but please remember that lions do not like frogs." "to me," exclaimed the fox, "it is perfectly clear that you will give the frog to the duck, the duck to me, and take me yourself. allow me to state certain objections to--" "i was about to remark," said the lion, "that while you were disputing, the cause of contention had hopped away. perhaps you can procure another frog." to point out the moral of this fable would be to offer a gratuitous insult to the acuteness of the reader. xii. an ass meeting a pair of horses, late one evening, said to them: "it is time all honest horses were in bed. why are you driving out at this time of day?" "ah!" returned they, "if it is so very late, why are you out riding?" "i never in my life," retorted the ass angrily, "knew a horse to return a direct answer to a civil question." this tale shows that this ass did not know everything. [the implication that horses do not answer questions seems to have irritated the worthy fabulist.--translator.] xiii. a stone being cast by the plough against a lump of earth, hastened to open the conversation as follows: "virtue, which is the opposite of vice, is best fostered by the absence of temptation!" the lump of earth, being taken somewhat by surprise, was not prepared with an apophthegm, and said nothing. since that time it has been customary to call a stupid person a "clod." xiv. a river seeing a zephyr carrying off an anchor, asked him, "what are you going to do with it?" "i give it up," replied the zephyr, after mature reflection. "blow me if _i_ would!" continued the river; "you might just as well not have taken it at all." "between you and me," returned the zephyr, "i only picked it up because it is customary for zephyrs to do such things. but if you don't mind i will carry it up to your head and drop it in your mouth." this fable teaches such a multitude of good things that it would be invidious to mention any. xv. a peasant sitting on a pile of stones saw an ostrich approaching, and when it had got within range he began pelting it. it is hardly probable that the bird liked this; but it never moved until a large number of boulders had been discharged; then it fell to and ate them. "it was very good of you, sir," then said the fowl; "pray tell me to what virtue i am indebted for this excellent meal." "to piety," replied the peasant, who, believing that anything able to devour stones must be a god, was stricken with fear. "i beg you won't think these were merely cold victuals from my table; i had just gathered them fresh, and was intending to have them dressed for my dinner; but i am always hospitable to the deities, and now i suppose i shall have to go without." "on the contrary, my pious youth," returned the ostrich, "you shall go within." and the man followed the stones. the falsehoods of the wicked never amount to much. xvi. two thieves went into a farmer's granary and stole a sack of kitchen vegetables; and, one of them slinging it across his shoulders, they began to run away. in a moment all the domestic animals and barn-yard fowls about the place were at their heels, in high clamour, which threatened to bring the farmer down upon them with his dogs. "you have no idea how the weight of this sack assists me in escaping, by increasing my momentum," said the one who carried the plunder; "suppose _you_ take it." "ah!" returned the other, who had been zealously pointing out the way to safety, and keeping foremost therein, "it is interesting to find how a common danger makes people confiding. you have a thousand times said i could not be trusted with valuable booty. it is an humiliating confession, but i am myself convinced that if i should assume that sack, and the impetus it confers, you could not depend upon your dividend." [illustration] "a common danger," was the reply, "seems to stimulate conviction, as well as confidence." "very likely," assented the other, drily; "i am quite too busy to enter into these subtleties. you will find the subject very ably treated in the zend-avesta." but the bastinado taught them more in a minute than they would have gleaned from that excellent work in a fortnight. if they could only have had the privilege of reading this fable, it would have taught them more than either. xvii. while a man was trying with all his might to cross a fence, a bull ran to his assistance, and taking him upon his horns, tossed him over. seeing the man walking away without making any remark, the bull said: "you are quite welcome, i am sure. i did no more than my duty." "i take a different view of it, very naturally," replied the man, "and you may keep your polite acknowledgments of my gratitude until you receive it. i did not require your services." "you don't mean to say," answered the bull, "that you did not wish to cross that fence!" "i mean to say," was the rejoinder, "that i wished to cross it by my method, solely to avoid crossing it by yours." _fabula docet_ that while the end is everything, the means is something. xviii. an hippopotamus meeting an open alligator, said to him: "my forked friend, you may as well collapse. you are not sufficiently comprehensive to embrace me. i am myself no tyro at smiling, when in the humour." "i really had no expectation of taking you in," replied the other. "i have a habit of extending my hospitality impartially to all, and about seven feet wide." "you remind me," said the hippopotamus, "of a certain zebra who was not vicious at all; he merely kicked the breath out of everything that passed behind him, but did not induce things to pass behind him." "it is quite immaterial what i remind you of," was the reply. the lesson conveyed by this fable is a very beautiful one. xix. a man was plucking a living goose, when his victim addressed him thus: "suppose _you_ were a goose; do you think you would relish this sort of thing?" "well, suppose i were," answered the man; "do you think _you_ would like to pluck me?" "indeed i would!" was the emphatic, natural, but injudicious reply. "just so," concluded her tormentor; "that's the way _i_ feel about the matter." xx. a traveller perishing of thirst in a desert, debated with his camel whether they should continue their journey, or turn back to an oasis they had passed some days before. the traveller favoured the latter plan. "i am decidedly opposed to any such waste of time," said the animal; "i don't care for oases myself." "i should not care for them either," retorted the man, with some temper, "if, like you, i carried a number of assorted water-tanks inside. but as you will not submit to go back, and i shall not consent to go forward, we can only remain where we are." "but," objected the camel, "that will be certain death to you!" "not quite," was the quiet answer, "it involves only the loss of my camel." so saying, he assassinated the beast, and appropriated his liquid store. a compromise is not always a settlement satisfactory to both parties. xxi. a sheep, making a long journey, found the heat of his fleece very uncomfortable, and seeing a flock of other sheep in a fold, evidently awaiting for some one, leaped over and joined them, in the hope of being shorn. perceiving the shepherd approaching, and the other sheep huddling into a remote corner of the fold, he shouldered his way forward, and going up to the shepherd, said: "did you ever see such a lot of fools? it's lucky i came along to set them an example of docility. seeing me operated upon, they 'll be glad to offer themselves." "perhaps so," replied the shepherd, laying hold of the animal's horns; "but i never kill more than one sheep at a time. mutton won't keep in hot weather." the chops tasted excellently well with tomato sauce. the moral of this fable isn't what you think it is. it is this: the chops of another man's mutton are _always_ nice eating. xxii. two travellers between teheran and bagdad met half-way up the vertical face of a rock, on a path only a cubit in width. as both were in a hurry, and etiquette would allow neither to set his foot upon the other even if dignity had permitted prostration, they maintained for some time a stationary condition. after some reflection, each decided to jump round the other; but as etiquette did not warrant conversation with a stranger, neither made known his intention. the consequence was they met, with considerable emphasis, about four feet from the edge of the path, and went through a flight of soaring eagles, a mile out of their way![a] [footnote a: this is infamous! the learned parsee appears wholly to ignore the distinction between a fable and a simple lie.--translator.] xxiii. a stone which had lain for centuries in a hidden place complained to allah that remaining so long in one position was productive of cramps. "if thou wouldst be pleased," it said, "to let me take a little exercise now and then, my health would be the better for it." so it was granted permission to make a short excursion, and at once began rolling out into the open desert. it had not proceeded far before an ostrich, who was pensively eating a keg of nails, left his repast, dashed at the stone, and gobbled it up. this narration teaches the folly of contentment: if the ostrich had been content with his nails he would never have eaten the stone. xxiv. a man carrying a sack of corn up a high ladder propped against a wall, had nearly reached the top, when a powerful hog passing that way leant against the bottom to scratch its hide. "i wish," said the man, speaking down the ladder, "you would make that operation as brief as possible; and when i come down i will reward you by rearing a fresh ladder especially for you." "this one is quite good enough for a hog," was the reply; "but i am curious to know if you will keep your promise, so i'll just amuse myself until you come down." and taking the bottom rung in his mouth, he moved off, away from the wall. a moment later he had all the loose corn he could garner, but he never got that other ladder. moral.--an ace and four kings is as good a hand as one can hold in draw-poker. xxv. a young cock and a hen were speaking of the size of eggs. said the cock: "i once laid an egg--" "oh, you did!" interrupted the hen, with a derisive cackle. "pray how did you manage it?" the cock felt injured in his self-esteem, and, turning his back upon the hen, addressed himself to a brood of young chickens. "i once laid an egg--" the chickens chirped incredulously, and passed on. the insulted bird reddened in the wattles with indignation, and strutting up to the patriarch of the entire barn-yard, repeated his assertion. the patriarch nodded gravely, as if the feat were an every-day affair, and the other continued: "i once laid an egg alongside a water-melon, and compared the two. the vegetable was considerably the larger." this fable is intended to show the absurdity of hearing all a man has to say. xxvi. [illustration] seeing himself getting beyond his depth, a bathing naturalist called lustily for succour. "anything _i_ can do for you?" inquired the engaging octopus. "happy to serve you, i am sure," said the accommodating leech. "command _me_," added the earnest crab. "gentlemen of the briny deep," exclaimed the gasping _savant_, "i am compelled to decline your friendly offices, but i tender you my scientific gratitude; and, as a return favour, i beg, with this my last breath, that you will accept the freedom of my aquarium, and make it your home." this tale proves that scientific gratitude is quite as bad as the natural sort. xxvii. two whales seizing a pike, attempted in turn to swallow him, but without success. they finally determined to try him jointly, each taking hold of an end, and both shutting their eyes for a grand effort, when a shark darted silently between them, biting away the whole body of their prey. opening their eyes, they gazed upon one another with much satisfaction. "i had no idea he would go down so easily," said the one. "nor i," returned the other; "but how very tasteless a pike is." the insipidity we observe in most of our acquaintances is largely due to our imperfect knowledge of them. xxviii. a wolf went into the cottage of a peasant while the family was absent in the fields, and falling foul of some beef, was quietly enjoying it, when he was observed by a domestic rat, who went directly to her master, informing him of what she had seen. "i would myself have dispatched the robber," she added, "but feared you might wish to take him alive." so the man secured a powerful club and went to the door of the house, while the rat looked in at the window. after taking a survey of the situation, the man said: "i don't think i care to take this fellow alive. judging from his present performance, i should say his keeping would entail no mean expense. you may go in and slay him if you like; i have quite changed my mind." "if you really intended taking him prisoner," replied the rat, "the object of that bludgeon is to me a matter of mere conjecture. however, it is easy enough to see you have changed your mind; and it may be barely worth mentioning that i have changed mine." "the interest you both take in me," said the wolf, without looking up, "touches me deeply. as you have considerately abstained from bothering me with the question of how i am to be disposed of, i will not embarrass your counsels by obtruding a preference. whatever may be your decision, you may count on my acquiescence; my countenance alone ought to convince you of the meek docility of my character. i never lose my temper, and i never swear; but, by the stomach of the prophet! if either one of you domestic animals is in sight when i have finished the conquest of these ribs, the question of _my_ fate may be postponed for future debate, without detriment to any important interest." this fable teaches that while you are considering the abatement of a nuisance, it is important to know which nuisance is the more likely to be abated. xxix. a snake tried to shed his skin by pulling it off over his head, but, being unable to do so, was advised by a woodman to slip out of it in the usual way. "but," said the serpent, "this is the way _you_ do it!" "true," exclaimed the woodman, holding out the hem of his tunic; "but you will observe that my skin is brief and open. if you desire one like that, i think i can assist you." so saying, he chopped off about a cubit of the snake's tail. xxx. an oyster who had got a large pebble between the valves of his shell, and was unable to get it out, was lamenting his sad fate, when--the tide being out--a monkey ran to him, and began making an examination. "you appear," said the monkey, "to have got something else in here, too. i think i'd better remove that first." with this he inserted his paw, and scooped out the animal's essential part. "now," said he, eating the portion he had removed, "i think you will be able to manage the pebble yourself." to apprehend the lesson of this fable one must have some experience of the law. xxxi. an old fox and her two cubs were pursued by dogs, when one of the cubs got a thorn in his foot, and could go no farther. setting the other to watch for the pursuers, the mother proceeded, with much tender solicitude, to extract the thorn. just as she had done so, the sentinel gave the alarm. "how near are they?" asked the mother. "close by, in the next field," was the answer. "the deuce they are!" was the hasty rejoinder. "however, i presume they will be content with a single fox." and shoving the thorn earnestly back into the wounded foot, this excellent parent took to her heels. this fable proves that humanity does not happen to enjoy a monopoly of paternal affection. xxxii. a man crossing the great river of egypt, heard a voice, which seemed to come from beneath his boat, requesting him to stop. thinking it must proceed from some river-deity, he laid down his paddle and said: "whoever you are that ask me to stop, i beg you will let me go on. i have been asked by a friend to dine with him, and i am late." "should your friend pass this way," said the voice, "i will show him the cause of your detention. meantime you must come to dinner with _me_." "willingly," replied the man, devoutly, very well pleased with so extraordinary an honour; "pray show me the way." "in here," said the crocodile, elevating his distending jaws above the water and beckoning with his tongue--"this way, please." this fable shows that being asked to dinner is not always the same thing as being asked to dine. xxxiii. an old monkey, designing to teach his sons the advantage of unity, brought them a number of sticks, and desired them to see how easily they might be broken, one at a time. so each young monkey took a stick and broke it. "now," said the father, "i will teach you a lesson." and he began to gather the sticks into a bundle. but the young monkeys, thinking he was about to beat them, set upon him, all together, and disabled him. "there!" said the aged sufferer, "behold the advantage of unity! if you had assailed me one at a time, i would have killed every mother's son of you!" moral lessons are like the merchant's goods: they are conveyed in various ways. xxxiv. a wild horse meeting a domestic one, taunted him with his condition of servitude. the tamed animal claimed that he was as free as the wind. "if that is so," said the other, "pray tell me the office of that bit in your mouth." "that," was the answer, "is iron, one of the best tonics in the _materia medica_." "but what," said the other, "is the meaning of the rein attached to it?" "keeps it from falling out of my mouth when i am too indolent to hold it," was the reply. "how about the saddle?" "fool!" was the angry retort; "its purpose is to spare me fatigue: when i am tired, i get on and ride." xxxv. some doves went to a hawk, and asked him to protect them from a kite. "that i will," was the cheerful reply; "and when i am admitted into the dovecote, i shall kill more of you in a day than the kite did in a century. but of course you know this; you expect to be treated in the regular way." so he entered the dovecote, and began preparations for a general slaughter. but the doves all set upon him and made exceedingly short work of him. with his last breath he asked them why, being so formidable, they had not killed the kite. they replied that they had never seen any kite. [illustration] xxxvi. a defeated warrior snatched up his aged father, and, slinging him across his shoulders, plunged into the wilderness, followed by the weary remnant of his beaten army. the old gentleman liked it. "see!" said he, triumphantly, to the flying legion; "did you ever hear of so dutiful and accommodating a son? and he's as easy under the saddle as an old family horse!" "i rather think," replied the broken and disordered battalion, with a grin, "that mr. Æneas once did something of this kind. but _his_ father had thoughtfully taken an armful of lares and penates; and the accommodating nature of _his_ son was, therefore, more conspicuous. if i might venture to suggest that you take up my shield and scimitar--" "thank you," said the aged party, "i could not think of disarming the military: but if you would just hand me up one of the heaviest of those dead branches, i think the merits of my son would be rendered sufficiently apparent." the routed column passed him up the one shown in the immediate foreground of our sketch, and it was quite enough for both steed and rider. _fabula ostendit_ that history repeats itself, with variations. xxxvii. a pig who had engaged a cray-fish to pilot him along the beach in search of mussels, was surprised to see his guide start off backwards. "your excessive politeness quite overcomes me," said the porker, "but don't you think it rather ill bestowed upon a pig? pray don't hesitate to turn your back upon me." "sir," replied the cray-fish, "permit me to continue as i am. we now stand to each other in the proper relation of _employé_ to employer. the former is excessively obsequious, and the latter is, in the eyes of the former, a hog." xxxviii. the king of tortoises desiring to pay a visit of ceremony to a neighbouring monarch, feared that in his absence his idle subjects might get up a revolution, and that whoever might be left at the head of the state would usurp the throne. so calling his subjects about him, he addressed them thus: "i am about to leave our beloved country for a long period, and desire to leave the sceptre in the hands of him who is most truly a tortoise. i decree that you shall set out from yonder distant tree, and pass round it. whoever shall get back last shall be appointed regent." so the population set out for the goal, and the king for his destination. before the race was decided, his majesty had made the journey and returned. but he found the throne occupied by a subject, who at once secured by violence what he had won by guile. certain usurpers are too conscientious to retain kingly power unless the rightful monarch be dead; and these are the most dangerous sort. xxxix. a spaniel at the point of death requested a mastiff friend to eat him. "it would soothe my last moments," said he, "to know that when i am no longer of any importance to myself i may still be useful to you." "much obliged, i am sure," replied his friend; "i think you mean well, but you should know that my appetite is not so depraved as to relish dog." perhaps it is for a similar reason we abstain from cannibalism. xl. a cloud was passing across the face of the sun, when the latter expostulated with him. "why," said the sun, "when you have so much space to float in, should you be casting your cold shadow upon me?" after a moment's reflection, the cloud made answer thus: "i certainly had no intention of giving offence by my presence, and as for my shadow, don't you think you have made a trifling mistake?--not a gigantic or absurd mistake, but merely one that would disgrace an idiot." at this the great luminary was furious, and fell so hotly upon him that in a few minutes there was nothing of him left. it is very foolish to bandy words with a cloud if you happen to be the sun. xli. a rabbit travelling leisurely along the highway was seen, at some distance, by a duck, who had just come out of the water. "well, i declare!" said she, "if i could not walk without limping in that ridiculous way, i'd stay at home. why, he's a spectacle!" "did you ever see such an ungainly beast as that duck!" said the rabbit to himself. "if i waddled like that i should go out only at night." moral, by a kangaroo.--people who are ungraceful of gait are always intolerant of mind. xlii. a fox who dwelt in the upper chamber of an abandoned watch-tower, where he practised all manner of magic, had by means of his art subjected all other animals to his will. one day he assembled a great multitude of them below his window, and commanded that each should appear in his presence, and all who could not teach him some important truth should be thrown off the walls and dashed to pieces. upon hearing this they were all stricken with grief, and began to lament their hard fate most piteously. "how," said they, "shall we, who are unskilled in magic, unread in philosophy, and untaught in the secrets of the stars--who have neither wit, eloquence, nor song--how shall we essay to teach wisdom to the wise?" nevertheless, they were compelled to make the attempt. after many had failed and been dispatched, another fox arrived on the ground, and learning the condition of affairs, scampered slyly up the steps, and whispered something in the ear of the cat, who was about entering the tower. so the latter stuck her head in at the door, and shrieked: "pullets with a southern exposure ripen earliest, and have yellow legs." at this the magician was so delighted that he dissolved the spell and let them all go free. xliii. one evening a jackass, passing between a village and a hill, looked over the latter and saw the faint light of the rising moon. "ho-ho, master redface!" said he, "so you are climbing up the other side to point out my long ears to the villagers, are you? i'll just meet you at the top, and set my heels into your insolent old lantern." so he scrambled painfully up to the crest, and stood outlined against the broad disc of the unconscious luminary, more conspicuously a jackass than ever before. xliv. a bear wishing to rob a beehive, laid himself down in front of it, and overturned it with his paw. "now," said he, "i will lie perfectly still and let the bees sting me until they are exhausted and powerless; their honey may then be obtained without opposition." and it was so obtained, but by a fresh bear, the other being dead. this narrative exhibits one aspect of the "fabian policy." xlv. a cat seeing a mouse with a piece of cheese, said: "i would not eat that, if i were you, for i think it is poisoned. however, if you will allow me to examine it, i will tell you certainly whether it is or not." while the mouse was thinking what it was best to do, the cat had fully made up her mind, and was kind enough to examine both the cheese and the mouse in a manner highly satisfactory to herself, but the mouse has never returned to give _his_ opinion. xlvi. an improvident man, who had quarrelled with his wife concerning household expenses, took her and the children out on the lawn, intending to make an example of her. putting himself in an attitude of aggression, and turning to his offspring, he said: "you will observe, my darlings, that domestic offences are always punished with a loss of blood. make a note of this and be wise." he had no sooner spoken than a starving mosquito settled upon his nose, and began to assist in enforcing the lesson. "my officious friend," said the man, "when i require illustrations from the fowls of the air, you may command my patronage. the deep interest you take in my affairs is, at present, a trifle annoying." [illustration] "i do not find it so," the mosquito would have replied had he been at leisure, "and am convinced that our respective points of view are so widely dissimilar as not to afford the faintest hope of reconciling our opinions upon collateral points. let us be thankful that upon the main question of bloodletting we perfectly agree." when the bird had concluded, the man's convictions were quite unaltered, but he was too weak to resume the discussion; and, although blood is thicker than water, the children were constrained to confess that the stranger had the best of it. this fable teaches. xlvii. "i hate snakes who bestow their caresses with interested partiality or fastidious discrimination," boasted a boa constrictor. "_my_ affection is unbounded; it embraces all animated nature. i am the universal shepherd; i gather all manner of living things into my folds. entertainment here for man and beast!" "i should be glad of one of your caresses," said a porcupine, meekly; "it has been some time since i got a loving embrace." so saying, he nestled snugly and confidingly against the large-hearted serpent--who fled. a comprehensive philanthropy may be devoid of prejudices, but it has its preferences all the same. xlviii. during a distressing famine in china a starving man met a fat pig, who, seeing no chance of escape, walked confidently up to the superior animal, and said: "awful famine! isn't it?" "quite dreadful!" replied the man, eyeing him with an evident purpose: "almost impossible to obtain meat." "plenty of meat, such as it is, but no corn. do you know, i have been compelled to eat so many of your people, i don't believe there is an ounce of pork in my composition." "and i so many that i have lost all taste for pork." "terrible thing this cannibalism!" "depends upon which character you try it in; it is terrible to be eaten." "you are very brutal!" "you are very fat." "you look as if you would take my life." "you look as if you would sustain mine." "let us 'pull sticks,'" said the now desperate animal, "to see which of us shall die." "good!" assented the man: "i'll pull this one." so saying, he drew a hedge-stake from the ground, and stained it with the brain of that unhappy porker. moral.--an empty stomach has no ears. xlix. a snake, a mile long, having drawn himself over a roc's egg, complained that in its present form he could get no benefit from it, and modestly desired the roc to aid him in some way. "certainly," assented the bird, "i think we can arrange it." saying which, she snatched up one of the smaller persian provinces, and poising herself a few leagues above the suffering reptile, let it drop upon him to smash the egg. this fable exhibits the folly of asking for aid without specifying the kind and amount of aid you require. l. an ox meeting a man on the highway, asked him for a pinch of snuff, whereupon the man fled back along the road in extreme terror. "_don't_ be alarmed," said a horse whom he met; "the ox won't bite you." the man gave one stare and dashed across the meadows. "well," said a sheep, "i wouldn't be afraid of a horse; _he_ won't kick." the man shot like a comet into the forest. "look where you're going there, or i'll thrash the life out of you!" screamed a bird into whose nest he had blundered. frantic with fear, the man leapt into the sea. "by jove! how you frightened me," said a small shark. the man was dejected, and felt a sense of injury. he seated himself moodily on the bottom, braced up his chin with his knees, and thought for an hour. then he beckoned to the fish who had made the last remark. "see here, i say," said he, "i wish you would just tell me what in thunder this all means." "ever read any fables?" asked the shark. "no--yes--well, the catechism, the marriage service, and--" "oh, bother!" said the fish, playfully, smiling clean back to the pectoral fins; "get out of this and bolt your Æsop!" the man did get out and bolted. [this fable teaches that its worthy author was drunk as a loon.--translator.] li. a lion pursued by some villagers was asked by a fox why he did not escape on horseback. "there is a fine strong steed just beyond this rock," said the fox. "all you have to do is to get on his back and stay there." so the lion went up to the charger and asked him to give him a lift. "certainly," said the horse, "with great pleasure." and setting one of his heels into the animal's stomach, he lifted him. about seven feet from the ground. "confound you!" roared the beast as he fell back. "so did you," quietly remarked the steed. lii. a mahout who had dismounted from his elephant, and was quietly standing on his head in the middle of the highway, was asked by the animal why he did not revert and move on. "you are making a spectacle of yourself," said the beast. "if i choose to stand upside down," replied the man, "i am very well aware that i incur the displeasure of those who adhere with slavish tenacity to the prejudices and traditions of society; but it seems to me that rebuke would come with a more consistent grace from one who does not wear a tail upon his nose." this fable teaches that four straight lines may enclose a circle, but there will be corners to let. liii. a dog meeting a strange cat, took her by the top of the back, and shook her for a considerable period with some earnestness. then depositing her in a ditch, he remarked with gravity: "there, my feline friend! i think that will teach you a wholesome lesson; and as punishment is intended to be reformatory, you ought to be grateful to me for deigning to administer it." "i don't think of questioning your right to worry me," said the cat, getting her breath, "but i should like to know where you got your licence to preach at me. also, if not inconsistent with the dignity of the court, i should wish to be informed of the nature of my offence; in order that i may the more clearly apprehend the character of the lesson imparted by its punishment." "since you are so curious," replied the dog, "i worry you because you are too feeble to worry me." "in other words," rejoined the cat, getting herself together as well as she could, "you bite me for that to which you owe your existence." the reply of the dog was lost in the illimitable field of ether, whither he was just then projected by the kick of a passing horse. the moral of this fable cannot be given until he shall get down, and close the conversation with the regular apophthegm. liv. people who wear tight hats will do well to lay this fable well to heart, and ponder upon the deep significance of its moral: in passing over a river, upon a high bridge, a cow discovered a broad loose plank in the flooring, sustained in place by a beam beneath the centre. "now," said she, "i will stand at this end of the trap, and when yonder sheep steps upon the opposite extreme there will be an upward tendency in wool." so when the meditative mutton advanced unwarily upon the treacherous device, the cow sprang bodily upon the other end, and there was a fall in beef. lv. two snakes were debating about the proper method of attacking prey. "the best way," said one, "is to slide cautiously up, endwise, and seize it thus"--illustrating his method by laying hold of the other's tail. "not at all," was the reply; "a better plan is to approach by a circular side-sweep, thus"--turning upon his opponent and taking in _his_ tail. although there was no disagreement as to the manner of disposing of what was once seized, each began to practise his system upon the other, and continued until both were swallowed. the work begun by contention is frequently completed by habit. [illustration:] lvi. a man staggering wearily through the streets of persepolis, under a heavy burden, said to himself: "i wish i knew what this thing is i have on my back; then i could make some sort of conjecture as to what i design doing with it." "suppose," said the burden, "i were a man in a sack; what disposition would you make of me?" "the regular thing," replied the man, "would be to take you over to constantinople, and pitch you into the bosphorus; but i should probably content myself with laying you down and jumping on you, as being more agreeable to my feelings, and quite as efficacious." "but suppose," continued the burden, "i were a shoulder of beef--which i quite as much resemble--belonging to some poor family?" "in that case," replied the man, promptly, "i should carry you to my larder, my good fellow." "but if i were a sack of gold, do you think you would find me very onerous?" said the burden. "a great deal would depend," was the answer, "upon whom you happened to belong to; but i may say, generally, that gold upon the shoulders is wonderfully light, considering the weight of it." "behold," said the burden, "the folly of mankind: they cannot perceive that the _quality_ of the burdens of life is a matter of no importance. the question of pounds and ounces is the only consideration of any real weight." lvii. a ghost meeting a genie, one wintry night, said to him: "extremely harassing weather, friend. wish i had some teeth to chatter!" "you do not need them," said the other; "you can always chatter those of other people, by merely showing yourself. for my part, i should be content with some light employment: would erect a cheap palace, transport a light-weight princess, threaten a small cripple--or jobs of that kind. what are the prospects of the fool crop?" "for the next few thousand years, very good. there is a sort of thing called literature coming in shortly, and it will make our fortune. but it will be very bad for history. curse this phantom apparel! the more i gather it about me the colder i get." "when literature has made our fortune," sneered the genie, "i presume you will purchase material clothing." "and you," retorted the ghost, "will be able to advertise for permanent employment at a fixed salary." this fable shows the difference between the super natural and the natural "super": the one appears in the narrative, the other does not. lviii. "permit me to help you on in the world, sir," said a boy to a travelling tortoise, placing a glowing coal upon the animal's back. "thank you," replied the unconscious beast; "i alone am responsible for the time of my arrival, and i alone will determine the degree of celerity required. the gait i am going will enable me to keep all my present appointments." a genial warmth began about this time to pervade his upper crust, and a moment after he was dashing away at a pace comparatively tremendous. "how about those engagements?" sneered the grinning urchin. "i've recollected another one," was the hasty reply. lix. having fastened his gaze upon a sparrow, a rattlesnake sprung open his spanning jaws, and invited her to enter. "i should be most happy," said the bird, not daring to betray her helpless condition, but anxious by any subterfuge to get the serpent to remove his fascinating regard, "but i am lost in contemplation of yonder green sunset, from which i am unable to look away for more than a minute. i shall turn to it presently." "do, by all means," said the serpent, with a touch of irony in his voice. "there is nothing so improving as a good, square, green sunset." "did you happen to observe that man standing behind you with a club?" continued the sparrow. "handsome fellow! fifteen cubits high, with seven heads, and very singularly attired; quite a spectacle in his way." "i don't seem to care much for men," said the snake. "every way inferior to serpents--except in malice." "but he is accompanied by a _really interesting_ child," persisted the bird, desperately. the rattlesnake reflected deeply. he soliloquized as follows: "there is a mere chance--say about one chance to ten thousand million--that this songster is speaking the truth. one chance in ten thousand million of seeing a really interesting child is worth the sacrifice demanded; i'll make it." so saying, he removed his glittering eyes from the bird (who immediately took wing) and looked behind him. it is needless to say there was no really interesting child there--nor anywhere else. moral.--mendacity (so called from the inventors) is a very poor sort of dacity; but it will serve your purpose if you draw it sufficiently strong. lx. a man who was very much annoyed by the incursions of a lean ass belonging to his neighbour, resolved to compass the destruction of the invader. "now," said he, "if this animal shall choose to starve himself to death in the midst of plenty, the law will not hold _me_ guilty of his blood. i have read of a trick which i think will 'fix' him." so he took two bales of his best hay, and placed them in a distant field, about forty cubits apart. by means of a little salt he then enticed the ass in, and coaxed him between the bundles. "there, fiend!" said he, with a diabolic grin, as he walked away delighted with the success of his stratagem, "now hesitate which bundle of hay to attack first, until you starve--monster!" some weeks afterwards he returned with a wagon to convey back the bundles of hay. there wasn't any hay, but the wagon was useful for returning to his owner that unfortunate ass--who was too fat to walk. this ought to show any one the folly of relying upon the teaching of obscure and inferior authors.[a] [footnote a: it is to be wished our author had not laid himself open to the imputation of having perverted, if not actually invented, some of his facts, for the unworthy purpose of bringing a deserving rival into disfavour.--translator.] lxi. one day the king of the wrens held his court for the trial of a bear, who was at large upon his own recognizance. being summoned to appear, the animal came with great humility into the royal presence. "what have you to say, sir," demanded the king, "in defence of your inexcusable conduct in pillaging the nests of our loyal subjects wherever you can find them?" "may it please your majesty," replied the prisoner, with a reverential gesture, repeated at intervals, and each time at a less distance from the royal person, "i will not wound your majesty's sensibilities by pleading a love of eggs; i will humbly confess my course of crime, warn your majesty of its probable continuance, and beg your majesty's gracious permission to inquire--what is your majesty going to do about it?" the king and his ministers were very much struck with this respectful speech, with the ingenuity of the final inquiry, and with the bear's paw. it was the paw, however, which made the most lasting impression. always give ear to the flattery of your powerful inferiors: it will cheer you in your decline. lxii. a philosopher looking up from the pages of the zend-avesta, upon which he had been centring his soul, beheld a pig violently assailing a cauldron of cold slops. "heaven bless us!" said the sage; "for unalloyed delight give me a good honest article of sensuality. so soon as my 'essay upon the correlation of mind-forces' shall have brought me fame and fortune, i hope to abjure the higher faculties, devoting the remainder of my life to the cultivation of the propensities." "allah be praised!" soliloquized the pig, "there is nothing so godlike as intellect, and nothing so ecstatic as intellectual pursuits. i must hasten to perform this gross material function, that i may retire to my wallow and resign my soul to philosophical meditation." this tale has one moral if you are a philosopher, and another if you are a pig. lxiii. "awful dark--isn't it?" said an owl, one night, looking in upon the roosting hens in a poultry-house; "don't see how i am to find my way back to my hollow tree." "there is no necessity," replied the cock; "you can roost there, alongside the door, and go home in the morning." "thanks!" said the owl, chuckling at the fool's simplicity; and, having plenty of time to indulge his facetious humour, he gravely installed himself upon the perch indicated, and shutting his eyes, counterfeited a profound slumber. he was aroused soon after by a sharp constriction of the throat. "i omitted to tell you," said the cock, "that the seat you happen by the merest chance to occupy is a contested one, and has been fruitful of hens to this vexatious weasel. i don't know _how_ often i have been partially widowed by the sneaking villain." for obvious reasons there was no audible reply. this narrative is intended to teach the folly--the worse than sin!--of trumping your partner's ace. lxiv. a fat cow who saw herself detected by an approaching horse while perpetrating stiff and ungainly gambols in the spring sunshine, suddenly assumed a severe gravity of gait, and a sedate solemnity of expression that would have been creditable to a brahmin. "fine morning!" said the horse, who, fired by her example, was curvetting lithely and tossing his head. "that rather uninteresting fact," replied the cow, attending strictly to her business as a ruminant, "does not impress me as justifying your execution of all manner of unseemly contortions, as a preliminary to accosting an entire stranger." "well, n--no," stammered the horse; "i--i suppose not. fact is i--i--no offence, i hope." and the unhappy charger walked soberly away, dazed by the preternatural effrontery of that placid cow. when overcome by the dignity of any one you chance to meet, try to have this fable about you. lxv. "what have you there on your back?" said a zebra, jeeringly, to a "ship of the desert" in ballast. "only a bale of gridirons," was the meek reply. "and what, pray, may you design doing with them?" was the incredulous rejoinder. "what am i to do with gridirons?" repeated the camel, contemptuously. "nice question for _you_, who have evidently just come off one!" people who wish to throw stones should not live in glass houses; but there ought to be a few in their vicinity. lxvi. a cat, waking out of a sound sleep, saw a mouse sitting just out of reach, observing her. perceiving that at the slightest movement of hers the mouse would recollect an engagement, she put on a look of extreme amiability, and said: "oh! it's you, is it? do you know, i thought at first you were a frightful great rat; and i am _so_ afraid of rats! i feel so much relieved--you don't know! of course you have heard that i am a great friend to the dear little mice?" [illustration] "yes," was the answer, "i have heard that you love us indifferently well, and my mission here was to bless you while you slept. but as you will wish to go and get your breakfast, i won't bore you. fine morning--isn't it? _au revoir!"_ this fable teaches that it is usually safe to avoid one who pretends to be a friend without having any reason to be. it wasn't safe in this instance, however; for the cat went after that departing rodent, and got away with him. lxvii. a man pursued by a lion, was about stepping into a place of safety, when he bethought him of the power of the human eye; and, turning about, he fixed upon his pursuer a steady look of stern reproof. the raging beast immediately moderated his rate per hour, and finally came to a dead halt, within a yard of the man's nose. after making a leisurely survey of him, he extended his neck and bit off a small section of his victim's thigh. "beard of arimanes!" roared the man; "have you no respect for the human eye?" "i hold the human eye in profound esteem," replied the lion, "and i confess its power. it assists digestion if taken just before a meal. but i don't understand why you should have two and i none." with that he raised his foot, unsheathed his claws, and transferred one of the gentleman's visual organs to his own mouth. "now," continued he, "during the brief remainder of a squandered existence, your lion-quelling power, being more highly concentrated, will be the more easily managed." he then devoured the remnant of his victim, including the other eye. lxviii. an ant laden with a grain of corn, which he had acquired with infinite toil, was breasting a current of his fellows, each of whom, as is their etiquette, insisted upon stopping him, feeling him all over, and shaking hands. it occurred to him that an excess of ceremony is an abuse of courtesy. so he laid down his burden, sat upon it, folded all his legs tight to his body, and smiled a smile of great grimness. "hullo! what's the matter with _you_?" exclaimed the first insect whose overtures were declined. "sick of the hollow conventionalities of a rotten civilization," was the rasping reply. "relapsed into the honest simplicity of primitive observances. go to grass!" "ah! then we must trouble you for that corn. in a condition of primitive simplicity there are no rights of property, you know. these are 'hollow conventionalities.'" a light dawned upon the intellect of that pismire. he shook the reefs out of his legs; he scratched the reverse of his ear; he grappled that cereal, and trotted away like a giant refreshed. it was observed that he submitted with a wealth of patience to manipulation by his friends and neighbours, and went some distance out of his way to shake hands with strangers on competing lines of traffic. lxix. a snake who had lain torpid all winter in his hole took advantage of the first warm day to limber up for the spring campaign. having tied himself into an intricate knot, he was so overcome by the warmth of his own body that he fell asleep, and did not wake until nightfall. in the darkness he was unable to find his head or his tail, and so could not disentangle and slide into his hole. per consequence, he froze to death. many a subtle philosopher has failed to solve himself, owing to his inability to discern his beginning and his end. lxx. a dog finding a joint of mutton, apparently guarded by a negligent raven, stretched himself before it with an air of intense satisfaction. "ah!" said he, alternately smiling and stopping up the smiles with meat, "this is an instrument of salvation to my stomach--an instrument upon which i love to perform." "i beg your pardon!" said the bird; "it was placed there specially for me, by one whose right to so convey it is beyond question, he having legally acquired it by chopping it off the original owner." "i detect no flaw in your abstract of title," replied the dog; "all seems quite regular; but i must not provoke a breach of the peace by lightly relinquishing what i might feel it my duty to resume by violence. i must have time to consider; and in the meantime i will dine." thereupon he leisurely consumed the property in dispute, shut his eyes, yawned, turned upon his back, thrust out his legs divergently, and died. for the meat had been carefully poisoned--a fact of which the raven was guiltily conscious. there are several things mightier than brute force, and arsenic[a] is one of them. [footnote a: in the original, "_pizen;"_ which might, perhaps, with equal propriety have been rendered by "caper sauce."--translator.] lxxi. the king of persia had a favourite hawk. one day his majesty was hunting, and had become separated from his attendants. feeling thirsty, he sought a stream of water trickling from a rock; took a cup, and pouring some liquor into it from his pocket-flask, filled it up with water, and raised it to his lips. the hawk, who had been all this time hovering about, swooped down, screaming "no, you don't!" and upset the cup with his wing. "i know what is the matter," said the king: "there is a dead serpent in the fountain above, and this faithful bird has saved my life by not permitting me to drink the juice. i must reward him in the regular way." so he called a page, who had thoughtfully presented himself, and gave directions to have the remorse apartments of the palace put in order, and for the court tailor to prepare an evening suit of sackcloth-and-ashes. then summoning the hawk, he seized and dashed him to the ground, killing him very dead. rejoining his retinue, he dispatched an officer to remove the body of the serpent from the fountain, lest somebody else should get poisoned. there wasn't any serpent--the water was remarkable for its wholesome purity! then the king, cheated of his remorse, was sorry he had slain the bird; he said it was a needless waste of power to kill a bird who merely deserved killing. it never occurred to the king that the hawk's touching solicitude was with reference to the contents of the royal flask. _fabula ostendit_ that a "twice-told tale" needs not necessarily be "tedious"; a reasonable degree of interest may be obtained by intelligently varying the details. lxxii. a herd of cows, blown off the summit of the himalayas, were sailing some miles above the valleys, when one said to another: "got anything to say about this?" "not much," was the answer. "it's airy." "i wasn't thinking of that," continued the first; "i am troubled about our course. if we could leave the pleiades a little more to the right, striking a middle course between boötes and the ecliptic, we should find it all plain sailing as far as the solstitial colure. but once we get into the zodiac upon our present bearing, we are certain to meet with shipwreck before reaching our aphelion." they escaped this melancholy fate, however, for some chaldean shepherds, seeing a nebulous cloud drifting athwart the heavens, and obscuring a favourite planet they had just invented, brought out their most powerful telescopes and resolved it into independent cows--whom they proceeded to slaughter in detail with the instruments of smaller calibre. there have been occasional "meat showers" ever since. these are probably nothing more than-- [our author can be depended upon in matters of fact; his scientific theories are not worth printing.--translator.] lxxiii. a bear, who had worn himself out walking from one end of his cage to the other, addressed his keeper thus: "i say, friend, if you don't procure me a shorter cage i shall have to give up zoology; it is about the most wearing pursuit i ever engaged in. i favour the advancement of science, but the mechanical part of it is a trifle severe, and ought to be done by contract." "you are quite right, my hearty," said the keeper, "it _is_ severe; and there have been several excellent plans proposed to lighten the drudgery. pending the adoption of some of them, you would find a partial relief in lying down and keeping quiet." "it won't do--it won't do!" replied the bear, with a mournful shake of the head, "it's not the orthodox thing. inaction may do for professors, collectors, and others connected with the ornamental part of the noble science; but for _us_, we must keep moving, or zoology would soon revert to the crude guesses and mistaken theories of the azoic period. and yet," continued the beast, after the keeper had gone, "there is something novel and ingenious in what the underling suggests. i must remember that; and when i have leisure, give it a trial." it was noted next day that the noble science had lost an active apostle, and gained a passive disciple. lxxiv. a hen who had hatched out a quantity of ducklings, was somewhat surprised one day to see them take to the water, and sail away out of her jurisdiction. the more she thought of this the more unreasonable such conduct appeared, and the more indignant she became. she resolved that it must cease forthwith. so she soon afterward convened her brood, and conducted them to the margin of a hot pool, having a business connection with the boiling spring of doo-sno-swair. they straightway launched themselves for a cruise--returning immediately to the land, as if they had forgotten their ship's papers. when callow youth exhibits an eccentric tendency, give it him hot. lxxv. "did it ever occur to you that this manner of thing is extremely unpleasant?" asked a writhing worm of the angler who had impaled him upon a hook. "such treatment by those who boast themselves our brothers is, possibly, fraternal--but it hurts." "i confess," replied the idler, "that our usages with regard to vermin and reptiles might be so amended as to be more temperately diabolical; but please to remember that the gentle agonies with which we afflict _you_ are wholesome and exhilarating compared with the ills we ladle out to one another. during the reign of his pellucid refulgence, khatchoo khan," he continued, absently dropping his wriggling auditor into the brook, "no less than three hundred thousand persian subjects were put to death, in a pleasing variety of ingenious ways, for their religious beliefs." "what that has to do with your treatment of _us_" interrupted a fish, who, having bitten at the worm just then, was drawn into the conversation, "i am quite unable to see." "that," said the angler, disengaging him, "is because you have the hook through your eyeball, my edible friend." many a truth is spoken in jest; but at least ten times as many falsehoods are uttered in dead earnest. lxxvi. a wild cat was listening with rapt approval to the melody of distant hounds tracking a remote fox. "excellent! _bravo!_" she exclaimed at intervals. "i could sit and listen all day to the like of that. i am passionately fond of music. _ong-core!_" presently the tuneful sounds drew near, whereupon she began to fidget; ending by shinning up a tree, just as the dogs burst into view below her, and stifled their songs upon the body of their victim before her eyes--which protruded. [illustration] "there is an indefinable charm," said she--"a subtle and tender spell--a mystery--a conundrum, as it were--in the sounds of an unseen orchestra. this is quite lost when the performers are visible to the audience. distant music (if any) for your obedient servant!" lxxvii. having been taught to turn his scraps of bad persian into choice latin, a parrot was puffed up with conceit. "observe," said he, "the superiority i may boast by virtue of my classical education: i can chatter flat nonsense in the language of cicero." "i would advise you," said his master, quietly, "to let it be of a different character from that chattered by some of mr. cicero's most admired compatriots, if you value the priviledge of hanging at that public window. 'commit no mythology,' please." the exquisite fancies of a remote age may not be imitated in this; not, perhaps, from a lack of talent, so much as from a fear of arrest. lxxviii. a rat, finding a file, smelt it all over, bit it gently, and observed that, as it did not seem to be rich enough to produce dyspepsia, he would venture to make a meal of it. so he gnawed it into _smithareens_[a] without the slightest injury to his teeth. with his morals the case was somewhat different. for the file was a file of newspapers, and his system became so saturated with the "spirit of the press" that he went off and called his aged father a "lingering contemporary;" advised the correction of brief tails by amputation; lauded the skill of a quack rodentist for money; and, upon what would otherwise have been his death-bed, essayed a lie of such phenomenal magnitude that it stuck in his throat, and prevented him breathing his last. all this crime, and misery, and other nonsense, because he was too lazy to worry about and find a file of nutritious fables. this tale shows the folly of eating everything you happen to fancy. consider, moreover, the danger of such a course to your neighbour's wife. [footnote a: i confess my inability to translate this word: it may mean "flinders."--translator.] lxxix. "i should like to climb up you, if you don't mind," cried an ivy to a young oak. "oh, certainly; come along," was the cheerful assent. so she started up, and finding she could grow faster than he, she wound round and round him until she had passed up all the line she had. the oak, however, continued to grow, and as she could not disengage her coils, she was just lifted out by the root. so that ends the oak-and-ivy business, and removes a powerful temptation from the path of the young writer. lxxx. a merchant of cairo gave a grand feast. in the midst of the revelry, the great doors of the dining-hall were pushed open from the outside, and the guests were surprised and grieved by the advent of a crocodile of a tun's girth, and as long as the moral law. "thought i 'd look in," said he, simply, but not without a certain grave dignity. "but," cried the host, from the top of the table, "i did not invite any saurians." "no--i know yer didn't; it's the old thing, it is: never no wacancies for saurians--saurians should orter keep theirselves _to_ theirselves--no saurians need apply. i got it all by 'eart, i tell yer. but don't give yerself no distress; i didn't come to beg; thank 'eaven i ain't drove to that yet--leastwise i ain't done it. but i thought as 'ow yer'd need a dish to throw slops and broken wittles in it; which i fetched along this 'ere." and the willing creature lifted off the cover by erecting the upper half of his head till the snout of him smote the ceiling. open servitude is better than covert begging. lxxxi. a gander being annoyed by the assiduous attendance of his ugly reflection in the water, determined that he would prosecute future voyages in a less susceptible element. so he essayed a sail upon the placid bosom of a clay-bank. this kind of navigation did not meet his expectations, however, and he returned with dogged despair to his pond, resolved to make a final cruise and go out of commission. he was delighted to find that the clay adhering to his hull so defiled the water that it gave back no image of him. after that, whenever he left port, he was careful to be well clayed along the water-line. the lesson of this is that if all geese are alike, we can banish unpleasant reflections by befouling ourselves. this is worth knowing. lxxxii. the belly and the members of the human body were in a riot. (this is not the riot recorded by an inferior writer, but a more notable and authentic one.) after exhausting the well-known arguments, they had recourse to the appropriate threat, when the man to whom they belonged thought it time for _him_ to be heard, in his capacity as a unit. "deuce take you!" he roared. "things have come to a pretty pass if a fellow cannot walk out of a fine morning without alarming the town by a disgraceful squabble between his component parts! i am reasonably impartial, i hope, but man's devotion is due to his deity: i espouse the cause of my belly." hearing this, the members were thrown into so extraordinary confusion that the man was arrested for a windmill. as a rule, don't "take sides." sides of bacon, however, may be temperately acquired. lxxxiii. a man dropping from a balloon struck against a soaring eagle. "i beg your pardon," said he, continuing his descent; "i never _could_ keep off eagles when in my descending node." "it is agreeable to meet so pleasing a gentleman, even without previous appointment," said the bird, looking admiringly down upon the lessening aeronaut; "he is the very pink of politeness. how extremely nice his liver must be. i will follow him down and arrange his simple obsequies." this fable is narrated for its intrinsic worth. lxxxiv. to escape from a peasant who had come suddenly upon him, an opossum adopted his favourite expedient of counterfeiting death. "i suppose," said the peasant, "that ninety-nine men in a hundred would go away and leave this poor creature's body to the beasts of prey." [it is notorious that man is the only living thing that will eat the animal.] "but _i_ will give him good burial." so he dug a hole, and was about tumbling him into it, when a solemn voice appeared to emanate from the corpse: "let the dead bury their dead!" "whatever spirit hath wrought this miracle," cried the peasant, dropping upon his knees, "let him but add the trifling explanation of _how_ the dead can perform this or any similar rite, and i am obedience itself. otherwise, in goes mr. 'possum by these hands." "ah!" meditated the unhappy beast, "i have performed one miracle, but i can't keep it up all day, you know. the explanation demanded is a trifle too heavy for even the ponderous ingenuity of a marsupial." and he permitted himself to be sodded over. if the reader knows what lesson is conveyed by this narrative, he knows--just what the writer knows. lxxxv. three animals on board a sinking ship prepared to take to the water. it was agreed among them that the bear should be lowered alongside; the mouse (who was to act as pilot) should embark upon him at once, to beat off the drowning sailors; and the monkey should follow, with provisions for the expedition--which arrangement was successfully carried out. the fourth day out from the wreck, the bear began to propound a series of leading questions concerning dinner; when it appeared that the monkey had provided but a single nut. "i thought this would keep me awhile," he explained, "and you could eat the pilot." hearing this, the mouse vanished like a flash into the bear's ear, and fearing the hungry beast would then demand the nut, the monkey hastily devoured it. not being in a position to insist upon his rights, the bear merely gobbled up the monkey. [illustration] lxxxvi. a lamb suffering from thirst went to a brook to drink. putting his nose to the water, he was interested to feel it bitten by a fish. not liking fish, he drew back and sought another place; but his persecutor getting there before him administered the same rebuff. the lamb being rather persevering, and the fish having no appointments for that day, this was repeated a few thousand times, when the former felt justified in swearing: "i'm eternally boiled!" said he, "if ever i experienced so many fish in all my life. it is discouraging. it inspires me with mint sauce and green peas." he probably meant amazement and fear; under the influence of powerful emotions even lambs will talk "shop." "well, good bye," said his tormentor, taking a final nip at the animal's muzzle; "i should like to amuse you some more; but i have other fish to fry." this tale teaches a good quantity of lessons; but it does _not_ teach why this fish should have persecuted this lamb. lxxxvii. a mole, in pursuing certain geological researches, came upon the buried carcase of a mule, and was about to tunnel him. "slow down, my good friend," said the deceased. "push your mining operations in a less sacrilegious direction. respect the dead, as you hope for death!" "you have that about you," said the gnome, "that must make your grave respected in a certain sense, for at least such a period as your immortal part may require for perfect exhalation. the immunity i accord is not conceded to your sanctity, but extorted by your scent. the sepulchres of moles only are sacred." to moles, the body of a lifeless mule a dead mule's carcase is, and nothing more. lxxxviii. "i think i'll set my sting into you, my obstructive friend," said a bee to an iron pump against which she had flown; "you are always more or less in the way." "if you do," retorted the other, "i'll pump on you, if i can get any one to work my handle." exasperated by this impotent conservative threat, she pushed her little dart against him with all her vigour. when she tried to sheathe it again she couldn't, but she still made herself useful about the hive by hooking on to small articles and dragging them about. but no other bee would sleep with her after this; and so, by her ill-judged resentment, she was self-condemmed to a solitary cell. the young reader may profitably beware. lxxxix. a chinese dog, who had been much abroad with his master, was asked, upon his return, to state the most ludicrous fact he had observed. "there is a country," said he, "the people of which are eternally speaking about 'persian honesty,' 'persian courage,' 'persian loyalty,' 'persian love of fair play,' &c., as if the persians enjoyed a clear monopoly of these universal virtues. what is more, they speak thus in blind good faith--with a dense gravity of conviction that is simply amazing." "but," urged the auditors, "we requested something ludicrous, not amazing." "exactly; the ludicrous part is the name of their country, which is--" "what?" "persia." xc. there was a calf, who, suspecting the purity of the milk supplied him by his dam, resolved to transfer his patronage to the barn-yard pump. "better," said he, "a pure article of water, than a diet that is neither fish, flesh, nor fowl." but, although extremely regular in his new diet--taking it all the time--he did not seem to thrive as might have been expected. the larger orders he drew, the thinner and the more transparent he became; and at last, when the shadow of his person had become to him a vague and unreal memory, he repented, and applied to be reinstated in his comfortable sinecure at the maternal udder. "ah! my prodigal son," said the old lady, lowering her horns as if to permit him to weep upon her neck, "i regret that it is out of my power to celebrate your return by killing the fatted calf; but what i can i will do." and she killed him instead. _mot herl yaff ecti onk nocksal loth ervir tu esperfec tlyc old_.[a] [footnote a: the learned reader will appreciate the motive which has prompted me to give this moral only in the original persian.--translator.] xci. "there, now," said a kitten, triumphantly, laying a passive mouse at the feet of her mother. "i flatter myself i am coming on with a reasonable degree of rapidity. what will become of the minor quadrupeds when i have attained my full strength and ferocity, it is mournful to conjecture!" "did he give you much trouble?" inquired the aged ornament of the hearth-side, with a look of tender solicitude. "trouble!" echoed the kitten, "i never had such a fight in all my life! he was a downright savage--in his day." "my falstaffian issue," rejoined the tabby, dropping her eyelids and composing her head for a quiet sleep, "the above is a _toy_ mouse." xcii. a crab who had travelled from the mouth of the indus all the way to ispahan, knocked, with much chuckling, at the door of the king's physician. "who's there?" shouted the doctor, from his divan within. "a bad case of _cancer_," was the complacent reply. "good!" returned the doctor; "i'll _cure_ you, my friend." so saying, he conducted his facetious patient into the kitchen, and potted him in pickle. it cured him--of practical jocularity. may the fable heal _you_, if you are afflicted with that form of evil. xciii. a certain magician owned a learned pig, who had lived a cleanly gentlemanly life, achieving great fame, and winning the hearts of all the people. but perceiving he was not happy, the magician, by a process easily explained did space permit, transformed him into a man. straightway the creature abandoned his cards, his timepiece, his musical instruments, and all other devices of his profession, and betook him to a pool of mud, wherein he inhumed himself to the tip of his nose. "ten minutes ago," said the magician reprovingly, "you would have scorned to do an act like that." "true," replied the biped, with a contented grunt; "i was then a learned pig; i am now a learned man." xciv. "nature has been very kind to her creatures," said a giraffe to an elephant. "for example, your neck being so very short, she has given you a proboscis wherewith to reach your food; and i having no proboscis, she has bestowed upon me a long neck." "i think, my good friend, you have been among the theologians," said the elephant. "i doubt if i am clever enough to argue with you. i can only say it does not strike me that way." "but, really," persisted the giraffe, "you must confess your trunk is a great convenience, in that it enables you to reach the high branches of which you are so fond, even as my long neck enables me." "perhaps," mused the ungrateful pachyderm, "if we could not reach the higher branches, we should develop a taste for the lower ones." "in any case," was the rejoinder, "we can never be sufficiently thankful that we are unlike the lowly hippopotamus, who can reach neither the one nor the other." "ah! yes," the elephant assented, "there does not seem to have been enough of nature's kindness to go round." "but the hippopotamus has his roots and his rushes." "it is not easy to see how, with his present appliances, he could obtain anything else." this fable teaches nothing; for those who perceive the meaning of it either knew it before, or will not be taught. xcv. a pious heathen who was currying favour with his wooden deity by sitting for some years motionless in a treeless plain, observed a young ivy putting forth her tender shoots at his feet. he thought he could endure the additional martyrdom of a little shade, and begged her to make herself quite at home. "exactly," said the plant; "it is my mission to adorn venerable ruins." she lapped her clinging tendrils about his wasted shanks, and in six months had mantled him in green. "it is now time," said the devotee, a year later, "for me to fulfil the remainder of my religious vow. i must put in a few seasons of howling and leaping. you have been very good, but i no longer require your gentle ministrations." "but i require yours," replied the vine; "you have become a second nature to me. let others indulge in the delights of gymnastic worship; you and i will 'surfer and be strong'--respectively." the devotee muttered something about the division of labour, and his bones are still pointed out to the pilgrim. xcvi. a fox seeing a swan afloat, called out: "what ship is that? i wish to take passage by your line." "got a ticket?" inquired the fowl. "no; i'll make it all right with the company, though." so the swan moored alongside, and he embarked,--deck passage. when they were well off shore the fox intimated that dinner would be agreeable. "i would advise you not to try the ship's provisions," said the bird; "we have only salt meat on board. beware the scurvy!" "you are quite right," replied the passenger; "i'll see if i can stay my stomach with the foremast." so saying he bit off her neck, and she immediately capsizing, he was drowned. moral--highly so, but not instructive. xcvii. a monkey finding a heap of cocoa-nuts, gnawed into one, then dropped it, gagging hideously. "now, this is what _i_ call perfectly disgusting!" said he: "i can never leave anything lying about but some one comes along and puts a quantity of nasty milk into it!" a cat just then happening to pass that way began rolling the cocoa-nuts about with her paw. "yeow!" she exclaimed; "it is enough to vex the soul of a cast-iron dog! whenever i set out any milk to cool, somebody comes and seals it up tight as a drum!" then perceiving one another, and each thinking the other the offender, these enraged animals contended, and wrought a mutual extermination. whereby two worthy consumers were lost to society, and a quantity of excellent food had to be given to the poor. xcviii. a mouse who had overturned an earthern jar was discovered by a cat, who entered from an adjoining room and began to upbraid him in the harshest and most threatening manner. "you little wretch!" said she, "how dare you knock over that valuable urn? if it had been filled with hot water, and i had been lying before it asleep, i should have been scalded to death." "if it had been full of water," pleaded the mouse, "it would not have upset." [illustration] "but i might have lain down in it, monster!" persisted the cat. "no, you couldn't," was the answer; "it is not wide enough." "fiend!" shrieked the cat, smashing him with her paw; "i can curl up real small when i try." the _ultima ratio_ of very angry people is frequently addressed to the ear of the dead. xcix. in crossing a frozen pool, a monkey slipped and fell, striking upon the back of his head with considerable force, so that the ice was very much shattered. a peacock, who was strutting about on shore thinking what a pretty peacock he was, laughed immoderately at the mishap. n.b.--all laughter is immoderate when a fellow is hurt--if the fellow is oneself. "bah!" exclaimed the sufferer; "if you could see the beautiful prismatic tints i have knocked into this ice, you would laugh out of the other side of your bill. the splendour of your tail is quite eclipsed." thus craftily did he inveigle the vain bird, who finally came and spread his tail alongside the fracture for comparison. the gorgeous feathers at once froze fast to the ice, and--in short, that artless fowl passed a very uncomfortable winter. c. a volcano, having discharged a few million tons of stones upon a small village, asked the mayor if he thought that a tolerably good supply for building purposes. "i think," replied that functionary, "if you give us another dash of granite, and just a pinch of old red sandstone, we could manage with what you have already done for us. we would, however, be grateful for the loan of your crater to bake bricks." "oh, certainly; parties served at their residences." then, after the man had gone, the mountain added, with mingled lava and contempt: "the most insatiable people i ever contracted to supply. they shall not have another pebble!" he banked his fires, and in six weeks was as cold as a neglected pudding. then might you have seen the heaving of the surface boulders, as the people began stirring forty fathoms beneath. when you have got quite enough of anything, make it manifest by asking for some more. you won't get it. ci. "i entertain for you a sentiment of profound amity," said the tiger to the leopard. "and why should i not? for are we not members of the same great feline family?" "true," replied the leopard, who was engaged in the hopeless endeavour to change his spots; "since we have mutually plundered one another's hunting grounds of everything edible, there remains no grievance to quarrel about. you are a good fellow; let us embrace!" they did so with the utmost heartiness; which being observed by a contiguous monkey, that animal got up a tree, where he delivered himself of the wisdom following: "there is nothing so touching as these expressions of mutual regard between animals who are vulgarly believed to hate one another. they render the brief intervals of peace almost endurable to both parties. but the difficulty is, there are so many excellent reasons why these relatives should live in peace, that they won't have time to state them all before the next fight." cii. a woodpecker, who had bored a multitude of holes in the body of a dead tree, was asked by a robin to explain their purpose. "as yet, in the infancy of science," replied the woodpecker, "i am quite unable to do so. some naturalists affirm that i hide acorns in these pits; others maintain that i get worms out of them. i endeavoured for some time to reconcile the two theories; but the worms ate my acorns, and then would not come out. since then, i have left science to work out its own problems, while i work out the holes. i hope the final decision may be in some way advantageous to me; for at my nest i have a number of prepared holes which i can hammer into some suitable tree at a moment's notice. perhaps i could insert a few into the scientific head." "no-o-o," said the robin, reflectively, "i should think not. a prepared hole is an idea; i don't think it could get in." moral.--it might be driven in with a steam-hammer. ciii. "are you going to this great hop?" inquired a spruce cricket of a labouring beetle. "no," replied he, sadly, "i've got to attend this great ball." "blest if i know the difference," drawled a more offensive insect, with his head in an empty silk hat; "and i've been in society all my life. but why was i not invited to either hop or ball?" he is now invited to the latter. civ. "too bad, too bad," said a young abyssinian to a yawning hippopotamus. "what is 'too bad?'" inquired the quadruped. "what is the matter with you?" "oh, _i_ never complain," was the reply; "i was only thinking of the niggard economy of nature in building a great big beast like you and not giving him any mouth." "h'm, h'm! it was still worse," mused the beast, "to construct a great wit like you and give him no seasonable occasion for the display of his cleverness." a moment later there were a cracking of bitten bones, a great gush of animal fluids, the vanishing of two black feet--in short, the fatal poisoning of an indiscreet hippopotamus. the rubbing of a bit of lemon about the beaker's brim is the finishing-touch to a whiskey punch. much misery may be thus averted. cv. a salmon vainly attempted to leap up a cascade. after trying a few thousand times, he grew so fatigued that he began to leap less and think more. suddenly an obvious method of surmounting the difficulty presented itself to the salmonic intelligence. "strange," he soliloquized, as well as he could in the water,--"very strange i did not think of it before! i'll go above the fall and leap downwards." so he went out on the bank, walked round to the upper side of the fall, and found he could leap over quite easily. ever afterwards when he went up-stream in the spring to be caught, he adopted this plan. he has been heard to remark that the price of salmon might be brought down to a merely nominal figure, if so many would not wear themselves out before getting up to where there is good fishing. cvi. "the son of a jackass," shrieked a haughty mare to a mule who had offended her by expressing an opinion, "should cultivate the simple grace of intellectual humility." "it is true," was the meek reply, "i cannot boast an illustrious ancestry; but at least i shall never be called upon to blush for my posterity. yonder mule colt is as proper a son--" "yonder mule colt?" interrupted the mare, with a look of ineffable contempt for her auditor; "that is _my_ colt!" "the consort of a jackass and the mother of mules," retorted he, quietly, "should cultivate the simple thingamy of intellectual whatsitsname." the mare muttered something about having some shopping to do, threw on her harness, and went out to call a cab. cvii. "hi! hi!" squeaked a pig, running after a hen who had just left her nest; "i say, mum, you dropped this 'ere. it looks wal'able; which i fetched it along!" and splitting his long face, he laid a warm egg at her feet. "you meddlesome bacon!" cackled the ungrateful bird; "if you don't take that orb directly back, i 'll sit on you till i hatch you out of your saddle-cover!" moral.--virtue is its only reward. cviii. a rustic, preparing to devour an apple, was addressed by a brace of crafty and covetous birds: "nice apple that," said one, critically examining it. "i don't wish to disparage it--wouldn't say a word against that vegetable for all the world. but i never can look upon an apple of that variety without thinking of my poisoned nestling! ah! so plump, and rosy, and--rotten!" "just so," said the other. "and you remember my good father, who perished in that orchard. strange that so fair a skin should cover so vile a heart!" just then another fowl came flying up. [illustration] "i came in, all haste," said he, "to warn you about that fruit. my late lamented wife ate some off the same tree. alas! how comely to the eye, and how essentially noxious!" "i am very grateful," the young man said; "but i am unable to comprehend how the sight of this pretty piece of painted confectionery should incite you all to slander your dead relations." whereat there was confusion in the demeanour of that feathered trio. cix. "the millennium is come," said a lion to a lamb. "suppose you come out of that fold, and let us lie down together, as it has been foretold we should." "been to dinner to-day?" inquired the lamb. "not a bite of anything since breakfast," was the reply, "except a few lean swine, a saddle or two, and some old harness." "i distrust a millennium," continued the lamb, thoughtfully, "which consists _solely_ in our lying down together. my notion of that happy time is that it is a period in which pork and leather are not articles of diet, but in which every respectable lion shall have as much mutton as he can consume. however, you may go over to yonder sunny hill and lie down until i come." it is singular how a feeling of security tends to develop cunning. if that lamb had been out upon the open plain he would have readily fallen into the snare--and it was studded very thickly with teeth. cx. "i say, you!" bawled a fat ox in a stall to a lusty young ass who was braying outside; "the like of that is not in good taste!" "in whose good taste, my adipose censor?" inquired the ass, not too respectfully. "why--h'm--ah! i mean it does not suit _me_. you ought to bellow." "may i inquire how it happens to be any of your business whether i bellow or bray, or do both--or neither?" "i cannot tell you," answered the critic, shaking his head despondingly; "i do not at all understand it. i can only say that i have been accustomed to censure all discourse that differs from my own." "exactly," said the ass; "you have sought to make an art of impertinence by mistaking preferences for principles. in 'taste' you have invented a word incapable of definition, to denote an idea impossible of expression; and by employing in connection therewith the words 'good' and 'bad,' you indicate a merely subjective process in terms of an objective quality. such presumption transcends the limit of the merely impudent, and passes into the boundless empyrean of pure cheek!" at the close of this remarkable harangue, the bovine critic was at a loss for language to express his disapproval. so he said the speech was in bad taste. cxi. a bloated toad, studded with dermal excrescences, was boasting that she was the wartiest creature alive. "perhaps you are," said her auditor, emerging from the soil; "but it is a barren and superficial honour. look at me: i am one solid mole!" cxii. "it is very difficult getting on in the world," sighed a weary snail; "very difficult indeed, with such high rents!" "you don't mean to say you pay anything for that old rookery!" said a slug, who was characteristically insinuating himself between the stems of the celery intended for dinner. "a miserable old shanty like that, without stables, grounds, or any modern conveniences!" "pay!" said the snail, contemptuously; "i'd like to see you get a semi-detatched villa like this at a nominal rate!" "why don't you let your upper apartments to a respectable single party?" urged the slug. the answer is not recorded. cxiii. a hare, pursued by a dog, sought sanctuary in the den of a wolf. it being after business hours, the latter was at home to him. "ah!" panted the hare; "how very fortunate! i feel quite safe here, for you dislike dogs quite as much as i do." "your security, my small friend," replied the wolf, "depends not upon those points in which you and i agree, but upon those in which i and the dog differ." "then you mean to eat me?" inquired the timorous puss. "no-o-o," drawled the wolf, reflectively, "i should not like to promise _that_; i mean to eat a part of you. there may be a tuft of fur, and a toe-nail or two, left for you to go on with. i am hungry, but i am not hoggish." "the distinction is too fine for me," said the hare, scratching her head. "that, my friend, is because you have not made a practice of hare-splitting. i have." cxiv. "oyster at home?" inquired a monkey, rapping at the closed shell. there was no reply. dropping the knocker, he laid hold of the bell-handle, ringing a loud peal, but without effect. "hum, hum!" he mused, with a look of disappointment, "gone to the sea side, i suppose." so he turned away, thinking he would call again later in the season; but he had not proceeded far before he conceived a brilliant idea. perhaps there had been a suicide!--or a murder! he would go back and force the door. by way of doing so he obtained a large stone, and smashed in the roof. there had been no murder to justify such audacity, so he committed one. the funeral was gorgeous. there were mute oysters with wands, drunken oysters with scarves and hat-bands, a sable hearse with hearth-dusters on it, a swindling undertaker's bill, and all the accessories of a first-rate churchyard circus--everything necessary but the corpse. that had been disposed of by the monkey, and the undertaker meanly withheld the use of his own. moral.--a lamb foaled in march makes the best pork when his horns have attained the length of an inch. cxv. "pray walk into my parlour," said the spider to the fly. "that is not quite original," the latter made reply. "if that's the way you plagiarize, your fame will be a fib-- but i'll walk into your parlour, while i pitch into your crib. but before i cross your threshold, sir, if i may make so free, pray let me introduce to you my friend, 'the wicked flea.'" "how do you?" says the spider, as his welcome he extends; "'how doth the busy little bee,' and all our other friends?" "quite well, i think, and quite unchanged," the flea said; "though i learn, in certain quarters well informed, 'tis feared 'the worm will turn.'" "humph!" said the fly; "i do not understand this talk--not i!" "it is 'classical allusion,'" said the spider to the fly. cxvi. a polar bear navigating the mid-sea upon the mortal part of a late lamented walrus, soliloquized, in substance, as follows: "such liberty of action as i am afflicted with is enough to embarrass any bear that ever bore. i can remain passive, and starve; or i can devour my ship, and drown. i am really unable to decide." so he sat down to think it over. he considered the question in all its aspects, until he grew quite thin; turned it over and over in his mind until he was too weak to sit up; meditated upon it with a constantly decreasing pulse, a rapidly failing respiration. but he could not make up his mind, and finally expired without having come to a decision. it appears to me he might almost as well have chosen starvation, at a venture. cxvii. a sword-fish having penetrated seven or eight feet into the bottom of a ship, under the impression that he was quarrelling with a whale, was unable to draw out of the fight. the sailors annoyed him a good deal, by pounding with handspikes upon that portion of his horn inside; but he bore it as bravely as he could, putting the best possible face upon the matter, until he saw a shark swimming by, of whom he inquired the probable destination of the ship. "italy, i think," said the other, grinning. "i have private reasons for believing her cargo consists mainly of consumptives." "ah!" exclaimed the captive; "italy, delightful clime of the cerulean orange--the rosy olive! land of the night-blooming jesuit, and the fragrant _laszarone_! it would be heavenly to run down gondolas in the streets of venice! i _must_ go to italy." "indeed you must," said the shark, darting suddenly aft, where he had caught the gleam of shotted canvas through the blue waters. but it was fated to be otherwise: some days afterwards the ship and fish passed over a sunken rock which almost grazed the keel. then the two parted company, with mutual expressions of tender regard, and a report which could be traced by those on board to no trustworthy source. the foregoing fable shows that a man of good behaviour need not care for money, and _vice versâ_. cxviii. a facetious old cat seeing her kitten sleeping in a bath tub, went down into the cellar and turned on the hot water. (for the convenience of the bathers the bath was arranged in that way; you had to undress, and then go down to the cellar to let on the wet.) no sooner did the kitten remark the unfamiliar sensation, than he departed thence with a willingness quite creditable in one who was not a professional acrobat, and met his mother on the kitchen stairs. "aha! my steaming hearty!" cried the elder grimalkin; "i coveted you when i saw the cook put you in the dinner-pot. if i have a weakness, it is hare--hare nicely dressed, and partially boiled." whereupon she made a banquet of her suffering offspring.[a] adversity works a stupendous change in tender youth; many a young man is never recognized by his parents after having been in hot water. [footnote a: here should have followed the appropriate and obvious classical allusion. it is known our fabulist was classically educated. why, then, this disgraceful omission?--translator.] cxix. "it is a waste of valour for us to do battle," said a lame ostrich to a negro who had suddenly come upon her in the desert; "let us cast lots to see who shall be considered the victor, and then go about our business." to this proposition the negro readily assented. they cast lots: the negro cast lots of stones, and the ostrich cast lots of feathers. then the former went about his business, which consisted of skinning the bird. moral.--there is nothing like the arbitrament of chance. that form of it known as _trile-bi-joorie_ is perhaps as good as any. cxx. an author who had wrought a book of fables (the merit whereof transcended expression) was peacefully sleeping atop of the modest eminence to which he had attained, when he was rudely awakened by a throng of critics, emitting adverse judgment upon the tales he had builded. [illustration] "apparently," said he, "i have been guilty of some small grains of unconsidered wisdom, and the same have proven a bitterness to these excellent folk, the which they will not abide. ah, well! those who produce the strasburg _pâté_ and the feather-pillow are prone to regard _us_ as rival creators. i presume it is in course of nature for him who grows the pen to censure the manner of its use." so speaking, he executed a smile a hand's-breath in extent, and resumed his airy dream of dropping ducats. cxxi. for many years an opossum had anointed his tail with bear's oil, but it remained stubbornly bald-headed. at last his patience was exhausted, and he appealed to bruin himself, accusing him of breaking faith, and calling him a quack. "why, you insolent marsupial!" retorted the bear in a rage; "you expect my oil to give you hair upon your tail, when it will not give me even a tail. why don't you try under-draining, or top-dressing with light compost?" they said and did a good deal more before the opossum withdrew his cold and barren member from consideration; but the judicious fabulist does not encumber his tale with extraneous matter, lest it be pointless. cxxii. "so disreputable a lot as you are i never saw!" said a sleepy rat to the casks in a wine-cellar. "always making night hideous with your hoops and hollows, and disfiguring the day with your bunged-up appearance. there is no sleeping when once the wine has got into your heads. i'll report you to the butler!" "the sneaking tale-bearer," said the casks. "let us beat him with our staves." "_requiescat in pace_," muttered a learned cobweb, sententiously. "requires a cat in the place, does it?" shrieked the rat. "then i'm off!" to explain all the wisdom imparted by this fable would require the pen of a pig, and volumes of smoke. cxxiii. a giraffe having trodden upon the tail of a poodle, that animal flew into a blind rage, and wrestled valorously with the invading foot. "hullo, sonny!" said the giraffe, looking down, "what are you doing there?" "i am fighting!" was the proud reply; "but i don't know that it is any of your business." "oh, i have no desire to mix in," said the good-natured giraffe. "i never take sides in terrestrial strife. still, as that is my foot, i think--" "eh!" cried the poodle, backing some distance away and gazing upward, shading his eyes with his paw. "you don't mean to say--by jove it's a fact! well, that beats _me_! a beast of such enormous length--such preposterous duration, as it were--i wouldn't have believed it! of course i can't quarrel with a non-resident; but why don't you have a local agent on the ground?" the reply was probably the wisest ever made; but it has not descended to this generation. it had so very far to descend. cxxiv. a dog having got upon the scent of a deer which a hunter had been dragging home, set off with extraordinary zeal. after measuring off a few leagues, he paused. "my running gear is all right," said he; "but i seem to have lost my voice." suddenly his ear was assailed by a succession of eager barks, as of another dog in pursuit of him. it then began to dawn upon him that he was a particularly rapid dog: instead of having lost his voice, his voice had lost him, and was just now arriving. full of his discovery, he sought his master, and struck for better food and more comfortable housing. "why, you miserable example of perverted powers!" said his master; "i never intended you for the chase, but for the road. you are to be a draught-dog--to pull baby about in a cart. you will perceive that speed is an objection. sir, you must be toned down; you will be at once assigned to a house with modern conveniences, and will dine at a french restaurant. if that system do not reduce your own, i'm an 'ebrew jew!" the journals next morning had racy and appetizing accounts of a canine suicide. cxxv. a gosling, who had not yet begun to blanch, was accosted by a chicken just out of the shell: "whither away so fast, fair maid?" inquired the chick. "wither away yourself," was the contemptuous reply; "you are already in the sere and yellow leaf; while i seem to have a green old age before me." cxxvi. a famishing traveller who had run down a salamander, made a fire, and laid him alive upon the hot coals to cook. wearied with the pursuit which had preceded his capture, the animal at once composed himself, and fell into a refreshing sleep. at the end of a half-hour, the man, stirred him with a stick, remarking: "i say!--wake up and begin toasting, will you? how long do you mean to keep dinner waiting, eh?" "oh, i beg you will not wait for me," was the yawning reply. "if you are going to stand upon ceremony, everything will get cold. besides, i have dined. i wish, by-the-way, you would put on some more fuel; i think we shall have snow." "yes," said the man, "the weather is like yourself--raw, and exasperatingly cool. perhaps this will warm you." and he rolled a ponderous pine log atop of that provoking reptile, who flattened out, and "handed in his checks." the moral thus doth glibly run-- a cause its opposite may brew; the sun-shade is unlike the sun, the plum unlike the plumber, too. a salamander underdone his impudence may overdo. cxxvii. a humming-bird invited a vulture to dine with her. he accepted, but took the precaution to have an emetic along with him; and immediately after dinner, which consisted mainly of dew, spices, honey, and similar slops, he swallowed his corrective, and tumbled the distasteful viands out. he then went away, and made a good wholesome meal with his friend the ghoul. he has been heard to remark, that the taste for humming-bird fare is "too artificial for _him_." he says, a simple and natural diet, with agreeable companions, cheerful surroundings, and a struggling moon, is best for the health, and most agreeable to the normal palate. people with vitiated tastes may derive much profit from this opinion. _crede experto._ cxxviii. a certain terrier, of a dogmatic turn, asked a kitten her opinion of rats, demanding a categorical answer. the opinion, as given, did not possess the merit of coinciding with his own; whereupon he fell upon the heretic and bit her--bit her until his teeth were much worn and her body much elongated--bit her good! having thus vindicated the correctness of his own view, he felt so amiable a satisfaction that he announced his willingness to adopt the opinion of which he had demonstrated the harmlessness. so he begged his enfeebled antagonist to re-state it, which she incautiously did. no sooner, however, had the superior debater heard it for the second time than he resumed his intolerance, and made an end of that unhappy cat. "heresy," said he, wiping his mouth, "may be endured in the vigorous and lusty; but in a person lying at the very point of death such hardihood is intolerable." it is always intolerable. cxxix. a tortoise and an armadillo quarrelled, and agreed to fight it out. repairing to a secluded valley, they put themselves into hostile array. "now come on!" shouted the tortoise, shrinking into the inmost recesses of his shell. "all right," shrieked the armadillo, coiling up tightly in his coat of mail; "i am ready for you!" and thus these heroes waged the awful fray from morn till dewy eve, at less than a yard's distance. there has never been anything like it; their endurance was something marvellous! during the night each combatant sneaked silently away; and the historian of the period obscurely alludes to the battle as "the naval engagement of the future." cxxx. [illustration] two hedgehogs having conceived a dislike to a hare, conspired for his extinction. it was agreed between them that the lighter and more agile of the two should beat him up, surround him, run him into a ditch, and drive him upon the thorns of the more gouty and unwieldy conspirator. it was not a very hopeful scheme, but it was the best they could devise. there was a chance of success if the hare should prove willing, and, gambler-like, they decided to take that chance, instead of trusting to the remote certainty of their victim's death from natural cause. the doomed animal performed his part as well as could be reasonably expected of him: every time the enemy's flying detachment pressed him hard, he fled playfully toward the main body, and lightly vaulted over, about eight feet above the spines. and this prickly blockhead had not the practical sagacity to get upon a wall seven feet and six inches high! this fable is designed to show that the most desperate chances are comparatively safe. cxxxi. a young eel inhabiting the mouth of a river in india, determined to travel. being a fresh-water eel, he was somewhat restricted in his choice of a route, but he set out with a cheerful heart and very little luggage. before he had proceeded very far up-stream he found the current too strong to be overcome without a ruinous consumption of coals. he decided to anchor his tail where it then was, and _grow_ up. for the first hundred miles it was tolerably tedious work, but when he had learned to tame his impatience, he found this method of progress rather pleasant than otherwise. but when he began to be caught at widely separate points by the fishermen of eight or ten different nations, he did not think it so fine. this fable teaches that when you extend your residence you multiply your experiences. a local eel can know but little of angling. cxxxii. some of the lower animals held a convention to settle for ever the unspeakably important question, what is life? "life," squeaked the poet, blinking and folding his filmy wings, "is--." his kind having been already very numerously heard from upon the subject, he was choked off. "life," said the scientist, in a voice smothered by the earth he was throwing up into small hills, "is the harmonious action of heterogeneous but related faculties, operating in accordance with certain natural laws." "ah!" chattered the lover, "but that thawt of thing is vewy gweat blith in the thothiety of one'th thweetheart." and curling his tail about a branch, he swung himself heavenward and had a spasm. "it is _vita_!" grunted the sententious scholar, pausing in his mastication of a chaldaic root. "it is a thistle," brayed the warrior: "very nice thing to take!" "life, my friends," croaked the philosopher from his hollow tree, dropping the lids over his cattish eyes, "is a disease. we are all symptoms." "pooh!" ejaculated the physician, uncoiling and springing his rattle. "how then does it happen that when _we_ remove the symptoms, the disease is gone?" "i would give something to know that," replied the philosopher, musingly; "but i suspect that in most cases the inflammation remains, and is intensified." draw your own moral inference, "in your own jugs." cxxxiii. a heedless boy having flung a pebble in the direction of a basking lizard, that reptile's tail disengaged itself, and flew some distance away. one of the properties of a lizard's camp-follower is to leave the main body at the slightest intimation of danger. "there goes that vexatious narrative again," exclaimed the lizard, pettishly; "i never had such a tail in my life! its restless tendency to divorce upon insufficient grounds is enough to harrow the reptilian soul! now," he continued, backing up to the fugitive part, "perhaps you will be good enough to resume your connection with the parent establishment." no sooner was the splice effected, than an astronomer passing that way casually remarked to a friend that he had just sighted a comet. supposing itself menaced, the timorous member again sprang away, coming down plump before the horny nose of a sparrow. here its career terminated. we sometimes escape from an imaginary danger, only to find some real persecutor has a little bill against us. cxxxiv. a jackal who had pursued a deer all day with unflagging industry, was about to seize him, when an earthquake, which was doing a little civil engineering in that part of the country, opened a broad chasm between him and his prey. "now, here," said he, "is a distinct interference with the laws of nature. but if we are to tolerate miracles, there is an end of all progress." so speaking, he endeavoured to cross the abyss at two jumps. his fate would serve the purpose of an impressive warning if it might be clearly ascertained; but the earth having immediately pinched together again, the research of the moral investigator is baffled. cxxxv. "ah!" sighed a three-legged stool, "if i had only been a quadruped, i should have been happy as the day is long--which, on the twenty-first of june, would be considerable felicity for a stool." "ha! look at me!" said a toadstool; "consider my superior privation, and be content with your comparatively happy lot." "i don't discern," replied the first, "how the contemplation of unipedal misery tends to alleviate tripedal wretchedness." "you don't, eh!" sneered the toadstool. "you mean, do you, to fly in the face of all the moral and social philosophers?" "not unless some benefactor of his race shall impel me." "h'm! i think zambri the parsee is the man for that kindly office, my dear." this final fable teaches that he is. brief seasons of intellectual dissipation. i. fool.--i have a question for you. philosopher.--i have a number of them for myself. do you happen to have heard that a fool can ask more questions in a breath than a philosopher can answer in a life? f.--i happen to have heard that in such a case the one is as great a fool as the other. ph.--then there is no distinction between folly and philosophy? f.--don't lay the flattering unction to your soul. the province of folly is to ask unanswerable questions. it is the function of philosophy to answer them. ph.--admirable fool! f.--am i? pray tell me the meaning of "a fool." ph.--commonly he has none. f.--i mean-- ph.--then in this case he has one. f.--i lick thy boots! but what does solomon indicate by the word fool? that is what i mean. ph.--let us then congratulate solomon upon the agreement between the views of you two. however, i twig your intent: he means a wicked sinner; and of all forms of folly there is none so great as wicked sinning. for goodness is, in the end, more conducive to personal happiness--which is the sole aim of man. f.--hath virtue no better excuse than this? ph.--possibly; philosophy is not omniscience. f.--instructed i sit at thy feet! ph.--unwilling to instruct, i stand on my head. * * * * * fool.--you say personal happiness is the sole aim of man. philosopher.--then it is. f.--but this is much disputed. ph.--there is much personal happiness in disputation. f.--socrates-- ph.--hold! i detest foreigners. f.--wisdom, they say, is of no country. ph.--of none that i have seen. * * * * * fool.--let us return to our subject--the sole aim of mankind. crack me these nuts. ( ) the man, never weary of well-doing, who endures a life of privation for the good of his fellow-creatures? philosopher.--does he feel remorse in so doing? or does the rascal rather like it? f.--( ) he, then, who, famishing himself, parts his loaf with a beggar? ph.--there are people who prefer benevolence to bread. f.--ah! _de gustibus_-- ph.--shut up! f.--well, ( ) how of him who goes joyfully to martyrdom? ph.--he goes joyfully. f.--and yet-- ph.--did you ever converse with a good man going to the stake? f.--i never saw a good man going to the stake. ph.--unhappy pupil! you were born some centuries too early. * * * * * fool.--you say you detest foreigners. why? philosopher.--because i am human. f.--but so are they. ph.--excellent fool! i thank thee for the better reason. * * * * * philosopher.--i have been thinking of the _pocopo_. fool.--is it open to the public? ph.--the pocopo is a small animal of north america, chiefly remarkable for singularity of diet. it subsists solely upon a single article of food. f.--what is that? ph.--other pocopos. unable to obtain this, their natural sustenance, a great number of pocopos die annually of starvation. their death leaves fewer mouths to feed, and by consequence their race is rapidly multiplying. f.--from whom had you this? ph.--a professor of political economy. f.--i bend in reverence! what made you think of the pocopo? ph.--speaking of man. f.--if you did not wish to think of the pocopo, and speaking of man would make you think of it, you would not speak of man, would you? ph.--certainly not. f.--why not? ph.--i do not know. f.--excellent philosopher! * * * * * fool.--i have attentively considered your teachings. they may be full of wisdom; they are certainly out of taste. philosopher.--whose taste? f.--why, that of people of culture. ph.--do any of these people chance to have a taste for intoxication, tobacco, hard hats, false hair, the nude ballet, and over-feeding? f.--possibly; but in intellectual matters you must confess their taste is correct. ph.--why must i? f.--they say so themselves. * * * * * philosopher.--i have been thinking why a dolt is called a donkey. fool.--i had thought philosophy concerned itself with a less personal class of questions; but why is it? ph.--the essential quality of a dolt is stupidity. f.--mine ears are drunken! ph.--the essential quality of an ass is asininity. f.--divine philosophy! ph.--as commonly employed, "stupidity" and "asininity" are convertible terms. f.--that i, unworthy, should have lived to see this day! * * * * * ii. fool.--if _i_ were a doctor-- doctor.--i should endeavour to be a fool. f.--you would fail; folly is not easily achieved. d.--true; man is overworked. f.--let him take a pill. d.--if he like. i would not. f.--you are too frank: take a fool's advice. d.--thank thee for the nastier prescription. * * * * * fool.--i have a friend who-- doctor.--stands in great need of my assistance. absence of excitement, gentle restraint, a hard bed, simple diet--that will straighten him out. f.--i'll give thee sixpence to let me touch the hem of thy garment! d.--what of your friend? f.--he is a gentleman. d.--then he is dead! f.--just so: he is "straightened out"--he took your prescription. d.--all but the "simple diet." f.--he is himself the diet. d.--how simple! * * * * * fool.--believe you a man retains his intellect after decapitation? doctor.--it is possible that he acquires it? f.--much good it does him. d.--why not--as compensation? he is at some disadvantage in other respects. f.--for example? d.--he is in a false position. * * * * * fool.--what is the most satisfactory disease? doctor.--paralysis of the thoracic duct. f.--i am not familiar with it. d.--it does not encourage familiarity. paralysis of the thoracic duct enables the patient to accept as many invitations to dinner as he can secure, without danger of spoiling his appetite. f.--but how long does his appetite last? d.--that depends. always a trifle longer than he does. f.--the portion that survives him--? d.--goes to swell the mighty gastric passion which lurks darkly outside, yawning to swallow up material creation! f.--pitch it a biscuit. * * * * * fool.--you attend a patient. he gets well. good! how do you tell whether his recovery is because of your treatment or in spite of it? doctor.--i never do tell. f.--i mean how do you know? d.--i take the opinion of a person interested in the question: i ask a fool. f.--how does the patient know? d.--the fool asks me. f.--amiable instructor! how shall i reward thee? d.--eat a cucumber cut up in shilling claret. * * * * * doctor.--the relation between a patient and his disease is the same as that which obtains between the two wooden weather-prophets of a dutch clock. when the disease goes off, the patient goes on; when the disease goes on, the patient goes off. fool.--a pauper conceit. their relations, then, are not of the most cordial character. d.--one's relations--except the poorer sort--seldom are. f.--my tympanum is smitten with pleasant peltings of wisdom! i 'll lay you ten to one you cannot tell me the present condition of your last patient. d.--done! f.--you have won the wager. fool.--i once read the report of an actual conversation upon a scientific subject between a fool and a physician. doctor.--indeed! that sort of conversation commonly takes place between fools only. f.--the reporter had chosen to confound orthography: he spelt fool "phool," and physician "fysician." what the fool said was, therefore, preceded by "ph;" the remarks of the physician were indicated by the letter "f." d.--this must have been very confusing. f.--it was. but no one discovered that any liberties had been taken with orthography. d.--you tumour! * * * * * fool.--suppose you had amongst your menials an ailing oyster? doctor.--oysters do not ail. f.--i have heard that the pearl is the result of a disease. d.--whether a functional derangement producing a valuable gem can be properly termed, or treated as, a disease, is open to honest doubt. f.--then in the case supposed you would not favour excision of the abnormal part? d.--yes; i would remove the oyster. f.--but if the pearl were growing very rapidly this operation would not be immediately advisable. d.--that would depend upon the symptomatic diagnosis. f.--beast! give me air! * * * * * doctor.--i have been thinking-- fool.--(liar!) d.--that you "come out" rather well for a fool. can it be that i have been entertaining an angel unawares? f.--dismiss the apprehension: i am as great a fool as yourself. but there is a way by which in future you may resolve a similar doubt. d.--explain. f.--speak to your guest of symptomatic diagnosis. if he is an angel, he will not resent it. * * * * * iii. soldier (_reading from "napier"_).--"who would not rather be buried by an army upon the field of battle than by a sexton in a church-yard!" fool.--i give it up. s.--i am not aware that any one has asked you for an opinion. f.--i am not aware that i have given one: there is a happiness yet in store for you. s.--i will revel in anticipation. f.--you must revel somehow; without revelry there would be no soldiering. s.--idiot. f.--i beg your pardon: i had thought your profession had at least taught you to call people by their proper titles. in the service of mankind i hold the rank of fool. s.--what, ho! without there! let the trumpets sound! f.--i beg you will not. s.--true; you beg: i will not. f.--but why rob when stealing is more honourable? s.--consider the competition. * * * * * fool.--sir cut-throat, how many orphans have you made to-day? soldier.--the devil an orphan! have you a family? f.--put up your iron; i am the last of my race. s.--how? no more fools? f.--not one, so help me! they have all gone to the wars. s.--and why, pray, have _you_ not enlisted? f.--i should be no fool if i knew. * * * * * fool.--you are somewhat indebted to me. soldier.--i do not acknowledge your claim. let us submit the matter to arbitration. f.--the only arbiter whose decision you respect is on your own side. s.--you allude to my sword, the most impartial of weapons: it cuts both ways. f.--and each way is peculiarly objectionable to your opponent. s.--but for what am i indebted to you? f.--for existence: the prevalence of me has made you possible. s.--the benefit is not conspicuous; were it not for your quarrels, i should enjoy a quantity of elegant leisure. f.--as a clodhopper. s.--i should at least hop my clods in a humble and christian spirit; and if some other fellow did did not so hop his--! i say no more. f.--you have said enough; there would be war. * * * * * soldier.--why wear a cap and bells? fool.--i hasten to crave pardon, and if spared will at once exchange them. s.--for what? f.--a helmet and feather. s.--g "hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs." f.--'t is only wisdom should be bound in calf. s.--why? f.--because wisdom is the veal of which folly is the matured beef. s.--then folly should be garbed in cow-skin? f.--aye, that it might the more speedily appear for what it is--the naked truth. s.--how should it? f.--you would soon strip off its hide to make harness and trappings withal. no one thinks how much conquerors owe to cows. * * * * * fool.--tell me, hero, what is strategy? soldier.--the art of laying two knives against one throat. f.--and what are tactics? s.--the art of driving them home. f.--supermundane lexicographer! s.--i'll bust thy crust! (_attempts to draw his sword, gets it between his legs, and falls along_.) f. (_from a distance_)--shall i summon an army, or a sexton? and will you have it of bronze, or marble? * * * * * fool.--when you have gained a great victory, how much of the glory goes to the horse whose back you bestrode? soldier.--nonsense! a horse cannot appreciate glory; he prefers corn. f.--and this you call non-appreciation! but listen. (_reads_) "during the crusades, a part of the armament of a turkish ship was two hundred serpents." in the pursuit of glory you are at least not above employing humble auxiliaries. these be curious allies. s.--what stuff a fool may talk! no true soldier would pit a serpent against a brave enemy. these worms were _sailors_. f.--a nice distinction, truly! did you ever, my most acute professor of vivisection, employ your trenchant blade in the splitting of hairs? s.--i have split masses of them. * * * * * fool.--speaking of the crusades: at the siege of acre, when a part of the wall had been thrown down by the christians, the pisans rushed into the breach, but the greater part of their army being at dinner, they were bloodily repulsed. soldier.--you appear to have a minute acquaintance with military history. f.--yes--being a fool. but was it not a sin and a shame that those feeders should not stir from their porridge to succour their suffering comrades? s.--pray why should a man neglect his business to oblige a friend? f.--but they might have taken and sacked the city. s.--the selfish gluttons! * * * * * soldier.--your presumption grows intolerable; i'll hold no further parley with thee. fool.--"herculean gentleman, i dread thy drubs; pity the lifted whites of both my eyes!" s.--then speak no more of the things you do but imperfectly understand. f.--such censorship would doom all tongues to silence. but show me wherein my knowledge is deficient. s.--what is an _abattis_? f.--rubbish placed in front of a fort, to keep the rubbish outside from getting at the rubbish inside. s.--egad! i'll part thy hair! divers tales. the grateful bear. i hope all my little readers have heard the story of mr. androcles and the lion; so i will relate it as nearly as i can remember it, with the caution that androcles must not be confounded with the lion. if i had a picture representing androcles with a silk hat, and the lion with a knot in his tail, the two might readily be distinguished; but the artist says he won't make any such picture, and we must try to get on without. one day androcles was gathering truffles in a forest, when he found a lion's den; and, walking into it, he lay down and slept. it was a custom, in his time, to sleep in lions' dens when practicable. the lion was absent, inspecting a zoological garden, and did not return until late; but he did return. he was surprised to find a stranger in his menagerie without a ticket; but, supposing him to be some contributor to a comic paper, did not eat him: he was very well satisfied not to be eaten by him. presently androcles awoke, wishing he had some seltzer water, or something. (seltzer water is good after a night's debauch, and something--it is difficult to say what--is good to begin the new debauch with). seeing the lion eyeing him, he began hastily to pencil his last will and testament upon the rocky floor of the den. what was his surprise to see the lion advance amicably and extend his right forefoot! androcles, however, was equal to the occasion: he met the friendly overture with a cordial grasp of the hand, whereat the lion howled--for he had a carpet-tack in his foot. perceiving that he had made a little mistake, androcles made such reparation as was in his power by pulling out the tack and putting it in his own foot. after this the beast could not do too much for him. he went out every morning--carefully locking the door behind him--and returned every evening, bringing in a nice fat baby from an adjacent village, and laying it gratefully at his benefactor's feet. for the first few days something seemed to have gone wrong with the benefactor's appetite, but presently he took very kindly to the new diet; and, as he could not get away, he lodged there, rent-free, all the days of his life--which terminated very abruptly one evening when the lion had not met with his usual success in hunting. all this has very little to do with my story: i throw it in as a classical allusion, to meet the demands of a literary fashion which has its origin in the generous eagerness of writers to give the public more than it pays for. but the story of androcles was a favourite with the bear whose adventures i am about to relate. one day this crafty brute carefully inserted a thorn between two of his toes, and limped awkwardly to the farm-house of dame pinworthy, a widow, who with two beautiful whelps infested the forest where he resided. he knocked at the open door, sent in his card, and was duly admitted to the presence of the lady, who inquired his purpose. by way of "defining his position" he held up his foot, and snuffled very dolorously. the lady adjusted her spectacles, took the paw in her lap (she, too, had heard the tale of androcles), and, after a close scrutiny, discovered the thorn, which, as delicately as possible, she extracted, the patient making wry faces and howling dismally the while. [illustration] when it was all over, and she had assured him there was no charge, his gratitude was a passion to observe! he desired to embrace her at once; but this, although a widow of seven years' standing, she would by no means permit; she said she was not personally averse to hugging, "but what would her dear departed--boo-hoo!--say of it?" this was very absurd, for mr. boo-hoo had seven feet of solid earth above him, and it couldn't make much difference what he said, even supposing he had enough tongue left to say anything, which he had not. however, the polite beast respected her scruples; so the only way in which he could testify his gratitude was by remaining to dinner. they had the housedog for dinner that day, though, from some false notion of hospitable etiquette, the woman and children did not take any. on the next day, punctually at the same hour, the bear came again with another thorn, and stayed to dinner as before. it was not much of a dinner this time--only the cat, and a roll of stair-carpet, with one or two pieces of sheet music; but true gratitude does not despise even the humblest means of expression. the succeeding day he came as before; but after being relieved of his torment, he found nothing prepared for him. but when he took to thoughtfully licking one of the little girl's hands, "that answered not with a caress," the mother thought better of it, and drove in a small heifer. he now came every day; he was so old a friend that the formality of extracting the thorn was no longer observed; it would have contributed nothing to the good understanding that existed between him and the widow. he thought that three or four instances of good samaritanism afforded ample matter for perpetual gratitude. his constant visits were bad for the live stock of the farm; for some kind of beast had to be in readiness each day to furnish forth the usual feast, and this prevented multiplication. most of the textile fabrics, too, had disappeared; for the appetite of this animal was at the same time cosmopolitan and exacting: it would accept almost anything in the way of _entremets_, but something it would have. a hearthrug, a hall-mat, a cushion, mattress, blanket, shawl, or other article of wearing apparel--anything, in short, that was easy of ingestion was graciously approved. the widow tried him once with a box of coals as dessert to some barn-yard fowls; but this he seemed to regard as a doubtful comestible, seductive to the palate, but obstinate in the stomach. a look at one of the children always brought him something else, no matter what he was then engaged on. it was suggested to mrs. pinworthy that she should poison the bear; but, after trying about a hundredweight of strychnia, arsenic, and prussic acid, without any effect other than what might be expected from mild tonics, she thought it would not be right to go into toxicology. so the poor widow pinworthy went on, patiently enduring the consumption of her cattle, sheep, and hogs, the evaporation of her poultry, and the taking off of her bed linen, until there were left only the clothing of herself and children, some curtains, a sickly lamb, and a pet pigeon. when the bear came for these she ventured to expostulate. in this she was perfectly successful: the animal permitted her to expostulate as long as she liked. then he ate the lamb and pigeon, took in a dish-cloth or two, and went away just as contentedly as if she had not uttered a word. nothing edible now stood between her little daughters and the grave. her mental agony was painful to her mind; she could scarcely have suffered more without an increase of unhappiness. she was roused to desperation; and next day, when she saw the bear leaping across the fields toward the house, she staggered from her seat and shut the door. it was singular what a difference it made; she always remembered it after that, and wished she had thought of it before. * * * * * the setting sachem. 'twas an injin chieftain, in feathers all fine, who stood on the ocean's rim; there were numberless leagues of excellent brine-- but there wasn't enough for him. so he knuckled a thumb in his painted eye, and added a tear to the scant supply. the surges were breaking with thund'rous voice, the winds were a-shrieking shrill; this warrior thought that a trifle of noise was needed to fill the bill. so he lifted the top of his head off and scowled-- exalted his voice, did this chieftain, and howled! the sun was aflame in a field of gold that hung o'er the western sea; bright banners of light were broadly unrolled, as banners of light should be. but no one was "speaking a piece" to that sun, and therefore this medicine man begun: "o much heap of bright! o big ball of warm! i've tracked you from sea to sea! for the paleface has been at some pains to inform me, _you_ are the emblem of _me_. he says to me, cheerfully: 'westward ho!' and westward i've hoed a most difficult row. "since you are the emblem of me, i presume that i am the emblem of you, and thus, as we're equals, 't is safe to assume, that one great law governs us two. so now if i set in the ocean with thee, with thee i shall rise again out of the sea." his eloquence first, and his logic the last! such orators die!--and he died: the trump was against him--his luck bad--he "passed"-- and so he "passed out"--with the tide. this injin is rid of the world with a whim-- the world it is rid of his speeches and him. * * * * * feodora. madame yonsmit was a decayed gentlewoman who carried on her decomposition in a modest wayside cottage in thuringia. she was an excellent sample of the thuringian widow, a species not yet extinct, but trying very hard to become so. the same may be said of the whole genus. madame yonsmit was quite young, very comely, cultivated, gracious, and pleasing. her home was a nest of domestic virtues, but she had a daughter who reflected but little credit upon the nest. feodora was indeed a "bad egg"--a very wicked and ungrateful egg. you could see she was by her face. the girl had the most vicious countenance--it was repulsive! it was a face in which boldness struggled for the supremacy with cunning, and both were thrashed into subjection by avarice. it was this latter virtue in feodora which kept her mother from having a taxable income. feodora's business was to beg on the highway. it wrung the heart of the honest amiable gentlewoman to have her daughter do this; but the h.a.g. having been reared in luxury, considered labour degrading--which it is--and there was not much to steal in that part of thuringia. feodora's mendicity would have provided an ample fund for their support, but unhappily that ingrate would hardly ever fetch home more than two or three shillings at a time. goodness knows what she did with the rest. vainly the good woman pointed out the sin of coveteousness; vainly she would stand at the cottage door awaiting the child's return, and begin arguing the point with her the moment she came in sight: the receipts diminished daily until the average was less than tenpence--a sum upon which no born gentlewoman would deign to exist. so it became a matter of some importance to know where feodora kept her banking account. madame yonsmit thought at first she would follow her and see; but although the good lady was as vigorous and sprightly as ever, carrying a crutch more for ornament than use, she abandoned this plan because it did not seem suitable to the dignity of a decayed gentlewoman. she employed a detective. the foregoing particulars i have from madame yonsmit herself; for those immediately subjoining i am indebted to the detective, a skilful officer named bowstr. [illustration] no sooner had the scraggy old hag communicated her suspicions than the officer knew exactly what to do. he first distributed hand-bills all over the country, stating that a certain person suspected of concealing money had better look sharp. he then went to the home secretary, and by not seeking to understate the real difficulties of the case, induced that functionary to offer a reward of a thousand pounds for the arrest of the malefactor. next he proceeded to a distant town, and took into custody a clergyman who resembled feodora in respect of wearing shoes. after these formal preliminaries he took up the case with some zeal. he was not at all actuated by a desire to obtain the reward, but by pure love of justice. the thought of securing the girl's private hoard for himself never for a moment entered his head. he began to make frequent calls at the widow's cottage when feodora was at home, when, by apparently careless conversation, he would endeavour to draw her out; but he was commonly frustrated by her old beast of a mother, who, when the girl's answers did not suit, would beat her unmercifully. so he took to meeting feodora on the highway, and giving her coppers carefully marked. for months he kept this up with wonderful self-sacrifice--the girl being a mere uninteresting angel. he met her daily in the roads and forest. his patience never wearied, his vigilance never flagged. her most careless glances were conscientiously noted, her lightest words treasured up in his memory. meanwhile (the clergyman having been unjustly acquitted) he arrested everybody he could get his hands on. matters went on in this way until it was time for the grand _coup_. the succeeding-particulars i have from the lips of feodora herself. when that horrid bowstr first came to the house feodora thought he was rather impudent, but said, little about it to her mother--not desiring to have her back broken. she merely avoided him as much as she dared, he was so frightfully ugly. but she managed to endure him until he took to waylaying her on the highway, hanging about her all day, interfering with the customers, and walking home with her at night. then her dislike deepened into disgust; and but for apprehensions not wholly unconnected with a certain crutch, she would have sent him about his business in short order. more than a thousand million times she told him to be off and leave her alone, but men are such fools--particularly this one. what made bowstr exceptionally disagreeable was his shameless habit of making fun of feodora's mother, whom he declared crazy as a loon. but the maiden bore everything as well as she could, until one day the nasty thing put his arm about her waist and kissed her before her very face; _then_ she felt--well, it is not clear how she felt, but of one thing she was quite sure: after having such a shame put upon her by this insolent brute, she would never go back under her dear mother's roof--never. she was too proud for _that_, at any rate. so she ran away with mr. bowstr, and married him. the conclusion of this history i learned for myself. upon hearing of her daughter's desertion madame yonsmit went clean daft. she vowed she could bear betrayal, could endure decay, could stand being a widow, would not repine at being left alone in her old age (whenever she should become old), and could patiently submit to the sharper than a serpent's thanks of having a toothless child generally. but to be a mother-in-law! no, no; that was a plane of degradation to which she positively would _not_ descend. so she employed me to cut her throat. it was the toughest throat i ever cut in all my life. * * * * * the legend of immortal truth. a bear, having spread him a notable feast, invited a famishing fox to the place. "i've killed me," quoth he, "an edible beast as ever distended the girdle of priest with 'spread of religion,' or 'inward grace.' to my den i conveyed her, i bled her and flayed her, i hung up her skin to dry; then laid her naked, to keep her cool, on a slab of ice from the frozen pool; and there we will eat her--you and i." the fox accepts, and away they walk, beguiling the time with courteous talk. you'd ne'er have suspected, to see them smile, the bear was thinking, the blessed while, how, when his guest should be off his guard, with feasting hard, he'd give him a "wipe" that would spoil his style. you'd never have thought, to see them bow, the fox was reflecting deeply how he would best proceed, to circumvent his host, and prig the entire pig-- or other bird to the same intent. when strength and cunning in love combine, be sure 't is to more than merely dine. the while these biters ply the lip, a mile ahead the muse shall skip: the poet's purpose she best may serve inside the den--if she have the nerve. behold! laid out in dark recess, a ghastly goat in stark undress, pallid and still on her gelid bed, and indisputably very dead. her skin depends from a couple of pins-- and here the most singular statement begins; for all at once the butchered beast, with easy grace for one deceased, upreared her head, looked round, and said, very distinctly for one so dead: "the nights are sharp, and the sheets are thin: i find it uncommonly cold herein!" [illustration] i answer not how this was wrought: all miracles surpass my thought. they're vexing, say you? and dementing? peace, peace! they're none of my inventing. but lest too much of mystery embarrass this true history, i'll not relate how that this goat stood up and stamped her feet, to inform'em with--what's the word?--i mean, to warm'em; nor how she plucked her rough _capote_ from off the pegs where bruin threw it, and o'er her quaking body drew it; nor how each act could so befall: i'll only swear she did them all; then lingered pensive in the grot, as if she something had forgot, till a humble voice and a voice of pride were heard, in murmurs of love, outside. then, like a rocket set aflight, she sprang, and streaked it for the light! ten million million years and a day have rolled, since these events, away; but still the peasant at fall of night, belated therenear, is oft affright by sounds of a phantom bear in flight; a breaking of branches under the hill; the noise of a going when all is still! and hens asleep on the perch, they say, cackle sometimes in a startled way, as if they were dreaming a dream that mocks the lope and whiz of a fleeting fox! half we're taught, and teach to youth, and praise by rote, is not, but merely stands for, truth. so of my goat: she's merely designed to represent the truth--"immortal" to this extent: dead she may be, and skinned--_frappé_-- hid in a dreadful den away; prey to the churches--(any will do, except the church of me and you.) the simplest miracle, even then, will get her up and about again. converting a prodigal. little johnny was a saving youth--one who from early infancy had cultivated a provident habit. when other little boys were wasting their substance in riotous gingerbread and molasses candy, investing in missionary enterprises which paid no dividends, subscribing to the north labrador orphan fund, and sending capital out of the country gene rally, johnny would be sticking sixpences into the chimney-pot of a big tin house with "bank" painted on it in red letters above an illusory door. or he would put out odd pennies at appalling rates of interest, with his parents, and bank the income. he was never weary of dropping coppers into that insatiable chimney-pot, and leaving them there. in this latter respect he differed notably from his elder brother, charlie; for, although charles was fond of banking too, he was addicted to such frequent runs upon the institution with a hatchet, that it kept his parents honourably poor to purchase banks for him; so they were reluctantly compelled to discourage the depositing element in his panicky nature. johnny was not above work, either; to him "the dignity of labour" was not a juiceless platitude, as it is to me, but a living, nourishing truth, as satisfying and wholesome as that two sides of a triangle are equal to one side of bacon. he would hold horses for gentlemen who desired to step into a bar to inquire for letters. he would pursue the fleeting pig at the behest of a drover. he would carry water to the lions of a travelling menagerie, or do anything, for gain. he was sharp-witted too: before conveying a drop of comfort to the parching king of beasts, he would stipulate for six-pence instead of the usual free ticket--or "tasting order," so to speak. he cared not a button for the show. the first hard work johnny did of a morning was to look over the house for fugitive pins, needles, hair-pins, matches, and other unconsidered trifles; and if he sometimes found these where nobody had lost them, he made such reparation as was in his power by losing them again where nobody but he could find them. in the course of time, when he had garnered a good many, he would "realize," and bank the proceeds. nor was he weakly superstitious, this johnny. you could not fool _him_ with the santa claus hoax on christmas eve: he would lie awake all night, as sceptical as a priest; and along toward morning, getting quietly out of bed, would examine the pendent stockings of the other children, to satisfy himself the predicted presents were not there; and in the morning it always turned out that they were not. then, when the other children cried because they did not get anything, and the parents affected surprise (as if they really believed in the venerable fiction), johnny was too manly to utter a whimper: he would simply slip out of the back door, and engage in traffic with affluent orphans; disposing of woolly horses, tin whistles, marbles, tops, dolls, and sugar archangels, at a ruinous discount for cash. he continued these provident courses for nine long years, always banking his accretions with scrupulous care. everybody predicted he would one day be a merchant prince or a railway king; and some added he would sell his crown to the junk-dealers. his unthrifty brother, meanwhile, kept growing worse and worse. he was so careless of wealth--so so wastefully extravagant of lucre--that johnny felt it his duty at times to clandestinely assume control of the fraternal finances, lest the habit of squandering should wreck the fraternal moral sense. it was plain that charles had entered upon the broad road which leads from the cradle to the workhouse--and that he rather liked the travelling. so profuse was his prodigality that there were grave suspicions as to his method of acquiring what he so openly disbursed. there was but one opinion as to the melancholy termination of his career--a termination which he seemed to regard as eminently desirable. but one day, when the good pastor put it at him in so many words, charles gave token of some apprehension. "do you really think so, sir?" said he, thoughtfully; "ain't you playin' it on me?" "i assure you, charles," said the good man, catching a ray of hope from the boy's dawning seriousness, "you will certainly end your days in a workhouse, unless you speedily abandon your course of extravagance. there is nothing like habit--nothing!" charles may have thought that, considering his frequent and lavish contributions to the missionary fund, the parson was rather hard upon him; but he did not say so. he went away in mournful silence, and began pelting a blind beggar with coppers. one day, when johnny had been more than usually provident, and charles proportionately prodigal, their father, having exhausted moral suasion to no apparent purpose, determined to have recourse to a lower order of argument: he would try to win charles to economy by an appeal to his grosser nature. so he convened the entire family, and, "johnny," said he, "do you think you have much money in your bank? you ought to have saved a considerable sum in nine years." johnny took the alarm in a minute: perhaps there was some barefooted little girl to be endowed with sunday-school books. "no," he answered, reflectively, "i don't think there can be much. there's been a good deal of cold weather this winter, and you know how metal shrinks! no-o-o, i'm sure there can't be only a little." "well, johnny, you go up and bring down your bank. we'll see. perhaps charles may be right, after all; and it's not worth while to save money. i don't want a son of mine to get into a bad habit unless it pays." so johnny travelled reluctantly up to his garret, and went to the corner where his big tin bank-box had sat on a chest undisturbed for years. he had long ago fortified himself against temptation by vowing never to even shake it; for he remembered that formerly when charles used to shake his, and rattle the coins inside, he always ended by smashing in the roof. johnny approached his bank, and taking hold of the cornice on either side, braced himself, gave a strong lift upwards, and keeled over upon his back with the edifice atop of him, like one of the figures in a picture of the great lisbon earthquake! there was but a single coin in it; and that, by an ingenious device, was suspended in the centre, so that every piece popped in at the chimney would clink upon it in passing through charlie's little hole into charlie's little stocking hanging innocently beneath. of course restitution was out of the question; and even johnny felt that any merely temporal punishment would be weakly inadequate to the demands of justice. but that night, in the dead silence of his chamber, johnny registered a great and solemn swear that so soon as he could worry together a little capital, he would fling his feeble remaining energies into the spendthrift business. and he did so. * * * * * four jacks and a knave. in the "backwoods" of pennsylvania stood a little mill. the miller appertaining unto this mill was a pennsylvania dutchman--a species of animal in which for some centuries _sauerkraut_ has been usurping the place of sense. in hans donnerspiel the usurpation was not complete; he still knew enough to go in when it rained, but he did not know enough to stay there after the storm had blown over. hans was known to a large circle of friends and admirers as about the worst miller in those parts; but as he was the only one, people who quarrelled with an exclusively meat diet continued to patronize him. he was honest, as all stupid people are; but he was careless. so absent-minded was he, that sometimes when grinding somebody's wheat he would thoughtlessly turn into the "hopper" a bag of rye, a lot of old beer-bottles, or a basket of fish. this made the flour so peculiar, that the people about there never knew what it was to be well a day in all their lives. there were so many local diseases in that vicinity, that a doctor from twenty miles away could not have killed a patient in a week. hans meant well; but he had a hobby--a hobby that he did not ride: that does not express it: it rode him. it spurred him so hard, that the poor wretch could not pause a minute to see what he was putting into his mill. this hobby was the purchase of jackasses. he expended all his income in this diversion, and his mill was fairly sinking under its weight of mortgages. he had more jackasses than he had hairs on his head, and, as a rule, they were thinner. he was no mere amateur collector either, but a sharp discriminating _connoisseur_. he would buy a fat globular donkey if he could not do better; but a lank shabby one was the apple of his eye. he rolled such a one, as it were, like a sweet morsel under his tongue. hans's nearest neighbour was a worthless young scamp named jo garvey, who lived mainly by hunting and fishing. jo was a sharp-witted rascal, without a single scruple between, himself and fortune. with a tithe of hans's industry he might have been almost anything; but his dense laziness always rose up like a stone wall about him, shutting him in like a toad in a rock. the exact opposite of hans in almost every respect, he was notably similar in one: he had a hobby. jo's hobby was the selling of jackasses. one day, while hans's upper and nether mill-stones were making it lively for a mingled grist of corn, potatoes, and young chickens, he heard joseph calling outside. stepping to the door, he saw him holding three halters to which were appended three donkeys. "i say, hans," said he, "here are three fine animals for your stud. i have brought 'em up from the egg, and i know 'em to be first-class. but they 're not so big as i expected, and you may have 'em for a sack of oats each." hans was delighted. he had not the least doubt in the world that joe had stolen them; but it was a fixed principle with him never to let a donkey go away and say he was a hard man to deal with. he at once brought out and delivered the oats. jo gravely examined the quality, and placing a sack across each animal, calmly led them away. [illustration] when he had gone, it occurred to hans that he had less oats and no more asses than he had before. "tuyfel!" he exclaimed, scratching his pow; "i puy dot yackasses, und i don't vos god 'im so mooch as i didn't haf 'im before--ain't it?" very much to his comfort it was, therefore, to see jo come by next day leading the same animals. "hi!" he shrieked; "you prings me to my yackasses. you gif me to my broberdy back!" "oh, very well, hans. if you want to crawfish out of a fair bargain, all right. i'll give you back your donkeys, and you give me back my oats." "yaw, yaw," assented the mollified miller; "you his von honest shentlemans as i vos efer vent anyvhere. but i don't god ony more oats, und you moost dake vheat, eh?" and fetching out three sacks of wheat, he handed them over. jo was proceeding to lay these upon the backs of the animals; but this was too thin for even hans. "ach! you tief-veller! you leabs dis yackasses in me, und go right avay off; odther i bust your het mid a gloob, don't it?" so joseph was reluctantly constrained to hang the donkeys to a fence. while he did this, hans was making a desperate attempt to think. presently he brightened up: "yo, how you coom by dot vheat all de dime?" "why, old mudhead, you gave it to me for the jacks." "und how you coom by dot oats pooty soon avhile ago?" "why, i gave that to you for them," said joseph, pressed very hard for a reply. "vell, den, you goes vetch me back to dot oats so gwicker as a lamb gedwinkle his dail--hay?" "all right, hans. lend me the donkeys to carry off my wheat, and i 'll bring back your oats on 'em." joseph was beginning to despair; but no objection being made, he loaded up the grain, and made off with his docile caravan. in a half-hour he returned with the donkeys, but of course without anything else. "i zay, yo, where is dis oats i hear zo mooch dalk aboud still?" "oh, curse you and your oats!" growled jo, with simulated anger. "you make such a fuss about a bargain, i have decided not to trade. take your old donkeys, and call it square!" "den vhere mine vheat is?" "now look here, hans; that wheat is yours, is it?" "yaw, yaw." "and the donkeys are yours, eh?" "yaw, yaw." "and the wheat's been yours all the time, has it?" "yaw, yaw." "well, so have the donkeys. i took 'em out of your pasture in the first place. now what have you got to complain of?" the dutchman reflected all over his head with' his forefinger-nail. "gomblain? i no gomblain ven it is all right. i zee now i vos made a mistaken. coom, dake a drinks." jo left the animals standing, and went inside, where they pledged one another in brimming mugs of beer. then taking hans by the hand, "i am sorry," said he, "we can't trade. perhaps some other day you will be more reasonable. good bye!" and joseph departed leading away the donkeys! hans stood for some moments gazing after him with a complacent smile making his fat face ridiculous. then turning to his mill-stones, he shook his head with an air of intense self-satisfaction: "py donner! dot yo garfey bees a geen, shmard yockey, but he gonnot spiel me svoppin' yackasses!" * * * * * dr. deadwood, i presume. my name is shandy, and this is the record of my sentimental journey. mr. ames jordan gannett, proprietor's son of the "york----," with which paper i am connected by marriage, sent me a post-card in a sealed envelope, asking me to call at a well-known restaurant in regent street. i was then at a well-known restaurant in houndsditch. i put on my worst and only hat, and went. i found mr. gannett, at dinner, eating pease with his knife, in the manner of his countrymen. he opened the conversation, characteristically, thus: "where's dr. deadwood?" after several ineffectual guesses i had a happy thought. i asked him: "am i my brother's bar-keeper?" mr. gannett pondered deeply, with his forefinger alongside his nose. finally he replied: "i give it up." he continued to eat for some moments in profound silence, as that of a man very much in earnest. suddenly he resumed: "here is a blank cheque, signed. i will send you all my father's personal property to-morrow. take this and find dr. deadwood. find him actually if you can, but find him. away!" i did as requested; that is, i took the cheque. having supplied myself with such luxuries as were absolutely necessary, i retired to my lodgings. upon my table in the centre of the room were spread some clean white sheets of foolscap, and sat a bottle of black ink. it was a good omen: the virgin paper was typical of the unexplored interior of africa; the sable ink represented the night of barbarism, or the hue of barbarians, indifferently. now began the most arduous undertaking mentioned in the "york----," i mean in history. lighting my pipe, and fixing my eye upon the ink and paper, i put my hands behind my back and took my departure from the hearthrug toward the interior. language fails me; i throw myself upon the reader's imagination. before i had taken two steps, my vision alighted upon the circular of a quack physician, which i had brought home the day before around a bottle of hair-wash. i now saw the words, "twenty-one fevers!" this prostrated me for i know not how long. recovering, i took a step forward, when my eyes fastened themselves upon my pen-wiper, worked into the similitude of a tiger. this compelled me to retreat to the hearthrug for reinforcements. the red-and-white dog displayed upon that article turned a deaf ear to my entreaties; nothing would move him. a torrent of rain now began falling outside, and i knew the roads were impassable; but, chafing with impatience, i resolved upon another advance. cautiously proceeding _viâ_ the sofa, my attention fell upon a scrap of newspaper; and, to my unspeakable disappointment, i read: "the various tribes of the interior are engaged in a bitter warfare." it may have related to america, but i could not afford to hazard all upon a guess. i made a wide _détour_ by way of the coal-scuttle, and skirted painfully along the sideboard. all this consumed so much time that my pipe expired in gloom, and i went back to the hearthrug to get a match off the chimney-piece. having done so, i stepped over to the table and sat down, taking up the pen and spreading the paper between myself and the ink-bottle. it was late, and something must be done. writing the familiar word ujijijijijiji, i caught a neighbourly cockroach, skewered him upon a pin, and fastened him in the centre of the word. at this supreme moment i felt inclined to fall upon his neck and devour him with kisses; but knowing by experience that cockroaches are not good to eat, i restrained my feelings. lifting my hat, i said: "dr. deadwood, i presume?" _he did not deny it!_ seeing he was feeling sick, i gave him a bit of cheese and cheered him up a trifle. after he was well restored, "tell me," said i, "is it true that the regent's canal falls into lake michigan, thence running uphill to omaha, as related by ptolemy, thence spirally to melbourne, where it joins the delta of the ganges and becomes an affluent of the albert nicaragua, as herodotus maintains?" he did not deny it! the rest is known to the public. * * * * * nut-cracking. in the city of algammon resided the prince champou, who was madly enamoured of the lady capilla. she returned his affection--unopened. in the matter of back-hair the lady capilla was blessed even beyond her deserts. her natural pigtail was so intolerably long that she employed two pages to look after it when she walked out; the one a few yards behind her, the other at the extreme end of the line. their names were dan and beersheba, respectively. [illustration] aside from salaries to these dependents, and quite apart from the consideration of macassar, the possession of all this animal filament was financially unprofitable: the hair market was buoyant, and hers represented a large amount of idle capital. and it was otherwise a source of annoyance and irritation; for all the young men of the city were hotly in love with her, and skirmishing for a love-lock. they seldom troubled dan much, but the outlying beersheba had an animated time of it. he was subject to constant incursions, and was always in a riot. the picture i have drawn to illustrate this history shows nothing of all these squabbles. my pen revels in the battle's din, but my peaceful pencil loves to depict the scenes i know something about. although the lady capilla was unwilling to reciprocate the passion of champou the man, she was not averse to quiet interviews with champou the prince. in the course of one of these (see my picture), as she sat listening to his carefully-rehearsed and really artistic avowals, with her tail hanging out of the window, she suddenly interrupted him: "my dear prince," said she, "it is all nonsense, you know, to ask for my heart; but i am not mean; you shall have a lock of my hair." "do you think," replied the prince, "that i could be so sordid as to accept a single jewel from that glorious crown? i love this hair of yours very dearly, i admit, but only because of its connection with your divine head. sever that connection, and i should value it no more than i would a tail plucked from its native cow." this comparison seems to me a very fine one, but tastes differ, and to the lady capilla it seemed quite the reverse. rising indignantly, she marched away, her queue running in through the window and gradually tapering off the interview, as it were. prince champou saw that he had missed his opportunity, and resolved to repair his error. straightway he forged an order on beersheba for thirty yards of love-lock. to serve this writ he sent his business partner; for the prince was wont to beguile his dragging leisure by tonsorial diversions in an obscure quarter of the town. at first beersheba was sceptical, but when he saw the writing in real ink, his scruples vanished, and he chopped off the amount of souvenir demanded. now champou's partner was the court barber, and by the use of a peculiar hair oil which the two of them had concocted, they soon managed to balden the pates of all the male aristocracy of the place. then, to supply the demand so created, they devised beautiful wigs from the lady capilla's lost tresses, which they sold at a marvellous profit. and so they were enabled to retire from this narrative with good incomes. it was known that the lady capilla, who, since the alleged murder of one beersheba, had shut herself up like a hermit, or a jack-knife, would re-enter society; and a great ball was given to do her honour. the feauty, bank, and rashion of algammon had assembled in the guildhall for that purpose. while the revelry was at its fiercest, the dancing at its loosest, the rooms at their hottest, and the perspiration at spring-tide, there was a sound of wheels outside, begetting an instant hush of expectation within. the dancers ceased to spin, and all the gentlemen crowded about the door. as the lady capilla entered, these instinctively fell into two lines, and she passed down the space between, with her little tail behind her. as the end of the latter came into the room, the wigs of the two gentlemen nearest the door leaped off to join their parent stem. in their haste to recover them the two gentlemen bent eagerly forward, knocking their shining pows together with a vehemence that shattered them like egg-shells. the wigs of the next pair were similarly affected; and in seeking to recover them the pair similarly perished. then, _crack! spat! pash!_--at every step the lady took there were two heads that beat as one. in three minutes there was but a single living male in the room. he was an odd one, who, having a lady opposite him, had merely pitched himself headlong into her stomach, doubling her like a lemon-squeezer. it was merry to see the lady capilla floating through the mazy dance that night, with all those wigs fighting for their old places in her pigtail. * * * * * the magician's little joke. about the middle of the fifteenth century there dwelt in the black forest a pretty but unfashionable young maiden named simprella whiskiblote. the first of these names was hers in monopoly; the other she enjoyed in common with her father. simprella was the most beautiful fifteenth-century girl i ever saw. she had coloured eyes, a complexion, some hair, and two lips very nearly alike, which partially covered a lot of teeth. she was gifted with the complement of legs commonly worn at that period, supporting a body to which were loosely attached, in the manner of her country, as many arms as she had any use for, inasmuch as she was not required to hold baby. but all these charms were only so many objective points for the operations of the paternal cudgel; for this father of hers was a hard, unfeeling man, who had no bowels of compassion for his bludgeon. he would put it to work early, and keep it going all day; and when it was worn out with hard service, instead of rewarding it with steady employment, he would cruelly throw it aside and get a fresh one. it is scarcely to be wondered at that a girl harried in this way should be driven to the insane expedient of falling in love. near the neat mud cottage in which simprella vegetated was a dense wood, extending for miles in various directions, according to the point from which it was viewed. by a method readily understood, it had been so arranged that it was the next easiest thing in the world to get into it, and the very easiest thing in the world to stay there. in the centre of this labyrinth was a castle of the early promiscuous order of architecture--an order which was until recently much employed in the construction of powder-works, but is now entirely exploded. in this baronial hall lived an eligible single party--a giant so tall he used a step-ladder to put on his hat, and could not put his hands into his pockets without kneeling. he lived entirely alone, and gave himself up to the practice of iniquity, devising prohibitory liquor laws, imposing the income tax, and drinking shilling claret. but, seeing simprella one day, he bent himself into the form of a horse-shoe magnet to look into her eyes. whether it was his magnetic attitude acting upon a young heart steeled by adversity, or his chivalric forbearance in not eating her, i know not: i only know that from that moment she became riotously enamoured of him; and the reader may accept either the scientific or the popular explanation, according to the bent of his mind. she at once asked the giant in marriage, and obtained the consent of his parents by betraying her father into their hands; explaining to them, however, that he was not good to eat, but might be drunk on the premises. the marriage proved a very happy one, but the household duties of the bride were extremely irksome. it fatigued her to dress the beeves for dinner; it nearly broke her back to black her lord's boots without any scaffolding. it took her all day to perform any kindly little office for him. but she bore it all uncomplainingly, until one morning he asked her to part his back hair; then the bent sapling of her spirit flew up and hit him in the face. she gathered up some french novels, and retired to a lonely tower to breathe out her soul in unavailing regrets. one day she saw below her in the forest a dear gazelle, gladding her with its soft black eye. she leaned out of the window, and said _scat!_ the animal did not move. then she waved her arms--above described--and said _shew!_ this time he did not move as much as he did before. simprella decided he must have a bill against her; so she closed her shutters, drew down the blind, and pinned the curtains together. a moment later she opened them and peeped out. then she went down to examine his collar, that she might order one like it. when the gazelle saw simprella approach, he arose, and, beckoning with his tail, made off slowly into the wood. then simprella perceived this was a supernatural gazelle--a variety now extinct, but which then pervaded the schwarzwald in considerable quantity--sent by some good magician, who owed the giant a grudge, to pilot her out of the forest. nothing could exceed her joy at this discovery: she whistled a dirge, sang a latin hymn, and preached a funeral discourse all in one breath. such were the artless methods by which the full heart in the fifteenth century was compelled to express its gratitute for benefits; the advertising columns of the daily papers were not then open to the benefactor's pen. [illustration] all would now have been well, but for the fact that it was not. in following her deliverer, simprella observed that his golden collar was inscribed with the mystic words--hands off! she tried hard to obey the injunction; she did her level best; she--but why amplify? simprella was a woman. no sooner had her fingers touched the slender chain depending from the magic collar, than the poor animal's eyes emitted twin tears, which coursed silently but firmly down his nose, vacating it more in sorrow than in anger. then he looked up reproachfully into her face. those were his first tears--this was his last look. in two minutes by the watch he was blind as a mole! there is but little more to tell. the giant ate himself to death; the castle mouldered and crumbled into pig-pens; empires rose and fell; kings ascended their thrones, and got down again; mountains grew grey, and rivers bald-headed; suits in chancery were brought and decided, and those from the tailor were paid for; the ages came, like maiden aunts, uninvited, and lingered till they became a bore--and still simprella, with the magician's curse upon her, conducted her sightless guide through the interminable wilderness! to all others the labyrinth had yielded up its clue. the hunter threaded its maze; the woodman plunged confidently into its innermost depths; the peasant child gathered ferns unscared in its sunless dells. but often the child abandoned his botany in terror, the woodman bolted for home, and the hunter's heart went down into his boots, at the sight of a fair young spectre leading a blind phantom through the silent glades. i saw them there in , while i was gunning. i shot them. seafaring. my envious rivals have always sought to cast discredit upon the following tale, by affirming that mere unadorned truth does not constitute a work of literary merit. be it so: i care not what they call it. a rose with any other smell would be as sweet. in the autumn of i wanted to go from sacramento, california, to san francisco. i at once went to the railway office and bought a ticket, the clerk telling me that would take me there. but when i tried it, it wouldn't. vainly i laid it on the railway and sat down upon it: it would not move; and every few minutes an engine would come along and crowd me off the track. i never travelled by so badly managed a line! i then resolved to go by way of the river, and took passage on a steamboat. the engineer of this boat had once been a candidate for the state legislature while i was editing a newspaper. stung to madness by the arguments i had advanced against his election (which consisted mainly in relating how that his cousin was hanged for horse-stealing, and how that his sister had an intolerable squint which a free people could never abide), he had sworn to be revenged. after his defeat i had confessed the charges were false, so far as he personally was concerned, but this did not seem to appease him. he declared he would "get even on me," and he did: he blew up the boat. being thus summarily set ashore, i determined that i would be independent of common carriers destitute of common courtesy. i purchased a wooden box, just large enough to admit one, and not transferable. i lay down in this, double-locked it on the outside, and carrying it to the river, launched it upon the watery waste. the box, i soon discovered, had an hereditary tendency to turn over. i had parted my hair in the middle before embarking, but the precaution was inadequate; it secured not immunity, only impartiality, the box turning over one way as readily as the other. i could counteract this evil only by shifting my tobacco from cheek to cheek, and in this way i got on tolerably well until my navy sprang a leak near the stern. i now began to wish i had not locked down the cover; i could have got out and walked ashore. but it was childish to give way to foolish regrets; so i lay perfectly quiet, and yelled. presently i thought of my jack-knife. by this time the ship was so water-logged as to be a little more stable. this enabled me to get the knife from my pocket without upsetting more than six or eight times, and inspired hope. taking the whittle between my teeth, i turned over upon my stomach, and cut a hole through the bottom near the bow. turning back again, i awaited the result. most men would have awaited the result, i think, if they could not have got out. for some time there was no result. the ship was too deeply laden astern, where my feet were, and water will not run up hill unless it is paid to do it. but when i called in all my faculties for a good earnest think, the weight of my intellect turned the scale. it was like a cargo of pig-lead in the forecastle. the water, which for nearly an hour i had kept down by drinking it as it rose about my lips, began to run out at the hole i had scuttled, faster than it could be admitted at the one in the stern; and in a few moments the bottom was so dry you might have lighted a match upon it, if you had been there, and obtained the captain's permission. [illustration] i was all right now. i had got into san pablo bay, where it was all plain sailing. if i could manage to keep off the horizon i should be somewhere before daylight. but a new annoyance was in store for me. the steamboats on these waters are constructed of very frail materials, and whenever one came into collision with my flotilla, she immediately sank. this was most exasperating, for the piercing shrieks of the hapless crews and passengers prevented my getting any sleep. such disagreeable voices as these people had would have tortured an ear of corn. i felt as if i would like to step out and beat them soft-headed with a club; though of course i had not the heart to do so while the padlock held fast. the reader, if he is obliging, will remember that there was formerly an obstruction in the harbour of san francisco, called blossom rock, which was some fathoms under water, but not fathoms enough to suit shipmasters. it was removed by an engineer named von schmidt. this person bored a hole in it, and sent down some men who gnawed out the whole interior, leaving the rock a mere shell. into this drawing-room suite were inserted thirty tons of powder, ten barrels of nitro-glycerine, and a woman's temper. von schmidt then put in something explosive, and corked up the opening, leaving a long wire hanging out. when all these preparations were complete, the inhabitants of san francisco came out to see the fun. they perched thickly upon telegraph hill from base to summit; they swarmed innumerable upon the beach; the whole region was black with them. all that day they waited, and came again the next. again they were disappointed, and again they returned full of hope. for three long weeks they did nothing but squat upon that eminence, looking fixedly at the wrong place. but when it transpired that von schmidt had hastily left the state directly he had completed his preparations, leaving the wire floating in the water, in the hope that some electrical eel might swim against it and ignite the explosives, the people began to abate their ardour, and move out of town. they said it might be a good while before a qualified gymnotus would pass that way, although the state ichthyologer assured them that he had put some eels' eggs into the head waters of the sacramento river not two weeks previously. but the country was very beautiful at that time of the year, and the people would not wait. so when the explosion really occurred, there wasn't anybody in the vicinity to witness it. it was a stupendous explosion all the same, as the unhappy gymnotus discovered to his cost. now, i have often thought that if this mighty convulsion had occurred a year or two earlier than it really did, it would have been bad for me as i floated idly past, unconscious of danger. as it was, my little bark was carried out into the broad pacific, and sank in ten thousand fathoms of the coldest water!--it makes my teeth chatter to relate it! * * * * * tony rollo's conclusion. to a degree unprecedented in the rollo family, of illinois, antony was an undutiful son. he was so undutiful that he may be said to have been preposterous. there were seven other sons--antony was the eldest. his younger brothers were a nice, well-behaved bevy of boys as ever you saw. they always attended sunday school regularly; arriving just before the doxology (i think sunday school exercises terminate that way), and sitting in a solemn row on a fence outside, waiting with pious patience for the girls to come forth; then they walked home with them as far as their respective gates. they were an obedient seven, too; they knew well enough the respect due to paternal authority, and when their father told them what was what, and which side up it ought to lie, they never tarried until he had more than picked up a hickory cudgel before tacitly admitting the correctness of the riper judgment. had the old gentleman commanded the digging of seven graves, and the fabrication of seven board coffins to match, these necessaries would have been provided with unquestioning alacrity. but antony, i bleed to state, was of an impractical, pensive turn. he despised industry, scoffed at sunday-schooling, set up a private standard of morals, and rebelled against natural authority. he wouldn't be a dutiful son--not for money! he had no natural affections, and loved nothing so well as to sit and think. he was tolerably thoughtful all the time; but with some farming implement in his hand he came out strong. he has been known to take an axe between his knees, and sit on a stump in a "clearing" all day, wrapt in a single continuous meditation. and when interrupted by the interposition of night, or by the superposition of the paternal hickory, he would resume the meditation, next day, precisely where he left off, going on, and on, and on, in one profound and inscrutable think. it was a common remark in the neighbourhood that "if tony rollo didn't let up, he'd think his ridiculous white head off!" and on divers occasions when the old man's hickory had fallen upon that fleecy globe with unusual ardour, tony really did think it off--until the continued pain convinced him it was there yet. you would like to know what tony was thinking of, all these years. that is what they all wanted to know; but he didn't seem to tell. when the subject was mentioned he would always try to get away; and if he could not avoid a direct question, he would blush and stammer in so distressing a confusion that the doctor forbade all allusion to the matter, lest the young man should have a convulsion. it was clear enough, however, that the subject of tony's meditation was "more than average inter_est_in'," as his father phrased it; for sometimes he would give it so grave consideration that observers would double their anxiety about the safety of his head, which he seemed in danger of snapping off with solemn nods; and at other times he would laugh immoderately, smiting his thigh or holding his sides in uncontrollable merriment. but it went on without abatement, and without any disclosure; went on until his poor mother's curiosity had worried her grey hairs in sorrow to the grave; went on until his father, having worn out all the hickory saplings on the place, had made a fair beginning upon the young oaks; went on until all the seven brothers, having married a sunday-school girl each, had erected comfortable log-houses upon outlying corners of the father-in-legal farms; on, and ever on, until tony was forty years of age! this appeared to be a turning-point in tony's career--at this time a subtle change stole into his life, affecting both his inner and his outer self: he worked less than formerly, and thought a good deal more! years afterwards, when the fraternal seven were well-to-do freeholders, with clouds of progeny, making their hearts light and their expenses heavy--when the old homestead was upgrown with rank brambles, and the live-stock long extinct--when the aged father had so fallen into the sere and yellow leaf that he couldn't hit hard enough to hurt--tony, the mere shadow of his former self, sat, one evening, in the chimney corner, thinking very hard indeed. his father and three or four skeleton hounds were the only other persons present; the old gentleman quietly shelling a peck of indian corn given by a grateful neighbour whose cow he had once pulled out of the mire, and the hounds thinking how cheerfully they would have assisted him had nature kindly made them graminivorous. suddenly tony spake. "father," said he, looking straight across the top of the axe-handle which he held between his knees as a mental stimulant, "father, i've been thinking of something a good bit lately." "jest thirty-five years, tony, come next thanksgiving," replied the old man, promptly, in a thin asthmatic falsetto. "i recollect your mother used to say it dated from the time your aunt hannah was here with the girls." "yes, father, i think it may be a matter of thirty-five years; though it don't seem so long, does it? but i've been thinking harder for the last week or two, and i'm going to speak out." unbounded amazement looked out at the old man's eyes; his tongue, utterly unprepared for the unexpected contingency, refused its office; a corncob imperfectly denuded dropped from his nerveless hand, and was critically examined, in turn, by the gossamer dogs, hoping against hope. a smoking brand in the fireplace fell suddenly upon a bed of hot coals, where, lacking the fortitude of guatimozin, it emitted a sputtering protest, followed by a thin flame like a visible agony. in the resulting light tony's haggard face shone competitively with a ruddy blush, which spread over his entire scalp, to the imminent danger of firing his flaxen hair. "yes, father," he answered, making a desperate clutch at calmness, but losing his grip, "i'm going to make a clean breast of it this time, for sure! then you can do what you like about it." the paternal organ of speech found sufficient strength to grind out an intimation that the paternal ear was open for business. "i've studied it all over, father; i've looked at it from every side; i've been through it with a lantern! and i've come to the conclusion that, seeing as i'm the oldest, it's about time i was beginning to think of getting married!" * * * * * no charge for attendance. near the road leading from deutscherkirche to lagerhaus may be seen the ruins of a little cottage. it never was a very pretentious pile, but it has a history. about the middle of the last century it was occupied by one heinrich schneider, who was a small farmer--so small a farmer his clothes wouldn't fit him without a good deal of taking-in. but heinrich schneider was young. he had a wife, however--most small farmers have when young. they were rather poor: the farm was just large enough to keep them comfortably hungry. schneider was not literary in his taste; his sole reading was an old dog's-eared copy of the "arabian nights" done into german, and in that he read nothing but the story of "aladdin and his wonderful lamp." upon his five hundredth perusal of that he conceived a valuable idea: he would rub _his_ lamp and _corral_ a genie! so he put a thick leather glove on his right hand, and went to the cupboard to get out the lamp. he had no lamp. but this disappointment, which would have been instantly fatal to a more despondent man, was only an agreeable stimulus to him. he took out an old iron candle-snuffer, and went to work upon that. now, iron is very hard; it requires more rubbing than any other metal. i once chafed a genie out of an anvil, but i was quite weary before i got him all out; the slightest irritation of a leaden water-pipe would have fetched the same genie out of it like a rat from his hole. but having planted all his poultry, sown his potatoes, and set out his wheat, heinrich had the whole summer before him, and he was patient; he devoted all his time to compelling the attendance of the supernatural. when the autumn came, the good wife reaped the chickens, dug out the apples, plucked the pigs and other cereals; and a wonderfully abundant harvest it was. schneider's crops had flourished amazingly. that was because he did not worry them all summer with agricultural implements. one evening when the produce had been stored, heinrich sat at his fireside operating upon his candle-snuffer with the same simple faith as in the early spring. suddenly there was a knock at the door, and the expected genie put in an appearance. his advent begot no little surprise in the good couple. he was a very substantial incarnation, indeed, of the supernatural. about eight feet in length, extremely fat, thick-limbed, ill-favoured, heavy of movement, and generally unpretty, he did not at first sight impress his new master any too favourably. however, he was given a stool at the fireside, and heinrich plied him with a multitude of questions: where did he come from? whom had he last served? how did he like aladdin? and did he think _they_ should get on well? to all these queries the genie returned evasive answers; he was delphic to the verge of unintelligibility. he would only nod mysteriously, muttering beneath his breath in some unknown tongue, probably arabic--in which, however, his master thought he could distinguish the words "roast" and "boiled" with significant frequency. this genie must have served last in the capacity of cook. [illustration] this was a gratifying discovery: for the next four months or so there would be nothing to do about the farm; the slave could prepare the family meals during the winter, and in the spring go regularly to work. schneider was too shrewd to risk everything by extravagant demands all at once. he remembered the roc's egg of the legend, and thought he would proceed with caution. so the good couple brought out their cooking utensils, and by pantomime inducted the slave into the mystery of their use. they showed him the larder, the cellars, the granary, the chicken-coops, and everything. he appeared interested and intelligent, apprehended the salient points of the situation with marvellous ease, and nodded like he would drop his big head off--did everything but talk. after this the _frau_ prepared the evening meal, the genie assisting very satisfactorily, except that his notions of quantity were rather too liberal; perhaps this was natural in one accustomed to palaces and courts. when all was on the table, by way of testing his slave's obedience heinrich sat down at the board and carelessly rubbed the candle-snuffer. the genie was there in a second! not only so, but he fell upon the viands with an ardour and sincerity that were alarming. in two minutes he had got away with everything on the table. the rapidity with which that spirit crowded all manner of edibles into his neck was simply shocking! having finished his repast he stretched himself before the fire and went to sleep. heinrich and barbara were depressed in spirit; they sat up until nearly morning in silence, waiting for the genie to vanish for the night; but he did not perceptibly vanish any. moreover, he had not vanished next morning; he had risen with the lark, and was preparing breakfast, having made his estimates upon a basis of most immoderate consumption. to this he soon sat down with the same catholicity of appetite that had distinguished him the previous evening. having bolted this preposterous breakfast he arrayed his fat face in a sable scowl, beat his master with a stewpan, stretched himself before the fire, and again addressed himself to sleep. over a furtive and clandestine meal in the larder, heinrich and barbara confessed themselves thoroughly heart-sick of the supernatural. "i told you so," said he; "depend upon it, patient industry is a thousand per cent. better than this invisible agency. i will now take the fatal candle-snuffer a mile from here, rub it real hard, fling it aside, and run away." but he didn't. during the night ten feet of snow had fallen. it lay all winter too. early the next spring there emerged from that cottage by the wayside the unstable framework of a man dragging through seas of melting snow a tottering female of dejected aspect. forlorn, crippled, famishing, and discouraged, these melancholy relics held on their way until they came to a cross-roads (all leading to lagerhaus), where they saw clinging to an upright post the tatter of an old placard. it read as follows: lost, strayed, or stolen, from herr schaackhofer's grand museum, the celebrated patagonian giant, ugolulah. height ft. in., elegant figure, handsome, intelligent features, sprightly and vivacious in conversation, of engaging address, temperate in diet, harmless and tractable in disposition. answers to the nickname of fritz sneddeker. any one returning him to herr schaackhofer will receive seven thalers reward, and no questions asked. it was a tempting offer, but they did not go back for the giant. but he was afterwards discovered sleeping sweetly upon the hearthstone, after a hearty meal of empty barrels and boxes. being secured he was found to be too fat for egress by the door. so the house was pulled down to let him out; and that is how it happens to be in ruins now. * * * * * pernicketty's fright. _"sssssst!"_ dan golby held up his hand to enjoin silence; in a breath we were as quiet as mice. then it came again, borne upon the night wind from away somewhere in the darkness toward the mountains, across miles of treeless plain--a low, dismal, sobbing sound, like the wail of a strangling child! it was nothing but the howl of a wolf, and a wolf is about the last thing a man who knows the cowardly beast would be afraid of; but there was something so weird and unearthly in this "cry between the silences"--something so banshee-like in its suggestion of the grave--that, old mountaineers that we were, and long familiar with it, we felt an instinctive dread--a dread which was not fear, but only a sense of utter solitude and desolation. there is no sound known to mortal ear that has in it so strange a power upon the imagination as the night-howl of this wretched beast, heard across the dreary wastes of the desert he disgraces. involuntarily we drew nearer together, and some one of the party stirred the fire till it sent up a tall flame, widening the black circle shutting us in on all sides. again rose the faint far cry, and was answered by one fainter and more far in the opposite quarter. then another, and yet another, struck in--a dozen, a hundred all at once; and in three minutes the whole invisible outer world seemed to consist mainly of wolves, jangled out of tune by some convulsion of nature. about this time it was a pleasing study to watch the countenance of old nick. this party had joined us at fort benton, whither he had come on a steamboat, up the missouri. this was his maiden venture upon the plains, and his habit of querulous faultfinding had, on the first day out, secured him the _sobriquet_ of old pernicketty, which the attrition of time had worn down to old nick. he knew no more of wolves and other animals than a naturalist, and he was now a trifle frightened. he was crouching beside his saddle and kit, listening with all his soul, his hands suspended before him with divergent fingers, his face ashy pale, and his jaw hanging unconsidered below. suddenly dan golby, who had been watching him with an amused smile, assumed a grave aspect, listened a moment very intently, and remarked: "boys, if i didn't _know_ those were wolves, i should say we'd better get out of this." "eh?" exclaimed nick, eagerly; "if you did not know they were _wolves_? why, what else, and what worse, could they be?" "well, there's an innocent!" replied dan, winking slyly at the rest of us. "why, they _might_ be injuns, of course. don't you know, you old bummer, that that's the way the red devils run a surprise party? don't you know that when you hear a parcel of wolves letting on like that, at night, it's a hundred to one they carry bows and arrows?" here one or two old hunters on the opposite side of the fire, who had not caught dan's precautionary wink, laughed good-humouredly, and made derisive comments. at this dan seemed much vexed, and getting up, he strode over to them to argue it out. it was surprising how easily they were brought round to his way of thinking! by this time old nick was thoroughly perturbed. he fidgeted about, examining his rifle and pistols, tightened his belt, and looked in the direction of his horse. his anxiety became so painful that he did not attempt to conceal it. upon our part, we affected to partially share it. one of us finally asked dan if he was quite _sure_ they were wolves. then dan listened a long time with his ear to the ground, after which he said, hesitatingly: "well, no; there's no such thing as _absolute_ certainty, i suppose; but i _think_ they're wolves. still, there's no harm in being ready for anything--always well to be ready, i suppose." nick needed nothing more; he pounced upon his saddle and bridle, slung them upon his mustang, and had everything snug in less time than it takes to tell it. the rest of the party were far too comfortable to co-operate with dan to any considerable extent; we contented ourselves with making a show of examining our weapons. all this time the wolves, as is their way when attracted by firelight, were closing in, clamouring like a legion of fiends. if nick had known that a single pistol-shot would have sent them scampering away for dear life, i presume he would have fired one; as it was, he had indian on the brain, and just stood by his horse, quaking till his teeth rattled like dice in a box. "no," pursued the implacable dan, "these _can't_ be injuns; for if they were, we should, perhaps, hear an owl or two among them. the chiefs sometimes hoot, owl-fashion, just to let the rabble know they're standing up to the work like men, and to show where they are." _"too-hoo-hoo-hoo-hooaw!"_ it took us all by surprise. nick made one spring and came down astride his sleepy mustang, with force enough to have crushed a smaller beast. we all rose to our feet, except jerry hunker, who was lying flat on his stomach, with his head buried in his arms, and whom we had thought sound asleep. one look at _him_ reassured us as to the "owl" business, and we settled back, each man pretending to his neighbour that he had got up merely for effect upon nick. that man was now a sight to see. he sat in his saddle gesticulating wildly, and imploring us to get ready. he trembled like a jelly-fish. he took out his pistols, cocked them, and thrust them so back into the holsters, without knowing what he was about. he cocked his rifle, holding it with the muzzle directed anywhere, but principally our way; grasped his bowie-knife between his teeth, and cut his tongue trying to talk; spurred his nag into the fire, and backed him out across our blankets; and finally sat still, utterly unnerved, while we roared with the laughter we could no longer suppress. _hwissss! pft! swt! cheew!_ bones of cæsar! the arrows flitted and clipt amongst us like a flight of bats! dan golby threw a double-summersault, alighting on his head. dory durkee went smashing into the fire. jerry hunker was pinned to the sod where he lay fast asleep. such dodging and ducking, and clawing about for weapons i never saw. and such genuine indian yelling--it chills my marrow to write of it! old nick vanished like a dream; and long before we could find our tools and get to work we heard the desultory reports of his pistols exploding in his holsters, as his pony measured off the darkness between us and safety. for some fifteen minutes we had tolerable warm work of it, individually, collectively, and miscellaneously; single-handed, and one against a dozen; struggling with painted savages in the firelight, and with one another in the dark; shooting the living, and stabbing the dead; stampeding our horses, and fighting _them_; battling with anything that would battle, and smashing our gunstocks on whatever would not! when all was done--when we had renovated our fire, collected our horses, and got our dead into position--we sat down to talk it over. as we sat there, cutting up our clothing for bandages, digging the poisoned arrow-heads out of our limbs, readjusting our scalps, or swapping them for such vagrant ones as there was nobody to identify, we could not help smiling to think how we had frightened old nick. dan golby, who was sinking rapidly, whispered that "it was the one sweet memory he had to sustain and cheer him in crossing the dark river into everlasting f----." it is uncertain how dan would have finished that last word; he may have meant "felicity"--he may have meant "fire." it is nobody's business. * * * * * juniper. he was a dwarf, was juniper. about the time of his birth nature was executing a large order for prime giants, and had need of all her materials. juniper infested the wooded interior of norway, and dwelt in a cave--a miserable hole in which a blind bat in a condition of sempiternal torpor would have declined to hibernate, rent-free. juniper was such a feeble little wretch, so inoffensive in his way of life, so modest in his demeanour, that every one was disposed to love him like a cousin; there was not enough of him to love like a brother. he, too, was inclined to return the affection; he was too weak to love very hard, but he made the best stagger at it he could. but a singular fatality prevented a perfect communion of soul between him and his neighbours. a strange destiny had thrown its shadow upon him, which made it cool for him in summer. there was a divinity that shaped his ends extremely rough, no matter how he hewed them. somewhere in that vicinity lived a monstrous bear--a great hulking obnoxious beast who had no more soul than tail. this rascal had somehow conceived a notion that the appointed function of his existence was the extermination of the dwarf. if you met the latter you might rely with cheerful confidence upon seeing the ferocious brute in eager pursuit of him in less than a minute. no sooner would juniper fairly accost you, looking timidly over his shoulder the while, than the raging savage would leap out of some contiguous jungle and make after him like a locomotive engine too late for the train. then poor juniper would streak it for the nearest crowd of people, diving and dodging amongst their shins with nimble skill, shrieking all the time like a panther. he was as earnest about it as if he had made a bet upon the result of the race. of course everybody was too busy to stop, but in his blind terror the dwarf would single out some luckless wight--commonly some well-dressed person; juniper instinctively sought the protection of the aristocracy--getting behind him, ducking between his legs, surrounding him, dancing through him--doing anything to save the paltry flitch of his own bacon. presently the bear would lose all patience and nip the other fellow. then, ashamed of losing his temper, he would sneak sullenly away, taking along the body. when he had gone, poor juniper would fall upon his knees, tearing his beard, pounding his breast, and crying _mea culpa_ in deep remorse. afterwards he would pay a visit of condolence to the bereaved relations and offer to pay the funeral expenses; but of course there never were any funeral expenses. everybody, as before stated, liked the unhappy dwarf, but nobody liked the company he kept, and people were not at home to him as a rule. whenever he came into a village traffic was temporarily suspended, and he was made the centre of as broad a solitude as could be hastily improvised. many were the attempts to capture the terrible beast; hundreds of the country people would assemble to hunt him with guns and dogs. but even the dogs seemed to have an instinctive sense of some occult connection between him and the dwarf, and could never be made to understand that it was the former that was wanted. directly they were laid on the scent they would forsake it to invest the dwarf's abode; and it was with much difficulty the pitying huntsmen could induce them to raise the siege. things went on in this unsatisfactory fashion for years; the population annually decreasing, and juniper making the most miraculous escapes. now there resided in a small village near by, a brace of twins; little orphan girls, named jalap and ginseng. their considerate neighbours had told them such pleasing tales about the bear that they decided to leave the country. so they got their valuables together in a box and set out. they met juniper! he approached to inform them it was a fine morning, when the great beast of a bear "rose like the steam of rich distilled perfume" from the earth in front of them, and made a mouth at him. juniper did not run, as might have been expected; he stood for a moment peering into the brute's cavernous jaws, and then flew! he absented himself with such extraordinary nimbleness that after he was a mile distant his image appeared to be standing there yet; and looking back he saw it himself. baffled of his dwarf, the bear thought he would make a shift to get on, for the present, with an orphan. so he picked up jalap by her middle, and thoughtfully withdrew. [illustration] the thankful but disgusted ginseng continued her emigration, but soon missed the jewel-box, which in their alarm had been dropped and burst asunder. she did not much care for the jewels, but it contained some valuable papers, among them the "examiner" (a print which once had the misfortune to condemn a book written by the author of this tale) and this she doted on. returning for her property, she peered cautiously around the angle of a rock, and saw a spectacle that begot in her mind a languid interest. the bear had returned upon a similar mission; he was calmly distending his cheeks with the contents of the broken box. and perched on a rock near at hand sat juniper waiting for him! it was natural that a suspicion of collusion between the two should dawn upon that infant's mind. it did dawn; it brightened and broadened into the perfect day of conviction. it was a revelation to the child. "at that moment," said she afterwards, "i felt that i could lay my finger on the best-trained bear in christendom." but with praiseworthy moderation she controlled herself and didn't do it; she just stood still and allowed the beast to proceed. having stored all the jewels in his capacious mouth, he began taking in the valuable papers. first some title-deeds disappeared; then some railway bonds; presently a roll of rent-receipts. all these seemed to be as honey to his tongue; he smiled a smile of tranquil happiness. finally the newspaper vanished into his face like a wisp of straw drawn into a threshing machine. then the brute expanded his mouth with a ludicrous gape, spilling out the jewels, a glittering shower. then he snapped his jaws like a steel trap afflicted with _tetanus_, and stood on his head awhile. next he made a feeble endeavour to complicate the relations between his parts--to tie himself into a love-knot. failing in this he lay flat upon his side, wept, retched, and finally, fashioning his visage into the semblance of sickly grin, gave up the ghost. i don't know what he died of; i suppose it was hereditary in his family. the guilty come always to grief. juniper was arrested, charged with conspiracy to kill, tried, convicted, sentenced to be hanged, and before the sun went down was pardoned. in searching his cavern the police discovered countless human bones, much torn clothing, and a mighty multitude of empty purses. but nothing of any value--not an article of any value. it was a mystery what juniper had done with his ill-gotten valuables. the police confessed it was a mystery! * * * * * following the sea. at the time of "the great earthquake of ' ," i was at arica, peru. i have not a map by me, and am not certain that arica is not in chili, but it can't make much difference; there was earthquake all along there. as nearly as i can remember it occured in august--about the middle of august, or ' . sam baxter was with me; i think we had gone from san francisco to make a railway, or something. on the morning of the 'quake, sam and i had gone down to the beach to bathe. we had shed our boots and begun to moult, when there was a slight tremor of the earth, as if the elephant who supports it were pushing upwards, or lying down and getting up again. next, the surges, which were flattening themselves upon the sand and dragging away such small trifles as they could lay hold of, began racing out seaward, as if they had received a telegraphic dispatch that somebody was not expected to live. this was needless, for _we_ did not expect to live. when the sea had receded entirely out of sight, we started after it; for it will be remembered we had come to bathe; and bathing without some kind of water is not refreshing in a hot climate. i have heard that bathing in asses' milk is invigorating, but at that time i had no dealings with other authors. i have had no dealings with them since. for the first four or five miles the walking was very difficult, although the grade was tolerably steep. the ground was soft, there were tangled forests of sea-weed, old rotting ships, rusty anchors, human skeletons, and a multitude of things to impede the pedestrian. the floundering sharks bit our legs as we toiled past them, and we were constantly slipping down upon the flat fish strewn about like orange-peel on a sidewalk. sam, too, had stuffed his shirt-front with such a weight of spanish doubloons from the wreck of an old galleon, that i had to help him across all the worst places. it was very dispiriting. presently, away on the western horizon, i saw the sea coming back. it occurred to me then that i did not wish it to come back. a tidal wave is nearly always wet, and i was now a good way from home, with no means of making a fire. the same was true of sam, but he did not appear to think of it in that way. he stood quite still a moment with his eyes fixed on the advancing line of water; then turned to me, saying, very earnestly: "tell you what, william; i never wanted a ship so bad from the cradle to the grave! i would give m-o-r-e for a ship!--more than for all the railways and turnpikes you could scare up! i'd give more than a hundred, thousand, million dollars! i would--i'd give all i'm worth, and all my erie shares, for--just--one--little--ship!" to show how lightly he could part with his wealth, he lifted his shirt out of his trousers, unbosoming himself of his doubloons, which tumbled about his feet, a golden storm. by this time the tidal wave was close upon us. call _that_ a wave! it was one solid green wall of water, higher than niagara falls, stretching as far as we could see to right and left, without a break in its towering front! it was by no means clear what we ought to do. the moving wall showed no projections by means of which the most daring climber could hope to reach the top. there was no ivy; there were no window-ledges. stay!--there was the lightning-conductor! no, there wasn't any lightning-conductor. of course, not! looking despairingly upward, i made a tolerably good beginning at thinking of all the mean actions i had wrought in the flesh, when i saw projecting beyond the crest of the wave a ship's bowsprit, with a man sitting on it, reading a newspaper! thank fortune, we were saved! falling upon our knees with tearful gratitude, we got up again and ran--ran as fast as we could, i suspect; for now the whole fore-part of the ship bulged through the water directly above our heads, and might lose its balance any moment. if we had only brought along our umbrellas! i shouted to the man on the bowsprit to drop us a line. he merely replied that his correspondence was already very onerous, and he hadn't any pen and ink. then i told him i wanted to get aboard. he said i would find one on the beach, about three leagues to the south'ard, where the "nancy tucker" went ashore. at these replies i was disheartened. it was not so much that the man withheld assistance, as that he made puns. presently, however, he folded his newspaper, put it carefully away in his pocket, went and got a line, and let it down to us just as we were about to give up the race. sam made a lunge at it, and got it--right into his side! for the fiend above had appended a shark-hook to the end of the line--which was _his_ notion of humour. but this was no time for crimination and recrimination. i laid hold of sam's legs, the end of the rope was passed about the capstan, and as soon as the men on board had had a little grog, we were hauled up. i can assure you that it was no fine experience to go up in that way, close to the smooth vertical front of water, with the whales tumbling out all round and above us, and the sword-fishes nosing us pointedly with vulgar curiosity. we had no sooner set foot on deck, and got sam disengaged from the hook, than the purser stepped up with book and pencil. "tickets, gentlemen." we told him we hadn't any tickets, and he ordered us to be set ashore in a boat. it was represented to him that this was quite impossible under the circumstances; but he replied that he had nothing to do with circumstances--did not know anything about circumstances. nothing would move him till the captain, who was a really kind-hearted man, came on deck and knocked him overboard with a spare topmast. we were now stripped of our clothing, chafed all over with stiff brushes, rolled on our stomachs, wrapped in flannels, laid before a hot stove in the saloon, and strangled with scalding brandy. we had not been wet, nor had we swallowed any sea-water, but the surgeon said this was the proper treatment. i suspect, poor man, he did not often get the opportunity to resuscitate anybody; in fact, he admitted he had not had any such case as ours for years. it is uncertain what he might have done to us if the tender-hearted captain had not thrashed him into his cabin with a knotted hawser, and told us to go on deck. by this time the ship was passing above the town of arica, and the sailors were all for'd, sitting on the bulwarks, snapping peas and small shot at the terrified inhabitants flitting through the streets a hundred feet below. these harmless projectiles rattled very merrily upon the upturned boot-soles of the fleeting multitude; but not seeing any fun in this, we were about to go astern and fish a little, when the ship grounded on a hill-top. the captain hove out all the anchors he had about him; and when the water went swirling back to its legal level, taking the town along for company, there we were, in the midst of a charming agricultural country, but at some distance from any sea-port. at sunrise next morning we were all on deck. sam sauntered aft to the binnacle, cast his eye carelessly upon the compass, and uttered an ejaculation of astonishment. "tell _you_, captain," he called out, "this has been a direr convulsion of nature than you have any idea. everything's been screwed right round. needle points due south!" "why, you cussed lubber!" growled the skipper, moving up and taking a look, "it p'ints d'rectly to labbard, an' there's the sun, dead ahead!" sam turned and confronted him, with a steady gaze of ineffable contempt. "now, who said it wasn't dead ahead?--tell me _that_. shows how much _you_ know about earthquakes. 'course, i didn't mean just this continent, nor just this earth: i tell you, the _whole thing's_ turned!" * * * * * a tale of spanish vengeance. don hemstitch blodoza was an hidalgo--one of the highest dalgos of old spain. he had a comfortably picturesque castle on the guadalquiver, with towers, battlements, and mortages on it; but as it belonged, not to his own creditors, but to those of his bitterest enemy, who inhabited it, don hemstitch preferred the forest as a steady residence. he had that curse of spanish pride which will not permit one to be a burden upon the man who may happen to have massacred all one's relations, and set a price upon the heads of one's family generally. he had made a vow never to accept the hospitality of don symposio--not if he died for it. so he pervaded the romantic dells, and the sunless jungle was infected with the sound of his guitar. he rose in the morning and laved him in the limpid brooklet; and the beams of the noonday sun fell upon him in the pursuit of diet-- "the thistle's downy seed his fare, his drink the morning dew." he throve but indifferently upon this meagre regimen, but beyond all other evils a true spaniard of the poorer sort dreads obesity. during the darkest night of the season he will get up at an absurd hour and stab his best friend in the back rather than grow fat. it will of course be suspected by the experienced reader that don hemstitch did not have any bed. like the horatian lines above quoted-- "he perched at will on every spray." in translating this tale into the french, m. victor hugo will please twig the proper meaning of the word "spray"; i shall be very angry if he make it appear that my hero is a gull. one morning while don hemstitch was dozing upon his leafy couch--not his main couch, but a branch--he was roused from his tranquil nap by the grunting of swine; or, if you like subtle distinctions, by the sound of human voices. peering cautiously through his bed-hangings, he saw below him at a little distance two of his countrymen in conversation. the fine practised phrenzy of their looks, their excellently rehearsed air of apprehensive secrecy, showed him they were merely conspiring against somebody's life; and he dismissed the matter from his mind until the mention of his own name recalled his attention. one of the conspirators was urging the other to make one of a joint-stock company for the don's assassination; but the more conscientious plotter would not consent. "the laws of spain," said the latter, "with which we have an acquaintance meanly withheld from the attorneys, enjoin that when one man murders another, except for debt, he must make provision for the widow and orphans. i leave it to you if, after the summer's unprofitable business, we are in a position to assume the care and education of a large family. we have not a single asset, and our liabilities amount to fourteen widows, and more than thirty children of strong and increasing appetite. "_car-r-rajo!"_ hissed the other through his beard; "we will slaughter the lot of them!" at this cold-blooded proposition his merciful companion recoiled aghast. "_diablo_!" he shrieked. "tempt me no farther. what! immolate a whole hecatomb of guiltless women and children? consider the funeral expense!" there is really no moving the law-abiding soul to crime of doubtful profit. but don hemstitch was not at ease; he could not say how soon it might transpire that he had nor chick nor child. should don symposio pass that way and communicate this information--and he was in a position to know--the moral scruples of the conscientious plotter would vanish like the baseless fabric of a beaten cur. moreover, it is always unpleasant to be included in a conspiracy in which one is not a conspirator. don hemstitch resolved to sell his life at the highest market price. hastily descending his tree, he wrapped his cloak about him and stood for some time, wishing he had a poniard. trying the temper of this upon his thumbnail, he found it much more amiable than his own. it was a keen toledo blade--keen enough to sever a hare. to nerve himself for the deadly work before him, he began thinking of a lady whom he had once met--the lovely donna lavaca, beloved of el toro-blanco. having thus wrought up his castilian soul to a high pitch of jealously, he felt quite irresistible, and advanced towards the two ruffians with his poniard deftly latent in his flowing sleeve. his mien was hostile, his stride puissant, his nose tip-tilted--not to put too fine a point upon it, petallic. don hemstitch was upon the war-path with all his might. the forest trembled as he trode, the earth bent like thin ice beneath his heel. birds, beasts, serpents, and poachers fled affrighted to the right and left of his course. he came down upon the unsuspecting assassins like a mild spanish avalanche. [illustration] "_senores!_" he thundered, with a frightful scowl and a faint aroma of garlic, "patter your _pater-nosters_ as fast as you conveniently may. you have but ten minutes to exist. has either of you a watch?" then might you have seen a guilty dismay over-spreading the faces of two sinners, like a sudden snow paling twin mountain peaks. in the presence of death, crime shuddered and sank into his boots. conscience stood appalled in the sight of retribution. in vain the villains essayed speech; each palsied tongue beat out upon the yielding air some weak words of supplication, then clave to its proper concave. two pairs of brawny knees unsettled their knitted braces, and bent limply beneath their loads of incarnate wickedness swaying unsteadily above. with clenched hands and streaming eyes these wretched men prayed silently. at this supreme moment an american gentleman sitting by, with his heels upon a rotted oaken stump, tilted back his chair, laid down his newspaper, and began operating upon a half-eaten apple-pie. one glance at the title of that print--one look at that calm angular face clasped in its crescent of crisp crust--and don hemstitch blodoza reeled, staggered like an exhausted spinning-top. he spread his baffled hand upon his eyes, and sank heavily to earth! "saved! saved!" shrieked the penitent conspirators, springing to their feet. the far deeps of the forest whispered in consultation, and a distant hillside echoed back the words. "saved!" sang the rocks--"saved!" the glad birds twittered from the leaves above. the hare that don hemstitch blodoza's poniard would have severed limped awkwardly but confidently about, saying, "saved!" as well as he knew how. explanation is needless. the american gentleman was the special correspondent of the "new york herald." it is tolerably well known that except beneath his searching eye no considerable event can occur--and his whole attention was focused upon that apple-pie! that is how spanish vengeance was balked of its issue. * * * * * mrs. dennison's head. while i was employed in the bank of loan and discount (said mr. applegarth, smiling the smile with which he always prefaced a nice old story), there was another clerk there, named dennison--a quiet, reticent fellow, the very soul of truth, and a great favourite with us all. he always wore crape on his hat, and once when asked for whom he was in mourning he replied his wife, and seemed much affected. we all expressed our sympathy as delicately as possible, and no more was said upon the subject. some weeks after this he seemed to have arrived at that stage of tempered grief at which it becomes a relief to give sorrow words--to speak of the departed one to sympathizing friends; for one day he voluntarily began talking of his bereavement, and of the terrible calamity by which his wife had been deprived of her head! this sharpened our curiosity to the keenest edge; but of course we controlled it, hoping he would volunteer some further information with regard to so singular a misfortune; but when day after day went by and he did not allude to the matter, we got worked up into a fever of excitement about it. one evening after dennison had gone, we held a kind of political meeting about it, at which all possible and impossible methods of decapitation were suggested as the ones to which mrs. d. probably owed her extraordinary demise. i am sorry to add that we so far forgot the grave character of the event as to lay small wagers that it was done this way or that way; that it was accidental or premeditated; that she had had a hand in it herself or that it was wrought by circumstances beyond her control. all was mere conjecture, however; but from that time dennison, as the custodian of a secret upon which we had staked our cash, was an object of more than usual interest. it wasn't entirely that, either; aside from our paltry wagers, we felt a consuming curiosity to know the truth for its own sake. each set himself to work to elicit the dread secret in some way; and the misdirected ingenuity we developed was wonderful. all sorts of pious devices were resorted to to entice poor dennison into clearing up the mystery. by a thousand indirect methods we sought to entrap him into divulging all. history, fiction, poesy--all were laid under contribution, and from goliah down, through charles i., to sam spigger, a local celebrity who got his head entangled in mill machinery, every one who had ever mourned the loss of a head received his due share of attention during office hours. the regularity with which we introduced, and the pertinacity with which we stuck to, this one topic came near getting us all discharged; for one day the cashier came out of his private office and intimated that if we valued our situations the subject of hanging would afford us the means of retaining them. he added that he always selected his subordinates with an eye to their conversational abilities, but variety of subject was as desirable, at times, as exhaustive treatment. during all this discussion dennison, albeit he had evinced from the first a singular interest in the theme, and shirked not his fair share of the conversation, never once seemed to understand that it had any reference to himself. his frank truthful nature was quite unable to detect the personal significance of the subject. it was plain that nothing short of a definite inquiry would elicit the information we were dying to obtain; and at a "caucus," one evening, we drew lots to determine who should openly propound it. the choice fell upon me. next morning we were at the bank somewhat earlier than usual, waiting impatiently for dennison and the time to open the doors: they always arrived together. when dennison stepped into the room, bowing in his engaging manner to each clerk as he passed to his own desk, i confronted him, shaking him warmly by the hand. at that moment all the others fell to writing and figuring with unusual avidity, as if thinking of anything under the sun except dennison's wife's head. "oh, dennison," i began, as carelessly as i could manage it; "speaking of decapitation reminds me of something i would like to ask you. i have intended asking it several times, but it has always slipped my memory. of course you will pardon me if it is not a fair question." as if by magic, the scratching of pens died away, leaving a dead silence which quite disconcerted me; but i blundered on: "i heard the other day--that is, you said--or it was in the newspapers--- or somewhere--something about your poor wife, you understand--about her losing her head. would you mind telling me how such a distressing accident--if it was an accident--occurred?" when i had finished, dennison walked straight past me as if he didn't see me, went round the counter to his stool, and perched himself gravely on the top of it, facing the other clerks. then he began speaking, calmly, and without apparent emotion: "gentlemen, i have long desired to speak of this thing, but you gave me no encouragement, and i naturally supposed you were indifferent. i now thank you all for the friendly interest you take in my affairs. i will satisfy your curiosity upon this point at once, if you will promise never hereafter to allude to the matter, and to ask not a single question now." we all promised upon our sacred honour, and collected about him with the utmost eagerness. he bent his head a moment, then raised it, quietly saying: "my poor wife's head was bitten off!" "by what?" we all exclaimed eagerly, with suspended breath. he gave us a look full of reproach, turned to his desk, and went at his work. we went at ours. * * * * * a fowl witch. frau gaubenslosher was strongly suspected of witchcraft. i don't think she was a witch, but would not like to swear she was not, in a court of law, unless a good deal depended upon my testimony, and i had been properly suborned beforehand. a great many persons accused of witchcraft have themselves stoutly disbelieved the charge, until, when subjected to shooting with a silver bullet or boiling in oil, they have found themselves unable to endure the test. and it must be confessed appearances were against the frau. in the first place, she lived quite alone in a forest, and had no visiting list. this was suspicious. secondly--and it was thus, mainly, that she had acquired her evil repute--all the barn-yard fowls in the vicinity seemed to bear her the most uncompromising ill-will. whenever she passed a flock of hens, or ducks, or turkeys, or geese, one of them, with dropped wings, extended neck, and open bill, would start in hot pursuit. sometimes the whole flock would join in for a few moments with shrill clamour; but there would always be one fleeter and more determined than the rest, and that one would keep up the chase with unflagging zeal clean out of sight. upon these occasions the dame's fright was painful to behold. she would not scream--her organs of screech seemed to have lost their power--nor, as a rule, would she curse; she would just address herself to silent prayerful speed, with every symptom of abject terror! the frau's explanation of this unnatural persecution was singularly weak. upon a certain night long ago, said she, a poor bedraggled and attenuated gander had applied at her door for relief. he stated in piteous accents that he had eaten nothing for months but tin-tacks and an occasional beer-bottle; and he had not roosted under cover for so long a time he did not know what it was like. would she give him a place on her fender, and fetch out six or eight cold pies to amuse him while she was preparing his supper? to this plea she turned a deaf ear, and he went away. he came again the next night, however, bringing a written certificate from a clergyman that his case was a deserving one. she would not aid him, and he departed. the night after he presented himself again, with a paper signed by the relieving officer of the parish, stating that the necessity for help was most urgent. by this time the frau's good-nature was quite exhausted: she slew him, dressed him, put him in a pot, and boiled him. she kept him boiling for three or four days, but she did not eat him because her teeth were just like anybody's teeth--no weaker, perhaps, but certainly no stronger nor sharper. so she fed him to a threshing machine of her acquaintance, which managed to masticate some of the more modern portions, but was hopelessly wrecked upon the neck. from that time the poor beldame had lived under the ban of a great curse. hens took after her as naturally as after the soaring beetle; geese pursued her as if she were a fleeting tadpole; ducks, turkeys, and guinea fowl camped upon her trail with tireless pertinacity. now there was a leaven of improbability in this tale, and it leavened the whole lump. ganders do not roost; there is not one in a hundred of them that could sit on a fender long enough to say jack robinson. so, as the frau lived a thousand years before the birth of common sense--say about a half century ago--when everything uncommon had a smell of the supernatural, there was nothing for it but to consider her a witch. had she been very feeble and withered, the people would have burned her, out of hand; but they did not like to proceed to extremes without perfectly legal evidence. they were cautious, for they had made several mistakes recently. they had sentenced two or three females to the stake, and upon being stripped the limbs and bodies of these had not redeemed the hideous promise of their shrivelled faces and hands. justice was ashamed of having toasted comparatively plump and presumably innocent women; and the punishment of this one was wisely postponed until the proof should be all in. but in the meantime a graceless youth, named hans blisselwartle, made the startling discovery that none of the fowls that pursued the frau ever came back to boast of it. a brief martial career seemed to have weaned them from the arts of peace and the love of their kindred. full of unutterable suspicion, hans one day followed in the rear of an exciting race between the timorous dame and an avenging pullet. they were too rapid for him; but bursting suddenly in at the lady's door some fifteen minutes afterward, he found her in the act of placing the plucked and eviscerated nemesis upon her cooking range. the frau betrayed considerable confusion; and although the accusing blisselwartle could not but recognize in her act a certain poetic justice, he could not conceal from himself that there was something grossly selfish and sordid in it. he thought it was a good deal like bottling an annoying ghost and selling him for clarified moonlight; or like haltering a nightmare and putting her to the cart. when it transpired that the frau ate her feathered persecutors, the patience of the villagers refused to honour the new demand upon it: she was at once arrested, and charged with prostituting a noble superstition to a base selfish end. we will pass over the trial; suffice it she was convicted. but even then they had not the heart to burn a middle-aged woman, with full rounded outlines, as a witch, so they broke her upon the wheel as a thief. [illustration] the reckless antipathy of the domestic fowls to this inoffensive lady remains to be explained. having rejected her theory, i am bound in honour to set up one of my own. happily an inventory of her effects, now before me, furnishes a tolerably safe basis. amongst the articles of personal property i note "one long, thin, silken fishing line, and hook." now if i were a barn-yard fowl--say a goose--and a lady not a friend of mine were to pass me, munching sweetmeats, and were to drop a nice fat worm, passing on apparently unconscious of her loss, i think i should try to get away with that worm. and if after swallowing it i felt drawn towards that lady by a strong personal attachment, i suppose that i should yield if i could not help it. and then if the lady chose to run and i chose to follow, making a good deal of noise, i suppose it would look as if i were engaged in a very reprehensible pursuit, would it not? with the light i have, that is the way in which the case presents itself to my intelligence; though, of course, i may be wrong. * * * * * the civil service in florida. colonel bulper was of a slumberous turn. most people are not: they work all day and sleep all night--are always in one or the other condition of unrest, and never slumber. such persons, the colonel used to remark, are fit only for sentry duty; they are good to watch our property while we take our rest--and they take the property. but this tale is not of them; it is of colonel bulper. there was a fellow named halsey, a practical joker, and one of the most disagreeable of his class. he would remain broad awake for a year at a time, for no other purpose than to break other people of their natural rest. and i must admit that from the wreck of his faculties upon the rock of _insomnia_ he had somehow rescued a marvellous ingenuity and fertility of expedient. but this tale is not so much of him as of colonel bulper. at the time of which i write, the colonel was the collector of customs at a sea-port town in florida, united states. the climate there is perpetual summer; it never rains, nor anything; and there was no good reason why the colonel should not have enjoyed it to the top of his bent, as there was enough for all. in point of fact, the collectorship had been given him solely that he might repair his wasted vitality by a short season of unbroken repose; for during the presidential canvass immediately preceding his appointment he had been kept awake a long time by means of strong tea, in order to deliver an able and exhaustive political argument prepared by the candidate, who was ultimately successful in spite of it. halsey, who had favoured the other aspirant, was a merchant, and had nothing in the world to do but annoy the collector. if the latter could have kept away from him, the dignity of the office might have been preserved, and the object of the incumbent's appointment to it attained; but sneak away whithersoever he might--into the heart of the dismal swamp, or anywhere in the everglades--some vagrom indian or casual negro was sure to stumble over him before long, and go and tell halsey, securing a plug of tobacco for reward. or if he was not found in this way, some company was tolerably certain, in the course of time, to survey a line of railway athwart his leafy couch, and laying his prostrate trunk aside out of the way, send word to his persecutor; who, as soon as the line was as nearly completed as it ever would be, would come down on horseback with some diabolical device for waking the slumberer. i will confess there is a subtle seeming of unlikelihood about all this; but in the land where ponce de leon searched for the fountain of youth there is an air of unreality in everything. i can only say i have had the story by me a long time, and it seems to me just as true as it was the day i wrote it. sometimes the colonel would seek out a hillside with a southern exposure; but no sooner would he compose his members for a bit of slumber, than halsey would set about making inquiries for him, under pretence that a ship was _en route_ from liverpool, and the collector's signature might be required for her anchoring papers. having traced him--which, owing to the meddlesome treachery of the venal natives, he was always able to do--halsey would set off to texas for a seed of the prickly pear, which he would plant exactly beneath the slumberer's body. this he called a triumph of modern engineering! as soon as the young vegetable had pushed its spines above the soil, of course the colonel would have to get up and seek another spot--and this nearly always waked him. upon one occasion the colonel existed five consecutive days without slumber--travelling all day and sleeping in the weeds at night--to find an almost inaccessible crag, on the summit of which he hoped to be undisturbed until the action of the dew should wear away the rock all round his body, when he expected and was willing to roll off and wake. but even there halsey found him out, and put eagles' eggs in his southern pockets to hatch. when the young birds were well grown, they pecked so sharply at the colonel's legs that he had to get up and wring their necks. the malevolence of people who scorn slumber seems to be practically unlimited. at last the colonel resolved upon revenge, and having dreamed out a feasible plan, proceeded to put it into execution. he had in the warehouse some government powder, and causing a keg of this to be conveyed into his private office, he knocked out the head. he next penned a note to halsey, asking him to step down to the office "upon important business;" adding in a postscript, "as i am liable to be called out for a few moments at any time, in case you do not find me in, please sit down and amuse yourself with the newspaper until i return." he knew halsey was at his counting-house, and would certainly come if only to learn what signification a government official attached to the word "business." then the colonel procured a brief candle and set it into the powder. his plan was to light the candle, dispatch a porter with the message, and bolt for home. having completed his preparations, he leaned back in his easy chair and smiled. he smiled a long time, and even achieved a chuckle. for the first time in his life, he felt a serene sense of happiness in being particularly wide awake. then, without moving from his chair, he ignited the taper, and put out his hand toward the bell-cord, to summon the porter. at this stage of his vengeance the colonel fell into a tranquil and refreshing slumber. * * * * * there is nothing omitted here; that is merely the colonel's present address. * * * * * a tale of the bosphorus. pollimariar was the daughter of a mussulman--she was, in fact, a mussulgirl. she lived at stamboul, the name of which is an admirable rhyme to what pollimariar was profanely asserted to be by her two sisters, djainan and djulya. these were very much older than pollimariar, and proportionately wicked. in wickedness they could discount her, giving her the first innings. the relations between pollimariar and her sisters were in all respects similar to those that existed between cinderella and _her_ sisters. indeed, these big girls seldom read anything but the story of cinderella; and that work, no doubt, had its influence in forming their character. they were always apparelling themselves in gaudy dresses from paris, and going away to balls, leaving their meritorious little sister weeping at home in their every-day finery. their father was a commercial traveller, absent with his samples in damascus most of the time; and the poor girl had no one to protect her from the outrage of exclusion from the parties to which she was not invited. she fretted and chafed very much at first, but after forbearance ceased to be a virtue it came rather natural to her to exercise a patient endurance. but perceiving this was agreeable to her sisters she abandoned it, devising a rare scheme of vengeance. she sent to the "levant herald" the following "personal" advertisement: "g.v.--regent's canal . p.m., q.k.x. is o.k.! with coals at sh-ll-ngs i cannot endure existence without you! ask for g-field st-ch. j.g. + ¶ pro rata. b-tty's n-bob p-ckles. oz-k-r-t! meet me at the 'turban and scimitar,' bebeck road, thursday morning at three o'clock; blue cotton umbrella, wooden shoes, and ulster overskirt polonaise all round the bottom. one who wants to know yer." the latter half of this contained the gist of the whole matter; the other things were put in just to prevent the notice from being conspicuously sensible. next morning, when the grand vizier took up his newspaper, he could not help knowing he was the person addressed; and at the appointed hour he kept the tryst. what passed between them the sequel will disclose, if i can think it out to suit me. soon afterwards djainan and djulya received cards of invitation to a grand ball at the sultan's palace, given to celebrate the arrival of a choice lot of circassian beauties in the market. the first thing the wicked sisters did was to flourish these invitations triumphantly before the eyes of pollimariar, who declared she did not believe a word of it; indeed, she professed such aggressive incredulity that she had to be severely beaten. but she denied the invitations to the last. she thought it was best to deny them. the invitations stated that at the proper hour the old original sultana would call personally, and conduct the young ladies to the palace; and she did so. they thought, at the time, she bore a striking resemblance to a grand vizier with his beard shaven off, and this led them into some desultory reflections upon the sin of nepotism and family favour at court; but, like all moral reflections, these came to nothing. the old original sultana's attire, also, was, with the exception of a reticule and fan, conspicuously epicene; but, in a country where popular notions of sex are somewhat confused, this excited no surprise. as the three marched off in stately array, poor little deserted pollimariar stood cowering at one side, with her fingers spread loosely upon her eyes, weeping like--a crocodile. the sultana said it was late; they would have to make haste. she had not fetched a cab, however, and a recent inundation of dogs very much impeded their progress. by-and-by the dogs became shallower, but it was near eleven o'clock before they arrived at the sublime porte--very old and fruity. a janizary standing here split his visage to grin, but it was surprising how quickly the sultana had his head off. pretty soon afterwards they came to a low door, where the sultana whistled three times and kicked at the panels. it soon yielded, disclosing two gigantic nubian eunuchs, black as the ace of clubs, who stared at first, but when shown a very cleverly-executed signet-ring of paste, knocked their heads against the ground with respectful violence. then one of them consulted a thick book, and took from a secret drawer two metal badges numbered , and , , which he fastened about the necks of the now frightened girls, who had just observed that the sultana had vanished. the numbers on the badges showed that this would be a very crowded ball. the other black now advanced with a measuring tape, and began gravely measuring djainan from head to heel. she ventured to ask the sable guardian with what article of dress she was to be fitted. "bedad, thin, av ye must know," said he, grinning, "it is to be a _sack_." "what! a _sacque_ for a ball?" "indade, it's right ye are, mavourneen; it is fer a ball--fer a cannon-ball--as will make yer purty body swim to the bothom nately as ony shtone." and the eunuch toyed lovingly with his measuring-tape, which the wretched girls now observed was singularly like a bow-string. "o, sister," shrieked djainan, "this is--" "o, sister," shrieked djulya, "this is--" "that horrid--" "that horrid--" _"harem!"_ it was even so. a minute later the betrayed maidens were carried, feet-foremost-and-fainting, through a particularly dirty portal, over which gleamed the infernal legend: "who enters here leaves soap behind!" i wash my hands of them. [illustration] next morning the following "personal" appeared in the "levant herald:" "p-ll-m-r-r.--all is over. the s-lt-n cleared his shelves of the old stock at midnight. if you purchased the circ-n b-ties with the money i advanced, be sure you don't keep them too long on hand. prices are sure to fall when i have done buying for the h-r-m. meet me at time and place agreed upon, and divide profits. g--d v--r." * * * * * john smith. an editorial article from a journal. of may rd, a.d. . at the quiet little village of smithcester (the ancient london) will be celebrated to-day the twentieth, centennial anniversary of this remarkable man, the foremost figure of antiquity. the recurrence of what, no longer than six centuries ago, was a popular _fête_ day, and which even now is seldom allowed to pass without some recognition by those to whom the word liberty means something more precious than gold, is provocative of peculiar emotion. it matters little whether or no tradition has correctly fixed the date of smith's birth; that he _was_ born--that being born he wrought nobly at the work his hand found to do--that by the mere force of his intellect he established our present perfect form of government, under which civilization has attained its highest and ripest development--these are facts beside which a mere question of chronology sinks into insignificance. that this extraordinary man originated the smitharchic system of government is, perhaps, open to honest doubt; very possibly it had a _de facto_ existence in various debased and uncertain shapes as early as the sixteenth century. but that he cleared it of its overlying errors and superstitions, gave it a definite form, and shaped it into an intelligible scheme, there is the strongest evidence in the fragments of twentieth-century literature that have descended to us, disfigured though they are with amazingly contradictory statements of his birth, parentage, and manner of life before he strode upon the political stage as the liberator of mankind. it is stated that snakeshear--one of his contemporaries, a poet whose works had in their day some reputation (though it is difficult to say why)--alludes to him as "the noblest roman of them all;" our ancestors at the time being called englishmen or romans, indifferently. in the only fragment of snakeshear extant, however, we have been unable to find this passage. smith's military power is amply attested in an ancient manuscript of undoubted authenticity, which has just been translated from the japanese. it is an account of the water-battle of loo, by an eyewitness whose name, unfortunately, has not reached us. in this battle it is stated that smith overthrew the great neapolitan general, whom he captured and conveyed in chains to the island of chickenhurst. in his political history of the twentieth century, the late mimble--or, as he would have been called in the time of which he writes, _mister_ mimble--has this luminous sentence: "with the single exception of coblentz, there was no european government the liberator did not upset, and which he did not erect into a pure smitharchy; and though some of them afterward relapsed temporarily into the crude forms of antiquity, and others fell into fanciful systems begotten of the intellectual activity he had stirred up, yet so firmly did he establish the principle, that in the thirty-second century the enlightened world was, what it has since remained, practically smitharchic." it may be noted here as a curious coincidence, that the same year which saw the birth of him who established rational government witnessed the death of him who perfected literature. in , martin farquhar tupper--next to smith the most notable name in history--died of starvation in the streets of london. like that of smith, his origin is wrapped in profoundest obscurity. no less than seven british cities claimed the honour of his birth. meagre indeed is our knowledge of this only bard whose works have descended to us through the changes of twenty centuries entire. all that is positively established is that during his life he was editor of "the times 'magazine,'" a word of disputed meaning--and, as quaint old dumbleshaw says, "an accomplished greek and latin scholar," whatever "greek" and "latin" may have been. had smith and tupper been contemporaries, the iron deeds of the former would doubtless have been immortalized in the golden pages of the latter. upon such chances does history depend for her materials! strangely unimpressible indeed must be the mind which, looking backward through the vista of twenty centuries upon the singular race from whom we are supposed to be descended, can repress a feeling of emotional interest. the names of john smith and martin farquhar tupper, blazoned upon the page of the dim past, and surrounded by the lesser names of snakeshear, the first neapolitan, oliver cornwell, close, "queen" elizabeth, or lambeth, the dutch bismarch, julia cæsar, and a host of contemporary notables are singularly suggestive. they call to mind the odd old custom of covering the body with "clothes;" the curious error of copernicus and other wide guesses of antique "science;" the lost arts of telegramy, steam locomotion, and printing with movable types; and the exploded theory of gunpowder. they set us thinking upon the zealous idolatry which led men to make pious pilgrimages to the then accessible regions about the north pole and into the interior of africa, which at that time was but little better than a wilderness. they conjure up visions of bloodthirsty "emperors," tyrannical "kings," vampire "presidents," and useless "parliaments"--strangely horrible shapes contrasted with the serene and benevolent aspect of our modern smithocracy! let us to-day rejoice that the old order of things has for ever passed away; let us be thankful that our lot has been cast in more wholesome days than those in which john smith chalked out the better destinies of a savage race, and tupper sang divine philosophy to inattentive ears. and yet let us keep green the memory of whatever there was of good--if any--in the dark pre-smithian ages, when men cherished quaint superstitions and rode on the backs of "horses"--when they passed _over_ the seas instead of under them--when science had not yet dawned to chase away the shadows of imagination--and when the cabalistic letters a.d., which from habit we still affix to the numerals designating the age of the world, had perhaps a known signification. * * * * * sundered hearts. deidrick schwackenheimer was a lusty young goatherd. he stood six feet two in his _sabots_, and there was not an ounce of superfluous bone or brain in his composition. if he had a fault, it was a tendency to sleep more than was strictly necessary. the nature of his calling fostered this weakness: after being turned into some neighbour's pasture, his animals would not require looking after until the owner of the soil turned them out again. their guardian naturally devoted the interval to slumber. nor was there danger of oversleeping: the pitchfork of the irate husbandman always roused him at the proper moment. at nightfall deidrick would marshal his flock and drive it homeward to the milking-yard. here he was met by the fair young katrina buttersprecht, the daughter of his employer, who relieved the tense udders of their daily secretion. one evening after the milking, deidrick, who had for years been nourishing a secret passion for katrina, was smitten with an idea. why should she not be his wife? he went and fetched a stool into the yard, led her tenderly to it, seated her, and _asked_ her why. the girl thought a moment, and then was at some pains to explain. she was too young. her old father required all her care. her little brother would cry. she was engaged to max manglewurzzle. she amplified considerably, but these were the essential points of objection. she set them before him _seriatim_ with perfect frankness, and without mental reservation. when she had done, her lover, with that instinctive sense of honour characteristic of the true goatherd, made no attempt to alter her decision. indeed, he had nodded a heart-broken assent to each separate proposition, and at the conclusion of the last was fast asleep. the next morning he jocundly drove his goats afield and appeared the same as usual, except that he slept a good deal more, and thought of katrina a good deal less. [illustration] that evening when he returned with his spraddling milch-nannies, he found a second stool placed alongside the first. it was a happy augury; his attentions, then, were not altogether distasteful. he seated himself gravely upon the stool, and when katrina had done milking, she came and occupied the other. he mechanically renewed his proposal. then the artless maid proceeded to recapitulate the obstacles to the union. she was too young. her old father required all her care. her little brother would cry. she was engaged to max manglewurzzle. as each objection was stated and told off on the _fraülein's_ fingers, deidrick nodded a resigned acquiescence, and at the finish was fast asleep. every evening after that deidrick proposed in perfect good faith, the girl repeated her objections with equal candour, and they were received with somnolent approval. love-making is very agreeable, and by the usuage of long years it becomes a confirmed habit. in less than a decade it became impossible for katrina to enjoy her supper without the regular proposal, and deidrick could not sleep of a night without the preliminary nap in the goat-yard to taper off his wakefulness. both would have been wretched had they retired to bed with a shade of misunderstanding between them. and so the seasons went by. the earth grayed and greened herself anew; the planets sailed their appointed courses; the old goats died, and their virtues were perpetuated in their offspring. max manglewurzzle married the miller's daughter; katrina's little brother, who would have cried at her wedding, did not cry any at his own; the aged buttersprecht was long gathered to his fathers; and katrina was herself well stricken in years. and still at fall of night she defined her position to the sleeping lover who had sought her hand--defined it in the self-same terms as upon that eventful eve. the gossiping _frauen_ began to whisper it would be a match; but it did not look like it as yet. slanderous tongues even asserted that it ought to have been a match long ago, but i don't see how it could have been, without the girl's consent. the parish clerk began to hanker after his fee; but, lacking patience, he was unreasonable. the whole countryside was now taking a deep interest in the affair. the aged did not wish to die without beholding the consummation of the love they had seen bud in their youth; and the young did not wish to die at all. but no one liked to interfere; it was feared that counsel to the woman would be rejected, and a thrashing to the man would be misunderstood. at last the parson took heart of grace to make or mar the match. like a reckless gambler he staked his fee upon the cast of a die. he went one day and removed the two stools--now worn extremely thin--to another corner of the milking-yard. that evening, when the distended udders had been duly despoiled, the lovers repaired to their trysting-place. they opened their eyes a bit to find the stools removed. they were tormented with a vague presentiment of evil, and stood for some minutes irresolute; then, assisted to a decision by their weakening knees, they seated themselves flat upon the ground. deidrick stammered a weak proposal, and katrina essayed an incoherent objection. but she trembled and became unintelligible; and when he attempted to throw in a few nods of generous approval they came in at the wrong places. with one accord they arose and sought their stools. katrina tried it again. she succeeded in saying her father was over-young to marry, and max manglewurzzle would cry if she took care of him. deidrick executed a reckless nod that made his neck snap, and was broad awake in a minute. a second time they arose. they conveyed the stools back to their primitive position, and began again. she remarked that her little brother was too old to require all her care, and max would cry to marry her father. deidrick addressed himself to sleep, but a horrid nightmare galloped rough-shod into his repose and set him off with a strangled snort. the good understanding between those two hearts was for ever dissipated; neither one knew if the other were afoot or on horseback. like the sailor's thirtieth stroke with the rope's-end, it was perfectly disgusting! their meetings after this were so embarrassing that they soon ceased meeting altogether. katrina died soon after, a miserable broken-spirited maiden of sixty; and deidrick drags out a wretched existence in a remote town, upon an income of eight _silbergroschen_ a week. oh, friends and brethren, if you did but know how slight an act may sunder for ever the bonds of love--how easily one may wreck the peace of two faithful hearts--how almost without an effort the waters of affection may be changed to gall and bitterness--i suspect you would make even more more mischief than you do now. * * * * * the early history of bath. bladud was the eldest son of a british king (whose name i perfectly remember, but do not choose to write) _temp_. solomon--who does not appear to have known bladud, however. bladud was, therefore, prince of wales. he was more than that: he was a leper--had it very bad, and the court physician, sir william gull, frequently remarked that the prince's death was merely a question of time. when a man gets to that stage of leprosy he does not care much for society, particularly if no one will have anything to do with him. so bladud bade a final adieu to the world, and settled in liverpool. but not agreeing with the climate, he folded his tent into the shape of an arab, as longfellow says, and silently stole away to the southward, bringing up in gloucestershire. here bladud hired himself out to a farmer named smith, as a swineherd. but fate, as he expressed it in the vernacular, was "ferninst him." leprosy is a contagious disease, within certain degrees of consanguinity, and by riding his pigs afield he communicated it to them; so that in a few weeks, barring the fact that they were hogs, they were no better off than he. mr. smith was an irritable old gentleman, so choleric he made his bondsmen tremble--though he was now abroad upon his own recognizances. dreading his wrath, bladud quitted his employ, without giving the usual week's notice, but so far conforming to custom in other respects as to take his master's pigs along with him. we find him next at a place called swainswick--or swineswig--a mile or two to the north-east of bath, which, as yet, had no existence, its site being occupied by a smooth level reach of white sand, or a stormy pool of black water, travellers of the time disagree which. at swainswick bladud found his level; throwing aside all such nonsense as kingly ambition, and the amenities of civilized society--utterly ignoring the deceitful pleasures of common sense--he contented his simple soul with composing _bouts rimés_ for lady miller, at batheaston villa; that one upon a buttered muffin, falsely ascribed by walpole to the duchess of northumberland, was really constructed by bladud. a brief glance at the local history of the period cannot but prove instructive. ralph allen was then residing at sham castle, where pope accused him of doing good like a thief in the night and blushing to find it unpopular. fielding was painfully evolving "tom jones" from an inner consciousness that might have been improved by soap and any water but that of bath. bishop warburton had just shot the count du barré in a duel with lord chesterfield; and beau nash was disputing with dr. johnson, at the pelican inn, walcot, upon a question of lexicographical etiquette. it is necessary to learn these things in order the better to appreciate the interest of what follows. during all this time bladud never permitted his mind to permanently desert his calling; he found family matters a congenial study, and he thought of his swine a good deal, off and on. one day while baiting them amongst the hills, he observed a cloud of steam ascending from the valley below. having always believed steam a modern invention, this ancient was surprised, and when his measly charge set up a wild squeal, rushing down a steep place into the aspiring vapour, his astonishment ripened into dismay. as soon as he conveniently could bladud followed, and there he heard the saw--i mean he saw the herd wallowing and floundering multitudinously in a hot spring, and punctuating the silence of nature with grunts of quiet satisfaction, as the leprosy left them and clave to the waters--to which it cleaves yet. it is not probable the pigs went in there for a medicinal purpose; how could they know? any butcher will tell you that a pig, after being assassinated, is invariably boiled to loosen the hair. by long usage the custom of getting into hot water has become a habit which the living pig inherits from the dead pork. (see herbert spencer on "heredity.") now bladud (who is said to have studied at athens, as most britons of his time did) was a rigid disciple of bishop butler; and butler's line of argument is this: because a rose-bush blossoms this year, a lamppost will blossom next year. by this ingenious logic he proves the immortality of the human soul, which is good of him; but in so doing he proves, also, the immortality of the souls of snakes, mosquitos, and everything else, which is less commendable. reasoning by analogy, bladud was convinced that if these waters would cure a pig, they would cure a prince: and without waiting to see _how_ they had cured the bacon, he waded in. when asked the next day by sir william waller if he intended trying the waters again, and if he retained his fondness for that style of bathing, he replied, "not any, thank you; i am quite cured!" sir william at once noised abroad the story of the wonderful healing, and when it reached the king's ears, that potentate sent for bladud to "come home at once and succeed to the throne, just the same as if he had a skin"--which bladud did. some time afterwards he thought to outdo dædalus and icarus, by flying from the top of st. paul's cathedral. he outdid them handsomely; he fell a good deal harder than they did, and broke his precious neck. previously to his melancholy end he built the city of bath, to commemorate his remarkable cure. he endowed the corporation with ten millions sterling, every penny of the interest of which is annually devoted to the publication of guide-books to bath, to lure the unwary invalid to his doom. from motives of mercy the corporation have now set up a contrivance for secretly extracting the mineral properties of the fluid before it is ladled out, but formerly a great number of strangers found a watery grave. if king bladud was generous to bath, bath has been grateful in return. one statue of him adorns the principal street, and another graces the swimming pond, both speaking likenesses. the one represents him as he was before he divided his leprosy with the pigs; the other shows him as he appeared after breaking his neck. writing in , dr. jordan says: "the baths are bear-gardens, where both sexes bathe promiscuously, while the passers-by pelt them with dead dogs, cats, and pigs; and even human creatures are hurled over the rails into the water." it is not so bad as that now, but lodgings are still held at rates which might be advantageously tempered to the shorn. i append the result of a chemical analysis i caused to be made of these incomparable waters, that the fame of their virtues may no longer rest upon the inadequate basis of their observed effects. one hundred parts of the water contain: brandate of sodium . parts. sulphuretted hydrogen . " citrate of magnesia . " calves'-foot jelly . " protocarbonate of brass . " nitric acid . " devonshire cream . " treaclate of soap . " robur . " superheated mustard . " frogs . " traces of guano, leprosy, picallilly, and scotch whiskey . " temperature of the four baths, degrees each--or altogether. * * * * * the following dorg. dad petto, as everybody called him, had a dog, upon whom he lavished an amount of affection which, had it been disbursed in a proper quarter, would have been adequate to the sentimental needs of a dozen brace of lovers. the name of this dog was jerusalem, but it might more properly have been dan-to-beersheba. he was not a fascinating dog to look at; you can buy a handsomer dog in any shop than this one. he had neither a graceful exterior nor an engaging address. on the contrary, his exceptional plainness had passed into a local proverb; and such was the inbred coarseness of his demeanour, that in the dark you might have thought him a politician. if you will take two very bandy-legged curs, cut one off just abaft the shoulders, and the other immediately forward of the haunches, rejecting the fore-part of the first and the rear portion of the second, you will have the raw material for constructing a dog something like dad petto's. you have only to effect a junction between the accepted sections, and make the thing eat. had he been favoured with as many pairs of legs as a centipede, jerusalem would not have differed materially from either of his race; but it was odd to see such a wealth of dog wedded to such a poverty of leg. he was so long that the most precocious pupil of the public schools could not have committed him to memory in a week. it was beautiful to see jerusalem rounding the angle of a wall, and turning his head about to observe how the remainder of the procession was coming on. he was once circumnavigating a small out-house, when, catching sight of his own hinder-quarters, he flew into a terrible rage. the sight of another dog always had this effect upon jerusalem, and more especially when, as in this case, he thought he could grasp an unfair advantage. so jerusalem took after that retreating foe as hard as ever he could hook it. round and round he flew, but the faster he went, the more his centrifugal force widened his circle, until he presently lost sight of his enemy altogether. then he slowed down, determined to accomplish his end by strategy. sneaking closely up to the wall, he moved cautiously forward, and when he had made the full circuit, he came smack up against his own tail. making a sudden spring, which must have stretched him like a bit of india-rubber, he fastened his teeth into his ham, hanging on like a country visitor. he felt sure he had nailed the other dog, but he was equally confident the other dog had nailed him; so the problem was simplified to a mere question of endurance--and jerusalem was an animal of pluck. the grim conflict was maintained all one day--maintained with deathless perseverance, until dad petto discovered the belligerent and uncoupled him. then jerusalem looked up at his master with a shake of the head, as much as to say: "it's a precious opportune arrival for the other pup; but who took _him_ off _me_?" i don't think i can better illustrate the preposterous longitude of this pet, than by relating an incident that fell under my own observation. i was one day walking along the highway with a friend who was a stranger in the neighbourhood, when a rabbit flashed past us, going our way, but evidently upon urgent business. immediately upon his heels followed the first instalment of dad petto's mongrel, enveloped in dust, his jaws distended, the lower one shaving the ground to scoop up the rabbit. he was going at a rather lively gait, but was some time in passing. my friend stood a few moments looking on; then rubbed his eyes, looked again, and finally turned to me, just as the brute's tail flitted by, saying, with a broad stare of astonishment: "did you ever see a pack of hounds run so perfectly in line? it beats anything! and the speed, too--they seem fairly blended! if a fellow didn't know better, he would swear there was but a single dog!" i suppose it was this peculiarity of jerusalem that had won old petto's regard. he liked as much of anything as he could have for his money; and the expense of this creature, generally speaking, was no greater than that of a brief succinct bull pup. but there were times when he was costly. all dogs are sometimes "off their feed"--will eat nothing for a whole day but a few ox-tails, a pudding or two, and such towelling as they can pick up in the scullery. when jerusalem got that way, which, to do him justice, was singularly seldom, it made things awkward in the near future. for in a few days after recovering his passion for food, the effect of his former abstemiousness would begin to reach his stomach; but of course all he could _then_ devour would work no immediate relief. this he would naturally attribute to the quality of his fare, and would change his diet a dozen times a day, his _menu_ in the twelve working hours comprising an astonishing range of articles, from a wood-saw to a kettle of soft soap--edibles as widely dissimilar as the zenith and the nadir, which, also, he would eat. so catholic an appetite was, of course, exceptional: ordinarily jerusalem was as narrow and illiberal as the best of us. give him plenty of raw beef, and he would not unsettle his gastric faith by outside speculation or tentative systems. i could relate things of this dog by the hour. such, for example, as his clever device for crossing a railway. he never attempted to do this endwise, like other animals, for the obvious reason that, like every one else, he was unable to make any sense of the time-tables; and unless he should by good luck begin the manoeuvre when a train was said to be due, it was likely he would be abbreviated; for of course no one is idiot enough to cross a railway track when the time-table says it is all clear--at least no one as long as jerusalem. so he would advance his head to the rails, calling in his outlying convolutions, and straightening them alongside the track, parallel with it; and then at a signal previously agreed upon--a short wild bark--this sagacious dog would make the transit unanimously, as it were. by this method he commonly avoided a quarrel with the engine. altogether he was a very interesting beast, and his master was fond of him no end. and with the exception of compelling mr. petto to remove to the centre of the state to avoid double taxation upon him, he was not wholly unprofitable; for he was the best sheep-dog in the country: he always kept the flock well together by the simple device of surrounding them. having done so, he would lie down, and eat, and eat, and eat, till there wasn't a sheep left, except a few old rancid ones; and even those he would tear into small spring lambs. dad petto never went anywhere without the superior portion of jerusalem at his side; and he always alluded to him as "the following dorg." but the beast finally became a great nuisance in illinois. his body obstructed the roads in all directions; and the representative of that district in the national congress was instructed by his constituents to bring in a bill taxing dogs by the linear yard, instead of by the head, as the law then stood. dad petto proceeded at once to washington to "lobby" against the measure. he knew the wife of a clerk in the bureau of statistics; armed with this influence he felt confident of success. i was myself in washington, at the time, trying to secure the removal of a postmaster who was personally obnoxious to me, inasmuch as i had been strongly recommended for the position by some leading citizens, who to their high political characters superadded the more substantial merit of being my relations. dad and i were standing, one morning, in front of willard's hotel, when he stooped over and began patting jerusalem on the head. all of a sudden the smiling brute sprang open his mouth and bade farewell to a succession of yells which speedily collected ten thousand miserable office-seekers, and an equal quantity of brigadier-generals, who, all in a breath, inquired who had been stabbed, and what was the name of the lady. meantime nothing would pacify the pup; he howled most dismally, punctuating his wails with quick sharp shrieks of mortal agony. more than an hour--more than two hours--we strove to discover and allay the canine grievance, but to no purpose. presently one of the hotel pages stepped up to mr. petto, handing him a telegraphic dispatch just received. it was dated at his home in cowville, illinois, and making allowance for the difference in time, something more than two hours previously. it read as follows: "a pot of boiling glue has just been upset upon jerusalem's hind-quarters. shall i try rhubarb, or let it get cold and chisel it off? "p.s. he did it himself, wagging his tail in the kitchen. some democrat has been bribing that dog with cold victuals.--penelope petto." then we knew what ailed "the following dorg." i should like to go on giving the reader a short account of this animal's more striking personal peculiarities, but the subject seems to grow under my hand. the longer i write, the longer he becomes, and the more there is to tell; and after all, i shall not get a copper more for pourtraying all this length of dog than i would for depicting an orbicular pig. snaking. very talkative people always seemed to me to be divided into two classes--those who lie for a purpose and those who lie for the love of lying; and sam baxter belonged, with broad impartiality, to both. with him falsehood was not more frequently a means than an end; for he would not only lie without a purpose but at a sacrifice. i heard him once reading a newspaper to a blind aunt, and deliberately falsifying the market reports. the good old lady took it all in with a trustful faith, until he quoted dried apples at fifty cents a yard for unbolted sides; then she arose and disinherited him. sam seemed to regard the fountain of truth as a stagnant pool, and himself an angel whose business it was to stand by and trouble the waters. "you know ben dean," said sam to me one day; "i'm down on that fellow, and i'll tell you why. in the winter of ' he and i were snaking together in the mountains north of the big sandy." "what do you mean by snaking, sam?" "well, _i_ like _that_! why, gathering snakes, to be sure--rattlesnakes for zoological gardens, museums, and side-shows to circuses. this is how it is done: a party of snakers go up to the mountains in the early autumn, with provisions for all winter, and putting up a snakery at some central point, get to work as soon as the torpid season sets in, and before there is much snow. i presume you know that when the nights begin to get cold, the snakes go in under big flat stones, snuggle together, and lie there frozen stiff until the warm days of spring limber them up for business. "we go about, raise up the rocks, tie the worms into convenient bundles and carry them to the snakery, where, during the snow season, they are assorted, labelled according to quality, and packed away for transportation. sometimes a single showman will have as many as a dozen snakers in the mountains all winter. "ben and i were out, one day, and had gathered a few sheaves of prime ones, when we discovered a broad stone that showed good indications, but we couldn't raise it. the whole upper part of the mountain seemed to be built mostly upon this one stone. there was nothing to be done but mole it--dig under, you know; so taking the spade i soon widened the hole the creatures had got in at, until it would admit my body. crawling in, i found a kind of cell in the solid rock, stowed nearly full of beautiful serpents, some of them as long as a man. you would have revelled in those worms! they were neatly disposed about the sides of the cave, an even dozen in each berth, and some odd ones swinging from the ceiling in hammocks, like sailors. by the time i had counted them roughly, as they lay, it was dark, and snowing like the mischief. there was no getting back to head-quarters that night, and there was room for but one of us inside." "inside what, sam?" "see here! have you been listening to what i'm telling you, or not? there is no use telling _you_ anything. perhaps you won't mind waiting till i get done, and then you can tell something of your own. we drew straws to decide who should sleep inside, and it fell to me. such luck as that fellow ben always had drawing straws when i held them! it was sinful! but even inside it was coldish, and i was more than an hour getting asleep. toward morning, though, i woke, feeling very warm and peaceful. the moon was at full, just rising in the valley below, and, shining in at the hole i'd entered at, it made everything light as day." "but, sam, according to _my_ astronomy a full moon never rises towards morning." "now, who said anything about your astronomy? i'd like to know who is telling this--you or i? always think you know more than i do--and always swearing it isn't so--and always taking the words out of my mouth, and--but what's the use of arguing with _you_? as i was saying, the snakes began waking about the same time i did; i could hear them turn over on their other sides and sigh. presently one raised himself up and yawned. he meant well, but it was not the regular thing for an ophidian to do at that season. by-and-by they began to poke their heads up all round, nodding good morning to one another across the room; and pretty soon one saw me lying there and called attention to the fact. then they all began to crowd to the front and hang out over the sides of the beds in a fringe, to study my habits. i can't describe the strange spectacle: you would have supposed it was the middle of march and a forward season! there were more worms than i had counted, and they were larger ones than i had thought. and the more they got awake the wider they yawned, and the longer they stretched. the fat fellows in the hammocks above me were in danger of toppling out and breaking their necks every minute. "then it went through my mind like a flash what was the matter. finding it cold outside, ben had made a roaring fire on the top of the rock, and the heat had deceived the worms into the belief that it was late spring. as i lay there and thought of a full-grown man who hadn't any better sense than to do such a thing as _that_, i was mad enough to kill him. i lost confidence in mankind. if i had not stopped up the entrance before lying down, with a big round stone which the heat had swollen so that a hydraulic ram couldn't have butted it loose, i should have put on my clothes and gone straight home." "but, sam, you said the entrance was open, and the moon shining in." "there you go again! always contradicting--and insinuating that the moon must remain for hours in one position--and saying you've heard it told better by some one else--and wanting to fight! i've told this story to your brother over at milk river more than a hundred million times, and he never said a word against it." "i believe you, samuel; for he is deaf as a tombstone." "tell you what to do for him! i know a fellow in smith's valley will cure him in a minute. that fellow has cleaned the deafness all out of washington county a dozen times. i never knew a case of it that could stand up against him ten seconds. take three parts of snake-root to a gallon of waggon-grease, and--i'll go and see if i can find the prescription!" and sam was off like a rocket. * * * * * maud's papa. that is she in the old black silk--the one with the gimlet curls and the accelerated lap-cat. doesn't she average about as i set her forth? "never told you anything about her?" well, i will. twenty years ago, many a young man, of otherwise good character, would have ameliorated his condition for that girl; and would have thought himself overpaid if she had restored a fosy on his sepulchre. maud would have been of the same opinion--and wouldn't have construed the fosy. and she was the most sagacious girl i ever experienced! as you shall hear. i was her lover, and she was mine. we loved ourselves to detraction. maud lived a mile from any other house--except one brick barn. not even a watch-dog about the place--except her father. this pompous old weakling hated me boisterously; he said i was dedicated to hard drink, and when in that condition was perfectly incompatible. i did not like him, too. one evening i called on maud, and was surprised to meet her at the gate, with a shawl drawn over her head, and apparently in great combustion. she told me, hastily, the old man was ill of a fever, and had nearly derided her by going crazy. this was all a lie; something had gone wrong with the old party's eyes--amanuensis of the equinox, or something; he couldn't see well, but he was no more crazy than i was sober. "i was sitting quietly by him," said maud, "when he sat up in bed and be-_gan!_ you never in all your born life! i'm so glad you've come; you can take care of him while i fetch the doctor. he's quiet enough now, but you just wait till he gets another paralogism. when _they_'re on--oh my! you mustn't let him talk, nor get out of bed; doctor says it would prolong the diagnosis. go right in, now. oh dear! whatever shall i ought to do?" and, blowing her eyes on the corner of her shawl, maud shot away like a comic. i walked hurriedly into the house, and entered the old man's dromedary, without knocking. the playful girl had left that room a moment before, with every appearance of being frightened. she had told the old one there was a robber in the house, and the venerable invalid was a howling coward--i tell you this because i scorn to deceive you. i found the old gentleman with his head under the blankets, very quiet and speaceful: but the moment he heard me he got up, and yelled like a heliotrope. then he fixed on me a wild spiercing look from his bloodshot eyes, and for the first time in my life i believed maud had told me the truth for the first time in hers. then he reached out for a heavy cane. but i was too punctual for him, and, clapping my hand on his breast, i crowded him down, holding him tight. he curvetted some; then lay still, and swore weak oaths that wouldn't have hurt a sick chicken! all this time i was firm as a rock of amaranth. presently, moreover, he spoke very low and resigned like--except his teeth chattered: "desperate man, there is no need; you will find it to the north-west corner of my upper secretary drawer. i spromise not to appear." "all right, my lobster-snouted bulbul," said i, delighted with the importunity of abusing him; "that is the dryest place you could keep it in, old spoolcotton! be sure you don't let the light get to it, angleworm! meantime, therefore, you must take this draught." "draught!" he shrieked, meandering from the subject. "o my poor child!"--and he sprang up again, screaming a multiple of things. i had him by the shoulders in a minute, and crushed him back--except his legs kept agitating. "keep still, will you?" said i, "you sugarcoated old mandible, or i'll conciliate your exegesis with a proletarian!" i never had such a flow of language in my life; i could say anything i wanted to. he quailed at that threat, for, deleterious as i thought him, he saw i meant it; but he affected to prefer it that way to taking it out of the bottle. "better," he moaned, "better even that than the poison. spare me the poisoned chalice, and you may do it in the way you mention." the "draught," it may be sproper to explain, was comprised in a large bottle sitting on the table. i thought it was medicine--except it was black--and although maud (sweet screature!) had not told me to give him anything, i felt sure this was nasty enough for him, or anybody. and it was; it was ink. so i treated his proposed compromise with silent contempt, merely remarking, as i uncorked the bottle: "medicine's medicine, my fine friend; and it is for the sick." then, spinioning his arms with one of mine, i concerted the neck of the bottle between his teeth. "now, you lacustrine old cylinder-escapement," i exclaimed, with some warmth, "hand up your stomach for this healing precoction, or i'm blest if i won't controvert your _raison d'être!_" he struggled hard, but, owing to my habit of finishing what i undertake, without any success. in ten minutes it was all down--except that some of it was spouted about rather circumstantially over the bedding, and walls, and me. there was more of the draught than i had thought. as he had been two days ill, i had supposed the bottle must be nearly empty; but, of course, when you think of it, a man doesn't abrogate much ink in an ordinary attack--except editors. just as i got my knees off the spatient's breast, maud peeped in at the door. she had remained in the lane till she thought the charm had had time to hibernate, then came in to have her laugh. she began having it, gently; but seeing me with the empty bottle in my sable hand, and the murky inspiration rolling off my face in gasconades, she got graver, and came in very soberly. wherewith, the draught had done its duty, and the old gentleman was enjoying the first rest he had known since i came to heal him. he is enjoying it yet, for he was as dead as a monogram. as there was a good deal of scandal about my killing a sprospective father-in-law, i had to live it down by not marrying maud--who has lived single, as a rule, ever since. all this epigastric tercentenary might have been avoided if she had only allowed a good deal of margin for my probable condition when she splanned her little practicable joke. "why didn't they hang me?"--- waiter, bring me a brandy spunch.--well, that is the most didactic question! but if you must know--they did. * * * * * jim beckwourth's pond. not long after _that_ (said old jim beckwourth, beginning a new story) there was a party of about a dozen of us down in the powder river country, after buffalo. it was the _worst_ place! just think of the most barren and sterile spot you ever saw, or ever will see. now take that spot and double it: that is where _we_ were. one day, about noon, we halted near a sickly little _arroyo_, that was just damp enough to have deluded some feeble bunches of bonnet-wire into setting up as grass along its banks. after picketing the horses and pack-mules we took luncheon, and then, while the others smoked and played cards for half-dollars, i took my rifle and strolled off into the hills to see if i could find a blind rabbit, or a lame antelope, that had been unable to leave the country. as i went on i heard, at intervals of about a quarter of an hour, a strange throbbing sound, as of smothered thunder, which grew more distinct as i advanced. presently i came upon a lake of near a mile in diameter, and almost circular. it was as calm and even as a mirror, but i could see by a light steamy haze above it that the water was nearly at boiling heat--a not very uncommon circumstance in that region. while i looked, big bubbles began to rise to the surface, chase one another about, and burst; and suddenly, without any other preliminary movement, there occurred the most awful and astounding event that (with a single exception) it has ever been my lot to witness! i stood rooted to the spot with horror, and when it was all over, and again the lake lay smiling placidly before me, i silently thanked heaven i had been standing at some distance from the deceitful pool. in a quarter of an hour the frightful scene was repeated, preceded as before by the rising and bursting of bubbles, and producing in me the utmost terror; but after seeing it three or four times i became calm. then i went back to camp, and told the boys there was a tolerably interesting pond near by, if they cared for such things. at first they did not, but when i had thrown in a few lies about the brilliant hues of the water, and the great number of swans, they laid down their cards, left lame dave to look after the horses, and followed me back to see. just before we crossed the last range of hills we heard a thundering sound ahead, which somewhat astonished the boys, but i said nothing till we stood on a low knoll overlooking the lake. there it lay, as peaceful as a dead indian, of a dull grey colour, and as innocent of water-fowl as a new-born babe. "there!" said i, triumphantly, pointing to it. "well," said bill buckster, leaning on his rifle and surveying it critically, "what's the matter with the pond? i don't see nothin' in _that_ puddle." "whar's yer swans?" asked gus jamison. "and yer prismatic warter?" added stumpy jack. "well, i like _this!_" drawled frenchwoman pete. "what 'n thunder d' ye mean, you derned saddle-coloured fraud?" i was a little nettled at all this, particularly as the lake seemed to have buried the hatchet for that day; but i thought i would "cheek it through." "just you wait!" i replied, significantly. "o yes!" exclaimed stumpy, derisively; "'course, boys, you mus' _wait_. 'tain't no use a-hurryin' up the cattle; yer mustn't rush the buck. jest wait till some feller comes along with a melted rainbow, and lays on the war-paint! and another feller fetches the swans' eggs, and sets on 'em, and hatches 'em out!--and me a-holding both bowers an' the ace!" he added, regretfully, thinking of the certainty he had left, to follow a delusive hope. then i pointed out to them a wide margin of wet and steaming clay surrounding the water on all sides, asking them if _that_ wasn't worth coming to see. "_that_!" exclaimed gus. "i've seen the same thing a thousand million times! it's the reg'lar thing in idaho. clay soaks up the water and sweats it out." to verify his theory he started away, down to the shore. i was concerned for gus, but i did not dare call him back for fear of betraying my secret in some way. besides, i knew he would not come; and he ought not to have been so sceptical, anyhow. just then two or three big bubbles rose to the surface, and silently exploded. quick as lightning i dropped on my knees and raised my arms. "now may heaven grant my prayer," i began with awful solemnity, "and send the great ranunculus to loose the binding chain of concupiscence, heaving the multitudinous aquacity upon the heads of this wicked and sententious generation, whelming these diametrical scoffers in a supercilious constantinople!" i knew the long words would impress their simple souls with a belief that i was actually praying; and i was right, for every man of them pulled his hat off, and stood staring at me with a mixed look of reverence, incredulity, and astonishment--but not for long. for before i could say amen, yours truly, or anything, that entire body of water shot upward five hundred feet into the air, as smooth as a column of crystal, curled over in broad green cataracts, falling outward with a jar and thunder like the explosion of a thousand subterranean cannon, then surging and swirling back to the centre, one steaming, writhing mass of snowy foam! as i rose to my feet to put my hand in my pocket for a chew of tobacco, i looked complacently about upon my comrades. stumpy jack stood paralysed, his head thrown back at an alarming angle, precisely as he had tilted it to watch the ascending column, and his neck somehow out of joint, holding it there. all the others were down upon their marrow-bones, white with terror, praying with extraordinary fervency, each trying his best to master the ridiculous jargon they had heard me use, but employing it with an even greater disregard of sense and fitness than i did. away over on the next range of hills, toward camp, was something that looked like a giant spider, scrambling up the steep side of the sand-hill, and sliding down a trifle faster than it got up. it was lame dave, who had abandoned his equine trust, to come up at the eleventh hour and see the swans. he had seen enough, and was now trying, in his weak way, to get back to camp. in a few minutes i had got stumpy's head back into the position assigned it by nature, had crowded his eyes in, and was going about with a reassuring smile, helping the pious upon their feet. not a word was spoken; i took the lead, and we strode solemnly to camp, picking up lame dave at the foot of his acclivity, played a little game for gus jamison's horse and "calamities," then mounted our steeds, departing thence. three or four days afterward i ventured cautiously upon a covert allusion to peculiar lakes, but the simultaneous clicking of ten revolvers convinced me that i need not trouble myself to pursue the subject. * * * * * stringing a bear. "i was looking for my horse one morning, up in the san joaquin valley," said old sandy fowler, absently stirring the camp fire, "when i saw a big bull grizzly lying in the sunshine, picking his teeth with his claws, and smiling, as if he said, 'you need not mind the horse, old fellow; he's been found.' i at once gave a loud whoop, which i thought would be heard by the boys in the camp, and prepared to string the brute." "oh, i know how it goes," interrupted smarty mellor, as we called him; "seen it done heaps o' times! six or eight o' ye rides up to the b'ar, and s'rounds him, every son-of-a-gun with a _riata_ a mile long, and worries him till he gits his mad up, and while he's a-chasin' one feller the others is a-goin' äter him, and a-floorin' of him by loopin' his feet as they comes up behind, and when he turns onto them fellers the other chappy turns onto him, and puts another loop onto his feet as they comes up behind, and then--" "i bound my _riata_ tightly about my wrist," resumed old sandy, composedly, "so that the beast should not jerk away when i had got him. then i advanced upon him--very slowly, so as not to frighten him away. seeing me coming, he rose upon his haunches, to have a look at me. he was about the size of a house--say a small two-storey house, with a mansard roof. i paused a moment, to take another turn of the thong about my wrist. "again i moved obliquely forward, trying to look as if i were thinking about the new waterworks in san francisco, or the next presidential election, so as not to frighten him away. the brute now rose squarely upon end, with his paws suspended before him, like a dog begging for a biscuit, and i thought what a very large biscuit he must be begging for! halting a moment, to see if the _riata_ was likely to cut into my wrist, i perceived the beast had an inkling of my design, and was trying stupidly to stretch his head up out of reach. "i now threw off all disguise, and whirled my cord with a wide circular sweep, and in another moment it would have been very unpleasant for bruin, but somehow the line appeared to get foul. while i was opening the noose, the animal settled upon his feet and came toward me; but the moment he saw me begin to whirl again, he got frightened, up-ended himself as before, and shut his eyes. "then i felt in my belt to see if my knife was there, when the bear got down again and came forward, utterly regardless. "seeing he was frightened and trying to escape by coming so close i could not have a fair fling at him, i dropped the noose on the ground and walked away, trailing the line behind me. when it was all run out, the rascal arrived at the loop. he first smelled it, then opened it with his paws, and putting it about his neck, tilted up again, and nodded significantly. "i pulled out my knife, and severing the line at my wrist, walked away, looking for some one to introduce me to smarty mellor." transcriber's note: the two introductory sections, "the introduction," and "a memoir of ambrose bierce," were originally printed in italics with non-italicized text used for emphasis. this convention has been reversed for ease of reading the e-text. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the original document have been preserved. the letters of ambrose bierce [illustration] the letters of ambrose bierce edited by bertha clark pope with a memoir by george sterling [illustration] san francisco the book club of california in reproducing these letters we have followed as nearly as possible the original manuscripts. this inevitably has caused a certain lack of uniformity throughout the volume, as in the case of the names of magazines and newspapers, which are sometimes italicized and sometimes in quotation marks.--the editor. copyright, , by the california book club the introduction by bertha clark pope "the question that starts to the lips of ninety-nine readers out of a hundred," says arnold bennett, in a review in the london _new age_ in , "even the best informed, will assuredly be: 'who is ambrose bierce?' i scarcely know, but i will say that among what i may term 'underground reputations' that of ambrose bierce is perhaps the most striking example. you may wander for years through literary circles and never meet anybody who has heard of ambrose bierce, and then you may hear some erudite student whisper in an awed voice: 'ambrose bierce is the greatest living prose writer.' i have heard such an opinion expressed." bierce himself shows his recognition of the "underground" quality of his reputation in a letter to george sterling: "how many times, and during a period of how many years must one's unexplainable obscurity be pointed out to constitute fame? not knowing, i am almost disposed to consider myself the most famous of authors. i have pretty nearly ceased to be 'discovered,' but my notoriety as an obscurian may be said to be worldwide and everlasting." anything which would throw light on such a figure, at once obscure and famous, is valuable. these letters of ambrose bierce, here printed for the first time, are therefore of unusual interest. they are the informal literary work--the term is used advisedly--of a man esteemed great by a small but acutely critical group, read enthusiastically by a somewhat larger number to whom critical examination of what they read seldom occurs, and ignored by the vast majority of readers; a man at once more hated and more adored than any on the pacific coast; a man not ten years off the scene yet already become a tradition and a legend; whose life, no less than his death, held elements of mystery, baffling contradictions, problems for puzzled conjecture, motives and meanings not vouchsafed to outsiders. were ambrose bierce as well known as he deserves to be, the introduction to these letters could be slight; we should not have to stop to inquire who he was and what he did. as it is, we must. ambrose bierce, the son of marcus aurelius and laura (sherwood) bierce, born in meiggs county, ohio, june , , was at the outbreak of the civil war a youth without formal education, but with a mind already trained. "my father was a poor farmer," he once said to a friend, "and could give me no general education, but he had a good library, and to his books i owe all that i have." he promptly volunteered in and served throughout the war. twice, at the risk of his life, he rescued wounded companions from the battlefield, and at kenesaw mountain was himself severely wounded in the head. he was brevetted major for distinguished services; but in after life never permitted the title to be used in addressing him. there is a story that when the war was over he tossed up a coin to determine what should be his career. whatever the determining auguries, he came at once to san francisco to join his favorite brother albert--there were ten brothers and sisters to choose from--and for a short time worked with him in the mint; he soon began writing paragraphs for the weeklies, particularly the _argonaut_ and the _news letter_. "i was a slovenly writer in those days," he observes in a letter forty years later, "though enough better than my neighbors to have attracted my own attention. my knowledge of english was imperfect 'a whole lot.' indeed, my intellectual status (whatever it may be, and god knows it's enough to make me blush) was of slow growth--as was my moral. i mean, i had not literary sincerity." apparently, attention other than his own was attracted, for he was presently editing the _news letter_. in he went to london and for four years was on the staff of _fun_. in london bierce found congenial and stimulating associates. the great man of his circle was george augustus sala, "one of the most skilful, finished journalists ever known," a keen satiric wit, and the author of a ballad of which it is said that swift might have been proud. another notable figure was tom hood the younger, mordantly humorous. the satiric style in journalism was popular then; and "personal" journals were so personal that one "jimmy" davis, editor of the _cuckoo_ and the _bat_ successively, found it healthful to remain some years in exile in france. bierce contributed to several of these and to _figaro_, the editor of which was james mortimer. to this gentleman bierce owed what he designated as the distinction of being "probably the only american journalist who was ever employed by an empress in so congenial a pursuit as the pursuit of another journalist." this other journalist was m. henri rochefort, communard, formerly editor of _la lanterne_ in paris, in which he had made incessant war upon the empire and all its personnel, particularly the empress. when, an exile, rochefort announced his intention of renewing _la lanterne_ in london, the exiled empress circumvented him by secretly copyrighting the title, _the lantern_, and proceeding to publish a periodical under that name with the purpose of undermining his influence. two numbers were enough; m. rochefort fled to belgium. bierce said that in "the field of chromatic journalism" it was the finest thing that ever came from a press, but of the literary excellence of the twelve pages he felt less qualified for judgment as he had written every line. this was in . two years earlier, under his journalistic pseudonym of "dod grile," he had published his first books--two small volumes, largely made up of his articles in the san francisco _news letter_, called _the fiend's delight_, and _nuggets and dust panned out in california_. now, he used the same pseudonym on the title-page of a third volume, _cobwebs from an empty skull_. the _cobwebs_ were selections from his work in _fun_--satirical tales and fables, often inspired by weird old woodcuts given him by the editors with the request that he write something to fit. his journalistic associates praised these volumes liberally, and a more distinguished admirer was gladstone, who, discovering the _cobwebs_ in a second-hand bookshop, voiced his delight in their cleverness, and by his praise gave a certain currency to bierce's name among the london elect. but despite so distinguished a sponsor, the books remained generally unknown. congenial tasks and association with the brilliant journalists of the day did not prevent bierce from being undeniably hard up at times. in he returned to san francisco, where he remained for twenty-one years, save for a brief but eventful career as general manager of a mining company near deadwood, south dakota. all this time he got his living by writing special articles--for the _wasp_, a weekly whose general temper may be accurately surmised from its name, and, beginning in , for the _examiner_, in which he conducted every sunday on the editorial page a department to which he gave the title he had used for a similar column in _the lantern_--_prattle_. a partial explanation of a mode of feeling and a choice of themes which bierce developed more and more, ultimately to the practical exclusion of all others, is to be found in the particular phase through which california journalism was just then passing. in the evolution of the comic spirit the lowest stage, that of delight in inflicting pain on others, is clearly manifest in savages, small boys, and early american journalism. it was exhibited in all parts of america--mark twain gives a vivid example in his _journalistic wild oats_ of what it was in tennessee--but with particular intensity in san francisco. as a community, san francisco exalted personal courage, directness of encounter, straight and effective shooting. the social group was so small and so homogeneous that any news of importance would be well known before it could be reported, set up in type, printed, and circulated. it was isolated by so great distances from the rest of the world that for years no pretense was made of furnishing adequate news from the outside. so the newspapers came to rely on other sorts of interest. they were pamphlets for the dissemination of the opinions of the groups controlling them, and weapons for doing battle, if need be, for those opinions. and there was abundant occasion: municipal affairs were corrupt, courts weak or venal, or both. editors and readers enjoyed a good fight; they also wanted humorous entertainment; they happily combined the two. in the creative dawn of when the foundations of the journalistic earth were laid and those two morning stars, the _californian_ of monterey and the _california star_ of san francisco, sang together, we find the editors attacking the community generally, and each other particularly, with the utmost ferocity, laying about them right and left with verbal broad-axes, crow-bars, and such other weapons as might be immediately at hand. the _california star's_ introduction to the public of what would, in our less direct day, be known as its "esteemed contemporary" is typical: "we have received two late numbers of the _californian_, a dim, dirty little paper printed in monterey on the worn-out materials of one of the old california _war presses_. it is published and edited by walter colton and robert semple, the one a _whining sycophant_, and the other an _over-grown lick-spittle_. at the top of one of the papers we find the words 'please exchange.' this would be considered in almost any other country a bare-faced attempt to swindle us. we should consider it so now were it not for the peculiar situation of our country which induces us to do a great deal for others in order for them to do us a little good.... we have concluded to give our paper to them this year, so as to afford them some insight into the manner in which a republican newspaper should be conducted. they appear now to be awfully verdant." down through the seventies and eighties the tradition persisted, newspapers being bought and read, as a historian of journalism asserts, not so much for news as to see who was getting "lambasted" that day. it is not strange, then, that journals of redoubtable pugnacity were popular, or that editors favored writers who were likely to excel in the gladiatorial style. it is significant that public praise first came to bierce through his articles in the caustic _news letter_, widely read on the pacific coast during the seventies. once launched in this line, he became locally famous for his fierce and witty articles in the _argonaunt_ and the _wasp_, and for many years his column _prattle_ in the _examiner_ was, in the words of mr. bailey millard, "the most wickedly clever, the most audaciously personal, and the most eagerly devoured column of _causerie_ that ever was printed in this country." in bierce was sent to washington to fight, through the hearst newspapers, the "refunding bill" which collis p. huntington was trying to get passed, releasing his central pacific railroad from its obligations to the government. a year later he went again to washington, where he remained during the rest of his journalistic career, as correspondent for the new york _american_, conducting also for some years a department in the _cosmopolitan_. much of bierce's best work was done in those years in san francisco. through the columns of the _wasp_ and the _examiner_ his wit played free; he wielded an extraordinary influence; his trenchant criticism made and unmade reputations--literary and otherwise. but this to bierce was mostly "journalism, a thing so low that it cannot be mentioned in the same breath with literature." his real interest lay elsewhere. throughout the early eighties he devoted himself to writing stories; all were rejected by the magazine editors to whom he offered them. when finally in he gathered these stories together into book form and offered them to the leading publishers of the country, they too, would have none of them. "these men," writes mr. bailey millard, "admitted the purity of his diction and the magic of his haunting power, but the stories were regarded as revolting." at last, in , his first book of stories, _tales of soldiers and civilians_, saw the reluctant light of day. it had this for foreword: "denied existence by the chief publishing houses of the country, this book owes itself to mr. e. l. g. steele, merchant, of this city, [san francisco]. in attesting mr. steele's faith in his judgment and his friend, it will serve its author's main and best ambition." there is biercean pugnacity in these words; the author flings down the gauntlet with a confident gesture. but it cannot be said that anything much happened to discomfit the publishing houses of little faith. apparently, bierce had thought to appeal past the dull and unjust verdict of such lower courts to the higher tribunal of the critics and possibly an elect group of general readers who might be expected to recognize and welcome something rare. but judgment was scarcely reversed. only a few critics were discerning, and the book had no vogue. when _the monk and the hangman's daughter_ was published by f. j. schulte and company, chicago, the next year, and _can such things be_ by the cassell publishing company, the year following, a few enthusiastic critics could find no words strong enough to describe bierce's vivid imagination, his uncanny divination of atavistic terrors in man's consciousness, his chiseled perfection of style; but the critics who disapproved had even more trouble in finding words strong enough for their purposes and, as before, there was no general appreciation. for the next twenty years ambrose bierce was a prolific writer but, whatever the reason, no further volumes of stories from his pen were presented to the world. _black beetles in amber_, a collection of satiric verse, had appeared the same year as _the monk and the hangman's daughter_; then for seven years, with the exception of a republication by g. p. putnam's sons of _tales of soldiers and civilians_ under the title, _in the midst of life_, no books by bierce. in appeared _fantastic fables_; in _shapes of clay_, more satiric verse; in _the cynic's word book_, a dictionary of wicked epigrams; in _write it right_, a blacklist of literary faults, and _the shadow on the dial_, a collection of essays covering, to quote from the preface of s. o. howes, "a wide range of subjects, embracing among other things, government, dreams, writers of dialect and dogs"--mr. howes might have heightened his crescendo by adding "emancipated woman"; and finally-- to --_the collected works of ambrose bierce_, containing all his work previously published in book form, save the two last mentioned, and much more besides, all collected and edited by bierce himself. on october , , ambrose bierce, having settled his business affairs, left washington for a trip through the southern states, declaring in letters his purpose of going into mexico and later on to south america. the fullest account of his trip and his plans is afforded by a newspaper clipping he sent his niece in a letter dated november , ; through the commonplaceness of the reportorial vocabulary shines out the vivid personality that was making its final exit: "traveling over the same ground that he had covered with general hazen's brigade during the civil war, ambrose bierce, famed writer and noted critic, has arrived in new orleans. not that this city was one of the places figuring in his campaigns, for he was here after and not during the war. he has come to new orleans in a haphazard, fancy-free way, making a trip toward mexico. the places that he has visited on the way down have become famous in song and story--places where the greatest battles were fought, where the moon shone at night on the burial corps, and where in day the sun shone bright on polished bayonets and the smoke drifted upward from the cannon mouths. "for mr. bierce was at chickamauga; he was at shiloh; at murfreesboro; kenesaw mountain, franklin and nashville. and then when wounded during the atlanta campaign he was invalided home. he 'has never amounted to much since then,' he said saturday. but his stories of the great struggle, living as deathless characterizations of the bloody episodes, stand for what he 'has amounted to since then.' "perhaps it was in mourning for the dead over whose battlefields he has been wending his way toward new orleans that mr. bierce was dressed in black. from head to foot he was attired in this color, except where the white cuffs and collar and shirt front showed through. he even carried a walking cane, black as ebony and unrelieved by gold or silver. but his eyes, blue and piercing as when they strove to see through the smoke at chickamauga, retained all the fire of the indomitable fighter. "'i'm on my way to mexico, because i like the game,' he said, 'i like the fighting; i want to see it. and then i don't think americans are as oppressed there as they say they are, and i want to get at the true facts of the case. of course, i'm not going into the country if i find it unsafe for americans to be there, but i want to take a trip diagonally across from northeast to southwest by horseback, and then take ship for south america, go over the andes and across that continent, if possible, and come back to america again. "'there is no family that i have to take care of; i've retired from writing and i'm going to take a rest. no, my trip isn't for local color. i've retired just the same as a merchant or business man retires. i'm leaving the field for the younger authors.' "an inquisitive question was interjected as to whether mr. bierce had acquired a competency only from his writings, but he did not take offense. "'my wants are few, and modest,' he said, 'and my royalties give me quite enough to live on. there isn't much that i need, and i spend my time in quiet travel. for the last five years i haven't done any writing. don't you think that after a man has worked as long as i have that he deserves a rest? but perhaps after i have rested i might work some more--i can't tell, there are so many things--' and the straightforward blue eyes took on a faraway look, 'there are so many things that might happen between now and when i come back. my trip might take several years, and i'm an old man now.' "except for the thick, snow-white hair no one would think him old. his hands are steady, and he stands up straight and tall--perhaps six feet." in december of that same year the last letter he is known to have written was received by his daughter. it is dated from chihuahua, and mentions casually that he has attached himself unofficially to a division of villa's army, and speaks of a prospective advance on ojinaga. no further word has ever come from or of ambrose bierce. whether illness overtook him, then an old man of seventy-one, and death suddenly, or whether, preferring to go foaming over a precipice rather than to straggle out in sandy deltas, he deliberately went where he knew death was, no one can say. his last letters, dauntless, grave, tender, do not say, though they suggest much. "you must try to forgive my obstinacy in not 'perishing' where i am," he wrote as he left washington. "i want to be where something worth while is going on, or where nothing whatever is going on." "good-bye--if you hear of my being stood up against a mexican stone wall and shot to rags please know that i think that a pretty good way to depart this life. it beats old age, disease, or falling down the cellar stairs. to be a gringo in mexico--ah, that is euthanasia!" whatever end ambrose bierce found in mexico, the lines of george sterling well express what must have been his attitude in meeting it: "dream you he was afraid to live? dream you he was afraid to die? or that, a suppliant of the sky, he begged the gods to keep or give? not thus the shadow-maker stood, whose scrutiny dissolved so well our thin mirage of heaven or hell-- the doubtful evil, dubious good.... "if now his name be with the dead, and where the gaunt agaves flow'r, the vulture and the wolf devour the lion-heart, the lion-head, be sure that heart and head were laid in wisdom down, content to die; be sure he faced the starless sky unduped, unmurmuring, unafraid." in any consideration of the work of ambrose bierce, a central question must be why it contains so much that is trivial or ephemeral. another question facing every critic of bierce, is why the fundamentally original point of view, the clarity of workmanship of his best things--mainly stories--did not win him immediate and general recognition. a partial answer to both questions is to be found in a certain discord between bierce and his setting. bierce, paradoxically, combined the bizarre in substance, the severely restrained and compressed in form. an ironic mask covered a deep-seated sensibility; but sensibility and irony were alike subject to an uncompromising truthfulness; he would have given deep-throated acclaim to clough's "but play no tricks upon thy soul, o man, let truth be truth, and life the thing it can." he had the aristocrat's contempt for mass feeling, a selectiveness carried so far that he instinctively chose for themes the picked person and experience, the one decisive moment of crisis. he viewed his characters not in relation to other men and in normal activities; he isolated them--often amid abnormalities. all this was in sharp contrast to the literary fashion obtaining when he dipped his pen to try his luck as a creative artist. the most popular novelist of the day was dickens; the most popular poet, tennyson. neither looked straight at life; both veiled it: one in benevolence, the other in beauty. direct and painful verities were best tolerated by the reading public when exhibited as instances of the workings of natural law. the spectator of the macrocosm in action could stomach the wanton destruction of a given human atom; one so privileged could and did excuse the creator for small mistakes like harrying hetty sorrell to the gallow's foot, because of the conviction that, taking the universe by and large, "he was a good fellow, and 'twould all be well." this benevolent optimism was the offspring of a strange pair, evangelicism and evolution; and in the minds of the great public whom bierce, under other circumstances and with a slightly different mixture of qualities in himself, might have conquered, it became a large, soft insincerity that demanded "happy endings," a profuse broadness of treatment prohibitive of harsh simplicity, a swathing of elemental emotion in gentility or moral edification. but to bierce's mind, "noble and nude and antique," this mid-victorian draping and bedecking of "unpleasant truths" was abhorrent. absolutely direct and unafraid--not only in his personal relations but, what is more rare, in his thinking--he regarded easy optimism, sure that god is in his heaven with consequently good effects upon the world, as blindness, and the hopefulness that demanded always the "happy ending," as silly. in many significant passages bierce's attitude is the ironic one of voltaire: "'had not pangloss got himself hanged,' replied candide, 'he would have given us most excellent advice in this emergency; for he was a profound philosopher.'" bierce did not fear to bring in disconcerting evidence that _a priori_ reasoning may prove a not infallible guide, that causes do not always produce the effects complacently pre-argued, and that the notion of this as the best of all possible worlds is sometimes beside the point. the themes permitted by such an attitude were certain to displease the readers of that period. in _tales of soldiers and civilians_, his first book of stories, he looks squarely and grimly at one much bedecked subject of the time--war; not the fine gay gallantry of war, the music and the marching and the romantic episodes; but the ghastly horror of it; through his vivid, dramatic passages beats a hatred of war, not merely "unrighteous" war, but all war, the more disquieting because never allowed to become articulate. with bitter but beautiful truth he brings each tale to its tragic close, always with one last turn of the screw, one unexpected horror more. and in this book--note the solemn implication of the title he later gave it, _in the midst of life_--as well as in the next, _can such things be_, is still another subject which bierce alone in his generation seemed unafraid to consider curiously: "death, in warfare and in the horrid guise of the supernatural, was painted over and over. man's terror in the face of death gave the artist his cue for his wonderful physical and psychologic microscopics. you could not pin this work down as realism, or as romance; it was the greatest human drama--the conflict between life and death--fused through genius. not zola, in the endless pages of his _debâcle_, not the great tolstoi in his great _war and peace_ had ever painted war, horrid war, more faithfully than any of the stories of this book; not maupassant had invented out of war's terrible truths more dramatically imagined plots.... there painted an artist who had seen the thing itself, and being a genius, had made it an art still greater. death of the young, the beautiful, the brave, was the closing note of every line of the ten stories of war in this book. the brilliant, spectacular death that came to such senseless bravery as tennyson hymned for the music-hall intelligence in his _charge of the light brigade_; the vision-starting, slow, soul-drugging death by hanging; the multiplied, comprehensible death that makes rivers near battlefields run red; the death that comes by sheer terror; death actual and imagined--every sort of death was on these pages, so painted as to make pierre loti's _book of pity and death_ seem but feeble fumbling." now death by the mid-victorian was considered almost as undesirable an element in society as sex itself. both must be passed over in silence or presented decently draped. in the eighties any writer who dealt unabashed with death was regarded as an unpleasant person. "revolting!" cried the critics when they read bierce's _chickamauga_ and _the affair at coulter's notch_. bierce's style, too, by its very fineness, alienated his public. superior, keen, perfect in detail, finite, compressed--such was his manner in the free and easy, prolix, rambling, multitudinous nineteenth century. bierce himself knew that although it is always the fashion to jeer at fashion, its rule is absolute for all that, whether it be fashion in boots or books. "a correspondent of mine," he wrote in in his _examiner_ column, "a well-known and clever writer, appears surprised because i do not like the work of robert louis stevenson. i am equally hurt to know that he does. if he was ever a boy he knows that the year is divided, not into seasons and months, as is vulgarly supposed, but into 'top time,' 'marble time,' 'kite time,' et cetera, and woe to the boy who ignores the unwritten calendar, amusing himself according to the dictates of an irresponsible conscience. i venture to remind my correspondent that a somewhat similar system obtains in matters of literature--a word which i beg him to observe means fiction. there are, for illustration--or rather, there were--james time, howells time, crawford time, russell time and conway time, each epoch--named for the immortal novelist of the time being--lasting, generally speaking, as much as a year.... all the more rigorous is the law of observance. it is not permitted to admire jones in smith time. i must point out to my heedless correspondent that this is not stevenson time--that was last year." it was decidedly not bierce time when bierce's stories appeared. and there was in him no compromise--or so he thought. "a great artist," he wrote to george sterling, "is superior to his world and his time, or at least to his parish and his day." his practical application of that belief is shown in a letter to a magazine editor who had just rejected a satire he had submitted: "even _you_ ask for literature--if my stories are literature, as you are good enough to imply. (by the way, all the leading publishers of the country turned down that book until they saw it published without them by a merchant in san francisco and another sort of publishers in london, leipsig and paris.) well, you wouldn't do a thing to one of my stories! "no, thank you; if i have to write rot, i prefer to do it for the newspapers, which make no false pretenses and are frankly rotten, and in which the badness of a bad thing escapes detection or is forgotten as soon as it is cold. "i know how to write a story (of 'happy ending' sort) for magazine readers for whom literature is too good, but i will not do so, so long as stealing is more honorable and interesting. i have offered you ... the best that i am able to make; and now you must excuse me." in these two utterances we have some clue to the secret of his having ceased, in , to publish stories. vigorously refusing to yield in the slightest degree to the public so far as his stories were concerned, he abandoned his best field of creative effort and became almost exclusively a "columnist" and a satirist; he put his world to rout, and left his "parish and his day" resplendently the victors. all this must not be taken to mean that the "form and pressure of the time" put into bierce what was not there. even in his creative work he had a satiric bent; his early training and associations, too, had been in journalistic satire. under any circumstances he undoubtedly would have written satire--columns of it for his daily bread, books of it for self-expression; but under more favorable circumstances he would have kept on writing other sort of books as well. lovers of literature may well lament that bierce's insistence on going his way and the demands of his "parish" forced him to overdevelop one power to the almost complete paralysis of another and a perhaps finer. as a satirist bierce was the best america has produced, perhaps the best since voltaire. but when he confined himself to "exploring the ways of hate as a form of creative energy," it was with a hurt in his soul, and with some intellectual and spiritual confusion. there resulted a kink in his nature, a contradiction that appears repeatedly, not only in his life, but in his writings. a striking instance is found in his article _to train a writer_: "he should, for example, forget that he is an american and remember that he is a man. he should be neither christian nor jew, nor buddhist, nor mahometan, nor snake worshiper. to local standards of right and wrong he should be civilly indifferent. in the virtues, so-called, he should discern only the rough notes of a general expediency; in fixed moral principles only time-saving predecisions of cases not yet before the court of conscience. happiness should disclose itself to his enlarging intelligence as the end and purpose of life; art and love as the only means to happiness. he should free himself of all doctrines, theories, etiquettes, politics, simplifying his life and mind, attaining clarity with breadth and unity with height. to him a continent should not seem wide nor a century long. and it would be needful that he know and have an ever-present consciousness that this is a world of fools and rogues, blind with superstition, tormented with envy, consumed with vanity, selfish, false, cruel, cursed with illusions--frothing mad!" up to that last sentence ambrose bierce beholds this world as one where tolerance, breadth of view, simplicity of life and mind, clear thinking, are at most attainable, at least worthy of the effort to attain; he regards life as purposive, as having happiness for its end, and art and love as the means to that good end. but suddenly the string from which he has been evoking these broad harmonies snaps with a snarl. all is evil and hopeless--"frothing mad." both views cannot be held simultaneously by the same mind. which was the real belief of ambrose bierce? the former, it seems clear. but he has been hired to be a satirist. on the original fabric of bierce's mind the satiric strand has encroached more than the design allows. there results not only considerable obliteration of the main design, but confusion in the substituted one. for it is significant that much of the work of bierce seems to be that of what he would have called a futilitarian, that he seldom seems able to find a suitable field for his satire, a foeman worthy of such perfect steel as he brings to the encounter; he fights on all fields, on both sides, against all comers; ubiquitous, indiscriminate, he is as one who screams in pain at his own futility, one who "might be heard," as he says of our civilization, "from afar in space as a scolding and a riot." that bierce would have spent so much of his superb power on the trivial and the ephemeral, breaking magnificent vials of wrath on oakland nobodies, preserving insignificant black beetles in the amber of his art, is not merely, as it has long been, cause of amazement to the critics; it is cause of laughter to the gods, and of weeping among bierce's true admirers. some may argue that bierce's failure to attain international or even national fame cannot be ascribed solely to a lack of concord between the man and his time and to the consequent reaction in him. it is true that in bierce's work is a sort of paucity--not a mere lack of printed pages, but of the fulness of creative activity that makes byron, for example, though vulgar and casual, a literary mountain peak. bierce has but few themes, few moods; his literary river runs clear and sparkling, but confined--a narrow current, not the opulent stream that waters wide plains of thought and feeling. nor has bierce the power to weave individual entities and situations into a broad pattern of existence, which is the distinguishing mark of such writers as thackeray, balzac, and tolstoi among the great dead, and bennett and wells among the lesser living. bierce's interest does not lie in the group experience nor even in the experience of the individual through a long period. his unit of time is the minute, not the month. it is significant that he never wrote a novel--unless _the monk and the hangman's daughter_ be reckoned one--and that he held remarkable views of the novel as a literary form, witness this passage from _prattle_, written in : "english novelists are not great because the english novel is dead--deader than queen anne at her deadest. the vein is worked out. it was a thin one and did not 'go down.' a single century from the time when richardson sank the discovery shaft it had already begun to 'pinch out.' the miners of today have abandoned it altogether to search for 'pockets,' and some of the best of them are merely 'chloriding the dumps.' to expect another good novel in english is to expect the gold to 'grow' again." it may well be that at the bottom of this sweeping condemnation was an instinctive recognition of his own lack of constructive power on a large scale. but an artist, like a nation, should be judged not by what he cannot do, but by what he can. that bierce could not paint the large canvas does not make him negligible or even inconsiderable. he is by no means a second-rate writer; he is a first-rate writer who could not consistently show his first-rateness. when he did show his first-rateness, what is it? in all his best work there is originality, a rare and precious idiosyncracy; his point of view, his themes are rich with it. above all writers bierce can present--brilliantly present--startling fragments of life, carved out from attendant circumstance; isolated problems of character and action; sharply bitten etchings of individual men under momentary stresses and in bizarre situations. through his prodigious emotional perceptivity he has the power of feeling and making us feel some strange, perverse accident of fate, destructive of the individual--of making us feel it to be real and terrible. this is not an easy thing to do. de maupassant said that men were killed every year in paris by the falling of tiles from the roof, but if he got rid of a principal character in that way, he should be hooted at. bierce can make us accept as valid and tragic events more odd than the one de maupassant had to reject. "in the line of the startling,--half poe, half merimee--he cannot have many superiors," says arnold bennett.... "a story like _an occurrence at owl creek bridge_--well, edgar allan poe might have deigned to sign it. and that is something. "he possesses a remarkable style--what kipling's would have been had kipling been born with any significance of the word 'art'--and a quite strangely remarkable perception of beauty. there is a feeling for landscape in _a horseman in the sky_ which recalls the exquisite opening of that indifferent novel, _les frères zemganno_ by edmond de goncourt, and which no english novelist except thomas hardy, and possibly charles marriott, could match." the feeling for landscape which bennett notes is but one part of a greater power--the power to make concrete and visible, action, person, place. bierce's descriptions of civil war battles in his _bits of autobiography_ are the best descriptions of battle ever written. he lays out the field with map-like clearness, marshals men and events with precision and economy, but his account never becomes exposition--it is drama. real battles move swiftly; accounts make them seem labored and slow. what narrator save bierce can convey the sense of their being lightly swift, and, again and again the shock of surprise the event itself must have given? this could not be were it not for his verbal restraint. in his descriptions is no welter of adjectives and adverbs; strong exact nouns and verbs do the work, and this means that the veritable object and action are brought forward, not qualifying talk around and about them. and this, again, could not be were it not for what is, beyond all others, his greatest quality--absolute precision. "i sometimes think," he once wrote playfully about letters of his having been misunderstood, "i sometimes think that i am the only man in the world who understands the meaning of the written word. or the only one who does not." a reader of ambrose bierce comes almost to believe that not till now has he found a writer who understands--completely--the meaning of the written word. he has the power to bring out new meanings in well-worn words, so setting them as to evoke brilliant significances never before revealed. he gives to one phrase the beauty, the compressed suggestion of a poem; his titles--_black beetles in amber_, _ashes of the beacon_, _cobwebs from an empty skull_ are masterpieces in miniature. that he should have a gift of coining striking words naturally follows: in his later years he has fallen into his "anecdotage," a certain socialist is the greatest "futilitarian" of them all, "femininies"--and so on infinitely. often the smaller the biercean gem, the more exquisite the workmanship. one word has all the sparkle of an epigram. in such skill ambrose bierce is not surpassed by any writer, ancient or modern; it gives him rank among the few masters who afford that highest form of intellectual delight, the immediate recognition of a clear idea perfectly set forth in fitting words--wit's twin brother, evoking that rare joy, the sudden, secret laughter of the mind. so much for bierce the artist; the man is found in these letters. if further clue to the real nature of ambrose bierce were needed it is to be found in a conversation he had in his later years with a young girl: "you must be very proud, mr. bierce, of all your books and your fame?" "no," he answered rather sadly, "you will come to know that all that is worth while in life is the love you have had for a few people near to you." a memoir of ambrose bierce by george sterling though from boyhood a lover of tales of the terrible, it was not until my twenty-second year that i heard of ambrose bierce, i having then been for ten months a resident of oakland, california. but in the fall of the year my friend roosevelt johnson, newly arrived from our town of birth, sag harbor, new york, asked me if i were acquainted with his work, adding that he had been told that bierce was the author of stories not inferior in awesomeness to the most terrible of poe's. we made inquiry and found that bierce had for several years been writing columns of critical comment, satirically named _prattle_, for the editorial page of the sunday _examiner_, of san francisco. as my uncle, of whose household i had been for nearly a year a member, did not subscribe to that journal, i had unfortunately overlooked these weekly contributions to the wit and sanity of our western literature--an omission for which we partially consoled ourselves by subsequently reading with great eagerness each installment of _prattle_ as it appeared. but, so far as his short stories were concerned, we had to content ourselves with the assurance of a neighbor that "they'd scare an owl off a tombstone." however, later in the autumn, while making a pilgrimage to the home of our greatly worshipped joaquin miller, we became acquainted with albert, an elder brother of bierce's, a man who was to be one of my dearest of friends to the day of his death, in march, . from him we obtained much to gratify our not unnatural curiosity as to this mysterious being, who, from his isolation on a lonely mountain above the napa valley, scattered weekly thunderbolts on the fool, the pretender, and the knave, and cast ridicule or censure on many that sat in the seats of the mighty. for none, however socially or financially powerful, was safe from the stab of that aculeate pen, the venom of whose ink is to gleam vividly from the pages of literature for centuries yet to come. for bierce is of the immortals. that fact, known, i think, to him, and seeming then more and more evident to some of his admirers, has become plainly apparent to anyone who can appraise the matter with eyes that see beyond the flimsy artifices that bulk so large and so briefly in the literary arena. bierce was a sculptor who wrought in hardest crystal. i was not to be so fortunate as to become acquainted with him until after the publication of his first volume of short stories, entitled _tales of soldiers and civilians_. that mild title gives scant indication of the terrors that await the unwarned reader. i recall that i hung fascinated over the book, unable to lay it down until the last of its printed dooms had become an imperishable portion of the memory. the tales are told with a calmness and reserve that make most of poe's seem somewhat boyish and melodramatic by comparison. the greatest of them seems to me to be _an occurrence at owl creek bridge_, though i am perennially charmed by the weird beauty of _an inhabitant of carcosa_, a tale of unique and unforgettable quality. bierce, born in ohio in , came to san francisco soon after the close of the civil war. it is amusing to learn that he was one of a family of eleven children, male and female, the christian name of each of whom began with the letter "a!" obtaining employment at first in the united states mint, whither albert, always his favorite brother, had preceded him, he soon gravitated to journalism, doing his first work on the san francisco _news letter_. his brother once told me that he (ambrose) had from boyhood been eager to become a writer and was expectant of success at that pursuit. isolated from most men by the exalted and austere habit of his thought, bierce finally suffered a corresponding exile of the body, and was forced to live in high altitudes, which of necessity are lonely. this latter banishment was on account of chronic and utterly incurable asthma, an ailment contracted in what might almost be termed a characteristic manner. bierce had no fear of the dead folk and their marble city. from occasional strollings by night in laurel hill cemetery, in san francisco, his spirit "drank repose," and was able to attain a serenity in which the cares of daytime existence faded to nothingness. it was on one of those strolls that he elected to lie for awhile in the moonlight on a flat tombstone, and awakening late in the night, found himself thoroughly chilled, and a subsequent victim of the disease that was to cast so dark a shadow over his following years. for his sufferings from asthma were terrible, arising often to a height that required that he be put under the influence of chloroform. so afflicted, he found visits to the lowlands a thing not to be indulged in with impunity. for many years such trips terminated invariably in a severe attack of his ailment, and he was driven back to his heights shaken and harassed. but he found such visits both necessary and pleasant on occasion, and it was during one that he made in the summer of that i first made his acquaintance, while he was temporarily a guest at his brother albert's camp on a rocky, laurel-covered knoll on the eastern shore of lake temescal, a spot now crossed by the tracks of the oakland, antioch and eastern railway. i am not likely to forget his first night among us. a tent being, for his ailment, insufficiently ventilated, he decided to sleep by the campfire, and i, carried away by my youthful hero-worship, must partially gratify it by occupying the side of the fire opposite to him. i had a comfortable cot in my tent, and was unaccustomed at the time to sleeping on the ground, the consequence being that i awoke at least every half-hour. but awake as often as i might, always i found bierce lying on his back in the dim light of the embers, his gaze fixed on the stars of the zenith. i shall not forget the gaze of those eyes, the most piercingly blue, under yellow shaggy brows, that i have ever seen. after that, i saw him at his brother's home in berkeley, at irregular intervals, and once paid him a visit at his own temporary home at skylands, above wrights, in santa clara county, whither he had moved from howell mountain, in napa county. it was on this visit that i was emboldened to ask his opinion on certain verses of mine, the ambition to become a poet having infected me at the scandalously mature age of twenty-six. he was hospitable to my wish, and i was fortunate enough to be his pupil almost to the year of his going forth from among us. during the greater part of that time he was a resident of washington, d. c., whither he had gone in behalf of the san francisco _examiner_, to aid in defeating (as was successfully accomplished) the funding bill proposed by the southern pacific company. it was on this occasion that he electrified the senate's committee by repeatedly refusing to shake the hand of the proponent of that measure, no less formidable an individual than collis p. huntington. for bierce carried into actual practice his convictions on ethical matters. secure in his own self-respect, and valuing his friendship or approval to a high degree, he refused to make, as he put it, "a harlot of his friendship." indeed, he once told me that it was his rule, on subsequently discovering the unworth of a person to whom a less fastidious friend had without previous warning introduced him, to write a letter to that person and assure him that he regarded the introduction as a mistake, and that the twain were thenceforth to "meet as strangers!" he also once informed me that he did not care to be introduced to persons whom he had criticized, or was about to criticize, in print. "i might get to like the beggar," was his comment, "and then i'd have one less pelt in my collection." in his criticism of my own work, he seldom used more than suggestion, realizing, no doubt, the sensitiveness of the tyro in poetry. it has been hinted to me that he laid, as it were, a hand of ice on my youthful enthusiasms, but that, to such extent as it may be true, was, i think, a good thing for a pupil of the art, youth being apt to gush and become over-sentimental. most poets would give much to be able to obliterate some of their earlier work, and he must have saved me a major portion of such putative embarrassment. reviewing the manuscripts that bear his marginal counsels, i can now see that such suggestions were all "indicated," though at the time i dissented from some of them. it was one of his tenets that a critic should "keep his heart out of his head" (to use his own words), when sitting in judgment on the work of writers whom he knew and liked. but i cannot but think that he was guilty of sad violations of that rule, especially in my own case. bierce lived many years in washington before making a visit to his old home. that happened in , in which year he visited me at carmel, and we afterwards camped for several weeks together with his brother and nephew, in yosemite. i grew to know him better in those days, and he found us hospitable, in the main degree, to his view of things, socialism being the only issue on which we were not in accord. it led to many warm arguments, which, as usual, conduced nowhere but to the suspicion that truth in such matters was mainly a question of taste. i saw him again in the summer of , which he spent at sag harbor. we were much on the water, guests of my uncle in his power-yacht "la mascotte ii." he was a devotee of canoeing, and made many trips on the warm and shallow bays of eastern long island, which he seemed to prefer to the less spacious reaches of the potomac. he revisited california in the fall of the next year, a trip on which we saw him for the last time. an excursion to the grand canyon was occasionally proposed, but nothing came of it, nor did he consent to be again my guest at carmel, on the rather surprising excuse that the village contained too many anarchists! and in november, , i received my last letter from him, he being then in laredo, texas, about to cross the border into warring mexico. why he should have gone forth on so hazardous an enterprise is for the most part a matter of conjecture. it may have been in the spirit of adventure, or out of boredom, or he may not, even, have been jesting when he wrote to an intimate friend that, ashamed of having lived so long, and not caring to end his life by his own hand, he was going across the border and let the mexicans perform for him that service. but he wrote to others that he purposed to extend his pilgrimage as far as south america, to cross the andes, and return to new york by way of a steamer from buenos ayres. at any rate, we know, from letters written during the winter months, that he had unofficially attached himself to a section of villa's army, even taking an active part in the fighting. he was heard from until the close of ; after that date the mist closes in upon his trail, and we are left to surmise what we may. many rumors as to his fate have come out of mexico, one of them even placing him in the trenches of flanders. these rumors have been, so far as possible, investigated: all end in nothing. the only one that seems in the least degree illuminative is the tale brought by a veteran reporter from the city of mexico, and published in the san francisco _bulletin_. it is the story of a soldier in villa's army, one of a detachment that captured, near the village of icamole, an ammunition train of the carranzistas. one of the prisoners was a sturdy, white-haired, ruddy-faced gringo, who, according to the tale, went before the firing squad with an indian muleteer, as sole companion in misfortune. the description of the manner--indifferent, even contemptuous--with which the white-haired man met his death seems so characteristic of bierce that one would almost be inclined to give credence to the tale, impossible though it may be of verification. but the date of the tragedy being given as late in , it seems incredible that bierce could have escaped observation for so long a period, with so many persons in mexico eager to know of his fate. it is far more likely that he met his death at the hands of a roving band of outlaws or guerrilla soldiery. i have had often in mind the vision of his capture by such a squad, their discovery of the considerable amount of gold coin that he was known to carry on his person, and his immediate condemnation and execution as a spy in order that they might retain possession of the booty. naturally, such proceedings would not have been reported, from fear of the necessity of sharing with those "higher up." and so the veil would have remained drawn, and impenetrable to vision. through the efforts of the war department, all united states consuls were questioned as to bierce's possible departure from the country; all americans visiting or residing in mexico were begged for information--even prospectors. but the story of the reporter is the sole one that seems partially credible. to such darkness did so shining and fearless a soul go forth. it is now over eight years since that disappearance, and though the likelihood of his existence in the flesh seems faint indeed, the storm of detraction and obloquy that he always insisted would follow his demise has never broken, is not even on the horizon. instead, he seems to be remembered with tolerance by even those whom he visited with a chastening pen. each year of darkness but makes the star of his fame increase and brighten, but we have, i think, no full conception as yet of his greatness, no adequate realization of how wide and permanent a fame he has won. it is significant that some of the discerning admire him for one phase of his work, some for another. for instance, the clear-headed h. l. mencken acclaims him as the first wit of america, but will have none of his tales; while others, somewhat disconcerted by the cynicism pervading much of his wit, place him among the foremost exponents of the art of the short story. others again prefer his humor (for he was humorist as well as wit), and yet others like most the force, clarity and keen insight of his innumerable essays and briefer comments on mundane affairs. personally, i have always regarded poe's _fall of the house of usher_ as our greatest tale; close to that come, in my opinion, at least a dozen of bierce's stories, whether of the soldier or civilian. he has himself stated in _prattle_: "i am not a poet." and yet he wrote poetry, on occasion, of a high order, his _invocation_ being one of the noblest poems in the tongue. some of his satirical verse seems to me as terrible in its withering invective as any that has been written by classic satirists, not excepting juvenal and swift. like the victims of their merciless pens, his, too, will be forgiven and forgotten. today no one knows, nor cares, whether or not those long-dead offenders gave just offense. the grave has closed over accuser and accused, and the only thing that matters is that a great mind was permitted to function. one may smile or sigh over the satire, but one must also realize that even the satirist had his own weaknesses, and could have been as savagely attacked by a mentality as keen as his own. men as a whole will never greatly care for satire, each recognizing, true enough, glimpses of himself in the invective, but sensing as well its fundamental bias and cruelty. however, bierce thought best of himself as a satirist. naturally, bierce carried his wit and humor into his immediate human relationships. i best recall an occasion, when, in my first year of acquaintance with him, we were both guests at the home of the painter, j. h. e. partington. it happened that a bowl of nasturtiums adorned the center table, and having been taught by father tabb, the poet, to relish that flower, i managed to consume most of them before the close of the evening, knowing there were plenty more to be had in the garden outside. someone at last remarked: "why, george has eaten all the nasturtiums! go out and bring some more." at which bierce dryly and justly remarked: "no--bring some thistles!" it is an indication, however, of his real kindness of heart that, observing my confusion, he afterwards apologized to me for what he termed a thoughtless jest. it was, nevertheless, well deserved. i recall even more distinctly a scene of another setting. this concerns itself with bierce's son, leigh, then a youth in the early twenties. at the time (_circa_ ) i was a brother lodger with them in an oakland apartment house. young bierce had contracted a liaison with a girl of his own age, and his father, determined to end the affair, had appointed an hour for discussion of the matter. the youth entered his father's rooms defiant and resolute: within an hour he appeared weeping, and cried out to me, waiting for him in his own room: "my father is a greater man than christ! he has suffered more than christ!" and the affair of the heart was promptly terminated. one conversant with bierce only as a controversionalist and _censor morum_ was, almost of necessity, constrained to imagine him a misanthrope, a soured and cynical recluse. only when one was privileged to see him among his intimates could one obtain glimpses of his true nature, which was considerate, generous, even affectionate. only the waving of the red flag of socialism could rouse in him what seemed to us others a certain savageness of intolerance. needless to say, we did not often invoke it, for he was an ill man with whom to bandy words. it was my hope, at one time, to involve him and jack london in a controversy on the subject, but london declined the oral encounter, preferring one with the written word. nothing came of the plan, which is a pity, as each was a supreme exponent of his point of view. bierce subsequently attended one of the midsummer encampments of the bohemian club, of which he was once the secretary, in their redwood grove near the russian river. hearing that london was present, he asked why they had not been mutually introduced, and i was forced to tell him that i feared that they'd be, verbally, at each other's throats, within an hour. "nonsense!" exclaimed bierce. "bring him around! i'll treat him like a dutch uncle." he kept his word, and seemed as much attracted to london as london was to him. but i was always ill at ease when they were conversing. i do not think the two men ever met again. bierce was the cleanest man, personally, of whom i have knowledge--almost fanatically so, if such a thing be possible. even during our weeks of camping in the yosemite, he would spend two hours on his morning toilet in the privacy of his tent. his nephew always insisted that the time was devoted to shaving himself from face to foot! he was also a most modest man, and i still recall his decided objections to my bathing attire when at the swimming-pool of the bohemian club, in the russian river. compared to many of those visible, it seemed more than adequate; but he had another opinion of it. he was a good, even an eminent, tankard-man, and retained a clear judgment under any amount of potations. he preferred wine (especially a dry _vin du pays_, usually a sauterne) to "hard likker," in this respect differing in taste from his elder brother. in the days when i first made his acquaintance, i was accustomed to roam the hills beyond oakland and berkeley from cordonices creek to leona heights, in company with albert bierce, his son carlton, r. l. ("dick") partington, leigh bierce (ambrose's surviving son) and other youths. on such occasions i sometimes hid a superfluous bottle of port or sherry in a convenient spot, and bierce, afterwards accompanying us on several such outings, pretended to believe that i had such flagons concealed under each bush or rock in the reach and breadth of the hills, and would, to carry out the jest, hunt zealously in such recesses. i could wish that he were less often unsuccessful in the search, now that he has had "the coal-black wine" to drink. though an appreciable portion of his satire hints at misanthropy, bierce, while profoundly a pessimist, was, by his own confession to me, "a lover of his country and his fellowmen," and was ever ready to proffer assistance in the time of need and sympathy in the hour of sorrow. his was a great and tender heart, and giving of it greatly, he expected, or rather hoped for, a return as great. it may have been by reason of the frustration of such hopes that he so often broke with old and, despite his doubts, appreciative friends. his brother albert once told me that he (ambrose) had never been "quite the same," after the wound in the head that he received in the battle of kenesaw mountain, but had a tendency to become easily offended and to show that resentment. such estrangements as he and his friends suffered are not, therefore, matters on which one should sit in judgment. it is sad to know that he went so gladly from life, grieved and disappointed. but the white flame of art that he tended for nearly half a century was never permitted to grow faint nor smoky, and it burned to the last with a pure brilliance. perhaps, he bore witness to what he had found most admirable and enduring in life in the following words, the conclusion of the finest of his essays: "literature and art are about all that the world really cares for in the end; those who make them are not without justification in regarding themselves as masters in the house of life and all others as their servitors. in the babble and clamor, the pranks and antics of its countless incapables, the tremendous dignity of the profession of letters is overlooked; but when, casting a retrospective eye into 'the dark backward and abysm of time' to where beyond these voices is the peace of desolation, we note the majesty of the few immortals and compare them with the pygmy figures of their contemporary kings, warriors and men of action generally--when across the silent battle-fields and hushed _fora_ where the dull destinies of nations were determined, nobody cares how, we hear like ocean on a western beach the surge and thunder of the odyssey, then we appraise literature at its true value, and how little worth while seems all else with which man is pleased to occupy his fussy soul and futile hands!" the letters of ambrose bierce [angwin, july , .] my dear blanche, you will not, i hope, mind my saying that the first part of your letter was so pleasing that it almost solved the disappointment created by the other part. for _that_ is a bit discouraging. let me explain. you receive my suggestion about trying your hand * * * at writing, with assent and apparently pleasure. but, alas, not for love of the art, but for the purpose of helping god repair his botchwork world. you want to "reform things," poor girl--to rise and lay about you, slaying monsters and liberating captive maids. you would "help to alter for the better the position of working-women." you would be a missionary--and the rest of it. perhaps i shall not make myself understood when i say that this discourages me; that in such aims (worthy as they are) i would do nothing to assist you; that such ambitions are not only impracticable but incompatible with the spirit that gives success in art; that such ends are a prostitution of art; that "helpful" writing is dull reading. if you had had more experience of life i should regard what you say as entirely conclusive against your possession of any talent of a literary kind. but you are so young and untaught in that way--and i have the testimony of little felicities and purely literary touches (apparently unconscious) in your letters--perhaps your unschooled heart and hope should not be held as having spoken the conclusive word. but surely, my child--as surely as anything in mathematics--art will laurel no brow having a divided allegiance. love the world as much as you will, but serve it otherwise. the best service you can perform by writing is to write well with no care for anything but that. plant and water and let god give the increase if he will, and to whom it shall please him. suppose your father were to "help working-women" by painting no pictures but such (of their ugly surroundings, say) as would incite them to help themselves, or others to help them. suppose you should play no music but such as--but i need go no further. literature (i don't mean journalism) is an _art_;--it is not a form of benevolence. it has nothing to do with "reform," and when used as a means of reform suffers accordingly and justly. unless you can _feel_ that way i cannot advise you to meddle with it. it would be dishonest in me to accept your praise for what i wrote of the homestead works quarrel--unless you should praise it for being well written and true. i have no sympathies with that savage fight between the two kinds of rascals, and no desire to assist either--except to better hearts and manners. the love of truth is good enough motive for me when i write of my fellowmen. i like many things in this world and a few persons--i like you, for example; but after they are served i have no love to waste upon the irreclaimable mass of brutality that we know as "mankind." compassion, yes--i am sincerely sorry that they are brutes. yes, i wrote the article "the human liver." your criticism is erroneous. my opportunities of knowing women's feelings toward mrs. grundy are better than yours. they hate her with a horrible antipathy; but they cower all the same. the fact that they are a part of her mitigates neither their hatred nor their fear. * * * * * after next monday i shall probably be in st. helena, but if you will be so good as still to write to me please address me here until i apprise you of my removal; for i shall intercept my letters at st. helena, wherever addressed. and maybe you will write before monday. i need not say how pleasant it is for me to hear from you. and i shall want to know what you think of what i say about your "spirit of reform." how i should have liked to pass that sunday in camp with you all. and to-day--i wonder if you are there to-day. i feel a peculiar affection for that place. please give my love to all your people, and forgive my intolerably long letters--or retaliate in kind. sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. [st. helena, august , .] i know, dear blanche, of the disagreement among men as to the nature and aims of literature; and the subject is too "long" to discuss. i will only say that it seems to me that men holding tolstoi's view are not properly literary men (that is to say, artists) at all. they are "missionaries," who, in their zeal to lay about them, do not scruple to seize any weapon that they can lay their hands on; they would grab a crucifix to beat a dog. the dog is well beaten, no doubt (which makes him a worse dog than he was before) but note the condition of the crucifix! the work of these men is better, of course, than the work of men of truer art and inferior brains; but always you see the possibilities--possibilities to _them_--which they have missed or consciously sacrificed to their fad. and after all they do no good. the world does not wish to be helped. the poor wish only to be rich, which is impossible, not to be better. they would like to be rich in order to be worse, generally speaking. and your working woman (also generally speaking) does not wish to be virtuous; despite her insincere deprecation she would not let the existing system be altered if she could help it. individual men and women can be assisted; and happily some are worthy of assistance. no _class_ of mankind, no tribe, no nation is worth the sacrifice of one good man or woman; for not only is their average worth low, but they like it that way; and in trying to help them you fail to help the good individuals. your family, your immediate friends, will give you scope enough for all your benevolence. i must include your _self_. in timely illustration of some of this is an article by ingersoll in the current _north american review_--i shall send it you. it will be nothing new to you; the fate of the philanthropist who gives out of his brain and heart instead of his pocket--having nothing in that--is already known to you. it serves him richly right, too, for his low taste in loving. he who dilutes, spreads, subdivides, the love which naturally _all_ belongs to his family and friends (if they are good) should not complain of non-appreciation. love those, help those, whom from personal knowledge you know to be worthy. to love and help others is treason to _them_. but, bless my soul! i did not mean to say all this. but while you seem clear as to your own art, you seem undecided as to the one you wish to take up. i know the strength and sweetness of the illusions (that is, _de_lusions) that you are required to forego. i know the abysmal ignorance of the world and human character which, as a girl, you necessarily have. i know the charm that inheres in the beckoning of the britomarts, as they lean out of their dream to persuade you to be as like them as is compatible with the fact that you exist. but i believe, too, that if you are set thinking--not reading--you will find the light. you ask me of journalism. it is so low a thing that it _may_ be legitimately used as a means of reform or a means of anything deemed worth accomplishing. it is not an art; art, except in the greatest moderation, is damaging to it. the man who can write well must not write as well as he can; the others may, of course. journalism has many purposes, and the people's welfare _may_ be one of them; though that is not the purpose-in-chief, by much. i don't mind your irony about my looking upon the unfortunate as merely "literary material." it is true in so far as i consider them _with reference to literature_. possibly i might be willing to help them otherwise--as your father might be willing to help a beggar with money, who is not picturesque enough to go into a picture. as you might be willing to give a tramp a dinner, yet unwilling to play "the sweet bye-and-bye," or "ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay," to tickle his ear. you call me "master." well, it is pleasant to think of you as a pupil, but--you know the young squire had to watch his arms all night before the day of his accolade and investiture with knighthood. i think i'll ask you to contemplate yours a little longer before donning them--not by way of penance but instruction and consecration. when you are quite sure of the nature of your _call_ to write--quite sure that it is _not_ the voice of "duty"--then let me do you such slight, poor service as my limitations and the injunctions of circumstance permit. in a few ways i can help you. * * * * * since coming here i have been ill all the time, but it seems my duty to remain as long as there is a hope that i _can_ remain. if i get free from my disorder and the fear of it i shall go down to san francisco some day and then try to see your people and mine. perhaps you would help me to find my brother's new house--if he is living in it. with sincere regards to all your family, i am most truly your friend, ambrose bierce. your letters are very pleasing to me. i think it nice of you to write them. [st. helena, august , .] dear blanche, it was not that i forgot to mail you the magazine that i mentioned; i could not find it; but now i send it. my health is bad again, and i fear that i shall have to abandon my experiment of living here, and go back to the mountain--or some mountain. but not directly. you asked me what books would be useful to you--i'm assuming that you've repented your sacrilegious attitude toward literature, and will endeavor to thrust your pretty head into the crown of martyrdom otherwise. i may mention a few from time to time as they occur to me. there is a little book entitled (i think) simply "english composition." it is by prof. john nichol--elementary, in a few places erroneous, but on the whole rather better than the ruck of books on the same subject. read those of landor's "imaginary conversations" which relate to literature. read longinus, herbert spencer on style, pope's "essay on criticism" (don't groan--the detractors of pope are not always to have things their own way), lucian on the writing of history--though you need not write history. read poor old obsolete kames' notions; some of them are not half bad. read burke "on the sublime and beautiful." read--but that will do at present. and as you read don't forget that the rules of the literary art are deduced from the work of the masters who wrote in ignorance of them or in unconsciousness of them. that fixes their value; it is secondary to that of _natural_ qualifications. none the less, it is considerable. doubtless you have read many--perhaps most--of these things, but to read them with a view to profit _as a writer_ may be different. if i could get to san francisco i could dig out of those artificial memories, the catalogues of the libraries, a lot of titles additional--and get you the books, too. but i've a bad memory, and am out of the book belt. i wish you would write some little thing and send it me for examination. i shall not judge it harshly, for this i _know_: the good writer (supposing him to be born to the trade) is not made by reading, but by observing and experiencing. you have lived so little, seen so little, that your range will necessarily be narrow, but within its lines i know no reason why you should not do good work. but it is all conjectural--you may fail. would it hurt if i should tell you that i thought you had failed? your absolute and complete failure would not affect in the slightest my admiration of your intellect. i have always half suspected that it is only second rate minds, and minds below the second rate, that hold their cleverness by so precarious a tenure that they can detach it for display in words. god bless you, a. b. [st. helena, august , .] my dear blanche, i positively shall not bore you with an interminated screed this time. but i thought you might like to know that i have recovered my health, and hope to be able to remain here for a few months at least. and if i remain well long enough to make me reckless i shall visit your town some day, and maybe ask your mother to command you to let me drive you to berkeley. it makes me almost sad to think of the camp at the lake being abandoned. so you liked my remarks on the "labor question." that is nice of you, but aren't you afraid your praise will get me into the disastrous literary habit of writing for some _one_ pair of eyes?--your eyes? or in resisting the temptation i may go too far in the opposite error. but you do not see that it is "art for art's sake"--hateful phrase! certainly not, it is not art at all. do you forget the distinction i pointed out between journalism and literature? do you not remember that i told you that the former was of so little value that it might be used for anything? my newspaper work is in _no_ sense literature. it is nothing, and only becomes something when i give it the very use to which i would put nothing literary. (of course i refer to my editorial and topical work.) if you want to learn to write that kind of thing, so as to do good with it, you've an easy task. _only_ it is not worth learning and the good that you can do with it is not worth doing. but literature--the desire to do good with _that_ will not help you to your means. it is not a sufficient incentive. the muse will not meet you if you have any work for her to do. of course i sometimes like to do good--who does not? and sometimes i am glad that access to a great number of minds every week gives me an opportunity. but, thank heaven, i don't make a business of it, nor use in it a tool so delicate as to be ruined by the service. please do not hesitate to send me anything that you may be willing to write. if you try to make it perfect before you let me see it, it will never come. my remarks about the kind of mind which holds its thoughts and feelings by so precarious a tenure that they are detachable for use by others were not made with a forethought of your failure. mr. harte of the new england magazine seems to want me to know his work (i asked to) and sends me a lot of it cut from the magazine. i pass it on to you, and most of it is just and true. but i'm making another long letter. i wish i were not an infidel--so that i could say: "god bless you," and mean it literally. i wish there _were_ a god to bless you, and that he had nothing else to do. please let me hear from you. sincerely, a. b. [st. helena, september , .] my dear blanche, i have been waiting for a full hour of leisure to write you a letter, but i shall never get it, and so i'll write you anyhow. come to think of it, there is nothing to say--nothing that _needs_ be said, rather, for there is always so much that one would like to say to you, best and most patient of _sayees_. i'm sending you and your father copies of my book. not that i think you (either of you) will care for that sort of thing, but merely because your father is my co-sinner in making the book, and you in sitting by and diverting my mind from the proof-sheets of a part of it. your part, therefore, in the work is the typographical errors. so you are in literature in spite of yourself. i appreciate what you write of my girl. she is the best of girls to me, but god knoweth i'm not a proper person to direct her way of life. however, it will not be for long. a dear friend of mine--the widow of another dear friend--in london wants her, and means to come out here next spring and try to persuade me to let her have her--for a time at least. it is likely that i shall. my friend is wealthy, childless and devoted to both my children. i wish that in the meantime she (the girl) could have the advantage of association with _you_. please say to your father that i have his verses, which i promise myself pleasure in reading. _you_ appear to have given up your ambition to "write things." i'm sorry, for "lots" of reasons--not the least being the selfish one that i fear i shall be deprived of a reason for writing you long dull letters. won't you _play_ at writing things? my (and danziger's) book, "the monk and the hangman's daughter," is to be out next month. the publisher--i like to write it with a reverent capital letter--is unprofessional enough to tell me that he regards it as the very best piece of english composition that he ever saw, and he means to make the world know it. now let the great english classics hide their diminished heads and pale their ineffectual fires! so you begin to suspect that books do not give you the truth of life and character. well, that suspicion is the beginning of wisdom, and, so far as it goes, a preliminary qualification for writing--books. men and women are certainly not what books represent them to be, nor what _they_ represent--and sometimes believe--themselves to be. they are better, they are worse, and far more interesting. with best regards to all your people, and in the hope that we may frequently hear from you, i am very sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. both the children send their _love_ to you. and they mean just that. [st. helena, october , .] my dear blanche, i send you by this mail the current _new england magazine_--merely because i have it by me and have read all of it that i shall have leisure to read. maybe it will entertain you for an idle hour. i have so far recovered my health that i hope to do a little pot-boiling to-morrow. (is that properly written with a hyphen?--for the life o' me i can't say, just at this moment. there is a story of an old actor who having played one part half his life had to cut out the name of the person he represented wherever it occurred in his lines: he could never remember which syllable to accent.) my illness was only asthma, which, unluckily, does not kill me and so should not alarm my friends. dr. danziger writes that he has ordered your father's sketch sent me. and i've ordered a large number of extra impressions of it--if it is still on the stone. so you see i like it. let me hear from you and about you. sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. i enclose bib. [st. helena, october , .] dear mr. partington, i've been too ill all the week to write you of your manuscripts, or even read them understandingly. i think "honest andrew's prayer" far and away the best. _it_ is witty--the others hardly more than earnest, and not, in my judgment, altogether fair. but then you know you and i would hardly be likely to agree on a point of that kind,--i refuse my sympathies in some directions where i extend my sympathy--if that is intelligible. you, i think, have broader sympathies than mine--are not only sorry for the homestead strikers (for example) but approve them. i do not. but we are one in detesting their oppressor, the smug-wump, carnegie. if you had not sent "honest andrew's prayer" elsewhere i should try to place it here. it is so good that i hope to see it in print. if it is rejected please let me have it again if the incident is not then ancient history. i'm glad you like some things in my book. but you should not condemn me for debasing my poetry with abuse; you should commend me for elevating my abuse with a little poetry, here and there. i am not a poet, but an abuser--that makes all the difference. it is "how you look at it." but i'm still too ill to write. with best regards to all your family, i am sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. i've been reading your pamphlet on art education. you write best when you write most seriously--and your best is very good. [st. helena, october , .] dear blanche, i send you this picture in exchange for the one that you have--i'm "redeeming" all those with these. but i asked you to return that a long time ago. please say if you like this; to me it looks like a dude. but i hate the other--the style of it. it is very good of your father to take so much trouble as to go over and work on that stone. i want the pictures--lithographs--only for economy: so that when persons for whom i do not particularly care want pictures of me i need not bankrupt myself in orders to the photographer. and i do not like photographs anyhow. how long, o lord, how long am i to wait for that sketch of _you_? my dear girl, i do not see that folk like your father and me have any just cause of complaint against an unappreciative world; nobody compels us to make things that the world does not want. we merely choose to because the pay, _plus_ the satisfaction, exceeds the pay alone that we get from work that the world does want. then where is our grievance? we get what we prefer when we do good work; for the lesser wage we do easier work. it has never seemed to me that the "unappreciated genius" had a good case to go into court with, and i think he should be promptly non-suited. inspiration from heaven is all very fine--the mandate of an attitude or an instinct is good; but when a works for b, yet insists on taking his orders from c, what can he expect? so don't distress your good little heart with compassion--not for me, at least; whenever i tire of pot-boiling, wood-chopping is open to me, and a thousand other honest and profitable employments. i have noted gertrude's picture in the examiner with a peculiar interest. that girl has a bushel of brains, and her father and brother have to look out for her or she will leave them out of sight. i would suggest as a measure of precaution against so monstrous a perversion of natural order that she have her eyes put out. the subjection of women must be maintained. * * * * * bib and leigh send love to you. leigh, i think, is expecting carlt. i've permitted leigh to join the band again, and he is very peacocky in his uniform. god bless you. ambrose bierce. [st. helena, november , .] my dear blanche, i am glad you will consent to tolerate the new photograph--all my other friends are desperately delighted with it. i prefer your tolerance. but i don't like to hear that you have been "ill and blue"; that is a condition which seems more naturally to appertain to me. for, after all, whatever cause you may have for "blueness," you can always recollect that you are _you_, and find a wholesome satisfaction in your identity; whereas i, alas, am _i_! i'm sure you performed your part of that concert creditably despite the ailing wrist, and wish that i might have added myself to your triumph. i have been very ill again but hope to get away from here (back to my mountain) before it is time for another attack from my friend the enemy. i shall expect to see you there sometime when my brother and his wife come up. they would hardly dare to come without you. no, i did not read the criticism you mention--in the _saturday review_. shall send you all the _saturdays_ that i get if you will have them. anyhow, they will amuse (and sometimes disgust) your father. i have awful arrears of correspondence, as usual. the children send love. they had a pleasant visit with carlt, and we hope he will come again. may god be very good to you and put it into your heart to write to your uncle often. please give my best respects to all partingtons, jointly and severally. ambrose bierce. [angwin, november , .] dear blanche, only just a word to say that i have repented of my assent to your well-meant proposal for your father to write of _me_. if there is anything in my work in letters that engages his interest, or in my _literary_ history--that is well enough, and i shall not mind. but "biography" in the other sense is distasteful to me. i never read biographical "stuff" of other writers--of course you know "stuff" is literary slang for "matter"--and think it "beside the question." moreover, it is distinctly mischievous to letters. it throws no light on one's work, but on the contrary "darkens counsel." the only reason that posterity judges work with some slight approach to accuracy is that posterity knows less, and cares less, about the author's personality. it considers his work as impartially as if it had found it lying on the ground with no footprints about it and no initials on its linen. my brother is not "fully cognizant" of my history, anyhow--not of the part that is interesting. so, on the whole, i'll ask that it be not done. it was only my wish to please that made me consent. that wish is no weaker now, but i would rather please otherwise. i trust that you arrived safe and well, and that your memory of those few stormy days is not altogether disagreeable. sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. [angwin, december , .] my dear blanche, returning here from the city this morning, i find your letter. and i had not replied to your last one before that! but _that_ was because i hoped to see you at your home. i was unable to do so--i saw no one (but richard) whom i really wanted to see, and had not an hour unoccupied by work or "business" until this morning. and then--it was christmas, and my right to act as skeleton at anybody's feast by even so much as a brief call was not clear. i hope my brother will be as forgiving as i know you will be. when i went down i was just recovering from as severe an attack of illness as i ever had in my life. please consider unsaid all that i have said in praise of this mountain, its air, water, and everything that is its. * * * * * it was uncommonly nice of hume to entertain so good an opinion of me; if you had seen him a few days later you would have found a different state of affairs, probably; for i had been exhausting relays of vials of wrath upon him for delinquent diligence in securing copyright for my little story--whereby it is uncopyrighted. i ought to add that he has tried to make reparation, and is apparently contrite to the limit of his penitential capacity. no, there was no other foundation for the little story than its obvious naturalness and consistency with the sentiments "appropriate to the season." when christendom is guzzling and gorging and clowning it has not time to cease being cruel; all it can do is to augment its hypocrisy a trifle. please don't lash yourself and do various penances any more for your part in the plaguing of poor russell; he is quite forgotten in the superior affliction sent upon james whitcomb riley. _that_ seems a matter of genuine public concern, if i may judge by what i heard in town (and i heard little else) and by my letters and "esteemed" (though testy) "contemporaries." dear, dear, how sensitive people are becoming! richard has promised me the blanchescape that i have so patiently waited for while you were practicing the art of looking pretty in preparation for the sitting, so now i am happy. i shall put you opposite joaquin miller, who is now framed and glazed in good shape. i have also your father's sketch of me--that is, i got it and left it in san francisco to be cleaned if possible; it was in a most unregenerate state of dirt and grease. seeing harry bigelow's article in the _wave_ on women who write (and it's unpleasantly near to the truth of the matter) i feel almost reconciled to the failure of my gorgeous dream of making a writer of _you_. i wonder if you would have eschewed the harmless, necessary tub and danced upon the broken bones of the innocuous toothbrush. fancy you with sable nails and a soiled cheek, uttering to the day what god taught in the night! let us be thankful that the peril is past. the next time i go to "the bay" i shall go to _first_. god bless you for a good girl. ambrose bierce. [first part of this letter missing.] * * * * * yes, i know blackburn harte has a weakness for the proletariat of letters * * * and doubtless thinks riley good _because_ he is "of the people," peoply. but he will have to endure me as well as he can. you ask my opinion of burns. he has not, i think, been translated into english, and i do not (that is, i can but _will_ not) read that gibberish. i read burns once--that was once too many times; but happily it was before i knew any better, and so my time, being worthless, was not wasted. i wish you could be up here this beautiful weather. but i dare say it would rain if you came. in truth, it is "thickening" a trifle just because of my wish. and i wish i _had_ given you, for your father, all the facts of my biography from the cradle--downward. when you come again i shall, if you still want them. for i'm worried half to death with requests for them, and when i refuse am no doubt considered surly or worse. and my refusal no longer serves, for the biography men are beginning to write my history from imagination. so the next time i see you i shall give you (orally) that "history of a crime," my life. then, if your father is still in the notion, he can write it from your notes, and i can answer all future inquiries by enclosing his article. do you know?--you will, i think, be glad to know--that i have many more offers for stories at good prices, than i have the health to accept. (for i am less nearly well than i have told you.) even the _examiner_ has "waked up" (i woke it up) to the situation, and now pays me $ a thousand words; and my latest offer from new york is $ . i hardly know why i tell you this unless it is because you tell me of any good fortune that comes to your people, and because you seem to take an interest in my affairs such as nobody else does in just the same unobjectionable and, in fact, agreeable way. i wish you were my "real, sure-enough" niece. but in that case i should expect you to pass all your time at howell mountain, with your uncle and cousin. then i should teach you to write, and you could expound to me the principles underlying the art of being the best girl in the world. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [angwin, january , .] my dear blanche, not hearing from [you] after writing you last week, i fear you are ill--may i not know? i am myself ill, as i feared. on thursday last i was taken violently ill indeed, and have but just got about. in truth, i'm hardly able to write you, but as i have to go to work on friday, _sure_, i may as well practice a little on you. and the weather up here is paradisaical. leigh and i took a walk this morning in the woods. we scared up a wild deer, but i did not feel able to run it down and present you with its antlers. i hope you are well, that you are all well. and i hope heaven will put it into your good brother's heart to send me that picture of the sister who is so much too good for him--or anybody. in the meantime, and always, god bless you. ambrose bierce. my boy (who has been an angel of goodness to me in my illness) sends his love to you and all your people. [angwin, cal., january , .] my dear partington, you see the matter is this way. you can't come up here and go back the same day--at least that would give you but about an hour here. you must remain over night. now i put it to you--how do you think i'd feel if you came and remained over night and i, having work to do, should have to leave you to your own devices, mooning about a place that has nobody to talk to? when a fellow comes a long way to see me i want to see a good deal of him, however _he_ may feel about it. it is not the same as if he lived in the same bailiwick and "dropped in." that is why, in the present state of my health and work, i ask all my friends to give me as long notice of their coming as possible. i'm sure you'll say i am right, inasmuch as certain work if undertaken must be done by the time agreed upon. my relations with danziger are peculiar--as any one's relations with him must be. in the matter of which you wished to speak i could say nothing. for this i must ask you to believe there are reasons. it would not have been fair not to let you know, before coming, that i would not talk of him. i thought, though, that you would probably come up to-day if i wrote you. well, i should like you to come and pass a week with me. but if you come for a day i naturally want it to be an "off" day with me. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [angwin, january , .] my dear blanche, i should have written you sooner; it has been ten whole days since the date of your last letter. but i have not been in the mood of letter writing, and am prepared for maledictions from all my neglected friends but you. my health is better. yesterday i returned from napa, where i passed twenty-six hours, buried, most of the time, in fog; but apparently it has not harmed me. the weather here remains heavenly. * * * if i grow better in health i shall in time feel able to extend my next foray into the lowlands as far as oakland and berkeley. here are some fronds of maiden-hair fern that i have just brought in. the first wild flowers of the season are beginning to venture out and the manzanitas are a sight to see. with warmest regards to all your people, i am, as ever, your most unworthy uncle, ambrose bierce. [angwin, february , .] my dear blanche, what an admirable reporter you would be! your account of the meeting with miller in the restaurant and of the "entertainment" are amusing no end. * * * by the way, i observe a trooly offle "attack" on me in the oakland _times_ of the rd (i think) * * * (i know of course it means me--i always know that when they pull out of their glowing minds that old roasted chestnut about "tearing down" but not "building up"--that is to say, effacing one imposture without giving them another in place of it.) the amusing part of the business is that he points a contrast between me and realf (god knows there's unlikeness enough) quite unconscious of the fact that it is i and no other who have "built up" realf's reputation as a poet--published his work, and paid him for it, when nobody else would have it; repeatedly pointed out its greatness, and when he left that magnificent crown of sonnets behind him protested that posterity would know california better by the incident of his death than otherwise--not a soul, until now, concurring in my view of the verses. believe me, my trade is not without its humorous side. leigh and i went down to the waterfall yesterday. it was almost grand--greater than i had ever seen it--and i took the liberty to wish that you might see it in that state. my wish must have communicated itself, somehow, though imperfectly, to leigh, for as i was indulging it he expressed the same wish with regard to richard. i wish too that you might be here to-day to see the swirls of snow. it is falling rapidly, and i'm thinking that this letter will make its way down the mountain to-morrow morning through a foot or two of it. unluckily, it has a nasty way of turning to rain. my health is very good now, and leigh and i take long walks. and after the rains we look for indian arrow-heads in the plowed fields and on the gravel bars of the creek. my collection is now great; but i fear i shall tire of the fad before completing it. one in the country must have a fad or die of dejection and oxidation of the faculties. how happy is he who can make a fad of his work! by the way, my new york publishers (the united states book company) have failed, owing me a pot of money, of which i shall probably get nothing. i'm beginning to cherish an impertinent curiosity to know what heaven means to do to me next. if your function as one of the angels gives you a knowledge of such matters please betray your trust and tell me where i'm to be hit, and how hard. but this is an intolerable deal of letter. with best regards to all good partingtons--and i think there are no others--i remain your affectionate uncle by adoption, ambrose bierce. leigh has brought in some manzanita blooms which i shall try to enclose. but they'll be badly smashed. [angwin, february , .] my dear blanche, i thank you many times for the picture, which is a monstrous good picture, whatever its shortcomings as a portrait may be. on the authority of the great art critic, leigh bierce, i am emboldened to pronounce some of the work in it equal to gribayedoff at his best; and that, according to the g. a. c. aforesaid, is to exhaust eulogium. but--it isn't altogether the blanche that i know, as i know her. maybe it is the hat--i should prefer you hatless, and so less at the mercy of capricious fortune. suppose hats were to "go out"--i tremble to think of what would happen to that gorgeous superstructure which now looks so beautiful. o, well, when i come down i shall drag you to the hateful photographer and get something that looks quite like you--and has no other value. and i mean to "see oakland and die" pretty soon. i have not dared go when the weather was bad. it promises well now, but i am to have visitors next sunday, so must stay at home. god and the weather bureau willing, you may be bothered with me the saturday or sunday after. we shall see. i hope your father concurs in my remarks on picture "borders"--i did not think of him until the remarks had been written, or i should have assured myself of his practice before venturing to utter my mind o' the matter. if it were not for him and gertrude and the _wave_ i should snarl again, anent "half-tones," which i abhor. hume tried to get me to admire his illustrations, but i would not, so far as the process is concerned, and bluntly told him he would not get your father's best work that way. if you were to visit the mountain now i should be able to show you a redwood forest (newly discovered) and a picturesque gulch to match. the wild flowers are beginning to put up their heads to look for you, and my collection of indian antiquities is yearning to have you see it. please convey my thanks to richard for the picture--the girlscape--and my best regards to your father and all the others. sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. [angwin, february , .] my dear blanche, i'm very sorry indeed that i cannot be in oakland thursday evening to see you "in your glory," arrayed, doubtless, like a lily of the field. however glorious you may be in public, though, i fancy i should like you better as you used to be out at camp. well, i mean to see you on saturday afternoon if you are at home, and think i shall ask you to be my guide to grizzlyville; for surely i shall never be able to find the wonderful new house alone. so if your mamma will let you go out there with me i promise to return you to her instead of running away with you. and, possibly, weather permitting, we can arrange for a sunday in the redwoods or on the hills. or don't your folks go out any more o' sundays? please give my thanks to your mother for the kind invitation to put up at your house; but i fear that would be impossible. i shall have to be where people can call on me--and such a disreputable crowd as my friends are would ruin the partingtonian reputation for respectability. in your new neighborhood you will all be very proper--which you could hardly be with a procession of pirates and vagrants pulling at your door-bell. so--if god is good--i shall call on you saturday afternoon. in the meantime and always be thou happy--thou and thine. your unworthy uncle, ambrose bierce. [angwin, march , .] my dear blanche, it is good to have your letters again. if you will not let me teach you my trade of writing stories it is right that you practice your own of writing letters. you are mistress of that. byron's letters to moore are dull in comparison with yours to me. some allowance, doubtless, must be made for my greater need of your letters than of byron's. for, truth to tell, i've been a trifle dispirited and noncontent. in that mood i peremptorily resigned from the _examiner_, for one thing--and permitted myself to be coaxed back by hearst, for another. my other follies i shall not tell you. * * * we had six inches of snow up here and it has rained steadily ever since--more than a week. and the fog is of superior opacity--quite peerless that way. it is still raining and fogging. do you wonder that your unworthy uncle has come perilously and alarmingly near to loneliness? yet i have the companionship, at meals, of one of your excellent sex, from san francisco. * * * truly, i should like to attend one of your at-homes, but i fear it must be a long time before i venture down there again. but when this brumous visitation is past i can _look_ down, and that assists the imagination to picture you all in your happy (i hope) home. but if that woolly wolf, joaquin miller, doesn't keep outside the fold i _shall_ come down and club him soundly. i quite agree with your mother that his flattery will spoil you. you said i would spoil phyllis, and now, you bad girl, you wish to be spoiled yourself. well, you can't eat four millerine oranges.--my love to all your family. ambrose bierce. [angwin, march , .] my dear partington, i am very glad indeed to get the good account of leigh that you give me. i've feared that he might be rather a bore to you, but you make me easy on that score. also i am pleased that you think he has a sufficient "gift" to do something in the only direction in which he seems to care to go. he is anxious to take the place at the _examiner_, and his uncle thinks that would be best--if they will give it him. i'm a little reluctant for many reasons, but there are considerations--some of them going to the matter of character and disposition--which point to that as the best arrangement. the boy needs discipline, control, and work. he needs to learn by experience that life is not all beer and skittles. of course you can't quite know him as i do. as to his earning anything on the _examiner_ or elsewhere, that cuts no figure--he'll spend everything he can get his fingers on anyhow; but i feel that he ought to have the advantage of a struggle for existence where the grass is short and the soil stony. well, i shall let him live down there somehow, and see what can be done with him. there's a lot of good in him, and a lot of the other thing, naturally. i hope hume has, or will, put you in authority in the _post_ and give you a decent salary. he seems quite enthusiastic about the _post_ and--about you. with sincere regards to mrs. partington and all the partingtonettes, i am very truly yours, ambrose bierce. [angwin, april , .] my dear partington, if you are undertaking to teach my kid (which, unless it is entirely agreeable to you, you must not do) i hope you will regard him as a pupil whose tuition is to be paid for like any other pupil. and you should, i think, name the price. will you kindly do so? another thing. leigh tells me you paid him for something he did for the _wave_. that is not right. while you let him work with you, and under you, his work belongs to you--is a part of yours. i mean the work that he does in your shop for the _wave_. i don't wish to feel that you are bothering with him for nothing--will you not tell me your notion of what i should pay you? i fancy you'll be on the _examiner_ pretty soon--if you wish. with best regards to your family i am sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [angwin, april , .] my dear blanche, as i was writing to your father i was, of course, strongly impressed with a sense of _you_; for you are an intrusive kind of creature, coming into one's consciousness in the most lawless way--phyllis-like. (phyllis is my "type and example" of lawlessness, albeit i'm devoted to her--a phyllistine, as it were.) leigh sends me a notice (before the event) of your concert. i hope it was successful. was it? it rains or snows here all the time, and the mountain struggles in vain to put on its bravery of leaf and flower. when this kind of thing stops i'm going to put in an application for you to come up and get your bad impressions of the place effaced. it is insupportable that my earthly paradise exist in your memory as a "bad eminence," like satan's primacy. i'm sending you the _new england magazine_--perhaps i have sent it already--and a _harper's weekly_ with a story by mrs. * * *, who is a sort of pupil of mine. she used to do bad work--does now sometimes; but she will do great work by-and-by. i wish you had not got that notion that you cannot learn to write. you see i'd like you to do _some_ art work that i can understand and enjoy. i wonder why it is that no note or combination of notes can be struck out of a piano that will touch me--give me an emotion of any kind. it is not wholly due to my ignorance and bad ear, for other instruments--the violin, organ, zither, guitar, etc., sometimes affect me profoundly. come, read me the riddle if you know. what have i done that i should be inaccessible to your music? i know it is good; i can hear that it is, but not feel that it is. therefore to me it is not. now that, you will confess, is a woeful state--"most tolerable and not to be endured." will you not cultivate some art within the scope of my capacity? do you think you could learn to walk on a wire (if it lay on the ground)? can you not ride three horses at once if they are suitably dead? or swallow swords? really, you should have some way to entertain your uncle. true, you can talk, but you never get the chance; i always "have the floor." clearly you must learn to write, and i mean to get miller to teach you how to be a poet. i hope you will write occasionally to me,--letter-writing is an art that you do excel in--as i in "appreciation" of your excellence in it. do you see my boy? i hope he is good, and diligent in his work. * * * * * you must write to me or i shall withdraw my avuncular relation to you. with good will to all your people--particularly phyllis--i am sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. [angwin, calif., april , .] my dear partington, i think you wrong. on your own principle, laid down in your letter, that "every man has a right to the full value of his labor"--pardon me, good englishman, i meant "labour"--you have a right to your wage for the labo_u_r of teaching leigh. and what work would _he_ get to do but for you? i can't hold you and inject shekels into your pocket, but if the voice of remonstrance has authority to enter at your ear without a ticket i pray you to show it hospitality. leigh doubtless likes to see his work in print, but i hope you will not let him put anything out until it is as good as he can make it--nor then if it is not good _enough_. and that whether he signs it or not. i have talked to him about the relation of conscience to lab-work, but i don't know if my talk all came out at the other ear. o--that bad joke o' mine. where do you and richard expect to go when death do you part? you were neither of you present that night on the dam, nor did i know either of you. blanche, thank god, retains the old-time reverence for truth: it was to her that i said it. richard evidently dreamed it, and you--you've been believing that confounded _wave_! sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [angwin, april , .] my dear blanche, i take a few moments from work to write you in order (mainly) to say that your letter of march st did not go astray, as you seem to fear--though why _you_ should care if it did i can't conjecture. the loss to me--that is probably what would touch your compassionate heart. so you _will_ try to write. that is a good girl. i'm almost sure you can--not, of course, all at once, but by-and-by. and if not, what matter? you are not of the sort, i am sure, who would go on despite everything, determined to succeed by dint of determining to succeed. * * * * * we are blessed with the most amiable of all conceivable weathers up here, and the wild flowers are putting up their heads everywhere to look for you. lying in their graves last autumn, they overheard (_under_heard) your promise to come in the spring, and it has stimulated and cheered them to a vigorous growth. i'm sending you some more papers. don't think yourself obliged to read all the stuff i send you--_i_ don't read it. condole with me--i have just lost another publisher--by failure. schulte, of chicago, publisher of "the monk" etc., has "gone under," i hear. danziger and i have not had a cent from him. i put out three books in a year, and lo! each one brings down a publisher's gray hair in sorrow to the grave! for langton, of "black beetles," came to grief--that is how danziger got involved. "o that mine enemy would _publish_ one of my books!" i am glad to hear of your success at your concert. if i could have reached you you should have had the biggest basket of pretty vegetables that was ever handed over the footlights. i'm sure you merited it all--what do you _not_ merit? your father gives me good accounts of my boy. he _must_ be doing well, i think, by the way he neglects all my commissions. enclosed you will find my contribution to the partington art gallery, with an autograph letter from the artist. you can hang them in any light you please and show them to richard. he will doubtless be pleased to note how the latent genius of his boss has burst into bloom. i have been wading in the creek this afternoon for pure love of it; the gravel looked so clean under the water. i was for the moment at least ten years younger than your father. to whom, and to all the rest of your people, my sincere regards, your uncle, ambrose bierce. [angwin, cala., april , .] my dear blanche, * * * * * i accept your sympathy for my misfortunes in publishing. it serves me right (i don't mean the sympathy does) for publishing. i should have known that if a publisher cannot beat an author otherwise, or is too honest to do so, he will do it by failing. once in london a publisher gave me a check dated two days ahead, and then (the only thing he could do to make the check worthless)--ate a pork pie and died. that was the late john camden hotten, to whose business and virtues my present london publishers, chatto and windus, have succeeded. they have not failed, and they refuse pork pie, but they deliberately altered the title of my book. all this for your encouragement in "learning to write." writing books is a noble profession; it has not a shade of selfishness in it--nothing worse than conceit. o yes, you shall have your big basket of flowers if ever i catch you playing in public. i wish i could give you the carnations, lilies-of-the-valley, violets, and first-of-the-season sweet peas now on my table. they came from down near you--which fact they are trying triumphantly and as hard as they can to relate in fragrance. i trust your mother is well of her cold--that you are all well and happy, and that phyllis will not forget me. and may the good lord bless you regularly every hour of every day for your merit, and every minute of every hour as a special and particular favor to your uncle, ambrose bierce. [berkeley, october , .] my dear blanche, i accept with pleasure your evidence that the piano is not as black as i have painted, albeit the logical inference is that i'm pretty black myself. indubitably i'm "in outer darkness," and can only say to you: "lead, kindly light." thank you for the funny article on the luxury question--from the funny source. but you really must not expect me to answer it, nor show you wherein it is "wrong." i cannot discern the expediency of you having any "views" at all in those matters--even correct ones. if i could have my way you should think of more profitable things than the (conceded) "wrongness" of a world which is the habitat of a wrongheaded and wronghearted race of irreclaimable savages. * * * when woman "broadens her sympathies" they become annular. don't. cosgrave came over yesterday for a "stroll," but as he had a dinner engagement to keep before going home, he was in gorgeous gear. so i kindly hoisted him atop of grizzly peak and sent him back across the bay in a condition impossible to describe, save by the aid of a wet dishclout for illustration. please ask your father when and where he wants me to sit for the portrait. if that picture is not sold, and ever comes into my possession, i shall propose to swap it for yours. i have always wanted to lay thievish hands on that, and would even like to come by it honestly. but what under the sun would i do with either that or mine? fancy me packing large paintings about to country hotels and places of last resort! leigh is living with me now. poor chap, the death of his aunt has made him an orphan. i feel a profound compassion for any one whom an untoward fate compels to live with _me_. however, such a one is sure to be a good deal alone, which is a mitigation. with good wishes for all your people, i am sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [berkeley, december , .] my dear blanche, i'm sending you (by way of pretext for writing you) a magazine that i asked richard to take to you last evening, but which he forgot. there's an illustrated article on gargoyles and the like, which will interest you. some of the creatures are delicious--more so than i had the sense to perceive when i saw them alive on notre dame. i want to thank you too for the beautiful muffler before i take to my willow chair, happy in the prospect of death. for at this hour, : p. m., i "have on" a very promising case of asthma. if i come out of it decently alive in a week or so i shall go over to your house and see the finished portrait if it is "still there," like the flag in our national anthem. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [oakland, july , .] my dear blanche, if you are not utterly devoured by mosquitoes perhaps you'll go to the postoffice and get this. in that hope i write, not without a strong sense of the existence of the clerks in the dead letter office at washington. i hope you are (despite the mosquitoes) having "heaps" of rest and happiness. as to me, i have only just recovered sufficiently to be out, and "improved the occasion" by going to san francisco yesterday and returning on the : boat. i saw richard, and he seemed quite solemn at the thought of the dispersal of his family to the four winds. i have a joyous letter from leigh dated "on the road," nearing yosemite. he has been passing through the storied land of bret harte, and is permeated with a sense of its beauty and romance. when shall you return? may i hope, then, to see you? sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. p.s. here are things that i cut out for memoranda. on second thought _i_ know all that; so send them to you for the betterment of your mind and heart. b. [san jose, october , .] my dear blanche, your kindly note was among a number which i put into my pocket at the postoffice and forgot until last evening when i returned from oakland. (i dared remain up there only a few hours, and the visit did me no good.) of course i should have known that your good heart would prompt the wish to hear from your patient, but i fear i was a trifle misanthropic all last week, and indisposed to communicate with my species. i came here on monday of last week, and the change has done me good. i have no asthma and am slowly getting back my strength. leigh and ina peterson passed sunday with me, and leigh recounted his adventures in the mountains. i had been greatly worried about him; it seems there was abundant reason. the next time he comes i wish he would bring you. it is lovely down here. perhaps you and katie can come some time, and i'll drive you all over the valley--if you care to drive. if i continue well i shall remain here or hereabout; if not i don't know where i shall go. probably into the santa cruz mountains or to gilroy. if i could have my way i'd live at piedmont. do you know i lost pin the reptile? i brought him along in my bicycle bag (i came the latter half of the way bike-back) and the ungrateful scoundrel wormed himself out and took to the weeds just before we got to san jose. so i've nothing to lavish my second-childhoodish affection upon--nothing but just myself. my permanent address is oakland, as usual, but _you_ may address me here at san jose if you will be so good as to address me anywhere. please do, and tell me of your triumphs and trials at the conservatory of music. i do fervently hope it may prove a means of prosperity to you, for, behold, you are the only girl in the world who merits prosperity! please give my friendly regards to your people; and so--heaven be good to you. ambrose bierce. [san jose, october , .] o, best of poets, how have you the heart to point out what you deem an imperfection in those lines. upon my soul, i swear they are faultless, and "moonlight" is henceforth and forever a rhyme to "delight." also, likewise, moreover and furthermore, a ---- is henceforth ----; and ---- are forever ----; and to ---- shall be ----; and so forth. you have established new canons of literary criticism--more liberal ones--and death to the wretch who does not accept them! ah, i always knew you were a revolutionist. yes, i am in better health, worse luck! for i miss the beef-teaing expeditions more than you can by trying. by the way, if you again encounter your fellow practitioner, mrs. hirshberg, please tell her what has become of her patient, and that i remember her gratefully. it is not uninteresting to me to hear of your progress in your art, albeit i am debarred from entrance into the temple where it is worshiped. after all, art finds its best usefulness in its reaction upon the character; and in that work i can trace your proficiency in the art that you love. as you become a better artist you grow a nicer girl, and if your music does not cause my tympana to move themselves aright, yet the niceness is not without its effect upon the soul o' me. so i'm not so _very_ inert a clod, after all. no, leigh has not infected me with the exploring fad. i exhausted my capacity in that way years before i had the advantage of his acquaintance and the contagion of his example. but i don't like to think of that miserable mountain sitting there and grinning in the consciousness of having beaten the bierce family. so--apropos of my brother--_i_ am "odd" after a certain fashion! my child, that is blasphemy. you grow hardier every day of your life, and you'll end as a full colonel yet, and challenge man to mortal combat in true stetsonian style. know thy place, thou atom! speaking of colonels reminds me that one of the most eminent of the group had the assurance to write me, asking for an "audience" to consult about a benefit that she--_she!_--is getting up for my friend miss * * *, a glorious writer and eccentric old maid whom you do not know. * * * evidently wants more notoriety and proposes to shine by miss * * * light. i was compelled to lower the temperature of the situation with a letter curtly courteous. not even to assist miss * * * shall my name be mixed up with those of that gang. but of course all that does not amuse you. i wish i could have a chat with you. i speak to nobody but my chambermaid and the waiter at my restaurant. by the time i see you i shall have lost the art of speech altogether and shall communicate with you by the sign language. god be good to you and move you to write to me sometimes. sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. [first part of this letter missing.] * * * * * you may, i think, expect my assistance in choosing between (or among) your suitors next month, early. i propose to try living in oakland again for a short time beginning about then. but i shall have much to do the first few days--possibly in settling my earthly affairs for it is my determination to be hanged for killing all those suitors. that seems to me the simplest way of disembarrassing you. as to me--it is the "line of least resistance"--unless they fight. * * * * * so you have been ill. you must not be ill, my child--it disturbs my marcus aurelian tranquillity, and is most selfishly inconsiderate of you. mourn with me: the golden leaves of my poplars are now underwheel. i sigh for the perennial eucalyptus leaf of piedmont. i hope you are all well. sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. [san jose, november , .] since writing you yesterday, dear blanche, i have observed that the benefit to * * * is not abandoned--it is to occur in the evening of the th, at golden gate hall, san francisco. i recall your kind offer to act for me in any way that i might wish to assist miss * * *. now, i will not have my name connected with anything that the * * * woman and her sister-in-evidence may do for their own glorification, but i enclose a wells, fargo & co. money order for all the money i can presently afford--wherewith you may do as you will; buy tickets, or hand it to the treasurer in your own name. i know miss * * * must be awfully needy to accept a benefit--you have no idea how sensitive and suspicious and difficult she is. she is almost impossible. but there are countless exactions on my lean purse, and i must do the rest with my pen. so--i thank you. sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. [ iowa circle, washington, d. c., january , .] dear sterling, this is just a hasty note to acknowledge receipt of your letter and the poems. i hope to reach those pretty soon and give them the attention which i am sure they will prove to merit--which i cannot do now. by the way, i wonder why most of you youngsters so persistently tackle the sonnet. for the same reason, i suppose, that a fellow always wants to make his first appearance on the stage in the rôle of "hamlet." it is just the holy cheek of you. yes, leigh prospers fairly well, and i--well, i don't know if it is prosperity; it is a pretty good time. i suppose i shall have to write to that old scoundrel grizzly,[ ] to give him my new address, though i supposed he had it; and the old one would do, anyhow. now that his cub has returned he probably doesn't care for the other plantigrades of his kind. [ ] albert bierce. thank you for telling me so much about some of our companions and companionesses of the long ago. i fear that not all my heart was in my baggage when i came over here. there's a bit of it, for example, out there by that little lake in the hills. so i may have a photograph of one of your pretty sisters. why, of course i want it--i want the entire five of them; their pictures, i mean. if you had been a nice fellow you would have let me know them long ago. and how about that other pretty girl, your infinitely better half? you might sneak into the envelope a little portrait of _her_, lest i forget, lest i forget. but i've not yet forgotten. the new century's best blessings to the both o' you. ambrose bierce. p.s.--in your studies of poetry have you dipped into stedman's new "american anthology"? it is the most notable collection of american verse that has been made--on the whole, a book worth having. in saying so i rather pride myself on my magnanimity; for of course i don't think he has done as well by me as he might have done. that, i suppose, is what every one thinks who happens to be alive to think it. so i try to be in the fashion. a. b. [ iowa circle, washington, d. c., january , .] my dear sterling, i've been a long while getting to your verses, but there were many reasons--including a broken rib. they are pretty good verses, with here and there _very_ good lines. i'd a strong temptation to steal one or two for my "passing show," but i knew what an avalanche of verses it would bring down upon me from other poets--as every mention of a new book loads my mail with new books for a month. if i ventured to advise you i should recommend to you the simple, ordinary meters and forms native to our language. i await the photograph of the pretty sister--don't fancy i've forgotten. it is a. m. and i'm about to drink your health in a glass of riesling and eat it in a pâte. my love to grizzly if you ever see him. yours ever, a. b. [washington, d. c., january , .] my dear doyle, your letter of the th has just come and as i am waiting at my office (where i seldom go) i shall amuse myself by replying "to onct." see here, i don't purpose that your attack on poor morrow's book shall become a "continuous performance," nor even an "annual ceremony." it is not "rot." it is not "filthy." it does not "suggest bed-pans,"--at least it did not to me, and i'll wager something that morrow never thought of them. observe and consider: if his hero and heroine had been man and wife, the bed-pan would have been there, just the same; yet you would not have thought of it. every reader would have been touched by the husband's devotion. a physician has to do with many unpleasant things; whom do his ministrations disgust? a trained nurse lives in an atmosphere of bed-pans--to whom is her presence or work suggestive of them? i'm thinking of the heroic father damien and his lepers; do you dwell upon the rotting limbs and foul distortions of his unhappy charges? is not his voluntary martyrdom one of the sanest, cleanest, most elevating memories in all history? then it is _not_ the bed-pan necessity that disgusts you; it is something else. it is the fact that the hero of the story, being neither physician, articled nurse, nor certificated husband, nevertheless performed _their_ work. he ministered to the helpless in a natural way without authority from church or college, quite irregular and improper and all that. my noble critic, there speaks in your blood the untamed philistine. you were not caught young enough. you came into letters and art with all your beastly conventionalities in full mastery of you. take a purge. forget that there are philistines. forget that they have put their abominable pantalettes upon the legs of nature. forget that their code of morality and manners (it stinks worse than a bed-pan) does _not_ exist in the serene altitude of great art, toward which you have set your toes and into which i want you to climb. i know about this thing. i, too, tried to rise with all that dead weight dragging at my feet. well, i could not--now i could if i cared to. in my mind i do. it is not freedom of act--not freedom of living, for which i contend, but freedom of thought, of mind, of spirit; the freedom to see in the horrible laws, prejudices, custom, conventionalities of the multitude, something good for them, but of no value to you _in your art._ in your life and conduct defer to as much of it as you will (you'll find it convenient to defer to a whole lot), but in your mind and art let not the philistine enter, nor even speak a word through the keyhole. my own chief objection to morrow's story is (as i apprised him) its unnaturalness. he did not dare to follow the logical course of his narrative. he was too cowardly (or had too keen an eye upon his market of prudes) to make hero and heroine join in the holy bonds of _bed_lock, as they naturally, inevitably and rightly would have done long before she was able to be about. i daresay that, too, would have seemed to you "filthy," without the parson and his fee. when you analyze your objection to the story (as i have tried to do for you) you will find that it all crystallizes into that--the absence of the parson. i don't envy you your view of the matter, and i really don't think you greatly enjoy it yourself. i forgot to say: suppose they had been two men, two partners in hunting, mining, or exploring, as frequently occurs. would the bed-pan suggestion have come to you? did it come to you when you read of the slow, but not uniform, starvation of greeley's party in the arctic? of course not. then it is a matter, not of bed-pans, but of sex-exposure (unauthorized by the church), of prudery--of that artificial thing, the "sense of shame," of which the great greeks knew nothing; of which the great japanese know nothing; of which art knows nothing. dear doctor, do you really put trousers on your piano-legs? does your indecent intimacy with your mirror make you blush? there, there's the person whom i've been waiting for (i'm to take her to dinner, and i'm not married to even so much of her as her little toe) has come; and until you offend again, you are immune from the switch. may all your brother philistines have to "kiss the place to make it well." pan is dead! long live bed-pan! yours ever, ambrose bierce. [washington, february , .] my dear sterling, i send back the poems, with a few suggestions. you grow great so rapidly that i shall not much longer dare to touch your work. i mean that. your criticisms of stedman's anthology are just. but equally just ones can be made of any anthology. none of them can suit any one. i fancy stedman did not try to "live up" to his standard, but to make _representative_, though not always the _best_, selections. it would hardly do to leave out whitman, for example. _we_ may not like him; thank god, we don't; but many others--the big fellows too--do; and in england he is thought great. and then stedman has the bad luck to know a lot of poets personally--many bad poets. put yourself in his place. would you leave out me if you honestly thought my work bad? in any compilation we will all miss some of our favorites--and find some of the public's favorites. you miss from whittier "joseph sturge"--i the sonnet "forgiveness," and so forth. alas, there is no universal standard! thank you for the photographs. miss * * * is a pretty girl, truly, and has the posing instinct as well. she has the place of honor on my mantel. * * * but what scurvy knave has put the stage-crime into her mind? if you know that life as i do you will prefer that she die, poor girl. it is no trouble, but a pleasure, to go over your verses--i am as proud of your talent as if i'd made it. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [over] about the rhymes in a sonnet: "regular", or "english" modern italian form form english (petrarch): (shakspear's): two or three rhymes; any arrangement there are good reasons for preferring the regular italian form created by petrarch--who knew a thing or two; and sometimes good reasons for another arrangement--of the sestet rhymes. if one should sacrifice a great thought to be like petrarch one would not resemble him. a. b. [washington, d. c., may , .] my dear sterling, i am sending to the "journal" your splendid poem on memorial day. of course i can't say what will be its fate. i am not even personally acquainted with the editor of the department to which it goes. but if he has not the brains to like it he is to send it back and i'll try to place it elsewhere. it is great--great!--the loftiest note that you have struck and _held_. maybe i owe you a lot of letters. i don't know--my correspondence all in arrears and i've not the heart to take it up. thank you for your kind words of sympathy.[ ] i'm hit harder than any one can guess from the known facts--am a bit broken and gone gray of it all. [ ] concerning the death of his son leigh. but i remember you asked the title of a book of synonyms. it is "roget's thesaurus," a good and useful book. the other poems i will look up soon and consider. i've made no alterations in the "memorial day" except to insert the omitted stanza. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, may , .] my dear sterling, i send the poems with suggestions. there's naught to say about 'em that i've not said of your other work. your "growth in grace" (and other poetic qualities) is something wonderful. you are leaving my other "pupils" so far behind that they are no longer "in it." seriously, you "promise" better than any of the new men in our literature--and perform better than all but markham in his lucid intervals, alas, too rare. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, may , .] my dear sterling, i enclose a proof of the poem[ ]--all marked up. the poem was offered to the journal, but to the wrong editor. i would not offer it to him in whose department it could be used, for he once turned down some admirable verses of my friend scheffauer which i sent him. i'm glad the journal is _not_ to have it, for it now goes into the washington post--and the post into the best houses here and elsewhere--a good, clean, unyellow paper. i'll send you some copies with the poem. [ ] "memorial day." i think my marks are intelligible--i mean my _re_marks. perhaps you'll not approve all, or anything, that i did to the poem; i'll only ask you to endure. when you publish in covers you can restore to the original draft if you like. i had not time (after my return from new york) to get your approval and did the best and the least i could. * * * * * my love to your pretty wife and sister. let me know how hard you hate me for monkeying with your sacred lines. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. yes, your poem recalled my "invocation" as i read it; but it is better, and not too much like--hardly like at all except in the "political" part. both, in that, are characterized, i think, by decent restraint. how * * * would, at those places, have ranted and chewed soap!--a superior quality of soap, i confess. a. b. [ nineteenth st., n. w., washington, d. c., june , .] my dear sterling, i am glad my few words of commendation were not unpleasing to you. i meant them all and more. you ought to have praise, seeing that it is all you got. the "post," like most other newspapers, "don't pay for poetry." what a damning confession! it means that the public is as insensible to poetry as a pig to--well, to poetry. to any sane mind such a poem as yours is worth more than all the other contents of a newspaper for a year. i've not found time to consider your "bit of blank" yet--at least not as carefully as it probably merits. my relations with the present editor of the examiner are not unfriendly, i hope, but they are too slight to justify me in suggesting anything to him, or even drawing his attention to anything. i hoped you would be sufficiently "enterprising" to get your poem into the paper if you cared to have it there. i wrote dr. doyle about you. he is a dear fellow and you should know each other. as to scheffauer, he is another. if you want him to see your poem why not send it to him? but the last i heard he was very ill. i'm rather anxious to hear more about him. it was natural to enclose the stamps, but i won't have it so--so there! as the women say. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [ nineteenth st., n. w., washington, d. c., july , .] my dear sterling, here is the bit of blank. when are we to see the book? needless question--when you can spare the money to pay for publication, i suppose, if by that time you are ambitious to achieve public inattention. that's my notion of encouragement--i like to cheer up the young author as he sets his face toward "the peaks of song." say, that photograph of the pretty sister--the one with a downward slope of the eyes--is all faded out. that is a real misfortune: it reduces the sum of human happiness hereabout. can't you have one done in fast colors and let me have it? the other is all right, but that is not the one that i like the better for my wall. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the olympia, washington, d. c., december , .] my dear sterling, i enclose the poems with a few suggestions. they require little criticism of the sort that would be "helpful." as to their merit i think them good, but not great. i suppose you do not expect to write great things every time. yet in the body of your letter (of oct. ) you do write greatly--and say that the work is "egoistic" and "unprintable." if it[ ] were addressed to another person than myself i should say that it is "printable" exceedingly. call it what you will, but let me tell you it will probably be long before you write anything better than some--many--of these stanzas. [ ] "dedication" poem to ambrose bierce. you ask if you have correctly answered your own questions. yes; in four lines of your running comment: "i suppose that i'd do the greater good in the long run by making my work as good poetry as possible." * * * * * of course i deplore your tendency to dalliance with the demagogic muse. i hope you will not set your feet in the dirty paths--leading nowhither--of social and political "reform".... i hope you will not follow * * * in making a sale of your poet's birthright for a mess of "popularity." if you do i shall have to part company with you, as i have done with him and at least _one_ of his betters, for i draw the line at demagogues and anarchists, however gifted and however beloved. let the "poor" alone--they are oppressed by nobody but god. nobody hates them, nobody despises. "the rich" love them a deal better than they love one another. but i'll not go into these matters; your own good sense must be your salvation if you are saved. i recognise the temptations of environment: you are of san francisco, the paradise of ignorance, anarchy and general yellowness. still, a poet is not altogether the creature of his place and time--at least not of his to-day and his parish. by the way, you say that * * * is your only associate that knows anything of literature. she is a dear girl, but look out for her; she will make you an anarchist if she can, and persuade you to kill a president or two every fine morning. i warrant you she can pronounce the name of mckinley's assassin to the ultimate zed, and has a little graven image of him next her heart. yes, you can republish the memorial day poem without the _post's_ consent--could do so in "book form" even if the _post_ had copyrighted it, which it did not do. i think the courts have held that in purchasing work for publication in his newspaper or magazine the editor acquires no right in it, _except for that purpose_. even if he copyright it that is only to protect him from other newspapers or magazines; the right to publish in a book remains with the author. better ask a lawyer though--preferably without letting him know whether you are an editor or an author. i ought to have answered (as well as able) these questions before, but i have been ill and worried, and have written few letters, and even done little work, and that only of the pot-boiling sort. my daughter has recovered and returned to los angeles. please thank miss * * * for the beautiful photographs--i mean for being so beautiful as to "take" them, for doubtless i owe their possession to you. i wrote doyle about you and he cordially praised your work as incomparably superior to his own and asked that you visit him. he's a lovable fellow and you'd not regret going to santa cruz and boozing with him. thank you for the picture of grizzly and the cub of him. sincerely yours, with best regards to the pretty ever-so-much-better half of you, ambrose bierce. p.s. * * * * * * * * * * * [the olympia, washington, d. c., march , .] my dear sterling, where are you going to stop?--i mean at what stage of development? i presume you have not a "whole lot" of poems really writ, and have not been feeding them to me, the least good first, and not in the order of their production. so it must be that you are advancing at a stupendous rate. this last[ ] beats any and all that went before--or i am bewitched and befuddled. i dare not trust myself to say what i think of it. in manner it is great, but the greatness of the theme!--that is beyond anything. [ ] "the testimony of the suns." it is a new field, the broadest yet discovered. to paraphrase coleridge, you are the first that ever burst into that silent [unknown] sea-- a silent sea _because_ no one else has burst into it in full song. true, there have been short incursions across the "border," but only by way of episode. the tremendous phenomena of astronomy have never had adequate poetic treatment, their meaning adequate expression. you must make it your own domain. you shall be the poet of the skies, the prophet of the suns. don't fiddle-faddle with such infinitesimal and tiresome trivialities as (for example) the immemorial squabbles of "rich" and "poor" on this "mote in the sun-beam." (both "classes," when you come to that, are about equally disgusting and unworthy--there's not a pin's moral difference between them.) let them cheat and pick pockets and cut throats to the satisfaction of their base instincts, but do thou regard them not. moreover, by that great law of change which you so clearly discern, there can be no permanent composition of their nasty strife. "settle" it how they will--another beat of the pendulum and all is as before; and ere another, man will again be savage, sitting on his naked haunches and gnawing raw bones. yes, circumstances make the "rich" what they are. and circumstances make the poor what _they_ are. i have known both, long and well. the rich--_while_ rich--are a trifle better. there's nothing like poverty to nurture badness. but in this country there are no such "classes" as "rich" and "poor": as a rule, the wealthy man of to-day was a poor devil yesterday; the poor devils of to-day have an equal chance to be rich to-morrow--or would have if they had equal brains and providence. the system that gives them the chance is not an oppressive one. under a really oppressive system a salesman in a village grocery could not have risen to a salary of one million dollars a year because he was worth it to his employers, as schwab has done. true, some men get rich by dishonesty, but the poor commonly cheat as hard as they can and remain poor--thereby escaping observation and censure. the moral difference between cheating to the limit of a small opportunity and cheating to the limit of a great one is to me indiscernable. the workman who "skimps his work" is just as much a rascal as the "director" who corners a crop. as to "socialism." i am something of a socialist myself; that is, i think that the principle, which has always coexisted with competition, each safeguarding the other, may be advantageously extended. but those who rail against "the competitive system," and think they suffer from it, really suffer from their own unthrift and incapacity. for the competent and provident it is an ideally perfect system. as the other fellows are not of those who effect permanent reforms, or reforms of any kind, pure socialism is the dream of a dream. but why do i write all this. one's opinions on such matters are unaffected by reason and instance; they are born of feeling and temperament. there is a socialist diathesis, as there is an anarchist diathesis. could you teach a bulldog to retrieve, or a sheep to fetch and carry? could you make a "born artist" comprehend a syllogism? as easily persuade a poet that black is not whatever color he loves. somebody has defined poetry as "glorious nonsense." it is not an altogether false definition, albeit i consider poetry the flower and fruit of speech and would rather write gloriously than sensibly. but if poets saw things as they are they would write no more poetry. nevertheless, i venture to ask you: _can't_ you see in the prosperity of the strong and the adversity of the weak a part of that great beneficent law, "the survival of the fittest"? don't you see that such evils as inhere in "the competitive system" are evils only to individuals, but blessings to the race by gradually weeding out the incompetent and their progeny? i've done, i' faith. be any kind of 'ist or 'er that you will, but don't let it get into your ink. nobody is calling you to deliver your land from error's chain. what we want of you is poetry, not politics. and if you care for fame just have the goodness to consider if any "champion of the poor" has ever obtained it. from the earliest days down to massanielo, jack cade and eugene debs the leaders and prophets of "the masses" have been held unworthy. and with reason too, however much injustice is mixed in with the right of it. eventually the most conscientious, popular and successful "demagogue" comes into a heritage of infamy. the most brilliant gifts cannot save him. that will be the fate of edwin markham if he does not come out o' that, and it will be the fate of george sterling if he will not be warned. you think that "the main product of that system" (the "competitive") "is the love of money." what a case of the cart before the horse! the love of money is not the product, but the root, of the system--not the effect, but the cause. when one man desires to be better off than another he competes with him. you can abolish the system when you can abolish the desire--when you can make man as nature did _not_ make him, content to be as poor as the poorest. do away with the desire to excel and you may set up your socialism at once. but what kind of a race of sloths and slugs will you have? but, bless me, i shall _never_ have done if i say all that comes to me. why, of course my remarks about * * * were facetious--playful. she really is an anarchist, and her sympathies are with criminals, whom she considers the "product" of the laws, but--well, she inherited the diathesis and can no more help it than she can the color of her pretty eyes. but she is a child--and except in so far as her convictions make her impossible they do not count. she would not hurt a fly--not even if, like the toad, it had a precious jewel in its head that it did not work for. but i am speaking of the * * * that _i_ knew. if i did not know that the anarchist leopard's spots "will wash," your words would make me think that she might have changed. it does not matter what women think, if thinking it may be called, and * * * will never be other than lovable. lest you have _not_ a copy of the verses addressed to me i enclose one that i made myself. of course their publication could not be otherwise than pleasing to me if you care to do it. you need not fear the "splendid weight" expression, and so forth--there is nothing "conceited" in the poem. as it was addressed to me, i have not criticised it--i _can't_. and i guess it needs no criticism. i fear for the other two-thirds of this latest poem. if you descend from arcturus to earth, from your nebulae to your neighbors, from life to lives, from the measureless immensities of space to the petty passions of us poor insects, won't you incur the peril of anti-climax? i doubt if you can touch the "human interest" after those high themes without an awful tumble. i should be sorry to see the poem "peter out," or "soak in." it would be as if goethe had let his "prologue in heaven" expire in a coon song. you have reached the "heights of dream" all right, but how are you to stay there to the end? by the way, you must perfect yourself in astronomy, or rather get a general knowledge of it, which i fear you lack. be sure about the pronunciation of astronomical names. i have read some of jack london's work and think it clever. of whitaker i never before heard, i fear. if london wants to criticise your "star poem" what's the objection? i should not think, though, from his eulogism of * * *, that he is very critical. * * * where are you to place browning? among thinkers. in his younger days, when he wrote in english, he stood among the poets. i remember writing once--of the thinker: "there's nothing more obscure than browning except blacking." i'll stand to that. no, don't take the trouble to send me a copy of these verses: i expect to see them in a book pretty soon. * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the olympia, washington, d. c., march , .] dear sterling, i am glad to know that you too have a good opinion of that poem.[ ] one should know about one's own work. most writers think their work good, but good writers know it. pardon me if i underrated your astronomical knowledge. my belief was based on your use of those names. i never met with the spelling "betelgeux"; and even if it is correct and picturesque i'd not use it if i were you, for it does not quite speak itself, and you can't afford to jolt the reader's attention from your thought to a matter of pronunciation. in my student days we, i am sure, were taught to say procy´on. i don't think i've heard it pronounced since, and i've no authority at hand. if you are satisfied with pro´cyon i suppose it is that. but your pronunciation was aldeb´aran or your meter very crazy indeed. i asked (with an interrogation point) if it were not aldeba´ran--and i think it is. fomalhaut i don't know about; i thought it french and masculine. in that case it would, i suppose, be "ho," not "hote." [ ] "the testimony of the suns." don't cut out that stanza, even if "clime" doesn't seem to me to have anything to do with duration. the stanza is good enough to stand a blemish. "ye stand rebuked by suns who claim"--i was wrong in substituting "that" for "who," not observing that it would make it ambiguous. i merely yielded to a favorite impulse: to say "that" instead of "who," and did not count the cost. don't cut out _any_ stanza--if you can't perfect them let them go imperfect. "without or genesis or end." "devoid of birth, devoid of end." these are not so good as "without beginning, without end";--i submit them to suggest a way to overcome that identical rhyme. all you have to do is get rid of the second "without." i should not like "impend." yes, i vote for orion's _sword_ of suns. "cimetar" sounds better, but it is more specific--less generic. it is modern--or, rather, less ancient than "sword," and makes one think of turkey and the holy land. but "sword"--there were swords before homer. and i don't think the man who named this constellation ever saw a curved blade. and yet, and yet--"cimetar of suns" is "mighty catchin'." no, indeed, i could not object to your considering the heavens in a state of war. i have sometimes fancied i could hear the rush and roar of it. why, a few months ago i began a sonnet thus: "not as two erring spheres together grind, with monstrous ruin, in the vast of space, destruction born of that malign embrace-- their hapless peoples all to death consigned--" etc. i've been a star-gazer all my life--from my habit of being "out late," i guess; and the things have always seemed to me _alive_. the change in the verses _ad meum_, from "_thy_ clearer light" to "_the_ clearer light" may have been made modestly or inadvertently--i don't recollect. it is, of course, no improvement and you may do as you please. i'm uniformly inadvertent, but intermittently modest. * * * * * a class of stuff that i can't (without "trouble in the office") write my own way i will not write at all. so i'm writing very little of anything but nonsense. * * * with best regards to mrs. sterling and miss marian i am sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. leigh died a year ago this morning. i wish i could stop counting the days. [the olympia, washington, d. c., april , .] dear sterling, all right--i only wanted you to be _sure_ about those names of stars; it would never do to be less than sure. after all our talk (made by me) i guess that stanza would better stand as first written. "clime"--climate--connotes temperature, weather, and so forth, in ordinary speech, but a poet may make his own definitions, i suppose, and compel the reader to study them out and accept them. your misgiving regarding your inability to reach so high a plane again as in this poem is amusing, but has an element of the pathetic. it certainly is a misfortune for a writer to do his _best_ work early; but i fancy you'd better trust your genius and do its bidding whenever the monkey chooses to bite. "the lord will provide." of course you have read stockton's story "his wife's deceased sister." but stockton gets on very well, despite "the lady or the tiger." i've a notion that you'll find other tragedies among the stars if earth doesn't supply you with high enough themes. will i write a preface for the book? why, yes, if you think me competent. emerson commands us to "hitch our wagon to a star?" and, egad! here's a whole constellation--a universe--of stars to draw mine! it makes me blink to think of it. o yes, i'd like well enough to "leave the journal," but-- sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the olympia, washington, d. c., july , .] my dear sterling, if rejection wounded, all writers would bleed at every pore. nevertheless, not my will but thine be done. of course i shall be glad to go over your entire body of work again and make suggestions if any occur to me. it will be no trouble--i could not be more profitably employed than in critically reading you, nor more agreeably. * * * * * of course your star poem has one defect--if it is a defect--that limits the circle of understanding and admiring readers--its lack of "_human_ interest." we human insects, as a rule, care for nothing but ourselves, and think that is best which most closely touches such emotions and sentiments as grow out of our relations, the one with another. i don't share the preference, and a few others do not, believing that there are things more interesting than men and women. the heavens, for example. but who knows, or cares anything about them--even knows the name of a single constellation? hardly any one but the professional astronomers--and there are not enough of them to buy your books and give you fame. i should be sorry not to have that poem published--sorry if you did not write more of the kind. but while it may impress and dazzle "the many" it will not win them. they want you to finger their heart-strings and pull the cord that works their arms and legs. so you must finger and pull--too. the château yquem came all right, and is good. thank you for it--albeit i'm sorry you feel that you must do things like that. it is very conventional and, i fear, "proper." however, i remember that you used to do so when you could not by any stretch of imagination have felt that you were under an "obligation." so i guess it is all right--just your way of reminding me of the old days. anyhow, the wine is so much better than my own that i've never a scruple when drinking it. has "maid marian" a photograph of me?--i don't remember. if not i'll send her one; i've just had some printed from a negative five or six years old. i've renounced the photograph habit, as one renounces other habits when age has made them ridiculous--or impossible. send me the typewritten book when you have it complete. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, august , .] my dear sterling, i suppose you are in seattle, but this letter will keep till your return. i am delighted to know that i am to have "the book" so soon, and will give it my best attention and (if you still desire) some prefatory lines. think out a good title and i shall myself be hospitable to any suggestion of my dæmon in the matter. he has given me nothing for the star poem yet. * * * * * you'll "learn in suffering what you teach in song," all right; but let us hope the song will be the richer for it. it _will_ be. for that reason i never altogether "pity the sorrows" of a writer--knowing they are good for him. he needs them in his business. i suspect you must have shed a tear or two since i knew you. i'm sending you a photograph, but you did not tell me if maid marian the superb already has one--that's what i asked you, and if you don't answer i shall ask her. * * * * * yes, i am fairly well, and, though not "happy," content. but i'm dreadfully sorry about peterson. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. i am about to break up my present establishment and don't know where my next will be. better address me "care n. y. american and journal bureau, washington, d. c." you see i'm still chained to the oar of yellow journalism, but it is a rather light servitude. [address me at yale street, washington, d. c., december , .] dear sterling, i fancy you must fear by this time that i did not get the poems, but i did. i'll get at them, doubtless, after awhile, though a good deal of manuscript--including a couple of novels!--is ahead of them; and one published book of bad poems awaits a particular condemnation. i'm a little embarrassed about the preface which i'm to write. i fear you must forego the preface or i the dedication. that kind of "coöperation" doesn't seem in very good taste: it smacks of "mutual admiration" in the bad sense, and the reviewers would probably call it "log-rolling." of course it doesn't matter too much what the reviewers say, but it matters a lot what the intelligent readers think; and your book will have no others. i really shouldn't like to write the preface of a book dedicated to me, though i did not think of that at first. the difficulty could be easily removed by _not_ dedicating the book to me were it not that that would sacrifice the noble poem with my name atop of it. that poem is itself sufficiently dedicatory if printed by itself in the forepages of the book and labeled "dedication--to ambrose bierce." i'm sure that vanity has nothing to do, or little to do, with my good opinion of the verses. and, after all, they _show_ that i have said _to you_ all that i could say to the reader in your praise and encouragement. what do you think? as to dedicating individual poems to other fellows, i have not the slightest hesitancy in advising you against it. the practice smacks of the amateur and is never, i think, pleasing to anybody but the person so honored. the custom has fallen into "innocuous desuetude" and there appears to be no call for its revival. pay off your obligations (if such there be) otherwise. you may put it this way if you like: the whole book being dedicated to me, no part of it _can_ be dedicated to another. or this way: secure in my exalted position i don't purpose sharing the throne with rival (and inferior) claimants. they be gam doodled! seriously--but i guess it is serious enough as it stands. it occurs to me that in saying: "no part of it _can_ be dedicated to another" i might be understood as meaning: "no part of it _must_ be," etc. no; i mean only that the dedication to another would contradict the dedication to me. the two things are (as a matter of fact) incompatible. well, if you think a short preface by me preferable to the verses with my name, all right; i will cheerfully write it, and that will leave you free to honor your other friends if you care to. but those are great lines, and implying, as they do, all that a set preface could say, it seems to me that they ought to stand. * * * * * maid marian shall have the photograph. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [ yale street, washington, d. c., march , .] my dear sterling, you are a brick. you shall do as you will. my chief reluctance is that if it become known, or _when_ it becomes known, there may ensue a suspicion of my honesty in praising you and _your_ book; for critics and readers are not likely to look into the matter of dates. for your sake i should be sorry to have it thought that my commendation was only a log-rolling incident; for myself, i should care nothing about it. this eel is accustomed to skinning. it is not the least pleasing of my reflections that my friends have always liked my work--or me--well enough to want to publish my books at their own expense. everything that i have written could go to the public that way if i would consent. in the two instances in which i did consent they got their money back all right, and i do not doubt that it will be so in this; for if i did not think there was at least a little profit in a book of mine i should not offer it to a publisher. "shapes of clay" _ought_ to be published in california, and it would have been long ago if i had not been so lazy and so indisposed to dicker with the publishers. properly advertised--which no book of mine ever has been--it should sell there if nowhere else. why, then, do _i_ not put up the money? well, for one reason, i've none to put up. do you care for the other reasons? but i must make this a condition. if there is a loss, _i_ am to bear it. to that end i shall expect an exact accounting from your mr. wood, and the percentage that scheff. purposes having him pay to me is to go to you. the copyright is to be mine, but nothing else until you are entirely recouped. but all this i will arrange with scheff., who, i take it, is to attend to the business end of the matter, with, of course, your assent to the arrangements that he makes. i shall write scheff. to-day to go ahead and make his contract with mr. wood on these lines. scheff. appears not to know who the "angel" in the case is, and he need not, unless, or until, you want him to. i've a pretty letter from maid marian in acknowledgment of the photograph. i shall send one to mrs. sterling at once, in the sure and certain hope of getting another. it is good of her to remember my existence, considering that your scoundrelly monopoly of her permitted us to meet so seldom. i go in for a heavy tax on married men who live with their wives. "she holds no truce with death _or_ peace" means that with _one_ of them she holds no truce; "nor" makes it mean that she holds no truce with _either_. the misuse of "or" (its use to mean "nor") is nearly everybody's upsetting sin. so common is it that "nor" instead usually sounds harsh. i omitted the verses on "puck," not because bunner is dead, but because his work is dead too, and the verses appear to lack intrinsic merit to stand alone. i shall perhaps omit a few more when i get the proofs (i wish you could see the bushels i've left out already) and add a few serious ones. i'm glad no end that you and scheff. have met. i'm fond of the boy and he likes me, i think. he too has a book of verses on the ways, and i hope for it a successful launching. i've been through it all; some of it is great in the matter of thews and brawn; some fine. pardon the typewriter; i wanted a copy of this letter. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the new york "american" bureau, washington, d. c., june , .] dear sterling, it is good to hear from you again and to know that the book is so nearly complete as to be in the hands of the publishers. i dare say they will not have it, and you'll have to get it out at your own expense. when it comes to that i shall hope to be of service to you, as you have been to me. so you like scheff. yes, he is a good boy and a good friend. i wish you had met our friend dr. doyle, who has now gone the long, lone journey. it has made a difference to me, but that matters little, for the time is short in which to grieve. i shall soon be going his way. no, i shall not put anything about the * * * person into "shapes of clay." his offence demands another kind of punishment, and until i meet him he goes unpunished. i once went to san francisco to punish him (but that was in hot blood) but * * * of "the wave" told me the man was a hopeless invalid, suffering from locomotor ataxia. i have always believed that until i got your letter and one from scheff. is it not so?--or _was_ it not? if not he has good reason to think me a coward, for his offence was what men are killed for; but of course one does not kill a helpless person, no matter what the offence is. if * * * lied to me i am most anxious to know it; he has always professed himself a devoted friend. the passage that you quote from jack london strikes me as good. i don't dislike the word "penetrate"--rather like it. it is in frequent use regarding exploration and discovery. but i think you right about "rippling"; it is too lively a word to be outfitted with such an adjective as "melancholy." i see london has an excellent article in "the critic" on "the terrible and tragic in fiction." he knows how to think a bit. what do i think of cowley-brown and his "goosequill"? i did not know that he had revived it; it died several years ago. i never met him, but in both chicago and london (where he had "the philistine," or "the anti-philistine," i do not at the moment remember which) he was most kind to me and my work. in one number of his magazine--the london one--he had four of my stories and a long article about me which called the blushes to my maiden cheek like the reflection of a red rose in the petal of a violet. naturally i think well of cowley-brown. you make me sad to think of the long leagues and the monstrous convexity of the earth separating me from your camp in the redwoods. there are few things that i would rather do than join that party; and i'd be the last to strike my tent and sling my swag. alas, it cannot be--not this year. my outings are limited to short runs along this coast. i was about to set out on one this morning; and wrote a hasty note to scheff in consequence of my preparations. in five hours i was suffering from asthma, and am now confined to my room. but for eight months of the year here i am immune--as i never was out there. * * * * * you will have to prepare yourself to endure a good deal of praise when that book is out. one does not mind when one gets accustomed to it. it neither pleases nor bores; you will have just no feeling about it at all. but if you really care for _my_ praise i hope you have quoted a bit of it at the head of those dedicatory verses, as i suggested. that will give them a _raison d'être_. with best regards to mrs. sterling and katie i am sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. p.s.--if not too much trouble you may remind dick partington and wife that i continue to exist and to remember them pleasantly. [n. y. "american" bureau, washington, d. c., [july, ].] dear scheff: i got the proofs yesterday, and am returning them by this mail. the "report of progress" is every way satisfactory, and i don't doubt that a neat job is being done. the correction that you made is approved. i should have wanted and expected you to make many corrections and suggestions, but that i have had a purpose in making this book--namely, that it should represent my work at its average. in pursuance of this notion i was not hospitable even to suggestions, and have retained much work that i did not myself particularly approve; some of it trivial. you know i have always been addicted to trifling, and no book from which trivialities were excluded would fairly represent me. i could not commend this notion in another. in your work and sterling's i have striven hard to help you to come as near to perfection as we could, because perfection is what you and he want, and as young writers ought to want, the character of your work being higher than mine. i reached my literary level long ago, and seeing that it is not a high one there would seem to be a certain affectation, even a certain dishonesty, in making it seem higher than it is by republication of my best only. of course i have not carried out this plan so consistently as to make the book dull: i had to "draw the line" at that. i say all this because i don't want you and sterling to think that i disdain assistance: i simply decided beforehand not to avail myself of its obvious advantages. you would have done as much for the book in one way as you have done in another. i'll have to ask you to suggest that mr. wood have a man go over all the matter in the book, and see that none of the pieces are duplicated, as i fear they are. reading the titles will not be enough: i might have given the same piece two titles. it will be necessary to compare first lines, i think. that will be drudgery which i'll not ask you to undertake: some of wood's men, or some of the printer's men, will do it as well; it is in the line of their work. the "dies irae" is the most earnest and sincere of religious poems; my travesty of it is mere solemn fooling, which fact is "given away" in the prose introduction, where i speak of my version being of possible service in the church! the travesty is not altogether unfair--it was inevitably suggested by the author's obvious inaccessibility to humor and logic--a peculiarity that is, however, observable in all religious literature, for it is a fundamental necessity to the religious mind. without logic and a sense of the ludicrous a man is religious as certainly as without webbed feet a bird has the land habit. it is funny, but i am a "whole lot" more interested in seeing your cover of the book than my contents of it. i don't at all doubt--since you dared undertake it--that your great conception will find a fit interpreter in your hand; so my feeling is not anxiety. it is just interest--pure interest in what is above my powers, but in which _you_ can work. by the way, keller, of the old "wasp" was _not_ the best of its cartoonists. the best--the best of _all_ cartoonists if he had not died at eighteen--was another german, named barkhaus. i have all his work and have long cherished a wish to republish it with the needed explanatory text--much of it being "local" and "transient." some day, perhaps--most likely not. but barkhaus was a giant. how i envy you! there are few things that would please me so well as to "drop in" on you folks in sterling's camp. honestly, i think all that prevents is the (to me) killing journey by rail. and two months would be required, going and returning by sea. but the rail trip across the continent always gives me a horrible case of asthma, which lasts for weeks. i shall never take _that_ journey again if i can avoid it. what times you and they will have about the campfire and the table! i feel like an exile, though i fear i don't look and act the part. i did not make the little excursion i was about to take when i wrote you recently. almost as i posted the letter i was taken ill and have not been well since. poor doyle! how thoughtful of him to provide for the destruction of my letters! but i fear mrs. doyle found some of them queer reading--if she read them. * * * * * great scott! if ever they begin to publish mine there will be a circus! for of course the women will be the chief sinners, and--well, they have material a-plenty; they can make many volumes, and your poor dead friend will have so bad a reputation that you'll swear you never knew him. i dare say, though, you have sometimes been indiscreet, too. _my_ besetting sin has been in writing to my girl friends as if they were sweethearts--the which they'll doubtless not be slow to affirm. the fact that they write to me in the same way will be no defense; for when i'm worm's meat i can't present the proof--and wouldn't if i could. maybe it won't matter--if i don't turn in my grave and so bother the worms. as doyle's "literary executor" i fear your duties will be light: he probably did not leave much manuscript. i judge from his letters that he was despondent about his work and the narrow acceptance that it had. so i assume that he did not leave much more than the book of poems, which no publisher would (or will) take. you are about to encounter the same stupid indifference of the public--so is sterling. i'm sure of sterling, but don't quite know how it will affect _you_. you're a pretty sturdy fellow, physically and mentally, but this _may_ hurt horribly. i pray that it do not, and could give you--perhaps have given you--a thousand reasons why it _should_ not. you are still young and your fame may come while you live; but you must not expect it now, and doubtless do not. to me, and i hope to you, the approval of one person who knows is sweeter than the acclaim of ten thousand who do not--whose acclaim, indeed, i would rather not have. if you do not _feel_ this in every fibre of your brain and heart, try to learn to feel it--practice feeling it, as one practices some athletic feat necessary to health and strength. thank you very much for the photograph. you are growing too infernally handsome to be permitted to go about unchained. if i had your "advantages" of youth and comeliness i'd go to the sheriff and ask him to lock me up. that would be the honorable thing for you to do, if you don't mind. god be with you--but inattentive. ambrose bierce. [aurora, preston co., west virginia, august , .] dear sterling, i fear that among the various cares incident to my departure from washington i forgot, or neglected, to acknowledge the joaquin miller book that you kindly sent me. i was glad to have it. it has all his characteristic merits and demerits--among the latter, his interminable prolixity, the thinness of the thought, his endless repetition of favorite words and phrases, many of them from his other poems, his mispronunciation, his occasional flashes of prose, and so forth. scheff tells me his book is out and mine nearly out. but what of yours? i do fear me it never will be out if you rely upon its "acceptance" by any american publisher. if it meets with no favor among the publisher tribe we must nevertheless get it out; and you will of course let me do what i can. that is only tit for tat. but tell me about it. i dare say scheff, who is clever at getting letters out of me--the scamp!--has told you of my being up here atop of the alleghenies, and why i _am_ here. i'm having a rather good time. * * * can you fancy me playing croquet, cards, lawn--no, thank god, i've escaped lawn tennis and golf! in respect of other things, though, i'm a glittering specimen of the summer old man. did _you_ have a good time in the redwoods? please present my compliments to madame (and mademoiselle) sterling. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [aurora, west virginia, september , .] dear sterling, i return the verses with a few suggestions. i'm sorry your time for poetry is so brief. but take your pencil and figure out how much you would write in thirty years (i hope you'll live that long) at, say, six lines a day. you'll be surprised by the result--and encouraged. remember that , words make a fairly long book. you make me shudder when you say you are reading the "prattle" of years. i haven't it and should hardly dare to read it if i had. there is so much in it to deplore--so much that is not wise--so much that was the expression of a mood or a whim--so much was not altogether sincere--so many half-truths, and so forth. make allowances, i beg, and where you cannot, just forgive. scheff has mentioned his great desire that you join the bohemian club. i know he wants me to advise you to do so. so i'm between two fires and would rather not advise at all. there are advantages (obvious enough) in belonging; and to one of your age and well grounded in sobriety and self-restraint generally, the disadvantages are not so great as to a youngster like scheff. (of course he is not so young as he seems to me; but he is younger by a few years and a whole lot of thought than you.) the trouble with that kind of club--with any club--is the temptation to waste of time and money; and the danger of the drink habit. if one is proof against these a club is all right. i belong to one myself in washington, and at one time came pretty near to "running" it. * * * * * no, i don't think scheff's view of kipling just. he asked me about putting that skit in the book. it _was_ his view and, that being so, i could see no reason for suppressing it in deference to those who do not hold it. i like free speech, though i'd not accord it to my enemies if i were dictator. i should not think it for the good of the state to let * * * write verses, for example. the modern fad tolerance does not charm me, but since it is all the go i'm willing that my friends should have their fling. i dare say scheff is unconscious of kipling's paternity in the fine line in "back, back to nature": "loudly to the shore cries the surf upon the sea." but turn to "the last chanty," in "the seven seas," fill your ears with it and you'll write just such a line yourself. * * * * * god be decent to you, old man. ambrose bierce. [aurora, west virginia, september , .] dear sterling, i have yours of the th. before now you have mine of _some_ date. * * * * * i'm glad you like london; i've heard he is a fine fellow and have read one of his books--"the son of the wolf," i think is the title--and it seemed clever work mostly. the general impression that remains with me is that it is always winter and always night in alaska. * * * * * * * * will probably be glad to sell his scrap-book later, to get bread. he can't make a living out of the labor unions alone. i wish he were not a demgagoue and would not, as poor doyle put it, go a-whoring after their muse. when he returns to truth and poetry i'll receive him back into favor and he may kick me if he wants to. no, i can't tell you how to get "prattle"; if i could i'd not be without it myself. you ask me when i began it in the "examiner." soon after hearst got the paper--i don't know the date--they can tell you at the office and will show you the bound volumes. i have the bound volumes of the "argonaut" and "wasp" during the years when i was connected with them, but my work in the "examiner" (and previously in the "news letter" and the london "fun" and "figaro" and other papers) i kept only in a haphazard and imperfect way. i don't recollect giving scheff any "epigram" on woman or anything else. so i can't send it to you. i amuse myself occasionally with that sort of thing in the "journal" ("american") and suppose hearst's other papers copy them, but the "environment" is uncongenial and uninspiring. do i think extracts from "prattle" would sell? i don't think anything of mine will sell. i could make a dozen books of the stuff that i have "saved up"--have a few ready for publication now--but all is vanity so far as profitable publication is concerned. publishers want nothing from me but novels--and i'll die first. who is * * *--and why? it is good of london to defend me against him. i fancy all you fellows have a-plenty of defending me to do, though truly it is hardly worth while. all my life i have been hated and slandered by all manner of persons except good and intelligent ones; and i don't greatly mind. i knew in the beginning what i had to expect, and i know now that, like spanking, it hurts (sometimes) but does not harm. and the same malevolence that has surrounded my life will surround my memory if i am remembered. just run over in your mind the names of men who have told the truth about their unworthy fellows and about human nature "as it was given them to see it." they are the bogie-men of history. none of them has escaped vilification. can poor little i hope for anything better? when you strike you are struck. the world is a skunk, but it has rights; among them that of retaliation. yes, you deceive yourself if you think the little fellows of letters "like" you, or rather if you think they will like you when they know how big you are. they will lie awake nights to invent new lies about you and new means of spreading them without detection. but you have your revenge: in a few years they'll all be dead--just the same as if you had killed them. better yet, you'll be dead yourself. so--you have my entire philosophy in two words: "nothing matters." reverting to scheff. what he has to fear (if he cares) is not incompetent criticism, but public indifference. that does not bite, but poets are an ambitious folk and like the limelight and the center of the stage. maybe scheff is different, as i know you are. try to make him so if he isn't. * * * wise poets write for one another. if the public happens to take notice, well and good. sometimes it does--and then the wise poet would a blacksmith be. but this screed is becoming an essay. please give my love to all good sterlings--those by birth and those by marriage. * * * my friends have returned to washington, and i'm having great times climbing peaks (they are knobs) and exploring gulches and cañons--for which these people have no names--poor things. my dreamland is still unrevisited. they found a confederate soldier over there the other day, with his rifle alongside. i'm going over to beg his pardon. ever yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c. [postmarked october , .]] my dear sterling, i have jack london's books--the one from you and the one from him. i thank you and shall find the time to read them. i've been back but a few days and find a brace of dozen of books "intitualed" "shapes of clay." that the splendid work done by scheff and wood and your other associates in your labor of love is most gratifying to me should "go without saying." surely _i_ am most fortunate in having so good friends to care for my interests. still, there will be an aching void in the heart of me until _your_ book is in evidence. honest, i feel more satisfaction in the work of you and scheff than in my own. it is through you two that i expect my best fame. and how generously you accord it!--unlike certain others of my "pupils," whom i have assisted far more than i did you. my trip through the mountains has done my health good--and my heart too. it was a "sentimental journey" in a different sense from sterne's. do you know, george, the charm of a new emotion? of course you do, but at my age i had thought it impossible. well, i had it repeatedly. bedad, i think of going again into my old "theatre of war," and setting up a cabin there and living the few days that remain to me in meditation and sentimentalizing. but i should like you to be near enough to come up some saturday night with some'at to drink. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [n. y. journal office, washington, d. c., october , .] my dear sterling, i'm indebted to you for two letters--awfully good ones. in the last you tell me that your health is better, and i can see for myself that your spirits are. this you attribute to exercise, correctly, no doubt. you need a lot of the open air--we all do. i can give myself hypochondria in forty-eight hours by staying in-doors. the sedentary life and abstracted contemplation of one's own navel are good for oriental gods only. we spirits of a purer fire need sunlight and the hills. my own recent wanderings afoot and horseback in the mountains did me more good than a sermon. and you have "the hills back of oakland"! god, what would i not give to help you range them, the dear old things! why, i know every square foot of them from walnut creek to niles cañon. of course they swarm with ghosts, as do all places out there, even the streets of san francisco; but i and my ghosts always get on well together. with the female ones my relations are sometimes a bit better than they were with the dear creatures when they lived. i guess i did not acknowledge the splendidly bound "shapes" that you kindly sent, nor the jack london books. much thanks. i'm pleased to know that wood expects to sell the whole edition of my book, but am myself not confident of that. so we are to have your book soon. good, but i don't like your indifference to its outward and visible aspect. some of my own books have offended, and continue to offend, in that way. at best a book is not too beautiful; at worst it is hideous. be advised a bit by scheff in this matter; his taste seems to me admirable and i'm well pleased by his work on the "shapes"; even his covers, which i'm sorry to learn do not please wood, appear to me excellent. i approved the design before he executed it--in fact chose it from several that he submitted. its only fault seems to me too much gold leaf, but that is a fault "on the right side." in that and all the rest of the work (except my own) experts here are delighted. i gave him an absolutely free hand and am glad i did. i don't like the ragged leaves, but he does not either, on second thought. the public--the reading public--i fear does, just now. i'll get at your new verses in a few days. it will be, as always it is, a pleasure to go over them. about "prattle." i should think you might get help in that matter from oscar t. schuck, laguna st. he used to suffer from "prattle" a good deal, but is very friendly, and the obtaining it would be in the line of his present business. how did you happen to hit on markham's greatest two lines--but i need not ask that--from "the wharf of dreams"? well, i wish i could think that those lines of mine in "geotheos" were worthy to be mentioned with keats' "magic casements" and coleridge's "woman wailing for her demon lover." but i don't think any lines of anybody are. i laugh at myself to remember that geotheos, never before in print i believe, was written for e. l. g. steele to read before a "young ladies' seminary" somewhere in the cow counties! like a man of sense he didn't read it. i don't share your regret that i have not devoted myself to serious poetry. i don't think of myself as a poet, but as a satirist; so i'm entitled to credit for what little gold there may be in the mud i throw. but if i professed gold-throwing, the mud which i should surely mix with the missiles would count against me. besides, i've a preference for being the first man in a village, rather than the second man in rome. poetry is a ladder on which there is now no room at the top--unless you and scheff throw down some of the chaps occupying the upper rung. it looks as if you might, but i could not. when old homer, shakspeare and that crowd--building better than ozymandias--say: "look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" i, considering myself specially addressed, despair. the challenge of the wits does not alarm me. * * * * * as to your problems in grammar. if you say: "there is no hope _or_ fear" you say that _one_ of them does not exist. in saying: "there is no hope _nor_ fear" you say that _both_ do not exist--which is what you mean. "not to weary you, i shall say that i fetched the book from his cabin." whether that is preferable to "i will say" depends on just what is meant; both are grammatical. the "shall" merely indicates an intention to say; the "will" implies a certain shade of concession in saying it. it is no trouble to answer such questions, _nor_ to do anything else to please you. i only hope i make it clear. i don't know if all my "journal" work gets into the "examiner," for i don't see all the issues of either paper. i'm not writing much anyhow. they don't seem to want much from me, and their weekly check is about all that i want from them. * * * * * no, i don't know any better poem of kipling than "the last chanty." did you see what stuff of his prof. harry thurston peck, the hearst outfit's special literary censor, chose for a particular commendation the other day? yet peck is a scholar, a professor of latin and a writer of merited distinction. excepting the ability to write poetry, the ability to understand it is, i think, the rarest of intellectual gifts. let us thank "whatever gods may be" that we have it, if we haven't so very much else. i've a lovely birch stick a-seasoning for you--cut it up in the alleghanies. * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., october , .] dear george, i return the verses--with apology for tardiness. i've been "full up" with cares. * * * * * i would not change "religion" to "dogma" (if i were you) for all "the pious monks of st. bernard." once you begin to make concessions to the feelings of this person or that there is no place to stop and you may as well hang up the lyre. besides, dogma does not "seek"; it just impudently declares something to have been found. however, it is a small matter--nothing can destroy the excellence of the verses. i only want to warn you against yielding to a temptation which will assail you all your life--the temptation to "edit" your thought for somebody whom it may pain. be true to truth and let all stand from under. yes, i think the quatrain that you wrote in col. eng's book good enough to go in your own. but i'd keep "discerning," instead of substituting "revering." in art discernment _carries_ reverence. _of course_ i expect to say something of scheff's book, but in no paper with which i have a present connection can i regularly "review" it. hearst's papers would give it incomparably the widest publicity, but they don't want "reviews" from me. they have millard, who has already reviewed it--right well too--and prof. peck--who possibly might review it if it were sent to him. "prof. harry thurston peck, care of 'the american,' new york city." mention it to scheff. i'm trying to find out what i can do. i'm greatly pleased to observe your ability to estimate the relative value of your own poems--a rare faculty. "to imagination" is, _i_ think, the best of all your short ones. i'm impatient for the book. it, too, i shall hope to write something about. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [navarre hotel and importation co., seventh avenue and th st., new york, december , .] dear george, a thousand cares have prevented my writing to you--and scheff. and this is to be a "busy day." but i want to say that i've not been unmindful of your kindness in sending the book--which has hardly left my pocket since i got it. and i've read nothing in it more than once, excepting the "testimony." _that_ i've studied, line by line--and "precept by precept"--finding in it always "something rich and strange." it is greater than i knew; it is the greatest "ever"! i'm saying a few words about it in tomorrow's "american"--would that i had a better place for what i say and more freedom of saying. but they don't want, and won't have, "book reviews" from me; probably because i will not undertake to assist their advertising publishers. so i have to disguise my remarks and work up to them as parts of another topic. in this case i have availed myself of my favorite "horrible example," jim riley, who ought to be proud to be mentioned on the same page with you. after all, the remarks may not appear; i have the _littlest_ editor that ever blue-penciled whatever he thought particularly dear to the writer. i'm here for only a few days, i hope. * * * * * i want to say that you seem to me greatest when you have the greatest subject--not flowers, women and all that,--but something above the flower-and-woman belt--something that you see from altitudes from which _they_ are unseen and unsmelled. your poetry is incomparable with that of our other poets, but your thought, philosophy,--that is greater yet. but i'm writing this at a desk in the reading room of a hotel; when i get home i'll write you again. i'm concerned about your health, of which i get bad reports. can't you go to the mesas of new mexico and round up cattle for a year or two--or do anything that will permit, or compel, you to sleep out-of-doors under your favorite stars--something that will _not_ permit you to enter a house for even ten minutes? you say no. well, some day you'll _have_ to--when it is too late--like peterson, my friend charley kaufman and so many others, who might be living if they had gone into that country in time and been willing to make the sacrifice when it would have done good. you can go _now_ as well as _then_; and if now you'll come back well, if then, you'll not only sacrifice your salary, "prospects," and so forth, but lose your life as well. i _know_ that kind of life would cure you. i've talked with dozens of men whom it did cure. you'll die of consumption if you don't. twenty-odd years ago i was writing articles on the out-of-doors treatment for consumption. now--only just now--the physicians are doing the same, and establishing out-of-door sanitaria for consumption. you'll say you haven't consumption. i don't say that you have. but you will have if you listen to yourself saying: "i can't do it." * * * pardon me, my friend, for this rough advice as to your personal affairs: i am greatly concerned about you. your life is precious to me and to the world. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., january , .] my dear george, thank you so much for the books and the inscription--which (as do all other words of praise) affects me with a sad sense of my shortcomings as writer and man. things of that kind from too partial friends point out to me with a disquieting significance what i ought to be; and the contrast with what i am hurts. maybe you feel enough that way sometimes to understand. you are still young enough to profit by the pain; _my_ character is made--_my_ opportunities are gone. but it does not greatly matter--nothing does. i have some little testimony from you and scheff and others that i have not lived altogether in vain, and i know that i have greater satisfaction in my slight connection with your and their work than in my own. also a better claim to the attention and consideration of my fellow-men. never mind about the "slow sale" of my book; i did not expect it to be otherwise, and my only regret grows out of the fear that some one may lose money by the venture. _it is not to be you._ you know i am still a little "in the dark" as to what _you_ have really done in the matter. i wish you would tell me if any of your own money went into it. the contract with wood is all right; it was drawn according to my instructions and i shall not even accept the small royalty allowed me if anybody is to be "out." if _you_ are to be out i shall not only not accept the royalty, but shall reimburse you to the last cent. do you mind telling me about all that? in any case don't "buy out wood" and don't pay out anything for advertising nor for anything else. the silence of the reviewers does not trouble me, any more than it would you. their praise of my other books never, apparently, did me any good. no book published in this country ever received higher praise from higher sources than my first collection of yarns. but the book was never a "seller," and doubtless never will be. that _i_ like it fairly well is enough. you and i do not write books to sell; we write--or rather publish--just because we like to. we've no right to expect a profit from fun. it is odd and amusing that you could have supposed that i had any other reason for not writing to you than a fixed habit of procrastination, some preoccupation with my small affairs and a very burdensome correspondence. probably you _could_ give me a grievance by trying hard, but if you ever are conscious of not having tried you may be sure that i haven't the grievance. i should have supposed that the author of "viverols" and several excellent monographs on fish would have understood your poems. (o no; i don't mean that your muse is a mermaid.) perhaps he did, but you know how temperate of words men of science are by habit. did you send a book to garrett serviss? i should like to know what he thinks of the "testimony." as to joaquin, it is his detestable habit, as it was longfellow's, to praise all poetry submitted to him, and he said of madge morris's coyote poem the identical thing that he says of your work. sorry to disillusionize you, but it is so. as to your health. you give me great comfort. * * * but it was not only from scheff that i had bad accounts of you and "your cough." scheff, indeed, has been reticent in the matter, but evidently anxious; and you yourself have written despondently and "forecasted" an early passing away. if nothing is the matter with you and your lungs some of your friends are poor observers. i'm happy to have your testimony, and beg to withdraw my project for your recovery. you whet my appetite for that new poem. the lines "the blue-eyed vampire, sated at her feast, smiles bloodily against the leprous moon" give me the shivers. gee! they're awful! sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., february , .] dear george, * * * * * you should not be irritated by the "conspiracy of silence" about me on the part of the "call," the "argonaut" and other papers. really my enemies are under no obligation to return good for evil; i fear i should not respect them if they did. * * *, his head still sore from my many beatings of that "distracted globe," would be a comic figure stammering his sense of my merit and directing attention to the excellence of the literary wares on my shelf. as to the pig of a public, its indifference to a diet of pearls--_our_ pearls--was not unknown to me, and truly it does not trouble me anywhere except in the pocket. _that_ pig, too, is not much beholden to me, who have pounded the snout of it all my life. why should it assist in the rite? its indifference to _your_ work constitutes a new provocation and calls for added whacks, but not its indifference to mine. the ashton stevens interview was charming. his finding you and scheff together seems too idyllic to be true--i thought it a fake. he put in quite enough--too much--about me. as to joaquin's hack at me--why, that was magnanimity itself in one who, like most of us, does not offset blame against praise, subtract the latter from the former and find matter for thanks in the remainder. you know "what fools we mortals be"; criticism that is not all honey is all vinegar. nobody has more delighted than i in pointing out the greatness of joaquin's great work; but nobody than i has more austerely condemned * * *, his vanity and the general humbugery that makes his prose so insupportable. joaquin is a good fellow, all the same, and you should not demand of him impossible virtues and a reach of reasonableness that is alien to him. * * * * * i have the books you kindly sent and have planted two or three in what i think fertile soil which i hope will produce a small crop of appreciation. * * * * * and the poem![ ] i hardly know how to speak of it. no poem in english of equal length has so bewildering a wealth of imagination. not spenser himself has flung such a profusion of jewels into so small a casket. why, man, it takes away the breath! i've read and reread--read it for the expression and read it for the thought (always when i speak of the "thought" in your work i mean the meaning--which is another thing) and i shall read it many times more. and pretty soon i'll get at it with my red ink and see if i can suggest anything worth your attention. i fear not. [ ] "a wine of wizardry." * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. ["new york american" office, washington, d. c., february , .] dear george, i wrote you yesterday. since then i have been rereading your letter. i wish you would not say so much about what i have done for you, and how much it was worth to you, and all that. i should be sorry to think that i did not do a little for you--i tried to. but, my boy, you should know that i don't keep that kind of service _on sale_. moreover, i'm amply repaid by what _you_ have done for _me_--i mean with your pen. do you suppose _i_ do not value such things? does it seem reasonable to think me unpleasured by those magnificent dedicatory verses in your book? is it nothing to me to be called "master" by such as you? is my nature so cold that i have no pride in such a pupil? there is no obligation in the matter--certainly none that can be suffered to satisfy itself out of your pocket. you greatly overestimate the sums i spend in "charity." i sometimes help some poor devil of an unfortunate over the rough places, but not to the extent that you seem to suppose. i couldn't--i've too many regular, constant, _legitimate_ demands on me. those, mostly, are what keep me poor. * * * * * maybe you think it odd that i've not said a word in print about any of your work except the "testimony." it is not that i don't appreciate the minor poems--i do. but i don't like to scatter; i prefer to hammer on a single nail--to push one button until someone hears the bell. when the "wine" is published i'll have another poem that is not only great, but striking--notable--to work on. however good, or even great, a short poem with such a title as "poesy," "music," "to a lily," "a white rose," and so forth, cannot be got into public attention. some longer and more notable work, of the grander manner, may _carry_ it, but of itself it will not go. even a bookful of its kind will not. not till you're famous. your letter regarding your brother (who has not turned up) was needless--i could be of no assistance in procuring him employment. i've tried so often to procure it for others, and so vainly, that nobody could persuade me to try any more. i'm not fond of the character of suppliant, nor of being "turned down" by the little men who run this government. of course i'm not in favor with this administration, not only because of my connection with democratic newspapers, but because, also, i sometimes venture to dissent openly from the doctrine of the divinity of those in high station--particularly teddy. i'm sorry you find your place in the office intolerable. that is "the common lot of all" who work for others. i have chafed under the yoke for many years--a heavier yoke, i think, than yours. it does not fit my neck anywhere. some day perhaps you and i will live on adjoining ranches in the mountains--or in adjoining caves--"the world forgetting, by the world forgot." i have really been on the point of hermitizing lately, but i guess i'll have to continue to live like a reasonable human being a little longer until i can release myself with a conscience void of offense to my creditors and dependents. but "the call of the wild" sounds, even in my dreams. you ask me if you should write in "a wine of wizardry" vein, or in that of "the testimony of the suns." both. i don't know in which you have succeeded the better. and i don't know anyone who has succeeded better in either. to succeed in both is a marvelous performance. you may say that the one is fancy, the other imagination, which is true, but not the whole truth. the "wine" has as true imagination as the other, and fancy into the bargain. i like your grandiose manner, and i like the other as well. in terms of another art i may say--rear great towers and domes. carve, also, friezes. but i'd not bother to cut single finials and small decorations. however exquisite the workmanship, they are not worth your present attention. if you were a painter (as, considering your wonderful sense of color, you doubtless could have been) your large canvases would be your best. * * * * * i don't care if that satire of josephare refers to me or not; it was good. he may jump on me if he wants to--i don't mind. all i ask is that he do it well. * * * * * i passed yesterday with percival pollard, viewing the burnt district of baltimore. he's a queer duck whom i like, and he likes your work. i'm sending you a copy of "the papyrus," with his "rehabilitation" of the odious oscar wilde. wilde's work is all right, but what can one do with the work of one whose name one cannot speak before women? * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., april , .] dear george, the "belatedness" of your letter only made _me_ fear that _i_ had offended _you_. odd that we should have such views of each other's sensitiveness. about wood. no doubt that he is doing all that he can, but--well, he is not a publisher. for example: he sent forty or fifty "shapes" here. they lie behind a counter at the bookseller's--not even _on_ the counter. there are probably not a dozen persons of my acquaintance in washington who know that i ever wrote a book. now _how_ are even these to know about _that_ book? the bookseller does not advertise the books he has on sale and the public does not go rummaging behind his counters. a publisher's methods are a bit different, naturally. only for your interest i should not care if my books sold or not; they exist and will not be destroyed; every book will eventually get to _somebody_. * * * * * it seems to be a matter for you to determine--whether wood continues to try to sell the book or it is put in other hands if he is ever tired of it. remember, i don't care a rap what happens to the book except as a means of reimbursing you; i want no money and i want no glory. if you and wood can agree, do in all things as you please. i return wood's letters; they show what i knew before: that the public and the librarians would not buy that book. let us discuss this matter no more, but at some time in the future you tell me how much you are out of pocket. _your_ book shows that a fellow can get a good deal of glory with very little profit. you are now famous--at least on the pacific coast; but i fancy you are not any "for'arder" in the matter of wealth than you were before. i too have some reputation--a little wider, as yet, than yours. well, my work sells tremendously--in mr. hearst's newspapers, at the price of a small fraction of one cent! offered by itself, in one-dollar and two-dollar lots, it tempts nobody to fall over his own feet in the rush to buy. a great trade, this of ours! i note with interest the "notices" you send. the one by monahan is amusing with its gabble about your "science." to most men, as to him, a mention of the stars suggests astronomy, with its telescopes, spectroscopes and so forth. therefore it is "scientific." to tell such men that there is nothing of science in your poem would puzzle them greatly. i don't think poor lang meant to do anything but his best and honestest. he is a rather clever and rather small fellow and not to be blamed for the limitations of his insight. i have repeatedly pointed out in print that it requires genius to discern genius at first hand. lang has written almost the best, if not quite the best, sonnet in the language--yet he is no genius. * * * * * why, of course--why should you not help the poor devil, * * *; i used to help him myself--introduced him to the public and labored to instruct him. then--but it is unspeakable and so is he. he will bite your hand if you feed him, but i think i'd throw a crust to him myself. * * * * * no, i don't agree with you about homer, nor "stand for" your implied view that narrative poetry is not "pure poetry." poetry seems to me to speak with a thousand voices--"a various language." the miners have a saying: "gold is where you find it." so is poetry; i'm expecting to find it some fine day in the price list of a grocery store. i fancy _you_ could put it there. * * * * * as to goethe, the more you read him, the better you will love heine. thank you for "a wine of wizardry"--amended. it seems to me that the fake dictum of "merlin-sage" (i don't quite perceive the necessity of the hyphen) is better than the hackneyed scriptural quotation. it is odd, but my recollection is that it was the "sick enchantress" who cried "unto betelgeuse a mystic word." was it not so in the copy that i first had, or do i think so merely because the cry of one is more lone and awful than the cry of a number? i am still of the belief that the poem should have at least a few breaks in it, for i find myself as well as the public more or less--i, doubtless, less than the public--indisposed to tackle solid columns of either verse or prose. i told you this poem "took away one's breath,"--give a fellow, can't you, a chance to recover it now and again. "space to breathe, how short soever." nevertheless, not my will but thine be done, on earth as it is in san francisco. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., may , .] dear george, to begin at the beginning, i shall of course be pleased to meet josephare if he come this way; if only to try to solve the problem of what is in a fellow who started so badly and in so short a time was running well, with a prospect of winning "a place." byron, you know, was the same way and tennyson not so different. still their start was not so bad as josephare's. i freely confess that i thought him a fool. it is "one on me." * * * * * i wonder if a london house would publish "shapes of clay." occasionally a little discussion about me breaks out in the london press, blazes up for a little while and "goes up in smoke." i enclose some evidences of the latest one--which you may return if you remember to do so. the letter of "a deeply disappointed man" was one of rollicking humor suggested by some articles of barr about me and a private intimation from him that i should publish some more books in london. yes, i've dropped "the passing show" again, for the same old reason--wouldn't stand the censorship of my editor. i'm writing for the daily issues of the american, mainly, and, as a rule, anonymously. it's "dead easy" work. * * * * * it is all right--that "cry unto betelgeuse"; the "sick enchantress" passage is good enough without it. i like the added lines of the poem. here's another criticism: the "without" and "within," beginning the first and third lines, respectively, _seem_ to be antithetic, when they are not, the latter having the sense of "into," which i think might, for clearness, be substituted for it without a displeasing break of the metre--a trochee for an iambus. why should i not try "the atlantic" with this poem?--if you have not already done so. i could write a brief note about it, saying what _you_ could not say, and possibly winning attention to the work. if you say so i will. it is impossible to imagine a magazine editor rejecting that amazing poem. i have read it at least twenty times with ever increasing admiration. your book, by the way, is still my constant companion--i carry it in my pocket and read it over and over, in the street cars and everywhere. _all_ the poems are good, though the "testimony" and "memorial day" are supreme--the one in grandeur, the other in feeling. i send you a criticism in a manuscript letter from a friend who complains of your "obscurity," as many have the candor to do. it requires candor to do that, for the fault is in the critic's understanding. still, one who understands shakspeare and milton is not without standing as a complaining witness in the court of literature. * * * * * my favorite translation of homer is that of pope, of whom it is the present fashion to speak disparagingly, as it is of byron. i know all that can be said against them, and say _some_ of it myself, but i wish their detractors had a little of their brains. i know too that pope's translations of the iliad and the odyssey are rather paraphrases than translations. but i love them just the same, while wondering (with you, doubtless) what so profoundly affected keats when he "heard chapman speak out loud and bold." whatever it was, it gave us what coleridge pronounced the best sonnet in our language; and lang's admiration of homer has given us at least the next best. of course there must be something in poems that produce poems--in a poet whom most poets confess their king. i hold (with poe) that there is no such thing as a _long_ poem--a poem of the length of an epic. it must consist of poetic passages connected by _recitativo_, to use an opera word; but it is perhaps better for that. if the writer cannot write "sustained" poetry the reader probably could not read it. anyhow, i vote for homer. i am passing well, but shall soon seek the mountains, though i hope to be here when scheff points his prow this way. would that you were sailing with him! i've been hearing all about all of you, for eva crawford has been among you "takin' notes," and eva's piquant comments on what and whom she sees are delicious reading. i should suppose that _you_ would appreciate eva--most persons don't. she is the best letter writer of her sex--who are all good letter writers--and she is much beside. i may venture to whisper that you'd find her estimate of your work and personality "not altogether displeasing." now that i'm about such matters, i shall enclose a note to my friend dr. robertson, who runs an insanery at livermore and is an interesting fellow with a ditto family and a library that will make you pea-green with envy. go out and see him some day and take scheff, or any friend, along--he wants to know you. you won't mind the facts that he thinks all poetry the secretion of a diseased brain, and that the only reason he doesn't think all brains (except his own) diseased is the circumstance that not all secrete poetry. * * * * * seriously, he is a good fellow and full of various knowledges that most of us wot not of. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., june , .] my dear george, i have a letter from * * *, who is in st. louis, to which his progress has been more leisurely than i liked, considering that i am remaining away from my mountains only to meet him. however, he intimates an intention to come in a week. i wish you were with him. i am sending the w. of w. to scribner's, as you suggest, and if it is not taken shall try the other mags in the order of your preference. but it's funny that you--_you_--should prefer the "popular" magazines and wish the work "illustrated." be assured the illustrations will shock you if you get them. * * * * * i understand what you say about being bored by the persons whom your work in letters brings about your feet. the most _contented_ years of my life lately were the two or three that i passed here before washington folk found out that i was an author. the fact has leaked out, and although not a soul of them buys and reads my books some of them bore me insupportably with their ignorant compliments and unwelcome attentions. i fancy i'll have to "move on." tell maid marian to use gloves when modeling, or the clay will enter into her soul through her fingers and she become herself a shape of clay. my notion is that she should work in a paste made of ashes-of-roses moistened with nectar. * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. p.s. does it bore you that i like you to know my friends? professor * * *'s widow (and daughter) are very dear to me. she knows about you, and i've written her that i'd ask you to call on her. you'll like them all right, but i have another purpose. i want to know how they prosper; and they are a little reticent about that. maybe you could ascertain indirectly by seeing how they live. i asked grizzly to do this but of course he didn't, the shaggy brute that he is. a. b. [haines' falls, greene co., n. y., august , .] dear george, i haven't written a letter, except on business, since leaving washington, june --no, not since scheff's arrival there. i now return to earth, and my first call is on you. you'll be glad to know that i'm having a good time here in the catskills. i shall not go back so long as i can find an open hotel. * * * * * i should like to hear from you about our--or rather your--set in california, and especially about _you_. do you still dally with the muse? enclosed you will find two damning evidences of additional incapacity. _harper's_ now have "a wine of wizardry," and they too will indubitably turn it down. i shall then try _the atlantic_, where it should have gone in the first place; and i almost expect its acceptance. i'm not working much--just loafing on my cottage porch; mixing an occasional cocktail; infesting the forests, knife in hand, in pursuit of the yellow-birch sapling that furnishes forth the walking stick like yours; and so forth. i knocked off work altogether for a month when scheff came, and should like to do so for _you_. are you never going to visit the scenes of your youth? * * * * * it is awfully sad--that latest visit of death to the heart and home of poor katie peterson. will you kindly assure her of my sympathy? love to all the piedmontese. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [haines' falls, greene co., n. y., august , .] my dear george, first, thank you for the knife and the distinction of membership in the ancient and honorable order of knifers. i have made little use of the blades and other appliances, but the corkscrew is in constant use. i'm enclosing a little missive from the editor of _harper's_. please reserve these things awhile and sometime i may ask them of you to "point a moral or adorn a tale" about that poem. if we can't get it published i'd like to write for some friendly periodical a review of an unpublished poem, with copious extracts and a brief history of it. i think that would be unique. i find the pictures of marian interesting, but have the self-denial to keep only one of them--the prettiest one of course. your own is rather solemn, but it will do for the title page of the testimony, which is still my favorite reading. scheff showed me your verses on katie's baby, and katie has since sent them. they are very tender and beautiful. i would not willingly spare any of your "personal" poems--least of all, naturally, the one personal to me. your success with them is exceptional. yet the habit of writing them is perilous, as the many failures of great poets attest--milton, for example, in his lines to syriack skinner, his lines to a baby that died a-bornin' and so forth. the reason is obvious, and you have yourself, with sure finger, pointed it out: "remiss the ministry they bear who serve her with divided heart; she stands reluctant to impart her strength to purpose, end, or care." when one is intent upon pleasing some mortal, one is less intent upon pleasing the immortal muse. all this is said only by way of admonition for the future, not in criticism of the past. i'm a sinner myself in that way, but then i'm not a saint in any way, so my example doesn't count. i don't mind * * * calling me a "dignified old gentleman"--indeed, that is what i have long aspired to be, but have succeeded only in the presence of strangers, and not always then. * * * (i forgot to say that your poem is now in the hands of the editor of the atlantic.) your determination to "boom" me almost frightens me. great scott! you've no notion of the magnitude of the task you undertake; the labors of hercules were as nothing to it. seriously, don't make any enemies that way; it is not worth while. and you don't know how comfortable i am in my obscurity. it is like being in "the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." how goes the no sale of shapes of clay? i am slowly saving up a bit of money to recoup your friendly outlay. that's a new thing for me to do--the saving, i mean--and i rather enjoy the sensation. if it results in making a miser of me you will have to answer for it to many a worthy complainant. get thee behind me, satan!--it is not possible for me to go to california yet. for one thing, my health is better here in the east; i have utterly escaped asthma this summer, and summer is my only "sickly season" here. in california i had the thing at any time o' year--even at wright's. but it is my hope to end my days out there. i don't think millard was too hard on kipling; it was no "unconscious" plagiarism; just a "straight steal." about prentice mulford. i knew him but slightly and used to make mild fun of him as "dismal jimmy." that expressed my notion of his character and work, which was mostly prose platitudes. i saw him last in london, a member of the joaquin miller-charles warren stoddard-olive harper outfit at museum street, bloomsbury square. he married there a fool girl named josie--forget her other name--with whom i think he lived awhile in hell, then freed himself, and some years afterward returned to this country and was found dead one morning in a boat at sag harbor. peace to the soul of him. no, he was not a faker, but a conscientious fellow who mistook his vocation. my friends have returned to washington, but i expect to remain here a few weeks yet, infesting the woods, devastating the mountain larders, supervising the sunsets and guiding the stars in their courses. then to new york, and finally to washington. please get busy with that fame o' yours so as to have the wealth to come and help me loaf. i hope you don't mind the typewriter--_i_ don't. convey my love to all the sweet ladies of your entourage and make my compliments also to the gang. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, october , .] dear george, your latest was dated sept. . i got it while alone in the mountains, but since then i have been in new york city and at west point and--here. new york is too strenuous for me; it gets on my nerves. * * * * * please don't persuade me to come to california--i mean don't _try_ to, for i can't, and it hurts a little to say nay. there's a big bit of my heart there, but--o never mind the reasons; some of them would not look well on paper. one of them i don't mind telling; i would not live in a state under union labor rule. there is still one place where the honest american laboring man is not permitted to cut throats and strip bodies of women at his own sweet will. that is the district of columbia. i am anxious to read lilith; please complete it. i have another note of rejection for you. it is from * * *. knowing that you will not bank on what he says about the metropolitan, i enclose it. i've acted on his advising and sent the poem. it is about time for it to come back. then i shall try the other magazines until the list is exhausted. did i return your jinks verses? i know i read them and meant to send them back, but my correspondence and my papers are in such hopeless disorder that i'm all at sea on these matters. for aught i know i may have elaborately "answered" the letter that i think myself to be answering now. i liked the verses very temperately, not madly. of course you are right about the magazine editors not knowing poetry when they see it. but who does? i have not known more than a half-dozen persons in america that did, and none of them edited a magazine. * * * * * no, i did not write the "urus-agricola-acetes stuff," though it was written _for_ me and, i believe, at my suggestion. the author was "jimmy" bowman, of whose death i wrote a sonnet which is in black beetles. he and i used to have a lot of fun devising literary mischiefs, fighting sham battles with each other and so forth. he was a clever chap and a good judge of whiskey. yes, in the cynic's dictionary i did "jump from a to m." i had previously done the stuff in various papers as far as m, then lost the beginning. so in resuming i re-did that part (quite differently, of course) in order to have the thing complete if i should want to make a book of it. i guess the examiner isn't running much of it, nor much of anything of mine. * * * * * i like your love of keats and the early coleridge. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the n. y. american office, washington, d. c., october , .] my dear davis, the "bad eminence" of turning down sterling's great poem is one that you will have to share with some of your esteemed fellow magazinists--for examples, the editors of the atlantic, harper's, scribner's, the century, and now the metropolitan, all of the élite. all of these gentlemen, i believe, profess, as you do not, to know literature when they see it, and to deal in it. well i profess to deal in it in a small way, and if sterling will let me i propose some day to ask judgment between them and me. even _you_ ask for literature--if my stories are literature, as you are good enough to imply. (by the way, all the leading publishers of the country turned down that book until they saw it published without them by a merchant in san francisco and another sort of publishers in london, leipzig and paris.) well, you wouldn't do a thing to one of my stories! no, thank you; if i have to write rot, i prefer to do it for the newspapers, which make no false pretences and are frankly rotten, and in which the badness of a bad thing escapes detection or is forgotten as soon as it is cold. i know how to write a story (of the "happy ending" sort) for magazine readers for whom literature is too good, but i will not do so so long as stealing is more honorable and interesting. i've offered you the best stuff to be had--sterling's poem--and the best that i am able to make; and now you must excuse me. i do not doubt that you really think that you would take "the kind of fiction that made 'soldiers and civilians' the most readable book of its kind in this country," and it is nice of you to put it that way; but neither do i doubt that you would find the story sent a different kind of fiction and, like the satire which you return to me, "out of the question." an editor who has a preformed opinion of the kind of stuff that he is going to get will always be disappointed with the stuff that he does get. i know this from my early experience as an editor--before i learned that what i needed was, not any particular kind of stuff, but just the stuff of a particular kind of writer. all this without any feeling, and only by way of explaining why i must ask you to excuse me. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., december , .] dear george, * * * * * yes, i got and read that fool thing in the august critic. i found in it nothing worse than stupidity--no malice. doubtless you have not sounded the deeper deeps of stupidity in critics, and so are driven to other motives to explain their unearthly errors. i know from my own experience of long ago how hard it is to accept abominable criticism, obviously (to the criticee) unfair, without attributing a personal mean motive; but the attribution is nearly always erroneous, even in the case of a writer with so many personal enemies as i. you will do well to avoid that weakness of the tyro. * * * has the infirmity in an apparently chronic form. poets, by reason of the sensibilities that _make_ them poets, are peculiarly liable to it. i can't see any evidence that the poor devil of the critic knew better. the wine of wizardry is at present at the booklovers'. it should have come back ere this, but don't you draw any happy augury from that: i'm sure they'll turn it down, and am damning them in advance. i had a postal from * * * a few days ago. he was in paris. i've written him only once, explaining by drawing his attention to the fact that one's reluctance to write a letter increases in the ratio of the square of the distance it has to go. i don't know why that is so, but it is--at least in my case. * * * * * yes, i'm in perfect health, barring a bit of insomnia at times, and enjoy life as much as i ever did--except when in love and the love prospering; that is to say, when it was new. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., december , .] dear george, this is the worst yet! this jobbernowl seems to think "the wine of wizardry" a story. it should "arrive" and be "dramatic"--the denouement being, i suppose, a particularly exciting example of the "happy ending." my dear fellow, i'm positively ashamed to throw your pearls before any more of these swine, and i humbly ask your pardon for having done it at all. i guess the "wine" will have to await the publication of your next book. but i'd like to keep this fellow's note if you will kindly let me have it. sometime, when the poem is published, i shall paste it into a little scrap book, with all the notes of rejection, and then if i know a man or two capable of appreciating the humor of the thing i can make merry over it with them. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., my permanent address, february , .] dear george, it's a long time since the date of your latest letter, but i've been doing two men's work for many weeks and have actually not found the leisure to write to my friends. as it is the first time that i've worked really hard for several years i ought not to complain, and don't. but i hope it will end with this session of congress. i think i did not thank you for the additional copies of your new book--the new edition. i wish it contained the new poem, "a wine of wizardry." i've given up trying to get it into anything. i related my failure to mackay, of "success," and he asked to be permitted to see it. "no," i replied, "you too would probably turn it down, and i will take no chances of losing the respect that i have for you." and i'd not show it to him. he declared his intention of getting it, though--which was just what i wanted him to do. but i dare say he didn't. yes, you sent me "the sea wolf." my opinion of it? certainly--or a part of it. it is a most disagreeable book, as a whole. london has a pretty bad style and no sense of proportion. the story is a perfect welter of disagreeable incidents. two or three (of the kind) would have sufficed to _show_ the character of the man larsen; and his own self-revealings by word of mouth would have "done the rest." many of these incidents, too, are impossible--such as that of a man mounting a ladder with a dozen other men--more or less--hanging to his leg, and the hero's work of rerigging a wreck and getting it off a beach where it had stuck for weeks, and so forth. the "love" element, with its absurd suppressions and impossible proprieties, is awful. i confess to an overwhelming contempt for both the sexless lovers. now as to the merits. it is a rattling good story in one way; something is "going on" all the time--not always what one would wish, but _something_. one does not go to sleep over the book. but the great thing--and it is among the greatest of things--is that tremendous creation, wolf larsen. if that is not a permanent addition to literature, it is at least a permanent figure in the memory of the reader. you "can't lose" wolf larsen. he will be with you to the end. so it does not really matter how london has hammered him into you. you may quarrel with the methods, but the result is almost incomparable. the hewing out and setting up of such a figure is enough for a man to do in one life-time. i have hardly words to impart my good judgment of _that_ work. * * * * * that is a pretty picture of phyllis as cleopatra--whom i think you used to call "the angel child"--as the furies were called eumenides. * * * * * i'm enclosing a review of your book in the st. louis "mirror," a paper always kindly disposed toward our little group of gifted obscurians. i thought you might not have seen it; and it is worth seeing. percival pollard sends it me; and to him we owe our recognition by the "mirror." i hope you prosper apace. i mean mentally and spiritually; all other prosperity is trash. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., april , .] dear george, i've reached your letter on my file. i wonder that i did, for truly i'm doing a lot of work--mostly of the pot-boiler, newspaper sort, some compiling of future--probably _very_ future--books and a little for posterity. valentine has not returned the "wine of wizardry," but i shall tell him to in a few days and will then try it on the magazines you mention. if that fails i can see no objection to offering it to the english periodicals. i don't know about mackay. he has a trifle of mine which he was going to run months ago. he didn't and i asked it back. he returned it and begged that it go back to him for immediate publication. it went back, but publication did not ensue. in many other ways he has been exceedingly kind. guess he can't always have his way. * * * * * i read that other book to the bitter end--the "arthur sterling" thing. he is the most disagreeable character in fiction, though marie bashkirtseff and mary mclean in real life could give him cards and spades. fancy a poet, or any kind of writer, whom it hurts to think! what the devil are his agonies all about--his writhings and twistings and foaming at all his mouths? what would a poem by an intellectual epileptic like that be? happily the author spares us quotation. i suppose there are arthur sterlings among the little fellows, but if genius is not serenity, fortitude and reasonableness i don't know what it is. one cannot even imagine shakespeare or goethe bleeding over his work and howling when "in the fell clutch of circumstance." the great ones are figured in my mind as ever smiling--a little sadly at times, perhaps, but always with conscious inaccessibility to the pinpricking little titans that would storm their olympus armed with ineffectual disasters and pop-gun misfortunes. fancy a fellow wanting, like arthur sterling, to be supported by his fellows in order that he may write what they don't want to read! even jack london would gag at such socialism as _that_. * * * * * i'm going to pass a summer month or two with the pollards, at saybrook, conn. how i wish you could be of the party. but i suppose you'll be chicken-ranching then, and happy enough where you are. i wish you joy of the venture and, although i fear it means a meagre living, it will probably be more satisfactory than doubling over a desk in your uncle's office. the very name carmel bay is enchanting. i've a notion i shall see that ranch some day. i don't quite recognize the "filtered-through-the-emasculated-minds-of-about-six-fools" article from which you say i quote--don't remember it, nor remember quoting from it. i don't wonder at your surprise at my high estimate of longfellow in a certain article. it is higher than my permanent one. i was thinking (while writing for a newspaper, recollect) rather of his fame than of his genius--i had to have a literary equivalent to washington or lincoln. still, we must not forget that longfellow wrote "chrysaor" and, in narrative poetry (which you don't care for) "robert of sicily." must one be judged by his average, or may he be judged, on occasion, by his highest? he is strongest who can lift the greatest weight, not he who habitually lifts lesser ones. as to your queries. so far as i know, realf _did_ write his great sonnets on the night of his death. anyhow, they were found with the body. your recollection that i said they were written before he came to the coast is faulty. some of his other things were in print when he submitted them to me (and took pay for them) as new; but not the "de mortuis." i got the lines about the echoes (i _think_ they go this way: "the loon laughed, and the echoes, huddling in affright, like odin's hounds went baying down the night") from a poem entitled, i think, "the washers of the shroud." i found it in the "atlantic," in the summer of , while at home from the war suffering from a wound, and--disgraceful fact!--have never seen nor heard of it since. if the magazine was a current number, as i suppose, it should be easy to find the poem. if you look it up tell me about it. i don't even know the author--had once a vague impression that it was lowell but don't know. the compound "mulolatry," which i made in "ashes of the beacon," would not, of course, be allowable in composition altogether serious. i used it because i could not at the moment think of the right word, "gyneolatry," or "gynecolatry," according as you make use of the nominative or the accusative. i once made "caniolatry" for a similar reason--just laziness. it's not nice to do things o' that kind, even in newspapers. * * * * * i had intended to write you something of "beesness," but time is up and it must wait. this letter is insupportably long already. my love to carrie and katie. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [army and navy club, washington, d. c., may , .] dear george, bailey millard is editor of "the cosmopolitan magazine," which mr. hearst has bought. i met him in new york two weeks ago. he had just arrived and learning from hearst that i was in town looked me up. i had just recommended him to hearst as editor. he had intended him for associate editor. i think that will give you a chance, such as it is. millard dined with me and i told him the adventures of "a wine of wizardry." i shall send it to him as soon as he has warmed his seat, unless you would prefer to send it yourself. he already knows my whole good opinion of it, and he shares my good opinion of you. i suppose you are at your new ranch, but i shall address this letter as usual. * * * * * if you hear of my drowning know that it is the natural (and desirable) result of the canoe habit. i've a dandy canoe and am tempting fate and alarming my friends by frequenting, not the margin of the upper river, but the broad reaches below town, where the wind has miles and miles of sweep and kicks up a most exhilarating combobbery. if i escape i'm going to send my boat up to saybrook, connecticut, and navigate long island sound. are you near enough to the sea to do a bit of boating now and then? when i visit you i shall want to bring my canoe. i've nearly given up my newspaper work, but shall do something each month for the magazine. have not done much yet--have not been in the mind. death has been striking pretty close to me again, and you know how that upsets a fellow. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, june , .] dear george, i'm your debtor for two good long letters. you err in thinking your letters, of whatever length and frequency, can be otherwise than delightful to me. no, you had not before sent me upton sinclair's article explaining why american literature is "bourgeois." it is amusingly grotesque. the political and economical situation has about as much to do with it as have the direction of our rivers and the prevailing color of our hair. but it is of the nature of the faddist (and of all faddists the ultra socialist is the most untamed by sense) to see in everything his hobby, with its name writ large. he is the humorist of observers. when sinclair transiently forgets his gospel of the impossible he can see well enough. i note what you say of * * * and know that he did not use to like me, though i doubt if he ever had any antipathy to you. six or eight years ago i tackled him on a particularly mean fling that he had made at me while i was absent from california. (i think i had not met him before.) i told him, rather coarsely, what i thought of the matter. he candidly confessed himself in the wrong, expressed regret and has ever since, so far as i know, been just and even generous to me. i think him sincere now, and enclose a letter which seems to show it. you may return it if you will--i send it mainly because it concerns your poem. the trouble--our trouble--with * * * is that he has voluntarily entered into slavery to the traditions and theories of the magazine trade, which, like those of all trades, are the product of small men. the big man makes his success by ignoring them. your estimate of * * * i'm not disposed to quarrel with, but do think him pretty square. * * * * * bless you, don't take the trouble to go through the iliad and odyssey to pick out the poetical parts. i grant you they are brief and infrequent--i mean in the translation. i hold, with poe, that there are no long poems--only bursts of poetry in long spinnings of metrical prose. but even the "recitativo" of the translated grecian poets has a charm to one that it may not have to another. i doubt if anyone who has always loved "the glory that was greece"--who has been always in love with its jocund deities, and so forth, can say accurately just how much of his joy in homer (for example) is due to love of poetry, and how much to a renewal of mental youth and young illusions. some part of the delight that we get from verse defies analysis and classification. only a man without a memory (and memories) could say just what pleased him in poetry and be sure that it was the poetry only. for example, i never read the opening lines of the pope iliad--and i don't need the book for much of the first few hundred, i guess--without seeming to be on a sunny green hill on a cold windy day, with the bluest of skies above me and billows of pasture below, running to a clean-cut horizon. there's nothing in the text warranting that illusion, which is nevertheless to me a _part_ of the iliad; a most charming part, too. it all comes of my having first read the thing under such conditions at the age of about ten. i _remember_ that; but how many times i must be powerfully affected by the poets _without_ remembering why. if a fellow could cut out all that extrinsic interest he would be a fool to do so. but he would be a better critic. you ought to be happy in the contemplation of a natural, wholesome life at carmel bay--the "prospect pleases," surely. but i fear, i fear. maybe you can get a newspaper connection that will bring you in a small income without compelling you to do violence to your literary conscience. i doubt if you can get your living out of the ground. but i shall watch the experiment with sympathetic interest, for it "appeals" to me. i'm a trifle jaded with age and the urban life, and maybe if you can succeed in that other sort of thing i could. * * * * * as to * * * the superb. isn't sag harbor somewhere near saybrook, connecticut, at the mouth of the river of that name? i'm going there for a month with percival pollard. shall leave here about the first of july. if sag harbor is easily accessible from there, and * * * would care to see me, i'll go and call on her. * * * but maybe i'd fall in love with her and, being now (alas) eligible, just marry her alive!--or be turned down by her, to the unspeakable wrecking of my peace! i'm only a youth-- on the th of this month--and it would be too bad if i got started wrong in life. but really i don't know about the good taste of being jocular about * * *. i'm sure she must be a serious enough maiden, with the sun of a declining race yellow on her hair. eva crawford thinks her most lovable--and eva has a clear, considering eye upon you all. * * * * * i'm going to send up my canoe to saybrook and challenge the rollers of the sound. don't you fear--i'm an expert canoeist from boyhood. * * * sincerely, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., december , .] dear george, i have at last the letter that i was waiting for--didn't answer the other, for one of mine was on the way to you. * * * * * you need not worry yourself about your part of the business. you have acted "mighty white," as was to have been expected of you; and, caring little for any other feature of the matter, i'm grateful to you for giving my pessimism and growing disbelief in human disinterestedness a sound wholesome thwack on the mazzard. * * * * * yes, i was sorry to whack london, for whom, in his character as author, i have a high admiration, and in that of publicist and reformer a deep contempt. even if he had been a personal friend, i should have whacked him, and doubtless much harder. i'm not one of those who give their friends carte blanche to sin. if my friend dishonors himself he dishonors me; if he makes a fool of himself he makes a fool of me--which another cannot do. * * * * * your description of your new environment, in your other letter, makes me "homesick" to see it. i cordially congratulate you and mrs. sterling on having the sense to do what i have always been too indolent to do--namely as you please. guess i've been always too busy "warming both hands before the fire of life." and now, when "it sinks and i am ready to depart," i find that the damned fire was in _me_ and ought to have been quenched with a dash of cold sense. i'm having my canoe decked and yawl-rigged for deep water and live in the hope of being drowned according to the dictates of my conscience. by way of proving my power of self-restraint i'm going to stop this screed with a whole page unused. sincerely yours, as ever, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., february , .] dear george, i don't know why i've not written to you--that is, i don't know why god made me what i have the misfortune to be: a sufferer from procrastination. * * * * * i have read mary austin's book with unexpected interest. it is pleasing exceedingly. you may not know that i'm familiar with the _kind_ of country she writes of, and reading the book was like traversing it again. but the best of her is her style. that is delicious. it has a slight "tang" of archaism--just enough to suggest "lucent sirups tinct with cinnamon," or the "spice and balm" of miller's sea-winds. and what a knack at observation she has! nothing escapes her eye. tell me about her. what else has she written? what is she going to write? if she is still young she will do great work; if not--well, she _has_ done it in that book. but she'll have to hammer and hammer again and again before the world will hear and heed. as to me i'm pot-boiling. my stuff in the n. y. american (i presume that the part of it that you see is in the examiner) is mere piffle, written without effort, purpose or care. my department in the cosmopolitan is a failure, as i told millard it would be. it is impossible to write topical stuff for a magazine. how can one discuss with heart or inspiration a thing that happens two months or so before one's comments on it will be read? the venture and the title were hearst's notion, but the title so handicaps me that i can do nothing right. i shall drop it. i've done three little stories for the march number (they may be postponed) that are ghastly enough to make a pig squeal. * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., march , .] my dear george, first, about the "wine," i dislike the "privately printed" racket. can you let the matter wait a little longer? neale has the poem, and neale is just now inaccessible to letters, somewhere in the south in the interest of his magazine-that-is-to-be. i called when in new york, but he had flown and i've been unable to reach him; but he is due here on the rd. then if his mag is going to hold fire, or if he doesn't want the poem for it, let robertson or josephare have a hack at it. barr is amusing. i don't care to have a copy of his remarks. about the pirating of my stories. that is a matter for chatto and windus, who bought the english copyright of the book from which that one story came. i dare say, though, the publication was done by arrangement with them. anyhow my interests are not involved. i was greatly interested in your account of mrs. austin. she's a clever woman and should write a good novel--if there is such a thing as a good novel. i won't read novels. yes, the "cosmopolitan" cat-story is leigh's and is to be credited to him if ever published in covers. i fathered it as the only way to get it published at all. of course i had to rewrite it; it was very crude and too horrible. a story may be terrible, but must not be horrible--there is a difference. i found the manuscript among his papers. it is disagreeable to think of the estrangement between * * * and his family. doubtless the trouble arises from his being married. yes, it is funny, his taking his toddy along with you old soakers. i remember he used to kick at my having wine in camp and at your having a bottle hidden away in the bushes. i had seen that group of you and joaquin and stoddard and laughed at your lifelike impersonation of the drowsy demon. i passed the first half of last month in new york. went there for a dinner and stayed to twelve. sam davis and homer davenport were of the party. sam was here for a few days--but maybe you don't know sam. he's a brother to bob, who swears you got your dante-like solemnity of countenance by coming into his office when he was editing a newspaper. you are not to think i have thrown * * * over. there are only two or three matters of seriousness between us and they cannot profitably be discussed in letters, so they must wait until he and i meet if we ever do. i shall mention them to no one else and i don't suppose he will to anyone but me. apart from these--well, our correspondence was disagreeable, so the obvious thing to do was to put an end to it. to unlike a friend is not an easy thing to do, and i've not attempted to do it. of course i approve the new lines in the "wine" and if neale or anybody else will have the poem i shall insert them in their place. that "screaming thing" stays with one almost as does "the blue-eyed vampire," and is not only visible, as is she, but audible as well. if you go on adding lines to the poem i shall not so sharply deplore our failure to get it into print. as mark twain says: "every time you draw you fill." the "night in heaven" is fine work in the grand style and its swing is haunting when one gets it. i get a jolt or two in the reading, but i dare say you purposely contrived them and i can't say they hurt. of course the rhythm recalls kipling's "the last chanty" (i'm not sure i spell the word correctly--if there's a correct way) but that is nothing. nobody has the copyright of any possible metre or rhythm in english prosody. it has been long since anybody was "first." when are you coming to washington to sail in my canoe? sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., april , .] dear george, i've been in new york again but am slowly recovering. i saw neale. he assures me that the magazine will surely materialize about june, and he wants the poem, "a wine of wizardry," with an introduction by me. i think he means it; if so that will give it greater publicity than what you have in mind, even if the mag eventually fail. magazines if well advertised usually sell several hundred thousand of the first issue; the trick is to keep them going. munsey's "scrap book" disposed of a half-million. * * * * * * was to start for a few weeks in california about now. i hope you will see him. he is not a bad lot when convinced that one respects him. he has been treated pretty badly in this neck o' the woods, as is every western man who breaks into this realm of smugwumps. my benediction upon carmelites all and singular--if any are all. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. doubleday, page & co. are to publish my "cynic's dictionary." [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., april , .] dear george, i write in the hope that you are alive and the fear that you are wrecked.[ ] [ ] the san francisco earthquake and fire had occurred april , . please let me know if i can help--i need not say how glad i shall be to do so. "help" would go with this were i sure about you and the post-office. it's a mighty bad business and one does not need to own property out there to be "hit hard" by it. one needs only to have friends there. we are helpless here, so far as the telegraph is concerned--shall not be able to get anything on the wires for many days, all private dispatches being refused. pray god you and yours may be all right. of course anything that you may be able to tell me of my friends will be gratefully received. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., may , .] dear george, your letter relieves me greatly. i had begun to fear that you had "gone before." thank you very much for your news of our friends. i had already heard from eva croffie. also from grizzly. * * * * * thank you for mr. eddy's review of "shapes." but he is misinformed about poor flora shearer. of course i helped her--who would not help a good friend in adversity? but she went to scotland to a brother long ago, and at this time i do not know if she is living or dead. but here am i forgetting (momentarily) that awful wiping out of san francisco. it "hit" me pretty hard in many ways--mostly indirectly, through my friends. i had rather hoped to have to "put up" for you and your gang, and am a trifle disappointed to know that you are all right--except the chimneys. i'm glad that tidal wave did not come, but don't you think you'd better have a canoe ready? you could keep it on your veranda stacked with provisions and whiskey. my letter from ursus (written during the conflagration) expresses a keen solicitude for the farallones, as the fire was working westward. if this letter is a little disconnected and incoherent know, o king, that i have just returned from a dinner in atlantic city, n. j. i saw markham there, also bob davis, sam moffett, homer davenport, bob mackay and other san franciscans. (can there be a san franciscan when there is no san francisco? i don't want to go back. doubtless the new san francisco--while it lasts--will be a finer town than the old, but it will not be _my_ san francisco and i don't want to see it. it has for many years been, to me, full of ghosts. now it is itself a ghost.) i return the sonnets. destruction of "town talk" has doubtless saved you from having the one on me turned down. dear old fellow, don't take the trouble to defend my memory when--or at least until-- "i am fled from this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell." i'm not letting my enemies' attitude trouble me at all. on the contrary, i'm rather sorry for them and their insomnia--lying awake o' nights to think out new and needful lies about me, while i sleep sweetly. o, it is all right, truly. no, i never had any row (nor much acquaintance) with mark twain--met him but two or three times. once with stoddard in london. i think pretty well of him, but doubt if he cared for me and can't, at the moment, think of any reason why he _should_ have cared for me. "the cynic's dictionary" is a-printing. i shall have to call it something else, for the publishers tell me there is a "cynic's dictionary" already out. i dare say the author took more than my title--the stuff has been a rich mine for a plagiarist for many a year. they (the publishers) won't have "the devil's dictionary." here in the east the devil is a sacred personage (the fourth person of the trinity, as an irishman might say) and his name must not be taken in vain. no, "the testimony of the suns" has not "palled" on me. i still read it and still think it one of the world's greatest poems. * * * * * well, god be wi' ye and spare the shack at carmel, sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., june , .] dear george, your poem, "a dream of fear" was so good before that it needed no improvement, though i'm glad to observe that you have "the passion for perfection." sure--you shall have your word "colossal" applied to a thing of two dimensions, an you will. i have no objection to the publication of that sonnet on me. it may give my enemies a transient feeling that is disagreeable, and if i can do that without taking any trouble in the matter myself it is worth doing. i think they must have renewed their activity, to have provoked you so--got up a new and fascinating lie, probably. thank you for putting your good right leg into action themward. what a "settlement" you have collected about you at carmel! all manner of cranks and curios, to whom i feel myself drawn by affinity. still i suppose i shall not go. i should have to see the new san francisco--when it has foolishly been built--and i'd rather not. one does not care to look upon either the mutilated face of one's mashed friend or an upstart imposter bearing his name. no, _my_ san francisco is gone and i'll have no other. * * * * * you are wrong about gorky--he has none of the "artist" in him. he is not only a peasant, but an anarchist and an advocate of assassination--by others; like most of his tribe, he doesn't care to take the risk himself. his "career" in this country has been that of a yellow dog. hearst's newspapers and * * * are the only friends that remain to him of all those that acclaimed him when he landed. and all the sturdy lying of the former cannot rehabilitate him. it isn't merely the woman matter. you'd understand if you were on this side of the country. i was myself a dupe in the matter. he had expressed high admiration of my books (in an interview in russia) and when his government released him from prison i cabled him congratulations. o, my! yes, i've observed the obviously lying estimates of the san franciscan dead; also that there was no earthquake--just a fire; also the determination to "beat" the insurance companies. insurance is a hog game, and if they (the companies) can be beaten out of their dishonest gains by superior dishonesty i have no objection; but in my judgment they are neither legally nor morally liable for the half that is claimed of them. those of them that took no earthquake risks don't owe a cent. please don't send * * *'s verses to me if you can decently decline. i should be sorry to find them bad, and my loathing of the whitmaniacal "form" is as deep as yours. perhaps i should find them good otherwise, but the probability is so small that i don't want to take the chance. * * * * * i've just finished reading the first proofs of "the cynic's word book," which doubleday, page & co. are to bring out in october. my dealings with them have been most pleasant and one of them whom i met the other day at atlantic city seems a fine fellow. i think i told you that s. o. howes, of galveston, texas, is compiling a book of essays and sich from some of my stuff that i sent him. i've left the selection entirely to him and presented him with the profits if there be any. he'll probably not even find a publisher. he has the work about half done. by the way, he is an enthusiastic admirer of you. for that i like him, and for much else. i mean to stay here all summer if i die for it, as i probably shall. luck and love to you. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., june , .] dear mr. cahill, i am more sorry than i can say to be unable to send you the copy of the builder's review that you kindly sent _me_. but before receiving your note i had, in my own interest, searched high and low for it, in vain. somebody stole it from my table. i especially valued it after the catastrophe, but should have been doubly pleased to have it for you. it was indeed a rough deal you san franciscans got. i had always expected to go back to the good old town some day, but i have no desire to see the new town, if there is to be one. i fear the fire consumed even the ghosts that used to meet me at every street corner--ghosts of dear dead friends, oh, so many of them! please accept my sympathy for your losses. i too am a "sufferer," a whole edition of my latest book, plates and all, having gone up in smoke and many of my friends being now in the "dependent class." it hit us all pretty hard, i guess, wherever we happened to be. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c, august , .] dear george, * * * * * if your neighbor carmelites are really "normal" and respectable i'm sorry for you. they will surely (remaining cold sober themselves) drive you to drink. their sort affects _me_ that way. god bless the crank and the curio!--what would life in this desert be without its mullahs and its dervishes? a matter of merchants and camel drivers--no one to laugh with and at. did you see gorky's estimate of us in "appleton's"? having been a few weeks in the land, whose language he knows not a word of, he knows (by intuition of genius and a wee-bit help from gaylord wilshire and his gang) all about us, and tells it in generalities of vituperation as applicable to one country as to another. he's a dandy bomb-thrower, but he handles the stink-pot only indifferently well. he should write (for "the cosmopolitan") on "the treason of god." sorry you didn't like my remarks in that fool "symposium." if i said enough to make it clear that i don't care a damn for any of the matters touched upon, nor for the fellows who _do_ care, i satisfied my wish. it was not intended to be an "argument" at all--at least not on my part; i don't argue with babes and sucklings. hunter is a decentish fellow, for a dreamer, but the hillquit person is a humorless anarchist. when i complimented him on the beauty of his neck and expressed the hope of putting a nice, new rope about it he nearly strangled on the brandy that i was putting down it at the hotel bar. and it wasn't with merriment. his anarchist sentiments were all cut out. i'm not familiar with the poetry of william vaughan moody. can you "put me on"? i'm sending you an odd thing by eugene wood, of niagara falls, where i met him two or three years ago. i'm sure you will appreciate it. the poor chap died the other day and might appropriately--as he doubtless will--lie in a neglected grave. you may return the book when you have read it enough. i'm confident you never heard of it. enclosed is your sonnet, with a few suggestions of no importance. i had not space on it to say that the superfluity of superlatives noted, is accentuated by the words "west" and "quest" immediately following, making a lot of "ests." the verses are pleasing, but if any villain prefer them to "in extremis" may he bite himself with a snake! if you'll send me that shuddery thing on fear--with the "clangor of ascending chains" line--and one or two others that you'd care to have in a magazine, i'll try them on maxwell. i suspect he will fall dead in the reading, or possibly dislocate the jaw of him with a yawn, but even so you will not have written in vain. have you tried anything on "munsey"? bob davis is the editor, and we talked you over at dinner (where would you could have been). i think he values my judgment a little. * * * i wish i could be blown upon by your carmel sea-breeze; the weather here is wicked! i don't even canoe. my "cynic" book is due in october. shall send it to you. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., september , .] dear george, both your letters at hand. * * * * * be a "magazine poet" all you can--that is the shortest road to recognition, and all our greater poets have travelled it. you need not compromise with your conscience, however, by writing "magazine poetry." you couldn't. what's your objection to * * *? i don't observe that it is greatly worse than others of its class. but a fellow who has for nigh upon twenty years written for yellow newspapers can't be expected to say much that's edifying on that subject. so i dare say i'm wrong in my advice about the _kind_ of swine for your pearls. there are probably more than the two kinds of pigs--live ones and dead ones. yes, i'm a colonel--in pennsylvania avenue. in the neighborhood of my tenement i'm a mister. at my club i'm a major--which is my real title by an act of congress. i suppressed it in california, but couldn't here, where i run with the military gang. you need not blackguard your poem, "a visitor," though i could wish you had not chosen blank verse. that form seems to me suitable (in serious verse) only to lofty, not lowly, themes. anyhow, i always expect something pretty high when i begin an unknown poem in blank. moreover, it is not your best "medium." your splendid poem, "music," does not wholly commend itself to me for that reason. may i say that it is a little sing-songy--the lines monotonously alike in their caesural pauses and some of their other features? by the way, i'd like to see what you could do in more unsimple meters than the ones that you handle so well. the wish came to me the other day in reading lanier's "the marshes of glynn" and some of his other work. lanier did not often equal his master, swinburne, in getting the most out of the method, but he did well in the poem mentioned. maybe you could manage the dangerous thing. it would be worth doing and is, therefore, worth trying. thank you for the moody book, which i will return. he pleaseth me greatly and i could already fill pages with analyses of him for the reasons therefore. but for you to say that he has _you_ "skinned"--that is magnanimity. an excellent thing in poets, i grant you, and a rare one. there is something about him and his book in the current "atlantic," by may sinclair, who, i dare say, has never heard of _you_. unlike you, she thinks his dramatic work the best of what he does. i've not seen that. to be the best it must be mighty good. yes, poor white's poetry is all you say--and worse, but, faith! he "had it in him." what struck me was his candid apotheosis of piracy on the high seas. i'd hate the fellow who hadn't some sneaking sympathy with that--as goethe confessed to some sympathy with every vice. nobody'll ever hear of white, but (pray observe, ambitious bard!) he isn't caring. how wise are the dead! * * * * * my friend howes, of galveston, has, i think, nearly finished compiling his book of essaylets from my stuff. neale has definitely decided to bring out "the monk and the hangman's daughter." he has the plates of my two luckless putnam books, and is figuring on my "complete works," to be published by subscription. i doubt if he will undertake it right away. _au reste_, i'm in good health and am growing old not altogether disgracefully. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, october , .] dear george, i'm pained by your comments on my book. i always feel that way when praised--"just plunged in a gulf of dark despair" to think that i took no more trouble to make the commendation truer. i shall try harder with the howes book. * * * * * i can't supply the missing link between pages and of the "word book," having destroyed the copy and proofs. supply it yourself. you err: the book is getting me a little glory, but that will be all--it will have no sale, for it has no slang, no "dialect" and no grinning through a horse-collar. by the, way, please send me any "notices" of it that you may chance to see out there. * * * * * i've done a ghost story for the january "cosmopolitan," which i think pretty well of. that's all i've done for more than two months. i return your poem and the moody book. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, december , .] dear george, your letter of nov. has just come to my breakfast table. it is the better part of the repast. * * * * * no, my dictionary will not sell. i so assured the publishers. i lunched with neale the other day--he comes down here once a month. his magazine (i think he is to call it "the southerner," or something like that) will not get out this month, as he expected it to. and for an ominous reason: he had relied largely on southern writers, and finds that they can't write! he assures me that it _will_ appear this winter and asked me not to withdraw your poem and my remarks on it unless you asked it. so i did not. * * * * * in your character of bookseller carrying a stock of my books you have a new interest. may heaven promote you to publisher! thank you for the moody books--which i'll return soon. "the masque of judgment" has some great work in its final pages--quite as great as anything in faust. the passages that you marked are good too, but some of them barely miss being entirely satisfying. it would trouble you to find many such passages in the other book, which is, moreover, not distinguished for clarity. i found myself frequently prompted to ask the author: "what the devil are you driving at?" i'm going to finish this letter at home where there is less talk of the relative military strength of japan and san francisco and the latter power's newest and most grievous affliction, teddy roosevelt. ambrose bierce. p.s. guess the letter is finished. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., january , .] dear george, i suppose i owe you letters and letters--but you don't particularly like to write letters yourself, so you'll understand. * * * * * hanging before me is a water-color of a bit of carmel beach, by chris jorgensen, for which i blew in fifty dollars the other day. he had a fine exhibition of his californian work here. i wanted to buy it all, but compromised with my desire by buying what i could. the picture has a sentimental value to me, apart from its artistic. * * * * * i am to see neale in a few days and shall try to learn definitely when his magazine is to come out--if he knows. if he does not i'll withdraw your poem. next month he is to republish "the monk and the hangman's daughter," with a new preface which somebody will not relish. i'll send you a copy. the howes book is on its travels among the publishers, and so, doubtless, will long continue. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., february , .] dear george, our letters "crossed"--a thing that "happens" oftener than not in my correspondence, when neither person has written for a long time. i have drawn some interesting inferences from this fact, but have no time now to state them. indeed, i have no time to do anything but send you the stuff on the battle of shiloh concerning which you inquire. i should write it a little differently now, but it may entertain you as it is. * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. * * * * * [washington, february , ] my dear george, if you desert carmel i shall destroy my jorgensen picture, build a bungalow in the catskills and cut out california forever. (those are the footprints of my damned canary, who will neither write himself nor let me write. just now he is perched on my shoulder, awaiting the command to sing--then he will deafen me with a song without sense. o he's a poet all right.) i entirely approve your allegiance to mammon. if i'd had brains enough to make a decision like that i could now, at , have the leisure to make a good book or two before i go to the waste-dump. * * * get yourself a fat bank account--there's no such friend as a bank account, and the greatest book is a check-book; "you may lay to that!" as one of stevenson's pirates puts it. * * * * * no, sir, your boss will not bring you east next june; or if he does you will not come to washington. how do i know? i don't know how i know, but concerning all (and they are many) who were to come from california to see me i have never once failed in my forecast of their coming or not coming. even in the case of * * *, although i wrote to you, and to her, as if i expected her, i _said_ to one of my friends: "she will not come." i don't think it's a gift of divination--it just happens, somehow. yours is not a very good example, for you have not said you were coming, "sure." so your colony of high-brows is re-establishing itself at the old stand--piedmont. * * * but piedmont--it must be in the heart of oakland. i could no longer shoot rabbits in the gulch back of it and sleep under a tree to shoot more in the morning. nor could i traverse that long ridge with various girls. i dare say there's a boulevard running the length of it, "a palace and a prison on each hand." if i could stop you from reading that volume of old "argonauts" i'd do so, but i suppose an injunction would not "lie." yes, i was a slovenly writer in those days, though enough better than my neighbors to have attracted my own attention. my knowledge of english was imperfect "a whole lot." indeed, my intellectual status (whatever it may be, and god knows it's enough to make me blush) was of slow growth--as was my moral. i mean, i had not literary sincerity. yes, i wrote of swinburne the distasteful words that you quote. but they were not altogether untrue. he used to set my teeth on edge--could _not_ stand still a minute, and kept you looking for the string that worked his legs and arms. and he had a weak face that gave you the memory of chinlessness. but i have long renounced the views that i once held about his poetry--held, or thought i held. i don't remember, though, if it was as lately as ' that i held them. you write of miss dawson. did she survive the 'quake? and do you know about her? not a word of her has reached me. notwithstanding your imported nightingale (upon which i think you should be made to pay a stiff duty) your ina coolbrith poem is so good that i want to keep it if you have another copy. i find no amendable faults in it. * * * the fellow that told you that i was an editor of "the cosmopolitan" has an impediment in his veracity. i simply write for it, * * *, and the less of my stuff the editor uses the better i'm pleased. * * * * * o, you ask about the "ursus-aborn-gorgias-agrestis-polyglot" stuff. it was written by james f. ("jimmie") bowman--long dead. (see a pretty bad sonnet on page , "shapes of clay.") my only part in the matter was to suggest the papers and discuss them with him over many mugs of beer. * * * * * by the way, neale says he gets almost enough inquiries for my books (from san francisco) to justify him in republishing them. * * * * * that's all--and, as george augustus sala wrote of a chew of tobacco as the price of a certain lady's favors, "god knows it's enough!" ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., april , .] dear george, i have your letter of the th. the enclosed slip from the pacific monthly (thank you for it) is amusing. yes, * * * is an insufferable pedant, but i don't at all mind his pedantry. any critic is welcome to whack me all he likes if he will append to his remarks (as * * * had the thoughtfulness to do) my definition of "critic" from the "word book." please don't bother to write me when the spirit does not move you thereto. you and i don't need to write to each other for any other reason than that we want to. as to coming east, abstain, o, abstain from promises, lest you resemble all my other friends out there, who promise always and never come. it would be delightful to see you here, but i know how those things arrange themselves without reference to our desires. we do as we must, not as we will. i think that uncle of yours must be a mighty fine fellow. be good to him and don't kick at his service, even when you feel the chain. it beats poetry for nothing a year. did you get the "shiloh" article? i sent it to you. i sent it also to paul elder & co. (new york branch) for their book of "western classics," and hope it will meet their need. they wanted something, and it seemed to me as good, with a little revision, as any of my stuff that i control. do you think it would be wise to offer them for republication "in the midst of life"? it is now "out of print" and on my hands. * * * * * i'm glad of your commendation of my "cosmopolitan" stuff. they don't give me much of a "show"--the editor doesn't love me personally as he should, and lets me do only enough to avert from himself the attention of mr. hearst and that gentleman's interference with the mutual admiration game as played in the "cosmopolitan" office. as i'm rather fond of light work i'm not shrieking. * * * * * you don't speak of getting the book that i sent, "the monk and the hangman's daughter"--new edition. 'tisn't as good as the old. * * * i'm boating again. how i should like to put out my prow on monterey bay. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., june , .] dear lora, your letter, with the yerba buena and the spray of redwood, came like a breeze from the hills. and the photographs are most pleasing. i note that sloot's moustache is decently white at last, as becomes a fellow of his years. i dare say his hair is white too, but i can't see under his hat. and i think he never removes it. that backyard of yours is a wonder, but i sadly miss the appropriate ash-heaps, tin cans, old packing-boxes, and so forth. and that palm in front of the house--gracious, how she's grown! well, it has been more than a day growing, and i've not watched it attentively. i hope you'll have a good time in yosemite, but sloots is an idiot not to go with you--nineteen days is as long as anybody would want to stay there. i saw a little of phyllis partington in new york. she told me much of you and seems to be fond of you. that is very intelligent of her, don't you think? no, i shall not wait until i'm rich before visiting you. i've no intention of being rich, but do mean to visit you--some day. probably when grizzly has visited _me_. love to you all. ambrose bierce. [army and navy club, washington, d. c., june , .] dear george, * * * * * so * * * showed you his article on me. he showed it to me also, and some of it amused me mightily, though i didn't tell him so. that picture of me as a grouchy and disappointed old man occupying the entire cave of adullam is particularly humorous, and so poetic that i would not for the world "cut it out." * * * seems incapable (like a good many others) of estimating success in other terms than those of popularity. he gives a rather better clew to his own character than to mine. the old man is fairly well pleased with the way that he has played the game, and with his share of the stakes, thank'ee. i note with satisfaction _your_ satisfaction with my article on you and your poem. i'll correct the quotation about the "timid sapphires"--don't know how i happened to leave out the best part of it. but i left out the line about "harlot's blood" because i didn't (and don't) think a magazine would "stand for it" if i called the editor's attention to it. you don't know what magazines are if you haven't tested them. however, i'll try it on chamberlain if you like. and i'll put in "twilight of the year" too. * * * * * it's pleasing to know that you've "cut out" your clerical work if you can live without it. now for some great poetry! carmel has a fascination for me too--because of your letters. if i did not fear illness--a return of my old complaint--i'd set out for it at once. i've nothing to do that would prevent--about two day's work a month. but i'd never set foot in san francisco. of all the sodoms and gomorrahs in our modern world it is the worst. there are not ten righteous (and courageous) men there. it needs another quake, another whiff of fire, and--more than all else--a steady tradewind of grapeshot. when * * * gets done blackguarding new york (as it deserves) and has shaken the dung of san francisco from his feet i'm going to "sick him onto" that moral penal colony of the world. * * * i've two "books" seeking existence in new york--the howes book and some satires. guess they are cocks that will not fight. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. i was sixty-five yesterday. [washington, d. c., july , .] dear george, i've just finished reading proofs of my stuff about you and your poem. chamberlain, as i apprised you, has it slated for september. but for that month also he has slated a longish spook story of mine, besides my regular stuff. not seeing how he can run it all in one issue, i have asked him to run your poem (with my remarks) and hold the spook yarn till some other time. i _hope_ he'll do so, but if he doesn't, don't think it my fault. an editor never does as one wants him to. i inserted in my article another quotation or two, and restored some lines that i had cut out of the quotations to save space. it's grilling hot here--i envy you your carmel. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c.] dear george, i guess several of your good letters are unanswered, as are many others of other correspondents. i've been gadding a good deal lately--to new york principally. when i want a royal good time i go to new york; and i get it. * * * * * as to miller being "about the same age" as i, why, no. the rascal is long past seventy, although nine or ten years ago he wrote from alaska that he was "in the middle fifties." i've known him for nearly thirty years and he can't fool me with his youthful airs and tales. may he live long and repent. thank you for taking the trouble to send conan doyle's opinion of me. no, it doesn't turn my head; i can show you dozens of "appreciations" from greater and more famous men. i return it to you corrected--as he really wrote it. here it is: "praise from sir hugo is praise indeed." in "through the magic door," an exceedingly able article on short stories that have interested him, conan doyle pays the following well-deserved tribute to ambrose bierce, whose wonderful short stories have so often been praised in these columns: "talking of weird american stories, have you ever read any of the works of ambrose bierce? i have one of his books before me, 'in the midst of life.' this man (has)[ ] had a flavor quite his own, and (is)[ ] was a great artist. it is not cheerful reading, but it leaves its mark upon you, and that is the proof of good work." [ ] crossed out by a. b. thank you also for the jacobs story, which i will read. as a _humorist_ he is no great thing. i've not read your bohemian play to a finish yet, * * *. by the way, i've always wondered why they did not "put on" comus. properly done it would be great woodland stuff. read it with a view to that and see if i'm not right. and then persuade them to "stage it" next year. i'm being awfully pressed to return to california. no san francisco for me, but carmel sounds good. for about how much could i get ground and build a bungalow--for one? that's a pretty indefinite question; but then the will to go is a little hazy at present. it consists, as yet, only of the element of desire. * * * the "cosmopolitan," with your poem, has not come to hand but is nearly due--i'm a little impatient--eager to see the particular kind of outrage chamberlain's artist has wrought upon it. he (c.) asked for your address the other day; so he will doubtless send you a check. * * * * * now please go to work at "lilith"; it's bound to be great stuff, for you'll have to imagine it all. i'm sorry that anybody ever invented lilith; it makes her too much of an historical character. * * * * * "the other half of the devil's dictionary" is in the fluid state--not even liquid. and so, doubtless, it will remain. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., september , .] my dear george, i'm awfully glad that you don't mind chamberlain's yellow nonsense in coupling ella's name with yours. but when you read her natural opinion of your work you'll acquit her of complicity in the indignity. i'm sending a few things from hearst's newspapers--written by the slangers, dialecters and platitudinarians of the staff, and by some of the swine among the readers. note the deliberate and repeated lying of brisbane in quoting me as saying the "wine" is "the greatest poem ever written in america." note his dishonesty in confessing that he has commendatory letters, yet not publishing a single one of them. but the end is not yet--my inning is to come, in the magazine. chamberlain (who professes an enthusiastic admiration of the poem) promises me a free hand in replying to these ignorant asses. if he does not give it to me i quit. i've writ a paragraph or two for the november number (too late now for the october) by way of warning them what they'll get when december comes. so you see you must patiently endure the befouling till then. * * * * * did you notice in the last line of the "wine" that i restored the word "smile" from your earlier draft of the verses? in one of your later (i don't remember if in the last) you had it "sigh." that was wrong; "smile" seems to me infinitely better as a definition of the poet's attitude toward his dreams. so, considering that i had a choice, i chose it. hope you approve. i am serious in wishing a place in carmel as a port of refuge from the storms of age. i don't know that i shall ever live there, but should like to feel that i can if i want to. next summer i hope to go out there and spy out the land, and if i then "have the price" (without sacrificing any of my favorite stocks) i shall buy. i don't care for the grub question--should like to try the simple life, for i have already two gouty finger points as a result of the other kind of life. (of course if they all get that way i shan't mind, for i love uniformity.) probably if i attempted to live in carmel i should have asthma again, from which i have long been free. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [army and navy club, washington, d. c., october , .] my dear morrow, whether you "prosper" or not i'm glad you write instead of teaching. i have done a bit of teaching myself, but as the tuition was gratuitous i could pick my pupils; so it was a labor of love. i'm pretty well satisfied with the results. no, i'm not "toiling" much now. i've written all i care to, and having a pretty easy berth (writing for the cosmopolitan only, and having no connection with mr. hearst's newspapers) am content. i have observed your story in success, but as i never never (sic) read serials shall await its publication in covers before making a meal of it. you seem to be living at the old place in vallejo street, so i judge that it was spared by the fire. i had some pretty good times in that house, not only with you and mrs. morrow (to whom my love, please) but with the dear hogan girls. poor flodie! she is nearly a sole survivor now. i wonder if she ever thinks of us. i hear from california frequently through a little group of interesting folk who foregather at carmel--whither i shall perhaps stray some day and there leave my bones. meantime, i am fairly happy here. i wish you would add yourself to the carmel crowd. you would be a congenial member of the gang and would find them worth while. you must know george sterling: he is the high panjandrum and a gorgeously good fellow. go get thee a bungalow at carmel, which is indubitably the charmingest place in the state. as to san francisco, with its labor-union government, its thieves and other impossibilities, i could not be drawn into it by a team of behemoths. but california--ah, i dare not permit myself to remember it. yet this eastern country is not without charm. and my health is good here, as it never was there. nothing ails me but age, which brings its own cure. god keep thee!--go and live at carmel. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., october , .] james d. blake, esq., dear sir: it is a matter of no great importance to me, but the republication of the foolish books that you mention would not be agreeable to me. they have no kind of merit or interest. one of them, "the fiend's delight," was published against my protest; the utmost concession that the compiler and publisher (the late john camden hatten, london) would make was to let me edit his collection of my stuff and write a preface. you would pretty surely lose money on any of them. if you care to republish anything of mine you would, i think, do better with "black beetles in amber," or "shapes of clay." the former sold well, and the latter would, i think, have done equally well if the earthquake-and-fire had not destroyed it, including the plates. nearly all of both books were sold in san francisco, and the sold, as well as the unsold, copies--i mean the unsold copies of the latter--perished in the fire. there is much inquiry for them (mainly from those who lost them) and i am told that they bring fancy prices. you probably know about that better than i. i should be glad to entertain proposals from you for their republication--in san francisco--and should not be exacting as to royalties, and so forth. but the other books are "youthful indiscretions" and are "better dead." sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., december , .] dear george, * * * * * please send me a copy of the new edition of "the testimony." i borrowed one of the first edition to give away, and want to replace it. did you add the "wine" to it? i'd not leave off the indefinite article from the title of that; it seems to dignify the tipple by hinting that it was no ordinary tope. it may have been witch-fermented. i don't "dislike" the line: "so terribly that brilliance shall enhance"; it seems merely less admirable than the others. why didn't i tell you so? i could not tell you _all_ i thought of the poem--for another example, how i loved the lines: "where dawn upon a pansy's breast hath laid a single tear, and _whence the wind hath flown and left a silence_." * * * * * i'm returning you, under another cover (as the ceremonial slangers say) some letters that have come to me and that i have answered. i have a lot more, most of them abusive, i guess, that i'll dig out later. but the most pleasing ones i can't send, for i sent them to brisbane on his promise to publish them, which the liar did not, nor has he had the decency to return them. i'm hardly sorry, for it gave me good reason to call him a peasant and a beast of the field. i'm always grateful for the chance to prod somebody. * * * * * i detest the "limited edition" and "autograph copies" plan of publication, but for the sake of howes, who has done a tremendous lot of good work on my book, have assented to blake's proposal in all things and hope to be able to laugh at this brilliant example of the "irony of fate." i've refused to profit in any way by the book. i want howes to "break even" for his labor. by the way, pollard and i had a good time in galveston, and on the way i took in some of my old battlefields. at galveston they nearly killed me with hospitality--so nearly that pollard fled. i returned via key west and florida. you'll probably see howes next summer--i've persuaded him to go west and renounce the bookworm habit for some other folly. be good to him; he is a capital fellow in his odd, amusing way. i didn't know there was an american edition of "the fiends' delight." who published it and when? congratulations on acceptance of "tasso and leonora." but i wouldn't do much in blank verse if i were you. it betrays you (somehow) into mere straightaway expression, and seems to repress in you the glorious abundance of imagery and metaphor that enriches your rhyme-work. this is not a criticism, particularly, of "tasso," which is good enough for anybody, but--well, it's just _so_. i'm not doing much. my stuff in the cosmo. comes last, and when advertisements crowd some of it is left off. most of it gets in later (for of course i don't replace it with more work) but it is sadly antiquated. my checks, though, are always up to date. sincerely[ ] yours, ambrose bierce. [ ] i can almost say "sinecurely." [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., january , .] my dear george, i have just come upon a letter of yours that i got at galveston and (i fear) did not acknowledge. but i've written you since, so i fancy all is well. you mention that sonnet that chamberlain asked for. you should not have let him have it--it was, as you say, the kind of stuff that magazines like. nay, it was even better. but i wish you'd sent it elsewhere. you owed it to me not to let the cosmopolitan's readers see anything of yours (for awhile, at least) that was less than _great_. something as great as the sonnet that you sent to mcclure's was what the circumstances called for. "and strict concern of relativity"--o bother! that's not poetry. it's the slang of philosophy. i am still awaiting my copy of the new "testimony." that's why i'm scolding. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., april , .] my dear lora, i'm an age acknowledging your letter; but then you'd have been an age writing it if you had not done it for "sloots." and the other day i had one from him, written in his own improper person. i think it abominable that he and carlt have to work so hard--at _their_ age--and i quite agree with george sterling that carlt ought to go to carmel and grow potatoes. i'd like to do that myself, but for the fact that so many objectionable persons frequent the place: * * *, * * * and the like. i'm hoping, however, that the ocean will swallow * * * and be unable to throw him up. i trust you'll let sloots "retire" at seventy, which is really quite well along in life toward the years of discretion and the age of consent. but when he is retired i know that he will bury himself in the redwoods and never look upon the face of man again. that, too, i should rather like to do myself--for a few months. i've laid out a lot of work for myself this season, and doubt if i shall get to california, as i had hoped. so i shall never, never see you. but you might send me a photograph. god be with you. ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., july , .] n.b. if you follow the pages you'll be able to make _some_ sense of this screed. my dear george, i am sorry to learn that you have not been able to break your commercial chains, since you wish to, though i don't at all know that they are bad for you. i've railed at mine all my life, but don't remember that i ever made any good use of leisure when i had it--unless the mere "having a good time" is such. i remember once writing that one's career, or usefulness, was about ended when one thought less about how best to do his work than about the hardship of having to do it. i might have said the hardship of having so little leisure to do it. as i grow older i see more and more clearly the advantages of disadvantage, the splendid urge of adverse conditions, the uplifting effect of repression. and i'm ashamed to note how little _i_ profited by them. i wasn't the right kind, that is all; but i indulge the hope that _you_ are. no i don't think it of any use, your trying to keep * * * and me friends. but don't let that interfere with your regard for him if you have it. we are not required to share one another's feelings in such matters. i should not expect you to like my friends nor hate my enemies if they seemed to you different from what they seem to me; nor would i necessarily follow _your_ lead. for example, i loathe your friend * * * and expect his safe return because the ocean will refuse to swallow him. * * * * * i congratulate you on the gilder acceptance of your sonnet, and on publication of the "tasso to leonora." i don't think it your best work by much--don't think any of your blank verse as good as most of your rhyme--but it's not a thing to need apology. certainly, i shall be pleased to see hopper. give me his address, and when i go to new york--this month or the next--i'll look him up. i think well of hopper and trust that he will not turn out to be an 'ist of some kind, as most writers and artists do. that is because they are good feelers and poor thinkers. it is the emotional element in them, not the logical, that makes them writers and artists. they have, as a rule, sensibility and no sense. except the _big_ fellows. * * * * * neale has in hand already three volumes of the "collected works," and will have two more in about a month; and all (i hope) this year. i'm revising all the stuff and cutting it about a good deal, taking from one book stuff for another, and so forth. if neale gets enough subscriptions he will put out all the ten volumes next year; if not i shall probably not be "here" to see the final one issued. * * * * * glad you think better of my part in the hunter-hillquit "symposium." _i_ think i did very well considering, first, that i didn't care a damn about the matter; second, that i knew nothing of the men i was to meet, nor what we were to talk about, whereas they came cocked and primed for the fray; and, third, that the whole scheme was to make a socialist holiday at my expense. of all 'ists the socialist is perhaps the damnedest fool for (in this country) he is merely the cat that pulls chestnuts from the fire for the anarchist. his part of the business is to talk away the country's attention while the anarchist places the bomb. in some countries socialism is clean, but not in this. and everywhere the socialist is a dreamer and futilitarian. but i guess i'll call a halt on this letter, the product of an idle hour in garrulous old age. * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., august , .] my dear mr. cahill, your note inquiring about "ashes of the beacon" interests me. you mention it as a "pamphlet." i have no knowledge of its having appeared otherwise than as an article in the sunday edition of the "n. y. american"--i do not recall the date. if it has been published as a pamphlet, or in any other form, separately--that is by itself--i should like "awfully" to know by whom, if _you_ know. i should be pleased to send it to you--in the "american"--if i had a copy of the issue containing it, but i have not. it will be included in vol. i of my "collected works," to be published by the neale publishing company, n. y. that volume will be published probably early next year. but the work is to be in ten or twelve costly volumes, and sold by subscription only. that buries it fathoms deep so far as the public is concerned. regretting my inability to assist you, i am sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., august , .] dear george, i am amused by your attitude toward the spaced sonnet, and by the docility of gilder. if i had been your editor i guess you'd have got back your sonnets. i never liked the space. if the work naturally divides itself into two parts, as it should, the space is needless; if not, it is worse than that. the space was the invention of printers of a comparatively recent period, neither petrarch nor dante (as gilder points out) knew of it. every magazine has its own _system_ of printing, and gilder's good-natured compliance with your wish, or rather demand, shows him to be a better fellow, though not a better poet, than i have thought him to be. as a victory of author over editor, the incident pleases. i've not yet been in new york, but expect to go soon. i shall be glad to meet hopper if he is there. thank you for the article from "town talk." it suggests this question: how many times, and covering a period of how many years, must one's unexplainable obscurity be pointed out to constitute fame? not knowing, i am almost disposed to consider myself the most famous of authors. i have pretty nearly ceased to be "discovered," but my notoriety as an obscurian may be said to be worldwide and apparently everlasting. the trouble, i fancy, is with our vocabulary--the lack of a word meaning something intermediate between "popular" and "obscure"--and the ignorance of writers as to the reading of readers. i seldom meet a person of education who is not acquainted with some of my work; my clipping bureau's bills were so heavy that i had to discontinue my patronage, and blake tells me that he sells my books at one hundred dollars a set. rather amusing all this to one so widely unknown. i sometimes wonder what you think of scheff's new book. does it perform the promise of the others? in the dedicatory poem it seems to me that it does, and in some others. as a good socialist you are bound to like _that_ poem because of its political-economic-views. i like it despite them. "the dome of the capitol roars with the shouts of the caesars of crime" is great poetry, but it is not true. i am rather familiar with what goes on in the capitol--not through the muck-rakers, who pass a few days here "investigating," and then look into their pockets and write, but through years of personal observation and personal acquaintance with the men observed. there are no caesars of crime, but about a dozen rascals, all told, mostly very small fellows; i can name them all. they are without power or influence enough to count in the scheme of legislation. the really dangerous and mischievous chaps are the demagogues, friends of the pee-pul. and they do all the "shouting." compared with the congress of our forefathers, the congress of to-day is as a flock of angels to an executive body of the western federation of miners. when i showed the "dome" to * * * (who had been reading his own magazine) the tears came into his voice, and i guess his eyes, as he lamented the decay of civic virtue, "the treason of the senate," and the rest of it. he was so affected that i hastened to brace him up with whiskey. he, too, was "squirming" about "other persons' troubles," and with about as good reason as you. i think "the present system" is not "frightful." it is all right--a natural outgrowth of human needs, limitations and capacities, instinct with possibilities of growth in goodness, elastic, and progressively better. why don't you study humanity as you do the suns--not from the viewpoint of time, but from that of eternity. the middle ages were yesterday, rome and greece the day before. the individual man is nothing, as a single star is nothing. if this earth were to take fire you would smile to think how little it mattered in the scheme of the universe; all the wailing of the egoist mob would not affect you. then why do you squirm at the minute catastrophe of a few thousands or millions of pismires crushed under the wheels of evolution. must the new heavens and the new earth of prophecy and science come in _your_ little instant of life in order that you may not go howling and damning with jack london up and down the earth that we happen to have? nay, nay, read history to get the long, large view--to learn to think in centuries and cycles. keep your eyes off your neighbors and fix them on the nations. what poetry we shall have when you get, and give us, the testimony of the races! * * * * * i peg away at compilation and revision. i'm cutting-about my stuff a good deal--changing things from one book to another, adding, subtracting and dividing. five volumes are ready, and neale is engaged in a "prospectus" which he says will make me blush. i'll send it to you when he has it ready. gertrude atherton is sending me picture-postals of berchtesgaden and other scenes of "the monk and the hangman's daughter." she found all the places "exactly as described"--the lakes, mountains, st. bartolomae, the cliff-meadow where the edelweiss grows, and so forth. the photographs are naturally very interesting to me. good night. ambrose bierce. [army and navy club, washington, d. c., september , .] my dear mr. cahill, thank you for your good wishes for the "collected works"--an advertisement of which--with many blushes!--i enclose. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. p.s.--the "ad" is not sent in the hope that you will be so foolish as to subscribe--merely to "show" you. the "edition de luxe" business is not at all to my taste--i should prefer a popular edition at a possible price. [new york, november , .] dear george, your letter has just been forwarded from washington. i'm here for a few days only--"few days and full of trouble," as the scripture hath it. the "trouble" is mainly owling, dining and booze. i'll not attempt an answer to your letter till i get home. * * * * * i'm going to read hopper's book, and if it doesn't show him to be a * * * or a * * * i'll call on him. if it does i won't. i'm getting pretty particular in my old age; the muck-rakers, blood-boilers and little brothers-of-the-bad are not congenial. by the way, why do you speak of my "caning" you. i did not suppose that _you_ had joined the innumerable caravan of those who find something sarcastic or malicious in my good natured raillery in careless controversy. if i choose to smile in ink at your inconsistency in weeping for the woes of individual "others"--meaning other _humans_--while you, of course, don't give a damn for the thousands of lives that you crush out every time you set down your foot, or eat a berry, why shouldn't _i_ do so? one can't always remember to stick to trifles, even in writing a letter. put on your skin, old man, i may want to poke about with my finger again. * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., december , .] dear george, * * * * * i'm still working at my book. seven volumes are completed and i've read the proofs of vol. i. your account of the "movement" to free the oppressed and downtrodden river from the tyranny of the sand-bar tickled me in my lonesome rib. surely no colony of reformers ever engaged in a more characteristic crusade against the established order and intolerable conditions. i can almost hear you patting yourselves on your aching backs as you contemplated your encouraging success in beating nature and promoting the cause. i believe that if i'd been there my cold heart and indurated mind would have caught the contagion of the great reform. anyhow, i should have appreciated the sunset which (characteristically) intervened in the interest of things as they are. i feel sure that whenever you socialers shall have found a way to make the earth stop "turning over and over like a man in bed" (as joaquin might say) you will accomplish all the reforms that you have at heart. all that you need is plenty of time--a few kalpas, more or less, of uninterrupted daylight. meantime i await your new book with impatience and expectation. i have photographs of my brother's shack in the redwoods and feel strongly drawn in that direction--since, as you fully infer, carmel is barred. probably, though, i shall continue in the complicated life of cities while i last. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., january , .] dear george, i've been reading your book--re-reading most of it--"every little while." i don't know that it is better than your first, but to say that it is as good is praise enough. you know what i like most in it, but there are some things that you _don't_ know i like. for an example, "night in heaven." it kipples a bit, but it is great. but i'm not going to bore you with a catalogue of titles. the book is _all_ good. no, not (in my judgment) all, for it contains lines and words that i found objectionable in the manuscript, and time has not reconciled me to them. your retention of them, shows, however, that you agree with me in thinking that you have passed your 'prentice period and need no further criticism. so i welcome them. i take it that the cover design is scheff's--perhaps because it is so good, for the little cuss is clever that way. * * * * * i rather like your defence of jack london--not that i think it valid, but because i like loyalty to a friend whom one does not believe to be bad. (the "thick-and-thin" loyalty never commended itself to me; it is too dog-like.) i fail, however, to catch the note of penitence in london's narratives of his underlife, and my charge of literary stealing was not based on his primeval man book, "before adam." as to * * *, as he is not more than a long-range or short-acquaintance friend of yours, i'll say that i would not believe him under oath on his deathbed. * * * the truth is, none of these howlers knows the difference between a million and a thousand nor between truth and falsehood. i could give you instances of their lying about matters here at the capital that would make even your hair stand on end. it is not only that they are all liars--they are mere children; they don't know anything and don't care to, nor, for prosperity in their specialties, need to. veracity would be a disqualification; if they confined themselves to facts they would not get a hearing. * * * is the nastiest futilitarian of the gang. it is not the purpose of these gentlemen that i find so very objectionable, but the foul means that they employ to accomplish it. i would be a good deal of a socialist myself if they had not made the word (and the thing) stink. don't imagine that i'll not "enter carmel" if i come out there. i'll visit you till you're sick of me. but i'd not _live_ there and be "identified" with it, as the newspapers would say. i'm warned by hawthorne and brook farm. i'm still working--a little more leisurely--on my books. but i begin to feel the call of new york on the tympani of my blood globules. i must go there occasionally, or i should die of intellectual torpor. * * * "o lord how long?"--this letter. o well, you need not give it the slightest attention; there's nothing, i think, that requires a reply, nor merits one. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., march , .] dear george, * * * * * did you see markham's review of the "wine" in "the n. y. american"? pretty fair, but--if a metrical composition full of poetry is not a poem what is it? and i wonder what he calls kubla khan, which has a beginning but neither middle nor end. and how about the faerie queene for absence of "unity"? guess i'll ask him. isn't it funny what happens to critics who would mark out meters and bounds for the muse--denying the name "poem," for example, to a work because it is not like some other work, or like one that is in the minds of them? i hope you are prosperous and happy and that i shall sometimes hear from you. howes writes me that the "lone hand"--sydney--has been commending you. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., october , .] dear george, i return the poems with a few random comments and suggestions. i'm a little alarmed lest you take too seriously my preference of your rhyme to your blank--especially when i recall your "music" and "the spirit of beauty." perhaps i should have said only that you are not so _likely_ to write well in blank. (i think always of "tasso to leonora," which i cannot learn to like.) doubtless i have too great fondness for _great_ lines--_your_ great lines--and they occur less frequently in your blank verse than in your rhyme--most frequently in your quatrains, those of sonnets included. don't swear off blank--except as you do drink--but study it more. it's "an hellish thing." it looks as if i _might_ go to california sooner than i had intended. my health has been wretched all summer. i need a sea voyage--one _via_ panama would be just the thing. so if the cool weather of autumn do not restore me i shall not await spring here. but i'm already somewhat better. if i had been at sea i should have escaped the cook-peary controversy. we talk nothing but arctic matters here--i enclose my contribution to its horrors. i'm getting many a good lambasting for my book of essays. also a sop of honey now and then. it's all the same to me; i don't worry about what my contemporaries think of me. i made 'em think of _you_--that's glory enough for one. and the squirrels in the public parks think me the finest fellow in the world. they know what i have in every pocket. critics don't know that--nor nearly so much. advice to a young author: cultivate the good opinion of squirrels. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., november , .] dear george, european criticism of your _bête noir_, old leopold, is entitled to attention; american (of him or any other king) is not. it looks as if the wretch may be guilty of indifference. in condemning as "revolutionary" the two-rhyme sestet, i think i could not have been altogether solemn, for ( ) i'm something of a revolutionist myself regarding the sonnet, having frequently expressed the view that its accepted forms--even the number of lines--were purely arbitrary; ( ) i find i've written several two-rhyme sestets myself, and ( ), like yours, my ear has difficulty in catching the rhyme effect in a-b-c, a-b-c. the rhyme is delayed till the end of the fourth line--as it is in the quatrain (not of the sonnet) with unrhyming first and third lines--a form of which i think all my multitude of verse supplies no example. i confess, though, that i did not know that petrarch had made so frequent use of the -rhyme sestet. i learn a little all the time; some of my old notions of poetry seem to me now erroneous, even absurd. so i _may_ have been at one time a stickler for the "regular" three-rhymer. even now it pleases my ear well enow if the three are not so arranged as to elude it. i'm sorry if i misled you. you'd better 'fess up to your young friend, as i do to you--if i really was serious. * * * * * of course i should be glad to see dick, but don't expect to. they never come, and it has long been my habit to ignore every "declaration of intention." i'm greatly pleased to know that you too like those lines of markham that you quote from the "wharf of dreams." i've repeatedly told him that that sonnet was his greatest work, and those were its greatest lines. by the way, my young poet, loveman, sends me a letter from markham, asking for a poem or two for a book, "the younger choir," that he (m.) is editing. loveman will be delighted by your good opinion of "pierrot"--which still another magazine has returned to me. guess i'll have to give it up. i'm sending you a booklet on loose locutions. it is vilely gotten up--had to be so to sell for twenty-five cents, the price that i favored. i just noted down these things as i found them in my reading, or remembered them, until i had four hundred. then i took about fifty from other books, and boiled down the needful damnation. maybe i have done too much boiling down--making the stuff "thick and slab." if there is another edition i shall do a little bettering. i should like some of those mussels, and, please god, shall help you cull them next summer. but the abalone--as a christian comestible he is a stranger to me and the tooth o' me. i think you have had some correspondence with my friend howes of galveston. well, here he is "in his habit as he lives." of the two figures in the picture howes is the one on top.[ ] good night. [ ] howes was riding on a burro. a. b. [washington, d. c., january , .] dear george, here are your fine verses--i have been too busy to write to you before. in truth, i've worked harder now for more than a year than i ever shall again--and the work will bring me nor gain nor glory. well, i shall take a rest pretty soon, partly in california. i thank you for the picture card. i have succumbed to the post-card fashion myself. as to some points in your letter. i've no recollection of advising young authors to "leave all heart and sentiment out of their work." if i did the context would probably show that it was because their time might better be given to perfect themselves in form, against the day when their hearts would be less wild and their sentiments truer. you know it has always been my belief that one cannot be trusted to feel until one has learned to think--and few youngsters have learned to do that. was it not dr. holmes who advised a young writer to cut out every passage that he thought particularly good? he'd be sure to think the beautiful and sentimental passages the best, would he not? * * * if you mean to write really "vituperative" sonnets (why sonnets?) let me tell you _one_ secret of success--name your victim and his offense. to do otherwise is to fire blank cartridges--to waste your words in air--to club a vacuum. at least your satire must be so personally applicable that there can be no mistake as to the victim's identity. otherwise he is no victim--just a spectator like all others. and that brings us to watson. his caddishness consisted, not in satirizing a woman, which is legitimate, but, first, in doing so without sufficient reason, and, second, in saying orally (on the safe side of the atlantic) what he apparently did not dare say in the verses. * * * i'm enclosing something that will tickle you i hope--"the ballade of the goodly fere." the author's[ ] father, who is something in the mint in philadelphia, sent me several of his son's poems that were not good; but at last came this--in manuscript, like the others. before i could do anything with it--meanwhile wearing out the paper and the patience of my friends by reading it at them--the old man asked it back rather peremptorily. i reluctantly sent it, with a letter of high praise. the author had "placed" it in london, where it has made a heap of talk. [ ] ezra pound. it has plenty of faults besides its monotonous rhyme scheme; but tell me what you think of it. god willing, we shall eat carmel mussels and abalones in may or june. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., march , .] dear george, my plan is to leave here before april first, pass a few days in new york and then sail for colon. if i find the canal work on the isthmus interesting i may skip a steamer from panama to see it. i've no notion how long it will take to reach san francisco, and know nothing of the steamers and their schedules on the pacific side. i shall of course want to see grizzly first--that is to say, he will naturally expect me to. but if you can pull him down to carmel about the time of my arrival (i shall write you the date of my sailing from new york) i would gladly come there. carlt, whom i can see at once on arriving, can tell me where he (grizzly) is. * * * i don't think you rightly value "the goodly fere." of course no ballad written to-day can be entirely good, for it must be an imitation; it is now an unnatural form, whereas it was once a natural one. we are no longer a primitive people, and a primitive people's forms and methods are not ours. nevertheless, this seems to me an admirable ballad, as it is given a modern to write ballads. and i think you overlook the best line: "the hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue." the poem is complete as i sent it, and i think it stops right where and as it should-- "i ha' seen him eat o' the honey comb sin' they nailed him to the tree." the current "literary digest" has some queer things about (and by) pound, and "current literature" reprints the "fere" with all the wrinkles ironed out of it--making a "capon priest" of it. fo' de lawd's sake! don't apologise for not subscribing for my "works." if you did subscribe i should suspect that you were "no friend o' mine"--it would remove you from that gang and put you in a class by yourself. surely you can not think i care who buys or does not buy my books. the man who expects anything more than lip-service from his friends is a very young man. there are, for example, a half-dozen californians (all loud admirers of ambrose bierce) editing magazines and newspapers here in the east. every man jack of them has turned me down. they will do everything for me but enable me to live. friends be damned!--strangers are the chaps for me. * * * * * i've given away my beautiful sailing canoe and shall never again live a life on the ocean wave--unless you have boats at carmel. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., easter sunday.] dear george, here's a letter from loveman, with a kindly reference to you--that's why i send it. i'm to pull out of here next wednesday, the th, but don't know just when i shall sail from new york--apparently when there are no more dinners to eat in that town and no more friends to visit. may god in his infinite mercy lessen the number of both. i should get into your neck o' woods early in may. till then god be with you instead. ambrose bierce. easter sunday. [why couldn't he stay put?] [washington, d. c., march , .] dear george, i'm "all packed up," even my pens; for to-morrow i go to new york--whence i shall write you before embarking. neale seems pleased by your "permission to print," as congressmen say who can't make a speech yet want one in the record, for home consumption. sincerely, ambrose bierce. [guerneville, cal., may , .] dear george, you will probably have learned of my arrival--this is my first leisure to apprise you. i took carlt and lora and came directly up here--where we all hope to see you before i see carmel. lora remains here for the week, perhaps longer, and carlt is to come up again on saturday. of course you do not need an invitation to come whenever you feel like it. i had a pleasant enough voyage and have pretty nearly got the "slosh" of the sea out of my ears and its heave out of my bones. a bushel of letters awaits attention, besides a pair of lizards that i have undertaken to domesticate. so good morning. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the key route inn, oakland, june , .] dear george, you'll observe that i acted on your suggestion, and am "here." your little sisters are most gracious to me, despite my candid confession that i extorted your note of introduction by violence and intimidation. baloo[ ] and his cubs went on to guerneville the day of their return from carmel. but i saw them. [ ] albert bierce. i'm deep in work, and shall be for a few weeks; then i shall be off to carmel for a lungful of sea air and a bellyful of abalones and mussels. i suppose you'll be going to the midsummer jinks. fail not to stop over here--i don't feel that i have really seen you yet. with best regards to carrie. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the laguna vista, oakland, sunday, july , .] dear george, supposing you to have gone home, i write to send the poem. of course it is a good poem. but i begin to want to hear your larger voice again. i want to see you standing tall on the heights--above the flower-belt and the bird-belt. i want to hear, "like ocean on a western beach, the surge and thunder of the odyssey," as you _odyssate_. i _think_ i met that dog * * * to-day, and as it was a choice between kicking him and avoiding him i chose the more prudent course. i've not seen your little sisters--they seem to have tired of me. why not?--i have tired of myself. fail not to let me know when to expect you for the guerneville trip. * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the laguna vista, october , .] i go back to the inn on saturday. dear george, it is long since i read the book of job, but if i thought it better than your addition to it i should not sleep until i had read it again--and again. such a superb who's who in the universe! not a homeric hero in the imminence of a personal encounter ever did so fine bragging. i hope you will let it into your next book, if only to show that the "inspired" scribes of the old testament are not immatchable by modern genius. you know the jews regard them, not as prophets, in our sense, but merely as poets--and the jews ought to know something of their own literature. i fear i shall not be able to go to carmel while you're a widow--i've tangled myself up with engagements again. moreover, i'm just back from the st. helena cemetery, and for a few days shall be too blue for companionship. "shifted" is better, i think (in poetry) than "joggled." you say you "don't like working." then write a short story. that's work, but you'd like it--or so i think. poetry is the highest of arts, but why be a specialist? sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [army and navy club, washington, d. c., november , .] dear lora, it is nice to hear from you and learn that despite my rude and intolerant ways you manage to slip in a little affection for me--you and the rest of the folk. and really i think i left a little piece of my heart out there--mostly in berkeley. it is funny, by the way, that in falling out of love with most of my old sweethearts and semi-sweethearts i should fall _in_ love with my own niece. it is positively scandalous! i return sloot's letter. it gave me a bit of a shock to have him say that he would probably never see me again. of course that is true, but i had not thought of it just that way--had not permitted myself to, i suppose. and, after all, if things go as i'm hoping they will, montesano will take me in again some day before he seems likely to leave it. we four may see the grand cañon together yet. i'd like to lay my bones thereabout. the garments that you persuaded me were mine are not. they are probably sterling's, and he has probably damned me for stealing them. i don't care; he has no right to dress like the "filthy rich." hasn't he any "class consciousness"? however, i am going to send them back to you by express. i'll mail you the paid receipt; so don't pay the charge that the company is sure to make. they charged me again for the two packages that you paid for, and got away with the money from the secretary of my club, where they were delivered. i had to get it back from the delivery man at the cannon's mouth-- calibre. with love to carlt and sloots, affectionately yours, ambrose. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., november , .] dear lora, * * * * * you asked me about the relative interest of yosemite and the grand cañon. it is not easy to compare them, they are so different. in yosemite only the magnitudes are unfamiliar; in the cañon nothing is familiar--at least, nothing would be familiar to you, though i have seen something like it on the upper yellowstone. the "color scheme" is astounding--almost incredible, as is the "architecture." as to magnitudes, yosemite is nowhere. from points on the rim of the cañon you can see fifty, maybe a hundred, miles of it. and it is never twice alike. nobody can describe it. of course you must see it sometime. i wish our yosemite party could meet there, but probably we never will; it is a long way from here, and not quite next door to berkeley and carmel. i've just got settled in my same old tenement house, the olympia, but the club is my best address. * * * * * affectionately, ambrose. [washington, d. c., november , .] dear lora, thank you very much for the work that you are doing for me in photography and china. i know it is great work. but take your time about it. i hope you all had a good thanksgiving at upshack. (that is my name for sloots' place. it will be understood by anyone that has walked to it from montesano, carrying a basket of grub on a hot day.) i trust sterling got his waistcoat and trousers in time to appear at his uncle's dinner in other outer garments than a steelpen coat. * * * i am glad you like (or like to have) the books. you would have had all my books when published if i had supposed that you cared for them, or even knew about them. i am now encouraged to hope that some day you and carlt and sloots may be given the light to see the truth at the heart of my "views" (which i have expounded for half a century) and will cease to ally yourselves with what is most hateful to me, socially and politically. i shall then feel (in my grave) that perhaps, after all, i knew how to write. meantime, run after your false fool gods until you are tired; i shall not believe that your hearts are really in the chase, for they are pretty good hearts, and those of your gods are nests of nastiness and heavens of hate. now i feel better, and shall drink a toddy to the tardy time when those whom i love shall not think me a perverted intelligence; when they shall not affirm my intellect and despise its work--confess my superior understanding and condemn all its fundamental conclusions. then we will be a happy family--you and carlt in the flesh and sloots and i in our bones. * * * * * my health is excellent in this other and better world than california. god bless you. ambrose. [washington, d. c., december , .] dear carlt, you had indeed "something worth writing about"--not only the effect of the impenitent mushroom, but the final and disastrous overthrow of that ancient superstition, sloots' infallibility as a mushroomer. as i had expected to be at that dinner, i suppose i should think myself to have had "a narrow escape." still, i wish i could have taken my chance with the rest of you. how would you like three weeks of nipping cold weather, with a foot of snow? that's what has been going on here. say, tell sloots that the front footprints of a rabbit-track [illustration: rabbit tracks] are made by the animal's hind feet, straddling his forelegs. could he have learned that important fact in california, except by hearsay? observe (therefore) the superiority of this climate. * * * * * ambrose. [washington, d. c., january , .] dear lora, i have just received a very affectionate letter from * * * and now know that i did her an injustice in what i carelessly wrote to you about her incivility to me after i had left her. it is plain that she did not mean to be uncivil in what she wrote me on a postal card which i did not look at until i was in the train; she just "didn't know any better." so i have restored her to favor, and hope that you will consider my unkind remarks about her as unwritten. guess i'm addicted to going off at half-cock anyhow. affectionately, ambrose. [washington, d. c., february , .] dear lora, i have the yosemite book, and miss christiansen has the mandarin coat. i thank you very much. the pictures are beautiful, but of them all i prefer that of nanny bending over the stove. true, the face is not visible, but it looks like you all over. i'm filling out the book with views of the grand cañon, so as to have my scenic treasures all together. also i'm trying to get for you a certain book of cañon pictures, which i neglected to obtain when there. you will like it--if i get it. sometime when you have nothing better to do--don't be in a hurry about it--will you go out to mountain view cemetery with your camera and take a picture of the grave of elizabeth (lily) walsh, the little deaf mute that i told you of? i think the man in the office will locate it for you. it is in the catholic part of the cemetery--st. mary's. the name lily walsh is on the beveled top of the headstone which is shaped like this: [illustration: headstone] you remember i was going to take you there, but never found the time. miss christiansen says she is writing, or has written you. i think the coat very pretty. affectionately, ambrose. [washington, d. c., february , .] dear george, as to the "form of address." a man passing another was halted by the words: "you dirty dog!" turning to the speaker, he bowed coldly and said: "smith is my name, sir." _my_ name is bierce, and i find, on reflection, that i like best those who call me just that. if my christen name were george i'd want to be called _that_; but "ambrose" is fit only for mouths of women--in which it sounds fairly well. _how_ are you my master? i never read one of your poems without learning something, though not, alas, how to make one. don't worry about "lilith"; it will work out all right. as to the characters not seeming alive, i've always fancied the men and women of antiquity--particularly the kings, and great ones generally--should not be too flesh-and-bloody, like the "persons whom one meets." a little coldness and strangeness is very becoming to them. i like them to _stalk_, like the ghosts that they are--our modern passioning seems a bit anachronous in them. maybe i'm wrong, but i'm sure you will understand and have some sympathy with the error. hudson maxim takes medicine without biting the spoon. he had a dose from me and swallowed it smiling. i too gave him some citations of great poetry that is outside the confines of his "definition"--poetry in which are no tropes at all. he seems to lack the _feel_ of poetry. he even spoils some of the "great lines" by not including enough of the context. as to his "improvements," fancy his preference for "the fiercest spirit of _the warrior host_" to "the fiercest spirit _that fought in heaven_"! o my! yes, conrad told me the tale of his rescue by you. he gave me the impression of hanging in the sky above billows unthinkably huge and rocks inconceivably hard. * * * * * of course i could not but be pleased by your inclusion of that sonnet on me in your book. and, by the way, i'm including in my tenth volume my _cosmopolitan_ article on the "wine" and my end of the controversy about it. all the volumes of the set are to be out by june, saith the publisher. he is certainly half-killing me with proofs--mountains of proofs! * * * yes, you'll doubtless have a recruit in carlt for your socialist menagerie--if he is not already a veteran exhibit. your "party" is recruited from among sore-heads only. there are some twenty-five thousand of them (sore-heads) in this neck o' woods--all disloyal--all growling at the government which feeds and clothes them twice as well as they could feed and clothe themselves in private employment. they move heaven and earth to get in, and they never resign--just "take it out" in abusing the government. if i had my way nobody should remain in the civil service more than five years--at the end of that period all are disloyal. not one of them cares a rap for the good of the service or the country--as we soldiers used to do on thirteen dollars a month (with starvation, disease and death thrown in). their grievance is that the government does not undertake to maintain them in the style to which they choose to accustom themselves. they fix their standard of living just a little higher than they can afford, and would do so no matter what salary they got, as all salary-persons invariably do. then they damn their employer for not enabling them to live up to it. if they can do better "outside" why don't they go outside and do so; if they can't (which means that they are getting more than they are worth) what are they complaining about? what this country needs--what every country needs occasionally--is a good hard bloody war to revive the vice of patriotism on which its existence as a nation depends. meantime, you socialers, anarchists and other sentimentaliters and futilitarians will find the civil-service your best recruiting ground, for it is the land of reasonless discontent. i yearn for the strong-handed dictator who will swat you all on the mouths o' you till you are "heard to cease." until then--how? (drinking.) yours sincerely, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., february , .] dear lora, every evening coffee is made for me in my rooms, but i have not yet ventured to take it from _your_ cup for fear of an accident to the cup. some of the women in this house are stark, staring mad about that cup and saucer, and the plate. i am very sorry carlt finds his position in the civil service so intolerable. if he can do better outside he should resign. if he can't, why, that means that the government is doing better for him than he can do for himself, and you are not justified in your little tirade about the oppression of "the masses." "the masses" have been unprosperous from time immemorial, and always will be. a very simple way to escape that condition (and the _only_ way) is to elevate oneself out of that incapable class. you write like an anarchist and say that if you were a man you'd _be_ one. i should be sorry to believe that, for i should lose a very charming niece, and you a most worthy uncle. you say that carlt and grizzly are not socialists. does that mean that _they_ are anarchists? i draw the line at anarchists, and would put them all to death if i lawfully could. but i fancy your intemperate words are just the babbling of a thoughtless girl. in any case you ought to know from my work in literature that i am not the person to whom to address them. i carry my convictions into my life and conduct, into my friendships, affections and all my relations with my fellow creatures. so i think it would be more considerate to leave out of your letters to _me_ some things that you may have in mind. write them to others. my own references to socialism, and the like, have been jocular--i did not think you perverted "enough to hurt," though i consider your intellectual environment a mighty bad one. as to such matters in future let us make a treaty of silence. affectionately, ambrose. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., march , .] my dear ruth, it is pleasant to know that the family robertson is "seeing things" and enjoying them. i hate travel, but find it delightful when done by you, instead of me. believe me, i have had great pleasure in following you by your trail of words, as in the sport known as the "paper chase." and now about the little story. your refusal to let your father amend it is no doubt dreadfully insubordinate, but i brave his wrath by approval. it is _your_ work that i want to see, not anybody's else. i've a profound respect for your father's talent: as a litérateur, he is the best physician that i know; but he must not be coaching my pupil, or he and i (as mark twain said of mrs. astor) "will have a falling out." the story is not a story. it is not narrative, and nothing occurs. it is a record of mental mutations--of spiritual vicissitudes--states of mind. that is the most difficult thing that you could have attempted. it can be done acceptably by genius and the skill that comes of practice, as can anything. you are not quite equal to it--yet. you have done it better than i could have done it at your age, but not altogether well; as doubtless you did not expect to do it. it would be better to confine yourself at present to simple narrative. write of something done, not of something thought and felt, except incidentally. i'm sure it is in you to do great work, but in this writing trade, as in other matters, excellence is to be attained no otherwise than by beginning at the beginning--the simple at first, then the complex and difficult. you can not go up a mountain by a leap at the peak. i'm retaining your little sketch till your return, for you can do nothing with it--nor can i. if it had been written--preferably typewritten--with wide lines and margins i could do something _to_ it. maybe when i get the time i shall; at present i am swamped with "proofs" and two volumes behind the printers. if i knew that i should _see_ you and talk it over i should rewrite it and (original in hand) point out the reasons for each alteration--you would see them quickly enough when shown. maybe you will all come this way. you are _very_ deficient in spelling. i hope that is not incurable, though some persons--clever ones, too--never do learn to spell correctly. you will have to learn it from your reading--noting carefully all but the most familiar words. you have "pet" words--nearly all of us have. one of yours is "flickering." addiction to certain words is an "upsetting sin" most difficult to overcome. try to overcome it by cutting them out where they seem most felicitous. by the way, your "hero," as you describe him, would not have been accessible to all those spiritual impressions--it is _you_ to whom they come. and that confirms my judgment of your imagination. imagination is nine parts of the writing trade. with enough of _that_ all things are possible; but it is the other things that require the hard work, the incessant study, the tireless seeking, the indomitable will. it is no "pic-nic," this business of writing, believe me. success comes by favor of the gods, yes; but o the days and nights that you must pass before their altars, prostrate and imploring! they are exacting--the gods; years and years of service you must give in the temple. if you are prepared to do this go on to your reward. if not, you can not too quickly throw away the pen and--well, marry, for example. "drink deep or taste not the pierian spring." _my_ vote is that you persevere. with cordial regards to all good robertsons--i think there are no others--i am most sincerely your friend, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., april , .] dear lora, thank you for the pictures of the sloots fire-place and "joe gans." i can fancy myself cooking a steak in the one, and the other eating one better cooked. i'm glad i've given you the grand cañon fever, for i hope to revisit the place next summer, and perhaps our yosemite bunch can meet me there. my outing this season will be in broadway in little old new york. that is not as good as monte sano, but the best that i can do. you must have had a good time with the sterlings, and doubtless you all suffered from overfeeding. carlt's action in denuding the shaggy pelt of his hands meets with my highest commendation, but you'd better look out. it may mean that he has a girl--a jewess descended from jacob, with an hereditary antipathy to anything like esau. carlt was an esaurian. you'll have to overlook some bad errors in vol. v of the c. w. i did not have the page proofs. some of the verses are unintelligible. that's the penalty for philandering in california instead of sticking to my work. * * * * * affectionately, ambrose. [washington, d. c., april , .] dear george, i've been having noctes ambrosianæ with "the house of orchids," though truly it came untimely, for i've not yet done reading your other books. don't crowd the dancers, please. i don't know (and you don't care) what poem in it i like best, but i get as much delight out of these lines as out of any: "such flowers pale as are worn by the goddess of a distant star-- before whose holy eyes beauty and evening meet." and--but what's the use? i can't quote the entire book. i'm glad you did see your way to make "memory" a female. to hades with bonnet's chatter of gems and jewels--among the minor poetic properties they are better (to my taste) than flowers. by the way, i wonder what "lightness" bonnet found in the "apothecary" verses. they seem to me very serious. rereading and rerereading of the job confirm my first opinion of it. i find only one "bad break" in it--and that not inconsistent with god's poetry in the real job: "ropes of adamant." a rope of stone is imperfectly conceivable--is, in truth, mixed metaphor. i think it was a mistake for you to expound to ned hamilton, or anybody, how you wrote the "forty-third chapter," or anything. when an author explains his methods of composition he cannot expect to be taken seriously. nine writers in ten wish to have it thought that they "dash off" things. nobody believes it, and the judicious would be sorry to believe it. maybe you do, but i guess you work hard and honestly enough over the sketch "dashed off." if you don't--do. * * * * * with love to carrie, i will leave you to your sea-gardens and abalones. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. i'm off to broadway next week for a season of old-gentlemanly revelry. [washington, d. c., may , .] dear george, in packing (i'm going to new york) i find this "tidal" typoscript, and fear that i was to have returned it. pray god it was not my neglect to do so that kept it out of the book. but if not, what did keep it out? maybe the fact that it requires in the reader an uncommon acquaintance with the scriptures. if robertson publishes any more books for you don't let him use "silver" leaf on the cover. it is not silver, cannot be neatly put on, and will come off. the "wine" book is incomparably better and more tasteful than either of the others. by the way, i stick to my liking for scheff's little vignette on the "wine." in "duandon" you--_you_, poet of the heavens!--come perilously near to qualifying yourself for "mention" in a certain essay of mine on the blunders of writers and artists in matters lunar. you must have observed that immediately after the full o' the moon the light of that orb takes on a redness, and when it rises after dark is hardly a "towering glory," nor a "frozen splendor." its "web" is not "silver." in truth, the gibbous moon, rising, has something of menace in its suggestion. even twenty-four (or rather twenty-five) hours "after the full" this change in the quality and quantity of its light is very marked. i don't know what causes the sudden alteration, but it has always impressed me. i feel a little like signing this criticism "gradgrind," but anyhow it may amuse you. do you mind squandering ten cents and a postage stamp on me? i want a copy of _town talk_--the one in which you are a "varied type." i don't know much of some of your poets mentioned in that article, but could wish that you had said a word about edith thomas. thank you for your too generous mention of me--who brought you so much vilification! sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., may , .] my dear ruth, you are a faithful correspondent; i have your postals from athens and syracuse, and now the letter from rome. the benares sketch was duly received, and i wrote you about it to the address that you gave--cairo, i think. as you will doubtless receive my letter in due time i will not now repeat it--further than to say that i liked it. if it had been accompanied by a few photographs (indispensable now to such articles) i should have tried to get it into some magazine. true, benares, like all other asiatic and european cities, is pretty familiar to even the "general reader," but the sketch had something of the writer's personality in it--the main factor in all good writing, as in all forms of art. may i tell you what you already know--that you are deficient in spelling and punctuation? it is worth while to know these things--and all things that you can acquire. some persons can not acquire orthography, and i don't wonder, but every page of every good book is a lesson in punctuation. one's punctuation is a necessary part of one's style; you cannot attain to precision if you leave that matter to editors and printers. you ask if "stories" must have action. the name "story" is preferably used of narrative, not reflection nor mental analysis. the "psychological novel" is in great vogue just now, for example--the adventures of the mind, it might be called--but it requires a profounder knowledge of life and character than is possible to a young girl of whatever talent; and the psychological "short story" is even more difficult. keep to narrative and simple description for a few years, until your wings have grown. these descriptions of foreign places that you write me are good practice. you are not likely to tell me much that i do not know, nor is that necessary; but your way of telling what i do know is sometimes very interesting as a study of _you_. so write me all you will, and if you would like the letters as a record of your travels you shall have them back; i am preserving them. i judge from your letter that your father went straight through without bothering about me. maybe i should not have seen him anyhow, for i was away from washington for nearly a month. please give my love to your mother and sister, whom, of course, you are to bring here. i shall not forgive you if you do not. yes, i wish that you lived nearer to me, so that we could go over your work together. i could help you more in a few weeks _that_ way than in years _this_ way. god never does anything just right. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., july , .] dear george, thank you for that times "review." it is a trifle less malicious than usual--regarding _me_, that is all. my publisher, neale, who was here last evening, is about "taking action" against that concern for infringement of his copyright in my little book, "write it right." the wretches have been serving it up to their readers for several weeks as the work of a woman named learned. repeatedly she uses my very words--whole passages of them. they refused even to confess the misdeeds of their contributrix, and persist in their sin. so they will have to fight. * * * i have never been hard on women whose hearts go with their admiration, and whose bodies follow their hearts--i don't mean that the latter was the case in this instance. nor am i very exacting as to the morality of my men friends. i would not myself take another man's woman, any more than i would take his purse. nor, i trust, would i seduce the daughter or sister of a friend, nor any maid whom it would at all damage--and as to _that_ there is no hard and fast rule. * * * * * a fine fellow, i, to be casting the first stone, or the one-hundredth, at a lovelorn woman, weak or strong! by the way, i should not believe in the love of a strong one, wife, widow or maid. it looks as if i may get to sag harbor for a week or so in the middle of the month. it is really not a question of expense, but neale has blocked out a lot of work for me. he wants two more volumes--even five more if i'll make 'em. guess i'll give him two. in a week or so i shall be able to say whether i can go sagharboring. if so, i think we should have a night in new york first, no? you could motor-boat up and back. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce.[ ] [ ] addressed to george sterling at sag harbor, long island. [washington, d. c., monday, august , .] dear george, in one of your letters you were good enough to promise me a motorboat trip from new york to sag harbor. i can think of few things more delightful than navigating in a motorboat the sea that i used to navigate in an open canoe; it will seem like progress. so if you are still in that mind please write me what day _after saturday next_ you can meet me in new york and i'll be there. i should prefer that you come the day before the voyage and dine with me that evening. i always stay at the hotel navarre, th avenue and th street. if unable to get in there i'll leave my address there. or, tell me where _you_ will be. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. if the motorboat plan is not practicable let me know and i'll go by train or steamer; it will not greatly matter. a. b. [washington, d. c., tuesday, august , .] dear george, * * * * * kindly convey to young smith of auburn my felicitations on his admirable "ode to the abyss"--a large theme, treated with dignity and power. it has many striking passages--such, for example, as "the romes of ruined spheres." i'm conscious of my sin against the rhetoricians in liking that, for it jolts the reader out of the abyss and back to earth. moreover, it is a metaphor which belittles, instead of dignifying. but i like it. he is evidently a student of george sterling, and being in the formative stage, cannot--why should he?--conceal the fact. my love to all good californians of the sag harbor colony. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., november , .] dear george, it is good to know that you are again happy--that is to say, you are in carmel. for your _future_ happiness (if success and a certain rounding off of your corners would bring it, as i think) i could wish you in new york or thereabout. as the scripture hath it: "it is not good for a man to be in carmel"--_revised inversion_. i note that at the late election california damned herself to a still lower degradation and is now unfit for a white man to live in. initiative, referendum, recall, employers' liability, woman suffrage--yah! * * * * * but you are not to take too seriously my dislike of * * *[ ] i like him personally very well; he talks like a normal human being. it is only that damned book of his. he was here and came out to my tenement a few evenings ago, finding me in bed and helpless from lumbago, as i was for weeks. i am now able to sit up and take notice, and there are even fears for my recovery. my enemies would say, as byron said of lady b., i am becoming "dangerously well again." [ ] excised by g. s. * * * * * as to harlots, there are not ten in a hundred that are such for any other reason than that they wanted to be. their exculpatory stories are mostly lies of magnitude. sloots writes me that he will perhaps "walk over" from the mine to yosemite next summer. i can't get there much before july first, but if there is plenty of snow in the mountains next winter the valley should be visitable then. later, i hope to beguest myself for a few days at the pine inn, carmel. tell it not to the point lobos mussel! my love to carrie. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., december , .] dear george, as you do not give me that lady's address i infer that you no longer care to have me meet her--which is a relief to me. * * * * * yes, i'm a bit broken up by the death of pollard, whose body i assisted to burn. he lost his mind, was paralyzed, had his head cut open by the surgeons, and his sufferings were unspeakable. had he lived he would have been an idiot; so it is all right-- "but o, the difference to me!" if you don't think him pretty bright read any of his last three books, "their day in court," "masks and minstrels," and "vagabond journeys." he did not see the last one--neale brought down copies of it when he came to baltimore to attend the funeral. i'm hoping that if carlt and lora go to wagner's mine and we go to yosemite, lora, at least, will come to us out there. we shall need her, though carrie will find that misses c. and s. will be "no deadheads in the enterprise"--to quote a political phrase of long ago. as to me, i shall leave my ten-pounds-each books at home and, like st. jerome, who never traveled with other baggage than a skull, be "flying light." my love to carrie. sincerely, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., january , .] dear lora, it is good to hear from you again, even if i did have to give you a hint that i badly needed a letter. i am glad that you are going to the mine (if you go)--though berkeley and oakland will not be the same without you. and where can i have my mail forwarded?--and be permitted to climb in at the window to get it. as to pot-steaks, toddies, and the like, i shall simply swear off eating and drinking. if carlt is a "game sport," and does not require "a dead-sure thing," the mining gamble is the best bet for him. anything to get out of that deadening, hopeless grind, the "government service." it kills a man's self-respect, atrophies his powers, unfits him for anything, tempts him to improvidence and then turns him out to starve. it is pleasant to know that there is a hope of meeting you in yosemite--the valley would not be the same without you. my girls cannot leave here till the schools close, about june , so we shall not get into the valley much before july first; but if you have a good winter, with plenty of snow, that will do. we shall stay as long as we like. george says he and carrie can go, and i hope sloots can. it is likely that neale, my publisher, will be of my party. i shall hope to visit your mine afterward. * * * * * my health, which was pretty bad for weeks after returning from sag harbor, is restored, and i was never so young in all my life. here's wishing you and carlt plenty of meat on the bone that the new year may fling to you. affectionately, ambrose. [washington, d. c., february , .] dear george, i'm a long time noticing your letter of january fifth, chiefly because, like teddy, "i have nothing to say." there's this difference atwixt him and me--i could say something if i tried. * * * i'm hoping that you are at work and doing something worth while, though i see nothing of yours. battle against the encroaching abalone should not engage all your powers. that spearing salmon at night interests me, though doubtless the "season" will be over before i visit carmel. bear yosemite in mind for latter part of june, and use influence with lora and grizzly, even if carlt should be inhumed in his mine. we've had about seven weeks of snow and ice, the mercury around the zero mark most of the time. once it was below. you'd not care for that sort of thing, i fancy. indeed, i'm a bit fatigued of it myself, and on saturday next, god willing, shall put out my prow to sea and bring up, i hope, in bermuda, not, of course, to remain long. you did not send me the weininger article on "sex and character"--i mean the extract that you thought like some of my stuff. * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., april , .] dear george, i did not go to bermuda; so i'm not "back." but i did go to richmond, a city whose tragic and pathetic history, of which one is reminded by everything that one sees there, always gets on to my nerves with a particular dejection. true, the history is some fifty years old, but it is always with me when i'm there, making solemn eyes at me. you're right about "this season in the east." it has indeed been penetential. for the first time i am thoroughly disgusted and half-minded to stay in california when i go--a land where every prospect pleases, and only labor unions, progressives, suffragettes (and socialists) are vile. no, i don't think i could stand california, though i'm still in the mind to visit it in june. i shall be sorry to miss carrie at carmel, but hope to have the two of you on some excursion or camping trip. we _want_ to go to yosemite, which the girls have not seen, but if there's no water there it may not be advisable. guess we'll have to let you natives decide. how would the big trees do as a substitute? * * * * * girls is pizen, but not necessarily fatal. i've taken 'em in large doses all my life, and suffered pangs enough to equip a number of small hells, but never has one of them paralyzed the inner working man. * * * but i'm not a poet. moreover, as i've not yet put off my armor i oughtn't to boast. so--you've subscribed for the collected works. good! that is what you ought to have done a long time ago. it is what every personal friend of mine ought to have done, for all profess admiration of my work in literature. it is what i was fool enough to permit my publisher to think that many of them would do. how many do you guess have done so? i'll leave you guessing. god help the man with many friends, for _they_ will not. my royalties on the sets sold to my friends are less than one-fourth of my outlay in free sets for other friends. tell me not in cheerful numbers of the value and sincerity of friendships. * * * * * there! i've discharged my bosom of that perilous stuff and shall take a drink. here's to you. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., june , .] dear george, * * * * * thank you for the poems, which i've not had the time to consider--being disgracefully busy in order to get away. i don't altogether share your reverence for browning, but the primacy of your verses on him over the others printed on the same page is almost startling. * * * of course it's all nonsense about the waning of your power--though thinking it so might make it so. my notion is that you've only _begun_ to do things. but i wish you'd go back to your chain in your uncle's office. i'm no believer in adversity and privation as a spur to pegasus. they are oftener a "hopple." the "meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin" will commonly do better work when tucked out with three square meals a day, and having the sure and certain hope of their continuance. * * * * * i'm expecting to arrive in oakland (key route inn, probably) late in the evening of the d of this month and dine at carlt's on the th--my birthday. anyhow, i've invited myself, though it is possible they may be away on their vacation. carlt has promised to try to get his "leave" changed to a later date than the one he's booked for. * * * * * sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. p.s.--just learned that we can not leave here until the th--which will bring me into san francisco on the th. birthday dinner served in diner--last call! i've _read_ the browning poem and i now know why there was a browning. providence foresaw you and prepared him for you--blessed be providence! * * * mrs. havens asks me to come to them at sag harbor--and shouldn't i like to! * * * sure the song of the sag harbor frog would be music to me--as would that of the indigenous duckling. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., december , .] my dear mr. cahill, i thank you for the article from _the argonaut_, and am glad to get it for a special reason, as it gives me your address and thereby enables me to explain something. when, several years ago, you sent me a similar article i took it to the editor of the national geographical magazine (i am a member of the society that issues it) and suggested its publication. i left it with him and hearing nothing about it for several months called at his office _twice_ for an answer, and for the copy if publication was refused. the copy had been "mislaid"--lost, apparently--and i never obtained it. meantime, either i had "mislaid" your address, or it was only on the copy. so i was unable to write you. indirectly, afterward, i heard that you had left california for parts to me unknown. twice since then i have been in san francisco, but confess that i did not think of the matter. cahill's projection[ ] is indubitably the right one, but you are "up against" the ages and will be a long time dead before it finds favor, or i'm no true pessimist. [ ] the butterfly map of the world. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the olympia apartments, washington, d. c., january , .] my dear ruth, it's "too bad" that i couldn't remain in oakland and berkeley another month to welcome you, but i fear it will "have to go at that," for i've no expectation of ever seeing california again. i like the country as well as ever, but i _don't_ like the rule of labor unions, the grafters and the suffragettes. so far as i am concerned they may stew in their own juice; i shall not offer myself as an ingredient. it is pleasant to know that you are all well, including johnny, poor little chap. you are right to study philology and rhetoric. surely there must be _some_ provision for your need--a university where one cannot learn one's own language would be a funny university. i think your "mr. wells" who gave a course of lectures on essay writing may be my friend wells drury, of berkeley. if so, mention me to him and he will advise you what to do. another good friend of mine, whom, however i did not succeed in seeing during either of my visits to california, is w. c. morrow, who is a professional teacher of writing and himself a splendid writer. he could help you. he lives in san francisco, but i think has a class in oakland. i don't know his address; you'll find it in the directory. he used to write stories splendidly tragic, but i'm told he now teaches the "happy ending," in which he is right--commercially--but disgusting. i can cordially recommend him. keep up your german and french of course. if your english (your mother speech) is so defective, think what _they_ must be. i'll think of some books that will be helpful to you in your english. meantime send me anything that you care to that you write. it will at least show me what progress you make. i'm returning some (all, i think) of your sketches. don't destroy them--yet. maybe some day you'll find them worth rewriting. my love to you all. ambrose bierce. [the olympia, euclid and th sts., washington, d. c., january , .] dear mr. cahill, it is pleasant to know that you are not easily discouraged by the croaking of such ravens as i, and i confess that the matter of the "civic centre" supplies some reason to hope for prosperity to the cahill projection--which (another croak) will doubtless bear some other man's name, probably hayford's or woodward's. i sent the "argonaut" article to my friend dr. franklin, of schenectady, a "scientific gent" of some note, but have heard nothing from him. i'm returning the "chronicle" article, which i found interesting. if i were not a writer without an "organ" i'd have a say about that projection. for near four years i've been out of the newspaper game--a mere compiler of my collected works in twelve volumes--and shall probably never "sit into the game" again, being seventy years old. my work is finished, and so am i. luck to you in the new year, and in many to follow. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [the olympia apartments, washington, d. c., i prefer to get my letters at this address. make a memorandum of it. january , .] dear lora, i have been searching for your letter of long ago, fearing it contained something that i should have replied to. but i don't find it; so i make the convenient assumption that it did not. i'd like to hear from you, however unworthy i am to do so, for i want to know if you and carlt have still a hope of going mining. pray god you do, if there's a half-chance of success; for success in the service of the government is failure. winter here is two-thirds gone and we have not had a cold day, and only one little dash of snow--on christmas eve. can california beat that? i'm told it's as cold there as in greenland. tell me about yourself--your health since the operation--how it has affected you--all about you. my own health is excellent; i'm equal to any number of carlt's toddies. by the way, blanche has made me a co-defendant with you in the crime (once upon a time) of taking a drop too much. i plead not guilty--how do _you_ plead? sloots, at least, would acquit us on the ground of inability--that one _can't_ take too much. * * * affectionately, your avuncular, ambrose. [washington, d. c., march , .] dear ruth, i'm returning your little sketches with a few markings which are to be regarded (or disregarded) as mere suggestions. i made them in pencil, so that you can erase them if you don't approve. of course i should make many more if i could have you before me so that i could explain _why_; in this way i can help you but little. you'll observe that i have made quite a slaughter of some of the adjectives in some of your sentences--you will doubtless slaughter some in others. nearly all young writers use too many adjectives. indeed, moderation and skill in the use of adjectives are about the last things a good writer learns. don't use those that are connoted by the nouns; and rather than have all the nouns, or nearly all, in a sentence outfitted with them it is better to make separate sentences for some of those desired. in your sketch "triumph" i would not name the "hero" of the piece. to do so not only makes the sketch commonplace, but it logically requires you to name his victim too, and her offense; in brief, it commits you to a _story_. a famous writer (perhaps holmes or thackeray--i don't remember) once advised a young writer to cut all the passages that he thought particularly good. your taste i think is past the need of so heroic treatment as that, but the advice may be profitably borne in memory whenever you are in doubt, if ever you are. and sometimes you will be. i think i know what mr. morrow meant by saying that your characters are not "humanly significant." he means that they are not such persons as one meets in everyday life--not "types." i confess that i never could see why one's characters _should_ be. the exceptional--even "abnormal"--person seems to me the more interesting, but i must warn you that he will not seem so to an editor. nor to an editor will the tragic element seem so good as the cheerful--the sombre denouement as the "happy ending." one must have a pretty firm reputation as a writer to "send in" a tragic or supernatural tale with any hope of its acceptance. the average mind (for which editors purvey, and mostly possess) dislikes, or thinks it dislikes, any literature that is not "sunny." true, tragedy holds the highest and most permanent place in the world's literature and art, but it has the divvel's own time getting to it. for immediate popularity (if one cares for it) one must write pleasant things; though one may put in here and there a bit of pathos. i think well of these two manuscripts, but doubt if you can get them into any of our magazines--if you want to. as to that, nobody can help you. about the only good quality that a magazine editor commonly has is his firm reliance on the infallibility of his own judgment. it is an honest error, and it enables him to mull through somehow with a certain kind of consistency. the only way to get a footing with him is to send him what you think he wants, not what you think he ought to want--and keep sending. but perhaps you do not care for the magazines. i note a great improvement in your style--probably no more than was to be expected of your better age, but a distinct improvement. it is a matter of regret with me that i have not the training of you; we should see what would come of it. you certainly have no reason for discouragement. but if you are to be a writer you must "cut out" the dances and the teas (a little of the theater may be allowed) and _work_ right heartily. the way of the good writer is no primrose path. no, i have not read the poems of service. what do i think of edith wharton? just what pollard thought--see _their day in court_, which i think you have. i fear you have the wanderlust incurably. i never had it bad, and have less of it now than ever before. i shall not see california again. my love to all your family goes with this, and to you all that you will have. ambrose bierce. [the army and navy club, washington, d. c., may , .] editor "lantern",[ ] [ ] the editor was curtis j. kirch ("guido bruno") and the weekly had a brief career in chicago. it was the forerunner of the many bruno weeklies and monthlies, later published from other cities. will i tell you what i think of your magazine? sure i will. it has thirty-six pages of reading matter. seventeen are given to the biography of a musician,--german, dead. four to the mother of a theologian,--german, peasant-wench, dead. (the mag. is published in america, to-day.) five pages about eugene field's ancestors. all dead. + + = . - = . two pages about ella wheeler wilcox. three-fourths page about a bad poet and his indifference to--german. two pages of his poetry. + ¾ + = ¾. - ¾ = ¼. not enough to criticise. what your magazine needs is an editor--presumably older, preferably american, and indubitably alive. at least awake. it is your inning. sincerely yours, ambrose bierce. [washington, d. c., may , .] my dear lora, you were so long in replying to my letter of the century before last, and as your letter is not really a reply to anything in mine, that i fancy you did not get it. i don't recollect, for example, that you ever acknowledged receipt of little pictures of myself, though maybe you did--i only hope you got them. the photographs that you send are very interesting. one of them makes me thirsty--the one of that fountainhead of good booze, your kitchen sink. what you say of the mine and how you are to be housed there pleases me mightily. that's how i should like to live, and mining is what i should like again to do. pray god you be not disappointed. alas, i cannot even join you during carlt's vacation, for the mountain ramble. please "go slow" in your goating this year. i _think_ you are better fitted for it than ever before, but you'd better ask your surgeon about that. by the way, do you know that since women took to athletics their peculiar disorders have increased about fifty per cent? you can't make men of women. the truth is, they've taken to walking on their hind legs a few centuries too soon. their in'ards have not learned how to suspend the law of gravity. add the jolts of athletics and--there you are. i wish i could be with you at monte sano--or anywhere. love to carlt and sloots. affectionately, ambrose. [washington, d. c., september , .] dear lora, your letter was forwarded to me in new york, whence i have just returned. i fancy you had a more satisfactory outing than i. i never heard of the big sur river nor of "arbolado." but i'm glad you went there, for i'm hearing so much about hetch hetchy that i'm tired of it. i'm helping the san francisco crowd (a little) to "ruin" it. * * * * * i'm glad to know that you still expect to go to the mine. success or failure, it is better than the mint, and you ought to live in the mountains where you can climb things whenever you want to. of course i know nothing of neale's business--you'd better write to him if he has not filled your order. i suppose you know that volumes eleven and twelve are not included in the "set." if you care to write to me again please do so at once as i am going away, probably to south america, but if we have a row with mexico before i start i shall go there first. i want to see something going on. i've no notion of how long i shall remain away. with love to carlt and sloots, affectionately, ambrose. [washington, d. c., september , .] dear joe,[ ] [ ] to mrs. josephine clifford mccrackin, san jose, california. the reason that i did not answer your letter sooner is--i have been away (in new york) and did not have it with me. i suppose i shall not see your book for a long time, for i am going away and have no notion when i shall return. i expect to go to, perhaps across, south america--possibly via mexico, if i can get through without being stood up against a wall and shot as a gringo. but that is better than dying in bed, is it not? if duc did not need you so badly i'd ask you to get your hat and come along. god bless and keep you. [washington, d. c., september , .] dear joe, thank you for the book. i thank you for your friendship--and much besides. this is to say good-by at the end of a pleasant correspondence in which your woman's prerogative of having the last word is denied to you. before i could receive it i shall be gone. but some time, somewhere, i hope to hear from you again. yes, i shall go into mexico with a pretty definite purpose, which, however, is not at present disclosable. you must try to forgive my obstinacy in not "perishing" where i am. i want to be where something worth while is going on, or where nothing whatever is going on. most of what is going on in your own country is exceedingly distasteful to me. pray for me? why, yes, dear--that will not harm either of us. i loathe religions, a christian gives me qualms and a catholic sets my teeth on edge, but pray for me just the same, for with all those faults upon your head (it's a nice head, too), i am pretty fond of you, i guess. may you live as long as you want to, and then pass smilingly into the darkness--the good, good darkness. devotedly your friend, ambrose bierce. [the olympia, euclid street, washington, d. c., october , .] dear lora, i go away tomorrow for a long time, so this is only to say good-bye. i think there is nothing else worth saying; _therefore_ you will naturally expect a long letter. what an intolerable world this would be if we said nothing but what is worth saying! and did nothing foolish--like going into mexico and south america. i'm hoping that you will go to the mine soon. you must hunger and thirst for the mountains--carlt likewise. so do i. civilization be dinged!--it is the mountains and the desert for me. good-bye--if you hear of my being stood up against a mexican stone wall and shot to rags please know that i think that a pretty good way to depart this life. it beats old age, disease, or falling down the cellar stairs. to be a gringo in mexico--ah, that is euthanasia! with love to carlt, affectionately yours, ambrose. [laredo, texas, november , .] my dear lora, i think i owe you a letter, and probably this is my only chance to pay up for a long time. for more than a month i have been rambling about the country, visiting my old battlefields, passing a few days in new orleans, a week in san antonio, and so forth. i turned up here this morning. there is a good deal of fighting going on over on the mexican side of the rio grande, but i hold to my intention to go into mexico if i can. in the character of "innocent bystander" i ought to be fairly safe if i don't have too much money on me, don't you think? my eventual destination is south america, but probably i shall not get there this year. sloots writes me that you and carlt still expect to go to the mine, as i hope you will. the cowdens expect to live somewhere in california soon, i believe. they seem to be well, prosperous and cheerful. with love to carlt and sloots, i am affectionately yours, ambrose. p.s. you need not believe _all_ that these newspapers say of me and my purposes. i had to tell them _something_. [laredo, texas, november , .] dear lora, i wrote you yesterday at san antonio, but dated the letter here and today, expecting to bring the letter and mail it here. that's because i did not know if i would have time to write it here. unfortunately, i forgot and posted it, with other letters, where it was written. thus does man's guile come to naught! well, i'm here, anyhow, and have time to explain. laredo was a mexican city before it was an american. it is mexican now, five to one. nuevo laredo, opposite, is held by the huertistas and americans don't go over there. in fact a guard on the bridge will not let them. so those that sneak across have to wade (which can be done almost anywhere) and go at night. i shall not be here long enough to hear from you, and don't know where i shall be next. guess it doesn't matter much. adios, ambrose. _extracts from letters_ you are right too--dead right about the poetry of socialism; and you might have added the poetry of wailing about the woes of the poor generally. only the second- and the third-raters write it--except "incidentally." you don't find the big fellows sniveling over that particular shadow-side of nature. yet not only are the poor always with us, they always _were_ with us, and their state was worse in the times of homer, virgil, shakspeare, milton and the others than in the days of morris and markham. but what's the use? i have long despaired of convincing poets and artists of anything, even that white is not black. i'm convinced that all you chaps ought to have a world to yourselves, where two and two make whatever you prefer that it _should_ make, and cause and effect are remoulded "more nearly to the heart's desire." and then i suppose i'd want to go and live there too. did you ever know so poor satire to make so great a row as that of watson? compared with certain other verses against particular women--byron's "born in a garret, in a kitchen bred"; even my own skit entitled "mad" (pardon my modesty) it is infantile. what an interesting book might be made of such "attacks" on women! but watson is the only one of us, so far as i remember, who has had the caddishness to _name_ the victim. have you seen percival pollard's "their day in court"? it is amusing, clever--and more. he has a whole chapter on me, "a lot" about gertrude atherton, and much else that is interesting. and he skins alive certain popular gods and goddesses of the day, and is "monstrous naughty." as to * * *'s own character i do not see what that has to do with his criticism of london. if only the impeccable delivered judgment no judgment would ever be delivered. all men could do as they please, without reproof or dissent. i wish you would take your heart out of your head, old man. the best heart makes a bad head if housed there. the friends that warned you against the precarious nature of my friendship were right. to hold my regard one must fulfil hard conditions--hard if one is not what one should be; easy if one is. i have, indeed, a habit of calmly considering the character of a man with whom i have fallen into any intimacy and, whether i have any grievance against him or not, informing him by letter that i no longer desire his acquaintance. this, i do after deciding that he is not truthful, candid, without conceit, and so forth--in brief, honorable. if any one is conscious that he is not in all respects worthy of my friendship he would better not cultivate it, for assuredly no one can long conceal his true character from an observant student of it. yes, my friendship is a precarious possession. it grows more so the longer i live, and the less i feel the need of a multitude of friends. so, if in your heart you are conscious of being any of the things which you accuse _me_ of being, or anything else equally objectionable (to _me_) i can only advise you to drop me before i drop you. certainly you have an undoubted right to your opinion of my ability, my attainments and my standing. if you choose to publish a censorious judgment of these matters, do so by all means: i don't think i ever cared a cent for what was printed about me, except as it supplied me with welcome material for my pen. one may presumably have a "sense of duty to the public," and the like. but convincing one person (one at a time) of one's friend's deficiencies is hardly worth while, and is to be judged differently. it comes under another rule. * * * maybe, as you say, my work lacks "soul," but my life does not, as a man's life is the man. personally, i hold that sentiment has a place in this world, and that loyalty to a friend is not inferior as a characteristic to correctness of literary judgment. if there is a heaven i think it is more valued there. if mr. * * * (your publisher as well as mine) had considered you a homer, a goethe or a shakspeare a team of horses could not have drawn from _me_ the expression of a lower estimate. and let me tell you that if you are going through life as a mere thinking machine, ignoring the generous promptings of the heart, sacrificing it to the brain, you will have a hard row to hoe, and the outcome, when you survey it from the vantage ground of age, will not please you. you seem to me to be beginning rather badly, as regards both your fortune and your peace of mind. * * * * * i saw * * * every day while in new york, and he does not know that i feel the slightest resentment toward you, nor do i know it myself. so far as he knows, or is likely to know (unless you will have it otherwise) you and i are the best of friends, or rather, i am the best of friends to you. and i guess that is so. i could no more hate you for your disposition and character than i could for your hump if you had one. you are as nature has made you, and your defects, whether they are great or small, are your misfortunes. i would remove them if i could, but i know that i cannot, for one of them is inability to discern the others, even when they are pointed out. i must commend your candor in one thing. you confirm * * * words in saying that you commented on "my seeming lack of sympathy with certain modern masters," which you attribute to my not having read them. that is a conclusion to which a low order of mind in sympathy with the "modern masters" naturally jumps, but it is hardly worthy of a man of your brains. it is like your former lofty assumption that i had not read some ten or twelve philosophers, naming them, nearly all of whom i had read, and laughed at, before you were born. in fact, one of your most conspicuous characteristics is the assumption that what a man who does not care to "talk shop" does not speak of, and vaunt his knowledge of, he does not know. i once thought this a boyish fault, but you are no longer a boy. your "modern masters" are ibsen and shaw, with both of whose works and ways i am thoroughly familiar, and both of whom i think very small men--pets of the drawing-room and gods of the hour. no, i am not an "up to date" critic, thank god. i am not a literary critic at all, and never, or very seldom, have gone into that field except in pursuance of a personal object--to help a good writer (who is commonly a friend)--maybe you can recall such instances--or laugh at a fool. surely you do not consider my work in the cosmopolitan (mere badinage and chaff, the only kind of stuff that the magazine wants from me, or will print) essays in literary criticism. it has never occurred to me to look upon myself as a literary critic; if you _must_ prick my bubble please to observe that it contains more of your breath than of mine. yet you have sometimes seemed to value, i thought, some of my notions about even poetry. * * * perhaps i am unfortunate in the matter of keeping friends; i know, and have abundant reason to know, that you are at least equally luckless in the matter of making them. i could put my finger on the very qualities in you that make you so, and the best service that i could do you would be to point them out and take the consequences. that is to say, it would serve you many years hence; at present you are like carlyle's "mankind"; you "refuse to be served." you only consent to be enraged. i bear you no ill will, shall watch your career in letters with friendly solicitude--have, in fact, just sent to the * * * a most appreciative paragraph about your book, which may or may not commend itself to the editor; most of what i write does not. i hope to do a little, now and then, to further your success in letters. i wish you were different (and that is the harshest criticism that i ever uttered of you except to yourself) and wish it for your sake more than for mine. i am older than you and probably more "acquainted with grief"--the grief of disappointment and disillusion. if in the future you are convinced that you have become different, and i am still living, my welcoming hand awaits you. and when i forgive i forgive all over, even the new offence. miller undoubtedly is sincere in his praise of you, for with all his faults and follies he is always generous and usually over generous to other poets. there's nothing little and mean in him. sing ho for joaquin! if i "made you famous" please remember that you were guilty of contributory negligence by meriting the fame. "eternal vigilance" is the price of its permanence. don't loaf on your job. i have told her of a certain "enchanted forest" hereabout to which i feel myself sometimes strongly drawn as a fitting place to lay down "my weary body and my head." (perhaps you remember your swinburne: "ah yet, would god this flesh of mine might be where air might wash and long leaves cover me! ah yet, would god that roots and stems were bred out of my weary body and my head.") the element of enchantment in that forest is supplied by my wandering and dreaming in it forty-one years ago when i was a-soldiering and there were new things under a new sun. it is miles away, but from a near-by summit i can overlook the entire region--ridge beyond ridge, parted by purple valleys full of sleep. unlike me, it has not visibly altered in all these years, except that i miss, here and there, a thin blue ghost of smoke from an enemy's camp. can you guess my feelings when i view this dream-land--my realm of adventure, inhabited by memories that beckon me from every valley? i shall go; i shall retrace my old routes and lines of march; stand in my old camps; inspect my battlefields to see that all is right and undisturbed. i shall go to the enchanted forest. printed by john henry nash at san francisco in december mdccccxxii the edition consists of four hundred and fifteen copies four hundred are numbered and for sale no. the cynic's word book by ambrose bierce contents preface a b c d e f q h i j k l preface with reference to certain actual and possible questions of priority and originality, it may be explained that this word book was begun in the san francisco "wasp" in the year , and has been continued, in a desultory way, in several journals and periodicals. as it was no part of the author's purpose to define all the words in the language, or even to make a complete alphabetical series, the stopping-place of the book was determined by considerations of bulk. in the event of this volume proving acceptable to that part of the reading public to which in humility it is addressed--enlightened souls who prefer dry wines to sweet, sense to sentiment, good english to slang, and wit to humor--there may possibly be another if the author be spared for the compiling. a conspicuous, and it is hoped not unpleasing, feature of the book is its abundant illustrative quotations from eminent poets, chief of whom is that learned and ingenious cleric, father gassalasca jape, s. j., whose lines bear his initials. to father jape's kindly encouragement and assistance the author of the prose text is greatly indebted. a. b. washington, d. c., may, the cynic's word book a abasement, n. a decent and customary mental attitude in the presence of wealth or power. peculiarly appropriate in an employé when addressing an employer. abatis, n. rubbish in front of a fort, to prevent the rubbish outside from molesting the rubbish inside. abdication, n. an act whereby a sovereign attests his sense of the high temperature of the throne. poor isabella's dead, whose abdication set all tongues wagging in the spanish nation. for that performance 'twere unfair to scold her: she wisely left a throne too hot to hold her. to history she 'll be no royal riddle-- merely a plain parched pea that jumped the griddle. abdomen, n. the temple of the god stomach, in whose worship, with sacrificial rights, all true men engage. from women this ancient faith commands but a stammering assent. they sometimes minister at the altar in a half-hearted and inefficient way, but true reverence for the one deity that men really adore they know not. if woman had a free hand in the world's marketing the race would become graminivorous. ability, n. the natural equipment to accomplish some small part of the meaner ambitions distinguishing able men from dead ones. in the last analysis ability is commonly found to consist mainly in a high degree of solemnity. perhaps, however, this impressive quality is rightly appraised; it is no easy task to be solemn. abnormal, adj. not conforming to standard. in matters of thought and conduct, to be independent is to be abnormal, to be abnormal is to be detested. wherefore the lexicographer adviseth a striving toward a straiter resemblance to the average man than he hath to himself. who so attaineth thereto shall have peace, the prospect of death and the hope of hades. aborigines, persons of little worth found cumbering the soil of a newly discovered country. they soon cease to cumber; they fertilize. abracadabra. by abracadabra we signify an infinite number of things. 't is the answer to what? and how? and why? and whence? and whither?--a word whereby the truth (with the comfort it brings) is open to all who grope in night, crying for wisdom's holy light. whether the word is a verb or a noun is knowledge beyond my reach. i only know that't is handed down from sage to sage, from age to age-- an immortal part of speech! of an ancient man the tale is told that he lived to be ten centuries old, in a cave on a mountain side. (true, he finally died.) the fame of his wisdom filled the land, for his head was bald and you 'll understand his beard was long and white and his eyes uncommonly bright. philosophers gathered from far and near to sit at his feet and hear and hear, though he never was heard to utter a word but "abracadabra, abracadab, abracada, abracad. abraca, abrac, ahra, ab!" 't was all he had, 't was all they wanted to hear, for each made copious notes of the mystical speech which they published next-- a trickle of text in a meadow of commentary. mighty big books were these, in number, as leaves of trees; in learning, remarkable--very! he 's dead, as i said, and the books of the sages have perished, but his wisdom is sacredly cherished. in "<i>abracadabra</i>" it solemnly rings, like an ancient bell that forever swings. oh, i love to hear that word make clear humanity's general sense of things. jamrach holobom. abridge, v. t. to shorten. "when in the course of human events it becomes necessary for a people to abridge their king, a decent respect for the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation."--oliver cromwell. abrupt, adj. sudden, without ceremony, like the arrival of a cannonshot and the departure of the soldier whose interests are most affected by it. dr. samuel johnson beautifully said of another author's ideas that they were "concatenated without abruption." abscond, v. i. to "move" in a mysterious way, commonly with the property of another. spring beckons! all things to the call respond; the trees are leaving and cashiers abscond. phela orm. absent, adj. peculiarly exposed to the tooth of detraction; vilified; hopelessly in the wrong; superseded in the consideration and affection of another. to men a man is but a mind. who cares what face he carries or what form he wears? but woman's body is the woman. oh, stay thou, my sweetheart, and do never go. but heed the warning words the sage hath said: a woman absent is a woman dead. jogo tyree. absentee, n. a person with an income who has had the forethought to remove himself from the sphere of exaction. absolute, adj. independent, irresponsible. an absolute monarchy is one in which the sovereign does as he pleases so long as he pleases the assassins. not many absolute monarchies are left, most of them having been replaced by limited monarchies, where the sovereigns' power for evil (and for good) is greatly curtailed, and by republics, which are governed by chance. abstainer, n. a weak person who yields to the temptation of denying himself a pleasure. a total abstainer is one who abstains from everything, but abstention, and especially from inactivity in the affairs of others. said a man to a crapulent youth: "i thought you a total abstainer, my son." "so i am, so i am," said the scapegrace caught-- "but not, sir, a bigoted one." g. j. absurdity, n. a statement or belief manifestly inconsistent with one's own opinion. academe, n. an ancient school where morality and philosophy were taught. academy, n. [from academe]. a modern school where football is taught. accident, n. an inevitable occurrence due to the action of immutable natural laws. accomplice, n. one associated with another in a crime, having guilty knowledge and complicity, as an attorney who defends a criminal, knowing him guilty. this view of the attorney's position in the matter has not hitherto commanded the assent of attorneys, no one having offered them a fee for assenting. accord, n. harmony. accordion, n. an instrument in harmony with the sentiments of an assassin. accountability, n. the mother of caution. "my accountability, bear in mind," said the grand vizier: "yes, yes." said the shah: "i do--'t is the only kind of ability you possess." accuse, v. t. to affirm another's guilt or unworth; most commonly as a justification of ourselves for having wronged him. acephalous, adj. in the surprising condition of the crusader who absently pulled at his forelock some hours after a saracen scimitar had, unconsciously to him, passed through his neck, as related by the prince de joinville. achievement, n. the death of endeavor and the birth of disgust. acknowledge, v. t. to confess. to acknowledge one another's faults is the highest duty imposed by our love of truth. joram tate. acquaintance, n. a person whom we know well enough to borrow from, but not well enough to lend to. a degree of friendship called slight when its object is poor or obscure, and "intimate" when he is rich or famous. actually, adv. perhaps; possibly. adage, n. boned wisdom for weak teeth. adamant, n. a mineral frequently found beneath a corset. soluble in solicitate of gold. adder, n. a species of snake. so called from its habit of adding funeral outlays to the other expenses of living. adherent, n. a follower who has not yet obtained all that he expects to get. administration, n. an ingenious abstraction in politics, designed to receive the kicks and cuffs due to the premier or president. a man of straw, proof against bad-egging and dead-catting. admirability, n. my kind of ability, as distinguished from your kind of ability. admiral, n. that part of a war-ship which does the talking while the figure-head does the thinking. admiration, n. our polite recognition of another's resemblance to ourselves. admonition, n. gentle reproof, as with a meat-axe. friendly warning. consigned, by way of admonition, his soul forever to perdition. judibras. adore, v. t. to venerate expectantly. advice, n. the smallest current coin. "the man was in such deep distress," said tom, "that i could do no less than give him good advice." said jim: "if less could have been done for him i know you well enough, my son, to know that's what you would have done." je bel jocordy, affianced, pp. fitted with an anklering for the ball-and-chain. affliction, n. an acclimatizing process preparing the soul for another and bitter world. african, n. a nigger that votes our way. age, n. that period of life in which we compound for the vices that remain by reviling those that we have no longer the vigor to commit. agitator, n. a statesman who shakes the fruit trees of his neighbors--to dislodge the worms. aim, n. the task we set our wishes to. "cheer up! have you no aim in life?" she tenderly inquired. "an aim? well, no, i have n't, wife; the fact is--i have fired." g.f. air, n. that nutritious substance so abundantly supplied by a bountiful providence for the fattening of the poor. alderman, n. an ingenious criminal who covers his secret thieving with a pretence of open marauding. alien, n. an american sovereign in his probationary state. allah, n. the mahometan supreme being, as distinguished from the christian, jewish, etc. allah's good laws i faithfully have kept, and ever for the sins of man have wept; and sometimes kneeling in the temple i have reverently crossed my hands and slept. junker barlow. allegiance, n. this thing allegiance, as i suppose, is a ring fitted in the subject's nose, whereby that organ is kept rightly pointed to smell the sweetness of the lord's anointed. g.f. alliance, n. in international politics, the union of two thieves who have their hands so deeply inserted in each other's pocket that they cannot separately plunder a third. alligator, n. the crocodile of america, superior in every respect to the crocodile of the effete monarchies of the old world. herodotus says the indus is, with one exception, the only river that produces crocodiles, but they appear to have gone west and grown up with the other rivers. from the notches on his back the alligator is called a sawrian. alone, adj. in bad company. in contact, lo! the flint and steel, by spark and flame, the thought reveal that he the metal, she the stone, had cherished secretly alone. booley fito. altar, n. the place whereon the priest formerly ravelled out the small intestine of the sacrificial victim for purposes of divination and cooked its flesh for the gods. the word is now seldom used, except with reference to the sacrifice of their liberty and peace by a male and a female fool. they stood before the altar and supplied the fire themselves in which their fat was fried. in vain the sacrifice!--no god will claim an offering burnt with an unholy flame. m. p. nopput. ambidextrous, adj. able to pick with equal skill a right-hand pocket or a left. ambition, n. an overmastering desire to be villified by enemies while living and made ridiculous by friends when dead. amnesty, n. the state's magnanimity to those offenders whom it would be too expensive to punish. anoint, v.t. to grease. to consecrate a king or other great functionary already sufficiently slippery. as sovereigns are anointed by the priesthood, so pigs to lead the populace are greased good. judibras. antipathy, n. the sentiment inspired by one's friend's friend. aphorism, n. a brief statement, bald in style and flat in sense. the flabby wine-skin of a brain that, spilling once and filled again, voids from its impotent abysm the driblet of an aphorism. "the mad philosopher" apologize, v. i. to lay the foundation for a future offence. apostate, n. a leech who, having penetrated the shell of a turtle only to find the creature has long been dead, deems it expedient to form a new attachment to a fresh turtle. apothecary, n. the physician's accomplice, undertaker's benefactor and grave worm's provider. when jove sent blessings to all men that are, and mercury conveyed them in a jar, that friend of tricksters introduced by stealth disease for the apothecary's health, whose gratitude impelled him to proclaim: "my deadliest drug shall bear my patron's name!" g.f. appeal, v. t. in law, to put the dice into the box for another throw. appetite, n. an instinct thoughtfully implanted by providence as a solution to the labor question. applause, n. the echo of a platitude. april fool, n. the march fool with another month added to his folly. arbitration, n. a modern device for promoting strife by substituting for an original dispute a score of inevitable disagreements as to the manner of submitting it for settlement. archbishop, n. an ecclesiastical dignitary one point holier than a bishop. if i were a jolly archbishop, on fridays i 'd eat all the fish up-- salmon and flounders and smelts; on other days everything else. jodo rem. architect, n. one who drafts a plan of your house, and plans a draft of your money; who estimates the whole cost, and himself costs the whole estimate. ardor, n. the quality that distinguishes love without knowledge. arena, n. in politics, an imaginary rat-pit, in which the statesman wrestles with his record. aristocracy, n. government by the best men. (in this sense the word is obsolete; so is that kind of government.) fellows that wear downy hats and clean shirts--guilty of education and suspected of bank accounts. armor, n. the kind of clothing worn by a man whose tailor is a blacksmith. arrayed, pp. drawn up and given an orderly disposition, as a rioter hanged to a lamp-post. arrest, v. t formally to detain one accused of unusualness. god made the world in six days and was arrested on the seventh.-- the unauthorized version. arsenic, n. a kind of cosmetic greatly affected by the ladies, whom it greatly affects in turn. "eat arsenic? yes, all you get," consenting, he did speak up; "'t is better you should eat it, pet, than put it in my teacup." joel huck. art, n. this word has no definition. its origin is related as follows by the ingenious father gassalasca jape, s. j. one day a wag--what would the wretch be at?-- shifted a letter of the cipher rat, and said it was a god's name! straight arose fantastic priests and postulants (with shows, and mysteries, and mummeries, and hymns, and disputations dire that lamed their limbs) to serve his temple and maintain the fires, expound the law, manipulate the wires. amazed, the populace the rites attend, believe whate'er they cannot comprehend. and, inly edified to learn that two half-hairs joined so and so (as art can do) have sweeter values and a grace more fit than nature's hairs that never have been split, bring cates and wines for sacrificiàl feasts, and sell their garments to support the priests. artlessness, n. a certain engaging quality to which women attain by long study and severe practice upon the admiring male, who is pleased to fancy it resembles the candid simplicity of his young. asperse, v. t maliciously to ascribe to another vicious actions which one has not had the temptation and opportunity to commit. ass, n. a public singer with a good voice but no ear. in virginia city, nevada, he is called the washoe canary, in dakota, the senator, and everywhere the donkey. the animal is widely and variously celebrated in the literature, art, and religion of every age and country; no other so engages and fires the human imagination as this noble vertebrate. indeed, it is doubted by some (ramasilus, lib. ii., de clem., and c. stantatus, de temperamente) if it is not a god; and as such we know it was worshipped by the etruscans, and, if we may believe macrobius, by the capasians also. of the only two animals admitted into the mahometan paradise along with the souls of men, the ass that carried balaam is one, the dog of the seven sleepers the other. this is no small distinction. from what has been written about this beast might be compiled a library of great splendor and magnitude, rivaling that of the shakspearean cult, and that which clusters about the bible. it may be said, generally, that all literature is more or less asinine. "hail, holy ass!" the quiring angels sing; "priest of unreason, and of discords king! great co-creator, let thy glory shine: god made all else, the mule--the mule is thine!" g.f. auctioneer, n. the man who proclaims with a hammer that he has picked a pocket with his tongue. australia, n. a country lying in the south sea, whose industrial and commercial development has been unspeakably retarded by an unfortunate dispute among geographers as to whether it is a continent or an island. avernus, n. the lake by which the ancients entered the infernal regions. the fact that access to the infernal regions was obtained by a lake is believed by the learned marcus ansello scrutator to have suggested the christian rite of baptism by immersion. this, however, has been shown by lactantius to be an error. facilis descensus avertit, the poet remarks; and the sense of it is that when down hill i turn i will get more of punches than pence. jehal dai lupe. aversion, n. the feeling that one has for the plate after he has eaten its contents, madam. b baal, n. a deity formerly much worshipped under various names. as baal he was popular with the phoenicians; as belus or bel he had the honor to be served by the priest berosus, who wrote the famous account of the deluge; as babel he had a tower partly erected to his glory on the plain of shinar. from babel comes our english word "babble." under whatever name worshipped, baal is the sun-god. as beelzebub he is the god of flies, which are begotten of the sun's rays on stagnant water. in physicia baal is still worshipped as bolus, and as belly he is adored and served with abundant sacrifice by the priests of guttle and swig. babb, or baby, n. a misshapen creature of no particular age, sex, or condition, chiefly remarkable for the violence of the sympathies and antipathies it excites in others, itself without sentiment or emotion. there have been famous babes; for example, little moses, from whose adventure in the bulrushes the egyptian hierophants of seven centuries before doubtless derived their idle tale of the child osiris being preserved on a floating lotus leaf. ere babes were invented the girls were contented. now man is tormented until to buy babes he has squandered his money. and so i have pondered this thing, and thought may be 't were better that baby the first had been eagled or condored. ro amil. bacchus, w. a convenient deity invented by the ancients as an excuse for getting drunk. is public worship, then, a sin, that for devotions paid to bacchus the lictors dare to run us in, and resolutely thump and whack us? horace. back, n. that part of your friend which it is your privilege to contemplate in your adversity. backbite, v. t. to "speak of a man as you find him" when he can't find you. bait, n. a preparation that renders the hook more palatable. the best kind is beauty. baptism, n. a sacred rite of such efficacy that he who finds himself in heaven without having undergone it will be unhappy forever. it is performed with water in two ways-- by immersion, or plunging, and by aspersion, or sprinkling. but whether the plan of immersion is better than simple aspersion let those immersed and those aspersed decide by the authorized version, and by matching their agues tertian. g. f. barometer, n. an ingenious instrument which indicates what kind of weather we are having. barrack, n. a house in which soldiers enjoy a portion of that of which it is their business to deprive others. basilisk, n. the cockatrice. a sort of serpent hatched from the egg of a cock. the basilisk had a bad eye, and its glance was fatal. many infidels deny this creature's existence, but semprello aurator saw and handled one that had been blinded by lightning as a punishment for having fatally gazed on a lady of rank whom jupiter loved. juno afterward restored the reptile's sight and hid it in a cave. nothing is so well attested by the ancients as the existence of the basilisk, but the cocks have stopped laying eggs. bastinado, n. the act of walking on wood without exertion. bath, n. a kind of mystic ceremony substituted for religious worship, with what spiritual efficacy has not been determined. the man who taketh a steam bath he loseth all the skin he hath, and, for he 's boiled a brilliant red, thinketh to cleanliness he's wed, forgetting that his lungs he's soiling with dirty vapors of the boiling. richard gwow. battle, n. a method of untying with the teeth a political knot that would not yield to the tongue. beard, n. the hair that is commonly cut off by those who justly execrate the absurd chinese custom of shaving the head. beauty, n. the power by which a woman charms a lover and terrifies a husband. befriend, v. t. to make an ingrate. beg, v. to ask for something with an earnestness proportioned to the belief that it will not be given. who is that, father? a mendicant, child, haggard, morose, and unaffable--wild! see how he glares through the bars of his cell! with citizen mendicant all is not well. why did they put him there, father? because obeying his belly he struck at the laws. his belly? oh, well, he was starving, my boy-- a state in which, doubtless, there 's little of joy. no bite had he eaten for days, and his cry was "bread!" ever "bread!" what 's the matter with pie? with little to wear, he had nothing to sell; to beg was unlawful--improper as well. why did n't he work? he would even have done that, but men said: "get out!" and the state re marked: "scat!" i mention these incidents merely to show that the vengeance he took was uncommonly low. revenge, at the best, is the act of a siou, but for trifles-- pray what did bad mendicant do? stole two loaves of bread to replenish his lack and tuck out the belly that clung to his back. is that <i>all</i> father dear? there is little to tell: they sent him to jail, and they'll send him to-- well, the company's better than here we can boast, and there's-- bread for the needy, dear father? um--toast. atka mip beggar, n. one who has relied on the assistance of his friends. behavior, n. conduct, as determined, not by principle, but by breeding. the word seems to be somewhat loosely used in dr. jamrach holobom's translation of the following lines in the dies iræ: recordare, jesu pie, quod sum causa tuæ viæ ne me perdas illa die. pray remember, sacred savior, whose the thoughtless hand that gave your death-blow. pardon such behavior. belladonna, n. in italian a beautiful lady; in english a deadly poison. a striking example of the essential identity of the two tongues. benedictines, n. an order of monks, otherwise known as black friars. he thought it a crow, but it turned out to be a monk of st. benedict croaking a text. "here 's one of an order of cooks," said he-- "black friars in this world, fried black in the next." "the devil on earth" (london, ). benefactor, n. one who makes heavy purchases of ingratitude, without, however, materially affecting the price, which is still within the means of all. berenice's hair, n. a constellation (coma berenices) named in honor of one who sacrificed her hair to save her husband. her locks an ancient lady gave her loving husband's life to save; and men--they honored so the dame-- upon some stars bestowed her name. but to our modern married fair, who 'd give their lords to save their hair, no stellar recognition 's given. there are not stars enough in heaven. g. f. bigamy, n. a mistake in taste for which the wisdom of the future will adjudge a punishment called trigamy. bigot, n. one who is obstinately and zealously attached to an opinion that you do not entertain. billingsgate, n. the invective of an opponent. birth, n. the first and direst of disasters. as to the nature of it there appears to be no uniformity. castor and pollux were born from the egg. pallas came out of a skull. galatea was once a block of stone. peresilis, who wrote in the tenth century, avers that he grew up out of the ground where a priest had spilled holy water. it is known that arimaxus was derived from a hole in the earth, made by a stroke of lightning. leucomedon was the son of a cavern in mount Ætna, and i have myself seen a man come out of a wine cellar. blackguard, n. a man whose qualities, prepared for the display like a box of berries in a market--the fine ones on top--have been opened on the wrong side. an inverted gentleman. blank-verse, n. unrhymed iambic pentameters--the most difficult kind of english verse to write acceptably; a kind, therefore, much affected by those who cannot acceptably write any kind. body-snatcher, n. a robber of grave-worms. one who supplies the young physicians with that with which the old physicians have supplied the undertaker. the hyena. "one night," a doctor said, "last fall, i and my comrades, four in all, when visiting a grave-yard stood within the shadow of a wall. while waiting for the moon to sink we saw a wild hyena slink about a new-made grave, and then begin to excavate its brink! shocked by the horrid act, we made a sally from our ambuscade, and, falling on the unholy beast, dispatched him with a pick and spade." bettel k. jhones. bondsman, n. a fool who, having property of his own, undertakes to become responsible for that entrusted to another. philippe of orleans wishing to appoint one of his favorites, a dissolute nobleman, to a high office, asked him what security he would be able to give. "i need no bondsmen," he replied, "for i can give you my word of honor." "and pray what may be the value of that?" inquired the amused regent. "monsieur, it is worth its weight in gold." bore, n. a person who talks when you wish him to listen. botany, n. the science of vegetables -- those that are not good to eat, as well as those that are. it deals largely with their flowers, which are commonly badly designed, inartistic in color, and ill-smelling. bottle-nosed, adj. having a nose created in the image of its maker. boundary, n. in political geography, an imaginary line between two nations, separating the imaginary rights of one from the imaginary rights of the other. bounty, n. the liberality of one who has all things, in permitting one who has nothing to get all he can. "a single swallow, it is said, devours ten millions of insects every year. the supplying of these insects i take to be a signal instance of the creator's bounty in providing for the lives of his creature." henry ward beecher. brahma, n. he who created the hindoos, who are preserved by vishnu and destroyed by siva--a rather neater division of labor than is found among the deities of some other nations. the abracadabranese, for example, are created by sin, maintained by theft and destroyed by folly. the priests of brahma, like those of the abracadabranese, are holy and learned men who are never naughty. o brahma, thou rare old divinity, first person of the hindoo trinity, you sit there so calm and securely, with feet folded up so demurely-- you're the first person singular, surely. polydore smith. brain, n. an apparatus with which we think that we think. that which distinguishes the man who is content to be something from the man who wishes to do something. a man of great wealth, or one who has been pitchforked into high station, has commonly such a headful of brain that his neighbors cannot keep their hats on. in our civilization, and under our republican form of government, brain is so highly honored that it is rewarded by exemption from the cares of office. brandy, n. a cordial composed of one part thunder-and-lightning, one part remorse, two parts bloody murder, one part death-hell-and-thegrave and four parts clarified satan. dose, a headful all the time. brandy is said, by carlyle, i think, to be the drink of heroes. only a hero will venture to drink it. bride, n. a woman with a fine prospect of happiness behind her. brute, n. see husband. c caaba, n. a large stone presented by the archangel gabriel to the patriarch abraham, and preserved at mecca. the patriarch had perhaps asked the archangel for bread. cabbage, n. a familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head. the cabbage is so called from cabagius, a prince who on ascending the throne issued a decree appointing a high council of empire, consisting of the members of his predecessor's ministry and the cabbages in the royal garden. when any of his majesty's measures of state policy miscarried conspicuously it was gravely announced that several members of the high council had been beheaded, and his murmuring subjects were appeased. cackle, v. i. to celebrate the birth of an egg. they say that hens do cackle loudest when there's nothing vital in the egg they 've laid; and there are hens, professing to have made a study of mankind, who say that men whose business is to drive the tongue or pen make the most clamorous fanfaronade o'er their most worthless work, and i 'm afraid in this respect they 're really like the hen. lo! the drum-major in his coat of gold, his blazing breeches and high-towering cap, imperiously pompous, "bloody, bold and resolute"--an awe-inspiring chap! who'd think this gorgeous hero's only virtue is that in battle he will never hurt you? g.j. calamity, n. a more than commonly plain and unmistakable reminder that the affairs of this life are not of our own ordering. calamities are of two kinds: misfortune to ourselves, and good fortune to others. callous, adj. gifted with great fortitude to bear the evils afflicting another. when zeno was told that one of his enemies was no more he was observed to be deeply moved. "what!" said one of his disciples, "you weep at the death of an enemy?" "ah, 't is true," replied the great stoic; "but you should see me smile at the death of a friend." calumnus, n. a graduate of the school for scandal. camel, n. a quadruped (the splaypes humpidorsus) of great value to the show business. there are two kinds of camels--the camel proper and the camel improper. it is the latter that is always exhibited. cannibal, n. a gastronome of the old school who preserves the simple tastes and adheres to the natural diet of the pre-pork period. the practice of cannibalism was once universal, as the smallest knowledge of philology will serve to show. "oblige us," says the erudite author of the delectatio demonorum, "by considering the derivation of the word 'sarcophagus,' and see if it be not suggestive of potted meats. observe the significance of the phrase 'sweet sixteen.' what a world of meaning lurks in the expression 'she's as sweet as a peach,' and how suggestive of luncheon are the words 'tender youth!' a kiss is but a modified bite, and a fond mother, when she rapturously avers that her babe is 'almost good enough to eat,' merely shows that she is herself only a trifle too good to eat it." cannon, n. an instrument employed in the rectification of national boundaries. canonicals, n. the motley worn by jesters at the court of heaven. capital, n. the seat of misgovernment. that which provides the fire, the pot, the dinner, the table and the knife and fork for the anarchist. the part of the repast that himself supplies is the disgrace before meat. capital punishment, a penalty regarding the justice and expediency of which many worthy persons--including all the assassins--entertain grave misgivings. carmelite, n. a mendicant friar of the order of mt. carmel. as death was a-riding out one day, across mount carmel he took his way, where he met a mendicant monk, some three or four quarters drunk, with a holy leer and a pious grin, ragged and fat and as saucy as sin, who held out his hands and cried: "give, give in charity's name, i pray. give in the name of the church. o give, give that her holy sons may live!" and death replied, smiling long and wide: "i'll give, holy father, i'll give thee-- a ride." with a rattle and bang of his bones, he sprang from his famous pale horse, with his spear; by the neck and the foot seized the fellow, and put him astride with his face to the rear. the monarch laughed loud with a sound that fell like clods on the coffin's empty shell: "ho, ho! a beggar on horseback, they say, will ride to the devil!"--and thump fell the flat of his dart on the rump of the charger, which galloped away. faster and faster and faster it flew, till the rocks, and the flocks, and the trees that grew by the road, were dim, and blended, and blue to the wild, wide eyes of the rider--in size resembling a couple of blackberry pies. death laughed again, as a tomb might laugh at a burial service spoiled, and the mourners' intentions foiled by the body erecting its head and objecting to further proceedings in its behalf. many a year and many a day have passed since these events away. the monk has long been a dusty corse, and death has never recovered his horse. for the friar got hold of its tail, and steered it within the pale of the monastery gray, where the beast was stabled and fed, with barley, and oil, and bread, till fatter it grew than the fattest friar, and so in due course was appointed prior. g.j. carnivorous, adj. addicted to the cruelty of devouring the timorous vegetarian, his heirs and assigns. cartesian, adj. relating to descartes, a famous philosopher, author of the celebrated dictum, cogito, ergo sum-- whereby he was pleased to suppose he demonstrated the reality of human existence. the dictum might be improved, however, thus: cogito cogito, ergo cogito sum--"i think that i think, therefore i think that i am;" as close an approach to certainty as any philosopher has yet made. cat, n. a soft, indestructible automaton provided by nature to be kicked when things go wrong in the domestic circle. this is a dog, this is a cat, this is a frog, this is a rat. run, dog, mew, cat, jump, frog, gnaw, rat. elevenson. caviler, n. a critic of one's own work. cemetery, n. an isolated suburban spot where mourners match lies, poets write at a target and stonecutters spell for a wager. the inscriptions following will serve to illustrate the success attained in these olympian games: "his virtues were so conspicuous that his enemies, unable to overlook them, denied them, and his friends, to whose loose lives they were a rebuke, represented them as vices. they are here commemorated by his family, who shared them." "in the earth we here prepare a place to lay our little clara. --thomas m. and mary frazer. p. s.--gabriel will raise her." centaur, n. one of a race of persons who lived before the division of labor had been carried to such a pitch of differentiation, and who followed the primitive economic maxim, "every man his own horse." the best of the lot was chiron, who to the wisdom and virtues of the horse added the fleetness of man. the scripture story of the head of john the baptist on a charger shows that pagan myths have somewhat sophisticated sacred history. cerberus, n. the watch-dog of hades, whose duty it was to guard the entrance--against whom or what does not clearly appear. everybody, sooner or later, had to go there, and nobody wanted to carry off the entrance. cerberus is known to have had three heads, and some of the poets have credited him with as many as a hundred. professor graybill, whose clerkly erudition and profound knowledge of greek give his opinion great weight, has averaged all the estimates, and makes the number twenty-seven--a judgment that would be entirely conclusive if professor graybill had known (a) something about dogs, and (b) something about arithmetic. childhood, n. the period of human life intermediate between the idiocy of infancy and the folly of youth--two removes from the sin of manhood and three from the remorse of age. christian, n. one who believes that the new testament is a divinely inspired book admirably suited to the spiritual needs of his neighbor. one who follows the teachings of christ in so far as they are not inconsistent with a life of sin. i dreamed i stood upon a hill, and, lo! the godly multitudes walked to and fro beneath, in sabbath garments fitly clad, with pious mien, appropriately sad, while all the church bells made a solemn din a fire-alarm to those who lived in sin. then saw i gazing thoughtfully below, with tranquil face, upon that holy show a tall, spare figure in a robe of white, whose eyes diffused a melancholy light. "god keep you, stranger," i exclaimed. "you are no doubt (your habit shows it) from afar; and yet i entertain the hope that you, like these good people, are a christian too." he raised his eyes and with a look so stern it made me with a thousand blushes burn replied--his manner with disdain was spiced: "what! i a christian? no, indeed! i 'm christ." g.j. circus, n. a place where horses, ponies, and elephants are permitted to see men, women, and children acting the fool. clairvoyant, n. a person, commonly a woman, who has the power of seeing that which is invisible to her patron--namely, that he is a blockhead. clarionet, n. an instrument of torture operated by a person with cotton in his ears. there are two instruments that are worse than a clarionet --two clarionets. clergyman, n. a man who undertakes the management of our spiritual affairs as a method of bettering his temporal ones. clio, n. one of the nine muses. clio's function was to preside over history--which she did with great dignity, many of the prominent citizens of athens occupying seats on the platform, the meetings being addressed by messrs. xenophon, herodotus and other popular speakers. clock, n. a machine of great moral value to man, allaying his concern for the future by reminding him what a lot of time remains to him. a busy man complained one day: "i get no time!" "what 's that you say?" cried out his friend, a lazy quiz; "you have, sir, all the time there is. there 's plenty, too, and don't you doubt it-- we 're never for an hour without it." purzil crofe. close-fisted, adj. unduly desirous of keeping that which many deserving persons wish to obtain. "close-fisted scotchman!" johnson cried to thrifty j. macpherson; "see me--i 'm ready to divide with any worthy person." said jamie: "that is very true-- the boast requires no backing; and all are worthy, sir, to you, who have what you are lacking." anita m. bobe. conobite, or cenobite, n. a man who piously shuts himself up to meditate upon the sin of wickedness; and to keep it fresh in his mind joins a brotherhood of awful examples. o coenobite, o coenobite, monastical gregarian, you differ from the anchorite, that solitudinarian: with vollied prayers you wound old nick; with dropping shots he makes him sick. quincy giles. comfort, n. a state of mind produced by the contemplation of our neighbor's uneasiness. commendation, n. the tribute that we pay to achievements that resemble, but do not equal, our own. commerce, n. a kind of transaction in which a plunders from b the goods of c, and for compensation b picks the pocket of d of money belonging to e. commonwealth, n. an administrative entity operated by an incalculable multitude of political parasites, logically active, but fortuitously efficient. this commonwealth's capito's corridors view, so thronged with a hungry and indolent crew of clerks, pages, porters and all attachés whom rascals appoint and the populace pays that a cat cannot slip through the thicket of shins nor hear its own shriek for the noise of their chins. on clerks and on pages, and porters, and all, misfortune attend and disaster befall! may life be to them a succession of hurts; may fleas by the bushel inhabit their shirts; may aches and diseases encamp in their bones, their lungs full of tubercles, bladders of stones; may microbes, bacilli, their tissues infest, and tapeworms securely their bowels digest; may corn-cobs be snared without hope in their hair, and frequent impalement their pleasure impair. disturbed be their dreams by the awful discourse of menacing dressers, sepulchrally hoarse, by chairs acrobatic and wavering floors-- the mattress that kicks and the pillow that snores! sons of cupidity, cradled in sin! their criminal ranks may the death angel thin, avenging the friend whom i could n't work in. k. q. compromise, n, such an adjustment of conflicting interests as gives each adversary the satisfaction of thinking he has got what he ought not to have, and is deprived of nothing except what was justly his due. compulsion, n. the eloquence of power. condole, v. i. to show that bereavement is a smaller evil than sympathy. confidant, confidante, n. one entrusted by a with the secrets of b confided to himself by c. congratulation, n. the civility of envy. congress, n. a body of men who meet to repeal laws. connoisseur, n. a specialist who knows everything about something and nothing about anything else. an old wine-bibber having been smashed in a railway collision, some wine was poured upon his lips to revive him. "pauillac, ," he murmured and died. conservative, n. a statesman who is enamored of existing evils, as distinguished from the liberal, who wishes to replace them with others. consolation, n. the knowledge that a better man is more unfortunate than yourself. consul, n. in american politics, a person who having failed to secure an office from the people is given one by the administration on condition that he leave the country. consult, v. t. to seek another's approval to a course already decided on. contempt, n. the feeling of a prudent man for an enemy who is too formidable safely to be opposed. controversy, n. a battle in which spittle or ink replaces the injurious cannon-ball and the inconsiderate bayonet. in controversy with the facile tongue-- that bloodless warfare of the old and young-- so seek your adversary to engage that on himself he shall exhaust his rage, and, like a snake that's fastened to the ground, with his own fangs inflict the fatal wound. you ask me how this miracle is done? adopt his own opinions, one by one, and taunt him to refute them; in his wrath he 'll sweep them pitilessly from his path. advance then gently all you wish to prove, each proposition prefaced with, "as you 've so well remarked," or, "as you wisely say, and i cannot dispute," or, "by the way, this view of it which, better far expressed, runs through your argument." then leave the rest to him, secure that he 'll perform his trust and prove your views intelligent and just. conmore apel brune. convent, n. a place of retirement for women who wish for leisure to meditate upon the sin of idleness. conversation, n. a fair for the display of the minor mental commodities, each exhibitor being too intent upon the arrangement of his own wares to observe those of his neighbor. coronation, n. the ceremony of investing a sovereign with the outward and visible signs of his divine right to be blown skyhigh with a dynamite bomb. corporal, n. a man who occupies the lowest rung of the military ladder. fiercely the battle raged and, sad to tell, our corporal heroically fell! fame from her height looked down upon the brawl and said: "he had n't very far to fall." giacomo smith. corporation, n. an ingenious device for securing individual profit without individual responsibility. corsair, n. a politician of the seas. court fool, n. the plaintiff. coward, n. one who in a perilous emergency thinks with his legs. craft, n. a fool's substitute for brains. crayfish, n. a small crustacean very much resembling the lobster, but less indigestible. in this small fish i take it that human wisdom is admirably figured and symbolized; for whereas the crayfish doth move only backward, and can have only retrospection, seeing naught but the perils already passed, so the wisdom of man doth not enable him to avoid the follies that beset his course, but only to apprehend their nature afterward.-- sir james merivale. creditor, n. one of a tribe of savages dwelling beyond the financial straits and dreaded for their desolating incursions. cremona, n. a high-priced violin made in connecticut. critic, n. a person who boasts himself hard to please because nobody has ever tried to please him. there is a land of pure delight, beyond the jordan's flood, where saints, apparelled all in white, fling back the critic's mud. and as he legs it through the skies, his pelt a sable hue, he sorrows sore to recognize the missiles that he threw. g. j. cross, n. an ancient religious symbol erroneously supposed to owe its significance to the most solemn event in the history of christianity, but really antedating it by thousands of years. by many it has been believed to be identical with the crux ansata of the ancient phallic worship, but it has been traced even beyond all that we know of that, to the rites of primitive peoples. we have today the white cross as a symbol of chastity, and the red cross as a badge of benevolent neutrality in war. having in mind the former, the reverend father gassalasca jape smites the lyre to the effect following: "be good, be good!" the sisterhood cry out in holy chorus; and, to dissuade from sin, parade their various charms before us. but why, o why, has ne'er an eye seen her of winsome manner and youthful grace and pretty face flaunting the white cross banner? now where's the need of speech and screed to better our behaving? a simpler plan for saving man (but, first, is he worth saving?) is, dears, when he declines to flee from bad thoughts that beset him, ignores the law as't were a straw, and wants to sin--don't let him. cui bqno? [latin] what good would that do me? cunning, n. the faculty that distinguishes a weak animal or person from a strong one. it brings its possessor much mental satisfaction and great material adversity. an italian proverb says: "the furrier gets the skins of more foxes than asses." cupid, n. the so-called god of love. this bastard creation of a barbarous fancy was no doubt inflicted upon mythology for the sins of its deities. of all unbeautiful and inappropriate conceptions this is the most reasonless and offensive. the notion of symbolizing sexual love by a semisexless babe, and comparing the pains of passion to the wounds of an arrow --of introducing this pudgy homunculus into art grossly to materialize the subtle spirit and suggestion of the work--this is eminently worthy of the age that, giving it birth, laid it on the doorstep of posterity. curiosity, n. an objectionable quality of the female mind. the desire to know whether or not a woman is cursed with curiosity is one of the most active and insatiable passions of the masculine soul. curse, v. t. energetically to belabor with a verbal slap-stick. this is an operation which in literature, particularly in the drama, is commonly fatal to the victim. nevertheless, the liability to a cursing is a risk that cuts but a small figure in fixing the rates of life insurance. cynic, n. a blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be. hence the custom among the scythians of plucking out a cynic's eyes to improve his vision. d damn, int. a word formerly much used by the paphlagonians, the meaning of which is lost. by the learned dr. dolabelly gak it is believed to have been a term of satisfaction, implying the highest possible degree of mental tranquillity. professor groke, on the other hand, thinks it expressed an emotion of tumultuous delight, because it so frequently occurs in combination with the word jod or god, meaning "joy." it would be with great diffidence that i should advance an opinion conflicting with that of either of these formidable authorities. dance, v. i. to leap about to the sound of tittering music, preferably with arms about your neighbor's wife or daughter. there are many kinds of dances, but all those requiring the participation of the two sexes have two characteristics in common: they are conspicuously innocent, and warmly loved by the guilty. danger, n. a savage beast which, when it sleeps, man girds at and despises, but takes himself away by leaps and bounds when it arises. ambat delaso, daring, n. one of the most conspicuous qualities of a man in security. datary, n. a high ecclesiastical official of the roman catholic church, whose important function is to brand the pope's bulls with the words datum romæ. he enjoys a princely revenue and the friendship of god. dawn, n. the time when men of reason go to bed. certain old men prefer to rise at about that time, taking a cold bath and a long walk, with an empty stomach, and otherwise mortifying the flesh. they then point with pride to these practices as the cause of their sturdy health and ripe years; the truth being that they are hearty and old, not because of their habits, but in spite of them. the reason we find only robust persons doing this thing is that it has killed all the others who have tried it. day, n. a period of twenty-four hours, mostly misspent. this period is divided into two parts, the day proper and the night, or day improper-- the former devoted to sins of business, the latter consecrated to the other sort. these two kinds of social activity overlap. dead, adj. done with the work of breathing; done with all the world; the mad race run through to the end; the golden goal attained and found to be a hole! squatol johnes. debauchee, n. one who has so earnestly pursued pleasure that he has had the misfortune to overtake it. debt, n. an ingenious substitute for the chain and whip of the slavedriver. as, pent in an aquarium, the troutlet swims round and round his tank to find an outlet, pressing his nose against the glass that holds him, nor ever sees the prison that enfolds him; so the poor debtor, seeing naught around him, yet feels the limits pitiless that bound him; grieves at his debt and studies to evade it, and finds at last he might as well have paid it. barlow s. vode. decalogue, n. a series of commandments, ten in number--just enough to permit an intelligent selection for observance, but not enough to embarrass the choice. following is the revised edition of the decalogue, calculated for this meridian. thou shalt no god but me adore: 't were too expensive to have more. no images nor idols make for robert ingersoll to break. take not god's name in vain; select a time when it will have effect. work not on sabbath days at all, but go to see the teams play ball. honor thy parents. that creates for life insurance lower rates. kill not, abet not those who kill; thou shalt not pay thy butcher's bill. kiss not thy neighbor's wife, unless thine own thy neighbor doth caress. don't steal; thou 'lt never thus compete successfully in business. cheat. bear not false witness--that is low-- but "hear't is rumored so and so." covet thou naught that thou hast not by hook or crook, or somehow, got. decide, v. i. to succumb to the preponderance of one set of influences over another set. a leaf was riven from a tree, "i mean to fall to earth," said he. the west wind, rising, made him veer "eastward," said he, i mean to steer." the east wind rose with greater force. said he: "'t were wise to change my course." with equal power they contend. he said: "my judgment i suspend." down died the winds; the leaf, elate, cried: "i 've decided to fall straight." "first thoughts are best"? that 's not the moral; just choose your own and we 'll not quarrel. howe'er your choice may chance to fall, g. j. defame, v. t. to lie about another. to tell the truth about another. defenceless, adj. unable to attack. degenerate, adj. less conspicuously admirable than one's ancestors. the contemporaries of homer were striking examples of degeneracy; it required ten of them to raise a rock or a riot that one of the heroes of the trojan war could have raised with ease. homer never tires of sneering at the "men who live in these degenerate days," which is perhaps why they suffered him to beg his bread-- a marked instance of returning good for evil, by the way, for if they had forbidden him he would certainly have starved. degradation, n. one of the stages of moral and social progress from private station to political preferment. deinotherium, n. an extinct pachyderm that flourished when the pterodactyl was in fashion. the latter was a native of ireland, its name being pronounced terry dactyl or peter o'dactyl, as the man pronouncing it may chance to have heard it spoken or seen it printed. dejeuner, n. the breakfast of an american who has been in paris. variously pronounced. delegation, n. in american politics, an article of merchandise that comes in sets. deliberation, n. the act of examining one's bread to determine which side it is buttered on. deluge, n. a notable first experiment in baptism which washed away the sins (and sinners) of the world. delusion, n. the father of a most respectable family, comprising enthusiasm, affection, self-denial, faith, hope, charity, and many other goodly sons and daughters. all hail, delusion! were it not for thee the world turned topsy-turvy we should see; for vice, respectable with cleanly fancies, would fly abandoned virtue's gross advances. mumfrey mappel. dentist, n. a prestidigitator who, putting metal into your mouth, pulls coins out of your pocket. dependent, adj. reliant upon another's generosity for the support which you are not in a position to exact from his fears. deputy, n. a male relative of an officer-holder or of his bondsman. the deputy is commonly a beautiful young man, with a red necktie and an intricate system of cobwebs extending from his nose to his desk. when accidentally struck by the janitor's broom, he gives off a cloud of dust. "chief deputy," the master cried, "to-day the books are to be tried by experts and accountants who have been commissioned to go through our office here, to see if we have stolen injudiciously. please have the proper entries made, the proper balances displayed, conforming to the whole amount of cash on hand--which they will count. i 've long admired your punctual way-- here at the break and close of day, confronting in your chair the crowd of business men, whose voices loud and gestures violent you quell by some mysterious, calm spell-- some magic lurking in your look that brings the noisiest to book and spreads a holy and profound tranquillity o'er all around. so orderly all's done that they who came to draw remain to pay. but now the time demands, at last, that you employ your genius vast in energies more active. rise and shake the lightnings from your eyes; inspire your underlings, and fling your spirit into everything!" the master hand here dealt a whack upon the deputy's bent back, when straightway to the floor there fell a shrunken globe, a rattling shell, a blackened, withered, eyeless head! the man had been a twelvemonth dead. jamrach holobom. destiny, n. a tyrant's authority for crime and a fool's excuse for failure. diagnosis, n. a physician's forecast of disease by the patient's pulse and purse. diaphragm, n. a muscular partition separating disorders of the chest from disorders of the bowels. diary, n. a daily record of that part of one's life, which he can relate to himself without blushing. sam kept a diary wherein were writ so many noble deeds and so much wit that the recording angel, when sam died, erased all entries of his own and cried: "i 'll judge you by your diary." said sam: "thank you;'t will show you what a saint i am"-- straightway producing, jubilant and proud, that record from a pocket in his shroud. the angel slowly turned the pages o'er, each lying line of which he knew before, glooming and gleaming as by turns he hit on noble action and amusing wit; then gravely closed the book and gave it back. "my friend, you've wandered from your proper track; you'd never be content this side the tomb-- for deeds of greatness heaven has little room, and hell's no latitude for making mirth," he said, and kicked the fellow back to earth. "the mad philosopher" dictator, n. the chief of a nation that prefers the pestilence of despotism to the plague of anarchy. dictionary, n. a malevolent literary device for cramping the growth of a language and making it hard and inelastic. this dictionary, however, is a most useful work. die, n. the singular of "dice." we seldom hear the word, because there is a prohibitory proverb, "never say die." at long intervals, however, some one says: "the die is cast," which is not true, for it is cut. the word is found in an immortal couplet by that eminent poet and domestic economist, senator depew: a cube of cheese no larger than a die may bait the trap to catch a nibbling mie. digestion, n. the conversion of victuals into virtues. when the process is imperfect, vices are evolved instead -- a circumstance from which that wicked writer, dr. jeremiah blenn, infers that the ladies are the greater sufferers from dyspepsia. diplomacy, n. the patriotic, art of lying for one's country. disabuse, v. t. to present your neighbor with another and better error than the one which he has deemed it advantageous to embrace. discriminate, v. i. to note the particulars in which one person or thing is, if possible, more objectionable than another. discussion, n. a method of confirming others in their errors. disobedience, n. the silver lining to the cloud of servitude. disobey, v. t. to celebrate with an appropriate ceremony the maturity of a command. his right to govern me is clear as day, my duty manifest to disobey; and if that fit observance e'er i shun may i and duty be alike undone. israfel brown. dissemble, v. i. to put a clean shirt upon the character. let us dissemble.--<i>adam</i>. distance, n. the only thing that the rich are willing for the poor to call theirs, and keep. distress, n. a disease incurred by exposure to the prosperity of a friend. divination, n. the art of nosing out the occult. divination is of as many kinds as there are fruit-bearing varieties of the flowering dunce and the early fool. dog, n. a kind of additional or subsidiary deity designed to catch the overflow and surplus of the world's worship. this divine being in some of his smaller and silkier incarnations takes, in the affection of woman, the place to which there is no human male aspirant. the dog is a survival--an anachronism. he toils not, neither does he spin, yet solomon in all his glory never lay upon a door-mat all day long, sunsoaked and fly-fed and fat, while his master worked for the means wherewith to purchase an idle wag of the solomonic tail, seasoned with a look of tolerant recognition. dragoon, n. a soldier who combines steadiness and dash in so equal measure that he makes his advances on foot and his retreats on horseback. dramatist, n. one who adapts plays from the french. druids, n. priests and ministers of an ancient celtic religion which did not disdain to employ the humble allurement of human sacrifice. very little is now known about the druids and their faith. pliny says their religion, originating in britain, spread eastward as far as persia. cæsar says those who desired to study its mysteries went to britain. cæsar himself went to britain, but does not appear to have obtained any high preferment in the druidical church, although his talent for human sacrifice was considerable. druids performed their religious rites in groves, and knew nothing of church mortgages and the seasonticket system of pew rents. they were, in short, heathens and--as they were once complacently catalogued by a distinguished prelate of the church of england-- "dissenters." duck-bill, n. your account at your restaurant during the canvass-back season. duel, n. a formal ceremony preliminary to the reconciliation of two enemies. great skill is necessary to its satisfactory observance; if awkwardly performed the most unexpected and deplorable consequences sometimes ensue. a long time ago a man lost his life in a duel. that dueling's a gentlemanly vice i hold; and wish that it had been my lot to live my life out in some favored spot-- some country where it is considered nice to split a rival like a ash, or slice a husband like a spud, or with a shot bring down a debtor doubled in a knot and ready to be put upon the ice. some miscreants there are, whom i do long to shoot, or stab, or some such way reclaim the scurvy rogues to better lives and manners. i seem to see them now--a mighty throng. it looks as if to challenge <i>me</i> they came, jauntily marching with brass bands and banners! xamba dar. dullard, n. a member of the reigning dynasty in letters and life. the dullards came in with adam, and being both numerous and sturdy so have overrun the habitable world. the secret of their power is their insensibility to blows; tickle them with a bludgeon and they laugh with a platitude. the dullards came originally from boeotia, whence they were driven by stress of starvation, their dulness having blighted the crops. for some centuries they infested philistia, and many of them are called philistines to this day. in the turbulent times of the crusades they withdrew thence and gradually overspread all europe, occupying most of the high places in politics, art, literature, science, and theology. since a detachment of dullards came over with the pilgrims in the mayflower and made a favorable report of the country, their increase by birth, immigration, and conversion has been rapid and steady. according to the most trustworthy statistics the number of adult dullards in the united states is but little short of thirty millions, including the statisticians. the intellectual centre of the race is somewhere about peoria, illinois, but the new england dullard is the most impenitently moral. duty, n. that which sternly impels us in the direction of profit, along the line of desire. sir lavender portwine, in favor at court, was wroth at his master, who 'd kissed lady port. his anger provoked him to take the king's head, but duty prevailed, and he took the king's bread, instead. g. j. e hat, v. i. to perform successively (and successfully) the functions of mastication, humectation, and deglutition--in short, to eat. "i was in the drawing-room, enjoying my dinner," said brillat-savarin, beginning an anecdote. "what!" interrupted rochebriant; "eating dinner in a drawing-room?" "i must beg you to observe, monsieur," explained the great gastronome, "that i did not say i was eating my dinner, but enjoying it. i had dined an hour before." eavesdrop, v. i. secretly to overhear a catalogue of the crimes and vices of another or yourself. a lady with one of her ears applied to an open keyhole heard, inside, two female gossips in converse free-- the subject engaging them was she. "i think," said one, "and my husband thinks that she 's a prying, inquisitive minx!" as soon as no more of it she could hear the lady, indignant, removed her ear. "i will not stay," she said, with a pout, "to hear my character lied about!" gopete sherany. eccentricity, n. a method of distinction so cheap that fools employ it to accentuate their incapacity. economy, n. purchasing the barrel of whiskey that you do not need for the price of the cow that you cannot afford. edible, adj. good to eat, and wholesome to digest, as a worm to a toad, a toad to a snake, a snake to a pig, a pig to a man, and a man to a worm. editor, n. a person who combines the judicial functions of minos, rhadamanthus and Æacus, but is placable with an obolus; a severely virtuous censor, but so charitable withal that he tolerates the virtues of others and the vices of himself; who flings about him the splintering lightning and sturdy thunders of admonition till he resembles a bunch of firecrackers petulantly uttering its mind at the tail of a dog; then straightway murmurs a mild, melodious lay, soft as the cooing of a donkey intoning its prayer to the evening star. master of mysteries and lord of law, high-pinnacled upon the throne of thought, his face suffused with the dim splendors of the transfiguration, his legs intertwisted and his tongue a-cheek, the editor spills his will along the paper and cuts it off in lengths to suit. and at intervals from behind the veil of the temple is heard the voice of the foreman demanding three inches of wit and six lines of religious meditation, or bidding him turn off the wisdom and whack up some pathos. o, the lord of law on the throne of thought, a gilded impostor is he. of shreds and patches his robes are wrought, his crown is brass, himself is an ass, and his power is fiddle-dee-dee. prankily, crankily prating of naught, silly old quilly old monarch of thought. public opinion's camp-follower he, thundering, blundering, plundering free. affected, ungracious, detected, mendacious, respected contemporaree! j. h. bumbleshook, education, n. that which discloses to the wise and disguises from the foolish their lack of understanding. effect, n. the second of two phenomena which always occur together in the same order. the first, called a cause, is said to generate the other-- which is no more sensible than it would be for one who has never seen a dog except in pursuit of a rabbit to declare the rabbit the cause of the dog. egotist, n. a person of low taste, more interested in himself than in me. megaceph, chosen to serve the state in the halls of legislative debate, one day with all his credentials came to the capitol's door and announced his name. the doorkeeper looked, with a comical twist of the face, at the eminent egotist, and said: "go away, for we settle here all manner of questions, knotty and queer, and we cannot have, when the speaker demands to be told how every member stands, a man who to all things under the sky assents by eternally voting 'i'." ejection, n. an approved remedy for the disease of garrulity. it is also much used in cases of extreme poverty. elector, n. one who enjoys the sacred privilege of voting for the man of another man's choice. electricity, n. the power that causes all natural phenomena not known to be caused by something else. it is the same thing as lightning, and its famous attempt to strike dr. franklin is one of the most picturesque incidents in that great and good man's career. the memory of dr. franklin is justly held in great reverence, particularly in france, where a waxen effigy of him was recently on exhibition, bearing the following touching account of his life and services to science: "monsieur franqulin, inventor of electricity. this illustrious savant, after having made several voyages around the world, died on the sandwich islands and was devoured by savages, of whom not a single fragment was ever recovered." electricity seems destined to play a most important part in the arts and industries. the question of its economical application to some purposes is still unsettled, but experiment has already proved that it will propel a street car better than a gas jet and give more light than a horse. elegy, n. a composition in verse, in which, without employing any of the methods of humor, the writer aims to produce in the reader's mind the dampest kind of dejection. the most famous english example begins somewhat like this: the cur foretells the knell of parting day; the loafing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; the wise man homeward plods; i only stay to fiddle-faddle in a minor key. eloquence, n. the art of orally persuading fools that white is the color that it appears to be. it includes the gift of making any color appear white. elysium, n. an imaginary delightful country which the ancients foolishly believed to be inhabited by the spirits of the good. this ridiculous and mischievous fable was swept off the face of the earth by the early christians--may their souls be happy in heaven! emancipation, n. a bondsman's change from the tyranny of another to the despotism of himself. he was a slave: at word he went and came; his iron collar cut him to the bone. then liberty erased his owner's name, tightened the rivets and inscribed his own. g. j. embalm, v. t. to cheat vegetation by locking up the gases upon which it feeds. by embalming their dead and thereby deranging the natural balance between animal and vegetable life, the egyptians made their once fertile and populous country barren and incapable of supporting more than a meagre crew. the modern metallic burial casket is a step in the same direction, and many a dead man who ought now to be ornamenting his neighbor's lawn as a tree, or enriching his table as a bunch of radishes, is doomed to a long inutility. we shall get him after awhile if we are spared, but in the meantime the violet and rose are languishing for a nibble at his glutæus maximus. emotion, n. a prostrating disease caused by a determination of the heart to the head. it is sometimes accompanied by a copious discharge of hydrated chloride of sodium from the eyes. encomiast, n. a special (but not particular) kind of liar. end, n. the position furthest removed on either hand from the interlocutor. the man was perishing apace who played the tambourine: the seal of death was on his face-- 't was pallid, for't was clean. "this is the end," the sick man said in faint and failing tones. a moment later he was dead, and tambourine was bones. tinley roquot. enough, pro. all there is in the world if you like it. enough is as good as a feast--for that matter enougher 's as good as a feast and the platter. arbely c. strunk. entertainment, n. any kind of amusement whose inroads stop short of death by dejection. enthusiasm, n. a distemper of youth, curable by small doses of repentance in connection with outward applications of experience. byron, who recovered long enough to call it "entuzy-muzy," had a relapse which carried him off--to missolonghi. envelope, n. the coffin of a document; the scabbard of a bill; the husk of a remittance; the bed-gown of a love-letter. envy, n. emulation adapted to the meanest capacity. epaulet, n. an ornamented badge, serving to distinguish a military officer from the enemy--that is to say, from the officer of lower rank to whom his death would give promotion. epicure, n. an opponent of epicurus, an abstemious philosopher who, holding that pleasure should be the chief aim of man, wasted no time in gratification of the senses. epigram, n. a short, sharp saying in prose or verse, frequently characterized by acidity or acerbity and sometimes by wisdom. following are some of the more notable epigrams of the learned and ingenious dr. jamrach holobom: we know better the needs of ourselves than of others. to serve oneself is economy of administration. in each human heart are a tiger, a pig, an ass, and a nightingale. diversity of character is due to their unequal activity. there are three sexes: males, females, and girls. beauty in women and distinction in men are alike in this: they seem to the unthinking a kind of credibility. women in love are less ashamed than men. they have less to be ashamed of. while your friend holds you affectionately by both your hands you are safe, for you can watch both his. woman would be more charming if one could fall into her arms without falling into her hands. think not to atone for wealth by apology: you must make restitution by a loan to the accuser. study good women and ignore the rest, for he best knows the sex who knows the best. before undergoing a surgical operation arrange your temporal affairs. you may live. intolerance is natural and logical, for in every dissenting opinion lies an assumption of superior wisdom. "who art thou?" said saint peter at the gate. "i am known as memory." "what presumption!--go back to hell. and who, perspiring friend, art thou?" "my name is satan. i am looking for--" "take your penal apparatus and be off." and satan, laying hold of memory, said: "come along, you scoundrel; you make happiness wherever you are not." self-denial is the weak indulgence of a propensity to forego. men talk of selecting a wife; horses of selecting an owner. you are not permitted to kill a woman that has injured you, but nothing forbids you to reflect that she is growing older every minute. you are avenged times a day. a sweetheart is a bottle of wine. a wife is a wine bottle. he gets on best with women who best knows how to get on without them. "who am i?" asked an awakened soul. "that is the only knowledge that is denied to you here," answered a smiling angel. "this is heaven." woman's courage is ignorance of danger; man's is hope of escape. women of genius commonly have masculine faces, figures, and manners. in transplanting brains to an alien soil god leaves a little of the original earth clinging to the roots. the heels of detection are sore from the toes of remorse. twice we see paradise. in youth we name it life; in age, youth. there are but ten commandments, true, but that's no hardship, friend, to you; the unmentioned sins that tax your wit you 're not commanded to commit. fear of the darkness is more than an inherited superstition--it is at night, mostly, that the king thinks. a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, but a multitude is as wise as its wisest member if it obeys him. "who art thou?" said mercy. "revenge, the father of justice." "thou wearest thy son's clothing." "one must be clad." "farewell--i go to attend thy son." "thou wilt find him hiding in yonder jungle." when god had finished this terrestrial frame and all things else, with or without a name, the nothing that remained within his hand said: "make me into something fine and grand, thine angels to amuse and entertain." god heard and made it into human brain. if you wish to slay your enemy make haste, o make haste, for already nature's knife is at his throat and yours. to most persons a sense of obligation is insupportable; beware upon whom you inflict it. bear me, good oceans, to some isle where i may never fear the snake alurk in woman's smile, the tiger in her tear. yet bear not with me one, o deeps, who never smiles and never weeps. the ninety-and-nine who most loudly demand opportunity most bitterly revile the one who has made good use of it. life and death threw dice for a child. "i win!" cried life. "true," said death, "but you need a nimbler tongue to proclaim your luck. the child is already dead of age." how blind is he who, powerless to discern the glories that about his pathway burn, walks unaware the avenues of dream, nor sees the domes of paradise agleam! o golden age, to him more nobly planned thy light lies ever upon sea and land. from sordid scenes he lifts his soul at will, and sees a grecian god on every hill! in childhood we expect, in youth demand, in manhood hope, and in age beseech. epitaph, n. an inscription on a tomb, showing that virtues acquired by death have a retroactive effect. following is a touching example: here lie the bones of parson platt, wise, pious, humble, and all that, who showed us life as all should live it; let that be said--and god forgive it! erudition, n. dust shaken out of a book into an empty skull. so wide his erudition's mighty span, he knew by heart the laws of god and man, and only came by accident to grief he thought, poor man, 't was right to be a thief, romach pute. esophagus, n. that part of the alimentary canal that lies between pleasure and business. esoteric, adj. very particularly abstruse and consummately occult. the ancient philosophies were of two kinds,--exoteric, those that the philosophers themselves could partly understand, and esoteric, those that nobody could understand. it is the latter that have most profoundly affected modern thought and found greatest acceptance in our time. essential, adj. pertaining to the essence, or that which determines the distinctive character of a thing. persons who, because they do not know the english language, are driven to the unprofitable vocation of writing for american newspapers, commonly use this word in the sense of necessary, as, "april rains are essential to june harvests." ethnology, n. the science that treats of the various tribes of man, as robbers, thieves, swindlers, dunces, lunatics, idiots, and ethnologists. eucharist, n. a sacred feast of the religious sect of theophagi. a dispute once unhappily arose among the members of this sect as to what it was that they ate. in this controversy some five hundred thousand have already been slain, and the question is still unsettled. eulogy, n. praise of a person who has either the advantages of wealth and power, or the consideration to be dead. evangelist, n. a bearer of good tidings, particularly (in a religious sense) such as assure us of our own salvation, and the damnation of our neighbors. everlasting, adj. lasting forever. it is with no small diffidence that i venture to offer this brief and elementary definition, for i am not unaware of the existence of a bulky volume by the rt. rev. dr. sprowle, sometime bishop of worcester, entitled, a partial definition of the word "everlasting" as used in the authorised version of the holy scriptures. his book was once esteemed of great authority in the anglican church, and is still, i understand, studied with pleasure to the mind and profit to the soul. exception, n. a thing which takes the liberty to differ from other things of its class, as an honest man, a truthful woman, etc. "the exception proves the rule" is an expression constantly upon the lips of the ignorant, who parrot it from one another with never a thought of its absurdity. in the latin, "exceptio probat regulam" means that the exception tests the rule, puts it to the proof, not confirms meaning from this excellent dictum and substituted a contrary one of his own, exerted an evil power which appears to be immortal. excess, n. in morals, an indulgence that enforces by appropriate penalties the law of moderation. hail high excess!--especially in wine. to thee in worship do i bend the knee who preach abstemiousness unto me-- my skull thy pulpit, as my paunch thy shrine. precept on precept, aye, and line on line, could ne'er persuade so sweetly to agree with reason as thy touch, exact and free, upon my forehead and along my spine. at thy command eschewing pleasure's cup, with the hot grape i warm no more my wit; when on thy stool of penitence i sit i'm quite converted, for i can't get up. ungrateful he who afterward would falter to make new sacrifices at thine altar! excommunication, n. this "excommunication" is a word in speech ecclesiastical oft heard, and means the damning, with bell, book, and candle, some sinner whose opinions are a scandal-- a rite permitting satan to enslave him forever, and forbidding christ to save him. gat huckle, executive, n. an officer of the government whose duty it is to enforce the wishes of the legislative power until such time as the judicial department shall be pleased to pronounce them mischievous and of no effect. following is an extract from an old book entitled, "the lunarian astonished." -- pfeiffer & co., boston, : "lunarian: then when your congress has passed a law it goes directly to the supreme court in order that it may at once be known whether it is constitutional. "terrestrian: o no; it does not require the approval of the supreme court until having perhaps been enforced for many years somebody objects to its operation against himself--i mean his client. the president, if he approves it, begins to execute it at once. "lunarian: then the executive power is a part of the legislative. do your policemen also have to approve the local ordinances that they enforce? "terrestrian: not yet--at least not in their capacity of constables. generally speaking though, all laws require the approval of those whom they are intended to restrain. "lunarian: ah, i see. the death warrant is not valid until signed by the murderer. "terrestrian: my friend, you put it too strongly; we are not so consistent. "lunarian: but this system of maintaining an expensive judicial machinery to pass upon the validity of laws only after they have long been executed, and then only when brought before the court by some private person--does it not cause great confusion? "terrestrian: it does. "lunarian: why then should not your laws, previously to being executed, be validated, not by the signature of your president, but by that of the chief justice of the supreme court? "terrestrian: there is no precedent for any such course. "lunarian: precedent? what is that? "terrestrian: it has been defined by five hundred lawyers in three volumes each. so how can any one know?" exhort, v. t. in religious affairs, to put the conscience of another upon the spit and roast it to a nut-brown discomfort. exile, n. one who serves his country by residing abroad, yet is not an ambassador. an english sea-captain being asked if he had read "the exile of erin," replied: "no, sir, but i should like to anchor on it." years afterward, when he had been hanged as a pirate after a career of unparalleled atrocities, the following memorandum was found in the ship's log that he had kept at the time of his reply: "aug. d, . made a joke on the ex-isle of erin. coldly received. war with the whole world!" existence, n. a transient, horrible, fantastic dream, wherein is nothing yet all things do seem; from which we're wakened by a friendly nudge of our bedfellow death, and cry: "o fudge!" experience, n. the wisdom that enables us to recognize as an undesirable old acquaintance the folly that we have already embraced. to one who, journeying through night and fog, is mired waist deep in an unwholesome bog, experience, like the rising of the dawn, shows him the path he never should have gone. joel frad bink. expostulation, n. one of the many methods by which fools prefer to lose their friends. extinction, n. the raw material out of which theology created the future state. f fairy, n. a creature, variously fashioned and endowed, that formerly inhabited the meadows and forests. it was nocturnal in its habits, and somewhat addicted to dancing and theft of children. the fairies are now believed by naturalists to be extinct, though a clergyman of the church of england saw three near colchester as lately as , while passing through a park after dining with the lord of the manor. the sight greatly staggered him, and he was so affected that his account of it was incoherent. in the year a troop of fairies visited a wood near aix and carried off the daughter of a peasant, who had been seen to enter it with a bundle of clothing. the son of a wealthy bourgeois disappeared about the same time, but afterward returned. he had seen the abduction and been in pursuit of the fairies. justinian gaux, a writer of the fourteenth century, avers that so great is the fairies' power of transformation that he saw one change itself into two opposing armies and fight a battle with great slaughter, and that the next day, after it had resumed its original shape and gone away, there were seven hundred bodies of the slain which the villagers had to bury. he does not say if any of the wounded recovered. in the time of henry iii, of england, a law was made which prescribed the death penalty for "kyllynge, wowndynge, or mamynge" a fairy, and it was universally respected. faith, n. belief without evidence in what is told by one who speaks without knowledge of things without parallel. famous, adj. conspicuously miserable. done to a turn on the iron, behold him who to be famous aspired. content? well, his grill has a plating of gold, and his twistings are greatly admired. hassan brubuddy. fashion, n. a deity whom the wise ridicule, yet the discreet obey. a king there was who lost an eye in some excess of passion; and straight his courtiers all did try to follow the new fashion. each dropped one eyelid when before the throne he ventured, thinking 't would please the king. that monarch swore he'd slay them all for winking. what should they do? they were not hot to hazard such disaster; they dared not close an eye--dared not see better than their master. seeing them lacrymose and glum, a leech consoled the weepers: he spread small rags with liquid gum and covered half their peepers. the court all wore the stuff, the flame of royal anger dying. that 's how court-plaster got its name unless i'm greatly lying. naramy oof. feast, n. a festival. a religious celebration signalized by gluttony and drunkenness, frequently in honor of some holy person distinguished for abstemiousness. in the roman catholic church feasts are "movable" and "immovable," but the celebrants are uniformly immovable until they are full. in their earliest development these entertainments took the form of feasts for the dead; such were held by the greeks, under the name of nemeseia, by the aztecs and peruvians, as in modern times they are popular with the chinese; though it is believed that the ancient dead, like the modern, were light eaters. feasts on the dead are celebrated with great éclat in fiji. among the many feasts of the romans was the novemdiale, which was held, according to livy, whenever stones fell from heaven. of all the feast days of the various christian churches none has any sanction in the gospel. men make gods of their bellies, and then these gods ordain festivals. felon, n. a person of greater enterprise than discretion, who in embracing an opportunity has formed an unfortunate attachment. female, n. one of the opposing, or unfair, sex. the maker, at creation's birth, with living things had stocked the earth. from elephants to bats and 'snails, they all were good, for all were males. but when the devil came and saw he said: "by thine eternal law of growth, maturity, decay, these all must quickly pass away and leave untenanted the earth unless thou dost establish birth"-- then tucked his head beneath his wing to laugh--he had no sleeve--the thing with deviltry did so accord, that he'd suggested to the lord. the master pondered this advice, then shook and threw the fateful dice wherewith all matters here below are ordered, and observed the throw; then bent his head in awful state, confirming the decree of fate. from every part of earth anew the conscious dust consenting flew, while rivers from their courses rolled to make it plastic for the mould. enough collected (but no more, for niggard nature hoards her store) he kneaded it to flexile clay, while nick unseen threw some away. and then the various forms he cast, gross organs first and fine the last; no one at once evolved, but all by even touches grew and small degrees advanced, till, shade by shade, to match all living things, he'd made females, complete in all their parts except (his clay gave out) the hearts. "no matter," satan cried; "with speed i 'll fetch the very hearts they need"-- so flew to hell and soon brought back the number needed, in a sack. that night earth rang with sounds of strife-- ten million males had each a wife; that night sweet peace her pinions spread o'er hell--ten million devils dead! g.j. fib, n. a lie that has not cut its teeth. an habitual liar's nearest approach to truth: the perigee of his eccentric orbit. when david said: "all men are liars," dave, himself a liar, fibbed like any thief. perhaps he thought to weaken disbelief by proof that even himself was not a slave to truth; though i suspect the aged knave had been of all her servitors the chief had he but known a fig's reluctant leaf is more than e'er she wore on land or wave. no, david served not the naked truth when he struck that sledge-hammer blow at all his race; nor did he hit the nail upon the head: for reason shows that it could never be, and the facts contradict him to his face. men are not liars all, for some are dead. bartle quinker. fickleness, n. the iterated satiety of an enterprising affection. fiddle, n. an instrument to tickle human ears by friction of a horse's tail on the entrails of a cat. to rome said nero: "if to smoke you turn i shall not cease to fiddle while you burn." to nero rome replied: "pray do your worst, 't is my excuse that you were fiddling first." orm pludge. fidelity, n. a virtue peculiar to those who are about to be betrayed. finance, n. the art or science of managing revenues and resources for the best advantage of the manager. the pronunciation of this word with the i long and the accent on the first syllable is one of america's most precious discoveries and possessions. flag, n. a colored rag borne above troops and hoisted on forts and ships. it appears to serve the same purpose as certain signs that one sees on vacant lots in london--"rubbish may be shot here." flesh, n. the second person of the secular trinity. flop, v. suddenly to change one's opinions and go over to another party. the most notable flop on record was that of saul of tarsus, who has been severely criticised by some of our partisan journals. fly-speck, the prototype of punctuation. it is observed by garvinus that the systems of punctuation in use by the various literary nations depended originally upon the social habits and general diet of the flies infesting the several countries. these creatures, which have always been distinguished for a neighborly and companionable familiarity with authors, liberally or niggardly embellish the manuscripts in process of growth under the pen, according to their bodily habit, bringing out the sense of the work by a species of interpretation superior to, and independent of, the writer's powers. the "old masters" of literature--that is to say, the early writers whose work is so esteemed by later scribes and critics in the same language--never punctuated at all, but worked right along free-handed, without that abruption of' the thought which comes from the use of points. (we observe the same thing in children to-day, whose usage in this particular is a striking and beautiful instance of the law that the infancy of individuals reproduces the methods and stages of development characterizing the infancy of races.) in the work of these primitive scribes all the punctuation is found, by the modern investigator with his optical instruments and chemical tests, to have been inserted by the writers' ingenious and serviceable collaborator, the common house-fly--musca maledicta. in transcribing these ancient mss, for the purpose either of making the work their own or preserving what they naturally regard as divine revelations, later writers reverently and accurately copy whatever marks they find upon the papyrus or parchment, to the unspeakable enhancement of the lucidity of the thought and value of the work. writers contemporary with the copyists naturally avail themselves of the obvious advantages of these marks in their own work, and with such assistance as the flies of their own household may be willing to grant, frequently rival and sometimes surpass the older compositions, in respect at least of punctuation, which is no small glory. fully to understand the important services that flies perform to literature it is only necessary to lay a page of some popular novelist alongside a saucer of cream-and-molassess in a sunny room and observe "how the wit brightens and the style refines" in accurate proportion to the duration of exposure. folly, n. that "gift and faculty divine" whose creative and controlling energy inspires man's mind, guides his actions, and adorns his life. folly! although erasmus praised thee once in a thick volume, and all authors known, if not thy glory yet thy power have shown, deign to take homage from thy son who hunts through all thy maze his brothers, fool and dunce, their lives to mend and to sustain his own, however feebly be his arrows thrown, howe'er each hide the flying weapon blunts. all-father folly! be it mine to raise, with lusty lung, here on this western strand with all thine offspring thronged from every land, thyself inspiring me, the song of praise. and if too weak, i 'll hire, to help me bawl, dick watson gilder, gravest of us all. aramis loto frope fool, n. a person who pervades the domain of intellectual speculation and diffuses himself through the channels of moral activity. he is omnific, omniform, omnipercipient, omniscient, omnipotent. he it was who invented letters, printing, the railroad, the steamboat, the telegraph, the platitude, and the circle of the sciences. he created patriotism and taught the nations war--founded theology, philosophy, law, medicine, and san francisco. he established monarchical and republican government. he is from everlasting to everlasting--such as creation's dawn beheld he fooleth now. in the morning of time he sang upon primitive hills, and in the noonday of existence headed the procession of being. his grandmotherly hand has warmly tucked-in the set sun of civilization, and in the twilight he prepares man's evening meal of milkand-morality and turns down the covers of the universal grave. and after the rest of us shall have retired for the night of eternal oblivion, he will sit up to write a history of human civilization. force, n. "force is but might," the teacher said-- "that definition 's just." the boy said naught but thought instead, remembering his pounded head: "force is not might but must!" forefinger, n. the finger commonly used in pointing out two malefactors. foreordination, n. this looks like an easy word to define, but when i consider that pious and learned theologians have spent long lives in explaining it, and written libraries to explain their explanations; when i remember that nations have been divided and bloody battles caused by the difference between foreordination and predestination, and that millions of treasure have been expended in the effort to prove and disprove its compatibility with freedom of the will and the efficacy of prayer, praise, and a religious life,--recalling these awful facts in the history of the word, i stand appalled before the mighty problem of its signification, abase my spiritual eyes, fearing to contemplate its portentous magnitude, reverently uncover and humbly refer it to his eminence cardinal gibbons and his grace bishop potter. forgetfulness, n. a gift of god bestowed upon debtors in compensation for their destitution of conscience. fork, n. an instrument used chiefly for the purpose of putting dead animals into the mouth. formerly the knife was employed for this purpose, and by many worthy persons is still thought to have many advantages over the other tool, which, however, they do not altogether reject, but use to assist in charging the knife. the immunity of these persons from swift and awful death is one of the most striking proofs of god's mercy to those that hate him. forma pauperis [latin], n. in the character of a poor person--a method by which a litigant without money for lawyers is considerately permitted to lose his case. when adam long ago in cupid's awful court (for cupid ruled ere adam was invented) sued for eve's favor, says an ancient law report, he stood and pleaded unhabilimented. "you sue <i>in forma pauperis</i>, i see," eve cried; "actions can't here be that way prosecuted." so all poor adam's motions coldly were denied: he went away--as he had come--nonsuited. g. j. frankalmoigne, n. the tenure by which a religious corporation holds lands on condition of praying for the soul of the donor. in mediaeval times many of the wealthiest fraternities obtained their estates in this simple and cheap manner, and once when henry viii of england sent an officer to confiscate certain vast possessions which a fraternity of monks held by frankalmoigne, "what!" said the prior, "would your master stay our benefactor's soul in purgatory?" "ay," said the officer, coldly, "an ye will not pray him thence for naught he must e'en roast." "but look you, my son," persisted the good man, "this act hath rank as robbery of god!" "nay, nay, good father, my master the king doth but deliver him from the manifold temptations of too great wealth." freebooter, n. a conqueror in a small way of business, whose annexations lack the sanctifying merit of magnitude. freedom, n. exemption from the stress of authority in a beggarly half dozen of restraint's infinite multitude of methods. a political condition that every nation supposes itself to enjoy in practical monopoly. liberty. the distinction between freedom and liberty is not accurately known; naturalists have never been able to find a living specimen of either. freedom, as every schoolboy knows, once shrieked as kosciusko fell; on every wind, indeed, that blows i hear her yell. she screams whenever monarchs meet, and parliaments as well, to bind the chains about her feet and toll her knell. and when the sovereign people cast the votes they cannot spell, upon the lung-impested blast her clamors swell. for all to whom the power's given to sway or to compel, among themselves apportion heaven and give her hell. blary o' gary, freemasons, n. an order with secret rites, grotesque ceremonies, and fantastic costumes, which, originating in the reign of charles ii, among working artisans of london, has been joined successively by the dead of past centuries in unbroken retrogression until now it embraces all the generations of man on the hither side of adam and is drumming up distinguished recruits among the pre-creational inhabitants of chaos and the formless void. the order was founded at different times by charlemagne, julius caesar, cyrus, solomon, zoroaster, confucius, thothmes, and buddha. its emblems and symbols have been found in the catacombs of paris and rome, on the stones of the parthenon and the chinese great wall, among the temples of karnak and palmyra and in the egyptian pyramids--always by a freemason. friendless, adj. having no favors to bestow. destitute of fortune. addicted to utterance of truth and common sense. friendship, n. a ship big enough to carry two in fair weather, but none in foul. the sea was calm and the sky was blue; merrily, merrily sailed we two. (high barometer maketh glad.) on the tipsy ship, with a dreadful shout, the tempest descended and we fell out. (o the walking is nasty bad!) armit huff bettle. frog, n. an amphibious reptile with edible kickers. when young, this creature is called a mary wog or thaddeuspole, and as such maintains a tail, subsequently eschewed. the first mention of frogs in profane literature is in homer's narrative of the war between them and the mice. skeptical persons have doubted homer's authorship of the work, but the learned, ingenious, and industrious dr. schliemann has set the question forever at rest by uncovering the bones of the slain frogs. one of the forms of moral suasion by which pharaoh was lobbied in favor of the israelites was a plague of frogs, but pharaoh, who liked them fricasêe, remarked, with truly oriental stoicism, that he could stand it as long as the frogs and the jews could; so the programme was changed. the frog is a diligent songster, having a good voice but no ear. the libretto of his favorite opera, as written by aristophanes, is brief, simple, and effective--"brekekex-koâx"; the music is apparently by that eminent composer, richard wagner. horses have a frog in each hoof-- a thoughtful provision of nature, enabling them to jump. frying-pan, n. one part of the penal apparatus employed in that hell-upon-earth, a woman's kitchen. the frying-pan was invented by calvin, and by him used in scrambling span-long infants that had died without baptism; but observing one day the horrible torment of a tramp who had incautiously pulled a fried babe from the waste-dump and devoured it, it occurred to the great divine to rob death of its terrors by introducing the frying-pan into every household in geneva. thence it spread to all corners of the world, and has been of invaluable assistance in the propagation of his sombre faith. the following lines (said to be from the pen of his grace bishop potter) seem to imply that the usefulness of this utensil is not limited to this world; but as the consequences of its employment in this life reach over into the life to come, so also itself may be found on the other side, rewarding its devotees: old nick was summoned to the skies. said peter: "your intentions are good, but you lack enterprise concerning new inventions. "now, broiling is an ancient plan of torment, but i hear it reported that the frying-pan sears best the wicked spirit. "go get one--fill it up with fat-- fry sinners brown and good in 't." "i know a trick worth two o' that," said nick--"i 'll cook their food in't." funeral, n. a pageant whereby we attest our respect for the dead by enriching the undertaker, and strengthen our grief by an expenditure that deepens our groans and doubles our tears. the savage dies--they sacrifice a horse to bear to happy hunting-grounds the corse. our friends expire--we make the money fly in hope their souls will chase it through the sky. jex wopley. future, n. that period of time in which our affairs prosper, our friends are true, and our happiness is assured. q gallows, n. a stage for the performance of miracle plays, in which the leading actor is translated to heaven. in this country the gallows is chiefly remarkable for the number of persons who escape it. whether on the gallows high or where blood flows the reddest. the noblest place for man to die-- is where he dies the deadest. old play. gargoyle, n. a rain-spout projecting from the eaves of mediæval buildings, commonly fashioned into a grotesque caricature of some personal enemy of the architect or owner of the building. this was especially the case in churches and ecclesiastical structures generally, in which the gargoyles presented a perfect rogues' gallery of local heretics and controversialists. sometimes when a new dean and chapter were installed the old gargoyles were removed and others substituted having a closer relation to the private animosities of the new incumbents. garter, n. an elastic band intended to keep a woman from coming out of her stockings and desolating the country. an order of merit established by edward iii of england, and conferred upon persons who have distinguished themselves in the royal favor. generous, adj. originally this word meant noble by birth and was rightly applied to a great multitude of persons. it now means noble by nature, and is taking a bit of a rest. genealogy, n. an account of one's descent from an ancestor who did not particularly care to trace his own. genteel, adj. refined, after the fashion of a gent. observe with care, my son, the distinction i reveal: a gentleman is gentle and a gent genteel. heed not the definitions your "unabridged" presents, for dictionary makers are generally gents. g.j. geographer, n. a chap who can tell you offhand the difference between the outside of the world and the inside. habeam, geographer of wide renown, native of abu-keber's ancient town, in passing thence along the river zam to the adjacent village of xelam, bewildered by the multitude of roads, got lost, lived long on migratory toads, then from exposure miserably died, and grateful travellers bewailed their guide. henry haukhorn. geology, n. the science of the earth's crust--to which, doubtless, will be added that of its interior whenever a man shall come up garrulous out of a well. the geological formations of the globe already noted are catalogued thus: the primary, or lower one, consists of rocks, bones of mired mules, gaspipes, miners' tools, antique statues minus the nose, spanish doubloons, and ancestors. the secondary is largely made up of red worms and moles. the tertiary comprises railway tracks, patent pavements, grass, snakes, mouldy boots, beer bottles, tomato cans, intoxicated citizens, garbage, anarchists, snap-dogs, and fools. ghost, n. the outward and visible sign of an inward fear. he saw a ghost. it occupied--that dismal thing!-- the path that he was following. before he 'd time to stop and fly, an earthquake trifled with the eye that saw a ghost. he fell as fall the early good; unmoved that awful spectre stood. the stars that danced before his ken he wildly brushed away, and then he saw a post. jared macphester. accounting for the uncommon behavior of ghosts, heine mentions somebody's ingenious theory to the effect that they are as much afraid of us as we of them. not quite, if i may judge from such tables of comparative speed as i am able to compile from memories of my own experience. there is one insuperable obstacle to a belief in ghosts. a ghost never comes naked: he appears either in a winding-sheet or "in his habit as he lived." to believe in him, then, is to believe that not only have the dead the power to make themselves visible after there is nothing left of them, but that the same extraordinary gift inheres in textile fabrics. supposing the products of the loom to have this ability, what object would they have in exercising it? and why does not the apparition of a suit of clothes sometimes walk abroad without a ghost in it? these be riddles of significance. they reach away down and get a convulsive grasp on the very tap-root of this flourishing faith. ghoul, n. a demon addicted to the reprehensible habit of devouring the dead. the existence of ghouls has been disputed by that class of controversialists who are more concerned to deprive the world of comforting beliefs than give it anything good in their place, but nobody now seriously denies it. in father seechi saw one in a cemetery near florence and frightened it away with the sign of the cross. he describes it as gifted with several heads and an uncommon allowance of limbs, and he saw it in more than one place at a time. the good man was coming away from dinner at the time and explains that if he had not been "heavy with eating" he would have seized the demon at all hazards. atholston relates that a ghoul was caught by some sturdy peasants in a churchyard at sudbury and ducked in a horsepond. (he appears to think that so distinguished a criminal should have been ducked in a tank of rose-water.) the water turned at once to blood "and so contynues unto ys daye." the pond has since been bled with a ditch. as late as the beginning of the last century a ghoul was cornered in the crypt of the cathedral at amiens and the whole population surrounded the place. twenty armed men with a priest at their head, bearing a crucifix, entered and captured the ghoul, which, thinking to escape by the stratagem, had transformed itself to the semblance of a well-known citizen, but was nevertheless hanged, drawn and quartered in the midst of hideous popular orgies. the citizen whose shape the demon had assumed was so affected by the sinister occurrence that he never again showed himself in amiens and his fate remains a mystery. glutton, n. a person who escapes the evils of moderation by committing dyspepsia. gnome, n. in north-european mythology, a dwarfish imp inhabiting the interior parts of the earth and having special custody of mineral treasures. bjorsen, who died in , says gnomes were common enough in the southern parts of sweden in his boyhood, and he frequently saw them scampering on the hills in the evening twilight. ludwig binkerhoof saw three as recently as , in the black forest, and sneddeker avers that in they drove a party of miners out of a silesian mine. basing our computations upon data supplied by these statements, we find that the gnomes probably became extinct about . gnostics, n. a sect of philosophers who tried to engineer a fusion between the early christians and the platonists. the former would not go into the caucus and the combination failed, greatly to the chagrin of the fusion managers. gnu, n. an animal of south africa, which in its domesticated state resembles a horse, a buffalo, and a stag. in its wild condition it is something like a thunderbolt, an earthquake, and a cyclone. a hunter from kew caught a distant view of a peacefully meditative gnu, and he said: "i'll pursue, and my hands imbrue in its blood at a closer interview." but that beast did ensue and the hunter it threw o'er the top of a palm that adjacent grew; and he said as he flew: "it is well i withdrew ere, losing my temper, i wickedly slew that really meritorious gnu." jarn leffer. good, adj. sensible, madam, to the worth of this present writer. alive, sir, to the advantages of letting him alone. goose, n. a bird that supplies quills for writing. these, by some occult process of nature, are penetrated and suffused with various degrees of the bird's intellectual energies and emotional character, so that when inked and drawn mechanically across paper by a person called an "author," there results a very fair and accurate transcript of the fowl's thought and feeling. the difference in geese, as discovered by this ingenious method, is considerable: many are found to have only trivial and insignificant powers, but some are seen to be very great geese indeed. gorgon, n. the gorgon was a maiden bold who turned to stone the greeks of old who looked upon her awful brow. we dig them out of ruins now, and swear that workmanship so bad proves all the ancient sculptors mad. gout, n. a physician's name for the rheumatism of a rich patient. graces, n. three beautiful goddesses, aglaia, thalia, and euphrosyne, who attended upon venus, serving without salary. they were at no expense for board and clothing, for they ate nothing to speak of and dressed according to the weather, wearing whatever breeze happened to be blowing. grammar, n. a system of pitfalls thoughtfully prepared for the feet of the self-made man, along the path by which he advances upon our understanding. grape, n. hail noble fruit!--by homer sung, anacreon and khayyam; thy praise is ever on the tongue of better men than i am. the lyre my hand has never swept, the song i cannot offer: my humbler service pray accept-- i 'll help to kill the scoffer. the water-drinkers and the cranks who load their skins with liquor-- i 'll gladly bare their belly-tanks and tap them with my sticker. fill up, fill up, for wisdom cools when e'er we let the wine rest. here's death to prohibition's fools and every kind of vine-pest! jamrach holobom. grapeshot, n. an argument which the future is preparing in answer to the demands of american socialism. grave, n. a place in which the dead are laid to await the coming of the medical student. beside a lonely grave i stood-- with brambles 't was encumbered; the winds were moaning in the wood, unheard by him who slumbered. a rustic standing near, i said: "he cannot hear it blowing!" "'course not," said he: "the feller's dead-- he can't hear nowt that's going." "too true," i said; "alas, too true-- no sounds his sense can quicken!" "well, mister, wot is that to you?-- the deadster ain't a kickin'." i knelt and prayed: "o father smile on him, and mercy show him!" that countryman looked on the while, and said: "ye did n't know him." pobeter dunk. gravitation, n. the tendency of all bodies to approach one another with a strength proportioned to the quantity of matter they contain-- the quantity of matter they contain being ascertained by the strength of their tendency to approach one another. this is a lovely and edifying illustration of how science, having made a the proof of b, makes b the proof of a. great, adj. "i'm great," the lion said--"i reign the monarch of the wood and plain!" the elephant replied: "i'm great-- no quadruped can match my weight!" "i'm great--no animal has half so long a neck!" said the giraffe. "i'm great," the kangaroo said--"see my caudal muscularity!" the 'possum said: "i'm great--behold, my tail is lithe and bald and cold!" an oyster fried was understood to say: i'm great because i'm good!" each reckons greatness to consist in that in which he heads the list, and braywell thinks he tops his class because he is the greatest ass. arion spurl doke. guillotine, n. a machine which makes a frenchman shrug his shoulders with good reason. in his great work on divergent lines of racial evolution, the learned and ingenious professor brayfugle argues from the prevalence of this gesture--the shrug--among frenchmen, that they are descended from turtles, and it is simply a survival of the habit of retracting the head inside the shell. it is with reluctance that i differ with so eminent an authority, but in my judgment (as more elaborately set forth and enforced in my work entitled hereditary emotions -- lib. ii, c. xi) the shrug is a poor foundation upon which to build so important a theory, for previously to the revolution the gesture was unknown. i have not a doubt that it is directly referable to the terror inspired by the guillotine during the period of that instrument's awful activity. gunpowder, n. an agency employed by civilized nations for the settlement of disputes which might become troublesome if left unadjusted. by most writers the invention of gunpowder is ascribed to the chinese, but not upon very convincing evidence. milton says it was invented by the devil to kill angels with, and this opinion seems to derive some support from the scarcity of angels. moreover, it has the hearty concurrence of the hon. james wilson, secretary of agriculture. secretary wilson became interested in gunpowder through an event that occurred on the government experimental farm in the district of columbia. one day, some years ago, some rogue, imperfectly reverent of his profound attainments and personal character, presented him with a sack of gunpowder, representing it as the seed of the flashawful flabbergastor, a patagonian cereal of great commercial value, admirably adapted to this climate. the good secretary was instructed to spill it along in a furrow and afterward inhume it with soil. this he at once proceeded to do, and had made a continuous line of it all the way across a ten-acre field, when he was made to look backward by a shout from the generous donor, who at once dropped a lighted match into the furrow at the starting-point. contact with the earth had somewhat dampened the powder, but the startled functionary saw himself pursued by a tall moving pillar of fire and smoke in fierce evolution. he stood for a moment paralyzed and speechless, then he recollected an engagement, and, dropping all, absented himself thence with such surprising celerity that to the eyes of spectators along the route selected he appeared like a long, dim streak of farmer prolonging itself with inconceivable rapidity through seven villages, and audibly refusing to be comforted. "great scott! what is that?" cried a surveyor's chainman, shading his eyes and gazing at the fading line of agriculturist which bisected his visible horizon. "that," said the surveyor, carelessly, glancing at the phenomenon and again centring his attention upon his instrument, "is the meridian of washington." h habeas corpus. a writ by which a man may be taken out of jail and asked how he likes it. habit, n. a shackle for the free. hades, n. the lower world; the residence of departed spirits; the place where the dead live. among the ancients the idea of hades was not synonymous with our hell, many of the most respectable men of antiquity residing there in a very comfortable kind of way. indeed, the elysian fields themselves were a part of hades, though they have since been removed to paris. when the jacobean version of the new testament was in process of evolution the pious and learned men engaged in the work insisted by a majority vote on translating the greek word "hades" as "hell"; but a conscientious minority member secretly possessed himself of the record and struck out the objectionable word wherever he could find it. at the next meeting, the bishop of winchester, looking over the work, suddenly sprang to his feet and said with considerable excitement: "gentlemen, somebody has been razing 'hell' here!" years afterwards the good prelate's death was made sweet by the reflection that he had been the means (under providence) of making an important, serviceable, and immortal addition to the phraseology of the english tongue. hag, n. an elderly lady whom you do not happen to like; sometimes called, also, a hen, or cat. old witches, sorceresses, etc., were called hags from the belief that their heads were surrounded by a kind of baleful lumination or nimbus--hag being the popular name of that peculiar electrical light sometimes observed in the hair. at one time hag was not a word of reproach: drayton speaks of a "beautiful hag, all smiles," much as shakespeare said, "sweet wench." it would not now be proper to call your sweetheart a hag--that pleasure is reserved for her grandchildren. half, n. one of two equal parts into which a thing may be divided, or considered as divided. in the fourteenth century a heated discussion arose among the theologists and philosophers as to whether omniscience could part an object into three halves; and the pious father aldrovinus publicly prayed in the cathedral at rouen that god would demonstrate the affirmative of the proposition in some signal and unmistakable way, and particularly (if it should please him) upon the body of that hardy blasphemer, manutius procinus, who maintained the negative. procinus, however, was spared to die of the bite of a viper. halo, n. properly, a luminous ring encircling an astronomical body, but not infrequently confounded with "aureola," or "nimbus," a somewhat similar phenomenon worn as a head-dress by divinities and saints. the halo is a purely optical illusion, produced by moisture in the air, in the manner of a rainbow; but the aureola is conferred as a sign of superior sanctity, in the same way as a bishop's mitre, or the pope's tiara. in the painting of the nativity, by szedgkin, a pious artist of pesth, not only do the virgin and the child wear the nimbus, but an ass nibbling hay from the sacred manger is similarly decorated and, to his lasting honor be it said, appears to bear his unaccustomed dignity with a truly saintly grace. hand, n. a singular instrument worn at the end of the human arm and commonly thrust into somebody's pocket. handkerchief, n. a small square of silk or linen, used in various ignoble offices about the face and especially serviceable at funerals to conceal the lack of tears. the handkerchief is of recent invention; our ancestors knew nothing of it and intrusted its duties to the sleeve. shakespeare's introducing it into the play of "othello" is an anachronism: desdamona dried her nose with her coat-tails as dr. mary walker and other reformers have done in our own day--an evidence that revolutions sometimes go backward. hangman, n. an officer of the law charged with duties of the highest dignity and utmost gravity, and held in hereditary disesteem by a populace having a criminal ancestry. in some of the american states his functions are now performed by an electrician, as in new jersey, where executions by electricity have recently been ordered--the first instance known to this lexicographer of anybody questioning the expediency of hanging jersey men. happiness, n. an agreeble sensation arising from contemplating the misery of another. harangue, n. a speech by an opponent, who is known as an harangoutang. harbor, n. a place where ships taking shelter from storms are exposed to the fury of the customs. harmonists, n. a sect of protestants, now extinct, who came from europe in the beginning of the last century and were distinguished for the bitterness of their internal controversies and dissensions. hash, x. there is no definition for this word--nobody knows what hash is. hatchet, n. a young axe, known among indians as a thomashawk. "o bury the hatchet, irascible red, for peace is a blessing," the white man said. the savage concurred, and that weapon interred, with imposing rites, in the white man's head. john lukkus. hatred, n. the sentiment appropriate to the occasion of another's success or superiority. head-money, n. a capitation or polltax. in ancient times there lived a king whose tax-collectors could not wring from all his subjects gold enough to make the royal way less rough. for pleasure's highway, like the dames whose premises adjoin it, claims perpetual repairing. so the tax-collectors in a row appeared before the throne to pray their master to devise some way to swell the revenue. "so great," said they, "are the demands of state a tithe of all that we collect will scarcely meet them. pray reflect: how, if one-tenth we must resign, can we exist on t'other nine?" the monarch asked them in reply: "has it occurred to you to try the advantage of economy?" "it has," the spokesman said: "we sold all of our gay garrotes of gold; with plated-ware we now compress the necks of those whom we assess. plain iron forceps we employ to mitigate the miser's joy who hoards, with greed that never tires, that which your majesty requires." deep lines of thought were seen to plow their way across the royal brow. "your state is desperate, no question; pray favor me with a suggestion." "o king of men," the spokesman said, "if you 'll impose upon each head a tax, the augmented revenue we 'll cheerfully divide with you." as flashes of the sun illume the parted storm-cloud's sullen gloom, the king smiled grimly. "i decree that it be so--and, not to be in generosity outdone, declare you, each and every one, exempted from the operation of this new law of capitation. but lest the people censure me because they 're bound and you are free, 't were well some clever scheme were laid by you this poll-tax to evade. i 'll leave you now while you confer with my most trusted minister." the monarch from the throne-room walked and straightway in among them stalked a silent man, with brow concealed, bare-armed--his gleaming axe revealed! g. j. hearse, n. death's baby-carriage. heart, n. an automatic, muscular blood-pump. figuratively, this useful organ is said to be the seat of emotions and sentiments--a very pretty fancy which, however, is nothing but a survival of a once universal belief. it is now known that the sentiments and emotions reside in the stomach, being evolved from food by chemical action of the gastric fluid. the exact process by which a beefsteak becomes a feeling--tender or not, according to the age of the animal from which it was cut; the successive stages of elaboration through which a caviare sandwich is transmuted to a quaint fancy and reappears as a pungent epigram; the marvellous functional methods of converting a hard-boiled egg into religious contrition, or a cream-puff into a sigh of sensibility--these things have been patiently ascertained by m. pasteur, and by him expounded with convincing lucidity. (see, also, my monograph on "the essential identity of the spiritual affections and certain intestinal gases freed in digestion"-- to, pp.) in a scientific work entitled, i believe, delectatio demonorum (john camden hotten, london, ) this view of the sentiments receives a striking illustration and support in the author's account of an experiment made with a view to testing it. the stomach of a man who had died of a surfeit of turkey on thanksgiving day was removed and kept tightly closed until it was greatly distended with the gases produced by digestion. the compression on the neck of it being then relaxed, the words, "praise god from whom all blessings flow!" were heard with distinct articulation, as the swollen organ collapsed. it is nonsense to ignore, belittle, pervert or deny the significance of a fact like that. for further light upon this subject, consult professor dam's famous treatise on "love as a product of alimentary maceration." heat, n. heat, says professor tyndall, is a mode of motion, but i know now how he's proving his point; but this i know--hot words bestowed with skill will set the human fist a-moving, and where it stops the stars burn free and wild. trust an eye-witness--i've been there, my child. gorton swope. heathen, n. a benighted creature who has the folly to worship something that he can see and feel. according to professor howison, of the california state university, hebrews are heathens. "the hebrews are heathens!" says howison. he 's a christian philosopher. i'm a scurril agnostical chap, if you please, addicted too much to the crime of religious discussion in rhyme. though hebrew and howison cannot agree on a modus vivendi--not they!-- yet heaven has had the designing of me, and i have n't been built in a way to joy in the thick of the fray. for this of my creed is the soul and the gist, and the truth of it i aver: who differs from me in his faith is an 'ist, an 'ite, an 'ic, and an 'er and i 'm down upon him or her! let howison urge with perfunctory chin toleration--that's all very well, but a roast is "nuts" to his nostril thin, and he's running--i know by the smell-- a secret, particular hell! bissell gip. heaven, n. a place where the wicked cease from troubling you with talk of their personal affairs, and the good listen with attention while you expound your own. hebrew, n. a male jew, as distinguished from the shebrew, an altogether superior creation. helpmate, n. a wife, or bitter half. "now, why is yer wife called a helpmate, pat?" says the priest. "since the time o' yer wooin' she 's niver assisted in what ye were at-- for it 's naught ye are ever doin'." "that 's true of yer riverence," patrick replies, and no sign of contrition evinces; "but, bedad, it 's a fact which the word implies, for she helps to mate the expinses!" marley wottel. hemp, n. a plant from whose fibrous bark is made an article of neckwear which is frequently put on after public speaking in the open air and prevents the wearer from taking cold. hermit, n. a person whose vices and follies are not sociable. hers, pron. his. hibernate, v. to pass the winter season in domestic seclusion. there have been many singular popular notions about the hibernation of various animals. many believe that the bear hibernates during the whole winter and subsists by mechanically sucking its paws. it is admitted that it comes out of its retirement in the spring so lean that it has to try twice before it can cast a shadow. three or four centuries ago, in england, no fact was better attested than that swallows passed the winter months in the mud at the bottoms of the brooks, clinging together in globular masses. they have apparently been compelled to give up the custom on account of the foulness of the brooks. sotus escobius discovered in central asia a whole nation of people who hibernated. by some investigators, the fasting of lent is supposed to have been originally a modified form of hibernation, to which the church gave a religious significance; but this view is strenuously opposed by that eminent authority, bishop kip, who does not wish any honors denied to the memory of the founder of his family. hippogriff, n. an animal (now extinct) which was half horse and half griffin. the griffin was itself a compound creature, half lion and half eagle. the hippogriff was therefore one quarter eagle, which is two dollars and fifty cents in gold. the study of natural history is full of surprises. historian, n. a broad-gauge gossip. history, n. an account, mostly false, of events, mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers, mostly knaves, and soldiers, mostly fools. of roman history, great niebuhr's shown 't is nine-tenths lying. faith, i wish 't were known, ere we accept great niebuhr as a guide, wherein he blundered and how much he lied. solder bupp. hog, n. a bird remarkable for the catholicity of its appetite and serving to illustrate that of ours. among the mahometans and jews, the hog is not in favor as an article of diet, but is respected for the delicacy of its habits, the beauty of its plumage, and the melody of its voice. it is chiefly as a songster that the fowl is esteemed; a cage of him in full chorus has been known to draw tears from two persons at once. the scientific name of this dicky-bird is porcus rockefelleri. mr. rockefeller did not discover the hog, but it is considered his by right of resemblance. homoeopathist, n. the humorist of the medical profession. homoeopathy, n. a school of medicine midway between allopathy and christian science. to the last both the others are distinctly inferior, for christian science will cure imaginary diseases and they can not. homicide, n. the slaying of one human being by another. there are four kinds of homicide: felonious, excusable, justifiable, and praiseworthy, but it makes no great difference to the person slain whether he fell by one kind or another--the classification is for advantage of the lawyers. homiletics, n. the science of adapting sermons to the spiritual needs, capacities, and conditions of the congregation. so skilled the parson was in homiletics that all his moral purges and emetics to medicine the spirit were compounded with a most just discrimination, founded upon a rigorous examination of tongue and pulse and heart and respiration. then, having diagnosed each one's condition, his scriptural specifics this physician administered--his pills so efficacious and pukes of disposition so vivacious that souls afflicted with ten kinds of adam were convalescent ere they knew they had 'em. but slander's tongue--itself all coated--uttered her bilious mind and scandalously muttered that in the case of patients having money the pills were sugar and the pukes were honey. biography of bishop potter, honorable, adj. afflicted with an impediment in one's reach. in legislative bodies it is customary to mention all members as honorable; as, "the honorable gentleman is a scurvy cur." hope, n. desire and expectation rolled into one. delicious hope! when naught to man is left-- of fortune destitute, of friends bereft; when even his dog deserts him, and his goat with tranquil disaffection chews his coat while yet it hangs upon his back; then thou, the star far-flaming on thine angel brow, descendest, radiant, from the skies to hint the promise of a clerkship in the mint. fogarty weffing. hospitality, n. the virtue which induces us to lodge and feed certain persons who are not in want of food and lodging. hostility, n. a peculiarly sharp and specially applied sense of the earth's overpopulation. hostility is classed as active and passive; as (respectively) the feeling of a woman for her female friends, and that which she entertains for all the rest of her sex. houri, n. a comely female inhabiting the mohammedan paradise to make things cheery for the good musselman, whose belief in her existence marks a noble discontent with his earthly spouse, whom he denies a soul. by that good lady the houris are said to be held in deficient esteem. house, n. a hollow edifice erected for the habitation of man, rat, mouse, beetle, cockroach, fly, mosquito, flea, bacillus, and microbe. house of correction, a place of reward for political and personal service, and for the detention of appropriations and offenders. house of god, a building with a steeple and a mortgage on it. house-dog, a pestilent beast kept on domestic premises to insult persons passing by and appal the hardy visitor. house-maid, a youngerly person of the opposing sex employed to be variously disagreeable and ingeniously unclean in the station in which it has pleased god to place her. houseless, adj. having paid all taxes on household goods. hovel, n. the fruit of a flower called the palace. twaddle had a hovel, twiddle had a palace; twaddle said: "i'll grovel or he 'll think i bear him malice a sentiment as novel as a chimney on a chalice. down upon the middle of his legs fell twaddle and astonished mr. twiddle, who began to lift his noddle, feed upon the fiddle faddle flummery, unswaddle a new-born self-sufficiency and thine himself a model. g.j. humanity, n. the human race, collectively, exclusive of the anthropoid poets. humorist, n. a plague that would have softened down the hoar austerity of pharaoh's heart and persuaded him to dismiss israel with his best wishes, cat-quick. lo! the poor humorist, whose tortured mind sees jokes in crowds, though still to gloom inclined-- whose simple appetite, untaught to stray, his brains, renewed by night, consumes by day. he thinks, admitted to an equal sty, a graceful hog would bear his company. alexander poke. hurricane, n. an atmospheric demonstration once very common but now generally abandoned for the tornado and cyclone. the hurricane is still in popular use in the west indies and is preferred by certain oldfashioned sea-captains. it is also used in the construction of the upper decks of steamboats, but generally speaking, the hurricane's usefulness has outlasted it. hurry, n. the dispatch of bunglers. husband, n. one who, having dined, is charged with the care of the plate. hybrid, n. a pooled issue. hydra, n. a kind of animal that the ancients catalogued under many heads. hyena, n. a beast held in reverence by some oriental nations from its habit of frequenting at night the burial-places of the dead. but the observant medical student loathes the creature, for he knows why it goes to the graveyard. he has met it there. hypochondriasis, n. depression of one's own spirits. some heaps of trash upon a vacant lot where long the village rubbish had been shot displayed a sign among the stuff and stumps-- "hypochondriasis." it meant the dumps. bogul s, purvy. hypocrite, n. one who, professing virtues that he does not respect, secures the advantage of seeming to be what he despises. i i is the first letter of the alphabet, the first word of the language, the first thought of the mind, the first object of affection. in grammar it is a pronoun of the first person and singular number. its plural is said to be we, but how there can be more than one myself is doubtless clearer to the grammarians than it is to the author of this incomparable dictionary. conception of two myselves is difficult, but fine. the frank yet graceful use of "i" distinguishes a good writer from a bad; the latter carries it with the demeanor of the impenitent thief packing his cross up calvary. ichor, n. a fluid that served the gods and goddesses in place of blood. fair venus, speared by diomed, restrained the raging chief and said: "behold, rash mortal, whom you 've bled-- your soul's stained white with ichorshed!" mary doke. iconoclast, n. a breaker of idols, the worshippers whereof are imperfectly gratified by the performance, and most strenuously protest that he unbuildeth but doth not reëdify, that he teareth down but pileth not up. for the poor things would have other idols in place of those he thwacketh upon the mazzard and dispelleth. but the iconoclast saith: "ye shall have none at all, for ye need them not; and if the rebuilder fooleth round hereabout, behold i will depress the head of him and sit thereon till he squawk it." idiot, n. a member of a large and powerful tribe whose influence in human affairs has always been dominant and controlling. the idiot's activity is not confined to any special field of thought or action, but "pervades and regulates the whole." he has the last word in everything; his decision is unappealable. he sets the fashions of opinion and taste, dictates the limitations of speech and circumscribes conduct with a deadline. idleness, n. a model farm where the devil experiments with seeds of new sins and promotes the growth of untried vices. ignoramus, n. a person unacquainted with certain kinds of knowledge familiar to yourself, and having certain other kinds that you know nothing about. dumble was an ignoramus, mumble was for learning famous. mumble said one day to dumble: "ignorance should be more humble. not a spark have you of knowledge that was got in any college." dumble said to mumble: "truly you 're self-satisfied unduly. of things in college i 'm denied a knowledge--you of all outside." borellu illuminati, n. a sect of spanish heretics of the latter part of the sixteenth century; so called because they were light weights--cunctationes illuminati. illustrious, adj. suitably placed for the shafts of malice, envy, and detraction. imagination, n. a warehouse of facts, with poet and liar in joint ownership. imbecility, n. a kind of divine inspiration, or sacred fire, affecting censorious critics of this dictionary. immigrant, n. an unenlightened person who thinks one country better than another. immodest, adj. having a strong sense of one's own merit, coupled with a feeble conception of worth in others. there'was once a man in ispahan ever and ever so long ago, and he had a head, the phrenologists said, that fitted him for a show. for his modesty's bump was so large a lump (nature, they said, had taken a freak) that its summit stood far above the wood of his hair, like a mountain peak. so modest a man in all ispahan, over and over again they swore-- so humble and meek, you would vainly seek; none ever was found before. meantime the hump of that awful bump into the heavens contrived to get to so great a height that they called the wight the man with a minaret. there was n't a man in all ispahan prouder, or louder in praise of his chump: with a tireless tongue and a brazen lung he bragged of that beautiful bump till the shah in a rage sent a trusty page bearing a sack and a bow-string too, and that gentle child explained as he smiled: "a little present for you." the saddest man in all ispahan, sniffed at the gift, yet accepted the same. "if i'd lived," said he, "my humility had given me deathless fame!" sukker uffro. immoral, adj. inexpedient. whatever in the long run, and with regard to the greater number of instances men find to be generally inexpedient, comes to be considered wrong, wicked, immoral. if men's notions of right and wrong have any other basis than this of expediency; if they originated, or could have originated, in any other way; if actions have in themselves a moral character apart from, and nowise dependent on, their consequences--then all philosophy is a lie and reason a disorder of the mind. immortality, n. a toy which people cry for, and on their knees apply for, dispute, contend, and lie for, and if allowed would be right proud eternally to die for. g. j. impale, v. t. in popular usage to pierce with any weapon which remains fixed in the wound. this, however, is inaccurate; to impale is, properly, to put to death by thrusting an upright sharp stake into the body, the victim being left in a sitting position. this was a common mode of punishment among many of the nations of antiquity, and is still in high favor in china and other parts of asia. down to the beginning of the fifteenth century it was widely employed in churching heretics and schismatics. wolecraft calls it the "stoole of repentynge," and among the common people it was jocularly known as "riding the one legged horse." ludwig salzmann informs us that in thibet impalement is considered the most appropriate punishment for crimes against religion; and although in china it is sometimes awarded to secular offences, it is most frequently adjudged in cases of sacrilege. to the person in actual experience of impalement it must be a matter of minor importance by what kind of civil or religious dissent he was made acquainted with its discomforts; but doubtless he would feel a certain satisfaction if able to contemplate himself in the character of a weather-cock on the spire of the true church. impartial, adj. unable to perceive any promise of personal advantage from espousing either side of a controversy or adopting either of two conflicting opinions. impenitence, n. a state of mind intermediate in point of time between sin and punishment. impiety, n. your irreverence toward my deity. imposition, n. the act of blessing or consecrating by the laying on of hands--a ceremony common to many ecclesiastical systems, but performed with the frankest sincerity by the sect known as thieves. "lo! by the laying on of hands," say parson, priest, and dervise, "we consecrate your cash and lands to ecclesiastic service. no doubt you 'll swear till all is blue at such an imposition. do." polio doncas, impostor, n. a rival aspirant to public honors. improbability, n. his tale he told with a solemn face and a tender, melancholy grace. improbable't was, no doubt, when you came to think it out, but the fascinated crowd their deep surprise avowed and all with a single voice averred 't was the most amazing thing they 'd heard-- all save one who spake never a word, but sat as mum as if deaf and dumb, serene, indifferent, and unstirred. then all the others turned to him and scrutinized him limb from limb-- scanned him alive, but he seemed to thrive and tranquiler grow each minute, as if there were nothing in it. "what! what!" cried one, "are you not amazed at what our friend has told?" he raised soberly then his eyes and gazed in a natural way and proceeded to say, as he crossed his feet on the mantel-shelf: "o no--not at all; i'ma liar myself." improvidence, n. provision for the needs of to-day from the revenues of to-morrow. impunity, n. wealth. inadmissible, adj. not competent to be considered. said of certain kinds of testimony which juries are supposed to be unfit to be entrusted with, and which judges, therefore, rule out, even of proceedings before themselves alone. hearsay evidence is inadmissible because the person quoted was unsworn and is not before the court for examination; yet the most momentous actions, military, political, commercial, and of every other kind, are daily undertaken on hearsay evidence. there is no religion in the world that has any other basis than hearsay evidence. revelation is hearsay evidence; that the scriptures are the word of god we have only the testimony of men long dead whose identity is not clearly established and who are not known to have been sworn in any sense. under the rules of evidence as they now exist in this country, no single assertion in the bible has in its support any evidence admissible in a court of law. it cannot be proved that the battle of blenheim ever was fought, that there was such a person as julius cæsar, such an empire as assyria. but as records of courts of justice are admissible, it can easily be proved that powerful and malevolent magicians once existed and were a scourge to mankind. the evidence (including confession) upon which certain women were convicted of witchcraft and executed was without a flaw; it is still absolutely unimpeachable. the judges' decisions based on it were sound in logic and in law. nothing in any existing court was ever more thoroughly proved than the charges of witchcraft and sorcery for which so many suffered death. if there are no witches, human testimony and human reason are alike destitute of value. inauspiciously, adv. in an unpromising manner, the auspices being unfavorable. among the romans it was customary before undertaking any important action or enterprise to obtain from the augurs, or state prophets, some hint of its probable outcome; and one of their favorite and most trustworthy modes of divination consisted in observing the flight of birds----the omens thence derived being called auspices. newspaper reporters and certain miscreant lexicographers have decided that the word--always in the plural--shall mean "patronage" or "management"; as, "the festivities were under the auspices of the ancient and honorable order of body-snatchers"; or, "the hilarities were auspicated by the knights of hunger." a roman slave appeared one day before the augur. "tell me, pray, if--" here the augur, smiling, made a checking gesture and displayed his open palm, which plainly itched, for visibly its surface twitched. an <i>obolus</i> (the latin nickel) successfully allayed the tickle, and then the slave proceeded: "please inform me whether fate decrees success or failure in what i to-night (if it be dark) shall try. its nature? never mind--i think 't is writ on this"--and with a wink which darkened half the earth, he drew another <i>obolus</i> to view, its brazen face attentive scanned, then slipped it in the good man's hand, who with great gravity said: "wait while i retire to question fate." that holy person then withdrew his sacred clay and passing through the temple's rearward gate, cried "shoo!" waving his robe of office. straight each sacred peacock and its mate (maintained for juno's favor) fled with clamor from the trees overhead, where they were perching for the night. the temple's roof received their flight, for thither they would always go when danger threatened them below. back to the slave the augur went: "my son, forecasting the event by flight of birds, i must confess the auspices deny success." that slave retired, a sadder man, abandoning his secret plan-- which was (as well the crafty seer had from the first divined) to clear the wall and fraudulently seize on juno's poultry in the trees. g. j. income, n. the natural and rational gauge and measure of respectability, the commonly accepted standards being artificial, arbitrary, and fallacious; for, as "sir sycophas aureolater" in the play has justly remarked, "the true use and function of property (in whatsoever it consisteth--coins, or land, or houses, or merchant-stuff, or anything which may be named as holden of right to one's own subservience) as also of honors, titles, preferments, and place, and all favor and acquaintance of persons of quality or ableness, are but to get money. hence it followeth that all things are truly to be rated as of worth in measure of their serviceableness to that end; and their possessors should take rank in agreement thereto, neither the lord of an unproducing manor, howsoever broad and ancient, nor he who bears an unremunerate dignity, nor yet the pauper favorite of a king, being esteemed of level excellency with him whose riches are of daily accretion; and hardly should they whose wealth is barren claim and rightly take more honor than the poor and unworthy." incompatibility, n. in matrimony a similarity of tastes, particularly the taste for domination. incompatibility may, however, consist of a meekeyed matron living just around the corner. it has even been known to wear a moustache. incompossible, adj. unable to exist if something else exists. two things are incompossible when the world of being has scope enough for one of them, but not enough for both-- as the poet gilder and god's mercy to man. incompossibility, it will be seen, is only incompatibility let loose. instead of such low language as "go heel yourself--i mean to kill you on sight," the words, "sir, we are incompossible," would convey an equally significant intimation, and in stately courtesy are altogether superior. incubus, n. one of a race of highly improper demons who, though probably not wholly extinct, may be said to have seen their best nights. for a complete account of incubi and suecubi, including incuba and succuba, see the liber demonorum of protassus (paris, ), which contains much curious information that would be out of place in a dictionary intended as a text-book for the public schools. victor hugo relates that in the channel islands satan himself--tempted more than elsewhere by the beauty of the women, doubtless--sometimes plays at incubus, greatly to the inconvenience and alarm of the good dames who wish to be loyal to their marriage vows, generally speaking. a certain lady applied to the parish priest to learn how they might, in the dark, distinguish the hardy intruder from their husbands. the holy man said they must feel his brow for horns; but hugo is ungallant enough to hint a doubt of the efficacy of the test. incumbent, n. a person of the liveliest interest to the outcumbents. indecision, n. the chief element of success; "for whereas," saith sir thomas brewbold, "there is but one way to do nothing and divers ways to do something, whereof, to a surety, only one is the right way, it followeth that he who from indecision standeth still hath not so many chances of going astray as he who pusheth forwards"--a most clear and satisfactory exposition of the matter. "your prompt decision to attack," said gen. grant on a certain occasion to gen. gordon granger, "was admirable; you had but five minutes to make up your mind in." "yes, sir," answered the victorious subordinate, "it is a great thing to know exactly what to do in an emergency. when in doubt whether to attack or retreat i never hesitate a moment--i toss up a copper." "do you mean to say that's what you did this time?" "yes, general; but for heaven's sake don't reprimand me: i disobeyed the judgment." indifferent, adj. imperfectly sensible to distinctions among things. "you tiresome man!" cried indolentio's wife, "you 've grown indifferent to all in life." "indifferent?" he drawled with a slow smile; "i would be, dear, but it is not worth while." apuleius m. gokul, indigestion, n. a disease which the patient and his friends frequently mistake for deep religious conviction and concern for the salvation of mankind. as the simple red man of the western wild put it, with, it must be confessed, a certain force: "plenty well, no pray; big bellyache, heap god." indiscretion, n. the guilt of woman. inexpedient, adj. not calculated to advance one's interests. infancy, n. the period of our lives when, according to wordsworth, "heaven lies about us." the world begins lying about us pretty soon afterward. inferÏÆ, [latin.] n. among the greeks and romans, sacrifices for propitiation of the dii manes, or souls of dead heroes; for the pious ancients could not invent enough gods to satisfy their spiritual needs, and had to have a number of makeshift deities, or, as a sailor might say, jury-gods, which they made out of the most unpromising materials. it was while sacrificing a bullock to the spirit of agamemnon that laiaides, a priest of aulis, was favored with an audience of that illustrious warrior's shade, who prophetically recounted to him the birth of christ and the triumph of christianity, giving him also a rapid but tolerably complete review of events down to the reign of saint louis. the narrative ended abruptly at that point owing to the inconsiderate crowing of a cock, which compelled the ghosted king of men to scamper back to hades. there is a fine mediæval flavor to this story, and as it has not been traced back further than père brateille, a pious but obscure writer at the court of saint louis, we shall probably not err on the side of presumption in considering it apocryphal, though monsignor capels judgment of the matter might be different; and to that i bow-wow. infidel, n. in new york, one who does not believe in the christian religion; in constantinople, one who does. (see giaour.) a kind of scoundrel imperfectly reverent of, and niggardly contributory to, divines, ecclesiastics, popes, parsons, canons, monks, mollahs, voodoos, presbyters, hierophants, prelates, obeah-men, abbés, nuns, missionaries, exhorters, deacons, friars, hadjis, high-priests, muezzins, brahmins, medicine-men, confessors, eminences, elders, primates, prebendaries, pilgrims, prophets, imaums, beneficiaries, clerks, vicars-choral, archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, preachers, padres, abbotesses, caloyers, palmers, curates, patriarchs, bonzes, santons, beadsmen, canonesses, residentiaries, diocesans, deans, subdeans, rural deans, abdals, charm-sellers, archdeacons, hierarchs, class-leaders, incumbents, capitulars, sheiks, talapoins, postulants, scribes, gooroos, precentors, beadles, fakeers, sextons, reverences, revivalists, cenobites^ perpetual curates, chaplains, mudjoes, readers, novices, vicars, pastors, rabbis, ulemas, lamas, sacristans, vergers, dervises, lecturers, churchwardens, cardinals, prioresses, suffragans, acolytes, rectors, curés, sophis, muftis, and pumpums. influence, n. in politics, a visionary quo given in exchange for a substanstantial quid. infralapsarian, n. one who ventures to believe that adam need not have sinned unless he had a mind to -- in opposition to the supralapsarians, who hold that that luckless person's fall was decreed from the beginning. infralapsarians are sometimes called sublapsarians without material effect upon the importance and lucidity of their views about adam. two theologues once, as they wended their way to chapel, engaged in colloquial fray-- an earnest logomachy, bitter as gall, concerning poor adam and what made him fall. "'t was predestination," cried one--"for the lord decreed he should fall of his own accord." "not so--'t was free will," the other maintained, "which led him to choose what the lord had ordained." so fierce and so fiery grew the debate that nothing but bloodshed their dudgeon could sate; so off flew their cassocks and caps to the ground and, moved by the spirit, their hands went round. ere either had proved his theology right by winning, or even beginning, the fight, a gray old professor of latin came by, a staff in his hand and a scowl in his eye, and learning the cause of their quarrel (for still as they clumsily sparred they disputed with skill of foreordinational freedom of will) cried: "sirrahs! this reasonless warfare compose: atwixt ye's no difference worthy of blows. the sects ye belong to--i 'm ready to swear ye wrongly interpret the names that they bear. <i>you</i>--infralapsarian son of a clown!-- should only contend that adam slipped down; while <i>you</i>--you supralapsarian pup!-- should nothing aver but that adam slipped up." it 's all the same whether up or down you slip on a peel of banana brown; and adam analyzed not his blunder but thought he had slipped on a peal of thunder! g. j. ingrate, n. one who receives a benefit from another, or is otherwise an object of charity. "all men are ingrates," sneered the cynic. "nay," the good philanthropist replied; "i did great service to a man one day who never since has cursed me to repay, nor vilified." "ho!" cried the cynic, "lead me to him straight-- with veneration i am overcome, and fain would have his blessing." "sad your fate-- he cannot bless you, (for i grieve to state the man is dumb." arel selp injury, n. an offense next in degree of enormity to a slight. injustice, n. a burden which of all those that we load upon others and carry ourselves is lightest in the hands and heaviest upon the back. ink, n. a villainous compound of tannogalate of iron, gum-arabic, and water, chiefly used to facilitate the infection of idiocy and promote intellectual crime. the properties of ink are peculiar and contradictory: it may be used to make reputations and unmake them; to blacken them and to make them white; but it is most generally and acceptably employed as a mortar to bind together the stones in an edifice of fame, and as a whitewash to conceal afterward the rascal quality of the material. there are men called journalists who have established ink baths which some persons pay money to get into, others to get out of. not infrequently it occurs that a person who has paid to get in pays twice as much to get out. innate, adj. natural; inherent--as, innate ideas, that is to say, ideas that we are born with, having had them previously imparted to us. the doctrine of innate ideas is one of the most admirable faiths of philosophy, being itself an innate idea and therefore inaccessible to disproof, though locke foolishly supposed himself to have given it "a black eye." among innate ideas may be mentioned the belief in one's ability to conduct a newspaper, in the greatness of one's country, in the superiority of one's civilization, in the importance of one's personal affairs and in the interesting nature of one's diseases. in'ards, n. the stomach, heart, soul, and other bowels. many eminent investigators do not class the soul as an in'ard, but that acute observer and renowned authority, dr. gunsaulus, is persuaded that the mysterious organ known as the spleen is nothing less than our immortal part. to the contrary, professor garrett p. serviss holds that man's soul is that prolongation of his spinal marrow which forms the pith of his no tail; and for demonstration of his faith points confidently to the fact that tailed animals have no souls. concerning these two theories, it is best to suspend judgment by believing both. inscription, n. something written on another thing. inscriptions are of many kinds, but mostly memorial, intended to commemorate the fame of some illustrious person and hand down to distant ages the record of his services and virtues. to this class of inscriptions belongs the name of john smith, pencilled on the washington monument. following are examples of memorial inscriptions on tombstones: "in the sky my soul is found, and my body in the ground. by and by my body 'll rise to join my spirit in the skies, soaring up to heaven's gate. ." "sacred to the memory of jeremiah tree. cut down may th, , aged yrs. mos. and ds. indigenous." "affliction sore long time she boar, phisicians was in vain, till deth released the dear deceased and left her a remain. gone to join ananias and saphiar in the regions of bliss." "the clay which rests beneath this stone as silas wood was widely known. now, lying here, i ask what good it was to me to be s. wood. o man, let not ambition trouble you is the advice of silas w." "richard haymon, of heaven, fell to earth jan. , , and had the dust brushed off him oct. , ." insectivora, n. "see," cries the chorus of admiring preachers, "how providence provides for all his creatures!" "his care," the gnat said, "even the insects follows: for us he has provided wrens and swallows." sempen railey. insurance, n. an ingenious modern game of chance in which the player is permitted to enjoy the comfortable conviction that he is beating the man who keeps the table. insurance agent: my dear sir, that is a fine house--pray let me insure it. house owner: with pleasure. please make the annual premium so low that by the time when, according to the tables of your actuary, it will probably be destroyed by fire i will have paid you considerably less than the face of the policy. insurance agent: o dear, no--we could not afford to do that. we must fix the premium so that you will have paid more. house owner: how, then, can i afford that? insurance agent: why, your house may burn down at any time. there was smith's house, for example, which-- house owner: spare me--there were brown's house, on the contrary, and jones's house, and robinson's house, which-- insurance agent: spare me! house owner: let us understand each other. you want me to pay you money on the supposition that something will occur previously to the time set by yourself for its occurrence. in other words, you expect me to bet that my house will not last so long as it will probably last. insurance agent: but if your house burns without insurance it will be a total loss. house owner: beg your pardon-- by your own actuary's tables i shall probably have saved, when it burns, all the premiums i would otherwise have paid to you--amounting to more than the face of the policy they would have bought. but suppose it to burn before the time upon which your figures are based. if i could afford that, how could you? insurance agent: oh, we would make ourselves even from our luckier ventures with other clients. virtually, they pay your loss. house owner: and virtually, then, don't i help to pay their losses? are not their houses as likely as mine to burn before they have paid you as much as you must pay them? the case stands this way: you expect to take more money from your clients than you pay to them, do you not? insurance agent: certainly; if we did not-- house owner: i would not trust you with my money unless you did reference to the whole body of your clients, that they lose money on you it is probable, with reference to any one of them, that he will. it is these individual probabilities that make the aggregate certainty. insurance agent: i will not deny it--but look at the figures in this pamph-- house owner: heaven forbid! insurance agent: you spoke of saving the premiums which you would otherwise pay to me. will you not be more likely to squander them? we offer you an incentive to thrift. house owner: the willingness of a to take care of b's money is not peculiar to insurance, but as a charitable institution you command esteem. deign to accept its expression from a deserving object. insurrection, n. an unsuccessful revolution; disaffection's failure to substitute misrule for bad government. intention, n. the mind's sense of the prevalence of one set of influences over another set; an effect whose cause is the imminence, immediate or remote, of the performance of an involuntary act. interpreter, n. one who enables two persons of different languages to understand each other by repeating to each what it would have been to the interpreter's advantage for the other to have said. interregnum, n. the period during which a monarchical country is governed by a warm spot on the cushion of the throne. the experiment of letting the spot grow cold has commonly been attended by most unhappy results from the zeal of many worthy persons to keep it warm. intimacy, n. a relation into which fools are providentially drawn for their mutual destruction. two seidlitz powders, one in blue and one in white, together drew, and having each a pleasant sense of t' other powder's excellence, forsook their jackets for the snug enjoyment of a common mug. so close their intimacy grew one paper would have held the two. to confidences straight they fell, less anxious each to hear than tell; then each remorsefully confessed to all the virtues he possessed, acknowledging he had them in so high degree it was a sin. the more they said, the more they felt their spirits with emotion melt, till tears in cataracts expressed their feelings. then they effervesced! so nature executes her feats of wrath on friends and sympathetes the good old rule who won't apply, that you are you and i am i. introduction, n. a social ceremony invented by the devil for the gratification of his servants and the plaguing of his enemies. the introduction attains in this country its most malevolent development, being, indeed, closely related to our political system. every american being the equal of every other american, it follows that everybody has the right to know everybody else, which implies the right to introduce without request or permission. the declaration of independence should have read thus: "we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created nice and equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, and the right to make that of another miserable by thrusting upon him an incalculable quantity of acquaintances; liberty, particularly the liberty to introduce persons to one another without first ascertaining if they are not already acquainted as enemies; and the pursuit of another's happiness with a running pack of strangers." inventor, n. a person who makes an ingenious arrangement of wheels, levers, and springs, and believes it civilization. irreligion, n. the principal one of the great faiths of the world. itch, n. the patriotism of a scotchman. j j is a consonant in english, but some nations use it as a vowel--than which nothing could be more absurd. its original form, which has been but slightly modified, was that of the tail of a subdued dog, and it was not a letter but a character, standing for the latin verb jacere, "to throw," because when a stone is thrown at a dog the dog's tail assumes that shape. this is the origin of the letter, as expounded by the learned and renowned dr. jocolpus burner, of the university of belgrade, who established his conclusions on the subject in a work of three quarto volumes and committed suicide on being reminded that the j in the roman alphabet had originally no curl. jealous, adj. unduly concerned about the preservation of that which can only be lost if not worth keeping. jester, n. an officer formerly attached to a king's household, whose business it was to amuse the court by ludicrous actions and utterances, the absurdity being attested by his motley costume. the king himself being attired with dignity, it took the world some centuries to discover that his own conduct and decrees were sufficiently ridiculous for the amusement not only of his court but of all mankind. the jester was commonly called a fool, but the poets and romancers have ever delighted to represent him as a singularly wise and witty person. in the circus clown of to-day the melancholy ghost of the court fool effects the dejection of humbler audiences with the same jests wherewith in life he gloomed the marble hall, panged the patrician sense of humor and tapped the tank of royal tears. the widow-queen of portugal had an audacious jester who entered the confessional disguised and there confessed her. "father," she said, "thine ear bend down-- my sins are more than scarlet: i love my fool--blaspheming clown, and common, base-born varlet." "daughter," the mimic priest replied, "that sin, indeed, is awful: the church's pardon is denied to love that is unlawful. "but since thy stubborn heart will be for him forever pleading, thou 'dst better make him, by decree, a man of birth and breeding." she made the fool a duke, in hope with heaven's taboo to palter; then told the priest, who told the pope, who damned her from the altar! barel dort. jews-harp, n. an unmusical instrument, played by holding it fast with the teeth and trying to brush it away with the finger. joss-sticks, n. small sticks burned by the chinese in their pagan tomfoolery, in imitation of certain sacred rites of our holy religion. justice, n. a commodity which in a more or less adulterated condition the state sells to the citizen as a reward for his allegiance, taxes, and personal service. k k is a consonant that we get from the greeks, but it can be traced away back beyond them to the cerathians, a small commercial nation inhabiting the peninsula of smero. in their tongue it was called klatch, which means "destroyed." the form of the letter was originally precisely that of our h, but the erudite and ingenious dr. snedeker explains that it was altered to its present shape to commemorate the destruction of the great temple of jarute by an earthquake, circa b. c. this building was famous for the two lofty columns of its portico, one of which was broken in half by the catastrophe, the other remaining intact. as the earlier form of the letter is supposed to have been suggested by these pillars, so, it is thought by the great antiquary, its later was adopted as a simple and natural--not to say touching--means of keeping the calamity ever in the national memory. it is not known if the name of the letter was altered as an additional mnemonic, or if the name was always klatch and the destruction one of nature's puns. as each theory seems probable enough, i see no objection to believing both-- and dr. snedeker arrayed himself on that side of the question. keep, v. he willed away his whole estate, and then in death he fell asleep, murmuring: "well, at any rate, my name unblemished i shall keep." but when upon the tomb't was wrought whose was it?--for the dead keep naught. durang gopbel am. kill, v. to create a vacancy without nominating a successor. kilt, n. a costume affected by scotchmen in america and americans in scotland. kindness, n. a brief preface to ten volumes of exaction. king, n. a male person commonly known in america as a "crowned head," although he never wears a crown and has usually no head to speak of. a king, in times long, long gone by, said to his lazy jester: "if i were you and you were i my moments merrily would fly-- no care nor grief to pester." "the reason, sire, that you would thrive," the fool said--"if you 'll hear it-- is that of all the fools alive who own you for their sovereign, i 've the most forgiving spirit." oogum bern. king's evil, n. a malady that was formerly cured by the touch of the sovereign, but has now to be treated by the physicians. thus "the most pious edward" of england used to lay his royal hand upon his ailing subjects and make them whole-- "a crowd of wretched souls that stay his cure: their malady convinces the great essay of art; but at his touch, such sanctity hath heaven given his hand they presently amend," as the "doctor" in macbeth hath it. this useful property of the royal hand could, it appears, be transmitted along with other crown properties; for according to "malcolm," "'t is spoken, to the succeeding royalty he leaves the healing benediction." but the gift somewhere dropped out of the line of succession: the later sovereigns of england have not been tactual healers, and the disease once honored with the name "king's evil" now bears the humbler one of "scrofula," from scrofa, a sow. the date and author of the following epigram are unknown, but it is old enough to show that the jest about scotland's national disorder is not a thing of yesterday. ye kynge his evill in me laye, wh. he of scottlande charmed awaye. he layde his hand on mine and sayd: "be gone!" ye ill no longer stayd. but o ye wofull plyght in wh. i 'm now y-pight: i have ye itche! the superstition that maladies can be cured by royal taction is dead, but like many a departed conviction it has left a monument of custom to keep its memory green. the practice of forming in line and shaking the president's hand had no other origin, and when that great dignitary bestows his healing salutation on "strangely visited people, all sworn and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, the mere despair of surgery," he and his patients are handing along an extinguished torch which once was kindled at the altar-fire of a faith long held by all classes of men. it is a beautiful and edifying "survival"--one which brings the sainted past very close home to our "business and bosoms." kiss, n. a word invented by the poets as a rhyme for "bliss." it is supposed to signify, in a general way, some kind of rite or ceremony appertaining to a good understanding; but the manner of its performance is unknown to the author of this dictionary. kleptomaniac, n. a rich thief. knight, n. once a warrior gentle of birth, then a person of civic worth, now a fellow to move our mirth. warrior, person, and fellow--no more: we must knight our dogs to get any lower. brave knights kennelers then shall be, noble knights of the golden flea, knights of the order of st. steboy, knights of st. gorge and knights of jawy. god speed the day when this knighting fad shall go to the dogs and the dogs go mad. koran, n. a book which the mohammedans foolishly believe to have been written by divine inspiration, but which christians know to be a wicked imposture, contradictory to the holy scriptures. l labor, n. one of the processes by which a acquires property for b. lace, n. a delicate and costly textile fabric with which the female soul is netted like a fish. the devil casting a seine of lace (with precious stones 't was weighted) drew it in to the landing place and its contents calculated. all souls of women were in that sack-- a draught miraculous, precious! but ere he could throw it across his back they 'd all escaped through the meshes. baruch de loppis. land, n. a part of the earth's surface, considered as property. the theory that land is property subject to private ownership and control is the foundation of modern society, and is eminently worthy of the superstructure. carried to its logical conclusion, it means that some have the right to prevent others from living; for the right to own implies the right exclusively to occupy, and in fact laws of trespass are enacted wherever property in land is recognized. it follows that if the whole area of terra firma is owned by a, b, and c, there will be no place for d, e, f, and g to be born on, or, being born as trespassers, to exist on. a life on the ocean wave, a home on the rolling deep, for the spark that nature gave i have there the right to keep. they give me the cat-o'-nine whenever i go ashore. then ho! for the flashing brine-- i'ma natural commodore! dodle. language, n. the music with which we charm the serpents guarding another's treasure. laocoÖn, n. a famous piece of antique sculpture representing a priest of that name and his two sons in the folds of two enormous serpents. the skill and diligence with which the old man and lads support the serpents and keep them up to their work have been justly regarded as one of the noblest artistic illustrations of the mastery of human intelligence over brute inertia. lap, n. one of the most important organs of the female system--an admirable provision of nature for the repose of infancy, but chiefly useful in rural festivities to support plates of cold chicken and heads of adult males. the male of our species has a rudimentary lap, imperfectly developed and in no way contributing to the animal's substantial welfare. last, n. a shoemaker's implement, named by a frowning providence as opportunity to the maker of puns. ah, punster, would my lot were cast, where the cobbler is unknown, so that i might forget his last and hear your own. gargo repsky. laughter, n. an interior convulsion, producing a distortion of the features and accompanied by inarticulate noises. it is infectious and, though intermittent, incurable. liability to attacks of laughter is one of the characteristics distinguishing man from the animals--these being not only inaccessible to the provocation of his example, but impregnable to the microbes having original jurisdiction in bestowal of the disease. whether laughter could be imparted to animals by inoculation from the human patient is a question that has not been answered by experimentation. dr. weir mitchell holds that the infectious character of laughter is due to instantaneous fermentation of sputa diffused in a spray. from this peculiarity he names the disorder convulsio spargens. laureate, adj. crowned with the leaves of the vegetable aforesaid. in england the poet laureate is an officer of the sovereign's court, acting as dancing skeleton at every royal feast and singing mute at every royal funeral. of all incumbents of that high office robert southey had the most notable knack at drugging the samson of public joy and cutting his hair to the quick; and he had an artistic color-sense which enabled him so to blacken a public grief as to give it the aspect of a national crime. laurel, n. the laurus, a vegetable dedicated to apollo, and formerly defoliated to wreathe the brows of victors and such poets as had influence at court. law, n. once law was sitting on the bench, and mercy knelt a-weeping. "clear out!" he cried, "disordered wench! nor come before me creeping. upon your knees if you appear, 't is plain you have no standing here," then justice came. his honor cried: "your status?--devil seize you!" "<i>arnica curiæ</i>," she replied-- "friend of the court, so please you." "begone!" he shouted--"there 's the door-- i never saw your face before!" g. j. lawful, adj. compatible with the will of a judge having jurisdiction. lawyer, n. one skilled in circumvention of the law. one of the chief duties of the modern lawyer is defense of eminent rogues by vituperation of "anonymous scribblers" of the press--an employment which drew from that "scurril jester," editor fum, of "the daily livercomplaint," the hortatory words here following: take notice, lawyers all. for many a year your cheerful tribe (i mean to stint your cheer) when hired to cheat the gallows of its prey or turn the law-dogs' noses all astray from a thief's track, and take of what he stole the lion's share--that is to say, the whole-- have deemed it right his grievance to redress with fine philippics on the brutal press that persecutes a blameless soul--alas, how angels suffer from the felon class! now mark ye, lawless lawyers, if ye still shall think it well to serve a client ill, accept his money on the false pretense that slander of accusers is defense, deal out damnation to sustain his hope and handle without gloves all things but soap, i 'm for retaliation. hear me swear, with head uncovered and with hand in air, by that sole deity whom lawyers hold in pious reverence, almighty gold (whose name, with deep hypocrisy, they spell, pronounce and take in vain without the l) my scourging weapon shall remain unstirred, gracing the pinion of its parent bird. i 'll let you struggle for the blackguard's wreath and tear your tongues to rags upon your teeth! laziness, n. unwarranted repose of manner in a person of low degree. lead, n. a heavy blue-gray metal much used in giving stability to light lovers--particularly to those who love not wisely but other men's wives. lead is also of great service as a counterpoise to an argument of such weight that it turns the scale of debate the wrong way. an interesting fact in the chemistry of international controversy is that at the point of contact of two patriotisms lead is precipitated in great quantities. hail, holy lead!--of human feuds the great and universal arbiter; endowed with penetration to pierce any cloud fogging the field of controversial hate, and with a swift, inevitable, straight, searching precision find the unavowed but vital point. thy judgment, when allowed by the chirurgeon, settles the debate. o useful metal!--were it not for thee we'd grapple one another's ears alway: but when we hear thee buzzing like a bee we, like old muhlenberg, "care not to stay." and when the quick have run away like pullets jack satan smelts the dead to make new bullets. learning, n. the kind of ignorance distinguishing the studious. lecturer, n. one with his hand in your pocket, his tongue in your ear, and his faith in your patience. legacy, n. a gift from one who is legging it out of this vale of tears. leonine, adj. unlike a menagerie lion. leonine verses are those in which a word in the middle rhymes with a word at the end, as in this famous passage from bella peeler silcox: the electric light invades the dunnest deep of hades. cries pluto, 'twixt his snores: "o tempora! o mores!" it should be explained that mrs. silcox does not undertake to teach the pronunciation of the greek and latin tongues. leonine verses are so called in honor of a poet named leo, whom prosodists appear to find a pleasure in believing to have been the first to discover that a rhyming couplet could be run into a single line. lettuce, n. an herb of the genus lactuca, "wherewith," says that pious gastronome, hengist pelly, "god has been pleased to reward the good and punish the wicked. for by his inner light the righteous man has discerned a manner of compounding for it a dressing to the appetency whereof a multitude of gustible condiments conspire, being reconciled and ameliorated with profusion of oil, the entire comestible making glad the heart of the godly and causing his face to shine. but the person of spiritual unworth is successfully tempted of the adversary to eat of the lettuce with destitution of oil, mustard, egg, salt, and garlic, and with a rascal bath of vinegar polluted with sugar. wherefore the person of spiritual unworth suffers an intestinal pang of strange complexity and raises the song." leviathan, n. an enormous aquatic animal mentioned by job. some suppose it to have been the whale, but that distinguished ichthyologer, dr. jordan, of stanford university, maintains with considerable heat that it was a species of gigantic tadpole, ('thaddeus polandensis) or polliwig-- maria pseudo-hirsuta. for an exhaustive description and history of the tadpole consult the famous monograph of jane porter, thaddeus of warsaw. lexicographer, n. a pestilent fellow who, under the pretense of recording some particular stage in the development of a language, does what he can to arrest its growth, stiffen its flexibility, and mechanize its methods. for your lexicographer, having written his dictionary, comes to be considered "as one having authority," whereas his function is only to make a record, not to give a law. the natural servility of the human understanding having invested him with judicial power, surrenders its right of reason and submits itself to a chronicle as if it were a statute. let the dictionary (for example) mark a good word as "obsolete" or "obsolescent" and no man thereafter ventures to use it, whatever his need of it and however desirable its restoration to favor--whereby the process of impoverishment is accelerated and speech decays. on the contrary, the bold and discerning writer who, recognizing the truth that language must grow by innovation if it grow at all, makes new words and uses the old in an unfamiliar sense has no following and is tartly reminded that "it is n't in the dictionary"-- although down to the time of the first lexicographer (heaven forgive him!) no author ever had used a word that was in the dictionary. in the golden prime and high noon of english speech; when from the lips of the great elizabethans fell words that made their own meaning and carried it in their very sound; when a shakespeare and a bacon were possible, and the language now rapidly perishing at one end and slowly renewed at the other was in vigorous growth and hardy preservation--sweeter than honey and stronger than a lion--the lexicographer was a person unknown, the dictionary a creation which his creator had not created him to create. god said: "let spirit perish into form," and lexicographers arose, a swarm! thought fled and left her clothing, which they took and catalogued each garment in a book. now, from her leafy covert when she cries: "give me my clothes and i 'll return," they rise and scan the list, and say without compassion: "excuse us--they are mostly out of fashion." sigismund smith. liar, n. a lawyer with a roving commission. liberty, n. one of imagination's most precious possessions. the rising people, hot and out of breath, roared round the palace: "liberty or death!" "if death will do," the king said, "let me reign; you 'll have, i 'm sure, no reason to complain." martha braymance. lickspittle, n. a useful functionary, not infrequently found editing a newspaper. in his character of editor he is closely allied to the blackmailer by the tie of occasional identity; for in truth the lickspittle is only the blackmailer under another aspect, though the latter is frequently found as an independent species. lickspittling is more detestable than blackmailing, precisely as the business of a confidence man is more detestable than that of a highway robber; and the parallel maintains itself throughout, for whereas few robbers will cheat, every sneak will plunder if he dare. life, n. a spiritual pickle preserving the body from decay. we live in daily apprehension of its loss; yet when lost it is not missed. the question, "is life worth living?" has been much discussed; particularly by those who think it is not, many of whom have written at great length in support of their view and by careful observance of the laws of health enjoyed for long terms of years the honors of successful controversy. "life's not worth living, and that 's the truth," carelessly caroled the golden youth; and in manhood still he maintained that view and held it more strongly the older he grew. when kicked by a jackass at eighty-three, "go fetch me a surgeon at once!" cried he. han soper. lighthouse, n. a tall building on the seashore in which the government maintains a lamp and the friend of a politician. limb, n. the branch of a tree or the leg of an american woman. 't was a pair of boots that the lady bought. and the salesman laced them tight to a very remarkable height-- higher, indeed, than i think he ought-- higher than <i>can</i> be right. for the bible declares--but never mind: it is hardly fit to censure freely and fault to find with others for sins that i 'm not inclined myself to commit. each has his weakness, and though my own is freedom from every sin, it still were unfair to pitch in, discharging the first censorious stone. besides, the truth compels me to say, the boots in question were <i>made</i> that way. as he drew the lace she made a grimace, and blushingly said to him: "this boot, i 'm sure, is too high to endure, it hurts my--hurts my--limb." the salesman smiled in a manner mild, like an artless, undesigning child; then, checking himself, to his face he gave a look as sorrowful as the grave, though he did n't care two figs for her pains and throes, as he stroked her toes, remarking with speech and manner just befitting his calling: "madam, i trust that it does n't hurt your twigs." g. percival doke. linen, n. "a kind of cloth the making of which entails a great waste of hemp."--calcraft the hangman. litigant, n. a person about to give up his skin for the hope of retaining his bones. litigation, n. a machine which you go into as a pig and come out of as a sausage. liver, n. a large red organ thoughtfully provided by nature to be bilious with. the sentiments and emotions which every literary anatomist now knows to haunt the heart were anciently believed to infest the liver; and even gascoygne, speaking of the emotional side of human nature, calls it "our hepaticall parte." it was at one time considered the seat of life; hence its name--liver, the thing we live with. the liver is heaven's best gift to the goose; without it that bird would be unable to supply us with the strasbourg pâté. ll.d. letters indicating the degree legumptionis doctor, one learned in the laws, gifted with legal gumption. some suspicion is cast upon this derivation by the fact that the title was formerly ££. d. and conferred only upon gentlemen distinguished for their wealth. at the date of this writing columbia university is considering the expediency of making another degree for clergymen, in place of the old d.d.--damnator diaboli. the new honor will be known as sanctorum custos, and written $$. c. the name of the rev. john satan has been suggested as a suitable recipient by a lover of consistency, who points out that professor harry thurston peck has long enjoyed the advantage of a degree. lock-and-key, n. the distinguishing device of civilization and enlightenment. lodger, n. a less popular name for the first person of that delectable newspaper trinity, the roomer, the bedder, and the mealer. logic, n. the art of thinking and reasoning in strict accordance with the limitations and incapacities of the human misunderstanding. the basis of logic is the syllogism, consisting of a major and a minor premise and a conclusion--thus: major premise: sixty men can do a piece of work sixty times as quickly as one man. minor premise: one man can dig a post-hole in sixty seconds; therefore-- conclusion: sixty men can dig a post-hole in one second. this may be called the syllogism arithmetical, in which, by combining logic and mathematics, we obtain a double certainty and are twice blessed. lord, n. in american society, an english tourist above the state of a costermonger, as, lord 'aberdasher, lord hartisan, and so forth. the travelling briton of lesser degree is addressed as "sir," as, sir 'arry donkiboi, of 'amstead 'eath. the word "lord" is sometimes used, also, as a title of the supreme being; but this is thought to be rather flattery than true reverence. miss sallie ann splurge, of her own accord, wedded a wandering english lord-- wedded and took him to dwell with her "paw," a parent who throve by the practice of draw. lord cadde i don't hesitate here to declare unworthy the father-in-legal care of that elderly sport, notwithstanding the truth that cadde had renounced the follies of youth; for, sad to relate, he 'd arrived at the stage of existence that 's marked by the vices of age. among them cupidity caused him to urge repeated demands on the pocket of splurge, till, wrecked in his fortune, that gentleman saw inadequate aid in the practice of draw, and took, as a means of augmenting his pelf, to the business of being a lord himself. his neat-fitting garments he willfully shed and sacked himself strangely in checks instead; denuded his chin, but retained at each ear a whisker that looked like a blasted career. he painted his neck an incarnadine hue each morning and varnished it all that he knew. the moony monocular set in his eye appeared to be scanning the sweet bye-and-bye. his head was enroofed with a billycock hat, and his low-necked shoes were aduncous and flat. in speech he eschewed his american ways, denying his nose to the use of his a's and dulling their edge till the delicate sense of a babe at their temper could take no offence. his h's--'t was most inexpressibly sweet, the patter they made as they fell at his feet! re-outfitted thus, mr. splurge without fear began as lord splurge his recouping career. alas, the divinity shaping his end entertained other views and decided to send his lordship in horror, despair, and dismay from the land of the nobleman's natural prey. for, smit with his old world ways, lady cadde fell--suffering caesar!--in love with her dad! g. j.