proofreading team [illustration: _digging for daffynishuns_] the silly syclopedia ### a terrible thing in the form of a literary torpedo which is launched ### for hilarious purposes only inaccurate in every particular containing copious etymological derivations and other useless things _by_ _noah lott_ (an ex-relative of noah webster) embellished with numerous and distracting cuts and diagrams by louis f. grant g.w. dillingham company publishers new york * * * * * copyright, , by g.w. dillingham company _entered at stationers' hall_ issued july, _the silly syclopedia_ * * * * * lives of great men all remind us life is really not worth while if we cannot leave behind us some excuses for a smile! * * * * * _to_ my automobile. which when i read it some of these brain-throbs jumped over the fence, climbed a telegraph pole, burst its cylinder head, exploded all its tires and then turned around and barked at me. * * * * * abbreviations used in this work a.b. at the bat. b.i. butt in. c.o. catch on. d.t.l. down the line. e.s. easy street. i.t.n. in the neck. i.u.t.y. it's up to you. i.f.m. i'm from missouri. m.m.t.s. make mine the same. n.g. nice gentleman. o.t.l. on the level. p.d.q. pass the butter. t.l. the limit. * * * * * preface. some eighteen months ago i took this brilliant bunch of brain burrs to my esteemed publisher and with much enthusiasm invited him to spend a lot of money thereon. the main stem in the works informed me that he had his fingers on the public pulse and just as soon as that pulse began to jump and yell for something from my fiery pen he would throw the _silly syclopedia_ at it. then he placed my ms. in the forward turret of his steel-armored safe, gave me a fairly good cigar and began to look hard in the direction of the elevator. last week, while searching for some missing government bonds, my publisher found my sadly neglected ms. he at once reached over and grabbed the public pulse. to his astonishment it was jumping and making signs in my direction. in a frenzied effort to make up for lost time my publisher then yelled feverishly for a printer. enclosed please find the result. in the meantime, however, i figure that i have lost $ , . in royalties, $ worth of glory and about cents worth of fame--tough, isn't it? i think my publisher should be censured for going out golfing and taking his fingers off the public pulse. don't you? noah lott. chestnut hill june th, * * * * * [illustration: "a--a flush fool."] a man can drop a lot of dough trying to pick up money. a fool and his money are soon spotted. an accommodation liar soon learns to run like an express. a guilty conscience needs no accuser if you catch him at it. * * * * * ### a: an adjective, commonly called the indefinite article because the higher the fewer. ### * * * * * a bas. a french word meaning "s'cat!" [illustration] a sharp. a musical term which cannot be explained here, because the musical union might get sore. a flat. a people coop. seven rooms and a landlord, with hot and cold gas and running servants. a _flat_ is the poor relation of an apartment. abroad. a place where people go to be cured of visiting foreign lands. abscond. to duck with the dough. from the latin word _absconditto_, meaning to grab the long-green and hike for the bad lands. absinthe. the national headache of the french. a jag-builder which is mostly wormwood and bad dreams. a liquid substance which when applied to a "holdover" revivifies it and enables its owner to sit up and notice the bar-tender. abstain. the stepladder which leads up to the water wagon. abstemious. having an aisle seat on the water wagon. acrobat. a fellow of infinite chest. accumulate. to collect or bring together. for example: "he borrowed two dollars from his wife, whereupon he went out and _accumulated_ a bunch of boozerine." (carlyle's heroes and hero worship.) [illustration] a thing of beauty. a joy forever until we get used to it. alcohol. the forefather of a hold-over. boozerine, in the raw state. from the latin words _alco_ and _haul_, meaning "he is soused to the booby hatches, _haul_ him to the _alcove_." (see lord macaulay's jags of ancient rome.) ambition. the only disease which laziness can cure. amusement. the hard work a man does on the golf links to give himself an appetite for sausage links. angel. something behind a show--and always something behind. ape. to imitate. for instance: the man who imitates his betters is the easiest man to make a monkey of. applause. the fuss which we think the world ought to make over us for doing our duty. automobile. a horseless idea which makes people go fast and the money go faster. a tide in the affairs of man which, taken between the shoulder blades and the curbstone, leads on to the hospital. axe-grinding. the art practiced by those who give you a cookie so they can touch you for a barrel of flour. the axe-grinding industry had its origin in the garden of eden. the serpent was extremely partial to autumn, so he gave eve a nice red apple, and in exchange she gave the serpent an early fall. (see lord macaulay, page .) [illustration] airship. a machine invented for the purpose of flying through the newspapers. * * * * * see m. santos dumont. in case he isn't in when you call a part of his autobiography is printed herewith: "my first yearning," writes m. santos--see page --"was for an opportunity to rise in the world. "when but a little boy my dearest wish was to get up to the top of the ladder and then have someone remove the ladder. if i stayed up i knew i was successful. if i came down i didn't know anything for a week or two." the reader will notice a peculiarity about this gentleman's name. it starts off with "m" and then there is eight bars rest until it comes to santos. this is a french custom. every man in france begins his first name with "m" and then refuses to tell the rest of it. it seems such a stingy habit. let us quote more from m. dumont's own story: "my first desire to get off the earth happened while i was extremely young. "one day while out in the brazilian diamond fields picking the luscious white stones from the trees it suddenly occurred to me what a frivolous life i was leading. "diamonds, diamonds everywhere and not a place to pawn. "i became restless. "my father owned the diamond plantation so i went to him and explained what a tired feeling i had, and how i longed to rise in the world. "father at once turned about fifteen volts into his right shoe and i rose for a distance of four feet. "i returned almost immediately, but this short flying trip made a deep impression upon my mind, and otherwise. "ten years later i left home just to convince my father that i could rise in the world without his kindly collaboration. "one day while in new york i went up to the fifty-ninth floor of a sky-remover building. "the elevator was extremely nervous that day. "while coming down i was pained and surprised to observe that my stomach did not travel with me. "i spoke to the _charge d'affaires_ of the elevator about it. "i complained bitterly to him about such an inhuman invention which rushed through space with a man's exterior and left his interior to bump its way downstairs. "the _charge d'affaires_ of the elevator told me if i did not like it to get out and fly. "that was the inspiration which drove me to build the flying machine. "two weeks later i went to paris, because that is the flyest city in the world." [illustration: "b--a skin game."] beauty is only a skin game after all. bad beginners make bad finishers. birds of a feather flock together on the theatre hats. be sure you're ahead--then go right. * * * * * ### b: the second letter of the alphabet. it is called a vocal labial consonant, which, no doubt, serves it right. ### * * * * * baa. to make a noise like a sheep. bow-wow. to make a noise like a dog. biff. to make a noise like a boxing glove. [illustration] baggage. two shirts, some underwear, one suit of clothes, six collars and a hair brush which you lost somewhere between here and chicago. bad actor. a man who is egged on by ambition and egged off by the audience. badinage. light or playful discourse. for example. "why does a chicken cross the street? because the butcher." [illustration] bar. a place where men go to get a thirst so that they can go there again to quench their thirst. beethoven's sonata. an excuse some women use for beating the face off a piano. bigamist. a man that adds one and has two to carry. blonde. an abbreviation of peroxide of hydrogen. breeze. a condition in the atmosphere which generally arises on a cold day, to make it colder and stays away on a hot day to make it warmer. it is supposed to inhabit the windows, but when you look for it on a summer night all you can see is the "gent" next door chaperoning the growler. bundle. a load of preserves. from the norwegian _bun_, meaning high tide. "yesterday he annexed a _bundle_ and this morning he sits on the front steps singing soft lullabies to a hold-over." (shakespeare, page .) [illustration: "c--coogan thinking about home."] charity begins at home and ruins its health by staying there too much. children who are wayward grow up to be the people who fall by the wayside. coogan says there is no place like home--and he congratulates the other places. consistency is a jewel, but it isn't fashionable to wear it. * * * * * ### c: the third letter of the alphabet. it is also used in music, especially by _prima donnas_ who try to reach it and fall flat. ### * * * * * cab. a machine invented for the purpose of going somewhere, but which seldom gets there. an inland tugboat. [illustration] cad. a shine with an extra polish on. calamity. a loud-mouthed individual who insists upon telling stale jokes. cash. the stuff we work for, work other people for and are worked for. synonyms: bones, cash, coin, dough, ducats, long-green, mazuma, and , others. charity. something which begins at home and stays at home every day except sunday, when it goes to church to talk about itself. cinch. when a man starts out with a bundle of money and a bundle of booze it's a cinch that he drops the money first. cold feet. a punishment for those that stand around and wait for dead men's shoes. compliments. things which some people fish for hard enough to catch a sea-serpent. confidence man. the noblest work of fraud. conclusion. something a woman jumps at in the same manner in which she jumps off a street car--which is backwards. conscience. the alarm clock on a man's mind which is seldom wound up. consistency. a jewel which isn't appreciated as a christmas present. contentment. a large, open-faced gentleman telling his friends how he self-made himself. copper-fastened cinch. a good-looking widow who has made up her mind to marry again. courtship. love's excursion boat just before it strikes the rough sea of matrimony. crook. a man who says nobody is straight. [illustration] cook. something which makes up her mind to stay in the kitchen and then loses her mind. a product of modern society who has for her motto "dimuendo contralto dumdum," which means, "she who cooks and runs away will live to cook another day." crow. a bird politicians would eat after election if they were not so busy drinking. [illustration] czar. an illustration of the old proverb, "uneasy lies the king when falls the ace." * * * * * the following letter written by the czar to tolstoi probably illustrates better than any other document the pleasant and health-giving conditions under which the czar lives and reigns:-- in the cellar, to-day. dear tolsey:--my hands tremble a little in the armor-plated gloves, so you must excuse bad spelling. they have just handed me a small bunch of asbestos writing paper, and the fountain pen has been sterilized to remove the poison, so i will write you. great scottovitch! you can never enjoy the feeling of anxiety which gallops over me when i wake in the morning and wonder will the hard-boiled eggs explode before i eat my breakfast. at six o'clock this morning i was awakened by a scratching noise on the iron quilt which covers my repose. a cold perspiration broke out on my forehead. i buried my head in the hardwood pillows and waited the end. just then m. stepupski, the minister of the department of bum shells, walked in through the secret tunnel in the wall. i threw the aluminum blanket off my face and cried: "what is it? what is it?" "pardonoviski, your majesty," said m. stepupski, "it is the cat! whether it is a trained cat carrying a deadly bombshell in the forward turret, i don't know, but we will investigationiski at once." my minister coaxed the cat away and five minutes later a loud explosion confirmed m. stepupski's theory that the cat's bosom contained something more than nine lives. it also confirmed m. stepupski, because he has been strangely absent ever since together with a stained-glass window and a lot of new furniture. take my advice, tolstoi, and don't be a royalty. i say this as one friend to another and not because i have to wear copper-fastened pajamas. i don't mind the copper-fastened pajamas so much, but to wear asphalt neckties and barb-wire suspenders is something which aggravates the spirit. at a.m. this morning m. cornmealski, the minister of the department of armored breakfasts, reported that he had discovered something suspicious in the dish of peeled prunes. we examined the prunes carefully and found them stuffed with free tickets to ride on the brooklyn elevated railroad. we burned the tickets hastily and saved our lives again. m. cornmealski reports that up to date different breakfast foods have been received at the palace kitchen. he says they range all the way from consolidated shavings to perforated sawdust, with here and there some compressed knot-holes. in a mad moment yesterday i took the yale lock off my appetite and ordered up one of those breakfast food samples, but just as i had the spoonful at my lips i remembered the prayer of my youth: "woodman, spare that tree!" and once more my life was saved. ten minutes ago m. blackandblueski, the minister of the department of witch hazel, rushed into my bulkhead compartment. "oxcooski, your majesty," said the minister, "but this morning the cookski was burning a few links of sausage for breakfast. well, your majesty, about two minutes afterwards the cookski and the stove and one side of the palace left in a hurry and went away in a northwesterly direction. we don't expect them back, because the sausage was stuffed with rapid transit material, your majesty!" thus it goes all day. don't you think it is pretty hard lines when i have to make them wash the water on both sides before putting it in the teapot? now i must stop because i hear the humming of the harpoons on the outside. my officers are talking about me again. farewellski! * * * * * customs inspector. an individual who gets a salary for believing that everybody on the steamboat is a smuggler. * * * * * in order to study briefly the custom house system as applied to returning travellers let us witness the arrival from abroad of the secretary of the treasury. some years before the secretary went into politics deep enough to stay there and make expenses he took a slight trip to europe. two weeks later he was on his way home to his beloved land on the good ship "kaiser wilhelm, the grocer." the stars and stripes seemed to wave a welcome to him as he approached the hospitable shores of fire island. "it is good, so good to breathe once more the air of liberty!" said the secretary, and ten minutes later the "kaiser wilhelm, the grocer" was at her dock. "ah! how happy i am to be once more where freedom reigns!" said the secretary as he walked proudly down the gangway plank. "wait!" the speaker was a short-set man with a thick face and a wide voice. the secretary paled his cheeks. "who are you?" "i am an american citizen; leave me pass!" exclaimed the secretary. "so am i," said the man with a thick face; "and nothing passes me. you have been to europe, have you not?" "do you think i used the 'kaiser wilhelm the grocer' to come from staten island?" asked the secretary. the man laughed, loosely. "swear!" he said. "at you?" inquired the secretary. "swear you are not a smuggler," said the roan. "i ought to kick you for such an insult," said the secretary. "business before pleasure," said the man; "swear that you are not a robber." "i swear," said the secretary; "inwardly, outwardly, earnestly and pictorially, i swear!" "by the memory of george washington you swear that you are not a smugglesome man?" "i do," said the secretary. "hold up both hands and swear!" the secretary did so. "with both hands behind your back and your eyes fixed on the declaration of independence sign this sworn statement," said the man. the secretary did so. "now that you have sworn i will go through your trunks to see if you are a liar!" said the man. "surely, you should receive one of my best kicks," said the secretary. "formality first, fun later," said the man, upsetting the largest trunk. "aha! what is this?" "it is a pair of open-work socks," said the secretary. "opened in europe--yes? bad business! bad business! i begin to suspect you. what is this?" "that is a pipe which i bought in baden-baden," said the secretary. "i am taking it to my cousin in springfield, mass., for a souvenir." "i will help your cousin to stop smoking," said the man, putting the pipe in his pocket. "aha! what is this?" the secretary blushed his face. "what is this?" "that is my pair of pajamas!" said the secretary. "pajamas?" "put them back, please?" said the secretary. "a man's pajamas are not for the vulgar gaze of the world!" "pajamas!" said the man. "my pajamas!" said the secretary. "they look like a chinaman's sunday trousers--yes?" the secretary looked into the pitiless faces of the multitude which was gazing into his trunk, but they handed him nothing save small bunches of laughter. "come!" said the man, "where is the chink that goes with this wearing apparel? did you hear over the wireless system about the labor strikes and try to smuggle in some cheap labor?" "i assure you that i wear those pajamas myself!" said the secretary, interrupting a sob in his throat. "you wear these pajamas? when? why? where?" "in the secrecy of my boudoir," said the secretary. "aha!" said the man, "so you have some boudoir, too! bad business! bad business! i have never heard of a boudoir trust, therefore, we do not make such a thing in this country. my suspicions are getting louder. what is in this bottle?" "that is my cough medicine," said the secretary, giving a sample of the cough. "it may be wine or cream de mint because your voice sounds nervous." "i am nervous because the world is still giggling at my pajamas," said the secretary. "back to the pajamas! bad business! bad business! i will have to dig a tunnel through your neckties to see if you have a _cafe au lait_ or a _cafe chanteuse_ in the trunk. when a man gets nervous it is always wise to watch him. open your mouth!" the secretary did so. "what have you been drinking?" "a vermouth cocktail," said the secretary. "domestic or imported?" "neither; the captain treated," said the secretary. "it looks to me much like foreign spirits," said the man. "do you wish to open me further and see?" inquired the secretary. then the man waded into the secretary's other trunks, two-stepped over his negligee shirts, waltzed through his waist-coats and did a polka amidst the ruins of his dress suit. "what is the verdict?" said the secretary after the battle was over. "not guilty, but you might be," said the man, smiling briefly. as the secretary walked out the stars and stripes seemed to bow politely at him and whisper with a voice slightly sarcastic: "you for the seat away back!" "some day," said the secretary, "i will jump into politics so far that my trunk will always be a dark secret to the custom housers!" and he did it. from the life of the secretary we learn the lesson that there is much liberty in this country, but, incidentally, there are a couple of bald spots where it is missing. if you don't believe me come home from europe some day by way of the custom house. [illustration: "d--sometimes an old fool gets away with a good thing."] do you know that a wise man can sometimes be a fool and get away with it? don't go among doers if you don't want to be did. duty calls and finds most men holding nothing but a four-flush. don't try to be a stinger if you don't want to get stung. * * * * * ### d: the letter of the alphabet which always runs fourth. ### * * * * * daisy. a twin sister to a peach. see _dream_. dam. a species of floodgates. by adding the letter "n" the floodgates are loosened. damsel. see daisy. darling. see your best girl. daffy. see a doctor. [illustration] dawn. the cold, gray period immediately following a red-hot night. delude. to take your wife by the hand and lead her away from the truth. [illustration] delusion. something which every man likes to hug--especially if she's pretty. destiny. something which laughs at those who never say die. describe. to give an account of. for instance, one woman giving a description of another woman's wearing apparel--oh, fudge! dogs of war. animals that live on bones of contention. drunkards. the monuments which whiskey erects all along the road to ruin. dust. the material from which man is made and that is the reason why woman sweeps all before her. [illustration: "e--and when she marries her fourth husband its a great deal."] everybody knows that money talks, but nobody notices what kind of grammar it uses. evil be to him who evil drinketh. every woman loves an ideal man until she marries him--then it's a new deal. every time you stop and stare at success it gets up and leaves the room. * * * * * ### e: the fifth letter of the alphabet which is usually silent at the end of a word--quite unlike some women _you_ know of, eh! ### * * * * * ear. a place which hears a great many things which should never have been said. [illustration] earth. an orange-shaped ball hanging in space and inhabited by two classes of people, to wit: kickers and more kickers. eden. the garden where adam and eve baked the first apple pie and pied the human race. ecstasy. a state in which the mind is carried away. for instance, if you are in a runaway automobile, you are in _ecstasy_ until you hit a telegraph pole; after that you're in a hospital. egotist. a man who uses his brain for the purpose of believing that he is the greatest ever. elbow. something you give a man you don't like. easter. a season of the year devoted to new bonnets, overcoatless young men and pneumonia. a tide in the affairs of women which, taken at the pocketbook, leads on to the milliners. elope. a hurried trip taken by two lovers for the purpose of wiring papa for funds to get home. [illustration] elocution. a disease which breaks out among students, but which is fatal only to the spectators. employer. a man who has a soft spot for a hard worker. envy. the root of much criticism. economy. a system practiced by some men which permits their wives to wear last year's dresses so that they can buy better cigars. experience. the best of all teachers, because it's impossible for the scholar to run away from school. [illustration: "f--there's only one thing to do however."] fine feathers make fine birds take to the woods. failures made by other people pave the road to your success. fortune wears rubber shoes and a feather pillow on each hand when she knocks on your door. fair play is a jewel, but so many people can't afford jewelry. * * * * * ### f: the sixth letter of the alphabet. it is formed by the passage of the breath between the lower lip and the upper incisive teeth, but that doesn't seem to worry it any. ### * * * * * fable. the story a man thinks his wife believes--and she lets him think it. fad. see hobby. [illustration] fade. to gradually disappear. for example: "i had ten plunks when i went out last night, but they faded away." (lord palmerston, page .) fake. something we buy to make sure it isn't on the level. faith. something which is said to move mountains, but the railroad contractors always mix in a little dynamite to help matters along. fault. something which is so easy to find, but it is so hard to give it when we find it. family. the only cure for race suicide. favor. something we do for a friend so he can forget about it. flatterer. a man who makes friends until he begins to talk about himself. forger. a man who tries to make a name for himself, but who picks out the wrong name. friend. a man who knows you are a liar, but hopes otherwise. friendship. the name of the handle some people put on other people for the purpose of using them. [illustration] football. a system of manslaughter very fashionable with boys. from the latin words "footibus," meaning "_put the boots to him_," and "balloona," meaning "up in the air, or, who hit me with a public building?" a body of college students surrounded by ambulances. for instance: sing a song of football pockets full of salve; four and twenty legs all punctured at the calve. captain in the hospital fullback in the soup, twenty-seven faces broken in the group. sophomores and freshmen punched around the ring; when the war was over the boys began to sing! raw! raw! raw! raw! raw! raw! stew them! fry them! raw! raw! raw! oysters! [illustration: "g--the friends that gold buys shake hands with two fingers."] great oaths from little aching corns do grow. great minds run in the same channel--especially if they are sea captains. gold is a dull metal, but it can cut friendship quicker than a knife. good names are better than great riches and that is why so many of us have names without price. * * * * * ### g: the seventh letter of the alphabet. used by the ancients as an expression of surprise, thus: hully gee! ### * * * * * gab. the product of a ball-bearing chin. gag. a joke rendered insensible by a third-rail comedian. gas. a substance we make light of until the bill comes in. _"you may hide your light under a bushel, but you'll get a bill from the gas company just the same_." (shakespeare, page .) gas bill. something that comes in to put us out. gas meter. a bit of machinery invented by ananias in order to please saphira and keep the household supplied with lies while the old man was down in the grocery store. get-rich-quick. an aquarium for suckers. a place where poor people go to get poorer. gee-gee. a horse by any other name will run as fast. genial. a guy that never was known to buy. genius. something we have in _our_ family--if you don't believe me, come and hear our little boy recite. [illustration] gent. two-thirds of a gentleman. gentleman. a title which many a man claims because the public hasn't time to prove him otherwise. germ. see _microbes_. in order to see microbes you'll have to get a magnifying glass. gosh. a yankee synonym for dad bust it! see _dag my buttons!_ see any reub. gossip. something which a woman hears with one ear and tells with both. a woman who can put two and two together and make five. good time. about $ worth of headache next morning and eighteen cents in small change left in the pocket. gourmand. a man who delights to make his stomach feel like a department store. grand opera. a disease which breaks out in society every winter and can be cured only by inward applications of a seat in a box and outward applications of diamonds on the chest. * * * * * bjingle bjangle, the celebrated norwegian _raconteur_, thus describes in his book of travels a visit to the grand opera in new york, as follows:-- i went to the opera last night and enjoyed it unspeakably. i noticed that most of the ladies in the boxes enjoyed it also, but not unspeakably. the ladies, heaven bless them! seemed to be suffering from that operatic disease which is called nervous conversation. this is a disease which attacks the vocal chords just as soon as the curtain rises and causes the voice to fall out. i also enjoyed the names of the singers. some of the names on the programme looked like a round robin sent out by a turnverein bowling club, but i suppose if they were baked in the oven until translated they would mean something soft and soothing like a custard pudding. why is it that foreign singers and singerettes always have a name which listens like a cuckoo clock with a sore throat. perhaps if we knew how to unlock them these names would mean just plain schmidt or jones. there was one singer on the programme that had the most extravagant name i ever witnessed. if you read it off quick it sounded like the finish of the six-day bicycle race at the madison square garden. then if you looked at it sideways it seemed to be the report of a skirmish between the russians and the japs. i think that fellow just waded into the alphabet with a dip net and all the letters he caught he kept. i liked the plot of the opera. [illustration] she was a blonde lady with one of those _embonpoint_ faces which must cost a good deal to keep in repair. the hero was a young gentleman with a sweet expression and a forehead which had moved into his hair when it was very young. i don't know which was the villain, but i have my suspicions that it was the usher who gave me a seat. i was interpolated in between a fat man who spoke with an onion accent and a narrow-headed man who whistled softly to himself all the evening without taking bars rest. my enjoyment under these circumstances was delicious. the story of the opera was simple. a lot of young ladies all ready to go in bathing changed their minds and came out on the stage. then a tall gentleman came out and warbled at them and the young ladies went away. perhaps he belonged to the crusaders on vice. then the lady that drew the largest salary came out and made goo-goo eyes at the tall gentleman. he was so embarrassed that he walked right down to the footlights and took a couple of high notes. she took the same. then four people came out on the stage and yelled together with so much earnestness that the women in the boxes had an attack of nervous exclamation, and the way they talked about whoever was not present was pitiful. when you would least expect it the hero jumped on the stage and made some quick motions with his face and arms which resulted in a solo. the story he told was simplicity itself. plainer than words could make it his beautifully imported voice kept saying "aha! aha-eo! i-am-getting-one-thousand-dollars-a-night--tra-la-la- la!-aha!-aha-eo! for-doing-this,--for-doing-this-with-the-pipes-i-get-one- thousand-plunks-oh-plunks-per-night-aha!-aha-eo!" then the soprano responded with much emotion from the orchestra, "ditto, ditto, ditto! me too, me too! oo-oo-me too!" it was delicious. but just then came the bitter moment when all my deliciousness was crushed because the narrow-headed man on my left switched softly into "hiawatha" with a few personal additions to the coda. so i stood up and went home. [illustration: "h--it takes a real hero to laugh with an empty stomach."] he laughs best who laughs with a full stomach. how many people in this world are being coaxed when it's a club they need! here are two things any man can find in the dark--a carpet tack and a limburger sandwich. "handsome is as handsome does them"--the motto of the bunco steerer. * * * * * ### h: the eighth letter of the alphabet, which is all broken up because englishmen have dropped it so often. (get ap!) ### * * * * * ha! an exclamation of surprise used in connection with other dark blue words when you step on a tack. ha, ha! something the world tries to give you on the slightest provocation. [illustration] hair. the fur that pays a temporary visit to a man's head for the purpose of falling out later on. hard job. trying to live without working. hard work. the sugar of life, but it is surprising how many people prefer lemons. health. the ability to eat meat for breakfast without having to rush to the drugstore. heat. a scheme invented by nature for the purpose of sending human beings to the seashore, the mountains and the hospital. it is from the latin words "_gee whizzibus aintit fierceibus?_"--which means much or little, according to the size of the hotel you stop at. hero. a person whom we all delight to honor because the facts in the case prevent us from throwing the hammer at him. a man who goes into history and cannot get out again. highball. a drink in the hand which is worth two headache powders in the drugstore. hog. a man who thinks everybody should move over and give him the end seat. honesty. the best policy after they catch you trying the others. the excuse that a politician always has up his sleeve. hope. a firm belief in to-morrow with the ability to take gracefully a transfer to the day after to-morrow. horse-show. a place where the women show the horse that he has no show. society's parade grounds, where one dress is as good as another until the price is known. [illustration] husband. a domestic animal, invented for the purpose of giving a wife something to worry about. see _fourflush_. also look in the discard. humidity. something which comes in through the window and goes out through the pores. a warm proposition any way you take it. a brother-in-law to torture and a half-sister to hades. the word comes from the swedish language, "_sockett toodem_," which means "_melt, you spitzbuben, melt!_" hypocrite. a knocker which is out of order except when your back is turned. [illustration: "i--when two people quarrel and smile at the same time, the third person can go for the separation papers."] it is a wise son that owes his own father. it takes a lot of money to teach a duke how to love an american heiress. if we could see ourselves as others see us many of us would wear a mask. it takes three people to engineer a quarrel--two to make it and one to run for a policeman. * * * * * ### i: the ninth letter of the alphabet. used principally by touchers in connection with o and u. thus, i. o. u. ### * * * * * ice. a substance the world uses to put a damper on swelled heads. ignorance. a lack of knowledge. for instance: the man who never heard of a microbe sometimes has the colic, but he never gets appendicitis. (milton, page .) impossibility. a stuttering man trying to make a bluff. [illustration] incongruity. a man who prays with such noise in sunday school that he sprains his voice and then goes home and beats his child for talking too loud on the sabbath day. indolent. a lazy man just before he becomes a loafer. irony of fate. a man with an invitation to a beefsteak dinner who has to stay home because his wife has acute indigestion. indian commissioner. the gentleman who invented the idea of opening up barber shops near the indian reservations, so that lo could get his hair clipped by a reaping machine once every year, whether he needed it or not. * * * * * the idea of marconi's wireless telegraph system pales into insignificance before the idea of coaxing a wild indian away from the reservation and running the remorseless horse-clippers over the wild foliage to which his head has been acclimated these many years. this is a noble suggestion, and no doubt the indians will take kindly to the barbers and pay them much attention even if their tommyhawks and scalping knives are a little dull at first. in the dramatic language of the plains biff hawkins, of spotted dog, idaho, thus describes the opening of the first barber shop in the vicinity of an indian reservation: "hist!" the speaker was the bootblack in one of those handsome hand-painted barber shops which a loving government at washington has placed at intervals along the border of the indian reservation. "what is it, mike?" said sniffles, the barber. "hist!" again that ominous word, and mike pointed feverishly at the distant horizon. on it an indian was walking, steadfastly, onward, onward, onward! remorseless as a gas bill the indian came onward to the barber shop. sniffles, the barber, jumped quickly into his armor-plated working clothes, and mike, with a sad smile of farewell, crawled into the cyclone cellar and closed the steel doors. the indian entered the barber shop. "you are next!" said sniffles, politely. "i know it," said the indian; "but i was put next only an hour ago--hence the delay. the bay rum, please!" "you want it for the hair?" inquired the barber. "no, i want it for a souse," said the indian. "get in the chair, please!" said the barber. "man-behind-the-snip-snap speaks foolish," said the indian. "i am not for a hair cut; i am for that bay rum idea. heap thirst! don't keep me waiting!" the barber turned pale as the awful truth flashed across him. "what is your name?" he said painfully. "man-afraid-of-a-shampoo," said the indian, sullenly. "nice indian! pretty indian! good indian! you are not compelled to get your hair cut, you know!" said the barber, wishing to avoid bloodshed. "paleface give me heap pain," said man-afraid-of-a-shampoo, fiercely. sniffles, the barber, trembled and believed him. "ugh!" said the indian. "ugh!" has the same meaning in indian as the word "oof!" has in english. "when i came in paleface said i was next," said man-afraid-of-a-shampoo. "well, i am next to this business. you have bay rum and i have a thirst--let us get together!" "but the bay rum is used only on the outside of the head," said the barber. "i have original ideas about bay rum," said the indian, "therefore i have decided to use it on the inside of my neck!" "but bay rum is five cents extra with a hair cut," whispered the barber. it was his last whisper in that shop. shouting the battle cry of the cherokees, the indian, grabbed the bay rum bottle and poured it carefully over his thirst. [illustration] this was followed by a bottle of hair tonic, which seemed to go to his head. then the indian swallowed a bottle of whisker dye and all seemed to grow black before him. the barber groaned in agony. it was thrilling. when last seen the indian was drinking a bottle of dry shampoo and foaming at the mouth, while he blessed the white father at washington for inventing the barber shop. that afternoon sniffles, the barber, and mike, his under secretary, walked back to washington and handed in their resignation to the interior department. [illustration: "j--the tip end of the season."] jolly not that you be not jollied. justice is blind for the reason that some lawyers would give her a pain if she could see them. journeys end in porter tippings. just as you value yourself justly just that much are you valuable. * * * * * ### j: the tenth letter of the alphabet, used almost exclusively to designate a reub with rubber in the neck--whatever that may be. ### [illustration: jay] * * * * * jag. see gold cure. if that hasn't any effect, see an undertaker. jockey. a hero or a slob--it all together depends on where the horse finishes. joke. something that's extremely clever--when we make it ourselves. [illustration.] jolly. flattery with a smile on its face. jolt. the thing a man gets who thinks he knows it all. joy. gladness with the lid off. jug. a place to keep the material before it becomes a jag. judgment. an ability which some men get credit for having when in reality they are merely lucky at guessing things. justice. the name we give it when the verdict is the way we want it. [illustration: "k--a small boy can spoil the most favorable circumstance."] kisses go by favorable circumstances. kidders are as happy as kids till somebody kids them. keep a stiff upper lip--especially when you're shaving yourself. knockers never have weak lungs. * * * * * ### k: the eleventh letter of the alphabet, pronounced k, as in knuckle. ### * * * * * keen. a grafter with a victim in sight. keno. what the grafter says when he's through with the victim. keep. the motto of the trusts. key. an instrument used at a.m. in connection with a door to determine whether a man is sober or not. [illustration] kerosene. an ambitious substance used by cooks when they want to go out through the kitchen roof. kicker. a man with a grouch on the inside and a voice on the outside. kiss. a sigh set to music. the oldest monopoly in the world with the exception of john d. rockerfeller. a kiss is the soul's cocktail. a wireless message from he to she, with a little peaches and cream on the side. [illustration] knocker. a hurdle in the way of the worthy. a chin-critic. an expert with the harpoon. [illustration: "l--when a man is so lazy that he won't talk he is called profound."] love laughs at everybody except the girl's papa. laziness generally attacks every part of a man except his tongue. lots of men spend two dollars' worth of worry over the loss of a quarter. look around and you'll see that the world likes to side with the man who has the cash. * * * * * ### l: the twelfth letter of the alphabet, captured some years ago for the purpose of describing the elevated railroad. ### * * * * * labor. trying to get back the money you loaned. [illustration] lady. a gentleman woman. lamb. a young mutton-head that goes into wall street. lark. a bird of a name given to a bird of a time. light. an excuse used by the gas company to collect money. literary failure. a man whose brain was unfit for publication. [illustration] lobster. a shine after he gets in the swim. loafer. a man who believes the world owes him a living and sends another man to collect it. love. a certain party who is supposed to be blind, but he doesn't seem to have much trouble in finding someone to lead him around. [illustration: "m--one experiment that few are willing to make."] money cannot buy happiness, but most of us are willing to make the experiment. many people would take a short walk on the road to ruin if they were sure their friends wouldn't see them. money is the root of much friendship. marry in haste and repent in dakota. * * * * * #### m: the thirteenth letter of the alphabet, which very few people use because thirteen is unlucky. #### * * * * * macaroni. an excuse for opening an italian restaurant. map. that part of the human face which is visible above the collar. [illustration] marvel. a man who never tells you his troubles. medal. a gold or silver dingus which you get for doing something you intended to do anyway. meddler. the fellow who butts in and says you're not entitled to a medal. miser. a man who has all the money he wants but wants more. money. something which talks, but a poor man can't keep it long enough to know what it says. [illustration: / microbe enlarged] microbe. a very small animal that devotes all its energy to moving into the system of an entire stranger. once in it begins to do light housekeeping on the aforementioned stranger's epiglottis. (for the meaning of epiglottis consult the first doctor you meet. if he doesn't tell you he's no gentleman.) [illustration: n ] no matter how many good things our friends say about us, we are never surprised. nothing is so astonishing to us as another man's success. needless to say, a friend in need is a friend in the soup. nothing ventured nothing wonderful. * * * * * ### n: the fourteenth letter of the alphabet, sometimes called a nasal by those who ought to know better. ### * * * * * nabob. a man who can put on a new suit of clothes every fifteen minutes. nation. a large principality ready to go to war at a moment's notice. for example: carrie nation. nature. something which makes no mistakes, with the exception of a crowded street car. necessity. the mother of many an empty stomach. [illustration] neck. a place to get it in. next. the battle cry in a barber shop before blood is shed. nit. an abbreviation of nix. nix. an abbreviation of nit. nope. an abbreviation of no! [illustration] noise. the sound of a new suit of clothes on a loud man. noddle. the place where some people think they think. novel. a book that sells better than it reads. [illustration: "o--a well balanced head."] of two evils choose the one least likely to be talked about. oh, yes, the man with a jag can hold on to the fence, but he can't hold on to his reputation. opportunity is something a fool waits for while the wise guy runs down the road to meet it. occasionally we meet men who have to part their hair in the middle in order to have a well-balanced head. * * * * * ### o: the fifteenth letter of the alphabet, used principally by the irish in front of their names. ### * * * * * oh! the mild-mannered sister of ouch! oats. a substance invented by nature and intended for a breakfast food, but because pine shavings are cheaper it is now obsolete. obey. a word put in the marriage service for the purpose of giving the parties of the first part something to kick about. [illustration] oculist. a man many young people should consult who think they have fallen in love at first sight. oil. see john d. rockerfeller--if you can. old hen. the pet name a man has for his wife because she rules the roost. olive. a green grape dropped in a cocktail so the customer can pull it out with his fingers. see _cherry_. onion. a noisy vegetable eaten principally by people who sit next to us in street cars. opera. a device used for the purpose of making a fortune for a good singer. opportunity. something never seen until it is not there to be looked at. originality. the gift some people have of saying the bright things which we intended to think about later on. osler. a modern abbreviation of chloroform. an up to date bogie man invented for the purpose of chasing "has-beens" to the woods. osleresque. the state of being ready for _oslerizing_. see any man over forty. oslerism. the art of picking out a fit subject for the _osler_ treatment. "you can lead an old man into a drugstore but you can't make him drink chloroform." (tupper's proverbial philosophy, page .) oslerize. to pour chloroform over an old man's breakfast food and telephone for the undertaker. osleritis. an attack of hysteria which broke out at a banquet and became epidemic in the newspapers. oslerooza. a man who believes in _oslerism_. he is generally a young man in love with a girl whose papa is over forty and who wears no. shoes of a high voltage. osleretta. a young woman who believes in _oslerism_. she is the same girl whose papa has just been mentioned. [illustration: "p--philosophy makes good reading for the man who has his rent paid."] perseverance is the root of all money. perhaps you have met the man who is so wrapped up in himself that he thinks he is a warm baby. pleasure travels with a brass band, but trouble sneaks in on rubber shoes. philosophers do not believe half the things they tell themselves. * * * * * ### p: the sixteenth letter of the alphabet, used principally in pickled peppers. ### * * * * * paint. a polite name for balloon juice. see the bartender. palpitation of the tongue. a disease that affects many women. patriot. a man who spends all his money for fireworks for the little boy and doesn't hold out $ for the doctor's bill. pathos. a poor man laughing at his rich wife's poor joke. peach. a bit of domestic fruit, consisting of blonde tresses, a dimple, and three bows of pink ribbon. peekaboo. a summer idea invented for the purpose of making a girl's shirtwaist something like a barb-wire fence with a full view of the scenery. it is constructed by making one stitch and forgetting seven. the peekaboo is the only friend the mosquito has on earth. penitentiary. an assembly hall which always plays to a full house because whiskey is it's advance agent. philosopher. a man who can size himself up and forget the result. plan. something which any fool can lay, but it takes patience like a hen to hatch it. pleasure. fun you have to-day so you can worry over it to-morrow. [illustration] poetical license. a woman who weighs pounds and listens to the name of birdie. politics. the place where a man gets it--sometimes in the neck, sometimes in the bank. politician. the reason we have so much politics. popularity. the cold storage house where the world sends her favorites before she forgets them. posterity. a lot of people who will forget all about you before they are born. practical joke. when nature makes a pink lobster look like a man. prediction. a bit of funny business invented by the weather man for the purpose of playing tiddledewinks with the weather. he says what he thinks it will be and then the weather is what it pleases. [illustration] promise. what a man says to a woman or a child to keep them quiet. prude. a female lady who wishes someone will say something so she can blush to listen and listen to blush. [illustration: "q--young writers outfit."] quitters cannot be trained to quit quitting. queer, isn't it, that the lazier a man gets the more he wants to work somebody else. quotation marks cover a multitude of plagiarists. qualmless consciences are fashionable nowadays. * * * * * ### q: the seventeenth and the most hunted letter in the alphabet, because it is always followed by u. ### * * * * * quack. a doctor who ducks the law. quarrel. something that shouldn't be picked before it's ripe. quart. the amount of wine a sport always wants to open. quire. a bunch of singers in a church. sometimes called _choir_, sometimes called down. see scrap, fight, jealousy. [illustration] quiver. to shake for the drinks. quitter. a man who stops before he gets started. [illustration: "r--the rolling stone at the bottom of the hill."] remember--you can fool some of the people all the time if you care to spend your money that way. reasons may be found for everything except why does a woman get off a street car backwards. race suicide doesn't appeal to poor people. rolling stones gather no moss but look at the excitement they have. * * * * * ### r: the eighteenth letter of the alphabet, used principally to began a college yell; thus, rah! rah! rah! ### * * * * * [illustration] rag. a material invented for chewing purposes. rake. a man-about-town after he gets shop worn. rare. the way you get roast beef when you order it well done. reform. a bird which is always flying towards us but which never gets here. retribution. a man who marries for money and finds it is all in confederate bills. [illustration] riches. something which is said to have wings, but i can't prove it, because they never flew my way. roysterer. a man who sowed so much wild oats in his youth that he has to eat cracked oats in his age. [illustration] race-suicide. a disease which was cured by t. roosevelt, esquire, when he invented an idea for the purpose of giving nursemaids steady employment. for instance: rondeau. there was a nice old lady and she lived within her shoe; she had so many children that she didn't know what to do. she wrote the president and said "i have twenty kids or more!" the president replied to her "encore, old girl, encore!" she answered, "i've no room at home for more, so i am through!" and he replied, "why don't you go and get another shoe?" --sir walter scott, page . riddle. a question-mark gone mad. a foolish member of the interrogation family whose most fiendish offspring is "how old is ann?" some examples: * * * * * ann's father sends his pitcher to the well; mary's father sends his pitcher to the saloon; how much money has ann's father saved? ann's mother has just finished reading a very beautiful story. mary's mother sent over and borrowed the book. how old will ann's mother be when the book gets back? ann's little brother is entertaining ann's sweetheart in the parlor. ann's little brother has just told ann's sweetheart how old ann is. how long did ann's sweetheart remain after he learned the bitter truth? ann has a brother by the name of james. james wrote two letters, one to his wife and one to his lady typewriter. ten minutes after mailing them he discovered that the right letter was in the wrong envelope. which train did james take and when does ann expect him back? ann took a dollar bill and went to a department store. she saved twenty cents for car fare and spent eighty cents for lunch. what were the clerks swearing at after ann went out? ann had dark hair but she put peroxide on it to frighten it lighter. ann's hair became angry at the peroxide and got up and left her head. why does ann converse with callers through the speaking tube? ann's friend mary has seven brothers. one of them paints sawdust in a delicatessen factory at twelve dollars per. the other six play the races. what time does the dinner bell ring and who squares it with the grocer? ann has another friend by the name of ellen. ellen's father has one sitting room and four daughters. the four daughters are engaged to four nice young gentlemen. at what time in the evening does papa and mamma crawl out of the dumb waiter and how much is the gas bill? ann rode home in the elevated rough house at the twilight hour. eighty-seven gentlemen were there hiding behind eighty-seven newspapers. ann joined a strap and swung to and fro. how old was ann when she received a seat? [illustration: "s--the black sheep."] some people's talk is too cheap at any price. some men are just like a mule, because they kick at the wrong time. some people save up their money for a rainy day and finally decide that a foggy day is a good enough excuse to spend it. scandal is the black sheep in the family of love. * * * * * ### s: the nineteenth letter of the alphabet, which is called a sibilant, because it makes a hissing sound like a goose. ### [illustration] * * * * * saloon. something which can be opened on credit, but it takes cash to start a church. sarcasm. a thirty-dollar panama hat on a thirty-cent man. satan. an accommodating chap who picks out cosey-corners in his hot-house for the men that brag about being such devils among the women. sceptic. a man who will stop to see if there is a microbe in a kiss. seashore. a violent disease which breaks out all over people when the weather gets warm. the cure costs anywhere from $ to $ per day, according to the mood the landlord is in. sincerity. what our friends think about us when our backs are turned. speculation. paying a nickle for a seat in a street-car and then waiting till you get it. stubbornness. a man who knows he is wrong but believes he is right for personal reasons. suckers. the bait used by those who go fishing for compliments. [illustration] success. failure kicked to pieces by hard work. a man who can make enough noise when he wins out to drown the voices of the knockers. something which can be caught if a man only runs long enough. swiftness. the manner in which a fool and his rich wife's money are parted. synonym. a lazy man trying to win success and a hen trying to lay a corner-stone. seat. a mythical place in a street car where many are called but few are chosen. for instance: little jack horner sat in a corner riding down town on the "l." he jumped to his feet gave a lady his seat-- i'm a liar, but don't it sound well. --oliver goldsmith, page . sardine-car. a term of endearment given to crowded street cars. * * * * * marcus aurelius thus describes the sardine-car in his "meditations"--see page --as follows: the sardine-cars consist of fifty people trying to squeeze into a space that was built only for a pajama hat and two newspapers. the seats in the sardine-cars run sideways; the passengers run edgeways, and the life insurance agents run any old way when they see these cars coming. [illustration] the sardine-car is the best genteel imitation of a rough-house that has ever been invented. the are called "sardine cars" because the conductor has to let the passengers out with a can-opener. brave and strong men climb into a street car and they are full of health and life and vigor, but a few blocks up the road they fall out backwards and inquire feebly for a sanitarium. to ride on the street cars in a big city of an evening brings out all that is in a man, including a lot of loud words he didn't know he had. the last census shows us that the street cars in the city of new york have more ways of producing nervous prostration and palpitation of the brain to the square inch than the combined population of amsterdam, rotterdam, tinkersdam and gotterdammerung. to get in some of the street cars about six o'clock is a problem, and to get out again is an assassination. one evening i rode from forty-second street to fifty-ninth without once touching the floor with my feet. part of the time i used the outposts of a stout gentleman to come between me and the ground, and during the rest of the occasion i hung on to a strap and swung out wild and free, like the japanese flag on a windy day. some of our street cars lead a double life, because they are used all winter to act the part of a refrigerator. it is a cold day when we cannot find it colder in the street cars. in germany we find germans in the cars, but in america we find germs. that is because this country is young and impulsive. the germs in the street cars are extremely sociable and will often follow a stranger all the way home. often while riding in the street cars i have felt a germ rubbing against my ankle like a kitten, but being a gentleman, i did not reach down and kick it away because the law says we must not be disrespectful to the dumb brutes of the field. many of our street cars are made out of the same idea as a can of condensed milk. the only difference is that the street cars have a sour taste like a lemon squeezer. when you get out you cannot get in and when you get in you cannot get out because you hate to disturb the strange gentleman that is using your knee to lean over. [illustration] between the seats there is a space of two feet, but in that space you will always find four feet and their owners, unless one of them happens to have a wooden leg. under ordinary circumstances four into two won't go, but the sardine-cars defy the laws of gravitation. a sardine-car conductor can put twenty-six into nine and still have four to carry. the idea of expansion which is now used by our congress was suggested by one of these sardine-cars. the ladies of america have started a rebellion against the sardine-cars, but every time they start it the conductor pulls the bell and leaves the rebellious standing on the corner. we are a very nervous and careless people in america. to prove how careless we are i will cite the fact that manhattan island is called after a cocktail. this nervousness is our undoing because we are always in such a hurry to get somewhere that we would rather take the first car and get squeezed into breathlessness than wait for the next which would likely squeeze us into insensibility. breathlessness can be cured, but insensibility is dangerous without an alarm clock. for a man with a small dining-room the sardine-car has its advantages, but when a stout man rides in them he finds himself supporting a lot of strangers he never met before. one morning i jumped on one of those sardine-cars feeling just like a two-year-old, full of health and happiness. during the first seven blocks three men fresh from a distillery grew up in front of me and removed the scenery. one of them had to get out in a hurry so he kicked me on the shins to show how sorry he was to leave me. one of the other two must have been in the distillery a long time because pretty soon he neglected to use his memory and sat down in my lap. when i remonstrated with him he replied that this is a free country and if he wished to sit down i had no business to stop him. then his friend pulled us apart and i resumed the use of my lap. during the next twenty blocks i had one of the worst daylight nightmares i ever rode behind. the party which had been studying the exhibits in the distillery got the idea in his head that my foot was the loud pedal on a piano and he started to play the overture from _william tell_ until i yelled "w'at'ell!" that man was such a hard drinker that he gave me the gout just from standing on my feet. then i jumped off and swore off and swore at and walked home. if the man who invented the idea of standing up between the seats in a sardine-car is alive he should have a monument. my idea would be to catch him alive and place the monument on him and have the conductor come around every ten minutes for his fare. then the punishment would have a fit like the crime. [illustration: "t--blue sky of a greenish hue."] the man with plenty of money has friends to burn and when he goes broke he finds he has burned most of them. the sky always looks blue when we look at it through a roll of bills. the mud slinger never has clean hands. the way of the transgressor is hard on his family. * * * * * ### t: the twentieth letter of the alphabet, so called because the author of the alphabet always drank coffee. ### * * * * * table. a wooden arrangement covered with green cloth around which certain parties gather for the purpose of taking each other's money. see _gambling_. you might, incidentally, see the police if they don't see you first. tact. the art of knowing just when to laugh at a rich man's joke. talent. the ability to know how to keep still at the right moment. temper. something you should keep, otherwise the man you show it to may hand it back to you with a short-arm jab. temptation. the banana peel in a man's brain that causes him to slip. the laugh. something which should always be on the other fellow. to-morrow. the only day in the year that appeals to a lazy man. thermometer. a machine invented by a drugstore proprietor for the purpose of driving humanity to drink. [illustration] trouble. the only thing which a man borrows and wants to pay back in a hurry. the place where a man finds his head when he loses it. trouble hunter. a man who always comes home with a game-bag full. truth. the kind words our enemies say about us. something which never figures in politics because it forgets to register. [illustration: "u--both ends."] undoubtedly the man that burns the candle at both ends is light-headed. usually you'll find that self-made men spend the rest of their lives talking about home industry. uneasy looks the face that wears a frown. unfortunately, many a prince of good fellows loses his title when his pocketbook runs dry. * * * * * ### u: the twenty-first letter of the alphabet, about which there is some scandal because it is always tagging after q. ### * * * * * [illustration] umpire. a guessing machine used and abused in and about a baseball game. unhappy. the man who knows it all with nobody to tell it to. unselfishness. to be able to read of a neighbor's success without reaching for the harpoon. a man who will give his last cigar to a stranger and then go home and kick his wife on the shins because she spent forty cents for baby's new shoes. undertaker. a man who gets the laugh on those who take life as a joke. [illustration: "v--ideas expressed."] vanity is the raw material from which hot air is manufactured. victors get the spoils, but the spoils generally spoil the victors. very true is it that the man without ideas always expresses them. valuable time is often wasted by men of little value. * * * * * ### v: the twenty-second letter of the alphabet, used as a pet name for a five-dollar bill. ### * * * * * vacation. the time of the year which a young man looks forward to with his hand on his heart; goes through with his hand on his pocketbook, and looks back on with both hands on his head and no skin on his nose. vacant. the top story of a snob. [illustration] vanity. the name of the machinery that makes our swelled heads. versatility. the ability of a woman to wear a tight shoe and a loose smile at the same time. vice versa. to sleep with one's head at the foot of the bed and one's feet at the head of the bed. see _jag_ and _soused_. virtue. its own reward, but many people don't care to handle such a small amount. vulgarians. people who go through the world like a lot of automobiles, with rubberneck tires and gasoline in their garrets, and noise, noise, noise. [illustration: "w--smile, please!"] when a man is his own worst enemy the fight is always to a finish. whiskey is the name of the photographer that can make a high-priced man look like cents. when a man sits around waiting for something to turn up fortune always turns him down. when a man is anxious to keep your secret keep him anxious. * * * * * ### w: the twenty-third letter of the alphabet, which wasn't treated very well in the matter of a name. ### * * * * * wad. a roll of bills with a rubber band around it. this is a wonderful weapon in the hands of a steady spender. war. an excuse for talking about the dove of peace. [illustration] wealth. to have money enough to support an automobile that goes the pace that kills. weather man. a machine disguised as a human being who tries to play tiddlewinks with the weather. he tells the weather what to do, and the weather does as it pleases. a machine which says, "cooler to-morrow, with westerly winds," but means something different. the idea comes from the latin words "_guessa gain_," which mean, "i am paid to tell the truth, but i don't need the money." whiskey. old mother misery's dare-devil son. worry. a lot of unwelcome thoughts which refuse to remain unthinkable. [illustration: "x--the old school."] xperience is the name of the concern which opened the first night school. xplanations quite often are old-fashioned lies disguised in good fashion. xpostulation often leads to the ambulance. xperience teaches some people to go and do the same fool thing over again. * * * * * ### x: the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet. it was so late getting in that very few words are fastened to it. ### * * * * * x. that ten dollars you loaned some time ago. xtractor. the fellow you loaned it to. [illustration] xcitement. what happened when you tried to get it back. x-rays. a machine you'll have to use to find your x. [illustration: "y--men have been known to listen."] you shouldn't look a gift automobile in the price tag. yea, verily, a first-class listener is a woman's best friend. yes, and if it were not for the fools in this world the poor would never get rich. you may take my word for it, that whatever a man hopes to be he will be, unless he gets on the wrong car. * * * * * ### y: the twenty-fifth letter of the alphabet, which is of a bibulous nature because it's always in rye. (mercy!) ### * * * * * yap. the real thing on the farm, but an awful thing on broadway. yacht. a device which eats up money and yells for more. [illustration] yoke. the way a swede says joke. yesterday. the day upon which our ship should have arrived. [illustration: "z--falling out of love."] zum men fall in love and get out of it by marrying the girl. zum men tell themselves a lie just to fool their conscience. zumhow or other a ticklish situation never gets a laugh from the parties concerned. zum say that money isn't everything in this world, but it takes a man with money to believe it. * * * * * ### z: the twenty-sixth and last letter of the alphabet, and i'm glad of it. ### * * * * * zeal. the ardor with which we manage other people's affairs. zebra. an animal used principally to illustrate the letter z. zero. the place where the cold waves come from. zip. the same as _zow_. zow. the same as _zip_. zoo. a garden scented by wild animals. [illustration] zabo. a contraction of gonzabo, which means a fiff. appendix. (this part of the book may be cut out.) automobiles. a few rules of the road which, it is hoped, will speedily be adopted by all automobile societies. the automobile is the rich man's liquor and the poor man's chaser. it keeps our streets full of red, white and blue streaks all the livelong day, and if the weary pedestrian is not supplied with a ball-bearing neck his chance of getting home is null and void. probably the safest part about the machinery of an automobile is the _chauffeur_, because he knows which way to jump out. _chauffeur_ is the name of the man who points the machine at you and dares you to get out of the way. we have no word in the english language brave enough to ride on a horseless wagon when it goes real fast. that is why we had to reach over to paris and pull a word out of the french. _chauffeur_ was the first word we grabbed, and i think we should give it back at the first opportunity. the first careless cart we had in this country was called the "coroner's delight," because it lived up to its name. consequently it became necessary that a set of road rules should be composed which would help the general public to die easier when automobo-annihilated. here are the rules: .--one sharp toot from the horn on a happy hansom means that business men, messenger boys and other persons in a hurry must postpone indefinitely their contemplated journey across the street. crossing the street in front of a chauffeur who has given the above signal is very bad form, and is generally productive of spinal meningitis and doctor's bills. .--two sharp toots from the horn on a vaseline brougham is a signal to the truck drivers ahead that they must dismount at once, bow politely, and say "gesundheit!" to the chauffeur as he passes. truck drivers who refuse to obey this signal should be run into and injured severely. .--three sharp toots from the horn on a benzine buggy is a signal to the policeman on the corner, who must immediately come to parade rest, doff his helmet and comment enthusiastically on the grace and general elegance of the chauffeur until the latter has disappeared in the distance. policemen who fail to follow this rule should be arrested, tried, convicted and sent to siberia. .--four sharp toots from the horn on a gasolene barouche is a signal for the fire department to assemble immediately and remove all trees, statues and things of that sort, so that the chauffeur may take a short cut through any of the parks. failure on the part of the firemen to obey this rule will justify the chauffeur in delaying an engine on its way to a fire by stopping in front of it long enough to get run over. .--five sharp toots from the horn of a whiz wagon is a signal to all drivers of brewery wagons, ice wagons and mowing machines in the vicinage that they must descend at once from their various pedestals and lead their juggernautian caravans into the dry goods stores out of harm's way. if there are no dry good stores handy, a candy shop will do. no driver of a brewery wagon, ice wagon or mowing machine will be excused for breaking this rule simply because he doesn't know the meaning of vicinage. .--six sharp toots from the horn of a gas carryall is a signal to conductors and motormen that they must, without any unnecessary delay, lift their cars from the rails and place them on the sidewalk. if the passengers in the cars so signalled offer any objections, the policemen on that beat will take the offenders to the nearest automobile garage and compel them to drink gasoline. .--one long and one short toot means that everybody in the neighborhood not in a bubble must start promptly for the woods. failure to observe this rule will justify any chauffeur in chasing the offender seventy-six consecutive miles in a southwesterly direction. .--long and continued applause from the horn on any rowdy runabout means that the chauffeur has lost the combination on his brain cells, and is suffering severely from stage fright, superinduced by the sudden appearance of a coal cart directly in his pathway. in a predicament of this kind strict guiding rules cannot be laid down, but no blame can attach to the automobilist if he climbs over the tailboard of the vehicle and adds a new series of phrenological bumps to the suburban part of the head of the offending coal cart director. .--if the foregoing rules are carefully observed there is no occasion for further instructions, and automobubbling will become a thing of pleasure and a joy forever. little blasts of hot air. life is a tragedy, and that's the best reason why it should be well acted. what a lot of motive-power is wasted by those who jolly other people along. a fault-finder is a home-made knocker. every woman jumps quickly from mice and at conclusions. "don't be a clam," must be wisdom on the half shell. the man who means everything he says is generally a stingy talker. hot air is mighty, and will prevail in politics. a fool and his money is the root of much laughter. insomnia. how to effect a permanent and lasting cure. .--lie perfectly still and count , in a slow, methodical manner. by the time you have finished counting it will be daylight, and you will be surprised to notice how quickly the night has passed. .--always partake of a bountiful repast before retiring, giving special attention to a lobster salad, welsh rarebit and hard-boiled eggs. this will, no doubt, give you delirium tremens, night-mare, st. vitus' dance and indigestion, but the pleasing thought will remain that you have kept the rest of the household awake as well as yourself. .--always undress in the dark. when you have broken three chairs, upset the centre table and stepped on six assorted tacks, you will realize what a stupid habit sleeping is anyway, and your senses will have become so acute that you will want to sit up and read the family story paper during that portion of the night which has not been devoted to swearing. .--always lie with your head lower than any other point of your body and throw the pillows away. the monotony of a sleepless night will then be relieved by the novelty of having apoplexy or heart failure, either of which diseases is much more exciting and dangerous than insomnia. .--always concentrate your thoughts and endeavor to breathe pronouncedly and with exaggeration, like a freight engine climbing a grade. this is calculated to frighten the rest of the family into convulsions and stampede all the cattle in the neighborhood, but you will be enabled to while the remaining hours of the night away by listening to the terse remarks hurled at you from time to time by the other members of the household. .--always sponge your face with boiling water several times before retiring. if you keep this up long enough it will be breakfast time, and you may then go about your daily labor with the happy consciousness that you have saved the bed clothes a great deal of wear and tear. .--always take a brisk, long walk before retiring, taking particular care to come home late and allow the watch dog to mistake you for a tramp and chase you hurriedly into the next country side. it is also calculated to withdraw the blood from the brain and put wings on your feet. a brisk run of sixteen miles across country as the crow flies with an angry bulldog pushing you pretty hard for first place, is a pleasant diversion in a sleepless night. .--be phlegmatic and indifferent in a marked degree. if you hear thieves in the chicken coop during the night, don't move a muscle; if you smell smoke and know the house is on fire, lie perfectly still and count imaginary sheep jumping over an imaginary fence; if you feel the folding bed closing up let it close and go on with your counting; if you know that burglars are in the room pay no attention to them and let them burgle--you have business of your own to attend to. a man with a thoroughly developed case of insomnia has no time for such trifling details. wisdom is as wisdom does. all is not cold that shivers. success never shakes hands with a lazy man. an american husband in the hand is worth two foreign dukes in the divorce court. the most successful politician is the one who knows how to finance his brains. before marriage a woman is an angel; after marriage she is still an angel, but her husband is now from missouri, and she has to show him. if it were impossible to speak anything but truth in this world how many times a day would we be insulted. whist. being a few hints how to play the game. whist is a well known game with cards. it requires close attention and silence. some people learn to play whist in fifteen minutes, but their partners generally wear a worried look. there are other people who never learn to play the game, but, unfortunately for humanity, they never fully realize this fact. their partners soon discover it, however, but politeness forbids them making the discovery known to the wide, wide world. the following series of "don'ts" may help you to understand some of the intricacies of the delightful game of whist. if they do not help you the only thing to do is to try pinochle:-- don't get up and dance a serpentine dance every time you take a trick. it is in very bad taste, unless you are a good dancer, and even then your opponents may feel deeply chagrined. don't smile sweetly your partner and inform him in a few well-chosen words that you have seven trumps in your hand. your opponents may hear you, and scowl darkly at you. don't fail to call the attention of your opponent to the fact that he or she hasn't followed suit, being very careful to select a loud and resonant tone of voice for the occasion. this compels your opponent to look carefully through his or her cards and fervently wish that you had sense enough to mind your own business. don't ask what's trumps more than eighteen times during one hand. the limit used to be twenty-six times, but the best authorities on whist now say eighteen. don't have a conniption fit every time you lose a trick. conniption fits are very bad form, and they delay the game. don't get excited and climb up on the table when the game is close. it shows a want of refinement and breeding to climb up on the table, especially if you are in a strange house. don't whistle softly while waiting for somebody to play. whistling is not in good taste. go and perform on the piano. it has a much better effect, particularly if your selection is something lively, like "el capitan" or "the maiden's prayer." don't talk politics while playing whist. either whist or politics will suffer if you do. statisticians claim that , , times out of , , it is whist that suffers. don't, when drawing a trick towards you, pause in the act to smile disdainfully upon your opponents. they may not admire a spectacular arrangement of your features, and if they happen to be in a bad humor your facial expression may be ruined for life. don't labor under the erroneous impression that your opponents have no right to trump your ace if they can. neither is it considered elegant or refined to hit them carelessly across the forehead with the bric-a-brac for so doing. don't make an earnest endeavor to split the table asunder when playing a winning card. people may think you are eccentric if you try to make kindling wood of the table every time you lay down an honor. don't lead the three of clubs in mistake for the ace of trumps, and then get mad and jump seventeen feet in the air because you are not permitted to pull it back. it isn't good form to jump seventeen feet in the air. besides, you might fall and hurt yourself and the neighborhood. don't hesitate to inquire what was led when there is but one card on the table. it shows that you are taking a deep interest in the game, and it makes the other players admire your elocutionary powers. don't fail to dispute the count after every hand has been played. it draws attention to the fact that you are anxious to win. it also draws uncomplimentary remarks from your opponents and sometimes occasions the use of a club. don't fall off the chair in horrified dismay when your opponent puts your ace to sleep with a little trump. trumps were invented for that purpose, and horrified dismay is not becoming to every style of beauty. a few harmless germs. how the rest of the world does hate the people who have a good time. a miss is as good as a mile of misses--if you love the girl. the horseshoe is always lucky--when the horse wins. a hard worker will never be arrested for killing time. one half the world doesn't know why the other half doesn't get off the earth. be good and you'll be happy, but you won't get your name in the papers so often. baseball. being a guide for the grouchy grandstandee. these "do nots" have been arranged, compiled and hammered together with a view to rendering assistance to the spectator whose thinking machinery climbs out over his collar, and who shows symptoms of being dazed and disorderly during the progress of a game. don't have any regard for the feelings of your neighbors. get up on the slightest provocation and yell. to make matters more exciting you had better get up on the back of the seat also. don't stop to make a careful selection of the english language before addressing the universe at large when the play is not to your liking. say the first thing that comes into your mind. doubtless, it will be glad to get out. don't pay any attention to the fact that ladies are in the immediate neighborhood. your money is just as good as theirs. besides, it's a man's privilege to swear and make a howling idiot of himself. don't fail to keep up a running comment on the general inefficiency of the visiting club. the majority of those who sit near you came out to the game especially to hear your views on this subject. don't neglect to call him a fat-headed renegade every time one of the home players makes an error. the home players need to be reproved at times, and nothing is quite so reproving as the term fat-headed renegade hurled at them by a bibulous gentleman with a subterbeerean voice. don't hesitate to tell all who are listening--and, if your voice is as convalescent as usual, everybody in your section of the western hemisphere will have to listen--that you know more about the game than pop anson and pop anson's younger brother, methuselah. under certain circumstances modesty is a crime; therefore, you should not commit a crime by withholding this information. don't forget the umpire. don't forget him for one little moment. he will notice it if you do, and become miserably unhappy. tell him what you think of him unceasingly. there is nothing so pleasing to an umpire's ears as the sweet strains of a whiskey-trimmed voice ringing softly on the evening air: "hey, red-light, youse is a robber an' a thief!" umpires love to be criticised in this manner. with every criticism they brace up wonderfully, and their straying sense of justice returns. you've noticed this fact, of course. don't hesitate to insult a player on the field. remember, it is very hard for him to pick you out of the crowd. besides, if he does, and jumps over the rail for the purpose of putting his imprint on your slats, you can scream for help. the police will probably wake up and come to your assistance. don't forget to use the most blood-curdling and decorative style of language now on the market when you engage in the pleasing duty of hurting a player's feelings. this will attract attention to you from all quarters, and will stamp you as a gentleman of the aber-nit style of architecture. don't pay any attention to the uneasiness displayed by those about you who came out for the selfish purpose of enjoying the game. if they cannot enjoy you and your lung-power exhibit, they should stay at home. keep right on utilizing your vocal chords. chatter on incessantly. be a consistent ass until the last man is out and the umpire crawls into his cyclone cellar. then go home and bathe what's left of your voice in witch hazel, and get ready for the morrow. bursts of confidence. a trouble-hunter always makes a success of his job. the girl who hesitates is left at the hitching post. the world has a poor memory for many who believe themselves famous. the wise man saves up for a rainy day, and always stays in the house when it storms. it keeps many a good man down to keep up appearances. some men are like a phonograph--they talk when you start them, but they have no originality. the poor man's cook book. (presented by the president of the food trust.) this cook book was invented by the president of the food trust with the hope that the poor man will find therein much to comfort him since meat and other luxuries have gone out of his life, because the trust needs the money. the beauty about the dishes mentioned here is their cheapness. let us begin with the soup: mock chicken soup.--take a piece of white paper and a lead pencil and draw from memory the outlines of a hen. then carefully remove the feathers. pour one gallon of boiling water into a saucepan and sprinkle a pinch of salt on the hen's tail. now let it simper. if the soup has a blonde appearance stir it with a lead pencil which will make it more of a brunette. let it boil two hours. then coax the hen away from the saucepan and serve the soup hot, with a glass of ice-water on the side. beef tea.--take the white of an egg and beat it without mercy. when it is insensible put it in the teapot and add enough boiling water to drown it. let it drown about twenty minutes. then lead the yolk of the egg over to the teapot and push it in. season with a small pinch of tobasco and let it simper. serve hot and always be sure to put a piece of lemon in the finger bowl. mock beefsteak.--carefully remove the laces from one shoe and put them away, because they can be used for shoe-string potatoes just as soon as the potato trust gets started. beat the shoe with a hammer for ten minutes until its tongue stops wagging and it gets black and blue in the face. then put it in the frying pan and stir gently. when it begins to sizzle add the yolk of an egg and season with parsley. imitation parsley can be made from green wall paper with the scissors. if there is no green wall paper in the house speak to the landlord about it. let it simper. in two hours try it with a fork. if it breaks the fork it is not done. let it simper. should you wish to smother it with onions, now is your chance, because after cooking so long it is almost helpless. serve hot with a hatchet on the side. if there are more than four people in the family use both shoes. irish stew.--remove the jacket and waistcoat from a potato and put it in a saucepan. add three quarts of boiling water. get a map of ireland and hang it on the wall directly in front of the saucepan. this will furnish the local color for the stew. let it boil two hours. when the potato begins to moult it is a sign the stew is getting done. walk easy so as not to frighten it. add a pinch of rhubarb and serve hot with lettuce dressing. this is one of the best stews without meat that the food trust has ever invented for the poor man. mock pork pie.--peel the bark carefully away from the hindquarters of a spruce tree and remove the tenderloin. one of last year's christmas trees is excellent for the purpose. chop it up fine and place in a saucepan. add boiling water and let it simper two hours. season with a pinch of salt, and if this is not satisfactory, you might also pinch a little pepper. put the bark in the coffee grinder and turn the handle rapidly to the left. add boiling water and serve with milk and sugar. this will be a splendid joke on the coffee trust. the mock pork pie is now done. serve with lionaise dressing and tomato catsup. after dinner eat four pepsin tablets and send for the doctor. imitation apple fritters.--first catch your fritter. be sure that it is a young fritter. the way to tell the age of a fritter is to count its teeth. remove the shell and add a pitcher of apple sauce. place this in a saucepan and tease it with a pinch of baking soda. let it simper two hours. serve hot and smile rapidly while eating. laughter always aids digestion. ox-tail chow chow.--to make ox-tail chow chow without an ox is one of the best jokes in the world on the appetite. remove the pin-feathers from a young onion and chop it up fine, add water, stir gently and add more water. let it sizzle. add more water. always boil the water before adding. let it sizzle. now remove the skum and serve hot with watercresses on the side. this is a nice dish for a small family and at the same time it shows what a generous nature the food trust has to suggest it. mock giblets.--take two rubber-neck clams and after stuffing them with chestnuts fry them over a slow fire. the coal trust will see to it that you have no trouble in getting a slow but expensive fire. let them sizzle. now remove the necks from the clams and add baking soda. let them sizzle. take the juice of a lemon and scatter it at the clams. serve hot, with pink finger bowls with your initials on them. some people prefer to have their initials on the clams, but such an idea is only for the wealthy. imitation prune pie.--take a dozen knot-holes and peel them carefully. remove the shells and add a cup of sugar. stir quickly and put in a hot oven. bake gently for six hours and then add a little jamaica ginger. serve cold with tea wafers and talk fast while eating them. breakfast bacon.--take a hat full of pine shavings and remove the interior. add a little sherry wine and sweeten to taste. let them sizzle. sprinkle with salt and pepper and other cosmetics and let them sizzle. now turn them over with a spoon and serve them hot off the griddle. saratoga chips.--the same as the breakfast bacon only you don't remove the interior from the pine shavings. just take them as nature made them and add a little salad oil. serve cold with shredded onions on the side. mock baked beans.--take as many buttons as the family can afford and remove the thread. add pure spring water, put in a saucepan and stir gently until you burst your buttons. add a little flour to calm them and let them sizzle. serve with tomato catsup or molasses, according to the location you find yourself living on the map. oatmeal pudding.--take the sawdust carefully from a freshly caught board and remove the husks. add water and let it sizzle. stir gently two hours, then rest a while. pour the contents into a saucepan and saturate it with sugar and salt and other spices. serve without splashing it, and add a little cold water painted white to look like milk. this last idea is a splendid joke on the milk trust. hamburger steak.--always be sure to get a fresh hamburger. there is nothing that will reconcile a man to a vegetarian diet so quickly as an over-ripe hamburger. they should always be picked at the full of the moon. to tell the age of a hamburger look at its teeth. one row of teeth for every year, and the limit is seven rows. now remove the wishbone and slice carefully. add wooster sauce and let it sizzle. add a pinch of potato salad and stir gently. serve hot and eat fast with the eyes closed tight. apple dumplings.--take a large sheet of blotting paper and remove the ink. ink is a non-conductor and discolors the palate. borrow an apple from the grocer and tie it up in the blotting paper. the blotting paper will absorb the flavor from the apple in about three minutes. now take the apple back to the grocer and say, "much obliged, thank you!" cut the blotting paper into thin slices and add water. stir gently until it boils over then unhook it. serve hot and if your husband kicks say to him bitterly: "you should have married an heiress with a papa in the food trust then you could afford to have real apples!" imitation roast turkey.--find a copy of a thanksgiving day newspaper and select therefrom the fattest turkey on page . now with a few kind words coax the turkey away from the newspaper in the direction of the kitchen. care should be taken that the turkey does not escape in the butler's pantry or fly up the dumb waiter, because the turkey is a very nervous animal. once you get the turkey in the kitchen lock the door and prepare the stuffing. the best stuffing for a turkey is chestnuts, which you can obtain by tearing a few pages from "the life and anecdotes of an after dinner speaker." now remove the wishbone carelessly and make a wish. then coax the turkey over to the gas stove and push it in. let it sizzle for four hours and serve hot by a russian waiter and with japanese napkins. mock celery.--take an old whiskbroom and remove the handle. if the handle is made of wood keep it, because it can be turned into breakfast food the first time you see a sawmill. now remove the wire from the whiskbroom and sprinkle with baking soda. serve cold with a pinch of salt on the northwestern end. mock clams.--take a rubber shoe and slice carefully. add a dash of tobasco and stir gently. when the shoe occupies the same shape as a dozen rubber-neck clams serve with vanilla wafers and horseradish. the finish. _one third off_ _by irvin s. cobb_ _fiction_ from place to place those times and these local color old judge priest back home the escape of mr. trimm _wit and humor_ one third off a plea for old cap collier the abandoned farmers the life of the party eating in two or three languages "oh well, you know how women are!" fibble d.d. "speaking of operations--" europe revised roughing it de luxe cobb's bill of fare cobb's anatomy _miscellany_ the thunders of silence the glory of the coming paths of glory "speaking of prussians--" * * * * * _new york_ _george h. doran company_ * * * * * [illustration: i weighed myself and in the box score credited myself with a profound shock. _frontispiece_] _one third off_ _by_ _irvin s. cobb_ _author of_ _"old judge priest," "speaking_ _of operations--" etc._ _illustrated by tony sarg_ _new york_ _george h. doran company_ _copyright, ,_ _by george h. doran company_ _copyright, ,_ _by the curtis publishing company_ _printed in the united states of america_ _one third off_ to harry m. stevens, esquire who in times gone by helped me put that one third on _contents_ chapter one: page _extra! extra! all about the great reduction_ chapter two: _those romping elfin twenties_ chapter three: _regarding liver-eating watkins and others_ chapter four: _i become the panting champion_ chapter five: _on acquiring some snappy pores_ chapter six: _more anon_ chapter seven: _office visits, $ _ chapter eight: _the friendly sons of the boiled spinach_ chapter nine: _the fallen egg_ chapter ten: _wherein our hero falters_ chapter eleven: _three cheers for lithesome grace regained_ illustrations i weighed myself and in the box score credited myself with a profound shock _frontispiece_ " broad" to observe mr. bryan breakfasting is a sight worth seeing "you are now registering the preliminary warnings--" chapter i _extra! extra! all about the great reduction!_ the way i look at this thing is this way: if something happens to you and by writing about it you can make a bit of money and at the same time be a benefactor to the race, then why not? does not the philanthropic aspect of the proposition more than balance off the mercenary side? i hold that it does, or at least that it should, in the estimation of all fair-minded persons. it is to this class that i particularly address myself. unfair-minded persons are advised to take warning and stop right here with the contemporary paragraph. that which follows in this little volume is not for them. an even stronger motive impels me. in hereinafter setting forth at length and in detail the steps taken by me in making myself thin, or, let us say, thinner, i am patterning after the tasteful and benevolent examples of some of the most illustrious ex-fat men of letters in our country. take samuel g. blythe now. mr. blythe is the present international bant-weight champion. there was a time, though, when he was what the world is pleased to call over-sized. in writing on several occasions, and always entertainingly and helpfully, upon the subject of the methods employed by him to reduce himself to his current proportions i hold that he had the right idea about it. getting fat is a fault; except when caused by the disease known as obesity, it is a bad habit. getting thin and at the same time retaining one's health is a virtue. never does the reductionist feel quite so virtuous as when for the first time, perhaps in decades, he can stand straight up and look straight down and behold the tips of his toes. his virtue is all the more pleasant to him because it recalls a reformation on his part and because it has called for self-denial. i started to say that it had called for mortification of the flesh, but i shan't. despite the contrary opinions of the early fathers of the church, i hold that the mortification of the flesh is really based upon the flesh itself, where there is too much of it for beauty and grace, not merely upon the process employed in getting rid of it. ask any fat man--or better still, any formerly fat man--if i am not correct. but do not ask a fat woman unless, as in the case of possible fire at a theater, you already have looked about you and chosen the nearest exit. taken as a sex, women are more likely to be touchy upon this detail where it applies to themselves than men are. i have a notion that probably the late lucrezia borgia did not start feeding her house guests on those deep-dish poison pies with which her name historically is associated until after she grew sensitive about the way folks dropping in at the borgia home for a visit were sizing up her proportions on the bias, so to speak. and i attribute the development of the less pleasant side of cleopatra's disposition--keeping asps around the house and stabbing the bearers of unpleasant tidings with daggers and feeding people to the crocodiles and all that sort of thing--to the period when she found her anklets binding uncomfortably and along toward half past ten o'clock of an evening was seized by a well-nigh uncontrollable longing to excuse herself from the company and run upstairs and take off her jeweled stomacher and things and slip into something loose. [illustration: " broad."] but upon this subject men are less inclined to be fussy, and by the same token more inclined, on having accomplished a cure, to take a justifiable pride in it and to brag publicly about it. as i stated a moment ago, i claim mr. blythe viewed the matter in a proper and commendable light when he took pen in hand to describe more or less at length his reduction processes. so, too, did that other notable of the literary world, mr. vance thompson. mr. thompson would be the last one to deny that once upon a time he undeniably was large. the first time i ever saw him--it was in paris some years ago, and he was walking away from me and had his back to me and was wearing a box coat--i thought for a moment they were taking a tractor across town. all that, however, belongs to the past. just so soon as mr. thompson had worked out a system of dieting and by personal application had proved its success he wrote the volume eat and grow thin, embodying therein his experiences, his course of treatment and his advice to former fellow sufferers. so you see in saying now what i mean to say i do but follow in the mouth-prints of the famous. besides, when i got fat i capitalized my fatness in the printed word. i told how it felt to be fat. i described how natural it was for a fat man to feel like the grand cañon before dinner and like the royal gorge afterwards. i told how, if he wedged himself into a telephone booth and said, " broad," persons overhearing him were not sure whether he was asking central for a number or telling a tailor what his waist measurements were. i told how deeply it distressed him as he walked along, larding the earth as he passed, to hear bystanders making ribald comments about the inadvisability of trying to move bank vaults through the streets in the daytime. and now that, after fifteen years of fatness, i am getting thin again--glory be!--wherein, i ask, is the impropriety in furnishing the particulars for publication; the more especially since my own tale, i fondly trust, may make helpful telling for some of my fellow creatures? when you can offer a boon to humanity and at the same time be paid for it the dual advantage is not to be decried. chapter ii _those romping elfin twenties_ it has been my personal observation, viewing the matter at close range, that nearly always fat, like old age or a thief in the dark, steals upon one unawares. i take my own case. as a youngster and on through my teens and into my early twenties--ah, those romping elfin twenties!--i was, in outline, what might be termed dwindly, not to say slimmish. those who have known me in my latter years might be loath to believe it, but one of my boyhood nick-names--i had several, and none of them was complimentary but all of them were graphic--was bonesy. at sixteen, by striping myself in alternate whites and blacks, i could have hired out for a surveyor's rod. at twenty-one i measured six feet the long way, and if only mine had been a hook nose i should have cast a shadow like a shepherd's crook. my avocation in life was such as to induce slenderness. i was the city staff of a small-town daily paper, and what with dodging round gathering up items about people to write for the paper and then dodging round to avoid personal contact with the people i had written the items about for the paper, i was kept pretty constantly upon the go. in our part of the country in those days the leading citizens were prone to take offense at some of the things that were said of them in the public prints and given to expressing their sense of annoyance forcibly. when a high-spirited southern gentleman, regarding whom something of a disagreeable nature had appeared in the news columns, entered the editorial sanctum without knocking, wearing upon his crimsoned face an expression of forthright irritation and with his right hand stealing back under his coat skirt, it was time for the offending reporter to emulate the common example of the native white-throated nut-hatch and either flit thence rapidly or hunt a hole. since prohibition came in and a hiccup became a mark of affluence instead of a social error, as formerly, and a loaded flank is a sign of hospitality rather than of menace, things may have changed. i am speaking, though, of the damper early nineties in kentucky, when a sudden motion toward the right hip pocket was a threat and not a promise, as at present. so, what with first one thing and then another, now collecting the news of the community and now avoiding the customary consequences, i did a good deal of running about hither and yon, and kept fit and spry and stripling-thin. yet i ate heartily of all things that appealed to my palate, eating at least two kinds of hot bread at every meal--down south we say it with flours--and using chewing tobacco for the salad course, as was the custom. i ate copiously at and between meals and gained not a whit. chapter iii _regarding liver-eating watkins and others_ it was after i had moved to new york and had taken a desk job that i detected myself in the act, as it were, of plumping out. cognizant of the fact, as i was, i nevertheless took no curative or corrective measures in the way of revising my diet. i was content to make excuses inwardly. i said to myself that i came of a breed whose members in their mature years were inclined to broaden noticeably. i said to myself that i was not getting the amount of exercise that once i had; that my occupation was now more sedentary, and therefore it stood to reason that i should take on a little flesh here and there over my frame. moreover, i felt good. if i had felt any better i could have charged admission. my appetite was perfect, my digestion magnificent, nay, awe-inspiring. to me it seemed that physically i was just as active and agile as i had been in those 'prentice years of my professional career when the ability to shift quickly from place to place and to think with an ornithological aptitude were conducive to a continuance of unimpaired health among young reporters. anyhow--thus i to myself in the same strain, continuing--anyhow, i was not actually getting fat. nothing so gross as that. i merely was attaining to a pleasant, a becoming and a dignified fullness of contour as i neared my thirtieth birthday. so why worry about what was natural and normal among persons of my temperament, and having my hereditary impulses, upon attaining a given age? i am convinced that men who are getting fat are generally like that. for every added pound an added excuse, for each multiplying inch at the waistline a new plea in abatement to be set up in the mind. i see the truth of it now. when you start getting fat you start getting fatuous. with the indubitable proof of his infirmity mounting in superimposed folds of tissues before his very gaze, with the rounded evidence presented right there in front of him where he can rest his elbows on it, your average fattish man nevertheless refuses to acknowledge the visible situation. vanity blinds his one eye, love of self-indulgence blinds the other. observe now how i speak in the high moral tone of a reformed offender, which is the way of reformed offenders and other reformers the world over. we are always most virtuous in retrospect, as the fact of the crime recedes. moreover, he who has not erred has but little to gloat over. there are two sorts of evidence upon which many judges look askance--that sort of evidence which is circumstantial and that sort which purely is hearsay. in this connection, and departing for the space of a paragraph or so from the main theme, i am reminded of the incident through which a certain picturesque gentleman of the early days in california acquired a name which he was destined to wear forever after, and under which his memory is still affectionately encysted in the traditions of our great far west. i refer to the late liver-eating watkins. mr. watkins entered into active life and passed through a good part of it bearing the unilluminative and commonplace first name of elmer or lemuel, or perhaps it was jasper. just which one of these or some other i forgot now, but no matter; at least it was some such. one evening a low-down terra-cotta-colored piute swiped two of mr. watkins' paint ponies and by stealth, under cover of the cloaking twilight, went away with them into the far mysterious spaces of the purpling sage. to these ponies the owner was deeply attached, not alone on account of the intrinsic value, but for sentimental reasons likewise. so immediately on discovering the loss the next morning, mr. watkins took steps. he saddled a third pony which the thief had somehow overlooked in the haste of departure, and he girded on him both cutlery and shootlery, and he mounted and soon was off and away across the desert upon the trail of the vanished malefactor. now when mr. watkins fared forth thus accoutered it was a sign he was not out for his health or anybody else's. friends and well-wishers volunteered to accompany him upon the chase, for they foresaw brisk doings. but he declined their company. folklore, descending from his generation to ours, has it that he said this was his own business and he preferred handling it alone in his own way. he did add, however, that on overtaking the fugitive it was his intention, as an earnest or token of his displeasure, to eat that injun's liver raw. some versions say he mentioned liver rare, but the commonly accepted legend has it that the word used was _raw_. with this he put the spur to his steed's flank and was soon but a mere moving speck in the distance. now there was never offered any direct proof that our hero, in pursuance of his plan for teaching the indian a lesson, actually did do with regard to the latter's liver what he had promised the bystanders he would do; moreover, touching on this detail he ever thereafter maintained a steadfast and unbreakable silence. in lieu of corroborative testimony by unbiased witnesses as to the act itself, we have only these two things to judge by: first, that when mr. watkins returned in the dusk of the same day he was wearing upon his face a well-fed, not to say satiated, expression, yet had started forth that morning with no store of provisions; and second, that on being found in a deceased state some days later, the piute, who when last previously seen had with him two of mr. watkin's pintos and one liver of his own, was now shy all three. by these facts a strong presumptive case having been made out, mr. watkins was thenceforth known not as ezekiel or emanuel, or whatever his original first name had been, but as liver-eating, or among friends by the affectionate diminutive of liv for short. this i would regard as a typical instance of the value of a chain of good circumstantial evidence, with no essential link lacking. direct testimony could hardly have been more satisfactory, all things considered; and yet direct testimony is the best sort there is, in the law courts and out. on the other hand, hearsay evidence is viewed legally and often by the layman with suspicion; in most causes of action being barred out altogether. nevertheless, it is a phase of the fattish man's perversity that, rejecting the direct, the circumstantial and the circumferential testimony which abounds about him, he too often awaits confirmation of his growing suspicions at the hands of outsiders and bystanders before he is willing openly to admit that condition of fatness which for long has been patent to the most casual observer. women, as i have observed them, are even more disposed to avoid confession on this point. a woman somehow figures that so long as she refuses to acknowledge to herself or any other interested party that she has progressed out of the ranks of the plumpened into the congested and overflowing realms of the avowedly obese, why, for just so long may she keep the rest of the world in ignorance too. i take it, the ostrich which first set the example to all the other ostriches of trying to avoid detection by the enemy through the simple expedient of sticking its head in the sand was a lady ostrich, and moreover one typical of her sex. but men are bad enough. i know that i was. chapter iv _i become the panting champion_ month after month, through the cycle of the revolving seasons, i went along deceiving myself, even though i deceived none else, coining new pleas in extenuation or outright contradictions to meet each new-arising element of confirmatory proof to a state of case which no unprejudiced person could fail to acknowledge. the original discoverer of the alibi was a fat man; indeed, it was named for him--ali bi-ben adhem, he was, a friend and companion of the prophet, and so large that, going into mecca, he had to ride on two camels. this fact is historically authenticated. i looked it up. in the fall of the year, when i brought last winter's heavy suit out of the clothes-press and found it now to hug o'ersnugly for comfort, i cajoled my saner self into accepting a most transparent lie--my figure had not materially altered through the intervening spring and summer; it was only that the garments, being fashioned of a shoddy material, had shrunk. i owned a dress suit which had been form fitting, 'tis true, but none too close a fit upon me. i had owned it for years; i looked forward to owning and using it for years to come. i laid it aside for a period during an abatement in formal social activities; then bringing it forth from its camphor-ball nest for a special occasion i found i could scarce force my way down into the trousers, and that the waistcoat buttons could not be made to meet the buttonholes, and that the coat, after finally i had struggled into it, bound me as with chains by reason of the pull at armpits and between the shoulders. i could not get my arms down to my sides at all. i could only use them flapper fashion. i felt like a penguin. i imagine i looked a good bit like one too. but i did not blame myself, who was the real criminal, or the grocer who was accessory before the fact. i put the fault on the tailor, who was innocent. each time i had to let my belt buckle out for another notch in order that i might breathe i diagnosed the trouble as a touch of what might be called harlem flatulency. we lived in a flat then--a nonelevator flat--and i pretended that climbing three flights of steep stairs was what developed my abdominal muscles and at the same time made me short of wind. i coined a new excuse after we had moved to a suburb back of yonkers. frequently i had to run to catch the : accommodation, because if i missed it i might have to wait for the : , which was no accommodation. i would go jamming my way at top speed toward the train gate and on into the train shed, and when i reached my car i would be 'scaping so emphatically that the locomotive on up ahead would grow jealous and probably felt as though it might just as well give up trying to compete in volume of sound output with a real contender. but i was agile enough for all purposes and as brisk as any upon my feet. therein i found my consolation. among all my fellow members of the younger grand central station set there was scarce a one who could start with me at scratch and beat me to a train just pulling out of the shed; and even though he might have bested me at sprinting, i had him whipped to a soufflé at panting. in a hundred-yard dash i could spot anyone of my juniors a dozen pairs of pants and win out handily. i was the acknowledged all-weights panting champion of the putnam division. [illustration: to observe mr. bryan breakfasting is a sight worth seeing. _page _] if there had been ten or twelve of my neighbors as good at this as i was we might have organized and drilled together and worked out a class cheer for the putnam division country club--three deep long pants, say, followed by nine sharp short pants or pantlets. but i would have been elected pants leader without a struggle. my merits were too self-evident for a contest. but did i attribute my supremacy in this regard to accumulating and thickening layers of tissue in the general vicinity of my midriff? i did not! no, sir, because i was fat--indubitably, uncontrovertibly and beyond the peradventure of a doubt, fat--i kept on playing the fat man's game of mental solitaire. i inwardly insisted, and i think partly believed, that my lung power was too great for the capacity of my throat opening, hence pants. i cast a pitying eye at other men, deep of girth and purple of face, waddling down the platform, and as i scudded on past them i would say to myself that after all there was a tremendous difference between being obese and being merely well fleshed out. the real reason of course was that my legs had remained reasonably firm and trim while the torso was inflating. for i was one who got fat not all over at once but in favored localities. and i was even as the husband is whose wife is being gossiped about--the last person in the neighborhood to hear the news. as though it were yesterday i remember the day and the place and the attendant circumstances when and where awakening was forced upon me. two of us went to canada on a hunting trip. the last lap of the journey into camp called for a fifteen-mile horseback ride through the woods. the native who was to be our chief guide met us with our mounts at a way station far up in the interior of quebec. he knew my friend--had guided him for two seasons before; but i was a stranger in those parts. now until that hour it had never occurred to me that i was anywhere nearly so bulksome as this friend of mine was. for he indubitably was a person of vast displacement and augmented gross total tonnage; and in that state of blindness which denies us the gift to see ourselves as others see us i never had reckoned myself to be in his class, avoir-dupoisefully speaking. but as we lined up two abreast alongside the station, with our camp duffel piled about us, the keen-eyed guide, standing slightly to one side, considered our abdominal profiles, and the look he cast at my companion said as plainly as words, "well, i see you've brought a spare set along with you in case of a puncture." but he did not come right out and say a thing so utterly tactless. what he did say, in a worried tone, was that he was sorry now he had not fetched along a much more powerful horse for me to ride on. he had a good big chunky work animal, not fast but very strong in the back, he said, which would have answered my purposes first rate. i experienced another disillusioning jolt. could it be that this practiced woodsman's eye actually appraised me as being as heavy as my mate, or even heavier? surely he must be wrong in his judgments. the point was that i woefully was wrong in mine. how true it is that we who would pluck the mote from behind a fellow being's waistcoat so rarely take note of the beam which we have swallowed crosswise! even so, a great light was beginning to percolate to my innermost consciousness. a grave doubt pestered me through our days of camping there in the autumnal wilderness. when we had emerged from the woods and had reached montreal on the homeward trip i enticed my friend upon a penny-in-the-slot weighing machine in the montreal station and i observed what he weighed; and then when he stepped aside i unostentatiously weighed myself, and in the box score credited myself with a profound shock; also with an error, which should have been entered up a long time before that. approximately, we were of the same height and in bone structure not greatly unlike. i had figured that daily tramping after game should have taken a few folds of superfluous flesh off my frame, and so, no doubt, it had done. yet i had pulled the spindle around the face of the dial to a point which recorded for me a total of sixteen pounds and odd ounces more than his penny had registered for him. if he was fat, unmistakably and conclusively fat and he was--what then was i? in troy weight--troy where the hay scales come from--the answer was written. i was fat as fat, or else the machine had lied. and as between me and that machine i could pick the liar at the first pick. chapter v _on acquiring some snappy pores_ that night on the sleeper a splendid resolution sprouted within me. next morning when we arrived home it was ready and ripe for plucking. i would trim myself down to more lithesome proportions and i would start the job right away. it did not occur to me that cutting down my daily consumption of provender might prove helpful to the success of the proposed undertaking. or if it did occur to me i put the idea sternly from me, for i was by way of being a robust trencherman. i had joyed in the pleasures of the table, and i had written copiously of those joys, and i now declined to recant of my faith or to abate my indulgences. all this talk which i had heard about balanced rations went in at one ear and out at the other. i knew what a balanced ration was. i stowed one aboard three times daily--at morn, again at noon and once more at nightfall. a balanced ration was one which, being eaten, did not pull you over on your face; one which you could poise properly if only you leaned well back, upon arising from the table, and placed the two hands, with a gentle lifting motion, just under the overhang of the main cargo hold. surely there must be some way of achieving the desired result other than by following dieting devices. there was--exercising was the answer. i would exercise and so become a veritable faun. now, so far as i recalled, i had never taken any indoor exercise excepting once in a while to knock on wood. i abhorred the thought of ritualistic bedroom calisthenics such as were recommended by divers health experts. climbing out of a warm bed and standing out in the middle of a cold room and giving an imitation of a demoniac semaphore had never appealed to me as a fascinating divertisement for a grown man. as i think i may have remarked once before, lying at full length on one's back on the floor immediately upon awakening of a morning and raising the legs to full length twenty times struck me as a performance lacking in dignity and utterly futile. besides, what sort of a way was that to greet the dewy morn? so as an alternative i decided to enroll for membership at a gymnasium where i could have company at my exercising and make a sport of what otherwise would be in the nature of a punishment. this i did. with a group of fellow inmates for my team mates, i tossed the medicine ball about. my score at this was perfect; that is to say, sometimes when it came my turn to catch i missed the ball, but the ball never once missed me. always it landed on some tender portion of my anatomy, so that my average, written in black-and-blue spots, remained an even . daily i cantered around and around and around a running track until my breathing was such probably as to cause people passing the building to think that the west side y.m.c.a. was harboring a pet porpoise inside. once, doing this, i caught a glimpse of my own form in a looking-glass which for some reason was affixed to one of the pillars flanking the oval. a looking-glass properly did not belong there; distinctly it was out of place and could serve no worthy purpose. very few of the sights presented in a gym which largely is patronized by city-bred fat men are deserving to be mirrored in a glass. they are not such visions as one would care to store in fond memory's album. be that as it may, here was this mirror, and swinging down the course suddenly i beheld myself in it. clad in a chastely simple one-piece garment, with my face all a blistered crimson and my fingers interlaced together about where the third button of the waistcoat, counting from the bottom up, would have been had i been wearing any waistcoat, i reminded myself of a badly scorched citizen escaping in a scantily dressed condition from a burning homestead bringing with him the chief family treasure clasped in his arms. he had saved the pianola! from the running track or the medicine-ball court i would repair to the steam room and simmer pleasantly in a temperature of degrees fahrenheit--i am sure i have the figures right--until all i needed before being served was to have the gravy slightly thickened with flour and a dash of water cress added here and there. having remained in the steam cabinet until quite done, i next would jump into the swimming pool, which concluded the afternoon's entertainment. jumping into the cool water of the pool was supposed to reseal the pores which the treatment in the hot room had caused to open. in the best gymnasium circles it is held to be a fine thing to have these educated pores, but i am sure it can be overdone, and personally i cannot say that i particularly enjoyed it. i kept it up largely for their sake. they became highly trained, but developed temperament. they were apt to get the signals mixed and open unexpectedly on the street, resulting in bad colds for me. for six weeks, on every week day from three to five p.m. i maintained this schedule religiously--at least i used a good many religious words while so engaged--and then i went on the scales to find out what progress i had made toward attaining the desired result. i had kept off the scales until then because i was saving up, as it were, to give myself a nice jolly surprise party. so i weighed. and i had picked up nine pounds and a half! that was what i had gained for all my sufferings and all my exertions--that, along with a set of snappy but emotional pores and a personal knowledge of how a new england boiled dinner feels just before it comes on the table. "this," i said bitterly to myself--"this is sheer foolhardiness! keep this up for six weeks more and i'll find myself fallen away to a perfect three-ton truck. keep it up for three months and i'll be ready to rent myself out to the aquarium as a suitable playmate for the leviathan in the main tank. i shall stop this idiocy before it begins making me seasick merely to look down at myself as i walk. i may slosh about and billow somewhat, but i positively decline to heave up and down. i refuse to be known as the human tidal wave, with women and children being hurriedly removed to a place of safety at my approach. right here and now is where i quit qualifying for the inundation stakes!" which accordingly i did. what i did not realize was that the unwonted exercise gave me such a magnificent appetite that, after a session at the gymnasium, i ate about three times as much as i usually did at dinner--and, mark you, i never had been one with the appetite, as the saying goes, of a bird, to peck at some hartz mountain roller's prepared food and wipe the stray rape seed off my nose on a cuttle-fish bone and then fly up on the perch and tuck the head under the wing and call it a meal. i had ever been what might be termed a sincere feeder. so, never associating the question of diet with the problem of attaining physical slightness, i swung back again into my old mode of life with the resigned conviction that since destiny had chosen me to be fat there was nothing for me to do in the premises excepting to go right on to the end of my mortal chapter being fat, fatter and perhaps fattest. i'd just make the best of it. and i'd use care about crossing a county bridge at any gait faster than a walk. now this continued for years and years, and then here a few months ago something else happened. and on top of that something else--to wit: the great reduction. of the great reduction more anon. chapter vi _more anon_ well, i made up my mind, having tried violent exercise in the gymnasium, coupled with violent language in the steam room, and having found neither or both had been of the least avail in trimming down my proportions, but on the contrary had augmented them to the extent of nearly ten pounds, live weight, that i would let well enough alone. if 'twere my ordained fate to be fat--why, then so be it; i'd be fatly fatalistic and go on through life undulating and rippling. if an all-wise providence meant to call me to the estate of being the bulkiest writing man using the english language for a vehicle, then let hilaire belloc look to his laurels and gilbert k. chesterton to his unholsterings. there was one consolation: thank heavens the championship would remain in america! the years go marching by in ordered processional. a great war bursts and for a space endures. in our own land prohibition is nationally enacted and women's suffrage comes to be, and irving berlin, reading the signs of the times, decides to write the blue laws blues. fashions of thought change; other fashions, also. a girl who was born without hips or eyebrows and who in childhood was regarded as a freak, now finds herself, at the age of eighteen, exactly in the mode, thus proving that all things come to those who wait. czecho-slovakia is discovered. the american forces spent three days taking château-thierry and three years trying to learn to pronounce it. ireland undertakes to settle her ancient problem on the basis of self-extermination. several rich retail profiteers die, the approval being hearty and general, and on arriving at heaven experience great difficulty in passing through the needle's eye, or tradesmen's entrance. somebody tells henry ford about what some high priests did in jerusalem nearly two thousand years ago and in the first flush of his startled indignation he becomes violently anti-semitic. general pershing returns from the battlefields of europe universally acclaimed a model of military efficiency and wearing so many medals that alongside him john philip sousa, by contrast, looks absolutely nude. his friends project him into the political arena and the result is summed in a phrase--"lafayette, he ain't there!" unavailing efforts are made by a rebellious and unreconciled few of us to find a presidential candidate willing to run on a platform of but four planks, namely: wines, ales, liquors and cigars. harding wins, scattering second; cox also ran: slogan: "he kept us out of mcadoo." manhattan island, from whence the rest of the country derives its panics, its jazz tremblors and its girl shows, develops a severe sinking sensation in the pit of its financial stomach, accompanied by acute darting pains at the juncture of broad and wall. this is the way thomas carlyle used to start off a new chapter, and i like it. it denotes erudition. ziegfeld builds a new follies show around twelve pairs of winsome knee joints. north dakota blows down the nonpartisan league and discovers that darned thing was loaded in both barrels. the prussians are pained to note that for some reason or other a number of people seem to harbor a grudge against them. nine thousand kentucky mint patches are plowed under and the sites sown with rosemary; that's for remembrance. in new york plans are undertaken for construing the eighteenth amendment along the lines of the selective draft, upon the theory that booze is a bad thing for some people and much too good for many of the others. the word "intrigued" creeps into our language and becomes common property, but the fiction writers saw it first. a business men's cabinet, composed almost exclusively of politicians, succeeds a business men's cabinet composed almost exclusively of politicians. in order to hurry along the payment of installment one of the indemnity france whistles up the reserves and that chore is chored. pessimists, including many of the old-line democrats, practically all the maltsters, and aunt emma goldman, are filled with a dismal conviction that creation has gone plum' to perdition in a hand basket. those more optimistically inclined look upon the brighter side of things and distill consolation from the thought that nothing is so bad but what it might have been worse--trotzky might have been born twins. great britain has her post-war industrial crisis, serial number . the sinn féin enlarges the british national anthem to read god save the king till we can get at him! by a strict party vote congress decides the share in the victory achieved by the a.e.f. was overwhelmingly republican, but that the airship program went heavily democratic. popular distrust of home-brew recipes assumes a nationwide phase. this brings us up to the early spring of this year of grace, , which is what i have been aiming for all through this paragraph. quite without warning, i discovered along about the first of march that something ailed me; something was rocking the boat. about my heart there was a sense of pressure, so it seemed to me, or else my imagination was at fault. mentally, i found myself--well, for lack of a better word to express it--logy. otherwise, in all physical regards, i felt as brisk and peart as ever i have, despite the circumstance of having reached the age when a great many of us are confronted by the distressing discovery that we are rapidly getting no younger. now when a man who has always enjoyed such outrageously perfect health as it has been my good fortune to enjoy takes note that certain nagging manifestations are persisting within him it is his duty, or least it should be his duty, to try to find out the underlying cause of whatever it is that distresses him and correct the trouble before it becomes chronic. i did not get frightened--i trust i am not a self-alarmist--but i did get worried. i made up my mind that i would not wait, as those who approach middle age so often do, for the medical examiner of an insurance company to scare me into sudden conniption fits. but i also made up my mind that i would find out what radically was wrong with me, if anything, and endeavor to master it while the mastering was good. this, though, was after i had harked back to the days of my adolescence. i was born down on the northern edge of the southern range of the north american malaria belt; and when i was growing up, if one seemed intellectually torpid or became filled with an overpowering bodily languor, the indisposition always was diagnosed offhand as a touch of malaria. accordingly, the victim, taking his own advice or another's, jolted his liver with calomel until the poor thing flinched every time a strange pill was seen approaching it, and then he rounded out the course of treatment with all the quinine the traffic would stand. recalling these early campaigns, i borrowed of their strategy for use against my present symptoms--if symptoms they were. i took quinine until my ears rang so that persons passing me on the public highway would halt to listen to the chimes. my head was filled with mysterious muffled rumblings. it was like living in a haunted house and being one at the same time. chapter vii _office visits, $ _ it required all of two weeks of experimenting with my interior to convince me that whatever it might be that annoyed me, it surely was not a thing which an intensive bombardment of the liver would cure. the liver has a low visibility but is easy to hit. i had the aversion to seeking professional guidance for the curing of a presumably minor disorder that most robust male adults have. in personal tribute i may add that i have never been hypochondriac in any possible respect. however, toward the end of those three weeks i formed the decision that i would go to see a doctor or so. but i would sneak up on these gentlemen, so to speak. i would call upon them in the rôle of a friend rather than avowedly as a prospective patient, and take them into my confidence, as it were, by degrees. somewhere in the back part of my brain i nursed a persistent fear that my complaints might be diagnosed as symptoms of that incurable malady known as being forty-four years old, going, on forty-five. and i knew that much already without paying a physician twenty-five dollars for telling me so the first time and ten dollars for each time he told it to me over again. rather shamefacedly, with a well-simulated air of casualness, i dropped in upon a physician who is a friend of mine and in whose judgment i have confidence; and then, after a two-day interval, i went to see a second physician of my acquaintance who, i believe, also thoroughly knows his trade. with both men i followed the same tactics--roundabout chatting on the topic of this or that, and finally an honest confession as to the real purpose of my visit. in both instances the results were practically identical. each man manifested an almost morbid curiosity touching on my personal habits and bodily idiosyncrasies. each asked me a lot of questions. each went at me with x-ray machines and blood tests and chemical analysissies--if there isn't any such word i claim there should be--until my being was practically an open book to him and i had no secrets left at all. and the upshot of all this was that each of them told me that though organically i was as sound as a nut in fact much sounder than some of the nuts they knew professionally--i was carrying an overload of avoirdupois about with me. in other words, i was too fat for my own good. i was eating too much sweet stuff and entirely too much starch--especially starch. they agreed on this point emphatically. as well as i could gather, i was subjecting my interior to that highly shellacked gloss which is peculiar to the bosom of the old-fashioned full-dress or burying shirt upon its return from the steam laundry, when what my system really called for was the dull domestic finish. "well, doc," i said upon hearing this for the second time in language which already had a familiar sound--"well, all that you say being true, what then?" "for one thing, more exercise." "but i take plenty of exercise now." "for example, what?" "for example, golf." "how often do you play golf?" "well, not so very often, as the real golf-bug or caddie's worm would measure the thing--say, on an average of once a week in the golfing season. but i take so many swings at the ball before hitting it that i figure i get more exercise out of the game than do those who play oftener but take only about one wallop at the pill in driving off. and when i drive into the deep grass, as is my wont, my work with the niblick would make you think of somebody bailing out a sinking boat. my bunker exercises are frequently what you might call violent. and in the fall of the year i do a lot of tramping about in the woods with a gun. i might add that on a hunting trip i can walk many a skinny person into a state of total exhaustion." i stated this last pridefully. "all right for that, then," he said. "we'll concede that you get an abundance of exercise. then there is another thing you should do, and of the two this is by far the more essential--you should go on a diet." right there i turned mentally rebellious. i wanted to reduce my bulk, but i did not want to reduce my provender. i offered counter-arguments in defense. i pointed but that for perhaps five years past my weight practically had been stationary. also i called attention to the fact that i no longer ate so heavily as once i had. not that i wished actually to decry my appetite. it had been a good friend to me and not for worlds would i slander it. i have a sincere conviction that age cannot wither nor custom stale my infinite gastric juices. never, i trust, will there come a time when i shan't relish my victuals or when i'll feel disinclined to chase the last fugitive bite around and around the plate until i overtake it. but i presented the claim, which was quite true, that i was not the consumer, measured by volume, i once had been. perhaps my freighterage spaces, with passing years, had grown less expansive or less accommodating or something. likewise, i invited his consideration of the fact, which was not to be gainsaid either, that many men very much less elaborated than i in girth customarily ate very much more than i did. i recalled, offhand, sundry conspicuous examples of this sort. i believe i mentioned one or two such. for instance, now, there was mr. william jennings bryan. the bryan appetite, as i remarked to the doctor, is one of the chief landmarks of mr. bryan's home city of lincoln, nebraska. they take the sight-seeing tourists around to have a look at it, the first thing. to observe mr. bryan breakfasting on the morning when a national democratic convention is in session is a sight worth seeing. a double order of cantaloupes on the half shell, a derby hat full of oatmeal, a rosary of sausages, and about as many flapjacks as would be required to tessellate the floor of a fair-sized reception hall is nothing at all for him. and when he has concluded his meal he gets briskly up and strolls around to the convention hall and makes a better speech and a longer one and a louder pile than anybody. naturally, time, the insatiable remodeler, has worked some outward changes in mr. bryan since the brave old days of the cross of gold. his hair, chafed by the constant pressure of the halo, has retreated up and ever up his scalp until the forehead extends clear over and down upon the sunset slope. the little fine wrinkles are thickly smocked at the corners of the eagle eyes that flashed so fiercely at the cringing plutocrats. but his bearing is just as graceful and his voice just as silvery and as strong as when in ' he advocated free silver to save the race, or when he advocated anti-expansion in the philippines, or government ownership of the railroads, or a policy of nonpreparedness for war when germany first began acting up--grover cleveland bergdoll felt the same way about it and so did ma bergdoll;--and i, for one, have no doubt that mr. bryan will be just as supple, mentally and physically, three years hence when, if he runs true to form, he will be advocating yet another of that series of those immemorial jeffersonian principles of the fathers, which he thinks up, to order, right out of his own head, when a campaign impends. mr. bryan knows how to play the political game--none better; but he certainly does have a large discard. that, however, is aside from the main issue. the point i sought to bring out there in the office of my friend doctor so-and-so was that mr. bryan, to my knowledge, ate what he craved and all that he craved, yet did not become obese. when the occasion demanded he could be amply bellicose, but the accent was not upon the first two syllables. i cited similar cases further to buttress my position. i told him that almost the skinniest human being i ever knew had been one of the largest eaters. i was speaking now of john wesley bass, the champion raw-egg eater of massac precinct, whose triumphant career knew not pause or discomfiture until one day at the mccracken county fair when suddenly tragedy dire impended. he did not overextend himself in the gustatory line--that to one of john wesley bass' natural gifts and attainments well-nigh would have been impossible; but he betrayed a lack of caution when, having broken his former record by eating thirty-six raw eggs at a sitting, he climbed upon a steam merry-go-round, shortly thereafter falling off the spotted wooden giraffe which he rode, and being removed to the city hospital in an unconscious condition. that night later when the crisis had passed the doctors said that as nearly as they could figure out a case so unusual, mr. bass had had a very close call from being just naturally scrambled to death. i spoke at length of my former fellow townsman's powers, dwelling heavily upon the fact that, despite all, he never thickened up at the waistline. throughout the narrative, however, the doctor punctuated my periods with derisive snorts which were disconcerting to an orderly presentation of the facts. nevertheless, i continued until i had reached what i regarded as a telling climax. "piffle!" he rejoined. "one hoarse raucous piffle and three sharp decisive puffs for your arguments! i tell you that what ails you is this: you are now registering, the preliminary warnings of obesity. the danger is not actually here yet; but for you nature already has set the danger signals. there's a red light on the switch for one i. cobb. you are due before a great while for a head-end collision with your own health. you can take my advice or you can let it alone. that's entirely up to you. only don't blame me if you come back here some day all telescoped up amidships. "and please don't consume time which is reasonably valuable to me, however lightly you may regard it, by telling me now about slim men who eat more than you do and yet keep their figures. the woods are full of them; also the owl wagons. the difference between such men as those you have described and such men as you is that they were made to be thin men and to keep on being thin men regardless of their food consumption, and that your sort are naturally predisposed to fatness. you can't judge their cases by yours any more than you can judge the blood-sweating behemoth of holy writ by the plans and specifications of the humble earwig. "one man's meat is another man's poison; that's a true saying. and here's another saying--one cannot eat his cake and have it, too. but that's an error so far as you are concerned. the trouble with you is that when you eat your cake you still have it--in layers of fat. if you want to get rid of the layers you'll have to cut out the cake, or most of it, anyway. must i make you a diagram, or is this plain enough for your understanding?" it was--abundantly. but i still had one more bright little idea waiting in the second-line trenches. i called up the reserves. "ahem!" i said. "well now, old man, how about trying some of these electrical treatments or these chemicalized baths or these remedies i see advertised? i was reading only the other day where one successful operator promised on his word of honor to take off flesh for anybody, no matter who it was, without interfering with that person's table habits and customs." my friend can be very plain-spoken when the spirit moves him. [illustration: "you are now registering the preliminary warnings--" _page _] "say, listen to me," he snapped, "or better still, you'd better write down what i'm about to say and stick it in your hat where you can find it and consult it when your mind begins wandering again. those special mechanical devices to reduce fat people are contrived for the benefit of men and lazy women who are too slothful to take exercise or else too besotted in the matter of food indulgence to face the alternative of dieting. they may not do any harm--properly operated, they probably do not--but, at best, i would regard them as being merely temporary expedients specially devised as first aid to the incurably lazy. "and as for pills and boluses and bottled goods guaranteed to reduce your weight, and as for all these patented treatments and proprietary preparations which you see boosted in the papers--bah! either they are harmless mixtures, in which event they'll probably do you no serious injury, but will certainly do you no real good; or else they contain drugs which, taken to excess, may cut you down in size, but have the added drawback of very probably cutting short your life. "no, sir-ree! for you it's dieting, now and from now on. you may be able to relax your diet in time, but you can never altogether forego it. give us this day our daily diet--that's your proper prayer. and you'd better start praying pretty soon, too!" "all right, doc," i said resignedly. "you've practically converted me. i can't say i'm happy over the prospect, but if you say so i'm prepared to become a true believer. but since, between us, we're about to take all the joy out of life, let's be thorough. what must i do to be saved? give me the horrible details right here. i might as well hear the worst at one session." "i'm no dietitian," he said. "i don't profess to be one. that's not my line--my line is the diagnostic. of course i could lay down a few broad general rules for your guidance--any experienced practitioner could do that--but to get the best returns you should consult a diet specialist. however, in parting--i have several paying guests waiting for me and we are now about to part--i will throw in one more bit of advice without charge. no matter what suggestions you may get from any quarter, i would urge you not to follow any banting formula so rigorous as to take off your superfluous flesh very rapidly. take your time about it. if you live as long as both of us hope you may you'll have plenty of time. there's no rush, so go at it gradually. be regular about it, but don't be too ambitious at the outset. don't try to turn yourself into a tricky sprite in two weeks. for a fat man too abruptly to strip the flesh off his bones i regard as dangerous. it weakens him and depletes his powers of resistance and makes him fair game for any stray microbe which may be cruising about looking for a place to set up housekeeping." at first blush it might appear to the lay mind that a germ would scarcely care to pick a bone when it had fat meat to feed on, but my own recollections bore out my friend's statements. i remembered a man of my acquaintance, an enormously fleshy and unwieldy man, who, fearing apoplexy, undertook a radical scheme of banting. he lost fifty pounds in three months, so apoplexy did not get him, but pneumonia did with great suddenness. he was sick only three days. nobody suspected that he was seriously ill until the third day, when suddenly he just hauled off and died. so i promised to have a care against seeking to hurry myself right out of the flounder class and right into the smelt division. chapter viii _the friendly sons of the boiled spinach_ my friend gave me the names of several men of acknowledged standing and told me i should be making no mistake did i put myself in the hands of any one on the list. i thanked him and departed from his presence. to the casual eye i may have seemed, going away, to be in high spirits; but, confidentially, i wasn't feeling so very brash. my spirits were low. i had heard the truth--i made no effort to deceive myself there--but the truth was painful. still, knowing what i should do, i hesitated, temporizing with myself. i gave a couple of days of intensive meditation to the subject, and then i reached this conclusion: i would read a few standard and orthodox works on dietetics, and, so doing, try to arrive at least at a superficial knowledge of the matter. also, i would balance what one recognized authority said as against what another recognized authority said, and then, before going to a specialist, i would do a little personal experimenting with my diet and mark the effects. i arrived at this decision privately, taking no one into my confidence. and without an intent to deprive any hard-worked specialist of a prospective fee, i shall ever continue to believe that the second part of the course i chose to follow was a wise one. it might not serve my brother-in-obesity, but it served me well. i'm sure of that. but the first part of the system naturally came first. this had to do with research work among the best authorities. here i struck one of the snags that rise in the pathway of the hardy soul who goes adventuring into any given department of the science of medicine and its allied sciences. i was pained to observe how rare it was for two experts, of whatsoever period, to agree upon a single essential element. an amateur investigator was left at a loss to fathom why such entirely opposite conclusions should have been arrived at by the members of the same school when presumably both had had the same raw materials to work on. by their raw materials i mean their patients. but so it was. the ancient apostles of dietetics, the original pathfinders into a hitherto untracked field, had disciples who set out to follow in their footsteps, but before they had traveled very far along the alimentary trail the disciples were quarreling bitterly with the masters' deductions and conclusions. to-day's school was snooty touching on the major opinions of yesterday's crowd, and to-morrow's crowd already made faces at to-day's. on just two points i found a unanimity of opinion among what might be termed the middle group of dietetic explorers as counter-distinguished from the pioneering cult and the modern or comparatively modern. each one was so absolutely certain that he was so absolutely right and so absolutely certain that all his contemporaries were so absolutely wrong. at the beginning, it seemed, a reduction of the sufferer's flesh had been attempted by the simple device of bleeding him copiously--not with a monthly statement, as latterly, but with a lancet. abundant drinking of vinegar also had been recommended as a means to accomplish the desired end. they were noble drinkers in the olden times, but until i began delving into literature of the subject i did not suspect that there had been any out-and-out vinegar topers. there was citation in an early work of the interesting case of the marquis of cortona, a subchieftain under the duke of alva, and a fine fat old butcher he must have been, too, by all tellings. finding himself grown so rotund that no longer could he enter with zest into the massacre bees and torture outings which the spaniards were carrying on in the harried netherlands, the marquis had recourse to vinegar; and so efficacious was the treatment that, as the tradition runs, he soon could wrap his loosened skin about him in great slack folds like a cloak, and thus, close-reefed, go merrily murdering his way across the low countries. one pictures the advantages accruing. in cold weather, now, he might overlap his wrinkles in a clapboarded effect and save the expense of laying in heavy underwear. true, this might give to the wearer a clinker-built appearance; still it would keep him nice and warm, and no doubt he had his armor on outside the rest of his things. but likewise there must have been drawbacks. suppose, now, the marquis were caught out in blowy weather and the wind worked in under his tucks and the ratlines pulled loose and, all full-rigged and helpless, bellying and billowing and flapping and jibing, he went scudding against his will before the gale. could he hope to tack and go about before he blew clear over into the next county? i doubt it. and suppose he inflated himself for a party or a reception or something, and a practical joker put a tack in a chair and he sat down on it and had a blow-out. the thought is not a pretty one, yet the thing were possible. from these crude beginnings i worked my way down toward the present day. doctor banting, of england, the father of latter-day dietetics from whose name in commemoration of his services to mankind we derive the verb intransitive "to bant," had theories wherein his chief contemporaneous german rival, epstein the bavarian, radically disagreed with him. voit, coming along subsequently, disagreed in important details with both. among the moderns i discerned where dr. woods hutchinson had his pet ideas and doctor wiley had his, diametrically opposed. so it went. there was almost as much of disputation here as there is when a federation of women's clubs is holding an annual election. it was all so very confusing to one aiming to do the right thing. one learned savant flatly laid down the ultimatum that the individual seeking to reduce should cut out all pork products from chitterings clear through the list to headcheese and give his undivided support to the red meats and the white. one of his brethren was equally positive that i might partake of bacon and even ham in moderation, but urged that i walk around red meat as though it were a pesthouse. yet a third--a foe, plainly, to the butcher, but a well-wisher to the hay-and-produce dealer if ever one lived--recommended that i should eliminate all meat of whatsoever character or color and stick closely to fodder, roughage and processed ensilage. i judge he sent his more desperate cases to a livery stable. according to one dictum, bread was all right up to a certain point, and, according to another, all wrong. this man here held a brief for beans, especially the succulent baked bean; that man yonder served solemn warning upon me that if perversely i persisted to continue to eat baked beans the fat globules would form so fast i would have the sensation that a little boy was inside of me somewhere blowing bubbles. the writer didn't exactly say this, but it was the inference i drew from his remarks. eat dried fruits until your seams give, said doctor a. avoid dried fruits as you would the plague, counseled the equally eminent doctor b. professor c considered the drinking of water with meals highly inadvisable; whereas professor d said that without adding an extra ounce of weight i might consume water until my fluid contents sloshed up and down in me when i walked, and merely by getting a young lady in oriental costume to stand alongside me i might qualify at a sunday-school entertainment for the entire supporting cast of the familiar tableau entitled rebecca at the well. he intimated that just so i stopped short of committing suicide as an inside job all would be fine and dandy. i do not claim that these were his words; this is the free interpretation of his meaning. sink the knife in the butter to the very hilt--there will be no ill effects but only a beneficial outcome--declares such-and-such a food faddist. eschew butter by all means or accept the consequences, clarions an earnest voice. well, i never was much of a hand for eschewed butter anyway. we keep our own cow and make our own butter and it seems to slip down, just so. in the vegetable kingdom the controversy raged with unabated fury. the boiled prune, blandest and most inoffensive of breakfast dishes, formed the basis of a spirited debate. there were pro-prunists and there were con-prunists. the parsnip had its champions and its antagonists; the carrot its defenders and its assailants. in this quarter was the cabbage heartily indorsed, there was it belittled and made naught of. the sprightly spring onion, already socially scorned in some of the best lay circles, suffered attack at the hands of at least one scientific and scholarly professional. after reading his strictures i remarked to myself that really there remained but one field of useful popularity for the onion to adorn; in time it might hope to supplant the sunflower as the floral emblem of kansas, as typifying a great political principle which originated in that state: the initiative, when one took a chance and ate a young onion; the referendum, while one's digestive apparatus wrestled with it; the recall, if it disagreed with one. alone, of all the vegetables, stood spinach, with not a single detractor. on this issue the vote in the affirmative practically was by acclamation. i am tin position to state that boiled spinach has not an enemy among the experts. this seems but fair--it has so few friends among the eating public. i observed much and confusing talk of the value of nitrogens, proteids and--when i had reached the ultra-modernists--vitamines. vitamines, i gathered, had only recently been discovered, yet by the progressives they were held to be of the supremest importance in the equation of properly balanced human sustenance. to my knowledge i had never consciously eaten vitamines unless a vitamine was what gave guaranteed strictly fresh string beans, as served at a table-d'hôte restaurant, that peculiar flavor. here all along i had figured it was the tinny taste of the can, which shows how ignorant one may be touching on vitally important matters. i visualized a suitable luncheon for one banting according to the newest and most generally approved formula: =relish= mixed gelatinoids =potage= strained nitrogen gumbo =entree= grilled proteids with globulin patties =dessert= compote of assorted vitamines or the alternative course for one sincerely desirous of reducing, who believed everything he saw in print, was to cut out all the proscribed articles of food--which meant everything edible except spinach--and starve gracefully on a diet composed exclusively of boiled spinach, with the prospect of dying a dark green death in from three to six weeks and providing one's own protective coloration if entombed in a cemetery containing cedars. personally i was not favorably inclined toward either plan, so i elected to let my conscience be my guide, backed by personal observation and personal experimentation. i was traveling pretty constantly this past spring, and in the smoking compartments of the pullmans, where all men, for some curious reason, grow garrulous and confidential, i put crafty leading questions to such of my fellow travelers as were over-sized and made mental notes of their answers for my own subsequent use. since the eighteenth amendment put the nineteenth hole out of commission, prohibition and how to evade it are the commonest of all conversational topics among those moving about from place to place in america; but the subject of what a man eats, and more particularly what he eats for breakfast, runs it a close second for popularity. for example, there is the seasoned trans-atlantic tourist who, on the occasion of a certain terrifically stormy passage, was for three days the only person on board excepting the captain who never missed a single meal. you find him everywhere; there must be a million or more of him; and he loves to talk about it, and he does. but even more frequently encountered is the veteran drummer--no, beg pardon, the veteran district sales manager, for there aren't any drummers any more, or even any traveling salesmen; but instead we have district sales managers featuring strong selling points--i say, even more frequently encountered is the veteran district sales manager, wearing a gravy-colored waistcoat if a tasty dresser, or a waistcoat of a nongravy-colored or contrasting shade if careless, who craves to tell strangers what, customarily, he eats for breakfast. i made it a point to study the proportions and hearken to the disclosures of such a one, and if he carried his stomach in a hanging-garden effect, with terraces rippling down and flying buttresses and all; and if he had a pasty, unhealthy complexion or an apoplectic tint to his skin i said to myself that thenceforth i should apply the reverse english to his favorite matutinal prescription. chapter ix _adventure of the fallen egg_ so, having mapped out my campaign of attack against my fat, i rose one morning from my berth in the sleeping car and i dressed; and firmly clutching my new-formed resolution to prevent its escape, i made my way to the dining car and sat down and gave my order to the affable honor graduate of tuskegee institute who graciously deigned to wait on me. now, theretofore, for so far back as i remembered, breakfast had been my heartiest meal of the entire day, with perhaps two exceptions--luncheon and dinner. precedent inclined me toward ordering about as many pieces of sliced banana as would be required to button a fairly tall woman's princess frock all the way down her back, with plenty of sugar and cream, and likewise a large porringer of some standard glutinous cereal, to be followed by sausages with buckwheat cakes and a few odd kickshaws and comfits in the way of strawberry preserves and hot buttered toast and coffee that was half cream, and first one thing and then another. but spartanlike i put temptation sternly behind me and told the officiating collegian to bring me plain boiled prunes, coffee with hot milk and saccharin tablets, dry toast and one dropped egg. the prunes and the coffee were according to specifications, although, lacking the customary cream and three lumps of sugar, the coffee was in the nature of a profound disappointment. but a superficial inquiry convinced me that the egg was not properly a dropped egg at all. here was a fallen egg, if i ever saw one. i was filled with pity for it--poor, forsaken, abandoned thing, with none to speak a kind word for it! and probably more sinned against than sinning, too. perhaps there was hereditary influences to be reckoned with. perhaps its producer had been incubator raised, with no mother to guide her and only the standard oil company for a foster parent. and what would a new jersey corporation know about raising a hen? thus in sudden compassion i mused. to the waiter, though, i said: "there has been a mistake here, alumnus. this egg never was meant to be dropped--it was meant to be thrown. kindly remove the melancholy evidences." he offered to provide a substitute, but the edge of my zest seemed dulled. i made dry toast the climax of my chastely simple repast. it was simple and it was chaste, but otherwise not altogether what i should characterize as a successful repast. it lacked, as it were. let us pass along to noontime. ere noontime came i was consumed with gnawing pains of emptiness. as nearly as i might judge, i contained naught save vast hollow spaces and acoustics and vacuums and empty, echoing, neglected convolutions. sorely was i tempted to relax the rigors of the just-inaugurated régime; nobly, though, i resisted the impulse. as i look back now on that day i find the memory of my suffering has dimmed slightly. the passage of weeks and months has served to soften the harsh outlines of poignant recollection. what now in retrospect most impresses me is the heroism i displayed, the stark fortitude, the grandeur of will power, the triumph for character. sheer gallantry, i call it. for my midday meal i had more dry toast, a reduced portion of boiled tongue and a raw apple--satisfying enough to some, i grant you, but to me no more than a tease to my palate. long before three o'clock i knew exactly how a tapeworm feels when its landlord goes on a hunger strike. every salivary gland i owned was standing on tiptoe screaming for help; every little mucous membrane had a sorrow all its own. each separate fiber of my innermost being cried out for greases and for sugars and for the wonted starchy compounds for to stay it and for to comfort it. i underwent pangs such as had not been mine since away back yonder in august of , in the time of the sack of belgium, when the germans locked up five of us for a day and a night in a cow stable where no self-respecting cow would voluntarily have stayed, and, then sent us by train under guard on a three-day journey into germany, yet all the while kept right on telling us we were not prisoners but guests of the german army. and at the end of the third day we reached the unanimous conclusion among ourselves that the only outstanding distinction we could see, from where we sat, between being prisoners of the german army and guests of the german army was that from time to time they did feed the prisoners. for throughout the journey the eight of us--since by now our little party had grown--lived rather simply and frugally and, i might say, sketchily on rations consisting of one loaf of soldiers' bread, one bottle of mineral water and a one-pound pot of sour and rancid honey which must have emanated in the first place from a lot of very morbid, low-minded bees. however, in those exciting days there were many little moving distractions about to keep one from brooding o'ermuch on thoughts of lacking provender. i boast not, but merely utter a verity, when i state that every time i shook myself i shifted the center of population. where we had been the lesser wild life of midcontinental europe abounded. in the matter of a distinction which had come to me utterly without solicitation or effort on my part i have no desire to brag, but in justice to myself--and my boarders--i must add that at that moment, of all the human beings in central europe, i was the most densely inhabited. my companions scratched along, doing fairly well, too; but i led the field--i was so much roomier than any one of them was. but here aboard this pullman on this, the dedicatory day of my self-imposed martyrdom, i could not lose myself as i had on that former historic occasion in the ardor of chasing the small game of the country. by four o'clock in the afternoon i could appreciate the sensations of a conch shell on a parlor whatnot. i had a feeling that if anyone were to press his ear up against me he would hear a murmuring sound as of distant sea waves. yet, mark you, i held bravely out, fighting still the good fight. this, then, was my dinner, if such it might in truth be called: clear soup, a smallish slice of rare roast beef cut shaving thin, gluten bread sparsely buttered, a cloud of watercress no larger than a man's hand, another raw apple and a bit of domestic cheese--nothing rich, nothing exotic, no melting french _fromages_, no creamy danish pastries. only when i reached my demi-tasse, which i took straight, did i permit myself a touch of luxury. i lit my cigar with a genuine imported swedish parlor match. followed then the first comforting manifestation, the first gratefully registered taste of recompense for my privations. i had to speak that night and in a large hall, too, and i found my voice to be clearer and stronger than usual, and found, also, that i spoke with much less effort than usual. i was sure partial fasting during the day was bearing fruits in the evening, and i was right, as subsequent evening experiences proved to me. i had rather dreaded that hunger gripes would make my night a sleepless one, but it didn't happen. i may have dreamed longing dreams about victuals, but i tore off eight solid hours of unbridled and--i dare say--uproarious rest. chapter x _wherein our hero falters_ next day i kept it up, varying the first day's menus slightly, but keeping the bulk consumption down, roughly, to about one-half or possibly one-third what my rations formerly had been. before night of the second day that all-gone sensation had vanished. already i had made the agreeable discovery that i could get along and be reasonably happy on from to per cent of what until then i had deludedly thought was required to nourish me. before the week ended i felt fitter and sprier in every way than i had for years past; more alive, more interested in things, quicker on my feet and brisker in my mental processes than in a long time. the chronic logy, foggy feeling in my head disappeared and failed to return. i may add that to date it still has not returned. relieved of pressure against its valves--at least i assume that was what came to pass--my heart began functioning as i assume a normal heart should function, and at once the sense of oppression in the neighborhood of the heart was gone. within the same week i took most joyful note of the fact that i was losing flesh in the vicinities where mainly i craved to lose it amidships and at the throat. i still had a double chin in front, but the third one, which i carried behind as a spare--the one which ran all the way round my neck and lapped at the back like a clergyman's collar--was melting away. and unless i was woefully mistaken, i no longer had to fight so desperate a battle with the waistband of my trousers when i dressed in the mornings. i was not mistaken. glory be and likewise selah! my first and second mezzanines were visibly shrinking. by these signs and portents was i stimulated to continue the campaign so auspiciously launched and so satisfactorily progressing. i shall not deny that in the second week i did some backsliding. the swing of the tour carried me into the south. it was the south in the splendor of the young springtime when the cardinal bird sang his mating song. with brocading dandelions each pasture gloriously became even as the field of the cloth of gold; and lo, the beginning of the strawberry shortcake season overlapped the last of the smoked-hog-jowl-and-turnip-greens period, and the voice of the turtle was heard in the land. figuratively, i was swept off my feet when a noble example of southern womanhood put before my famished eyes the following items, to wit: about half a bushel of newly picked turnip greens, rearing islandwise above a sloshing sea of pot licker and supporting upon their fronded crests the boiled but impressive countenance of a hickory-cured shote, the whole being garnished with paired-off poached eggs like the topaz eyes of beauteous blond virgins turned soulfully heavenward; and set off by flankings of small piping-hot corn pones made with meal and water and salt and shortening, as providence intended a proper corn pone should be made. then the years rolled away like a scroll and once again was i back in the kentucky foothills, a lean and lathy sprout of a kid, a limber six-foot length of perpendicular appetite; and it was twelve o'clock for some people, but it was dinner time for me! my glad low gurgle of anticipatory joy smothered the small inner voice of caution as i leaped, as it were, headlong into that bosky dell of young turnip greens. so, having set my feet on the downward path i backslode some more--for behold, what should come along then but an old-fashioned shortcake, fashioned of crisp biscuit dough, with more fresh strawberries bedded down between its multiplied and mounting layers than you could buy at the fritz-charlton for a hundred and ninety dollars. right then and there was when and where i lost all i had gained in a fortnight of stalwart self-disciplining; rather it was where i regained all i haply had lost. when, gorged and comatose, i staggered from that fair matron's depleted table i should never have dared to trundle over a wooden culvert at faster than four miles an hour. either i should have slowed down or waited until they could put in some re-enforced-concrete underpinnings. i was right back where i had started, and for the moment didn't care a darn either. sin is glorious when you sin gloriously. but i rallied. i retrieved myself. however, i do not take all the credit to myself for this; circumstances favored me. shortly i quitted the land of temptation where i had been born, and was back again up north living on dining cars and in hotels, with nothing more seductive to resist than processed pastry and machine-made shortcakes and thousand islands dressing; which made the fight all the easier to win, especially as regards the last named. i sometimes wonder why, with a thousand islands to choose from, the official salad mixer of the average hotel always picks the wrong one. i kept on. the thing proved magically easy of accomplishment. by the fit of my clothing, if by nothing else, i could have told that several of my more noticeable convexes were becoming plane surfaces and gave promise in due season of becoming almost concave, some of 'em. but there was other and convincing testimony besides. i could tell it by my physical feelings, by my viewpoint, by my enhanced zest for work and for play. purposely, for the first month i refrained from weighing myself. when i did begin weighing at regular intervals i found i was losing at a rate of between two and three pounds a week. moreover, i had now proved to my own satisfaction that within sane reasonable limitations i could resume eating most of the things which formerly i ate to excess and which i had altogether eliminated from my menus during the initiatory stages of dieting. about the time i emerged from the novitiate class i discerned yet one more gratifying fact. if i were in the woods, camping and fishing, or hunting or tramping or riding or taking any fairly arduous form of exercise, i could eat pretty much anything and everything, no matter how fattening it might be. work in the open air whetted my appetite, but the added exertion burned up the waste matter so that the surplus went into bodily strength instead of into fatty layers. consumption was larger, but assimilation was perfect. for my daily life at home, where i am writing this, i have cut out these things: all the cereals; nearly all the white bread; all the hot bread; practically all pastries except very light pastries; white potatoes absolutely; rice to a large extent; sausages and fresh pork and nearly all the ham; cream in my coffee and on fruits; and a few of the starchier vegetables. of butter and of cheese and of nuts i eat perhaps one-third the amount i used to eat, and of meats, roughly, one-half as much as before the dawn of reason came. of everything except the items i just have enumerated i eat as freely as i please. and when a person begins to reckon up everything else among the edibles--flesh, fowl, fish, berries, fruits, vegetables and the rest he finds quite a sizable list. i shall not pretend that i do not pine often for sundry tabooed things. take pies, now--if there is any person alive who likes his pie better than i do he's the king of the pie likers, that's all. and i am desolated at being compelled to bar out the rice--not the gummy, glued-together, sticky, messy stuff which northerners eat with milk and sugar on it, but real orthodox rice such as only southerners and chinamen and east indians know how to prepare; white and fluffy and washed free of all the lurking library paste; with every grain standing up separate and distinct like well-popped corn and treated only with salt, pepper and butter, or with salt, pepper and gravy before being consumed. and as for white potatoes--well, it distresses me deeply to think that hereafter the irish potato, except when i'm camping out, will be to me merely something to stopper the spout of a coal-oil can with, or to stab the office pen in on the clerk's desk in an american-plan hotel. for i have ever cherished the irish potato as one of nature's most succulent gifts to mankind. i like potatoes all styles and every style, french fried, lyonnaise, o'brien, shoestring shape, pants-button design, hashed brown, creamed, mashed, stewed, soufflé--if only i knew who blew 'em up--and most of all, baked _au naturel_ in the union suit. and i miss them and shall keep on missing them. but no longer do i yearn for cream in my coffee, now that it is out of it, and i am getting reconciled to dry toast for breakfast, where once upon a time only members of the justly famous flap jackson family seemed to satisfy. of course i imbibe alcoholic stimulant when and where procurable. from the standpoint of one intent upon cutting a few running feet off the waistline measurements this distinctly is wrong, as full well i know. but what would you? i do not wish to pose as an eccentric. i have no desire to be pointed out as a person aiming to make himself conspicuously erratic by behaving differently from the run of his fellows. since the advent of prohibition nearly everybody i meet is drinking with an unbridled enthusiasm; and when not engaged in the act of drinking is discussing the latest and most approved methods of evading, circumventing and defying the federal and state statutes against drinking. therefore i drink, too. even so, i have not yet succeeded in accustoming my palate to strong waters indiscriminately swallowed. i confess to a fear that i shall never make a complete success of the undertaking. i suppose the trouble with me is lack of desire. prior to the attempted enforcement of the eighteenth amendment potable and vatted mixtures had but small lure for my palate, or my stomach, or my temperament. an occasional mild cocktail before a dinner, and perhaps twice a week a bottle of light beer or a glass of light wine with the dinner--these, in those old wild wicked days which ended in january, , practically made up the tally of my habitual flirtations with the accursed demon. in the springtime i might chamber an occasional mint julep, but this, really, was a sort of rite, a gesture of salute to the young green year. likewise at christmas time i partook sparingly of the ceremonial and traditional egg-nog. and once in a great while, on a bitter cold night in the winter, a hot apple toddy was not without its attractions. but these indulgences about covered the situation, alcoholically speaking, so far as i was concerned. for me the strong, heady vintages, whether still or sparkling, and the more potent distillations had mighty little appeal. champagne, to me, was about the poorest substitute for good well-water that had ever been proposed; and the messrs. haig & haig never had to put on a night shift at the works on my account. yet i came from a mid-section of the republic where in the olden days bourbon whiskey was regarded as a proper staff of life. the town where i was born was one of the last towns below mason & dixon's line to stand out against the local option wave which had swept the smaller interior communities of america; and my native state of kentucky was one of the two remaining states of the south, louisiana being the other, which had not officially gone dry by legislative action up to the time when br'er volstead's pleasant little act went over nationally. while i was growing up, through boyhood, through my youth and on into manhood, i had the example of whiskey-drinking all about me. many of our oldest and most respected families owned and operated distilleries. some of them had been distillers for generations past; they were proud of the purity of their product. men of all stations in life drank freely and with no sense of shame in their drinking. mainly they took their'n straight or in toddies; in those parts, twenty years ago, the high-ball was looked upon with suspicion as a foreign error which had been imported by misguided individuals up north who didn't know any better than to drown good liquor in charged water. there were decanters on the sideboard; there were jimmy-johns in the cellar; and down at the place on the corner twenty standard varieties of bottled bourbons and ryes were to be had at an exceedingly moderate price. bar-rail instep, which is a fallen arch reversed, was a common complaint among us. even elderly ladies who looked with abhorrence upon the drinking habit were not denied their wee bit nippy. they got it, never knowing that they got it. some of them stayed pleasantly corned year in and year out and supposed all the time they merely were enjoying good health. for them stimulating tonics containing not in excess of sixty per cent of pure grain alcohol were provided by pious patent-medicine manufacturers in chattanooga and atlanta and louisville--earnest-minded, philanthropic patriots these were, who strongly advocated the closing-up of the rum hole, which was their commonest pet name for the corner saloon, but who viewed with a natural repugnance those provisions of the pure food act requiring printed confession as to fluid contents upon the labels of their own goods. it was no uncommon thing in the sunny southland to observe a staunch churchgoer who was an outspoken advocate of temperance rising up and giving three rousing hiccups for good old dr. bunkum's nerve balm. and distinctly i recall the occasion when a stalwart mother in israel, starting off to attend a wedding and feeling the need of a little special toning-up beforehand, took three wineglassfuls of her favorite blood purifier instead of the customary one which she took before a meal; and, as a consequence, on her arrival at the scene of festivities was with difficulty dissuaded from snatching down the southern smilax and other decorations that she might twine with them a wreath to crown herself. she somehow had got the idea that she was the queen emeritus of the may. it was reported about town afterward that she tried to do the giant swing on the parlor chandelier. but this was a gross exaggeration; she only tried to hang by her legs from it. reared, as i was, amid such surroundings and in a commonwealth abounding in distilleries, rectifying works, blending establishments, bottle-houses, barrel-houses, and saloons, i should have been a hopeless inebriate long before i came of age. the literature of any total abstinence society would prove conclusively that i never had a chance to avoid filling a drunkard's grave. yet somehow i escaped the fate ordained for me. as i say, i drank sparingly and for long periods not at all, until prohibition came. then i began doing as about ninety per cent of my fellow-adult americans began doing--which was to take a drink when the opportunity offered. as i diagnose it, we nearly all are actuated now by much the same instinct which causes a small boy to loot a jam closet. he doesn't particularly want all that jam but he takes the jam because it is summarily denied him and because he's afraid he may never again get a whack at unlimited jam. to my way of thinking, the main result of the effort drastically to enforce prohibition, aside from making us a nation of law-breakers, law-evaders, sneaks, bribers, boot-leggers, bigots, corruptionists and moral cowards, has been to transfer the burden of inebriety from one set of shoulders to another set of shoulders. men who formerly drank to excess have sobered up, against their will, for lack of cash or lack of chance to buy hard liquor. they cannot rake together enough coin to purchase the adulterated stuff at ten times the price they had paid for better liquor before the law went into effect. on the other hand, men--and women--who formerly drank but little are now drinking to excess, some of them being prompted, i think, by a feeling of protest against what they regard as an invasion of their personal liberties and some, no doubt, inspired by a perfectly understandable impulse to do a thing which is forbidden when the doing of it gives them a sense of adventure and daring. far be it from an humble citizen to criticise our national law-making body. far be it from him, as he contemplates the spectacle frequently presented under the dome of the capitol at washington, to paraphrase ethan allen's celebrated remark when he took fort ticonderoga in the name of jehovah and the continental fathers and exclaim: "congress--oh, my god!" far be it, i repeat, from such a one to do such things as these. but i trust i may be pardoned for venturing the statements that excessive drinking already was going out of fashion in this country, that the treating evil was in a fair way to die a natural death anyhow, and that the present sumptuary attempt to cure us overnight of a habit which has been ingrained in the very fibre of the race for so far back as the history of the race runs, has only had the effect of making a bad thing worse. at that, i hold no brief for the brewer and the distiller. they got exactly what was coming to them. had they, as a class, been content to obey the existing laws, instead of conniving to break them; had they kept their meddling fingers out of local politics; had they realized more fully their responsibilities as manufacturers and purveyors of potentially dangerous products; had they been willing to cooperate with right-thinking men in a sane and orderly campaign for the cleaning-up and the proper regulation of the liquor traffic; had they seen that the common man's inarticulate but very definite resentment against the iniquities of the corner saloon system was tending to the legal abolition of the whole business of licensed drinking, i believe we should have had no eighteenth amendment saddled upon us and no volstead act to bridle us. in the final analysis, and stripping aside the lesser contributory causes, i maintain there were just two outstanding reasons why this country went dry after the fashion in which it did go dry: one reason was the distiller; the other was the brewer. and for the woes of either or both i, for one, decline to shed a single tear. how a fellow does run on when he gets on the subject which is uppermost in the minds of the american people this year! all i intended to say, when i started off on this tack, a few pages back, was that if i absolutely and completely cut out all alcoholic stimulant no doubt i should be reducing my weight much faster than is the case at this writing. to-day practically all the members in good standing of the order of friendly sons of the boiled spinach--i mean the dietetic sharps--agree that he or she who is banting will be well-advised to drink not at all. for the most part they do not make a moral issue of this detail. some of them refuse to concede that a teetotaler is necessarily healthier or happier or more useful to the world than the moderate imbiber is. they merely point out that whiskies and beers are, for the majority of humans, fattening things and should therefore be eliminated from the diet of those wishful to lose their superfluous adipose tissue. here, again, they disagree with their professional forebears. the experts of the preceding generations, being mainly englishmen and germans, could not conceive of living without drinking. some advocated wines, some ales, some a mixture of both with an occasional measure of spirits added for the sake of digestion. but among the dependable dietetic authorities of the present day there appears to be no wide range of argument on this point. they pretty generally agree that even a casual indulgence in beverages is not indicated for those who seek to reduce. i am sure they are right. but as i remarked just now, what can you do when you are encompassed about by the bottle-toting, sop-it-up-behind-the-door custom which has sprung up since prohibition was slipped over on us by the anti-saloon league? i confess that i have not the strength of character to swim, almost alone, against the social current. so i partake of the occasional snort and to that extent stand a self-admitted apologist for an offense which no true reductionist should commit. but i claim that otherwise--that in so far as the solid foodstuffs are concerned--i have, for my own individual case, exactly the right idea about it. chapter xi _three cheers for lithesome grace regained!_ my advice to the man or the woman who is in the same fix i was in is to go and do likewise, with variations to suit the individual temperament. it means self-denial but self-denial persevered in is a virtue, and virtue he will find--or she will--not alone is its own reward but a number of additional rewards as well. let my late fellow sufferer likewise patronize the gymnasium and the steam room and the cold plunge if he so chooses. if he desires to have automatic pores, all right. as for me, i recall what the good book says about the pores which ye have always with ye, and i decline to worry about the present uncultured state of mine. let him try the electric rollers and the electric baths, if such be his bent; no doubt they have their value. and by all means let him consult a qualified physician if he fears either that he is overdoing or underdoing his banting. personally, though, i am satisfied with the plan i tried out, of being my own private test tube. i claim that i have better information touching on what sustenance i need than any outsider ever can hope to have unless he breaks into me surgically. i claim that a series of rational experiments should tell any rational human how much he needs to eat and what he needs to eat in order to reduce his bulk and yet keep his powers and his bodily vigor unimpaired. i am not speaking now, understand me, of those unfortunates with whom obesity is a disease, but of those who owe their grossness of outline to gluttony. lacking vital statistics on the subject, i nevertheless dare assert that these latter constitute fully per cent of those among the american people who are distinctly and uncomfortably and frequently unhealthily fat. remains but one fly in the ointment. since tony sarg is going to illustrate this treatise, then tony must revise the old working plans. for my figure is not so much pro as once it was. it is more con, if you get my meaning--the profile curves in toward, instead of being, as formerly, so noticeably from. still, i should worry about the troubles of an artist, even though a friend. i weighed myself this morning. three months ago, when i set out to reduce my belt line and my collar size, i snatched the beam down ker-smack at two hundred and thirty-six pounds, stripped. this morning i weighed exactly one hundred and ninety-seven, including amalgam fillings and the rights of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian. one hundred and eighty-five pounds is my ultimate aim. howsoever, i may keep right on when i attain that figure and justify the title of this book by taking a full one third off. in either event, though, i shall know exactly where i am going and i'm on my way. and i feel bully and i'm happy about it and boastfully proud. three rousing cheers for lithesome grace regained! the end [transcriber's note: obvious typos in this project were corrected.] team. series one: _essays on wit_ no. _essay on wit_ ( ); richard flecknoe's _of one that zany's the good companion and of a bold abusive wit_ (second edition, ); joseph warton, _the adventurer_, nos. and ( ); _of wit (weekly register_, ). with an introduction to the series on wit by edward n. hooker the augustan reprint society november, _price_: c membership in the augustan reprint society entitles the subscriber to six publications issued each year. the annual membership fee is $ . . address subscriptions and communications to the augustan reprint society in care of one of the general editors. general editors: richard c. boys, university of michigan, ann arbor, michigan; edward n. hooker, h.i. swedenberg, jr., university of california, los angeles , california. editorial advisors: louis l. bredvold, university of michigan; james l. clifford, columbia university; benjamin boyce, university of nebraska; cleanth brooks, louisiana state university; arthur friedman, university of chicago; james r. sutherland, queen mary college university of london. introduction to the series on wit the age of dryden and pope was an age of wit, but there were few who could explain precisely what they meant by the term. a thing so multiform and. protean escaped the bonds of logic and definition. in his sermon "against foolish talking and jesting" the learned dr. isaac barrow attempted to describe some of the forms which it took; the forms were many, and it is difficult to discover any element which they held in common. nevertheless barrow ventured a summary: it is, in short, a manner of speaking out of the simple and plain way, (such as reason teacheth and proveth things by,) which by a pretty surprizing uncouthness in conceit of expression doth affect and amuse the fancy, stirring in it some wonder, and breeding some delight thereto. and about sixty years later, despite the work of hobbes and locke in calling attention to the importance of semantics, the confusion still existed. according to john oldmixon (_essay on criticism_, , p. ), "wit and humour, wit and good sense, wit and wisdom, wit and reason, wit and craft; nay, wit and philosophy, are with us almost the same things." some such confusion is apparent in the definition presented by the _essay on wit_ ( , p. ). in general it was recognized that there were two main kinds of wit. both fancy and judgment, said hobbes (_human nature_, x, sect. ), are usually understood in the term _wit_; and wit seems to be "a tenuity and agility of spirits," opposed to the sluggishness of spirits assumed to be characteristic of dull people. sometimes wit was used in this sense to translate the words _ingenium_ or _l'esprit_. but hobbes's disciple walter charleton objected to making it the equivalent of _ingenium_, which, he said, rather signified a man's natural inclination--that is, genius. instead, he described wit as either the faculty of understanding, or an act or effect of that faculty; and understanding is made up of both judgment and imagination. the ample or happy wit exhibits a fine blend of the two (_brief discourse concerning the different wits of men_, , pp. , - ). in this sense wit combines quickness and solidity of mind. in the other, and more restricted sense, wit was made identical with fancy (or imagination) and distinguished sharply from reason or judgment. so hobbes, recording a popular meaning of wit, remarked (_leviathan_. i, viii) that people who discover rarely observed similitudes in objects that otherwise are much unlike, are said to have a good wit. and judgment, directly opposed to it, was taken to be the faculty of discerning differences in objects that are superficially alike. (between this idea of wit as discovering likeness in things unlike, and the platonic idea of discovering the one in the many, the augustans made no connection.) a similar distinction between wit and judgment was made by charleton, robert boyle, john locke, and many others. the full implication lying in hobbes's definition can be seen in walter charleton, who said (_brief discourse_, pp. - ) that imagination (or wit) is the faculty by which "we conceive some certain similitude in objects really unlike, and pleasantly confound them in discourse: which by its unexpected fineness and allusion, surprizing the hearer, renders him less curious of the truth of what is said." in short, wit is delightful, but, because it leads away from truth, unprofitable and, it may be, even dangerous. the identification of wit with fancy gave it a lowly role in augustan thinking; and also in literary prose, which was supposed to be the language of reason (cf. donald f. bond, "'distrust' of imagination in english neo-classicism," _pq_, xiv, - ). what of its position in poetry? according to hobbes, poetry must exhibit both judgment and fancy, but fancy should dominate; and the work of fancy is to adorn discourse with tropes and figures, to please by extravagance, to disguise meaning, and to create pleasant illusions. one of hobbes's followers announced that fancy must have the upper hand because all poems please chiefly by novelty. while they made wit the most essential element in poetry, they made it trivial and empty, and thereby helped to bring poetry itself into contempt. partly to oppose this low opinion of poetry, the neo-aristotelians among the critics began to stress the view that fable, design, and structure were the really essential elements in poetry, and that these were the product of reason, or judgment. and because reason was the means by which truth was discovered, poetry by virtue of its rational framework became capable of revealing and communicating truth--that is, of instructing. in this conception of poetry there was little glory left for wit. it was relegated to be used for color and adornment in serious poetry, or to furnish the substance of the "little" poetry which could not boast of design or structure. thus, the _essay on wit_ invites the poet, (p. ): have as much wit as you will, or you can, in a madrigal, in little light verses, in the scene of a comedy, which is neither passionate or simple, in a compliment, in a little story, in a letter where you would be merry yourself to make your friends so. be witty in these playful varieties of poetry, because wit in a large and serious work would be insufferable. "these sports of the imagination, these finesses, these conceits, these glittering strokes, these gaieties, these little cut sentences, these ingenious prodigalities" in which wit is expressed might be either sober or funny. most of the examples in the _essay on wit_ are of the sober kind, coming under the order of wit because they are pretty and diverting fancies. but by the 's there had been a clear tendency to associate wit with mirth, and often with satire. by james arbuckle could write (_a collection of letters_, , ii, ): "... satire and ridicule, which are the main provocatives to laughter, still keep their ground among us, and are reckoned the chief embellishments of discourse by all who aim at the character of wits." the end of wit was to surprise and delight. one may surprise by novelty, but the easiest road to the goal is audacity; and the subjects which lent themselves most readily to audacity were sex and religion. the treatment of the latter proved especially troublesome to good men like blackmore, and the frequency of portraits and characters of the profance wit shows that many people were disturbed. shaftesbury in _sensus communis_ ( ) tried to justify the use of wit in discussing religion. for the rest of the century shaftesbury's position was the center of heated debate, with akenside supporting, and john brown and warburton opposing, the employment of wit in religion; and the _gentleman's magazine_ is full of the arguments of lesser men who took sides. the author of the _essay on wit_ places himself firmly beside shaftesbury when he remarks (p. ) that "a subject which will not bear raillery, is suspicious." the controversy is reviewed in an article by a.o. aldridge, called "shaftesbury and the test of truth" (_pmla_, lx, - ). wit was taken to be the source, of tropes, and figures of speech, of all the color and adornments of rhetoric; and the old tradition of rhetoric, handed down from the renaissance, tended to regard tropes and figures as mere ornament, a means of decorating the surface, an artful prettifying of a subject in order that it might please. for this reason wit was likely to be considered out of place in serious works which called for naturalness and passion. the objection to the simile in the language of passion was an old note in english criticism (cf. dennis, _critical works_, i, ); but the author of the _essay on wit_ in condemning glittering strokes and ingenious prodigalities in impassioned literature shows by his phrasing that he is following father bouhours (cf. manlere die bien penser, amsterdam, , pp. - , , , ). in _spectator_, no. , addison entered the contest known as the battle of the books, and lined himself up squarely on the side of the ancients. the ancients, he said, surpassed the moderns in poetry, painting, oratory, history, architecture, and, in fact, all arts and sciences which depend more on genius than on experience. it was no lightening of the judgment when he added that the moderns surpass the ancients in doggerel, humour burlesque, and all the trivial arts of ridicule, the arts of the "unlucky little wits." so degraded had wit become! in the _adventurer_, nos. and , joseph warton showed himself to be essentially in agreement with addison's verdict, differing only in thinking that a few moderns might compare with the ancients in works of genius. he appears somewhat less scornful of wit, recognizing its part in the arts of civility and the decencies of conversation; and yet he associates it with ridicule, laughter, and luxury, and makes it the pleasant plaything of gentlemen. occasionally there were attempts to restore wit to its pristine glory, to the position it had occupied before it was tied to mirth and ridicule, when atterbury could thus define it: "wit, indeed, as it implies, a certain uncommon reach and vivacity of thought, is an excellent talent; very fit to be employ'd in the search of truth...." so the anonymous author of _a satyr upon a late pamphlet entitled, a satyr against wit_ ( ) could rhapsodize: wit is a radiant spark of heav'nly fire, full of delight, and worthy of desire; bright as the ruler of the realms of day, sun of the soul, with in-born beauties gay.... so corbyn morris in his _essay towards fixing the true standards of wit, humour, raillery, satire, and ridicule_, , probably the best and clearest treatment of the subject in the first half of the eighteenth century, wrote (p. ): "wit is the lustre resulting from the quick elucidation of one subject, by a just and unexpected arrangement of it with another subject." and so the author of the essay "of wit" in the _weekly register_ for july , , ventured his opinion (reprinted in the _gentleman's magazine_, ii, - ): wit is a start of imagination in the speaker, that strikes the imagination of the hearer with an idea of beauty common to both; and the immediate result of the comparison is the flash of joy that attends it; it stands in the same regard to sense, or wisdom, as lightning to the sun, suddenly kindled and as suddenly gone.... but for the most part wit was becoming an expression of mirth or ridicule in which fancy was primarily involved; at its best wit was coupled with politeness and elegance in conversation, and at its worst with silliness and extravagance, or with indecency and impiety. the essay from the _weekly register_ is one of a large number of little histories of wit, which appear through the age of dryden and pope and which attempt to relate developments in wit to changes in fashion, religion, polities, social manners, and taste. these are rudimentary but important expressions of the idea that literature is conditioned by changing circumstances and social customs in the lives of the people from whom it springs. the _essay on wit_, , is reprinted here, by permission, from a copy in the library of the university of illinois. flecknoe's _characters_ are reprinted from a copy of _sixty nine enigmatical character_ owned by the library of the university of michigan. the essays of joseph warton is the _adventurer_, and the typescript copy of the essay "of wit" from the _weekly register_ (as reprinted in the _gentleman's magazine_) are also taken from copies belonging to the university of michigan. edward niles hooker university of california, los angeles * * * * * [illustration: title page] an essay on wit. [price six-pence.] an essay on wit: to which is annexed, a dissertation on antient and modern history. * * * * * ____ _sapientia prima stultitiâ caruisse._ hor. epist. i. lib. i. * * * * * _london_: printed for _t. lownds_, bookseller, at the _bible_ and _crown_, in _exeter-change_, in the _strand_, . * * * * * an essay on wit. a gentleman who had some knowledge in the human heart, was consulted about a tragedy which was going to be acted: he answer'd that there was so much wit in the piece that he doubted of its success.--at hearing such a judgment, a man will immediately cry out, what! is wit then a fault, at a time when every body aims at having it, when nobody writes but to shew he has it; when the publick applauds even false thoughts, provided they are shining! yes, 'twill doubtless be applauded the first day, and grow tiresome the next. that which they call wit, is sometimes a new simile, sometimes a fine allusion: here 'tis the abuse of a word which presents itself in one sense, and is understood in another; there a delicate relation between two uncommon ideas: 'tis an extraordinary metaphor; 'tis something which in an object does not at first present itself, but nevertheless is in it; 'tis the art, to unite two things which were far from one another; to separate two which seem to be joined, or to set them in opposition; 'tis the art, of expressing but half the thought and leaving the other to be found out. in short, i'd tell all the different ways of shewing wit, if i knew of any more. but all these brightnesses (and i speak not of the false ones) agree not, or very seldom agree with a serious work, which ought to be interesting. the reason of it is, that 'tis then the author that appears, and the publick will see no body but the hero. moreover the hero is always either in a passion, or in danger. danger, and the passions seek not expressions of wit. _priam_ and _hecuba_ don't make epigrams, when their children's throats are cut and _troy_ in flames:--_dido_ does not sigh in madrigals, when she flies to the pile upon which she's going to sacrifice herself:--_demosthenes_ has no prettinesses, when he animates the _athenians_ to war; if he had, he'd be a rhetorician indeed, instead of which he's a statesman. if _pyrrhus_ was always to express himself in this stile: _'tis true, my sword has often reek'd in_ phrygian _blood, and carried havock through your royal kindred: but you, fair princess, amply have aveng'd old_ priam's _vanquish'd house: and all the woes, i brought on them, fall short of what i suffer._ this character wou'd not touch at all: 'twou'd soon be perceiv'd, that true passion seldom makes use of such comparisons, and that there is very little proportion between the real fires which consumed _troy_, and the amorous fires of _pyrrhus_; between the havock he made amongst _andromache_'s kindred and the cruelty she shews him. _chamont_ says, in speaking of _monimia_: _you took her up a little tender flower, just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost had nipt; and, with a careful loving hand, transplanted her into your own fair garden, where the sun always shines: there long she flourish'd, grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye; till at the last, a cruel spoiler came, cropt this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness, then cast it, like a loathsome weed, away._ this thought has a prodigious eclat: there's a great deal of wit in it, and even an air of simplicity that imposes upon one. we all see, that these verses, pronounced with the art and enthusiasm of a good actor never fail of applause; but i think we may also see, that the tragedy of the _orphan_ wrote entirely in this taste would never have lived long. in effect, why should _chamont_ make such a long-winded simile almost in the height of rage for the ruin of his sister? is that natural? does not the poet here quite hide his hero to shew himself? this brings into my mind the absurd custom of finishing the acts of almost all our modern tragedies with a simile; surely in a great crisis of affairs, in a council, in a violent passion of love or wrath, in a pressing danger, princes, ministers, heroes or lovers, should not make poetical comparisons.--even _marcia_'s (or rather mr. _addison_'s) beautiful simile at the end of the first act of _cato_, is scarcely to be forgiven. what then would a work be, that was filled with far-fetched and problematick thoughts? how infinitely superior to all such dazling ideas, are these simple and natural words of _monimia_ to her angry brother? _look kindly on me then. i cannot bear severity; it daunts, and does amaze me:_ _my heart's so tender, should you charge me rough, i should but weep, and answer you with sobbing. but use me gently, like a loving brother, and search through all the secrets of my soul._ or these of _brutus_, when he receives the news of his wife's death: brutus. _now, as you are a_ roman, _tell me true._ messala. _then like a_ roman _bear the truth i tell; for certain she is dead, and by strange manner._ brutus. _why farewel_ portia.--_we must die,_ messala. _with meditating that she must die once, i have the patience to endure it now._ or these noble ones of _titinius_, when he stabs himself: _by your leave gods--this is a_ roman's _part._ it is not that which is called wit, but what is sublime and noble that makes true beauty. i have purposely chose these examples from good authors, that they may be the more striking; and i speak not of those points and quibbles, whose impropriety is easily perceiv'd. there is no one but laughs when _hotspur_ says, _why, what a deal of candied courtesie this fawning greyhound then did proffer me! look, when his infant fortune came to age, and gentle_ harry percy--_and kind cousin_--_the devil take such cozeners_.-- _shakespear_ found the stage, and all the people of his days, infected with these puerillities, and he very well knew how (though perhaps he never read it in _epictetús_) [greek: ] to attune, or harmonize his mind to the things which happen. i now remember one of these shining strokes, which i have seen quoted in several works of taste, and even in the treatise of studies by the late mr. _rollin_. this _morceau_ is taken from the beautiful funeral oration of the great _turenne_: the whole piece is very fine, but it seems to me that the stroke i am speaking of should not have been made use of by a bishop.--this is it: "o sovereigns! enemies of _france_, ye live, and the spirit of christian charity forbids me to wish your deaths, &c.--but ye live, and i mourn in this pulpit the death of a virtuous captain, whose intentions were pure, &c.--" an apostrophe in this taste would have been very proper at _rome_ in the civil wars, after the assassination of _pompey_; or at _london_ after the death of _charles_ the first. but is it decent, in a pulpit, to wish for the death of the emperor, the king of _spain_, and the electors; to put them in balance with the general of a king's army, who is their enemy? or ought the intentions of a captain, which can be no other than to serve his prince, to be compared with the politick interests of the crown'd heads against which he serves? what would be said of a _frenchman_, who had wished for the death of the king of _england_, because of the loss of the chevalier _belleisle_, whose intentions were pure? for what reason has this passage been always praised by the criticks? 'tis because the figure is in itself beautiful and pathetick, but they did not examine into the congruity and bottom of the thought. i return to my paradox--that all these shining strokes, to which they give the name of wit, never ought to be introduced into great works made to instruct or to move; i'll even say they ought not to be found in odes for musick. musick expresses passions, sentiments and images: but what are the concords that can be giv'n an epigram? _dryden_ was sometimes negligent, but he was always natural. in a sermon of doctor _south_, where he speaks of man's rectitude and freedom from sin before the fall, are seen these words: "we were not born crooked, we learnt these windings and turnings of the serpent." i remember to have heard this passage admired by several people: but who does not see that the motions, _viz._ the windings and turnings of the serpent's body are here confounded with those of its heart: and that at best, 'tis but a mere point and pleasantry. certainly there's a great impropriety in putting any kind of smartness into pieces of such a nature as dr. _south_'s; but what is still worse, we generally find these smartnesses to be quite vague and superficial; they don't enter, but only play upon the surface of the soul. had a certain polite author been a cotemporary of the doctor's, he'd have told him that [greek: tên men spoudhhên dichph teirein ghelôi, thyn de gelôa spoudhê.] humour is the only test of gravity; and gravity of humour. for a subject which will not bear raillery, is suspicious; and a jest which will not bear a serious examination, is certainly false wit. these sports of the imagination, these finesses, these conceits, these glittering strokes, these gaieties, these little cut sentences, these ingenious prodigalities, which are lavished away in our times, agree with none but little works. the front of st _paul_'s church is simple and majestick. a cabinet may with propriety enough contain little ornaments. have as much wit as you will, or you can, in a madrigal, in little light verses, in the scene of a comedy, which is neither passionate or simple, in a compliment, in a little story, in a letter where you would be merry yourself to make your friends so. _spencer_ was very well acquainted with this art. in his fairy queen, you find hardly any thing but what is sublime and full of imagery: but in his detached pieces, such as the hymn in honour of beauty, the fate of the butterfly, _britain_'s ida, &c. he gave a loose to his wit and delicacy. the following verses are part of the description of _venus_ asleep, in the last mention'd poem: _her full large eyes, in jetty-black array'd, proud beauty not confin'd to red and white, but oft herself in black more rich display'd; both contraries did yet themselves unite, to make one beauty in different delight:_ _a thousand loves, sate playing in each eye, and smiling mirth kissing fair courtesy, by sweet persuasion won a bloodless victory._ _her lips most happy each in other's kisses, from their so wish'd imbracements seldom parted, yet seem'd to blush at such their wanton blisses; but when sweet words their joining sweets disparted, to the ear a dainty musick they imparted; upon them fitly sate delightful smiling, a thousand souls with pleasing stealth beguiling: ah that such shews of joys shou'd be all joys exiling!_ _lower two breasts stand all their beauties bearing, two breasts as smooth and soft;--but oh alas! their smoothest softness far exceeds comparing: more smooth and soft--but naught that ever was, where they are first, deserves the second place: yet each as soft, and each as smooth as other; but when thou first try'st one, and then the other, each softer seems than each, and each than each seems smoother._ these lines (pretty as they are) would be unsufferable in a large and serious work, nay, there are some people who tax them with being too extravagant even for the poem where they stand; and in truth, their warmest admirer can say no more than this: _nequeo monstrare, & sentio tantum._ so far am i from reproaching _waller_ with putting too much wit in his poems; that on the contrary, i have found too little, though he continually aims at it. they say that dancing masters never make a handsome bow, because they take too much pains. i think _waller_ is often in this case; his best verses are studied; one finds he quite tires himself to find that which presents itself so naturally to _rochester_, _congreve_, and to so many more, who with all the ease in the world, write these bagatelles better than _waller_ did with labour. i know it signifies very little to the affairs of the world, whether _waller_ was or was not a great genius; whether he only made a few pretty things, or that all his verses may stand for models. but we who love the arts, carry an attentive eye on that which to the rest of the world is a matter of mere indifference. good taste is for us in literature, what it is for women in dress; and provided we don't make our opinions an affair of party, i think we may boldly say, that there are few excellent things in _waller_, and that _cowley_ might be easily reduced to a few pages. it is not that we would deprive them of their reputation; 'tis only to inquire strictly what brought them that reputation which is so much respected; and what are the true beauties which made their faults be overlooked. it must be known what ought to be followed in their works, and what avoided; this is the true fruit of a deep study in the belles lettres; it is this that _horace_ did, when he examined _lucilius_ critically. _horace_ got enemies by it, but he enlightened his enemies themselves. this desire of shining, and to say in a new manner what others have said before, is the foundation of new expressions, as well as of far-fetched thoughts. he that cannot shine by a thought will distinguish himself by a word. this is their reason for substituting placid for peaceful, joyous for joyful, meandring for winding; and a hundred more affectations of the same kind. if they were to go on at this rate, the language of _shakespear, milton, dryden, addison_ and _pope_, would soon become quite superannuated. and why avoid an expression in use, to introduce one which says precisely the same thing? a new word is never pardonable, but when it is absolutely necessary, intelligible and sonorous; they are forc'd to make them in physics: a new discovery, or a new machine demands a new word. but do they make new discoveries in the human heart? is there any other greatness than that of _shakespear_ and _milton_? are there any other passions than those that have been handled by _otway_ and _dryden_? is there any other evangelic moral than that of dr. _tillotson_? those who accuse the _english_ language of not being copious enough, do, in truth, find a sterility, but 'tis in themselves. _rem verba sequuntur_. when one is thoroughly struck with an idea, when a man of sense, fill'd with warmth, is in full possession of his thought, it comes from him all ornamented with suitable expressions, as _minerva_ sprang out, compleatly arm'd, from the head of _jupiter_. in short, the conclusion of all this is, that you must never seek for far-fetch'd thoughts, conceits or expressions; and that the art of all great works, is to reason well, without making many arguments; to paint accurately, without painting all; to move, without always exciting the passions. [illustration: title page] sixtynine enigmatical characters, all very exactly drawn to the life. { persons, from several { humours, { dispositions. pleasant and full of delight. * * * * * the second edition by the author r.f. esquire. * * * * * _london_, printed for _william crook_, at the sign of the three bibles on _fleet bridge_, . * * * * * character. _of one that_ zanys _the good companion_. he is a wit of an under region, grosly imitating on the lower rope, what t'other does neatly on the higher; and is only for the laughter of the vulgar; whilst your wiser and better sort can scarcely smile at him: he talks nothing but kennel-raked fluff, and his discourse is rather like fruit cane up rotten from the ground, than freshly gathered from the tree. he is so far from a courtly wit, as his breeding seems only to have been i' th' suburbs; or at best, he seems only graduated good company in a tavern (the bedlam of wits) where men are mad rather than merry; here one breaking a jest on the drawer, or a candlestick; there another repeating the old end of a play, or some bawdy song; this speaking bilk, that nonsense, whilst all with loud houting and laughter confound the _fidlers_ noise, who may well be call'd a noise indeed, for no _musick_ can be heard for them; so whilst he utters nothing but old stories, long since laught thridbare, or some stale jest broken twenty times before: his _mirth_ compared with theirs, new and at first hand, is just like _brokers_ ware in comparison with _mercers_, or _long-lane_ compar'd unto _cheap-side_: his wit being rather the _hogs-heads_ than his own, favouring more of _heidelberg_ than of _hellicon_, and he rather a drunken than a good companion. * * * * * character. _of a bold abusive wit._ he talks madly, _dash, dash,_ without any fear at all, and never cares how he _bespatters_ others, or defiles himself; nor ceases he till he has quite run himself out of breath; when no wonder, if to fools he seems to get the start of those who wisely pick out their way, and are as fearful of abusing others as themselves: he has the _buffoons_ priviledge, of saying or doing anything without exceptions, and he will call a jealous man _cuckold_, a childe of doubtful birth _bastard_, and a _lady_ of suspected honor a _whore_, and they but laugh at it; and all _scholars_ are _pedants_; and _physicians_, _quacks_ with him, when to be angry at it is the avowing it. then in _ladies_ chambers, he will tumble beds, and towse your _ladies_ dress up unto the height, to the hazard of a _bed-staff_ thrown at his head, or rap o're the fingers with a _busk_, and that is all; only is this he is far worse than the _buffoon_, since they study to _delight_, this only to _offend_; they to make _merry_, but this onely to make you _mad_, whence wo be t' ye of he discovers and _imperfection_ or _fault_ in you, for he never findes a _breach_ but he makes a _hole_ of it; nor a _hole_ but he _tugs_ at it so long till he tear it quite; giving you for reason of his _incivility_, because (forsooth) _it troubled you_, which would make any civil man cease troubling you. so he wears his _wit_ as _bravo's_ do their swords, to mischief and offend others, not as _gentlemen_ to defend themselves: and tis _crime_ in him, what is _ornament_ in others; he being onely a _wit_ at that, at which a good _wit_ is a _fool_. especially he triumphs over your modest men; and when he meets with a _simple body_, passes for a _wit_, but a _wit_ indeed makes a _simplician_ of him; so goes he persecuting others till some one or other at last (as _chollerick_ as he is _abusive) cudgel_ him for his pains; when he goes _grumbling_ away in a mighty _choler_, saying, _they understand not jest_, when indeed tis rather _he_. * * * * * the adventurer. _volume the fourth._ _--tentanda via est; quâ me quoque possim tollere humo, victorque virâm volitare per ora._ virg. on vent'rous wing in quest of praise i go, and leave the gazing multitude below. a new edition, illustrated with frontispieces. london: printed for silvester doig, royal exchange, edinburgh. . * * * * * no. cxxvii. tuesday, january . . _--veteres ita miratur, laudatque!--_ hor. the wits of old he praises and admires. "it is very remarkable," says addison, "that notwithstanding we fall short at present of the ancients in poetry, painting, oratory, history, architecture, and all the noble arts and sciences which depend more upon genius than experience; we exceed them as much in doggerel, humour, burlesque, and all the trivial arts of ridicule." as this fine observation stands at present only in the form of a general assertion, it deserves, i think, to be examined by a deduction of particulars, and confirmed by an allegation of examples, which may furnish an agreeable entertainment to those who have ability and inclination to remark the revolutions of human wit. that tasso, ariosto, and camoens, the three most celebrated of modern epic poets, are infinitely excelled in propriety of design, of sentiment, and style, by horace and virgil, it would be serious trifling to attempt to prove: but milton, perhaps, will not so easily resign his claim to equality, if not to superiority. let it, however, be remembered, that if milton be enabled to dispute the prize with the great champions of antiquity, it is entirely owing to the sublime conceptions he has copied from the book of god. these, therefore, must be taken away before we begin to make a just estimate of his genius; and from what remains, it cannot, i presume, be said with candour and impartiality, that he has excelled homer in the sublimity and variety of his thoughts, or the strength and majesty of his diction. shakespear, corneille, and racine, are the only modern writers of tragedy, that we can venture to oppose to eschylus, sophocles, and euripides. the first is an author so uncommon and eccentric, that we can scarcely try him by dramatic rules. in strokes of nature and character, he yields not to the greeks: in all other circumstances that constitute the excellence of the drama, he is vastly inferior. of the three moderns, the most faultless is the tender and exact racine: but he was ever ready to acknowledge, that his capital beauties were borrowed from his favourite euripides; which, indeed, cannot escape the observation of those who read with attention his phædra and andromache. the pompous and truly roman sentiments of corneille are chiefly drawn from luoan and tacitus; the former of whom, by a strange perversion of taste, he is known to have preferred to virgil. his diction is not so pure and mellifluous, his characters not so various and just, nor his plots so regular, so interesting, and simple, as those of his pathetic rival. it is by this simplicity of fable alone, when every single act, and scene, and speech, and sentiment, and word, concur to accelerate the intended event, that the greek tragedies kept the attention of the audience immoveably fixed upon one principal object, which must be necessarily lessened, and the ends of the drama defeated, by the mazes and intricacies of modern plots. the assertion of addison with respect to the first particular, regarding the higher kinds of poetry, will remain unquestionably true, till nature in some distant age, for in the present, enervated with luxury, she seems incapable of such an effort, shall produce some transcendent genius, of power to eclipse the iliad and the edipus. the superiority of the ancient artists in painting, is not perhaps so clearly manifest. they were ignorant, it will be said, of light, of shade, and perspective; and they had not the use of oil colours, which are happily calculated to blend and unite without harshness and discordance, to give a boldness and relief to the figures, and to form those middle teints which render every well-wrought piece a closer resemblance of nature. judges of the truest taste do, however, place the merit of colouring far below that of justness of design, and force of expression. in these two highest and most important excellencies, the ancient painters were eminently skilled, if we trust the testimonies of pliny, quintilian, and lucian; and to credit them we are obliged, if we would form to ourselves any idea of these artists at all; for there is not one grecian picture remaining; and the romans, some few of whose works have descended to this age, could never boast of a parrhasius or apelles, a zeuxis, timanthes, or protogenes, of whose performances the two accomplished critics above mentioned, speaks in terms of rapture and admiration. the statues that have escaped the ravages of time, as the hercules and laocoon for instance, are still a stronger demonstration of the power of the grecian artists in expressing the passions; for what was executed in marble, we have presumptive evidence to think, might also have been executed in colours. carlo marat, the last valuable painter of italy, after copying the head of the venus in the medicean collection three hundred times, generously confessed, that he could not arrive at half the grace and perfection of his model. but to speak my opinion freely on a very disputable point, i must own, that if the moderns approach the ancients in any of the arts here in question, they approach them nearest in the art of painting, the human mind can with difficulty conceive any thing more exalted, than "the last judgment" of michael angelo, and "the transfiguration" of raphael. what can be more animated than raphael's "paul preaching at athens?" what more tender and delicate than mary holding the child jesus, in his famous "holy family?" what more graceful than "the aurora" of guido? what more deeply moving than "the massacre of the innocents" by le brun? but no modern orator can dare to enter the lists with demosthenes and tully. we have discourses, indeed, that may be admired, for their perspicuity, purity, and elegance; but can produce none that abound in a sublime which whirls away the auditor like a mighty torrent, and pierces the inmost recesses of his heart like a flash of lightning; which irresistibly and instantaneously convinces, without leaving, him leisure to weigh the motives of conviction. the sermons of bourdaloue, the funeral orations of bossuet, particularly that on the death of henrietta, and the pleadings of pelisson, for his disgraced patron fouquet, are the only pieces of eloquence i can recollect, that bear any resemblance to the greek or roman orator; for in england we have been particularly unfortunate in our attempts to be eloquent, whether in parliament, in the pulpit, or at the bar. if it be urged, that the nature of modern politics and laws excludes the pathetic and the sublime, and confines the speaker to a cold argumentative method, and a dull detail of proof and dry matters of fact; yet, surely, the religion of the moderns abounds in topics so incomparably noble and exalted as might kindle the flames of genuine oratory in the most frigid and barren genius much more might this success be reasonably expected from such geniuses as britain can enumerate; yet no piece of this sort, worthy applause or notice, has ever yet appeared. the few, even among professed scholars, that are able to read the ancient historians in their inimitable, originals, are startled at the paradox, of bolingbroke who boldly prefers guicciardini to thucydides; that is, the most verbose and tedious to the most comprehensive and concise of writers, and a collector of facts to one who was himself an eye-witness and a principal actor in the important story he relates. and, indeed, it may be well presumed, that the ancient histories exceed the modern from this single consideration, that the latter are commonly compiled by recluse scholars, unpractised in business, war, and politics; whilst the former are many of them written by ministers, commanders, and princes themselves. we have, indeed, a few flimsy memoirs, particularly in a neighbouring nation, written by persons deeply interested in the transactions they describe; but these i imagine will not be compared to "the retreat of the ten thousand" which xenophon himself conducted and related, nor to "the galic war" of cæsar, nor "the precious fragments" of polybius, which our modern generals and ministers would not have discredited by diligently perusing, and making them the models of their conduct as well as of their style. are the reflections of machiavel so subtle and refined as those of tacitus? are the portraits of thuanus so strong and expressive as those of sallust and plutarch? are the narrations of davila so lively and animated, or do his sentiments breathe such a love of liberty and virtue, as those of livy and herodotus? the supreme excellence of the ancient architecture the last particular to be touched, i shall not enlarge upon, because it has never once been called in question, and because it is abundantly testified by the awful ruins of amphitheatres, aqueducts, arches, and columns, that are the daily objects of veneration, though not of imitation. this art, it is observable; has never been improved in later ages in one single instance; but every just and legitimate edifice is still formed according to the five old established orders, to which human wit has never been able to add a sixth of equal symmetry and strength. such, therefore, are the triumphs of the ancients, especially the greeks, over the moderns. they may, perhaps, be not unjustly ascribed to a genial climate, that gave such a happy temperament of body as was most proper to produce fine sensations; to a language most harmonious, copious, and forcible; to the public encouragements and honours bestowed on the cultivators of literature; to the emulation excited among the generous youth, by exhibitions of their performances at the solemn games; to an inattention to the arts of lucre and commerce, which engross and debase the minds of the moderns; and above all, to an exemption from the necessity of overloading their natural faculties with learning and languages, with which we in these later times are obliged to qualify ourselves, for writers, if we expect to be read. it is said by voltaire, with his usual liveliness, "we shall never again behold the time, when a duke de la rochefoucault might go from the conversation of a pascal or arnauld, to the theatre of corneille." this reflection may be more justly applied to the ancients, and it may with much greater truth be said; "the age will never again return, when a pericles, after walking with plato in a portico, built by phidias, and painted by apelles, might repair to hear a pleading of demosthenes, or a tragedy of sophocles." i shall next examine the other part of addison's assertion, that the moderns excell the ancients in all the arts of ridicule, and assign the reasons of this supposed excellence. no. cxxxiii. tuesday, february . . _at nostri proavi plautinos et numeros et laudeveres sales; nimium patienter utrumque, ne dicam stule, mirati; si modo ego et vos scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto_. hor. "and yet our fires with joy could plautus hear; gay were his jests, his numbers charm'd their ear." let me not say too lavishly they prais'd; but sure their judgment was full cheaply pleas'd, if you or i with taste are haply blest, to know a clownish from a courtly jest. francis. the fondness i have so frequently manifested for the ancients, has not so far blinded my judgment, as to render me unable to discern, or unwilling to acknowledge, the superiority of the moderns, in pieces of humour and ridicule. i shall, therefore, confirm the general assertion of addison, part of which hath already been examined. comedy, satire, and burlesque, being the three chief branches of ridicule, it is necessary for us to compare together the most admired performances of the ancients and moderns, in these three kinds of writing, to qualify us justly to censure or commend, as the beauties or blemishes of each party may deserve. as aristophanes wrote to please the multitude, at a time when the licentiousness of the athenians was boundless, his pleasantries are coarse and impolite, his characters extravagantly forced, and distorted with unnatural deformity, like the monstrous caricaturas of callot. he is full of the grossest obscenity, indecency, and inurbanity; and as the populace always delight to hear their superiors abused and misrepresented, he scatters the rankest calumnies on the wisest and worthiest personages of his country. his style is unequal, occasioned by a frequent introduction of parodies on sophocles and euripides. it is, however, certain, that he abounds in artful allusions to the state of athens at the time when he wrote; and, perhaps, he is more valuable, considered as a political satirist than a writer of comedy. plautus has adulterated a rich vein of genuine wit and humour, with a mixture of the basest buffoonry. no writer seems to have been born with a more forcible or more fertile genius for comedy. he has drawn some characters with incomparable spirit: we are indebted to him for the first good miser, and for that worn-out character among the romans, a boastful thraso. but his love degenerates into lewdness; and his jests are insupportably low and illiberal, and fit only for "the dregs of romulus" to use and to hear; he has furnished examples of every species of true and false wit, even down to a quibble and a pun. plautus lived in an age when the romans were but just emerging into politeness; and i cannot forbear thinking, that if he had been reserved for the age of augustus, he would have produced more perfect plays than even the elegant disciple of menander. delicacy, sweetness, and correctness, are the characteristics of terence. his polite images are all represented in the most clear and perspicuous expression; but his characters are too general and uniform, nor are they marked with those discriminating peculiarities that distinguish one man from another; there is a tedious and disgusting sameness of incidents in his plots, which, as hath been observed in a former paper, are too complicated and intricate. it may be added, that he superabounds in soliloquies; and that nothing can be more inartificial or improper, than the manner in which he hath introduced them. to these three celebrated ancients, i venture to oppose singly the matchless moliere, as the most consummate master of comedy that former or latter ages have produced. he was not content with painting obvious and common characters, but set himself closely to examine the numberless varieties of human nature: he soon discovered every difference, however minute; and by a proper management could make it striking: his portraits, therefore, though they appear to be new, are yet discovered to be just. the tartuffe and the misantrope are the most singular, and yet, perhaps, the most proper and perfect characters that comedy can represent; and his miser excels that of any other nation. he seems to have hit upon the true nature of comedy; which is, to exhibit one singular, and unfamiliar character, by such a series of incidents as may best contribute to shew its singularities. all the circumstances in the misantrope tend to manifest the peevish and captious disgust of the hero; all the circumstances in the tartuffe are calculated to shew the treachery of an accomplished hypocrite. i am sorry that no english writer of comedy can be produced as a rival to moliere: although it must be confessed, that falstaff and morose are two admirable characters, excellently, supported and displayed; for shakespear has contrived all the incidents to illustrate the gluttony, lewdness, cowardice, and boastfulness of the fat old knight: and jonson, has, with equal art, displayed the oddity of a wimsical humourist, who could endure no kind of noise. will it be deemed a paradox, to assert, that congreve's dramatic persons have no striking and natural characteristic? his fondlewife and foresight are but faint portraits of common characters, and ben is a forced and unnatural caricatura. his plays appear not to be legitimate comedies, but strings of repartees and sallies of wit, the most poignant and polite indeed, but unnatural and ill placed. the trite and trivial character of a fop, hath strangely engrossed the english stage, and given an insipid similiarity to our best comic pieces: originals can never be wanting in such a kingdom as this, where each man follows his natural inclinations and propensities, if our writers would really contemplate nature, and endeavour to open those mines of humour which have been so long and so unaccountably neglected. if we proceed to consider the satirists of antiquity, i shall not scruple to prefer boileau and pope to horace and juvenal; the arrows of whose ridicule are more sharp, in proportion as they are more polished. that reformers should abound in obscenities, as is the case of the two roman poets, is surely an impropriety of the most extraordinary kind; the courtly horace also sometimes sinks into mean and farcical abuse, as in the first lines of the seventh satire of the first book; but boileau and pope have given to their satire the cestus of venus: their ridicule is concealed and oblique; that of the romans direct and open. the tenth satire of bioleau on women is more bitter, and more decent and elegant, than the sixth of juvenal on the same subject; and pope's epistle to mrs. blount far excels them both, in the artfulness and delicacy with which it touches female foibles. i may add, that the imitations of horace by pope, and of juvenal by johnson, are preferable to their originals in the appositeness of their examples, and in the poignancy of their ridicule. above all, the lutrin, the rape of the lock, the dispensary and the dunciad, cannot be parallelled by any works that the wittiest of the ancients can boast of: for, by assuming the form of the epopea, they have acquired a dignity and gracefulness, which all satires delivered merely in the poet's own person must want, and with which the satirists of antiquity were wholly unacquainted; for the batrachomuomachia of homer cannot be considered as the model of these admirable pieces. lucian is the greatest master of burlesque among the ancients: but the travels of gulliver, though indeed evidently copied from his true history, do as evidently excel it. lucian sets out with informing his readers, that he is in jest, and intends to ridicule some of the incredible stories in ctesias and herodotus: this introduction surely enfeebles his satire, and defeats his purpose. the true history consists only of the most wild, monstrous, and miraculous persons and accidents: gulliver has a concealed meaning, and his dwarfs and giants convey tacitly some moral or political instruction. the charon, or the prospect, (greek: epischopoyntes) one of the dialogues of lucian, has likewise given occasion to that agreeable french satire, entitled, "_le diable boiteux_," or "the lame devil;" which has highly improved on its original by a greater variety of characters and descriptions, lively remarks, and interesting adventures. so if a parallel be drawn between lucian and cervantes, the ancient will still appear to disadvantage: the burlesque of lucian principally consists in making his gods and philosophers speak and act like the meanest of the people; that of cervantes arises from the solemn and important air with which the most idle and ridiculous actions are related; and is, therefore, much more striking and forcible. in a word, don quixote, and its copy hudibras, the splendid shilling, the adventures of gil blas, the tale of a tub, and the rehearsal, are pieces of humour which antiquity cannot equal, much less excel. theophrastus must yield to la bruyere for his intimate knowledge of human nature; and the athenians never produced a writer whose humour was so exquisite as that of addison, or who delineated and supported a character with so much nature and true pleasantry, as that of sir roger de coverly. it ought, indeed, to be remembered, that every species of wit written in distant times and in dead languages, appears with many disadvantages to present readers, from their ignorance of the manners and customs alluded to and exposed; but the grosness, the rudeness, and indelicacy of the ancients, will, notwithstanding, sufficiently appear, even from the sentiments of such critics as cicero and quintilian, who mention corporal defects and deformities as proper objects of raillery. if it be now asked to what can we ascribe this superiority of the moderns in all the species of ridicule? i answer, to the improved state of conversation. the great geniuses of greece and rome were formed during the times of a republican government: and though it be certain, as longinus asserts, that democracies are the nurseries of true sublimity; yet monarchies and courts are more productive of politeness. the arts of civility, and the decencies of conversation, as they unite men more closely, and bring them more frequently together, multiply opportunities of observing those incongruities and absurdities of behaviour, on which ridicule is founded. the ancients had more liberty and seriousness; the moderns have more luxury and laughter. * * * * * [illustration: title page] the _gentleman's magazine_. or, monthly intelligencer, for the year . containing i. an impartial _view_ of the various _weekly_ essays, _controversial, humorous_, and _satirical; religious, moral,_ and _political_. ii. debates in parliament. iii. select pieces of _poetry_. iv. a succinct account of the most _remarkable transactions_ and _occurrences_, domestick and foreign. v. _births, marriages, deaths, promotions._ vi. the prices of goods and stocks; bill of mortality; bankrupts declared, &_c_. vii. a register of books and pamphlets published. with a table of contents to each month. also alphabetical indexes of the names of persons mention'd and things treated of throughout the whole. vol. ii. _collected chiefly from the_ public papers _by_ silvanus urban. _prodesse & delettare._ [illustration] _e pluribus unum_. _london_, printed and sold at st john's gate; by f. jefferies in _ludgate-street,_ and by most booksellers in town and country. * * * * * of wit _wit_ in k. _charles_ iid's reign, seem'd to be the fashion of the times; in the next reign it gave way to politicks and religion; while k. _william_ was on the throne, it reviv'd under the protection of lord _somers_ and some other nobleman, and then those geniuses received that tincture of elegance and politeness which afterwards made such a figure in the _tatlers_, _spectators_, &c. thro' the greatest part of the reign of q. _anne_: but since it has broke out only by fits and starts. few people of distinction trouble themselves about the name of wit, fewer understand it, and hardly any have honoured it with their example. in the next class of people it seems best known, most admired, and most frequently practiced; but their stations in life are not eminent enough to dazzle us into imitation. wit is a start of imagination in the speaker, that strikes the imagination of the hearer with an idea of beauty, common to both; and the immediate result of the comparison is the flash of joy that attends it; it stands in the same regard to sense, or wisdom, as lightning to the sun, suddenly kindled and as suddenly gone; it as often arises from the defect of the mind, as from its strength and capacity. this is evident in those who are _wits_ only, without being grave or wise, just, solid, and lasting wit is the result of fine imagination, finished study, and a happy temper of body. as no one pleases more than the man of wit, none is more liable to offend; therefore he shou'd have a fancy quick to conceive, knowledge, good humour, and discretion to direct the whole. wit often leads a man into misfortunes, that his prudence wou'd have avoided; as it is the means of raising a reputation, so it sometimes destroys it. he who affects to be always witty, renders himself cheap, and, perhaps, ridiculous. the great use and advantage of wit is to render the owner agreeable, by making him instrumental to the happiness of others. when such a person appears among his friends, an air of pleasure and satisfaction diffuses itself over every face. _wit_, so used, is an instrument of the sweetest musick in the hands of an artist, commanding, soothing, and modulating the passions into harmony and peace. neither is this the only use of it; 'tis a sharp sword, as well as a musical instrument, and ought to be drawn against folly and affectation. there is at the same time an humble ignorance, a modest weakness, that ought to be spar'd; they are unhappy already in the consciousness of their own defects, and 'tis fighting with the lame and sick to be severe upon them. the wit that genteely glances at a foible, is smartly retorted, or generously forgiven; because the merit of the reprover is as well known as the merit of the reproved. in such delicate conversations, mirth, temper'd with good manners, is the only point in view, and we grow gay and polite together; perhaps there's no moment of our lives so sincerely happy, certainly none so innocent. wit is a quality which some possess, and all covet; youth affects it, folly dreads it, age despises it, and dulness abhors it. some authors wou'd persuade us, that wit is owing to a double cause; one, the desire of pleasing others, and one of recommending ourselves: the first is made a merit in the owners, and is therefore rang'd among the virtues; the last is stiled vanity, and therefore a vice; tho' this is an erroneous distinction, as _wit_ was never possess'd by any without both; for no man endeavours to excell without being conscious of it, and that consciousness will produce vanity, let us disguise it how we please. upon the whole, vanity is inseparable from the; heart of man; where there is excellency, it may be endur'd; where there is none, it may be censur'd, but never remov'd. (from _the weekly register_, july , , no. , as reprinted in _the gentleman's 'magazine_, ii, july, , pp. - .) * * * * * series two: _essays on wit_ no. [corbyn morris] _an essay towards fixing the true standards of wit, humour, raillery, satire, and ridicule_ ( ) with an introduction by james l. clifford and a bibliographical note the augustan reprint society november, price: $ . * * * * * general editors richard c. boys, university of michigan edward niles hooker, university of california, los angeles h.t. swedenberg, jr., university of california, los angeles advisory editors emmett l. avery, state college of washington louis i. bredvold, university of michigan benjamin boyce, university of nebraska cleanth brooks, yale university james l. clifford, columbia university arthur friedman, university of chicago samuel h. monk, university of minnesota james sutherland, queen mary college, london * * * * * introduction the _essay_ here reproduced was first advertised in the london _daily advertiser_ as "this day was published" on thursday, may (the same advertisement, except for the change of price from one shilling to two, appeared in this paper intermittently until june). although on the title-page the authorship is given as "by the author of a letter from a by-stander," there was no intention of anonymity, since the dedication is boldly signed "corbyn morris, inner temple, feb. , [ ]." not much is known of the early life of corbyn morris. born august , he was the eldest son of edmund morris of bishop's castle, salop. (_alumni cantabrigienses_). on september he was admitted (pensioner) at queen's college, cambridge, as an exhibitioner from the famous charterhouse school. exactly when he left the university, or whether he took a degree, is not certain. morris first achieved some prominence, though anonymously, with _a letter from a by-stander to a member of parliament; wherein is examined what necessity there is for the maintenance of a large regular land-force in this island_. this pamphlet, dated at the end, february / , is a wholehearted eulogy of the walpole administration and is filled with statistics and arguments for the mercantilist theories of the day. at the time there was some suspicion that the work had been written either by walpole himself or by his direction. when the _letter from a by-stander_ was answered by the historian thomas carte, an angry pamphlet controversy ensued, with morris writing under the pseudonym of "a gentleman of cambridge." throughout, morris showed himself a violent whig, bitter in his attacks on charles ii and the non-jurors; and it was undoubtedly this fanatical party loyalty which laid the foundation for his later government career. the principal facts of morris's later life may be briefly summarized. on june he was admitted at the inner temple. throughout the pelham and newcastle administrations he was employed by the government, as he once put it, "in conciliating opponents." from to be acted as secretary of the customs and salt duty in scotland, in which post he was acknowledged to have shown decided ability as an administrator. from to he was one of the commissioners of customs. he died at wimbledon december (_musgrave's obituary_), described in the _gentleman's magazine_ as a "gentleman well known in the literary world, and universally esteemed for his unwearied services and attachment to government." throughout his long years of public service he wrote numerous pamphlets, largely on economic and political questions. merely the titles of a few may be sufficient to indicate the nature of his interests. _an essay towards deciding the question whether britain be permitted by right policy to insure the ships of her enemies _( ); _observations on the past growth and present state of the city of london_ (containing a complete table of christenings and burials - ) ( l); _a letter balancing the causes of the present scarcity of our silver coin_ ( ). it would be a mistake, however, to consider morris merely as a statistical economist and whig party hack. a gentleman of taste and wit, the friend of hume, boswell, and other discerning men of the day, he was elected f.r.s. in , and appears to have been much respected. in later life morris had a country place at chiltern vale, herts., where he took an active delight in country sports. one of his late pamphlets, not listed in the _d.n.b_. account of him, entertainingly illustrates one of his hobbies. _the bird-fancier's recreation and delight, with the newest and very best instructions for catching, taking, feeding, rearing, &c all the various sorts of song birds... containing curious remarks on the nature, sex, management, and diseases of english song birds, with practical instructions for distinguishing the cock and hen, for taking, choosing, breeding, keeping, and teaching them to sing, for discovering and caring their diseases, and of learning them to sing to the greatest perfection_. although there is little surviving evidence of morris's purely literary interests, a set of verses combining his economic and artistic views appeared in a late edition of _the new foundling hospital for wit_ (new edition, , vi, ). occasioned by seeing bowood in wiltshire, the home of the earl of shelburne, the lines are entitled: "on reading dr. goldsmith's poem, the deserted village." this was the man who at the age of thirty-three brought out _an essay towards fixing the true standards of wit, humour, raillery, satire, and ridicule_. that it was ever widely read we have no evidence, but at least a number of men of wit and judgment found it interesting. horace walpole included it in a packet of "the only new books at all worth reading" sent to horace mann, but the fulsome dedication to the elder walpole undoubtedly had something to do with this recommendation. more disinterested approval is shown in a letter printed in the _daily advertiser_ for may . better than any modern critique the letter illustrates the contemporary reaction to the _essay_. christ church college, oxford, sir: i have examin'd the _essay_ you have sent me for _fixing the true standards of wit, humour, &c._ and cannot perceive upon what pretence the definitions, as you tell me, are censured for obscurity, even by gentlemen of abilities, and such as in other parts of the work very frankly allow it's merit: the definition of wit, which presents itself at first, you say is, particularly objected to, as dark and involv'd; in answer to which i beg leave to give you my plain sentiments upon it, and which i apprehend should naturally occur to every reader: in treating upon wit, the author seems constantly to carry in his view a distinction between _this_ and _vivacity_: there is a lustre or brilliancy which often results from wild unprovok'd sallies of fancy; but such unexpected objects, which serve not to _elucidate_ each other, discover only a flow of spirits, or rambling vivacity; whereas, says he, wit is the lustre which results from the quick _elucidation_ of one subject, by the just and unexpected arrangement of it with another subject.--to constitute _wit_, there must not only arise a _lustre_ from the quick arrangement together of two subjects, but the new subject must be naturally introduced, and also serve to _elucidate_ the original one: the word _elucidation_, though it be not new, is elegant, and very happily applied in this definition; yet i have seen some old gentlemen here stumble at it, and have found it difficult to persuade them to advance farther:--i have also heard objections made to the words _lustre_ and _brilliancy_ of ideas, though they are terms which have been used by the _greeks_ and _romans_, and by elegant writers of all ages and nations; and the effect which they express, is perfectly conceiv'd and felt by every person of true genius and imagination. the distinctions between _wit_ and _humour_, and the reasons why _humour_ is more pleasurably felt than _wit_, are new and excellent: as is the definition of an _humourist_, and the happy analysis of the characters of _falstaff_, _sir roger de coverly_, and _don quixote_; but, as you say, the merit of these parts is universally allowed; as well as the novelty, and liberal freedom of the [word apparently omitted]; which have such charms in my eye, as i had long ceased to expect in a modern writer. i am, &c may, j---- w---- [not identified] if the "gentlemen of abilities" of the day found some of morris's definitions obscure, modern readers will find them more precise than those of most of his predecessors. all who had gone before--cowley, barrow, dryden, locke, addison, and congreve (he does not mention hobbes)--morris felt had bungled the job. and although he apologizes for attempting what the great writers of the past had failed to do, he has no hesitation in setting forth exactly what he believes to be the proper distinctions in the meanings of such terms as wit, humour, judgment, invention, raillery, and ridicule. the mathematician and statistician in morris made him strive for precise accuracy. it was all very clear to him, and by the use of numerous anecdotes and examples he hoped to make the distinctions obvious to the general reader. the _essay_ shows what a man of some evident taste and perspicacity, with an analytical mind, can do in defining the subtle semantic distinctions in literary terms. trying to fix immutably what is certain always to be shifting, morris is noteworthy not only because of the nature of his attempt, but because he is relatively so successful. as professor edward hooker has pointed out in an introduction to an earlier _ars_ issue (series i, no. ), his is "probably the best and clearest treatment of the subject in the first half of the eighteenth century." it may be regretted that political and economic concerns occupied so much of his later life, leaving him no time for further literary essays. in the present facsimile edition, for reasons of space, only the introduction and the main body of the _essay_ are reproduced. although morris once remarked to david hume that he wrote all his books "for the sake of the dedications" (_letters of david hume_ ed. greig, i, ), modern readers need not regret too much the omission of the fulsome page dedication to walpole (the earl of orford). morris insists at the beginning that the book was inspired by a fervent desire of "attempting a composition, independent of politics, which might furnish an occasional amusement" to his patron. the praise which follows, in which walpole is said to lead "the _empire_ of _letters_," is so excessive as to produce only smiles in twentieth century readers. walpole is praised for not curbing the press while necessarily curbing the theatre, his aid to commerce and industry, indeed almost every act of his administration, is lauded to the skies. the church of england, in which "the _exercise_ of _reason_ in the solemn worship of god, is the sacred _right_, and indispensible _duty_, of man," receives its share of eulogy. in every connection the tories are violently attacked. the dedication ends in a peroration of praise for walpole's public achievements which "shall adorn the history of _britain_," and for his "_private virtues_ and all the _softer features_" of his mind. his home of retirement is referred to in the lines of milton: "great palace now of light! hither, as to their fountain, other stars repairing, in their golden urns, draw light; and here [sic] the morning planet gilds her horns." [p.l. . - ] "thus splendid, and superior, your lordship now flourishes in honourable ease, exerting universal benevolence...." but in dedications, as in lapidary inscriptions, as dr. johnson might have agreed, a writer need not be upon oath. at the end of the _essay_ morris reprinted two essays from _the spectator_, nos. and , and william congreve's "an essay concerning humour in comedy. to mr. dennis" (congreve's _works_, ed. summers, iii, - ). since these are readily available, they have not been included in this edition. the present facsimile is made from a copy owned by louis i. bredvold, with his kind permission. james l. clifford columbia university * * * * * [transcriber's note: the ars edition included an errata slip, reproduced here. where text was changed or deleted, the original is given in brackets. corrections to the _essay_ itself are listed after the ars errata.] please paste the following in your copy of corbyn morris's _essay towards fixing the true standards of wit_.... (_ars_, series one, no. ) errata introduction: page , line --"word apparently omitted" should be inclosed in brackets. page , line --"not identified" should be inclosed in brackets. page , line --the first "of" should be omitted. ["modern readers need not regret too much of the omission of the fulsome page dedication"] page , line , should read "walpole is praised for not curbing the press while necessarily curbing the theatre, his aid to commerce". ["walpole is praised for not curbing the theatre; his aid to commerce"] page , line --"sic" should be inclosed in brackets, as also "p.l. . - " in the next line. [ essay on wit: page viii: whence in _aristotle_ such persons are termed "epidexioi", dexterous men the greek may read "epidezioi"; the letter-form is ambiguous. page : ... without any reference to their whimsical _oddities_ or _foibles_; text reads _oddistie_. page and elsewhere: "biass" is an attested variant spelling; it has not been changed. page : "teizes" (modern "teases") is an attested variant spelling; it has not been changed. page : --it is therefore no wonder that signior _don quixote of la mancha_ ... text reads _quoxote_. ] * * * * * * * * * * * * * * an essay towards fixing the true standards of wit, humour, raillery, satire, and ridicule. to which is added, an analysis of the characters of an humourist, sir john falstaff, sir roger de coverly, and don quixote. inscribed to the right honorable robert earl of orford. by the author of a letter from a by-stander. ---- _jacta est alea_. london: printed for j. roberts, at the oxford-arms, in warwick-lane; and w. bickerton, in the temple-exchange, near the inner-temple-gate, fleet-street. m dcc xliv. [price s.] * * * * * introduction. an attempt to _describe_ the precise _limits_ of wit, humour, raillery, satire and ridicule, i am sensible, is no easy or slight undertaking. to give a _definition_ of wit, has been declared by writers of the greatest renown, to exceed their reach and power; and gentlemen of no less abilities, and fame, than _cowley_, _barrow_, _dryden_, _locke_, _congreve_, and _addison_, have tryed their force upon this subject, and have all left it free, and unconquered. this, i perceive, will be an argument with some, for condemning an _essay_ upon this topic by a young author, as rash and presumptious. but, though i desire to pay all proper respect to these eminent writers, if a tame deference to great names shall become fashionable, and the imputation of vanity be laid upon those who examine their works, all advancement in knowledge will be absolutely stopp'd; and _literary_ merit will be soon placed, in an _humble stupidity_, and _solemn faith_ in the wisdom of our ancestors. whereas, if i rightly apprehend, _an ambition to excell_ is the principle which should animate a writer, directed by a _love_ of _truth_, and a _free spirit_ of _candour_ and _inquiry_. this is the _flame_ which should warm the rising members of every science, not a poor submission to those who have preceded. for, however it may be with a _religious_ devotion, a _literary_ one is certainly the child of _ignorance_. however, i must acknowledge, that where i have differed from the great authors before mentioned, it has been with a diffidence, and after the most serious and particular examination of what they have delivered. it is from hence, that i have thought it my duty, to exhibit with the following _essay_, their several performances upon the same subject, that every variation of mine from their suffrage, and the reasons upon which i have grounded it, may clearly appear. the following _ode_ upon wit is written by mr. _cowley_. ode of wit. i. tell me, oh tell!, what kind of thing is _wit_, thou who _master_ art of it; for the _first matter_ loves variety _less_; less _women_ love't, either in _love_ or _dress_. a thousand diff'rent shapes it bears, comely in thousand shapes appears; yonder we saw it plain, and here 'tis now, like _spirits_ in a place, we know not _how_. ii. _london_, that vents of _false ware_ so much store, in no _ware_ deceives us more; for men, led by the _colour_, and the shape, like _zeuxis' bird_, fly to the painted grape. some things do through our judgment pass, as through a _multiplying glass_: and sometimes, if the _object_ be too far, we take a _falling meteor_ for a _star_. iii. hence 'tis a _wit_, that greatest _word_ of fame, grows such a common name; and _wits_, by our _creation_, they become; just so as _tit'lar bishops_ made at _rome_. 'tis not a _tale_, 'tis not a _jest_, admir'd with _laughter_ at a feast, nor florid _talk_ which can that _title_ gain; the _proofs_ of _wit_ for ever must remain. iv. 'tis not to force some lifeless _verses_ meet, with their five gouty feet. all ev'ry where, like _man's_, must be the _soul_, and _reason_ the _inferior pow'rs_ controul. such were the _numbers_ which could call the _stones_ into the _theban_ wall. such _miracles_ are ceas'd, and now we see no _towns_ or _houses_ rais'd by _poetry. v. yet 'tis not to adorn, and gild each part, that shews more _cost_ than _art_. _jewels_ at _nose_, and _lips_, but ill appear; rather than _all things wit_, let _none_ be there. several _lights_ will not be seen, if there be nothing else between. men doubt; because they stand so thick i' th' sky. if those be _stars_ which paint the _galaxy_. vi. 'tis not when two like words make up one noise; jests for _dutch men_, and _english boys_. in which, who finds out _wit_, the same may see in _an'grams_ and _acrostiques poetry_. much less can that have any place, at which a _virgin_ hides her face; such _dross_ the _fire_ must purge away; 'tis just the _author blush_, there where the _reader_ must. vii. 'tis not such _lines_ as almost crack the _stage_, when _bajazet_ begins to rage; not a tall _metaphor_ in th' _bombast way_, nor the dry chips of short-lung'd _seneca_. nor upon all things to obtrude, and force some odd _similitude_. what is it then, which like the _pow'r divine_, we only can by _negatives_ define? viii. in a true piece of _wit_, all things must be, yet all things there _agree_; as in the _ark_, join 'd without force or strife, all _creatures_ dwelt; all _creatures_ that had life. or as the _primitive forms_ of all, (if we compare great things with small) which without _discord_ or _confusion_ lie, in the strange _mirror_ of the _deity_. ix. but _love_, that moulds _one man_ up out of _two_, makes me forget, and injure you. i took _you_ for _myself_, sure when i thought that you in any thing were to be taught. correct my error with thy pen, and if any ask me then, what thing right _wit_, and height of _genius_ is, i'll only shew your _lines_, and say, _'tis this_. the _spirit_ and _wit_ of this _ode_ are excellent; and yet it is evident, through the whole, that mr. _cowley_ had no clear idea of _wit_, though at the same time it _shines_ in most of these lines: there is little merit in saying what wit _is not_, which is the chief part of this _ode_. towards the end, he indeed attempts to describe what _it is_, but is quite vague and perplex'd in his description; and at last, instead of collecting his scatter'd rays into a _focus_, and exhibiting succinctly the clear essence and power of wit, he drops the whole with a trite compliment. the learned dr. _barrow_, in his _sermon against foolish talking and jesting_, gives the following profuse description of wit. but first it may be demanded, what the thing we speak of is? or what the facetiousness (or _wit_ as he calls it before) doth import? to which questions i might reply, as _democritus_ did to him that asked the definition of a man, _'tis that we all see and know._ any one better apprehends what it is by acquaintance, than i can inform him by description. it is indeed a thing so versatile and multiform, appearing in so many shapes, so many postures, so many garbs, so variously apprehended by several eyes and judgments, that it seemeth no less hard to settle a clear and certain notion thereof, than to make a portrait of _proteus_, or to define the figure of the fleeting air. sometimes it lieth in pat allusion to a known story, or in seasonable application of a trivial saying, or in forging an apposite tale: sometimes it playeth in words and phrases, taking advantage from the ambiguity of their sense, or the affinity of their sound: sometimes it is wrapp'd in a dress of humorous expression: sometimes it lurketh under an odd similitude: sometimes it is lodged in a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish reason, in a shrewd intimation, in cunningly diverting, or cleverly retorting an objection: sometimes it is couched in a bold scheme of speech, in a tart irony, in a lusty hyperbole, in a startling metaphor, in a plausible reconciling of contradictions, or in acute nonsense; sometimes a scenical representation of persons or things, a counterfeit speech, a mimical look or gesture passeth for it. sometimes an affected simplicity, sometimes a presumptuous bluntness giveth it being. sometimes it riseth from a lucky hitting upon what is strange; sometimes from a crafty wresting obvious matter to the purpose. often it' consisteth in one knows not what, and springeth up one can hardly tell how. its ways are unaccountable, and inexplicable, being answerable to the numberless rovings of fancy, and windings of language. it is, in short, a manner of speaking out of the simple and plain way (such as reason teacheth, and proveth things by) which by a pretty, surprizing uncouthness in conceit or expression, doth affect and amuse the fancy, stirring in it some wonder, and breeding some delight thereto. it raiseth admiration, as signifying a nimble sagacity of apprehension, a special felicity of invention, a vivacity of spirit, and reach of wit, more than vulgar; it seeming to argue a rare quickness of parts, that one can fetch in remote conceits applicable; a notable skill that he can dextrously accommodate them to the purpose before him; together with a lively briskness of humour, not apt to damp those sportful flashes of imagination. (whence in _aristotle_ such persons are termed "epidexioi", dexterous men, and "eutropoi", men of facile or versatile manners, who can easily turn themselves to all things, or turn all things to themselves.) it also procureth delight, by gratifying curiosity with its rareness, or semblance of difficulty. (as monsters, not for their beauty, but their rarity; as juggling tricks, not for their use, but their abstruseness, are beheld with pleasure;) by diverting the mind from its road of serious thoughts, by instilling gaiety, and airiness of spirit; by provoking to such disposition of spirit in way of emulation, or complaisance; and by seasoning matters otherwise distasteful or insipid, with an unusual and thence grateful tange. this description, it is easy to perceive, must have cost the author of it a great deal of labour. it is a very full specimen of that talent of entirely _exhausting_ a subject, for which dr. _barrow_ was remarkable; and if the _point_ was, to exhibit all the various forms and appearances, not of wit only, but of _raillery_, _satire_, _sarcasms_, and of every kind of _poignancy_ and _pleasantry_ of sentiment, and expression, he seems to have perfectly succeeded; there being perhaps no variety, in all the extent of these subjects, which he has not presented to view in this description.--but he does not pretend to give any _definition_ of wit, intimating rather that it is quite impossible to be given: and indeed from his description of it, as a _proteus_, appearing in numberless various colours, and forms; and from his mistaking, and presenting for wit, other different mixtures and substances, it is evident that his idea of it was quite confused and uncertain: it is true, he has discovered a vast scope of fertility of genius, and an uncommon power of collecting together a multitude of objects upon any occasion, but he has here absolutely mistaken his work; for instead of exhibiting the properties of wit in a clearer light, and confuting the _false claims_ which are made to it, he has made it his whole business to perplex it the more, by introducing, from all corners, a monstrous troop of new unexpected _pretenders_. _dryden_, in the preface to his _opera_, entitled, _the state of innocence_, or _fall of man_, gives the following _decree_ upon wit. the _definition of wit_, (which has been so often attempted, and ever unsuccessfully by many poets) is only this: that it is _a propriety of thoughts and words; or in other terms, thoughts and words elegantly adapted to the subject_. if mr. _dryden_ imagined, that he had succeeded _himself_ in this _definition_, he was extremely mistaken; for nothing can be more distant from the properties of wit, than those he describes. he discovers no idea of the _surprize_, and _brilliancy_ of wit, or of the sudden _light_ thrown upon a subject. instead of once pointing at these, he only describes the properties of clear _reasoning_, which are _a propriety of thoughts and words_;--whereas wit, in its sudden _flashes_, makes no pretension to _reasoning_; but is perceived in the pleasant _surprize_ which it starts, and in the _light_ darted upon a subject, which instantly vanishes again, without abiding a strict examination. the other definition he gives, which is, _thoughts and words elegantly adapted to the subject_, is very different from the former, but equally unhappy. for _propriety_, in _thoughts_ and _words_, consists in exhibiting _clear, pertinent ideas_, in _precise_ and _perspicuous words_. whereas elegance consists in the _compt_, _well pruned_ and _succinct turn_ of a subject. the object of the _first_, is to be _clear_, and _perspicuous_; whence it often appears in pursuit of these, not _compt_ or _succinct_: whereas the _essence_ of elegance is to be _compt_ and _succinct_, for the sake of which ornaments it often neglect _perspicuity_, and _clearness_.--in short, a _propriety_ of thoughts and words, may subsist without any _elegance_; as an _elegance_ of thoughts and words may appear without a perfect _propriety_. the last _definition_, as it is thus very different from the former is also equally unhappy: for elegance is no _essential_ property of wit. _pure_ wit resulting solely from the _quick elucidation_ of one subject, by the sudden _arrangement_, and _comparison_ of it, with another subject.--if the two objects _arranged_ together are _elegant_, and _polite_, there will then be superadded to the wit, an _elegance_ and _politeness_ of sentiment, which will render the wit more amiable. but if the objects are _vulgar_, _obscene_, or _deformed_, provided the _first_ be _elucidated_, in a lively manner, by, the sudden _arrangement_ of it with the _second_, there will be equally wit; though, the indelicacy of sentiment attending it, will render such wit shocking and abominable. it is with the highest respect for the great mr. _locke_, that i deliver his sentiments upon this subject. and hence, perhaps, may be given some reason of that common observation, that men who have a great deal of _wit_, and prompt memories, have not always the clearest judgment or deepest reason: for _wit_ lying most in the assemblage of _ideas_, and putting those together with quickness and variety, wherein can be found any assemblance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures, and agreeable visions in the fancy. _judgment_, on the contrary, lies quite on the other side; in separating carefully one from another, _ideas_, wherein can be found the least difference, thereby to avoid being missed by similitude, and by affinity to take one thing for another. this is a way of proceeding quite contrary to metaphor and allusion; wherein for the most part lies that entertainment and pleasantry of _wit_, which strikes so lively on the fancy, and therefore is acceptable to all people, because its beauty appears at first sight, and there is required no labour of thoughts to examine what truth, or reason, there is in it. the mind, without looking any further, rests satisfied with the agreeableness of the picture, and the gaiety of the fancy. and it is a kind of an affront to go about to examine it by the severe rules of truth, and good reason, whereby it appears, that it conflicts in something that is not perfectly conformable to them. it is to be observed that mr. _locke_ has here only occasionally, and passantly, delivered his sentiments upon this subject; but yet he has very happily explained the chief properties of wit. it was _his_ remark _first_, that it lies for the most _part_ in _assembling_ together with _quickness_ and _variety_ objects, which possess an _affinity_, or _congruity_, with each other; which was the _first_ just information obtained by the literary world, upon this subject. as to what he adds, that the intention, and effects, of this _assemblage_ of _similar_ objects, is _to make up pleasant pictures, and agreeable visions in the fancy_, it is, as i humbly apprehend, not quite perfect: for the business of this _assemblage_ is not merely to raise pleasant pictures in the fancy, but also to _enlighten_ thereby the _original_ subject.--this is evident; because in such _assemblages_, the only foundation upon which the _new subject_ is suddenly introduced, is the _affinity_, and consequently the _illustration_, it bears to the _first_ subject.--the introduction of pleasant pictures and visions, which present not a new _illustration_, and _light_, to the _original_ subjects, being rather wild sallies of _vivacity_, than well-aimed, apposite strokes of wit. it is mr. _locke_'s conclusion, at last, that wit _consists in something that is not perfectly conformable to truth, and good reason_.--this is a _problem_ of some curiosity; and i apprehend mr. _locke_'s determination upon it to be right:--for the _direction_ of wit is absolutely different from the _direction of_ truth and good reason; it being the aim of wit to strike the _imagination_; of truth and good reason, to convince the _judgment_: from thence they can never be perfectly coincident. it is however true, that there may be instances of wit, wherein the _agreement_ between the two objects shall be absolutely _just_, and perceived to be such at the first glance. such instances of wit, will be then also _self-evident_ truths. they will _both_ agree in their obvious, and quick _perspicuity_; but will be still different in this, that the effort of the _one_ is to strike the _fancy_, whereas the _other_ is wholly exerted in gratifying the _judgment_. the sentiments of mr. _addison_ upon wit, are professedly delivered in the _spectator_ nº. . annexed to the following _essay_. he has there justly commended mr. _locke_'s description of wit; but what he adds, by way of explanation to it, that the _assemblage_ of ideas must be such as shall give _delight_, and _surprize_, is not true, in regard to the former, _delight_ being no _essential_ property of wit; for if the _original_ subject be unpleasant, or deformed, the sudden unexpected _arrangement_ of a _similar_ object with it, may give us _surprize_, and be indisputably wit, and yet be far from creating any _delight_. this gentleman has also given the following example, in order to illustrate the necessity there is, that _surprize_ should be always an attendant upon wit. "when a poet tells us, the bosom of his mistress is as white as snow, there is no _wit_ in the comparison; but when he adds, with a sigh, that it as cold too, it then grows to wit." --to compare a girl's _bosom_ to _snow_ for its _whiteness_ i apprehend to be wit, notwithstanding the authority of so great a writer to the contrary. for there is a _lustre_ resulting from the _natural_ and _splendid agreement_ between these objects, which will _always_ produce wit; such, as cannot be destroyed, though it will quickly be rendered _trite_, by frequent repetition. this _problem_, _how far_ surprize _is, or is not, necessary to_ wit, i humbly apprehend, may be thus solved.--in subjects which have a _natural_ and _splendid agreement_, there will always be wit upon their _arrangement_ together; though when it becomes _trite_, and not accompanied with _surprize_, the _lustre_ will be much faded;--but where the _agreement_ is _forced_ and _strained_, _novelty_ and _surprize_ are absolutely necessary to usher it in; an unexpected _assemblage_ of this sort, striking our fancy, and being gaily admitted at first to be wit; which upon frequent repetition, the _judgment_ will have examined, and rise up against it wherever it appears;--so that in short, in instances where the _agreement_ is _strained_ and _defective_, which indeed are abundantly the most general, _surprize_ is a necessary _passport_ to wit; but _surprize_ is not necessary to wit, where the _agreement_ between the two subjects is _natural_ and _splendid_; though in these instances it greatly heightens the _brillancy_. the subsequent remark of mr. _addison_, _that the poet, after saying his mistress's bosom is as white as snow, should add, with a sigh, that it is as cold too, in order that it may grow to_ wit, is i fear, very incorrect. for as to the _sigh_, it avails not a rush; and this addition will be found to be only a _new_ stroke of wit, equally _trite_, and less perfect, and natural, than the former comparison. it may also be observed, that mr. _addison_ has omitted the _elucidation_ of the _original_ subject, which is the grand excellence of wit. nor has he prescribed any _limits_ to the subjects, which are to be arranged together; without which the result will be frequently the sublime or burlesque; in which, it is true, wit often appears, but taking their whole compositions together, they are different substances, and usually ranked in different _classes_. all that mr. _congreve_ has delivered upon wit, as far as i know, appears in his _essay_ upon humour, annexed to this treatise. he there says, to define humour, perhaps, were as difficult, as to define wit; for, like that, it is of infinite variety. --again, he afterwards adds, but though we cannot certainly tell what wit is, or what humour is, yet we may _go near_ to shew something, which is not wit, or not humour, and yet often mistaken for both. --in this _essay_, wherein he particularly considers humour, and the difference between _this_, and wit, he may be expected to have delivered his best sentiments upon both: but these words, which i have quoted, seem to be as important and precise, as any which he has offered upon the subject of wit. as such, i present them, without any remarks, to my reader, who, if he only _goes near_ to be _edified_ by them, will discover a great share of _sagacity_. the sentiments of these eminent writers upon wit, having thus been exhibited, i come next to the subject of humour. this has been _defined_ by some, in the following manner, with great _perspicuity._ --humour is the genuine wit of _comedies_,--which has afforded vast satisfaction to many _connoissures_ in the _belles lettres_; especially as wit has been supposed to be incapable of any _definition._ this subject has also been particularly considered by the _spectatator_ nº. . inserted at the end of the following _essay_. mr. _addison_ therein _gravely_ remarks, that it is indeed much easier to describe what is not humour, than what it is; which, i humbly apprehend, is no very _important_ piece of information.--he adds, and very difficult to define it otherwise, than as _cowly_ has done wit, by negatives. this notion of _defining_ a subject by _negatives_, is a favourite _crotchet_, and may perhaps be assumed upon other occasions by future writers: i hope therefore i shall be pardoned, if i offer a proper explanation of so good a _conceit_;--to declare then, _that a subject is only to be_ defined _by_ negatives, is to cloath it in a _respectable_ dress of _darkness_. and about as much as to say, that it is a _knight_ of _tenebrose virtues_; or a _serene prince_, of the _blood_ of _occult qualities_. mr. _addison_ proceeds, were i to give my own notions of humour, i should deliver them after _plato's_ manner, in a kind of allegory; and by supposing humour to be a person, deduce to him, all his qualifications, according to the following genealogy: truth was the founder of the family, and the father of good sense; good sense was the father of wit, who married a lady of a collateral line called mirth, by whom he had issue humour. --it is very unfortunate for this _allegorical_ description, that there is not one word of it just: for truth, good sense, wit, and mirth, represented to be the immediate _ancestors_ of humour; whereas humour is derived from the _foibles_, and whimsical _oddities_ of _persons_ in real life, which flow rather from their _inconsistencies_, and _weakness_, than from truth and good sense; nor is wit any _ancestor_ of humour, but of a quite different _family_; it being notorious that much humour may be drawn from the manners of _dutchmen_, and of the most formal and dull persons, who are yet never guilty of wit. again, mirth is not so properly the _parent_ of humour, as the _offspring_.--in short, this whole _genealogy_ is a _nubilous_ piece of conceit, instead of being any _elucidation_ of humour. it is a formal method of trifling, introduced under a deep ostentation of learning, which deserves the severest rebuke.--but i restrain my pen, recollecting the _visions_ of mirza, and heartily profess my high veneration for their admirable author. the _essay_ upon humour, at the end of this treatise, written by mr. _congreve_, is next to be considered. it appears, that at first he professes his absolute uncertainty in regard to this subject; and says, "_we cannot certainly tell what_ wit _is, or what_ humour _is_." but yet, through his whole piece, he neglects the subject of humour in general, and only discourses upon the humour, by which he means barely the _disposition_, of persons: this may particularly appear from the following words. a man may change his opinion, but i believe he will find it a difficulty to part with his humour; and there is nothing more provoking than the being made sensible of that difficulty. sometimes we shall meet with those, who perhaps indifferently enough, but at the same time impertinently, will ask the question, why are you not merry? why are you not gay, pleasant, and chearful? then instead of answering, could i ask such a person, why are you not handsome? why have you not black eyes, and a better complexion? nature abhors to be forced. the two famous philosophers of _ephesus_ and _abdera_, have their different sects at this day. some weep, and others laugh at one and the same thing. i don't doubt but you have observed several men laugh when they are angry; others, who are silent; some that are loud; yet i cannot suppose that it is the passion of anger, which is in itself different, or more or less in one than t'other, but that it is the humour of the man that is predominant, and urges him to express it in that manner. demonstrations of pleasure, are as various: one man has a humour of retiring from all company, when any thing has happened to please him beyond expectation; he hugs himself alone, and thinks it an addition to the pleasure to keep it a secret, &c. all which, i apprehend, is no more than saying; that there are different _dispositions_ in different _persons_. in another place, he seems to understand by _humour_, not only the _disposition,_ but the _tone_ of the _nerves_, of a person, thus, "suppose morose to be a man naturally splenetic, and melancholy; is there any thing more offensive to one of such a disposition (where he uses the word instead of _humour_) than noise and clamour? let any man that has the spleen (and there are enough in england) be judge. we see common examples of this humour in little every day. 'tis ten to one, but three parts in four of the company you dine with, are discomposed, and started at the cutting of a cork, or scratching of a plate with a knife; it is a proportion of the same humour, that makes such, or any other noise, offensive to the person that hears it; for there are others who will not be disturbed at all by it. at this rate every _weakness_ of _nerves_, or _particularity_ of _constitution,_ is humour. it is true, he justly points out in another place the different sentiments, which ought to be adapted to different _characters_ in _comedy_, according to their different _dispositions_, or, as he phrases it, _humours_: as for instance, he very rightly observes, that a character of a splenetic and peevish humour, should have a satirical wit. a jolly and sanguine humour should have a facetious wit. --but still this is no description of what is well felt, and known, by the general name of humour. however, as what i have already quoted, may appear to be only his looser explanations, it will be necessary to deliver his more closed and collected sentiments upon this subject. these he gives in the following words, i should be unwilling to venture, even in a bare _description_ of _humour_, much more to make a _definition_ of it; but now my hand is in, i will tell you what serves me instead of either. i take it to be, _a singular and unavoidable manner of doing or saying any thing, peculiar and natural to one man only, by which his speech and actions are distinguished from those of other men." --this description is very little applicable to humour, but tolerably well adapted to other subjects.--thus, a person, who is happy in a particular _grace_, which accompanies all his actions, may be said to possess _a singular and unavoidable manner of doing or saying any thing, peculiar and natural to him only, by which his speech and actions are distinguished from those of other men_. and the same may be said of a person of a peculiar _vivacity_, _heaviness_, or _awkwardness_.--in short, this description is suited to any _particularity_ of a person in general, instead of being adapted to the _foibles_ and _whimsical oddities_ of persons, which alone constitute humour. these are the only pieces upon wit, and humour, which have fallen within my knowledge; i have here fairly delivered them at length; and from the respect which is due to such eminent writers, have distinctly and deliberately examined the merit of each.--as to my own _performance_, which is now submitted to the public, i have to wish, that it may gain a candid and strict examination. it has been my endeavour to give _definitions_ of the subjects, upon which i have treated; a _plan_ the most difficult of all others to be executed by an author; but such an one, as i apprehend, deserves to be more generally introduced, and established. if once it was expected by the public, that _authors_ should strictly _define_ their subjects, it would instantly checque an inundation of scribbling. the _desultory_ manner of writing would be absolutely exploded; and _accuracy_ and _precision_ would be necessarily introduced upon every subject. this is the _method_ pursued in subjects of _philosophy_; without clear and precise _definitions_ such noble advances could never have been made in those sciences; and it is by the assistance of _these_ only, that subjects of _polite literature_, can ever be enlightened and embellished with just ornaments. if _definitions_ had been constantly exacted from authors there would not have appeared _one hundreth_ part of the present books, and yet every subject had been better ascertained.--nor will this method, as some may imagine, be encumbered with stiffness; on the contrary, in _illustrating_ the truth of _definitions_ there is a full scope of the utmost genius, imagination, and spirit of a writer; and a work upon this _plan_ is adorned with the highest charms appearing with _propriety_, _clearness_, and _conviction_, as well as beauty. it is true, that the difficulties, which attend an able execution of this _method_, are not open to a careless eye; and it is some mortification to an _author_ upon this _plan_, that his greatest _merit_ is likely to lie concealed; a _definition,_ or _distinction,_ which after much attention and time he has happily delivered with _brevity_ and _clearness_, appearing hereby quite obvious, to others, and what they cannot imagine could require pains to discover. as to the _examples_, by which i have illustrated the _definition_ of _wit_, they are _common_ and _trite_; but are the best, which i could find upon deliberate enquiry. many modern instances of _wit_, which left very lively impressions upon me, when i heard them, appearing upon re-examination to be quite strained and defective. these, which i have given, as they are thus _trite_, are not designed in themselves for any entertainment to the reader; but being various, and distant from each other, they very properly serve to explain the truth, and extent of the _definition_. the character of an humourist, i expect, will be strange to most of my readers; and if no gentleman is acquainted with a _person_ of this _cast_, it must pass for a _monster_ of my own creation;--as to the character of sir _john falstaff_, it is chiefly extracted from _shakespear_, in his st part of king _henry_ the _ivth_; but so far as _sir john_ in _shakspear's_ description, sinks into a _cheat_ or a _scoundrel_, upon any occasion, he is different from that _falstaff_, who is designed in the following _essay_, and is entirely an amiable character. it is obvious, that the appearance, which _falstaff_ makes, in the unfinished play of _the merry wives of windsor_, is in general greatly below his true character. his imprisonment and death in the latter part of king _henry_ the _ivth_, seem also to have been written by _shakespear_ in compliance with the _austerity_ of the times; and in order to avoid the imputation of encouraging _idleness_ and mirthful _riot_ by too amiable and happy an example. the criticism, which i have made, upon _horace_'s narrative of his _adventure_ with an _impertinent fellow_, i offer with respect; and beg leave to observe that the chief part which i object to, is the _propriety_ of his introducing himself in so _ridiculous a plight_; --dum sudor ad imos manaret talos; and demitto auriculas, ut iniquæ mentis acellus cum gravius dorso subiit onus. and other representations of the same sort, seem to place _horace_ in a very mean and ludicrous light; which it is probable he never apprehended in the full course of exposing his companion;--besides, the conduct of his adversary is in several places, excessively, and, as it may be construed, _designedly_, insolent and contemptuous; and as no merit or importance belongs to this person, there appears no reason why _horace_ should endure such treatment; or, if the other was too _powerful_ for him, it is not an _adventure_ of _honour_; or what _horace_ should chuse to expose to the world in this manner, with all the particulars of his own despicable distress. however, the _mirth_ which results from this narrative, as it now stands, is perhaps rather the stronger at first, by the full _ridicule_ which lies against _horace_, and his adversary;--but, upon reflection, there arises a disgust, at the impropriety of _horace's_ exposing his own _meanness_, as well as at the nauseous _impudence_ of his companion. as to _uncommon_ words, if any such appear in this _introduction_, or in the following _essay_, i hope they want neither _propriety_, _clearness_, nor _strength_;--and if the _length_of this piece to an _essay_ so _short_ shall happen at first to _disturb_ any _critic_, i beg leave to inform him, that all, which can be fairly collected from it, is only, that it may have cost _me_ the more trouble;--but upon mentioning the _length_ of this piece, what behoves me the most, is, to return my thanks to two _gentlemen_, who suffered me to read to them the whole, as it was gradually written; and by whose _judicious_ and _friendly instructions_ in the course of it, my own _imagination_ was often prevented from running into _riots_. however, i am far from imagining, that i have always been reduced within just bounds; and now feel a sufficient share of _concern_ and _anxiety_, for the _fate_ of this work;--yet, i humbly apprehend, that _this_ must freely be allowed me, that i have not been a _plagiary_; but have constantly delivered my own _original_ sentiments, without _purloining_ or _disfiguring_ the thoughts of others; an _honesty_, which, i hope, is laudable in an _author_; and as i have not _stolen_, neither have i _concealed_, the _merit_ of other writers. it will also be found, as i humbly apprehend, that i have never _shunned_ the subject: i mention this particularly, because it is the practice of many eminent writers, after much _curvetting_ and _prauncing_, suddenly to wheel, and retire, when they are expected to make their most full attack.--these gentlemen, it is true, very happily avoid _danger_, and advance and retreat in _excellent order_: but, with their leave, i must observe that they never do any _execution_; for subjects, which have not been surveyed, and laid open, are like _fortified places_; and it is the business of a _writer_, as well as of a _soldier_, to make an attack;--this has been the conduct i have held in the following _essay_; and however i may be _shattered_ upon any occasion, i hope it will appear (if i may be allowed the expression) that i have fairly _charged_ the subjects. having offered these circumstances in my favour, i must frankly acknowledge, that i am not able to plead any _hurry_ or _precipitancy_ in the publishing of this work, in excuse of its errors; though i clearly understand, that by making this discovery, i absolutely deprive myself of the most _genteel_ and _fashionable screen_ now used by authors;--but i imagined, that it became me to spare no labour or attention upon a work, which i should presume to offer to the world; happening to esteem this _care_ and _concern_, a _respect_ due to the _public_, and the proper species of _humility_ and _modesty_ in an _author_. * * * * * an essay on wit, humour, raillery, & c. wit is the lustre resulting from the quick elucidation of one subject, by a _just_ and unexpected arrangement of it with another subject. this _definition_ of wit will more clearly appear by a short explanation. it is the province of wit to _elucidate_, or _enlighten_ a subject, not by reasoning upon that subject, but by a just and unexpected introduction of another _similar_, or _opposite_ subject; whereby, upon their _arrangement_ together, the _original_ subject may be _set off_, and more clearly _enlighten'd_, by their obvious comparison. it may be proper, for the sake of distinction, to call the subject, which is the basis and ground-work, the _original_ subject; and that which is introduced, in order to _elucidate_ it, the _auxiliary_ subject. that there be always an apparent chain or connexion, or else an obvious agreement or contrast, between the two subjects, is absolutely requir'd, in order that the _auxiliary_ one may be _justly_ introduced; otherwise, instead of wit, there will only appear a rambling _vivacity_, in wild, unprovoked sallies. and yet _every just_ or _natural_ introduction of an _auxiliary_ subject will not produce wit, unless a new _lustre_ is reflected from thence upon the _original_ subject. it is further to be observed, that the introduction of the _auxiliary_ subject ought not only to be _just_, but also _unexpected_, which are entirely consistent together; for as every subject bears various relations and oppositions to other subjects, it is evident that each of these relations and oppositions upon being exhibited, will be _unexpected_ to the persons, who did not perceive them before; and yet they are _just_ by supposition. it is upon such _unexpected_ introductions of _auxiliary_ subjects, that we are struck with a _surprize_; from whence the high _brilliancy_ and _sparkling_ of wit, result. whereas _auxiliary_ subjects, introduced upon such occasions, as they have been frequently exhibited before, are apt to fall dull, and heavy upon the fancy; and unless they possess great natural spirit, will excite no sprightly sensation. it is also necessary to observe, that, in wit, the subjects concern'd must be _ordinary_ and _level_; by which are intended, not such as are _common_, but such as have no _extraordinarily exalted_, or _enlarged_, qualities; and are not _unsizeable_ in the particular circumstances in which they are compared to each other;--otherwise it is easy to perceive, that the result of their _arrangement_ will not be so properly wit, as either the sublime, or burlesque. to all this is to be added, that either _gallantry, raillery_, _humour_, _satire_, _ridicule_, _sarcasms_, or other subjects, are generally blended with wit; it has been for want of this discovery, and of a proper separation of these subjects, that the attempts which have hitherto been made to _define_ wit, have been all involv'd and overwhelm'd in perplexity; for the different mixtures of these foreign ingredients with wit, have discover'd such various and opposite _colours_ and _substances_, as were impossible to be comprehended in one certain steady _definition_;--whereas _pure_ wit alone, constantly appears in _one uniform_ manner; which is, _in the _quick elucidation_ of one subject, by _unexpectedly_ exhibiting its _agreement_ or _contrast_ with another subject_. it is proper in this place, to distinguish between wit, similes, and metaphors. similes, though they _illustrate_ one subject, by _arranging_ it with another subject, are yet different from wit, as they want its _sudden_ and _quick elucidation_. again; in wit, the _elucidation_ is thrown only upon _one_ point of a subject; or if more points be _elucidated_, they are so many different strokes of wit;--whereas every simile touches the subject it _illustrates_ in _several points_. it is from hence, that the _elucidation_, as before mention'd, arising from a simile, is _slower_ than from wit; but then is is generally more _accurate_ and _compleat_;--in short, wit, from its _quickness_, exhibits more _brilliancy_, but similes possess greater _perfection_. a metaphor, is the _arrayment_ of one subject, with the _dress_, or _colour_, or any _attributes_, of another subject. in wit, the two subjects are suddenly confronted with each other, and upon their joint view, the _original_ one is _elucidated_ by the obvious _agreement_ or _contrast_ of the _auxiliary_ subject. but metaphor goes further, and not content with _arranging_ the two subjects together, and exhibiting from thence their _agreement_ or _contrast_, it actually snatches the properties of the _auxiliary_ one, and fits them at once upon the _original_ subject. it is evident from hence, that there may be wit without any metaphor; but in every just metaphor there is wit; the _agreement_ of the two subjects being in a metaphor more strictly and sensibly presented. there is also this difference between wit and metaphor, that in wit the _original_ subject is _enlighten'd_, without altering its _dress_; whereas in metaphor the _original_ subject is cloathed in a _new dress_, and struts forwards at once with a different _air_, and with strange _unexpected ornaments_. it is from hence, that by metaphor a more masculine air and vigour is given to a subject, than by wit; but it too often happens, that the metaphor is carried so far, as instead of _elucidating_, to obscure and disfigure, the _original_ subject. to exhibit some examples of wit. . _henry_ the ivth of _france_, intimating to the _spanish_ ambassador the rapidity, with which he was able to over-run _italy_, told him, that _if once he mounted on horseback, he should breakfast at_ milan, _and dine at_ naples; to which the ambassador added, _since your majesty travels at this rate, you may be at vespers in_ sicily. the introduction of the _vespers_ at sicily is here _natural_, and easy; as it seems only to be carrying on his majesty's journey at the same rate, and to compleat the progress of the day; but it ushers at once into view the _destruction_ of the _french_ upon a _similar_ occasion, when they formerly over-ran sicily, and were all massacred there at the ringing of the bell for _vespers_;--the sudden introduction and _arrangement_ of this catastrophe, with the expedition then threaten'd, sets the issue of such a conquest in a new _light_; and very happily exhibits and _elucidates_ the result of such vain and restless adventures. it may be observed, that the _quick_ introduction and _arrangement_ of any former conquest of _italy_ by the _french_, with the expedition then threaten'd, would have exhibited wit; whatever the issue had been of such former conquest; but in this instance, there sits couched under the wit, a very _severe rebuke_ upon the _french_ monarch. . _alexander_ the vith was very busily questioning the ambassador of _venice_, of whom his masters held their customs and prerogatives of the sea? to which the ambassador readily answer'd; _if your_ holiness _will only please to examine your charter of st._ peter's _patrimony, you will find upon the back of it, the grant made to the_ venetians _of the_ adriatic. the authority of the _grant_ to the _venetians_ is in this instance the _original_ subject, which is thus suddenly _elucidated_ to the _pope_, by _arranging_, and connecting it with the holy _charter_ of st. _peter_'s patrimony; there is a peculiar happiness in the address of this answer to the _pope_, as he was obliged to receive it as a satisfactory account of the truth of the _grant_, and a clear _elucidation_ of its sacred authority. in this instance, besides the wit which shines forth, the _pope_ is severely expos'd to your _raillery_, from the scrape into which he has brought the _charter_ of st. _peter's_ patrimony, by his attack of the _ambassador_; the _fictitious_ existence of both the _charter_ and _grant_ being sarcastically pointed out, under this respectable air of _authenticity_. . upon the restoration mr. _waller_ presented a congratulatory copy of verses to king _charles_; his majesty, after reading them, said,-- _mr_. waller, _these are very good, but not so fine as you made upon the_ protector.--to which mr. _waller_ return'd,--_your majesty will please to recollect, that we poets always write best upon_ fictions. the _original_ subject in this instance is _the superior excellence of mr_. waller's _verses upon_ cromwell; this he most happily excuses, by starting at once, and _arranging_ along with them, the remark, that _poets have always excell'd upon fiction_; whereby he unexpectedly exhibits his _more excellent_ verses to _cromwell_, as a plain _elucidation_ of the _fictitious_ glory of the protector; and intimates at the same time, that the _inferiority_ of his present performance was a natural _illustration_ of his majesty's _real_ glory;--never was a deep reproach averted by a more happy reply; which comprehends both the highest compliment to his majesty, and a very firm poetical excuse of the different performances. . _leonidas_ the _spartan_ general, when he advanced near the _persian_ army, was told by one of his own captains, that _their enemies were so numerous, it was impossible to see the sun for the multitude of their arrows_; to which he gallantly reply'd, _we shall then have the pleasure of fighting in the shade_. the vast cope of _persian_ arrows is here the _original_ subject; which instead of being observed by _leonidas_ with terror, presents to his fancy the pleasant idea of a cool _canopy_. there is an _agreement_ and affinity between the two objects, in regard to the _shelter from the sun_, which is at once obvious, and _unexpected_; and the cloud of the enemies arrows is thus gaily _elucidated_, by the _arrangement_ and comparison of it with so desirable an object as _shady covering_. this saying of the _spartan_ general has been handed through many ages to the present time; but the chief part of the pleasure it gives us, results not so much from the wit it contains, as from the _gallantry_, and _chearful spirit_, discover'd in danger, by _leonidas_. . an instance of wit in the _opposition_, i remember to have read somewhere in the _spectators_; where sir _roger de coverley_ intimating the splendor which the perverse widow should have appear'd in, if she had commenced lady _coverley_, says: _that he would have given her a_ coalpit _to have kept her in_ clean linnen: _and that her finger should have_ sparkled _with one hundred of his richest_ acres. the joint introduction of these _opposite_ objects, as a _coalpit_ with _clean linnen_, and _dirty acres_ with the _lustre_ of a _jewel_, is _just_ in this instance, as they really produce each other in their consequences; the _natural opposition_ between them, which is strongly _elucidated_ by their _arrangement_ together, and at the same time their _unexpected connexion_ in their consequences, strike us with a _surprize_, which exhibits the _brilliancy_ and _sparkling_ of wit. there is also in this instance, besides the wit, a spirit of _generosity_, and _magnificence_, discover'd by sir _roger_, from the known value of a _coalpit_, and of so many rich _acres_. this kind of wit, resulting from the sudden _arrangement_ together of two _opposite_ objects, is rarer, than that which is obtained from two _similar_ objects; it abounds with a high _surprize_, and _brilliancy_; and also strongly _elucidates_ the _original_ object, from the _contrast_ presented between _this_, and the _auxiliary_ one; in the same manner as _white_ is more clearly set _off_, by being arranged with _black_. it may be proper to observe, that wit, besides being struck out by _just_, and _direct_ introductions of _auxiliary_ subjects, is also sometimes obtain'd by _transitions_ from one subject to another, by the help of an _equivocal word_; which like a _bridge_, with two roads meeting at the end of it, leads to two different places. _transitions_, thus made from the right course, have indeed the pretence of being _natural_; but they ought always to lead us to something _brilliant_ or poignant, in order to justify their _deviation_; and not to end only at a ridiculous pun, void of all spirit and poignancy. the wit, in such instances, results, as in all others, from the quick _arrangement_ together of two subjects; but that, which was first intended for the _original_ one, is dropped; and a new _original_ subject is started, through the _double meaning_ of a word, and suddenly _enlighten'd_. to give a _trite_ instance of this kind of wit. a peer coming out of the house of lords, and wanting his servant, called out, _where's my fellow?_ to which another peer, who stood by him, returned, _faith, my lord, not in_ england. a transition is here unexpededly made from the sense intended in the question to another point, through the double meaning of the word _fellow_; it being obvious, that his lordship's _servant_ is the sense of the word in the question; and what person is _like_ to his lordship, the construction put upon it in the answer: thus a new _original_ subject is started, and being suddenly _arranged_ with all that appear _similar_ to it, is _enlighten'd_ thereby, being found to have no _equal_ in _england_. however, though wit may be _thus_ struck out, and also appears in the _contrast_ with great _brilliancy_, yet the highest and most perfect instances of it result from the sudden and _direct arrangement_ together of two objects, which hold a perspicuous and splendid _agreement_ with each other; it is then adorn'd with the charms of _propriety_, _clearness_ and _illustration_; it dispels the darkness around an object, and presents it diftinctly and perfectly to our view; chearing us with its _lustre_, and at the same time informing us with its _light_. thus, a gentleman was observing, that _there was_ somewhat _extremely pleasing in an excellent_ understanding, _when it appeared in a beautiful_ person; to which another returned, _it is like a fine_ jewel _well set_; you are here pleased with the happiness, propriety, and splendor of this _new_ object, which finely _elucidates_ the original sentiment;--in short, it is the excellence of wit, _to present the_ first image _again to your mind, with new unexpected_ clearness _and_ advantage. it is also proper to add, that there may be wit in a _picture_, _landscape_, or in any _prospect_, where a gay unexpected _assemblage_ of _similar_, or _opposite_ objects, is presented. judgment, is the faculty of discerning the various _dimensions_, and _differences_, of subjects. invention is the faculty of finding out new _assortments_, and _combinations_, of _ideas_. humour is any _whimsical oddity_ or _foible_, appearing in the _temper_ or _conduct_ of a _person_ in _real life_. this _whimsical oddity_ of conduct, which generally arises from the strange _cast_, or _turn_ of mind of a _queer_ person, may also result from _accidental_ mistakes and embarrassments between other persons; who being misled by a wrong information and suspicion in regard to a circumstance, shall act towards each other upon this occasion, in the same _odd whimsical_ manner, as _queer_ persons. if a _person_ in real life, discovers any odd and remarkable _features_ of temper or conduct, i call such a person in the _book_ of _mankind_, a _character_. so that the chief subjects of humour are persons in real life, who are _characters_. it is easy to be perceived, that humour, and wit are extremely different. humour appears only in the _foibles_ and _whimsical conduct_ of _persons_ in real life; wit appears in _comparisons_, either between _persons_ in real life, or between _other subjects_. humour is the _whimsical oddity_, or _foible_, which fairly appears in its subject, of itself; whereas wit, is the _lustre_ which is thrown upon _one_ subject, by the _sudden introduction_ of another subject. to constitute humour, there need be no more than _one_ object concern'd, and this must be always some _person_ in _real life_;-- whereas to produce wit, there must be always _two_ objects _arranged_ together, and either or both of these may be _inanimate_. however, though humour and wit are thus absolutely different in themselves, yet we frequently see them blended together. thus if any _foible_ of a _character_ in real life is _directly_ attacked, by pointing out the unexpected and ridiculous _affinity_ it bears to some _inanimate_ circumstances, this foible is then ridiculed with wit, from the _comparison_ which is made.--at the same time, as the _whimsical oddity_ of a _character_ in real life is the _ground_ of the whole, there is also _humour_ contain'd in the attack. if instead of referring the _foible_ of a person to any _inanimate_ circumstance, the _allusion_ had been made to any other ridiculous _person_ in _real life_; as a _conceited fellow_, perpetually recommending his own whims, to a _quack-doctor_;--this _foible_ will then be ridiculed with humour; which is likewise the original _ground_: at the same time, from the _comparison_ which is made, there is apparently wit in the description. so that where-ever the _foible_ of a _character_ in real life is concern'd, there humour comes in; and wherever a sprightly unexpected _arrangement_ is presented of two _similar_, or _opposite_ subjects, whether animate or inanimate, there wit is exhibited. humour and wit, as they may thus both be united in the same subject, may also separately appear without the least mixture together; that is, there may be humour without wit, and wit without humour. thus, if in order to expose the _foible_ of a _character_, a _real person_ is introduc'd, abounding in this _foible_, gravely persisting in it, and valuing himself upon the merit of it, with great self- sufficiency, and disdain of others; this _foible_ is then solely ridiculed with humour. again, if a gay unexpected _allusion_ is made from one _inanimate_ object to another, or from one _person_ in _real_ life to another, without any reference to their whimsical _oddities_ or _foibles_; there wit only appears.--various instances of which, independent of humour, have been already exhibited. a _man_ of wit is he, who is happy in _elucidating_ any subject, _by a just and unexpected arrangement_ and _comparison_ of it with another subject. it may be also proper to describe a _man_ of humour, and an humourist, which are very different persons. a _man_ of humour is one, who can happily exhibit a weak and ridiculous _character_ in real life, either by assuming it himself, or representing another in it, so naturally, that the _whimsical oddities,_ and _foibles,_ of that _character,_ shall be palpably expos'd. whereas an humourist is a _person_ in real life, obstinately attached to sensible peculiar _oddities_ of his own genuine growth, which appear in his temper and conduct. in short, a _man_ of _humour_ is one, who can happily exhibit and expose the oddities and foibles of an _humourist_, or of other _characters_. the _features_ of an humourist being very remarkable and singular, seem justly to deserve an explicit description. it is then to be observ'd, that an _humourist_, at the same time that he is guided in his manners and actions by his own genuine original fancy and temper, disdains all _ostentation_; excepting that alone of his _freedom_ and _independency_, which he is forward of shewing upon every occasion, without ceremony; he is quite superior to the _affectation_ of a virtue or accomplishment, which he thinks does not belong to him; scorns all _imitation_ of others; and contemns the rest of the world for being servilely obedient to forms and customs; disclaiming all such submission himself, and regulating his conduct in general by his own _conviction_, the _humourist_ is forward upon many occasions to deliver his opinion, in a peremptory manner, and before he is desir'd; but he gives it sincerely, unbiass'd by _fear_ or _regard_, and then leaves it to the persons concern'd to determine for themselves; for he is more pleas'd in the bottom to find his opinion _slighted_, and to see the conduct of others agreeable to that system of folly and weakness, which he has established with himself, to be the course of their actions.--to view a rational conduct, even in pursuance of his own advice, would greatly disappoint him; and be a contradiction to this _system_ he has laid down;--besides it would deprive him of an occasion of gratifying his spleen, with the contempt of that folly, which he esteems to be natural to the rest of mankind; for he considers himself in the world, like a _sober_ person in the company of men, who are _drunken_ or _mad_; he may advise them to be calm, and to avoid hurting themselves, but he does not expect they will regard his advice; on the contrary, he is more pleas'd with observing their _freaks_ and _extravagancies_.--it is from hence that he discourages and depreciates all who pretend to _discretion_; persons of this temper not yielding him sport or diversion. it is certain that the _humourist_ is excessively _proud_, and yet without knowing or suspecting it. for from the liberty which he frankly allows to others, of rejecting his opinion, he is fully persuaded, that he is free from all _pride_; but tho' he acts in this circumstance without over-bearing, it has already appear'd, not to be the effect of his _humility_, but of a different motive; a pleasure which he takes in observing the extravagancies of others, rather than their discretion. but to demonstrate his _pride_, besides the peremptory manner in which he delivers his opinion, and conducts himself upon every occasion, without any deference to others, there is this circumstance against him; that he is the most stung by a defeat, upon any topic, of all men living; and although he disregards accusations of roughness and oddity, and rather esteems them to be meritorious; yet he will never admit, that he has been fairly overthrown in a debate. it is odd to observe how the _humourist_ is affected by _contemptuous_ treatment. an insult of this sort, which justly excites the _resentment_ of others, _terrifies_ him: it sets him upon _suspecting_ himself, and upon doubting whether he be really that person of superior sense to the rest of the world, which he has long fancied. the apprehension, that he actually deserves the contempt which is put upon him, and that he is no more than one of the common herd, almost distracts him; and instead of violently depreciating, or attacking again, the person who has contemn'd him, he will incessantly court his favour and good opinion, as a cordial he wants, though without seeming to do so. this is a very extraordinary weakness, and such as the _humourist_ would be infinitely uneasy to find ever observ'd. the _humourist_, though he quickly espies, and contemns the _contradictions_ of others, is yet wilfully attach'd to several himself, which he will sometimes persue through a long course of his own mortification.--it may be often observ'd, that he will avoid the company he likes, for fear they should think he needs their support.-- at the same time, if he happens to fall into company, which he tallies not with, instead of avoiding this company, he will continually haunt them: for he is anxious, lest any imputation of a defeat should stand out against him, and extremely sollicitous to wipe it away; besides, he cannot endure it should be thought that he is driven from the pit. --thus, in the first instance, his _pride_ shall persuade him to neglect the company he likes; and shall force him, in the last, to follow the company he hates and despises. it is also observable that the _humourist_, though he makes it his point to regulate his conduct only by his own conviction, will sometimes run counter to it, merely from his disdain of all _imitation_. thus he will persist in a wrong course, which he knows to be such, and refuse his compliance with an amendment offer'd by others, rather than endure the appearance of being an _imitator_. this is a _narrow_ side of the _humourist_; and whenever he is turn'd upon it, he feels great uneasiness himself. it strikes a durable pain into his breast, like the constant gnawing of a worm; and is one considerable source of that stream of peevishnesss incident to _humourists_. upon the same principle of scorning all _imitation_, the _humourist_ seldom heartily assents to any speculative opinion, which is deliver'd by another; for he is above being inform'd or set right in his judgment by any person, even by a brother _humourist_. if two of this _cast_ happen to meet, instead of uniting together, they are afraid of each other; and you shall observe _one_, in order to court the good opinion of the _other_, produce a specimen of his own perfection as an _humourist_; by exhibiting some unusual strain of _sensible oddity_, or by unexpectedly biting a poor _insipid_; which the other _humourist_ shall answer again in the same manner, in order to display _his_ talents. these are the _foibles_ and _narrow_ whims of a perfect _humourist_. but, on the other hand, he stands upon a very enlarged basis; is a lover of reason and liberty; and scorns to flatter or betray; nor will he falsify his principles, to court the favour of the great. he is not credulous, or fond of religious or philosophical creeds or creed- makers; but then he never offers himself to forge articles of faith for the rest of the world. abounding in poignant and just reflections; the guardian of freedom, and scourge of such as do wrong. it is _he_ checks the frauds, and curbs the usurpations of every profession. the venal biass of the assuming judge, the cruel pride of the starch'd priest, the empty froth of the florid counsellor, the false importance of the formal man of business, the specious jargon of the grave physician, and the creeping taste of the trifling connoisseur, are all bare to his eye, and feel the lash of his censure; it is _he_ that watches the daring strides, and secret mines of the ambitious prince, and desperate minister: _he_ gives the alarm, and prevents their mischief. others there are who have sense and foresight; but _they_ are brib'd by hopes or fears, or bound by softer ties; it is _he_ only, the _humourist_, that has the courage and honesty to cry out, unmov'd by personal resentment: he flourishes only in a land of _freedom_, and when _that_ ceases he dies too, the last and noblest _weed_ of the soil of _liberty_. it is a palpable _absurdity_ to suppose a person an _humourist_, without excellent sense and abilities; as much as to suppose a _smith_ in his full business, without his _hammers_ or _forge_.--but the _humourist_, as he advances in years, is apt to grow intolerable to himself and the world; becoming at length, uneasy, and fatigued with the constant view of the same follies; like a person who is tir'd with seeing the same tragi-comedy continually acted. this sowres his temper; and unless some favorable incidents happen to mellow him, he resigns himself wholly to peevishness.--by which time he perceives that the world is quite tir'd of _him_.--after which he drags on the remainder of his life, in a state of _war_ with the rest of mankind. the _humourist_ is constitutionally, and also from reflection, a man of _sincerity_.--if he is a _rogue_ upon any occasion, he is more wilfully one, and puts greater violence upon himself in being such, than the rest of the world; and though he may generally seem to have little _benevolence_, which is the common objection against him, it is only for want of proper objects; for no person has certainly a quicker _feeling_; and there are instances frequent, of greater generosity and humane warmth flowing from an _humourist_, than are capable of proceeding from a weak _insipid_, who labours under a continual flux of civility. upon the whole, the _humourist_ is perhaps the least of all others, a _despicable_ character. but imitations, which are frequently seen of this character, are excessively despicable.--what can be more ridiculous, than a wretch setting up for an _humourist_, merely upon the strength of disrelishing every thing, without any principle;--the servants, drawers, victuals, weather,--and growling without poignancy of sense, at every new circumstance which appears, in public or private. a perfect and compleat _humourist_ is rarely to be found; and when you hear his _voice_, is a different creature.--in writing to _englishmen_, who are generally tinged, deeply or slightly, with the _dye_ of the _humourist_, it seem'd not improper to insist the longer upon this character; however, let none be too fond of it; for though an _humourist_ with his roughness is greatly to be preferr'd to a smooth _insipid_, yet the extremes of both are equally wretched: _ideots_ being only the lowest scale of _insipids_, as _madmen_ are no other than _humourists_ in excess. it may be proper to observe in this place, that though all _ostentation_, _affectation_, and _imitation_ are excluded from the composition of a perfect _humourist_; yet as they are the obvious _foibles_ of some persons in life, they may justly be made the subject of _humour_. for humour extensively and fully understood, is _any remarkable_ oddity _or_ foible _belonging to a_ person _in_ real life; _whether this_ foible _be constitutional, habitual_, or _only affected; whether partial in one or two circumstances; or tinging the whole temper and conduct of the_ person. it has from hence been observ'd, that there is more humour in the _english_ comedies than in others; as we have more various odd _characters_ in real life, than any other nation, or perhaps than all other nations together. that humour gives more delight, and leaves a more pleasurable impression behind it, than wit, is universally felt and established; though the reasons for this have not yet been assign'd.--i shall therefore beg leave to submit the following. . humour is more _interesting_ than wit in general, as the _oddities_ and _foibles_ of _persons_ in _real life_ are more apt to affect our passions, than any oppositions or relations between _inanimate_ objects. . humour is _nature_, or what really appears in the subject, without any embellishments; wit only a stroke of _art_, where the original subject, being insufficient of itself, is garnished and deck'd with auxiliary objects. . humour, or the foible of a _character_ in real life, is usually insisted upon for some length of time. from whence, and from the common knowledge of the character, it is universally felt and understood.--whereas the strokes of wit are like sudden _flashes_, vanishing in an instant, and usually flying too fast to be sufficiently marked and pursued by the audience. . humour, if the representation of it be just, is compleat and perfect in its kind, and entirely fair and unstrain'd.--whereas in the allusions of wit, the affinity is generally imperfect and defective in one part or other; and even in those points where the affinity may be allow'd to subsist, some nicety and strain is usually requir'd to make it appear. . humour generally appears in such foibles, as each of the company thinks himself superior to.--whereas wit shews the quickness and abilities of the person who discovers it, and places him superior to the rest of the company. . humour, in the representation of the _foibles_ of _persons_ in _real life_, frequently exhibits very _generous benevolent_ sentiments of the heart; and these, tho' exerted in a particular odd manner, justly command our fondness and love.--whereas in the allusions of wit, _severity_, _bitterness_, and _satire_, are frequently exhibited.--and where these are avoided, not worthy amiable sentiments of the _heart_, but quick unexpected efforts of the _fancy_, are presented. . the odd adventures, and embarrassments, which _persons_ in _real life_ are drawn into by their _foibles_, are fit subjects of _mirth_. --whereas in pure wit, the allusions are rather _surprizing_, than _mirthful_; and the _agreements_ or _contrasts_ which are started between objects, without any relation to the _foibles_ of _persons_ in real life, are more fit to be _admired_ for their _happiness_ and _propriety_, than to excite our _laughter_.--besides, wit, in the frequent repetition of it, tires the imagination with its precipitate sallies and flights; and teizes the judgment.--whereas humour, in the representation of it, puts no fatigue upon the _imagination_, and gives exquisite pleasure to the _judgment_. these seem to me to be the different powers and effects of humour and wit. however, the most agreeable representations or competitions of all others, appear not where they _separately_ exist, but where they are _united_ together in the same fabric; where humour is the _ground- work_ and chief substance, and wit happily spread, _quickens_ the whole with embellishments. this is the excellency of the _character_ of sir _john falstaff_; the _ground-work_ is _humour_, the representation and detection of a bragging and vaunting _coward_ in _real life_; however, this alone would only have expos'd the _knight_, as a meer _noll bluff_, to the derision of the company; and after they had once been gratify'd with his chastisement, he would have sunk into infamy, and become quite odious and intolerable: but here the inimitable _wit_ of sir _john_ comes in to his support, and gives a new _rise_ and _lustre_ to his character; for the sake of his _wit_ you forgive his _cowardice_; or rather, are fond of his _cowardice_ for the occasions it gives to his _wit_. in short, the _humour_ furnishes a subject and spur to the _wit_, and the _wit_ again supports and embellishes the _humour_. at the _first_ entrance of the _knight_, your good humour and tendency to _mirth_ are irresistibly excited by his jolly appearance and corpulency; you feel and acknowledge him, to be the fittest subject imaginable for yielding _diversion_ and _merriment_; but when you see him immediately set up for _enterprize_ and _activity_, with his evident _weight_ and _unweildiness_, your attention is all call'd forth, and you are eager to watch him to the end of his adventures; your imagination pointing out with a full scope his future embarrassments. all the while as you accompany him forwards, he _heightens_ your relish for his future disasters, by his happy opinion of his own sufficiency, and the gay vaunts which he makes of his talents and accomplishments; so that at last when he falls into a scrape, your expectation is exquisitely gratify'd, and you have the full pleasure of seeing all his trumpeted honour laid in the dust. when in the midst of his misfortunes, instead of being utterly demolish'd and sunk, he rises again by the superior force of his _wit_, and begins a _new_ course with fresh spirit and alacrity; this excites you the more to _renew_ the chace, in full view of his _second_ defeat; out of which he recovers again, and triumphs with new pretensions and boastings. after this he immediately starts upon a _third_ race, and so on; continually detected and caught, and yet constantly extricating himself by his inimitable _wit_ and _invention_; thus yielding a perpetual _round_ of sport and diversion. again, the genteel _quality_ of sir _john_ is of great use in supporting his character; it prevents his _sinking_ too low after several of his misfortunes; besides, you allow him, in consequence of his _rank_ and _seniority_, the privilege to dictate, and take the lead, and to rebuke others upon many occasions; by this he is sav'd from appearing too _nauseous_ and _impudent_. the good _sense_ which he possesses comes also to his aid, and saves him from being _despicable_, by forcing your esteem for his real abilities.--again, the _privilege_ you allow him of rebuking and checking others, when he assumes it with proper firmness and superiority, helps to _settle_ anew, and _compose_ his character after an embarrassment; and reduces in some measure the _spirit_ of the company to a proper _level_, before he sets out again upon a fresh adventure;--without this, they would be kept continually _strain'd_, and _wound up_ to the highest pitch, without sufficient relief and diversity. it may also deserve to be remark'd of _falstaff_, that the _figure_ of his _person_ is admirably suited to the _turn_ of his _mind_; so that there arises before you a perpetual _allusion_ from one to the other, which forms an incessant series of _wit_, whether they are in _contrast_ or _agreement_ together.--when he pretends to _activity_, there is _wit_ in the _contrast_ between his _mind_ and his _person_, --and _wit_ in their _agreement_, when he triumphs in _jollity_. to compleat the whole,--you have in this character of _falstaff_, not only a free course of _humour_, supported and embellish'd with admirable _wit_; but this _humour_ is of a species the most _jovial_ and _gay_ in all nature.--sir _jobn falstaff_ possesses generosity, chearfulness, alacrity, invention, frolic and fancy superior to all other men;--the _figure_ of his _person_ is the picture of jollity, mirth, and good-nature, and banishes at once all other ideas from your breast; he is happy himself, and makes you happy.--if you examine him further, he has no fierceness, reserve, malice or peevishness lurking in his heart; his intentions are all pointed at innocent riot and merriment; nor has the knight any inveterate design, except against _sack_, and that too he _loves_.--if, besides this, he desires to pass for a man of _activity_ and _valour_, you can easily excuse so harmless a _foible_, which yields you the highest pleasure in its constant _detection_. if you put all these together, it is impossible to _hate_ honest _jack falstaff_; if you observe them again, it is impossible to avoid _loving_ him; he is the gay, the witty, the frolicksome, happy, and fat _jack falstaff_, the most delightful _swaggerer_ in all nature.-- you must _love_ him for your _own_ sake,--at the same time you cannot but _love_ him for _his own_ talents; and when you have _enjoy'd_ them, you cannot but _love_ him in _gratitude_;--he has nothing to disgust you, and every thing to give you joy;--his _sense_ and his _foibles_ are equally directed to advance your pleasure; and it is impossible to be tired or unhappy in his company. this _jovial_ and _gay_ humour, without any thing _envious_, _malicious_, _mischievous_, or _despicable_, and continually _quicken'd_ and adorn'd with _wit_, yields that peculiar delight, without any _alloy_, which we all feel and acknowledge in _falstaff's_ company.--_ben johnson_ has _humour_ in his _characters_, drawn with the most masterly skill and judgment; in accuracy, depth, propriety, and truth, he has no _superior_ or _equal_ amongst _ancients_ or _moderns_; but the _characters_ he exhibits are of _satirical_, and _deceitful_, or of a _peevish_ or _despicable_ species; as _volpone_, _subtle_, _morose_, and _abel drugger_; in all of which there is something very justly to be _hated_ or _despised_; and you feel the same sentiments of _dislike_ for every other _character_ of _johnson_'s; so that after you have been _gratify'd_ with their _detention_ and _punishment_, you are quite tired and disgusted with their company:--whereas _shakespear_, besides the peculiar _gaiety_ in the _humour_ of _falstaff_, has guarded him from disgusting you with his _forward advances_, by giving him _rank_ and _quality_; from being _despicable_ by his real good _sense_ and excellent _abilities_; from being _odious_ by his _harmless plots_ and _designs_; and from being _tiresome_ by his inimitable wit, and his new and incessant _sallies_ of highest _fancy_ and _frolick_. this discovers the _secret_ of carrying comedy to the highest pitch of delight; which lies in drawing the persons exhibited, with such chearful and amiable _oddities_ and _foibles_, as you would chuse in your own _companions_ in _real life; --otherwise, tho' you may be diverted at first with the _novelty_ of a character, and with a proper _detection_ and _ridicule_ of it, yet its _peevishness_, _meanness_, or _immorality_, will begin to disgust you after a little reflection, and become soon _tiresome_ and _odious_; it being certain, that whoever cannot be endured as an _accidental_ companion in _real life_, will never become, for the very same reasons, a _favorite comic character_ in the theatre. this _relish_ for _generous_ and _worthy_ characters alone, which we all feel upon the _theatre_, where no biass of envy, malice, or personal resentment draws us aside, seems to be some evidence of our _natural_ and _genuin_ disposition to _probity_ and _virtue_; tho' the minds of most persons being early and deeply _tinged_ with vicious passions, it is no wonder that _stains_ have been generally mistaken for _original colours_. it may be added, that _humour_ is the most exquisite and delightful, when the _oddities_ and _foibles_ introduc'd are not _mischievous_ or _sneaking_, but _free_, _jocund_, and _liberal_; and such as result from a generous flow of spirits, and a warm universal _benevolence_. it is obviously from hence, that the _character_ of sir _roger_ de _coverly_ in the _spectators_ is so extremely agreeable. his _foibles_ are all derived from some amiable cause.--if he believes that _one englishman_ can conquer _two frenchmen_, you laugh at his _foible_, and are fond of a _weakness_ in the knight, which proceeds from his high esteem of his _own country-men_.--if he chuses you should employ a _waterman_ or _porter_ with _one_ leg, you readily excuse the inconvenience he puts you to, for his worthy regard to the suffering of a brave _soldier_.--in short, though he is guilty of continual absurdities, and has little understanding or real abilities, you cannot but _love_ and _esteem_ him, for his _honour_, _hospitality_, and universal _benevolence_. it is indeed true, that his _dignity_, _age_, and _rank_ in his country, are of constant service in _upholding_ his character. these are a perpetual _guard_ to the knight, and preserve him from _contempt_ upon many occasions.--all which corresponds entirely with the fore-going _remark_. for you would be fond of sir _roger's_ acquaintaince and company in _real life_, as he is a gentleman of _quality_ and _virtue_; you love and admire him in the _spectators_ for the _same_ reasons; and for these also he would become, if he was rightly exhibited, a _favorite_ character in the _theatre_. it may be proper to observe in this place, that the _business_ of comedy is to exhibit the whimsical _unmischievous oddities_, _frolics,_ and _foibles_ of _persons_ in _real life_; and also to _expose_ and _ridicule_ their _real follies_, _meanness_, and _vices_. the _former_, it appears, is more pleasurable to the audience, but the _latter_ has the merit of being more instructive. the _business_ of tragedy is to exhibit the _instability_ of _human_ grandeur, and the unexpected _misfortunes_ and _distresses_ incident to the _innocent_ and _worthy_ in all stations.--and also to shew the terrible sallies and the miserable issue and punishment of ungovern'd passions and wickedness.--the _former_ softens the heart and fills it with compassion, humility and benevolence.--compositions of this sort are the highest, most admirable, and useful in all nature, when they are finish'd with propriety and delicacy, and justly wrought up with the sublime and simplicity.--the _latter_ species of _tragedy_ terrifies and shocks us, in exhibiting both the crimes and the punishments. it threatens us into moderation and justice, by shewing the terrible issue of their contraries. pieces of this sort, conducted with propriety, and carrying application to ourselves, can scarcely be desireable; but as they are generally conducted, they amount only to giving us an absurd representation of a murther committed by some furious foaming _basha_, or _sultan_. to return.--_johnson_ in his comic scenes has expos'd and ridicul'd _folly_ and _vice_; _shakespear_ has usher'd in _joy_, _frolic_ and _happiness_.--the _alchymist_, _volpone_ and _silent woman_ of _johnson_, are most exquisite _satires_. the _comic_ entertainments of _shakespear_ are the highest compositions of _raillery_, _wit_ and _humour_. _johnson_ conveys some lesson in every character. _shakespear_ some new species of foible and oddity. the one pointed his satire with masterly skill; the other was inimitable in touching the strings of delight. with _johnson_ you are confin'd and instructed, with _shakespear_ unbent and dissolv'd in joy. _johnson_ excellently concerts his plots, and all his characters unite in the one design. _shakespear_ is superior to such aid or restraint; his characters continually sallying from one independent scene to another, and charming you in each with fresh wit and humour. it may be further remark'd, that _johnson_ by pursuing the most useful intention of _comedy_, is in justice oblig'd to _hunt down_ and _demolish_ his own characters. upon this plan he must necessarily expose them to your _hatred_, and of course can never bring out an amiable person. his _subtle_, and _face_ are detected at last, and become mean and despicable. sir _epicure mammon_ is properly trick'd, and goes off ridiculous and detestable. the _puritan elders_ suffer for their lust of money, and are quite nauseous and abominable; and his _morose_ meets with a severe punishment, after having sufficiently tir'd you with his peevishness.--but _shakespear_, with happier insight, always supports his characters in your _favour_. his justice _shallow_ withdraws before he is tedious; the _french_ doctor, and _welch_ parson, go off in full vigour and spirit; ancient _pistoll_ indeed is scurvily treated; however, he keeps up his spirits, and continues to threaten so well, that you are still desirous of his company; and it is impossible to be tir'd or dull with the gay unfading evergreen _falstaff_. but in remarking upon the characters of _johnson_, it would be unjust to pass _abel drugger_ without notice; this is a little, mean, sneaking, sordid citizen, hearkening to a couple of sharpers, who promise to make him rich; they can scarcely prevail upon him to resign the least tittle he possesses, though he is assur'd, it is in order to get more; and your diversion arises, from seeing him _wrung_ between _greediness_ to _get_ money, and _reluctance_ to _part_ with any for that purpose. his covetousness continually prompts him to follow the conjurer, and puts him at the same time upon endeavouring to stop his fees. all the while he is excellently managed, and spirited on by _face_. however, this character upon the whole is _mean_ and _despicable_, without any of that free spirituous jocund humour abounding in _shakespear_. but having been strangely exhibited upon the theatre, a few years ago, with odd grimaces and extravagant gestures, it has been raised into more attention than it justly deserved; it is however to be acknowledg'd, that _abel_ has no hatred, malice or immorality, nor any assuming arrogance, pertness or peevishness; and his eager desire of getting and saving money, by methods he thinks lawful, are excusable in a person of his business; he is therefore not odious or detestable, but harmless and inoffensive in private life; and from thence, correspondent with the rule already laid down, he is the most capable of any of _johnson_'s characters, of being a favourite on the theatre. it appears, that in imagination, invention, jollity and gay humour, _johnson_ had little power; but _shakespear_ unlimited dominion. the first was cautious and strict, not daring to sally beyond the bounds of regularity. the other bold and impetuous, rejoicing like a giant to run his course, through all the mountains and wilds of nature and fancy. it requires an almost painful attention to mark the propriety and accuracy of _johnson_, and your satisfaction arises from reflection and comparison; but the fire and invention of _shakespear_ in an instant are shot into your soul, and enlighten and chear the most indolent mind with their own spirit and lustre.--upon the whole, _johnson_'s compositions are like finished cabinets, where every part is wrought up with the most excellent skill and exactness;-- _shakespear_'s like magnificent castles, not perfectly finished or regular, but adorn'd with such bold and magnificent designs, as at once delight and astonish you with their beauty and grandeur. raillery is a genteel poignant attack of a _person_ upon any _slight foibles_, _oddities_, or _embarrassments_ of his, in which he is tender, or may be supposed to be tender, and unwilling to come to a free explanation. satire is a witty and severe attack of _mischievous habits_ or _vices_; ridicule is a free _attack_ of any _motly composition_, wherein a real or affected _excellence_ and _defect_ both jointly appear, _glaring_ together, and _mocking_ each other, in the same _subject_. hence the aim of _raillery_, is to please you, by some little _embarrassment_ of a _person_; of _satire_, to scourge _vice_, and to deliver it up to your just _detestation_; and of _ridicule_, to set an object in a mean ludicrous light, so as to expose it to your _derision_ and _contempt_. it appears therefore that _raillery_ and _ridicule_ differ in several circumstances. . _raillery_ can only be employ'd in relation to _persons_, but _ridicule_ may be employ'd in what relates either to _persons_, or other _objects_. . _raillery_ is us'd only upon _slight_ subjects, where no real abilities or merit are questioned, in order to avoid degrading the person you attack, or rendering him contemptible; whereas _ridicule_ observes no such decency, but endeavours really to degrade the person attack'd, and to render him contemptible. . _raillery_ may be pointed at a whimsical circumstance, only because a person is known to be tender upon it; and your pleasure will arise from the _embarrassment_ he suffers, in being put to an explanation;-- thus a young gentleman may be _rallied_ upon his passion for a lady;-- at the same time there may be no ground for _ridicule_ in this circumstance, as it may no way deserve your _derision_ or _contempt_. . as it thus appears that there are subjects of _raillery_, into which _ridicule_ cannot justly be admitted; so there are subjects of _ridicule_, wherein your derision and contempt are so strongly excited, that they are too gross for _raillery_;--as a person tossed in a blanket; or the unfortunate attack which another has made upon a windmill. . in short, _raillery_, if the adventures it is turn'd upon are too _gross_ and _luscious_, becomes _ridicule_; and therefore, in comparison together, _raillery_ appears like _wine_ of a thin body, and delicate poignant flavour; _ridicule_, like a _wine_ which is fuller, and more rich, and luscious. _quixote_ is a character, wherein _humour_ and _ridicule_ are finely interwoven;--it is not a subject of _satire_, as the knight is free from all badness of heart, and immorality; nor properly of _raillery_, his adventures in general being too _gross_ and _disastrous_;-- the _humour_ appears, in the representation of a person in real life, fancying himself to be, under the most solemn obligations to attempt _hardy_ atchievements; and upon this whimsy immediately pursuing the most romantic adventures, with great gravity, importance, and self- sufficiency; to heighten your mirth, the _hardy_ atchievements to be accomplish'd by this hero, are wittily contrasted by his own meagre weak figure, and the _desperate unfierceness_ of his steed _rozinante_;--the _ridicule_ appears in the strange absurdity of the attempts, upon which the knight chuses to exercise his prowess; its poignancy is highly quicken'd, and consequently the pleasure it gives you, by his miserable disasters, and the doleful mortifications of all his importance and dignity;--but here, after the knight, by diverting you in this manner, has brought himself down to the lowest mark, he rises again and forces your esteem, by his excellent sense, learning and judgment, upon any subjects which are not ally'd to his errantry; these continually act for the advancement of his character; and with such supports and abilities he always obtains your ready attention, and never becomes heavy or tedious. to these you are to add the perfect _good breeding_ and _civility_ of the knight upon every occasion; which are some kind of merit in his favour, and entitle him to respect, by the rules of common gentility and decency; at the same time his courage, his honour, generosity, and humanity, are conspicuous in every act and attempt; the _foibles_ which he possesses, besides giving you exquisite pleasure, are wholly inspir'd by these worthy principles; nor is there any thing base, or detestable, in all his temper or conduct; it was from hence that the duke and the dutchess were extremely delighted with his visit at their _castle_; and you yourself, if he existed in real life, would be fond of his company at your own table; which proves him, upon the whole, to be an amiable character;--it is therefore no wonder that signior _don quixote of la mancha_ has been so courteously receiv'd in every country of _europe_. thus delightfully wrought, as this history is, with _humour_ and _ridicule_, yet _cervantes_, still fearful of tiring you with too much of the _errantry_, has introduc'd the most charming variety of other adventures; --all along in the pacific intervals, you are inform'd of the private occurrences between the knight and his 'squire; and from these, where it is least to be expected, you are surpriz'd with the most high and delicious repast;-- nothing can be more pregnant with mirth, than the opposition continually working between the grave solemnity and dignity of _quixote_, and the arch ribaldry and meanness of _sancho_; and the contrast can never be sufficiently admir'd, between the _excellent fine sense_ of the one, and the _dangerous common sense_ of the other. it is here that the genius and power of _cervantes_ is most admirably shewn; he was the greatest master that ever appear'd, in finely opposing, and contrasting his characters. it is from hence that you feel a poignancy and relish in his writings, which is not to be met with in any others; the natural reflexions and debates of _quixote_ and _sancho_ would have been barren, insipid, and trite, under other management; but _cervantes_, by his excellent skill in the _contrast_, has from these drawn a regale, which for high, quick, racy flavour, and spirit, has yet never been equall'd. it may here be enquir'd, what species of composition or character is the most pleasurable, and mirthful, in all nature?--in _falstaff_, you have _humour_ embelish'd with _wit_; in _quixote_, _humour_ made poignant with _ridicule_; and it is certain that _humour_ must always be the ground-work of such subjects, no oddities in inanimate objects being capable of interesting our passions so strongly, as the foibles of persons in real life;--the chief substance of _johnson_'s compositions is _humour_ and _satire_; upon which plan, as hath been already observ'd, he is oblig'd to demolish, and render detestable, his own characters;--_humour_ and _raillery_ are also capable of furnishing a repast of quick relish and flavour; in written compositions, the attack of the _raillery_, as well as the reception of it, may be happily conducted, which in other accidental encounters are liable to hazard; all peevishness or offence is thus easily avoided, and the character attack'd is sav'd from being really contemptible;--but then indeed the pleasure you are to receive generally depends upon the confusion of the person attack'd, without there being in reason a sufficient cause for this confusion;--it is for want of this just foundation, that the pleasure arising from _raillery_ is apt to come forth with less freedom, fulness, and conviction, though with more delicacy, than that which is derived from _wit_, or _ridicule_;--however, _humour_ and _raillery_ united together, when the _raillery_ is founded upon some _real_ embarrassment in the circumstance, as well as in the confusion of the person attack'd, will furnish a very high entertainment; which has pretensions to rival either _humour_ and _wit_, or _humour_ and _ridicule_. to give an instance of _humour_ and _raillery_, i shall insert _horace_'s famous description of his embarrassment with an impertinent fellow. this indeed is entitl'd, in almost all the editions of _horace_, a _satire_, but very improperly, as the subject is not _vice_ or _immorality_; ibam fortè viâ sacrâ, sicut meus est mos, nescio quid meditans nugarum, at totus in illis: accurrit quidam notus mihi nomine tantum; arreptâque manu, quid agis, dulcissime rerum? suaviter, ut nunc est, inquam: & cupio omnia quæ vis. cum affectaretur, num quid vis? occupo. at ille, nôris nos, inquit; docti sumus. hìc ego: pluris hoc, inquam, mihi eris. miserè discedere quærens, ire modò ocyùs, interdum consistere: in aurem dicere nescio quid puero: cùm sudor ad imos manaret talos. o te, bollane, cerebri felicem: aiebam tacitus! cùm quidlibet ille garriret, vicos, urbem laudaret; ut illi nil respondebam: miserè cupis, inquit abire. jamdudum video: sed nil agis: usque tenebo: persequar: hinc quò nunc iter est tibi? nil opus est te circumagi: quemdam volo visere, non tibi notum: trans tiberim longè cubat is, propè cæsaris hortos. nil habeo quod agam, & non sum piger: usque sequar te, demitto auriculas ut iniquæ mentis asellus, cùm gravius dorso subiit onus. incipit ille: si benè me novi, non viscum pluris amicum, non varium facies; nam quis me scribere plures aut citiùs possit versus? quis membra movere mollius? invideat quod & hermogenes, ego canto. interpellandi locus hic erat: est tibi mater, cognati, queis te salvo est opus? haud mihi quisquam: omnes composui. felices! nunc ego resto: confice: namque instat fatum mihi triste, sabella quòd puero cecinit divinâ mota anus urnâ, hunc neque dira venena, nec hosticus auferret ensis, nec laterum dolor, aut tussis, nec tarda podagra; garrulus hunc quando consumet cumque loquaces. si sapiat, vitet, simul atque adoleverit ætas. ventum erat ad vestæ, quartâ jam parte diei præteritâ; & casu tunc respondere vadato debebat: quòd ni fecisset, perdere litem. si me amas, inquit, paulùm hîc ades. inteream, si aut valeo stare, aut novi civilia jura: et propero quò scis. dubius sum quid faciam, inquit; tenè relinquam, an rem. me, sodes. non faciam, ille; et præcedere coepit. ego, ut contendere durum est cum victore, sequor. mecænas quomodo tecum? hinc repetit. paucorum hominum, & mentis benè sanæ. nemo dexteriùs fortuna est usus. haberes magnum adjutorem, posset qui ferre secundas, hunc hominem velles si tradere: dispeream, ni summôsses omnes. non isto vivimus illic quò tu rere modo, domus hac nec purior ulla est, nec magis his aliena malis: nil mî officit unquam, ditior hic, aut est quia doctior: est locus uni cuique suus. magnum narras, vix credibile. atqui sic habet. accendis, quare cupiam magis illi proximus esse. veils tantummodò: quæ tua virtus, expugnabis; & est qui vinci possit: eoque difficiles aditus primos habet. haud mihi deero, muneribus servos corrumpam: non, hodie si exclusus fuero, desistam: tempera quæram: occurram in triviis: deducam. nil sine magno vita labore dedit mortalibus. hæc dum agit, ecce fuscus aristius occurrit mihi carus, & illum qui pulchrè nôsset. consistimus. unde venis? & quo tendis? rogat, & respondet. vellere coepi, et prensare manu lentissima brachia, nutans, distorquens oculos, ut me eriperet. malè salsus ridens dissimulare: mecum jecur urere bilis. certè nescio quid secretò velle loqui te aiebas mecum. memini benè; sed meliori tempora dicam: hodie tricesima sabbata, vin'tu curtis judæis oppedere? nulla mihi, inquam, religio est. at mî, sum paulo infirmior; unus multorum ignosces; aliàs loquar. hunccine solem tam nigrum surrexe mihi: fugit improbus, ac me sub cultro linquit. casu venit obvius illi adversarius; &, quò tu turpissime! magnâ inclamat voce; &, licet antestari? ego verò oppono auriculam; rapit in jus. clamor utrinque undique concursus. sic me servavit _apollo_. [transcriber's note: see end of _essay_ for translation information.] the intention of _horace_ in this piece, is to expose an _impertinent_ fellow, and to give a ludicrous detail of his own _embarrassment_; your pleasure arises from the view which he gives you of his own mortification, whereby he lays himself fairly open to your _raillery_; this is the more poignant, and quick, from the real distress which you see he endur'd, in this odd attack; at the same time the particular turn of the fellow, who chose in this manner to pin himself upon another, is a very odd species of impertinent _humour_.--this piece, as it stands, irresistibly forces your mirth, and shakes you with laughter; but to a person of discernment, it is chiefly at _horace_'s expence; who in receiving and enduring such insolent treatment, appears in a light too low and ridiculous, though he has thought fit himself to exhibit the scene again for the diversion of the public; the misere, cupis, ---- abire, jamdudum video, sed nil agis, usque tenebo, persequar;-- was an absolute insult; and very unfit to be related by the person who suffer'd it, as a matter of merriment;--besides this tameness of _horace_, the impudence of the fellow is excessively nauseous and disgusting at the bottom, though the whole carries a froth of _raillery_ and _humour_ upon the surface. the truth is, that this piece, as it stands, would have properly proceeded from another person, who had intended to expose the impertinence and impudence of the fellow, and freely to _rally_ poor _horace_, with some mixture of _ridicule_, upon his unfortunate embarrassment; upon this basis it will appear with propriety; without which all compositions of _wit_, or _humour_, or _taste_, tho' at first they may pleasurably strike the fancy or sight, are at last disgusting to the judgment. having here occasionally offer'd some remarks upon this composition, as it now stands, it may be proper to point out the manner in which the _humour_ and _raillery_ of such an embarrassment, might have been carried to the highest pitch; and the description of it have been given by _horace_ himself, without any diminution of his own gentility or importance;--imagine then that he had been join'd in his walk by a weak, ignorant person, of good-nature, and the utmost civility; one who fancy'd himself possessed of the greatest talents, and fully persuaded that he gave all he convers'd with a particular pleasure;-- upon such an attack, no resentment or anger could have been decently shewn by _horace_, as the person thus pestering him, was all the while intending the highest compliment; and must therefore be received, and attended to, with perfect complaisance; the _humour_ of this person would have been very entertaining, in the strange conceit which he held of his own abilities, and of the paticular pleasure he was granting to _horace_, in condescending to give him so much of his company; in these sentiments he should regard all _horace_'s excuses, endeavours, and struggles to be gone, as expressions of his sense of the honour done him; which should be an argument with this person for obstinately persisting to honour him still further; all the while he must be supported by some _real importance_ belonging to him, attended with _good breeding_, and strengthened by such occasional instances of _sense_, as may secure him from being trampled upon, or becoming absolutely contemptible; in such an adventure the mortification, and distress of _horace_, would be excessively whimsical and severe; especially as he would be depriv'd of all succour and relief; being in decency oblig'd, not only to suppress all anger or uneasiness, but, what is exquisitely quick, to receive this whole treatment with the utmost complacency; an _embarrassment_ of this sort, finely described, would have yielded the greatest pleasure to the reader, and carried the _raillery_ upon _horace_, without hurting or degrading him, to the highest degree of _poignancy_; and from hence may be conceiv'd, what delightful entertainments are capable of being drawn from _humour_ and _raillery_. it is also easy to apprehend, that the several subjects of _wit_, _humour_, _raillery_, _satire_, and _ridicule_, appear not only _singly_ upon many occasions, or _two_ of them combined together, but are also frequently united in other combinations, which are more _complicate_; an instance of the union together of _humour_, _raillery_, and _ridicule_, i remember to have read somewhere in _voiture_'s letters; he is in _spain_, and upon the point of proceeding from thence to some other place in an _english_ vessel; after he has written this account of himself to a lady at _paris_, he proceeds in his letter to this purpose; "you may perhaps apprehend, that i shall be in some danger this voyage, of falling into the hands of a _barbary_ corsair; but to relieve you from all such fears, i shall beg leave to tell you, what my honest captain has inform'd me himself, for my own satisfaction; he suspected, it seems, that i might have some uneasiness upon this head; and has therefore privately assured me, that i have no need to be afraid of being taken with him; for that whenever it is likely to come to this, he will infallibly blow up the ship with his own hands;--after this, i presume, you will be perfectly easy, that i am in no danger of going to _sallee_;" this is exquisitely _rich_; the brave and odd fancy of the _english_ captain, in finding out for himself, and _privately_ communicating to _voiture_, this method of security from slavery, abounds with the highest _humour_; at the same time the honest tar, as a _projecter_, is excessively open to _ridicule_, for his scheme to blow them all up, in order to prevent their being taken prisoners; there is besides these, a very full _raillery_, which _voiture_ here opens upon _himself_; for as this adventure, which he is going to be engaged in, has been attended, as yet, with no mischief; nor is certain to be so, the whole is to be consider'd, at present, as only a slight scrape; especially as he exhibits it in this manner himself, and invites you to make it the object of your pleasure, and _raillery_;--it may also be observ'd, that the _humour_ in this subject, which flows from the _captain_, is adorn'd with a very peculiar, and pleasing _propriety_; as it is not barely a _whim_, or the result of an _odd sourness_ or _queer pride_, but the effect of his _courage_, and of that freedom from all terror at death, which is perfectly amiable in his character. there are other combinations of _wit_, _humour_, _raillery_, _satire_, and _ridicule_, where _four_ of them, or all _five_, are united in one subject;--like various _notes_ in _music_, sounding together, and jointly composing one exquisite piece of harmony;--or like different _rays_ of _light_, shining together in one _rainbow_: it is pleasant to _divide_ these _combinations_, and to view as with a _prism_, the different rays united in each; of which _humour_, like the _red_, is eminent for its superior force and excellence;--when the judgment is thus capable of parting, and easily assigning the several quantities, and proportions of each, it heightens our pleasure, and gives us an absolute command over the subject; but they are often so intimately mix'd, and blended together, that it is difficult to separate them clearly, tho' they are all certainly felt in the same piece;--like the different _flavours_ of rich _fruits_, which are inseparably mix'd, yet all perfectly tasted, in one _pine-apple_. _raillery_, and _satire_, are extremely different; . _raillery_, is a genteel poignant attack of _slight_ foibles and oddities; _satire_ a witty and severe attack of _mischievous_ habits and vices. . the _intention_ of _raillery_, is to procure your _pleasure_, by exposing the little embarrassment of a person; but the _intention_ of _satire_, is to raise your _detestation_, by exposing the real deformity of his vices. . if in _raillery_ the sting be given too deep and severe, it will sink into malice and rudeness, and your pleasure will not be justifiable; but _satire_, the more deep and severe the sting of it is, will be the more excellent; its intention being entirely to root out and destroy the vice. . it is a just maxim upon these subjects, that in _raillery_ a good-natur'd esteem ought always to appear, without any resentment or bitterness; in _satire_ a generous free indignation, without any sneaking fear or tenderness; it being a sort of partaking in the guilt to keep any terms with vices. it is from hence that _juvenal_, as a _satirist_, is greatly superior to _horace_; but indeed many of the short compositions of _horace_, which are indiscriminately ranged together, under the general name of _satires_, are not properly such, but pieces of _raillery_ or _ridicule_. as _raillery_, in order to be decent, can only be exercised upon _slight_ misfortunes and foibles, attended with no deep mischief, nor with any reproach upon real merit, so it ought only to be used between _equals_ and _intimates_; it being evidently a liberty too great to be taken by an _inferior_; and too inequitable to be taken by a _superior_, as his rank shields him from any return. _raillery_ is the most agreeable, when it is founded on a _slight_ embarrassment or foible, which upon being unfolded, appears to have arisen from the _real merit_, or from the _excess_ of any _virtue_, in the person attack'd. but yet this embarrassment must always be _real_, and attended with the chagrin or confusion of the _rally'd_ person, or capable of being fairly suppos'd to have been so; otherwise the attack will be void of all poignancy, and pleasure to the company; and evaporate either into _indirect flattery_, or else into the _insipid_. thus, to attack a _fine lady_ upon the enemies she has made, by the mischievous effects of her beauty, will be properly genteel indirect _flattery_--if it be well conducted,--otherwise, the _insipid_; but it cannot be deem'd _raillery_; it being impossible to suppose the lady _really_ chagrin'd by such an imaginary misfortune, or uneasy at any explanation upon this subject; _raillery_ ought soon to be ended; for by long keeping the person attack'd, even in a _slight_ pain, and continuing to dwell upon his mis-adventures, you become rude and ill-natur'd;--or if the _raillery_ be only turn'd upon an embarrassment, arising from the excess of merit or abilities, yet if it be long confined upon the same subject, the person it is pointed at, will either suspect that your aim is, to leave some _impression_ against him, or else that you are designing him a tedious dark _compliment_; and accordingly he will either regard you with hatred or contempt;--much less should a person, who introduces himself as a subject of _raillery_, insist long upon it; for either he will be offensive in engrossing all attention to himself; or if the company are pleas'd, it must be by his buffoonery. the difference between _satire_, and _ridicule_, has been already pointed out;--_satire_ being always concerned with the _vices_ of _persons_;--whereas _ridicule_ is justly employ'd, not upon the _vices_, but the _foibles_ or _meannesses_ of _persons_, and also upon the _improprieties_ of other subjects; and is directed, not to raise your _detestation_, but your _derision_ and _contempt_;--it being evident that _immoralities_ and _vice_ are too _detestable_ for _ridicule_, and are therefore properly the subject of _satire_; whereas _foibles_ and _meannesses_ are too _harmless_ for _satire_, and deserve only to be treated with _ridicule_. the usual artillery of _ridicule_ is _wit_; whereby the _affinity_ or _coincidence_ of any object with others, which are absurd and contemptible, is unexpectedly exhibited;--there is also another, very forcible, manner in which _ridicule_ may act; and that is by employing _humour_ alone; thus the foible or queerness of any person will be most fully _ridicul'd_, by naturally dressing yourself, or any other person in that foible, and exerting its full strength and vigour. the politeness of a subject is the _freedom_ of that subject from all _indelicacy_, aukardness_, and _roughness_. good breeding consists in a _respectful_ carriage to others, accompany'd with _ease_ and _politeness_. it appears from hence that good breeding and politeness differ in this; that good breeding relates only to the manners of _persons_ in their commerce together; whereas politeness may relate also to _books_, as well as to _persons_, or to any subjects of taste and ornament. so that _politeness_ may subsist in a subject, as in a _cornish_, or _architrave_, where _good breeding_ can't enter; but it is impossible for _good breeding_ to be offer'd without _politeness_. at the same time _good breeding_ is not to be understood, as merely the _politeness_ of _persons_; but as _respect_, tender'd with _politeness_, in the commerce between _persons_. it is easy to perceive, that _good breeding_ is a different behaviour in different countries, and in the same countries at different periods, according to the manners which are us'd amongst _polite_ persons of those places and seasons. in _england_ the chief point of it _formerly_ was plac'd, in carrying a _respect_ in our manners to all we convers'd with; whence every omission of the slightest ceremony, as it might be construed into a want of _respect_, was particularly to be avoided; so that _good breeding_ became then a precise observance and exercise of all the motions and ceremonies, expressive of respect, which might justly be paid to every person; --this, as it is easy to imagine, requir'd much nicety in the adjustment upon many occasions, and created immense trouble and constraint, and most ridiculous embarrassments. however, these modes of _good breeding_ were not to be abolished, as it was impossible to dispense with the _respect_ annex'd to them, without some further pretence than of their _inconvenience_ only; which no person could decently urge, or admit in his own behalf, when it was his province to pay any ceremonies to another; in this difficulty it was at last happily observ'd, for the advantage of genteel commerce and society, that _whatever gives trouble, is inconsistent with respect_; upon which foundation, all ceremonies which create embarrassments or trouble to either side, are now justly exploded; and the _ease_ of each other is the point most peculiarly consulted by _well-bred_ persons. if this attention to _ease_ was properly conducted, so that it might always appear to have _respect_ for its motive; and only to act in obedience to _that_, as the ruling principle, it would then comprehend the just plan of _good breeding_; but as _this_ was formerly encumber'd with ceremonies and embarrassments, so the modern _good breeding_ perhaps deviates too far into negligence and disregard; --a fault more unpardonable than the former; as an inconvenience, evidently proceeding from the _respect_ which is paid to us, may be easily excus'd; but a freedom, which carries the air of _neglect_ with it, gives a lasting offence. beauty is the delightful _effect_ which arises from the _joint order_, _proportion_, and _harmony_ of all the parts of an _object_. and to have a good taste, is to have a just _relish_ of beauty. * * * * * [transcriber's note: translations of horace _satire_ i. are available from project gutenberg as e-text (verse translation, plain text) or (prose translation, text or html).] * * * * * * * * * * * * * * [corbyn morris] an / essay / towards fixing the / true standards / of / wit, humour, raillery, / satire, and ridicule. / to which is added, an / analysis / of the characters of / an humourist, sir john falstaff, sir roger / de coverly, and don quixote. / inscribed, to the right honorable / robert earl of orford. / [rule] / by the author of a / letter from a by- stander. / [rule] /--jacta est alea. / [double rule] / london: / printed for j. roberts, at the oxford-arms, in war- / wick-lane; and w. bickerton, in the temple-ex- / change, near the inner-temple-gate, fleet-street. / m dcc xliv. [price s.] / collation: a, a-c, in fours; d in two; a-d, in fours; b-k in fours; l in two. a, title; verso blank; a^ -d, dedication; d^ erratum and advertisements; a-d^ , introduction; b-l^ , text. the first edition. a second edition was published in . colton storm clements library * * * * * announcing the _publications_ of the augustan reprint society _general editors_ richard c. boys edward niles hooker h.t. swedenberg, jr. * * * * * _the augustan reprint society_ makes available _inexpensive reprints of rare materials_ from english literature of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries students, scholars, and bibliographers of literature, history, and philology will find the publications valuable. _the johnsonian news letter_ has said of them: "excellent facsimiles, and cheap in price, these represent the triumph of modern scientific reproduction. be sure to become a subscriber; and take it upon yourself to see that your college library is on the mailing list." the augustan reprint society is a non-profit, scholarly organization, run without overhead expense. by careful management it is able to offer at least six publications each year at the unusually low membership fee of $ . per year in the united states and canada, and $ . in great britain and the continent. libraries as well as individuals are eligible for membership. since the publications are issued without profit, however, no discount can be allowed to libraries, agents, or booksellers. new members may still obtain a complete run of the first year's publications for $ . , the annual membership fee. during the first two years the publications are issued in three series: i. essays on wit; ii. essays on poetry and language; and iii. essays on the stage. * * * * * publications for the first year ( - ) may, : series i, no. --richard blackmore's _essay upon wit_ ( ), and addison's _freeholder_ no. ( ). july, : series ii, no. --samuel cobb's _of poetry_ and _discourse on criticism_ ( ) sept., : series iii, no. --anon., _letter to a.h. esq.; concerning the stage_ ( ), and richard willis' _occasional paper_ no. ix ( ). nov., : series i, no. --anon., _essay on wit_ ( ), together with characters by flecknoe, and joseph warton's _adventurer_ nos. and . jan., : series ii, no. --samuel wesley's _epistle to a friend concerning poetry_ ( ) and _essay on heroic poetry_ ( ). march, : series iii, no. --anon., _representation of the impiety and immorality of the stage_ ( ) and anon., _some thoughts concerning the stage_ ( ). publications for the second year ( - ) may, : series i, no. --john gay's _the present state of wit_; and a section on wit from _the english theophrastus_. with an introduction by donald bond. july, : series ii, no. --rapin's _de carmine pastorali_, translated by creech. with an introduction by j. e. congleton. sept., : series iii, no. --t. hanmer's (?) _some remarks on the tragedy of hamlet_. with an introduction by clarence d. thorpe. nov., : series i, no. --corbyn morris' _essay towards fixing the true standards of wit_, etc. with an introduction by james l. clifford. jan., : series ii, no. --thomas purney's _discourse on the pastoral_. with an introduction by earl wasserman. march, : series iii, no. --essays on the stage, selected, with an introduction by joseph wood krutch. the list of publications is subject to modification in response to requests by members. from time to time bibliographical notes will be included in the issues. each issue contains an introduction by a scholar of special competence in the field represented. the augustan reprints are available only to members. they will never be offered at "remainder" prices. little classics edited by rossiter johnson stories of comedy boston and new york houghton mifflin company the riverside press cambridge copyright, , by james r. osgood & co. all rights reserved contents. page barny o'reirdon the navigator _samuel lover_ haddad-ben-ahab the traveller _john galt_ bluebeard's ghost _wm. m. thackeray_ the picnic party _horace smith_ father tom and the pope _samuel ferguson_ johnny darbyshire _william howitt_ the gridiron _samuel lover_ the box tunnel _charles reade_ barny o'reirdon the navigator. by samuel lover. i. outward bound. barny o'reirdon was a fisherman of kinsale, and a heartier fellow never hauled a net nor cast a line into deep water: indeed barny, independently of being a merry boy among his companions, a lover of good fun and good whiskey, was looked up to, rather, by his brother fishermen, as an intelligent fellow, and few boats brought more fish to market than barny o'reirdon's; his opinion on certain points in the craft was considered law, and in short, in his own little community, barny was what is commonly called a leading man. now your leading man is always jealous in an inverse ratio to the sphere of his influence, and the leader of a nation is less incensed at a rival's triumph than the great man of a village. if we pursue this descending scale, what a desperately jealous person the oracle of oyster-dredges and cockle-women must be! such was barny o'reirdon. seated one night at a public house, the common resort of barny and other marine curiosities, our hero got entangled in debate with what he called a strange sail,--that is to say, a man he had never met before, and whom he was inclined to treat rather magisterially upon nautical subjects; at the same time the stranger was equally inclined to assume the high hand over him, till at last the new-comer made a regular outbreak by exclaiming, "ah, tare-and-ouns, lave aff your balderdash, mr. o'reirdon, by the powdhers o' war it's enough, so it is, to make a dog bate his father, to hear you goin' an as if you war curlumberus or sir crustyphiz wran, when ivery one knows the divil a farther you iver war nor ketchin crabs or drudgen oysters." "who towld you that, my watherford wondher?" rejoined barny; "what the dickens do you know about sayfarin' farther nor fishin' for sprats in a bowl wid your grandmother?" "o, baithershin," says the stranger. "and who made you so bowld with my name?" demanded o'reirdon. "no matther for that," said the stranger; "but if you'd like for to know, shure it's your own cousin molly mullins knows me well, and maybe i don't know you and yours as well as the mother that bore you, aye, in throth; and sure i know the very thoughts o' you as well as if i was inside o' you, barny o'reirdon." "by my sowl thin, you know betther thoughts than your own, mr. whippersnapper, if that's the name you go by." "no, it's not the name i go by; i've as good a name as your own, mr. o'reirdon, for want of a betther, and that's o'sullivan." "throth there's more than there's good o' them," said barny. "good or bad, i'm a cousin o' your own twice removed by the mother's side." "and is it the widda o'sullivan's boy you'd be that left this come candlemas four years?" "the same." "throth thin you might know better manners to your eldhers, though i'm glad to see you, anyhow, agin; but a little thravellin' puts us beyant ourselves sometimes," said barny, rather contemptuously. "throth i nivir bragged out o' myself yit, and it's what i say, that a man that's only fishin' aff the land all his life has no business to compare in the regard o' thracthericks wid a man that has sailed to fingal." this silenced any further argument on barny's part. where fingal lay was all greek to him; but, unwilling to admit his ignorance, he covered his retreat with the usual address of his countrymen, and turned the bitterness of debate into the cordial flow of congratulation at seeing his cousin again. the liquor was frequently circulated, and the conversation began to take a different turn, in order to lead from that which had very nearly ended in a quarrel between o'reirdon and his relation. the state of the crops, county cess, road jobs, etc., became topics, and various strictures as to the utility of the latter were indulged in, while the merits of the neighboring farmers were canvassed. "why thin," said one, "that field o' whate o' michael coghlan is the finest field o' whate mortial eyes was ever set upon,--divil the likes iv it myself ever seen far or near." "throth thin sure enough," said another, "it promises to be a fine crap anyhow, and myself can't help thinkin' it quare that mikee coghlan, that's a plain-spoken, quite (quiet) man, and simple like, should have finer craps than pether kelly o' the big farm beyant, that knows all about the great saycrets o' the airth, and is knowledgeable to a degree, and has all the hard words that iver was coined at his fingers' ends." "faith, he has a power o' _blasthogue_ about him sure enough," said the former speaker, "if that could do him any good, but he isn't fit to hould a candle to michael coghlan in the regard o' farmin'." "why blur and agers," rejoined the upholder of science, "sure he met the scotch steward that the lord beyant has, one day, that i hear is a wondherful edicated man, and was brought over here to show us all a patthern,--well, pether kelly met him one day, and, by gor, he discoorsed him to a degree that the scotch chap hadn't a word left in his jaw." "well, and what was he the betther o' having more prate than a scotchman?" asked the other. "why," answered kelly's friend, "i think it stands to rayson that the man that done out the scotch steward ought to know somethin' more about farmin' than mikee coghlan." "augh! don't talk to me about knowing," said the other, rather contemptuously. "sure i gev in to you that he has a power o' prate, and the gift o' the gab, and all to that. i own to you that he has _the-o-ry_, and _che-mis-thery_, but he hasn't the _craps_. now, the man that has the craps is the man for my money." "you're right, my boy," said o'reirdon, with an approving thump of his brawny fist upon the table, "it's a little talk goes far,--_doin'_ is the thing." "ah, yiz may run down larnin' if yiz like," said the undismayed stickler for theory versus practice, "but larnin' is a fine thing, and sure where would the world be at all only for it, sure where would the staymers (steamboats) be, only for larnin'?" "well," said o'reirdon, "and the divil may care if we never seen them; i'd rather depind an wind and canvas any day than the likes o' them! what are they good for, but to turn good sailors into kitchen-maids, bilin' a big pot o' wather and oilin' their fire-irons, and throwin' coals an the fire? augh? thim staymers is a disgrace to the say; they're for all the world like old fogies, smokin' from mornin' till night and doin' no good." "do you call it doin' no good to go fasther nor ships iver wint before?" "pooh; sure solomon, queen o' sheba, said there was time enough for all things." "thrue for you," said o'sullivan, "_fair and aisy goes far in a day_, is a good ould sayin'." "well, maybe you'll own to the improvement they're makin' in the harbor o' howth, beyant, in dublin, is some good." "we'll see whether it'll be an improvement first," said the obdurate o'reirdon. "why, man alive, sure you'll own it's the greatest o' good it is, takin' up the big rocks out o' the bottom o' the harbor." "well, an' where's the wondher o' that? sure we done the same here." "o yis, but it was whin the tide was out and the rocks was bare; but up at howth, they cut away the big rocks from undher the say intirely." "o, be aisy; why how could they do that?" "aye, there's the matther, that's what larnin' can do; and wondherful it is intirely! and the way it is, is this, as i hear it, for i never seen it, but heerd it described by the lord to some gintlemin and ladies one day in his garden where i was helpin' the gardener to land some salary (celery). you see the ingineer goes down undher the wather intirely, and can stay there as long as he plazes." "whoo! and what o' that? sure i heered the long sailor say, that come from the aystern injees, that the ingineers there can a'most live under wather; and goes down looking for diamonds, and has a sledge-hammer in their hand, brakin' the diamonds when they're too big to take them up whole, all as one as men brakin' stones an the road." "well, i don't want to go beyant that; but the way the lord's ingineer goes down is, he has a little bell wid him, and while he has that little bell to ring, hurt nor harm can't come to him." "arrah be aisy." "divil a lie in it." "maybe it's a blissed bell," said o'reirdon, crossing himself. "no, it is not a blissed bell." "why thin now do you think me sich a born nathral as to give in to that? as if the ringin' iv the bell, barrin' it was a blissed bell, could do the like. i tell you it's unpossible." "ah, nothin' 's unpossible to god." "sure i wasn't denyin' that; but i say the bell is unpossible." "why," said o'sullivan, "you see he's not altogether complete in the demonstheration o' the mashine; it is not by the ringin' o' the bell it is done, but--" "but what?" broke in o'reirdon impatiently. "do you mane for to say there is a bell in it at all at all?" "yis, i do," said o'sullivan. "i towld you so," said the promulgator of the story. "aye," said o'sullivan, "but it is not by the ringin' iv the bell it is done." "well, how is it done then?" said the other, with a half-offended, half-supercilious air. "it is done," said o'sullivan, as he returned the look with interest,--"it is done entirely by jommethry." "oh! i understan' it now," said o'reirdon, with an inimitable affectation of comprehension in the oh!--"but to talk of the ringin' iv a bell doin' the like is beyant the beyants intirely, barrin', as i said before, it was a blissed bell, glory be to god!" "and so you tell me, sir, it is jommethry," said the twice-discomfited man of science. "yis, sir," said o'sullivan with an air of triumph, which rose in proportion as he carried the listeners along with him,--"jommethry." "well, have it your own way. there's them that won't hear rayson sometimes, nor have belief in larnin'; and you may say it's jommethry if you plaze; but i heerd them that knows betther than iver you knew say--" "whisht, whisht! and bad cess to you both," said o'reirdon, "what the dickens are yiz goin' to fight about now, and sich good liquor before yiz? hillo! there, mrs. quigley, bring uz another quart i' you plaze; aye, that's the chat, another quart. augh! yiz may talk till yo're black in the face about your invintions, and your staymers, and bell ringin' and gash, and railroads; but here's long life and success to the man that invinted the impairil (imperial) quart; that was the rail beautiful invintion." and he took a long pull at the replenished vessel, which strongly indicated that the increase of its dimensions was a very agreeable _measure_ to such as barny. after the introduction of this and _other_ quarts, it would not be an easy matter to pursue the conversation that followed. let us, therefore, transfer our story to the succeeding morning, when barny o'reirdon strolled forth from his cottage, rather later than usual, with his eyes bearing _eye_ witness to the carouse of the preceding night. he had not a headache, however; whether it was that barny was too experienced a campaigner under the banners of bacchus, or that mrs. quigley's boast was a just one, namely, "that of all the drink in her house, there wasn't a headache in a hogshead of it," is hard to determine, but i rather incline to the strength of barny's head. barny sauntered about in the sun, at which he often looked up, under the shelter of compressed bushy brows and long-lashed eyelids, and a shadowing hand across his forehead, to see "what o' day" it was; and, from the frequency of this action, it was evident the day was hanging heavily with barny. he retired at last to a sunny nook in a neighboring field, and stretching himself at full length, basked in the sun, and began "to chew the cud of sweet and bitter thought." he first reflected on his own undoubted weight in his little community, but still he could not get over the annoyance of the preceding night, arising from his being silenced by o'sullivan; "a chap," as he said himself, "that lift the place four years agon a brat iv a boy, and to think iv his comin' back and outdoin' his elders, that saw him runnin' about the place, a gassoon, that one could tache a few months before"; 'twas too bad. barny saw his reputation was in a ticklish position, and began to consider how his disgrace could be retrieved. the very name of fingal was hateful to him; it was a plague-spot on his peace that festered there incurably. he first thought of leaving kinsale altogether; but flight implied so much of defeat, that he did not long indulge in that notion. no; he _would_ stay, "in spite of all the o'sullivans, kith and kin, breed, seed, and generation." but at the same time he knew he should never hear the end of that hateful place, fingal; and if barny had had the power, he would have enacted a penal statute, making it death to name the accursed spot, wherever it was; but not being gifted with such legislative authority, he felt kinsale was no place for him, if he would not submit to be flouted every hour out of the four-and-twenty, by man, woman, and child, that wished to annoy him. what was to be done? he was in the perplexing situation, to use his own words, "of the cat in the thripe shop," he didn't know which way to choose. at last, after turning himself over in the sun several times, a new idea struck him. couldn't he go to fingal himself? and then he'd be equal to that upstart, o'sullivan. no sooner was the thought engendered, than barny sprang to his feet a new man; his eye brightened, his step became once more elastic,--he walked erect, and felt himself to be all over barny o'reirdon once more. "richard was himself again." but where was fingal?--there was the rub. that was a profound mystery to barny, which, until discovered, must hold him in the vile bondage of inferiority. the plain-dealing reader would say, "couldn't he ask?" no, no; that would never do for barny: that would be an open admission of ignorance his soul was above, and consequently barny set his brains to work to devise measures of coming at the hidden knowledge by some circuitous route, that would not betray the end he was working for. to this purpose, fifty stratagems were raised, and demolished in half as many minutes, in the fertile brain of barny, as he strided along the shore; and as he was working hard at the fifty-first, it was knocked all to pieces by his jostling against some one whom he never perceived he was approaching, so immersed was he in his speculations, and on looking up, who should it prove to be but his friend "the long sailor from the aystern injees." this was quite a godsend to barny, and much beyond what he could have hoped for. of all men under the sun, the long sailor was the man in a million for barny's net at that minute, and accordingly he made a haul of him, and thought it the greatest catch he ever made in his life. barny and the long sailor were in close companionship for the remainder of the day, which was closed, as the preceding one, in a carouse; but on this occasion there was only a duet performance in honor of the jolly god, and the treat was at barny's expense. what the nature of their conversation during the period was, i will not dilate on, but keep it as profound a secret as barny himself did, and content myself with saying, that barny looked a much happier man the next day. instead of wearing his hat slouched, and casting his eyes on the ground, he walked about with his usual unconcern, and gave his nod and the passing word of _civilitude_ to every friend he met; he rolled his quid of tobacco about in his jaw with an air of superior enjoyment, and if disturbed in his narcotic amusement by a question, he took his own time to eject "the leperous distilment" before he answered the querist,--a happy composure, that bespoke a man quite at ease with himself. it was in this agreeable spirit that barny bent his course to the house of peter kelly, the owner of the "big farm beyant," before alluded to, in order to put in practice a plan he had formed for the fulfilment of his determination of rivalling o'sullivan. he thought it probable that peter kelly, being one of the "snuggest" men in the neighborhood, would be a likely person to join him in a "spec," as he called it (a favorite abbreviation of his for the word "speculation"), and accordingly, when he reached the "big-farm house," he accosted the owner with his usual "god save you." "god save you kindly, barny," returned peter kelly; "an' what is it brings you here, barny," asked peter, "this fine day, instead o' being out in the boat?" "o, i'll be out in the boat soon enough, and it's far enough too i'll be in her; an' indeed it's partly that same is bringin' me here to yourself." "why, do you want me to go along wid you, barny?" "troth an' i don't, mr. kelly. you're a knowledgeable man an land, but i'm afeared it's a bad bargain you'd be at say." "and what wor you talking about me and your boat for?" "why, you see, sir, it was in the regard of a little bit o' business, an' if you'd come wid me and take a turn in the praty-field, i'll be behouldin' to you, and maybe you'll hear somethin' that won't be displazin' to you." "an' welkim, barny," said peter kelly. when barny and peter were in the "praty-field," barny opened the trenches (i don't mean the potato trenches), but, in military parlance, he opened the trenches and laid siege to peter kelly, setting forth the extensive profits that had been realized at various "specs" that had been made by his neighbors in exporting potatoes. "and sure," said barny, "why shouldn't _you_ do the same, and they are ready to your hand? as much as to say, _why don't you profit by me, peter kelly?_ and the boat is below there in the harbor, and, i'll say this much, the divil a betther boat is betune this and herself." "indeed, i b'lieve so, barny," said peter, "for considhering where we stand, at this present, there's no boat at all at all betune us." and peter laughed with infinite pleasure at his own hit. "o, well, you know what i mane, anyhow, an', as i said before, the boat is a darlint boat, and as for him that commands her--i b'lieve i need say nothin' about that." and barny gave a toss of his head and a sweep of his open hand, more than doubling the laudatory nature of his comment on himself. but, as the irish saying is, "to make a long story short," barny prevailed on peter kelly to make an export; but in the nature of the venture they did not agree. barny had proposed potatoes; peter said there were enough of them already where he was going; and barny rejoined that, "praties were so good in themselves there never could be too much o' thim anywhere." but peter being a knowledgeable man, and up to all the "saycrets o' the airth, and understanding the the-o-ry and the che-mis-thery," overruled barny's proposition, and determined upon a cargo of _scalpeens_ (which name they gave to pickled mackerel), as a preferable merchandise, quite forgetting that dublin bay herrings were a much better and as cheap a commodity, at the command of the fingalians. but in many similar mistakes the ingenious mr. kelly has been paralleled by other speculators. but that is neither here nor there, and it was all one to barny whether his boat was freighted with potatoes or _scalpeens_, so long as he had the honor and glory of becoming a navigator, and being as good as o'sullivan. accordingly the boat was laden and all got in readiness for putting to sea, and nothing was now wanting but barny's orders to haul up the gaff and shake out the jib of his hooker. but this order barny refrained to give, and for the first time in his life exhibited a disinclination to leave the shore. one of his fellow-boatmen, at last, said to him, "why thin, barny o'reirdon, what the divil is come over you, at all at all? what's the maynin' of your loitherin' about here, and the boat ready and a lovely fine breeze aff o' the land?" "o, never you mind; i b'lieve i know my own business anyhow, an' it's hard, so it is, if a man can't ordher his own boat to sail when he plazes." "o, i was only thinking it quare; and a pity more betoken, as i said before, to lose the beautiful breeze, and--" "well, just keep your thoughts to yourself, i' you plaze, and stay in the boat as i bid you, and don't be out of her on your apperl, by no manner o' manes, for one minit, for you see i don't know when it may be plazin' to me to go aboord an' set sail." "well, all i can say is, i never seen you afeared to go to say before." "who says i'm afeared?" said o'reirdon; "you'd betther not say that agin, or in troth i'll give you a leatherin' that won't be for the good o' your health,--troth, for three straws this minit i'd lave you that your own mother wouldn't know you with the lickin' i'd give you; but i scorn your dirty insinuation; no man ever seen barny o'reirdon afeard yet, anyhow. howld your prate, i tell you, and look up to your betthers. what do you know iv navigation? maybe you think it's as aisy for to sail on a voyage as to go start a fishin'." and barny turned on his heel and left the shore. the next day passed without the hooker sailing, and barny gave a most sufficient reason for the delay, by declaring that he had a warnin' givin him in a dhrame (glory be to god), and that it was given to him to understand (under heaven) that it wouldn't be lucky that day. well, the next day was friday, and barny, of course, would not sail any more than any other sailor who could help it on this unpropitious day. on saturday, however, he came, running in a great hurry down to the shore, and, jumping aboard, he gave orders to make all sail, and taking the helm of the hooker, he turned her head to the sea, and soon the boat was cleaving the blue waters with a velocity seldom witnessed in so small a craft, and scarcely conceivable to those who have not seen the speed of a kinsale hooker. "why, thin, you tuk the notion mighty suddint, barny," said the fisherman next in authority to o'reirdon, as soon as the bustle of getting the boat under way had subsided. "well, i hope it's plazin' to you at last," said barny, "troth one ud think you were never at say before, you wor in such a hurry to be off; as new-fangled a'most as the child with a play toy." "well," said the other of barny's companions, for there were but two with him in the boat, "i was thinkin' myself, as well as jemmy, that we lost two fine days for nothin', and we'd be there a'most, maybe, now, if we sail'd three days agon." "don't b'lieve it," said barny, emphatically. "now, don't you know yourself that there is some days that the fish won't come near the lines at all, and that we might as well be castin' our nets on the dhry land as in the say, for all we'll catch if we start on an unlooky day; and sure, i towld you i was waitin' only till i had it given to me to undherstan' that it was looky to sail, and i go bail we'll be there sooner than if we started three days agon, for if you don't start with good look before you, faix maybe it's never at all to the end o' your trip you'll come." "well, there's no use in talkin' aboot it now, anyhow; but when do you expec' to be there?" "why, you see we must wait antil i can tell how the wind is like to hould on, before i can make up my mind to that." "but you're sure now, barny, that you're up to the coorse you have to run?" "see now, lave me alone and don't be cross crass-questionin' me--tare-an-ouns, do you think me sich a bladdherang as for to go to shuperinscribe a thing i wasn't aiquil to?" "no; i was only goin' to ax you what coorse you wor goin' to steer?" "you'll find out soon enough when we get there--and so i bid you agin lay me alone,--just keep your toe in your pump. shure i'm here at the helm, and a weight on my mind, and it's fitther for you, jim, to mind your own business and lay me to mind mine; away wid you there and be handy, haul taut that foresheet there, we must run close on the wind; be handy, boys; make everything dhraw." these orders were obeyed, and the hooker soon passed to windward of a ship that left the harbor before her, but could not hold on a wind with the same tenacity as the hooker, whose qualities in this particular render it peculiarly suitable for the purposes to which it is applied, namely, pilot and fishing boats. we have said a ship left the harbor before the hooker had set sail; and it is now fitting to inform the reader that barny had contrived, in the course of his last meeting with the "long sailor," to ascertain that this ship, then lying in the harbor, was going to the very place barny wanted to reach. barny's plan of action was decided upon in a moment; he had now nothing to do but to watch the sailing of the ship and follow in her course. here was, at once, a new mode of navigation discovered. the stars, twinkling in mysterious brightness through the silent gloom of night, were the first encouraging, because visible, guides to the adventurous mariners of antiquity. since then, the sailor, encouraged by a bolder science, relies on the unseen agency of nature, depending on the fidelity of an atom of iron to the mystic law that claims its homage in the north. this is one refinement of science upon another. but the beautiful simplicity of barny o'reirdon's philosophy cannot be too much admired,--to follow the ship that is going to the same place. is not this navigation made easy? but barny, like many a great man before him, seemed not to be aware of how much credit he was entitled to for his invention, for he did not divulge to his companions the originality of his proceeding; he wished them to believe he was only proceeding in the commonplace manner, and had no ambition to be distinguished as the happy projector of so simple a practice. for this purpose he went to windward of the ship and then fell off again, allowing her to pass him, as he did not wish even those on board the ship to suppose he was following in their wake; for barny, like all people that are quite full of one scheme, and fancy everybody is watching them, dreaded lest any one should fathom his motives. all that day barny held on the same course as his leader, keeping at a respectful distance, however, "for fear 'twould look like dodging her," as he said to himself; but as night closed in, so closed in barny with the ship, and kept a sharp lookout that she should not give him the slip. the next morning dawned, and found the hooker and ship companions still; and thus matters proceeded for four days, during which entire time they had not seen land since their first losing sight of it, although the weather was clear. "by my sowl," thought barny, "the channel must be mighty wide in these parts, and for the last day or so we've been goin' purty free with a flowing sheet, and i wondher we aren't closin' in wid the shore by this time; or maybe it's farther off than i thought it was." his companions, too, began to question barny on the subject, but to their queries he presented an impenetrable front of composure, and said "it was always the best plan to keep a good bowld offin'." in two days more, however, the weather began to be sensibly warmer, and barny and his companions remarked that it was "goin' to be the finest sayson--god bless it--that ever kem out o' the skies for many a long year, and maybe it's the whate would not be beautiful, and a great dale of it." it was at the end of a week that the ship which barny had hitherto kept ahead of him showed symptoms of bearing down upon him, as he thought, and, sure enough, she did; and barny began to conjecture what the deuce the ship could want with him, and commenced inventing answers to the questions he thought it possible might be put to him in case the ship spoke him. he was soon put out of suspense by being hailed and ordered to run under her lee, and the captain, looking over the quarter, asked barny where he was going. "faith then, i'm goin' an my business," said barny. "but where?" said the captain. "why, sure, an' it's no matther where a poor man like me id be goin'," said barny. "only i'm curious to know what the deuce you've been following my ship for, the last week." "follyin' your ship! why, thin, blur-an-agers, do you think it's follyin' yiz i am?" "it's very like it," said the captain. "why, did two people niver thravel the same road before?" "i don't say they didn't; but there's a great difference between a ship of seven hundred tons and a hooker." "o, as for that matther," said barny, "the same high-road sarves a coach and four and a lowback car, the thravellin' tinker an' a lord a' horseback." "that's very true," said the captain, "but the cases are not the same, paddy, and i can't conceive what the devil brings _you_ here." "and who ax'd you to consayve anything about it?" asked barny, somewhat sturdily. "d--n me, if i can imagine what you're about, my fine fellow," said the captain; "and my own notion is, that you don't know where the d--l you're going yourself." "o _baithershin_!" said barny, with a laugh of derision. "why then do you object to tell?" said the captain. "arrah sure, captain, an' don't you know that sometimes vessels is bound to sail under _saycret ordhers_?" said barny, endeavoring to foil the question by badinage. there was a universal laugh from the deck of the ship, at the idea of a fishing-boat sailing under secret orders; for, by this time, the whole broadside of the vessel was crowded with grinning mouths and wondering eyes at barny and his boat. "o, it's a thrifle makes fools laugh," said barny. "take care, my fine fellow, that you don't be laughing at the wrong side of your mouth before long, for i've a notion that you're cursedly in the wrong box, as cunning a fellow as you think yourself. d--n your stupid head, can't you tell what brings you here?" "why, thin, by gor, one id think the whole say belonged to you, you're so mighty bowld in axin' questions an it. why, tare-an-ouns, sure i've as much right to be here as you, though i haven't as big a ship nor as fine a coat,--but maybe i can take as good a sailin' out o' the one, and has as bowld a heart under th' other." "very well," said the captain, "i see there's no use in talking to you, so go to the d--l your own way." and away bore the ship, leaving barny in indignation and his companions in wonder. "an' why wouldn't you tell him?" said they to barny. "why, don't you see," said barny, whose object was now to blind them,--"don't you see, how do i know but maybe he might be goin' to the same place himself, and maybe he has a cargo of _scalpeens_ as well as uz, and wants to get before us there." "true for you, barny," said they. "by dad, you're right." and their inquiries being satisfied, the day passed as former ones had done, in pursuing the course of the ship. in four days more, however, the provisions in the hooker began to fail, and they were obliged to have recourse to the _scalpeens_ for sustenance, and barny then got seriously uneasy at the length of the voyage, and the likely greater length, for anything he could see to the contrary; and, urged at last by his own alarms and those of his companions, he was enabled, as the wind was light, to gain on the ship, and when he found himself alongside he demanded a parley with the captain. the captain, on hearing that the "hardy hooker," as she got christened, was under his lee, came on deck; and as soon as he appeared barny cried out,-- "why, thin, blur-an-agers, captain dear, do you expec' to be there soon?" "where?" said the captain. "o, you know yourself!" said barny. "it's well for me i do," said the captain. "thrue for you, indeed, your honor," said barny, in his most insinuating tone; "but whin will you be at the ind o' your voyage, captain jewel?" "i daresay in about three months," said the captain. "o holy mother!" ejaculated barny; "three months!--arrah, it's jokin' you are, captain dear, and only want to freken me." "how should i frighten you?" asked the captain. "why, thin, your honor, to tell god's thruth, i heard you were goin' _there_, an' as i wanted to go there too, i thought i couldn't do better nor to folly a knowledgeable gintleman like yourself, and save myself the throuble iv findin' it out." "and where do you think i _am_ going?" said the captain. "why, thin," said barny, "isn't it to fingal?" "no," said the captain, "it's to _bengal_." "o gog's blakey!" said barny, "what'll i do now, at all at all?" ii. homeward bound. the captain ordered barny on deck, as he wished to have some conversation with him on what he, very naturally, considered a most extraordinary adventure. heaven help the captain! he knew little of irishmen, or he would not have been so astonished. barny made his appearance. puzzling question and more puzzling answer followed in quick succession between the commander and barny, who, in the midst of his dilemma, stamped about, thumped his head, squeezed his caubeen into all manner of shapes, and vented his despair anathematically: "o, my heavy hathred to you, you tarnal thief iv a long sailor, it's a purty scrape yiv led me into. by gor, i thought it was _fingal_ he said, and now i hear it is _bingal_. o, the divil sweep you for navigation, why did i meddle or make wid you at all at all? and my curse light on you, terry o'sullivan, why did i iver come across you, you onlooky vagabone, to put sich thoughts in my head? and so it's _bingal_, and not _fingal_, you're goin' to, captain?" "yes, indeed, paddy." "an' might i be so bowld to ax, captain, is bingal much farther nor fingal?" "a trifle or so, paddy?" "och, thin, millia murther, weirasthru, how'll i iver get there at all at all?" roared out poor barny. "by turning about, and getting back the road you've come, as fast as you can." "is it back? o queen iv heaven! an' how will i iver get back?" said the bewildered barny. "then, you don't know your course, it appears?" "o, faix i knew it iligant, as long as your honor was before me." "but you don't know your course back?" "why, indeed, not to say rightly all out, your honor." "can't you steer?" said the captain. "the divil a betther hand at the tiller in all kinsale," said barny, with his usual brag. "well, so far so good," said the captain. "and you know the points of the compass,--you have a compass, i suppose?" "a compass! by my sowl an' it's not let alone a compass, but a _pair_ a compasses i have, that my brother the carpinthir left me for a keepsake whin he wint abroad; but, indeed, as for the points o' thim i can't say much, for the childer spylt thim intirely, rootin' holes in the flure." "what the plague are you talking about?" asked the captain. "wasn't your honor discoorsin' me about the points o' the compasses?" "confound your thick head!" said the captain. "why, what an ignoramus you must be, not to know what a compass is, and you at sea all your life? do you even know the cardinal points?" "the cardinals! faix, an' it's a great respect i have for them, your honor. sure, ar'n't they belongin' to the pope?" "confound you, you blockhead!" roared the captain, in a rage,--"'twould take the patience of the pope and the cardinals, and the cardinal virtues into the bargain, to keep one's temper with you. do you know the four points of the wind?" "by my sowl, i do, and more." "well, never mind more, but let us stick to four. you're sure you know the four points of the wind?" "by dad, it would be a quare thing if a seyfarin' man didn't know somethin' about the wind anyhow. why, captain dear, you must take me for a nathral intirely, to suspect me o' the like o' not knowin' all about the wind. by gor, i know as much o' the wind a'most as a pig." "indeed, i believe so," laughed out the captain. "o, you may laugh if you plaze, and i see by the same that you don't know about the pig, with all your edication, captain." "well, what about the pig?" "why, sir, did you never hear a pig can see the wind?" "i can't say that i did." "o, thin he does, and for that rayson who has a right to know more about it?" "you don't, for one, i dare say, paddy; and maybe you have a pig aboard to give you information." "sorra taste, your honor, not as much as a rasher o' bacon; but it's maybe your honor never seen a pig tossing up his snout, consaited like, and running like mad afore a storm." "well, what if i have?" "well, sir, that is when they see the wind a-comin'." "maybe so, paddy, but all this knowledge in piggery won't find you your way home; and, if you take my advice, you will give up all thoughts of endeavoring to find your way back, and come on board. you and your messmates, i dare say, will be useful hands, with some teaching; but, at all events, i cannot leave you here on the open sea, with every chance of being lost." "why, thin, indeed, and i'm behowlden to your honor; and it's the hoighth o' kindness, so it is, you offer; and it's nothin' else but a gintleman you are, every inch o' you; but i hope it's not so bad wid us yet, as to do the likes o' that." "i think it's bad enough," said the captain, "when you are without a compass and knowing nothing of your course, and nearly a hundred and eighty leagues from land." "an' how many miles would that be, captain?" "three times as many." "i never larned the rule o' three, captain, and maybe your honor id tell me yourself." "that is rather more than five hundred miles." "five hundred miles!" shouted barny. "o, the lord look down upon us! how'll we ever get back?" "that's what i say," said the captain; "and therefore, i recommend you to come aboard with me." "and where 'ud the hooker be all the time?" said barny. "let her go adrift," was the answer. "is it the darlint boat? o, by dad, i'll never hear o' that at all." "well, then, stay in her and be lost. decide upon the matter at once, either come on board or cast off." and the captain was turning away as he spoke, when barny called after him, "arrah, thin, your honor, don't go jist for one minit antil i ax you one word more. if i wint wid you, whin would i be home again?" "in about seven months." "o, thin, that puts the wig an it at wanst. i dar'n't go at all." "why, seven months are not long passing." "thrue for you, in throth," said barny, with a shrug of his shoulders. "faix, it's myself knows, to my sorrow, the half year comes round mighty suddint, and the lord's agint comes for the thrifle o' rent." "then what's your objection, as to the time?" asked the captain. "arrah, sure, sir, what would the woman that owns me do while i was away? and maybe it's break her heart the craythur would, thinking i was lost intirely; and who'd be at home to take care o' the childher' and airn thim the bit and the sup, whin i'd be away? and who knows but it's all dead they'd be afore i got back? och hone! sure the heart id fairly break in my body, if hurt or harm kem to them, through me. so, say no more, captain dear, only give me a thrifle o' directions how i'm to make an offer at gettin' home, and it's myself that will pray for you night, noon, and mornin' for that same." "well, paddy," said the captain, "as you are determined to go back, in spite of all i can say, you must attend to me well while i give you as simple instructions as i can. you say you know the four points of the wind, north, south, east, and west." "yes, sir." "how do you know them? for i must see that you, are not likely to make a mistake. how do you know the points?" "why, you see, sir, the sun, god bless it, rises in the aist, and sets in the west, which stands to raison; and whin you stand bechuxt the aist and the west, the north is forninst you." "and when the north is fornenst you, as you say, is the east on your right or your left hand?" "on the right hand, your honor." "well, i see you know that much, however. now," said the captain, "the moment you leave the ship, you must steer a northeast course, and you will make some land near home in about a week, if the wind holds as it is now, and it is likely to do so; but, mind me, if you turn out of your course in the smallest degree you are a lost man." "many thanks to your honor!" "and how are you off for provisions?" "why, thin, indeed, in the regard o' that same we are in the hoighth o' distress, for exceptin' the scalpeens, sorra taste passed our lips for these four days." "o, you poor devils!" said the commander, in a tone of sincere commiseration, "i'll order you some provisions on board before you start." "long life to your honor! and i'd like to drink the health of so noble a gintleman." "i understand you, paddy, you shall have grog too." "musha, the heavens shower blessin's an you, i pray the virgin mary and the twelve apostles, matthew, mark, luke, and john, not forgettin' saint pathrick." "thank you, paddy; but keep your prayers for yourself, for you need them all to help you home again." "oh! never fear, when the thing is to be done, i'll do it, by dad, wid a heart and a half. and sure, your honor, god is good, an' will mind dessolute craythurs like uz on the wild oceant as well as ashore." while some of the ship's crew were putting the captain's benevolent intentions to barny and his companions into practice, by transferring some provisions to the hooker, the commander entertained himself by further conversation with barny, who was the greatest original he had ever met. in the course of their colloquy, barny drove many hard queries at the captain, respecting the wonders of the nautical profession, and at last put the question to him plump:-- "oh! thin, captain dear, and how is it at all at all, that you make your way over the wide says intirely to them furrin parts?" "you would not understand, paddy, if i attempted to explain to you." "sure enough, indeed, your honor, and i ask your pardon, only i was curious to know, and sure no wondher." "it requires various branches of knowledge to make a navigator." "branches," said barny, "by gar i think it id take the whole tree o' knowledge to make it out. and that place you are going to, sir, that _bin_gal (oh! bad luck to it for a _bin_gal, it's the sore _bin_gal to me), is it so far off as you say?" "yes, paddy, half round the world." "is it round in airnest, captain dear? round about!" "aye, indeed." "o, thin, ar'n't you afeard that whin you come to the top and that you're obleedged to go down, that you'd go slidderhin away intirely, and never be able to stop, maybe. it's bad enough, so it is, going down hill by land, but it must be the dickens all out by wather." "but there is no hill, paddy; don't you know that water is always level?" "by dad, it's very _flat_ anyhow, and by the same token it's seldom i throuble it; but sure, your honor, if the wather is level, how do you make out that it is _round_ you go?" "that is a part of the knowledge i was speaking to you about," said the captain. "musha, bad luck to you, knowledge, but you're a quare thing!--and where is it bingal, bad cess to it, would be at all at all?" "in the east indies." "o, that is where they make the _tay_, isn't it, sir?" "no, where the tea grows is further still." "further! why that must be the ind of the world intirely; and they don't make it, thin, sir, but it grows, you tell me." "yes, paddy." "is it like hay, your honor?" "not exactly, paddy; what puts hay in your head?" "oh! only bekase i hear them call it bo_hay_." "a most logical deduction, paddy." "and is it a great deal farther, your honor, the _tay_ country is?" "yes, paddy, china it is called." "that's, i suppose, what we call chaynee, sir?" "exactly, paddy." "by dad, i never could come at it rightly before, why it was nathral to drink tay out o' chaynee. i ax your honor's pardon for bein' troublesome, but i hard tell from the long sailor, iv a place they call japan, in them furrin parts, and _is_ it there, your honor?" "quite true, paddy." "and i suppose it's there the blackin' comes from." "no, paddy, you are out there." "o well, i thought it stood to rayson, as i heerd of japan blackin', sir, that it would be there it kem from; besides,--as the blacks themselves,--the naygers, i mane, is in them parts." "the negroes are in africa, paddy, much nearer to us." "god betune us and harm. i hope i would not be too near them," said barny. "why, what's your objection?" "arrah sure, sir, they're hardly mortials at all, but has the mark o' the bastes an thim." "how do you make out that, paddy?" "why sure, sir, and didn't natur make thim wid wool on their heads, plainly makin' it undherstood to chrishthans, that they were little more nor cattle?" "i think your head is a wool-gathering now, paddy," said the captain, laughing. "faix, maybe so, indeed," answered barny, good-humoredly, "but it's seldom i ever went out to look for wool and kem home shorn, anyhow," said he, with a look of triumph. "well, you won't have that to say for the future, paddy," said the captain, laughing again. "my name's not paddy, your honor," said barny, returning the laugh, but seizing the opportunity to turn the joke aside, that was going against him; "my name isn't paddy, sir, but barny." "o, if it was solomon, you'll be bare enough when you go home this time; you have not gathered much this trip, barny." "sure, i've been gathering knowledge, anyhow, your honor," said barny, with a significant look at the captain, and a complimentary tip of his hand to his caubeen, "and god bless you for being so good to me." "and what's your name besides barny?" asked the captain. "o'reirdon, your honor,--barny o'reirdon's my name." "well, barny o'reirdon, i won't forget your name nor yourself in a hurry, for you are certainly the most original navigator i ever had the honor of being acquainted with." "well," said barny, with a triumphant toss of his head, "i have done terry o'sullivan, at any rate, the devil a half so far he ever was, and that's a comfort. i have muzzled his clack for the rest iv his life, and he won't be comin' over us wid the pride iv his _fin_gal while i'm to the fore, that was a'most at _bin_gal! "terry o'sullivan,--who is he, pray?" said the captain. "o, he's a scut iv a chap that's not worth your axin' for,--he's not worth your honor's notice,--a braggin' poor craythur. o, wait till i get home, and the devil a more braggin' they'll hear out of his jaw." "indeed then, barny, the sooner you turn your face toward home the better," said the captain: "since you will go, there is no need of your losing more time." "thrue for you, your honor,--and sure it's well for me i had the luck to meet with the likes o' your honor, that explained the ins and the outs iv it, to me, and laid it all down as plain as prent." "are you sure you remember my directions?" said the captain. "troth an i'll niver forget them to the day o' my death, and is bound to pray, more betoken, for you and yours." "don't mind praying for me till you get home, barny; but answer me, how are you to steer when you shall leave me?" "the nor-aist coorse, your honor, that's the coorse agin the world." "remember that! never alter that course till you see land,--let nothing make you turn out of a northeast course." "throth an' that would be the dirty turn, seein' that it was yourself that ordhered it. o no, i'll depend my life an the _nor-aist coorse_, and god help any that comes betune me an' it,--i'd run him down if he was my father." "well, good by, barny." "good by, and god bless you, your honor, and send you safe." "that's a wish you want for yourself, barny,--never fear for me, but mind yourself well." "o, sure, i'm as good as at home wanst i know the way, barrin' the wind is conthrary; sure the nor-aist coorse'll do the business complate. good by, your honor, and long life to you, and more power to your elbow, and a light heart and a heavy purse to you evermore, i pray the blessed virgin and all the saints, amin!" and so saying, barny descended the ship's side, and once more assumed the helm of the "hardy hooker." the two vessels now separated on their opposite courses. what a contrast their relative situations afforded! proudly the ship bore away under her lofty and spreading canvas, cleaving the billows before her, manned by an able crew, and under the guidance of experienced officers; the finger of science to point the course of her progress, the faithful chart to warn of the hidden rock and the shoal, the long line and the quadrant to measure her march and prove her position. the poor little hooker cleft not the billows, each wave lifted her on its crest like a sea-bird; but the three inexperienced fishermen to manage her; no certain means to guide them over the vast ocean they had to traverse, and the holding of the "fickle wind" the only _chance_ of their escape from perishing in the wilderness of waters. by the one, the feeling excited is supremely that of man's power. by the other, of his utter helplessness. to the one, the expanse of ocean could scarcely be considered "trackless." to the other, it was a waste indeed. yet the cheer that burst from the ship, at parting, was answered as gayly from the hooker as though the odds had not been so fearfully against her, and no blither heart beat on board the ship than that of barny o'reirdon. happy light-heartedness of my countrymen! how kindly have they been fortified by nature against the assaults of adversity; and if they blindly rush into dangers, they cannot be denied the possession of gallant hearts to fight their way out of them. but each hurrah became less audible; by degrees the cheers dwindled into faintness, and finally were lost in the eddies of the breeze. the first feeling of loneliness that poor barny experienced was when he could no longer hear the exhilarating sound. the plash of the surge, as it broke on the bows of his little boat, was uninterrupted by the kindred sound of human voice; and, as it fell upon his ear, it smote upon his heart. but he replied, waved his hat, and the silent signal was answered from those on board the ship. "well, barny," said jemmy, "what was the captain sayin' to you at the time you wor wid him?" "lay me alone," said barny, "i'll talk to you when i see her out o' sight, but not a word till thin. i'll look afther him, the rale gintleman that he is, while there's a topsail of his ship to be seen, and then i'll send my blessin' afther him, and pray for his good fortune wherever he goes, for he's the right sort and nothin' else." and barny kept his word, and when his straining eye could no longer trace a line of the ship, the captain certainly had the benefit of "a poor man's blessing." the sense of utter loneliness and desolation had not come upon barny until now; but he put his trust in the goodness of providence, and in a fervent mental outpouring of prayer resigned himself to the care of his creator. with an admirable fortitude, too, he assumed a composure to his companions that was a stranger to his heart; and we all know how the burden of anxiety is increased when we have none with whom to sympathize. and this was not all. he had to affect ease and confidence, for barny not only had no dependence on the firmness of his companions to go through the undertaking before them, but dreaded to betray to them how he had imposed on them in the affair. barny was equal to all this. he had a stout heart, and was an admirable actor; yet, for the first hour after the ship was out of sight, he could not quite recover himself, and every now and then, unconsciously, he would look back with a wishful eye to the point where last he saw her. poor barny had lost his leader. the night fell, and barny stuck to the helm as long as nature could sustain want of rest, and then left it in charge of one of his companions, with particular directions how to steer, and ordered, if any change in the wind occurred, that they should instantly awake him. he could not sleep long, however; the fever of anxiety was upon him, and the morning had not long dawned when he awoke. he had not well rubbed his eyes and looked about him, when he thought he saw a ship in the distance approaching them. as the haze cleared away, she showed distinctly bearing down toward the hooker. on board the ship, the hooker, in such a sea, caused surprise as before, and in about an hour she was so close as to hail, and order the hooker to run under her lee. "the devil a taste," said barny. "i'll not quit my _nor-aist coorse_ for the king of ingland, nor bonyparty into the bargain. bad cess to you, do you think i've nothin' to do but plaze you?" again he was hailed. "oh! bad luck to the toe i'll go to you." another hail. "spake loudher you'd betther," said barny, jeeringly, still holding on his course. a gun was fired ahead of him. "by my sowl you spoke loudher that time, sure enough," said barny. "take care, barny," cried jemmy and peter together. "blur-an-agers, man, we'll be kilt if you don't go to them." "well, and we'll be lost if we turn out iv our _nor-aist coorse_, and that's as broad as it's long. let them hit iz if they like; sure it ud be a pleasanter death nor starvin' at say. i tell you agin i'll turn out o' my _nor-aist coorse_ for no man." a shotted gun was fired. the shot hopped on the water as it passed before the hooker. "phew! you missed it, like your mammy's blessin'," said barny. "o murther!" said jemmy, "didn't you see the ball hop aff the wather forninst you. o murther, what 'ud we ha' done if we wor there at all at all?" "why, we'd have taken the ball at the hop," said barny, laughing, "accordin' to the ould sayin'." another shot was ineffectually fired. "i'm thinking that's a connaughtman that's shootin'," said barny, with a sneer.[a] the allusion was so relished by jemmy and peter, that it excited a smile in the midst of their fears from the cannonade. [a] this is an allusion of barny's to a prevalent saying in ireland, addressed to a sportsman who returns home unsuccessful, "so you've killed what the connaughtman shot at." again the report of the gun was followed by no damage. "augh! never heed them!" said barny, contemptuously. "'it's a barkin' dog that never bites,' as the owld sayin' says." and the hooker was soon out of reach of further annoyance. "now, what a pity it was, to be sure," said barny, "that i wouldn't go aboord to plaze them. now who's right? ah, lave me alone always, jimmy; did you iver know me wrong yet?" "o, you may hillow now that you are out o' the wood," said jemmy, "but, accordin' to my idays, it was runnin' a grate risk to be conthrary wid them at all, and they shootin' balls afther us." "well, what matther?" said barny, "since they wor only blind gunners, _an' i knew it_; besides, as i said afore, i won't turn out o' my _nor-aist coorse_ for no man." "that's a new turn you tuk lately," said peter. "what's the raison you're runnin' a nor-aist coorse now, an' we never hear'd iv it afore at all, till afther you quitted the big ship?" "why, thin, are you sich an ignoramus all out," said barny, "as not for to know that in navigation you must lie an a great many different tacks before you can make the port you steer for?" "only i think," said jemmy, "that it's back intirely we're goin' now, and i can't make out the rights o' that at all." "why," said barny, who saw the necessity of mystifying his companions a little, "you see, the captain towld me that i kum around, an' rekimminded me to go th' other way." "faix, it's the first time i ever heard o' goin' round by say," said jemmy. "arrah, sure, that's part o' the saycrets o' navigation, and the varrious branches o' knowledge that is requizit for a navigator; and that's what the captain, god bless him, and myself was discoorsin' an aboord; and, like a rale gintleman as he is, barny, says he; sir, says i; you've come the round, says he. i know that, says i, bekase i like to keep a good bowld offin', says i, in contrairy places. spoke like a good sayman, says he. that's my principles, says i. they're the right sort, says he. but, says he (no offence), i think you wor wrong, says he, to pass the short turn in the ladie-shoes,[b] says he. i know, says i, you mane beside the three-spike headlan'. that's the spot, says he, i see you know it. as well as i know my father, says i." [b] some offer barny is making at latitudes. "why, barny," said jemmy, interrupting him, "we seen no headlan' at all." "whisht, whisht!" said barny, "bad cess to you, don't thwart me. we passed it in the night, and you couldn't see it. well, as i was saying, i knew it as well as i know my father, says i, but i gev the preference to go the round, says i. you're a good sayman for that same, says he, an' it would be right at any other time than this present, says he, but it's onpossible now, tee-totally, on account o' the war, says he. tare alive, says i, what war? an' didn't you hear o' the war? says he. divil a word, says i. why, says he, the naygers has made war on the king o' chaynee, says he, bekase he refused them any more tay; an' with that, what did they do, says he, but they put a lumbargo on all the vessels that sails the round, an' that's the rayson, says he, i carry guns, as you may see; and i rekimmind you, says he, to go back, for you're not able for thim, and that's jist the way iv it. an' now, wasn't it looky that i kem acrass him at all, or maybe we might be cotch by the naygers, and ate up alive." "o, thin, indeed, and that's thrue," said jemmy and peter, "and whin will we come to the short turn?" "o, never mind," said barny, "you'll see it when you get there; but wait till i tell you more about the captain, and the big ship. he said, you know, that he carried guns afeard o' the naygers, and in troth it's the hoight o' care he takes o' them same guns; and small blame to him, sure they might be the salvation of him. 'pon my conscience, they're taken betther care of than any poor man's child. i heerd him cautionin' the sailors about them, and givin' them ordhers about their clothes." "their clothes!" said his two companions at once, in much surprise; "is it clothes upon cannons?" "it's thruth i'm tellin' you," said barny. "bad luck to the lie in it, he was talkin' about their aprons and their breeches." "o, think o' that!" said jemmy and peter, in surprise. "an' 't was all iv a piece," said barny, "that an' the rest o' the ship all out. she was as nate as a new pin. throth, i was a'most ashamed to put my fut on the deck, it was so clane, and she painted every color in the rainbow; and all sorts o' curiosities about her; and instead iv a tiller to steer her, like this darlin' craythur iv ours, she goes wid a wheel, like a coach all as one; and there's the quarest thing you iver seen, to show the way, as the captain gev me to understan', a little round rowly-powly thing in a bowl, that goes waddlin' about as if it didn't know its own way, much more nor show anybody theirs. throth, myself thought that if that's the way they're obliged to go, that it's with a great deal of fear and thrimblin' they find it out." thus it was that barny continued most marvellous accounts of the ship and the captain to his companions, and by keeping their attention so engaged, prevented their being too inquisitive as to their own immediate concerns, and for two days more barny and the hooker held on their respective courses undeviatingly. the third day barny's fears for the continuity of his _nor-aist coorse_ were excited, as a large brig hove in sight, and the nearer she approached, the more directly she appeared to be coming athwart barny's course. "may the divil sweep you," said barny, "and will nothin' else sarve you than comin' forninst me that away? brig-a-hoy there!" shouted barny, giving the tiller to one of his messmates, and standing at the bow of his boat. "brig-a-hoy there!--bad luck to you, go 'long out o' my _nor-aist coorse_." the brig, instead of obeying him, hove to, and lay right ahead of the hooker. "o, look at this!" shouted barny, and he stamped on the deck with rage,--"look at the blackguards where they're stayin', just a-purpose to ruin an unfortunate man like me. my heavy hathred to you, quit this minit, or i'll run down an yes, and if we go to the bottom, we'll haunt you forevermore,--go 'long out o' that, i tell you. the curse o' crummil on you, you stupid vagabones, that won't go out iv a man's nor-aist coorse!" from cursing barny went to praying as he came closer. "for the tendher marcy o' heaven an' lave my way. may the lord reward you, and get out o' my nor-aist coorse! may angels make your bed in heavin and don't ruinate me this a way." the brig was immovable, and barny finished with a duet volley of prayers and curses together, apostrophizing the hard case of a man being "done out o' his nor-aist coorse." "a-hoy there!" shouted a voice from the brig, "put down your helm or you'll be aboard of us. i say, let go your jib and foresheet,--what are you about, you lubbers?" 'twas true that the brig lay so fair in barny's course, that he would have been aboard, but that instantly the manoeuvre above alluded to was put in practice on board the hooker; as she swept to destruction toward the heavy hull of the brig, he luffed up into the wind alongside her. a very pale and somewhat emaciated face appeared at the side, and addressed barny. "what brings you here?" was the question. "throth, thin, and i think i might betther ax what brings _you_ here, right in the way o' my _nor-aist coorse_." "where do you come from?" "from kinsale; and you didn't come from a betther place, i go bail." "where are you bound to?" "to fingal." "fingal,--where's fingal?" "why then, ain't you ashamed o' yourself an' not to know where fingal is?" "it is not in these seas." "o, and that's all you know about it," says barny. "you're a small craft to be so far at sea. i suppose you have provisions on board?" "to be sure we have; throth if we hadn't, this id be a bad place to go a beggin'." "what have you eatable?" "the finest o' scalpeens." "what are scalpeens?" "why, you're mighty ignorant intirely," said barny; "why, scalpeens is pickled mackerel." "then you must give us some, for we have been out of everything eatable these three days; and even pickled fish is better than nothing." it chanced that the brig was a west india trader, which unfavorable winds had delayed much beyond the expected period of time on her voyage, and though her water had not failed, everything eatable had been consumed, and the crew reduced almost to helplessness. in such a strait the arrival of barny o'reirdon and his scalpeens was a most providential succor to them, and a lucky chance for barny, for he got in exchange for his pickled fish a handsome return of rum and sugar, much more than equivalent to their value. barny lamented much, however, that the brig was not bound for ireland, that he might practice his own peculiar system of navigation; but as staying with the brig could do no good, he got himself put into his _nor-aist coorse_ once more, and ploughed away toward home. the disposal of his cargo was a great godsend to barny in more ways than one. in the first place, he found the most profitable market he could have had; and, secondly, it enabled him to cover his retreat from the difficulty which still was before him of not getting to fingal after all his dangers, and consequently being open to discovery and disgrace. all these beneficial results were thrown away upon one of barny's readiness to avail himself of every point in his favor: and, accordingly, when they left the brig, barny said to his companions, "why, thin, boys, 'pon my conscience, but i'm as proud as a horse wid a wooden leg this minit, that we met them poor unfort'nate craythers this blessed day, and was enabled to extind our charity to them. sure, an' it's lost they'd be only for our comin' acrass them, and we, through the blessin' o' god, enabled to do an act o' marcy, that is, feedin' the hungry; and sure every good work we do here is before uz in heaven,--and that's a comfort anyhow. to be sure, now that the scalpeens is sowld, there's no use in goin' to fingal, and we may as well jist go home." "faix, i'm sorry myself," said jemmy, "for terry o'sullivan said it was an iligant place intirely, an' i wanted to see it." "to the divil wid terry o'sullivan," said barny; "how does he know what's an iligant place? what knowledge has he of iligance! i'll go bail he never was half as far a navigatin' as we,--he wint the short cut, i go bail, and never dar'd for to vinture the round, as i did." "by dad, we wor a great dale longer anyhow than he towld me he was." "to be sure we wor," said barny; "he wint skulkin' in by the short cut, i tell you, and was afeard to keep a bowld offin' like me. but come, boys, let uz take a dhrop o' the bottle o' sper'ts we got out o' the brig. by gor, it's well we got some bottles iv it; for i wouldn't much like to meddle wid that darlint little kag iv it antil we get home." the rum was put on its trial by barny and his companions, and in their critical judgment was pronounced quite as good as the captain of the ship had bestowed upon them, but that neither of those specimens of spirit was to be compared to whiskey. "by dad," says barny, "they may rack their brains a long time before they'll make out a purtier invintion than _potteen_,--that rum may do very well for thim that has the misforthin' not to know betther; but the whiskey is a more nathral sper't accordin' to my idays." in this, as in most other of barny's opinions, peter and jemmy coincided. nothing particular occurred for the two succeeding days, during which time barny most religiously pursued his _nor-aist coorse_, but the third day produced a new and important event. a sail was discovered on the horizon, and in the direction barny was steering, and a couple of hours made him tolerably certain that the vessel in sight was an american, for though it is needless to say that he was not very conversant in such matters, yet from the frequency of his seeing americans trading to ireland, his eye had become sufficiently accustomed to their lofty and tapering spars, and peculiar smartness of rig, to satisfy him that the ship before him was of transatlantic build; nor was he wrong in his conjecture. barny now determined on a manoeuvre, classing him among the first tacticians at securing a good retreat. moreau's highest fame rests upon his celebrated retrograde movement through the black forest. xenophon's greatest glory is derived from the deliverance of his ten thousand greeks from impending ruin by his renowned retreat. let the ancient and the modern hero "repose under the shadow of their laurels," as the french have it, while barny o'reirdon's historian, with a pardonable jealousy for the honor of his country, cuts down a goodly bough of the classic tree, beneath which our hibernian hero may enjoy his _otium cum dignitate_. barny calculated the american was bound for ireland, and as she lay _almost_ as directly in the way of his "nor-aist coorse" as the west-indian brig, he bore up to and spoke her. he was answered by a shrewd yankee captain. "faix, an' it's glad i am to see your honor again," said barny. the yankee had never been to ireland, and told barny so. "o, throth, i couldn't forget a gintleman so aisy as that," said barny. "you're pretty considerably mistaken now, i guess," said the american. "divil a taste," said barny, with inimitable composure and pertinacity. "well, if you know me so tarnation well, tell me what's my name." the yankee flattered himself he had nailed barny now. "your name, is it?" said barny, gaining time by repeating the question; "why, what a fool you are not to know your own name." the oddity of the answer posed the american, and barny took advantage of the diversion in his favor, and changed the conversation. "by dad, i've been waitin' here these four or five days, expectin' some of you would be wantin' me." "some of us!--how do you mean?" "sure, an' ar'n't you from amerikay?" "yes; and what then?" "well, i say i was waitin' for some ship or other from amerikay, that ud be wantin' me. it's to ireland you're goin'?" "yes." "well, i suppose you'll be wantin' a pilot," said barny. "yes, when we get in shore, but not yet." "o, i don't want to hurry you," said barny. "what port are you a pilot of?" "why, indeed, as for the matther o' that," said barny, "they're all aiqual to me a'most." "all?" said the american. "why, i calculate you couldn't pilot a ship into all the ports of ireland." "not all at wanst," said barny, with a laugh, in which the american could not help joining. "well, i say, what ports do you know best?" "why, thin, indeed," said barny, "it would be hard for me to tell; but wherever you want to go, i'm the man that'll do the job for you complate. where is your honor goin'?" "i won't tell you that,--but do you tell me what ports you know best?" "why, there's watherford, and there's youghal, an' fingal." "fingal,--where's that?" "so you don't know where fingal is. o, i see you're a sthranger, sir,--an' then there's cork." "you know cove, then?" "is it the cove o' cork?" "yes." "i was bred and born there, and pilots as many ships into cove as any other two min _out_ of it." barny thus sheltered his falsehood under the idiom of his language. "but what brought you so far out to sea?" asked the captain. "we wor lyin' out lookin' for ships that wanted pilots, and there kem an the terriblest gale o' wind aff the land, an' blew us to say out intirely, an' that's the way iv it, your honor." "i calculate we got a share of the same gale; 'twas from the nor-east." "o, directly!" said barny, "faith, you're right enough. 'twas the _nor-aist coorse_ we wor an sure enough; but no matther now that we've met wid you,--sure we'll have a job home anyhow." "well, get aboard then," said the american. "i will, in a minit, your honor, whin i jist spake a word to my comrades here." "why, sure it's not goin' to turn pilot you are," said jemmy, in his simplicity of heart. "whisht, you omadhaun!" said barny, "or i'll cut the tongue out o' you. now mind me, pether. you don't undherstan' navigashin and the varrious branches o' knowledge, an' so all you have to do is to folly the ship when i get into her, an' i'll show you the way home." barny then got aboard the american vessel, and begged of the captain, that as he had been out at sea so long, and had gone through "a power o' hardship intirely," he would be permitted to go below and turn in to take a sleep, "for in throth it's myself and sleep that is sthrayngers for some time," said barny, "an' if your honor'll be plazed i'll be thankful if you won't let them disturb me antil i'm wanted, for sure till you see the land there's no use for me in life, an' throth i want a sleep sorely." barnes request was granted, and it will not be wondered at, that after so much fatigue of mind and body, he slept profoundly for four-and-twenty hours. he then was called, for land was in sight, and when he came on deck the captain rallied him upon the potency of his somniferous qualities, and "calculated" he had never met any one who could sleep "four-and-twenty hours at a stretch before." "o sir," said barny, rubbing his eyes, which were still a little hazy, "whiniver i go to sleep i pay attintion to it." the land was soon neared, and barny put in charge of the ship, when he ascertained the first landmark he was acquainted with; but as soon as the head of kinsale hove in sight, barny gave a "whoo," and cut a caper that astonished the yankees, and was quite inexplicable to them, though, i flatter myself, it is not to those who do barny the favor of reading his adventures. "o, there you are, my darlint ould head! an' where's the head like o' you? throth, it's little i thought i'd ever set eyes an your good-looking faytures agin. but god's good!" in such half-muttered exclamations, did barny apostrophize each well-known point of his native shore, and when opposite the harbor of kinsale, he spoke the hooker that was somewhat astern, and ordered jemmy and peter to put in there, and tell molly immediately that he was come back, and would be with her as soon as he could, after piloting the ship into cove. "but an your apperl don't tell pether kelly o' the big farm, nor, indeed, don't mintion to man or mortial about the navigation we done antil i come home myself and make them sensible o' it, bekase, jemmy and pether, neither o' yiz is aqual to it, and doesn't undherstan' the branches o' knowledge requizit for discoorsin' o' navigation." the hooker put into kinsale, and barny sailed the ship into cove. it was the first ship he ever had acted the pilot for, and his old luck attended him; no accident befell his charge, and, what was still more extraordinary, he made the american believe he was absolutely the most skilful pilot on the station. so barny pocketed his pilot's fee, swore the yankee was a gentleman, for which the republican did not thank him, wished him good by, and then pushed his way home with what barny swore was the aisiest-made money he ever had in his life. so barny got himself paid for piloting the ship that showed him the way home. haddad-ben-ahab the traveller. by john galt. haddad-ben-ahab was a very wise man, and he had several friends, men of discernment, and partakers of the wisdom of ages; but they were not all so wise as haddad-ben-ahab. his sentences were short, but his knowledge was long, and what he predicted generally came to pass, for he did not pretend to the gift of prophecy. the utmost he ever said in that way was, that he expected the sun to rise to-morrow, and that old age was the shadow of youth. besides being of a grave temperament, haddad-ben-ahab was inclined to obesity; he was kindly and good-natured to the whole human race; he even carried his benevolence to the inferior creation, and often patted his dogs on the head and gave them bones; but cats he could not abide. had he been a rat he could not have regarded them with more antipathy; and yet haddad-ben-ahab was an excellent man, who smoked his chibouque with occasional cups of coffee and sherbet, interspersed with profound aphorisms on the condition of man, and conjectures on the delights of paradise. with his friends he passed many sunbright hours; and if much talk was not heard among them on these occasions, be it remembered that silence is often wisdom. the scene of their social resort was a little kiosk in front of one of the coffee-houses on the bank of the tigris. no place in all bagdad is so pleasantly situated. there the mighty river rolls in all the affluence of his waters, pure as the unclouded sky, and speckled with innumerable boats, while the rippling waves, tickled, as it were, by the summer breezes, gambol and sparkle around. the kiosk was raised two steps from the ground; the interior was painted with all the most splendid colors. the roof was covered with tiles that glittered like the skin of the arabian serpent, and was surmounted with a green dragon, which was painted of that imperial hue, because haddad-ben-ahab was descended from the sacred progeny of fatima, of whom green is the everlasting badge, as it is of nature. time cannot change it, nor can it be impaired by the decrees of tyranny or of justice. one beautiful day haddad-ben-ahab and his friends had met in this kiosk of dreams, and were socially enjoying the fragrant smoke of their pipes, and listening to the refreshing undulations of the river, as the boats softly glided along,--for the waters lay in glassy stillness,--the winds were asleep,--even the sunbeams seemed to rest in a slumber on all things. the smoke stood on the chimney-tops as if a tall visionary tree grew out of each; and the many-colored cloths in the yard of orooblis, the armenian dyer, hung unmolested by a breath. orooblis himself was the only thing, in that soft and bright noon, which appeared on the land to be animated with any purpose. orooblis was preparing a boat to descend the tigris, and his servants were loading it with bales of apparel and baskets of provisions, while he himself was in a great bustle, going often between his dwelling-house and the boat, talking loud and giving orders, and ever and anon wiping his forehead, for he was a man that delighted in having an ado. haddad-ben-ahab, seeing orooblis so active, looked at him for some time; and it so happened that all the friends at the same moment took their amber-headed pipes from their lips, and said,-- "where can orooblis, the armenian dyer, be going?" such a simultaneous interjection naturally surprised them all, and haddad-ben-ahab added,-- "i should like to go with him, and see strange things, for i have never been out of the city of bagdad, save once to pluck pomegranates in the garden of beys-addy-boolk." and he then rose and went to the boat which orooblis was loading, and spoke to him; and when it was ready they seated themselves on board and sailed down the tigris, having much pleasant discourse concerning distant lands and hills whose tops pierced the clouds, and were supposed to be the pillars that upheld the crystal dome of the heavens. haddad-ben-ahab rejoiced greatly as they sailed along, and at last they came to a little town, where orooblis, having business in dyestuffs to transact, went on shore, leaving his friend. but in what corner of the earth this little town stood haddad-ben-ahab knew not; for, like other travellers, he was not provided with much geographical knowledge. but soon after the departure of orooblis he thought he would also land and inquire. accordingly, taking his pipe in his hand, he stepped out of the boat and went about the town, looking at many things, till he came to a wharf where a large ship was taking merchandise on board; and her sailors were men of a different complexion from that of the watermen who plied on the tigris at bagdad. haddad-ben-ahab looked at them, and as he was standing near to where they were at work, he thought that this ship afforded a better opportunity than he had enjoyed with orooblis to see foreign countries. he accordingly went up to the captain and held out a handful of money, and indicated that he was desirous to sail away with the ship. when the captain saw the gold he was mightily civil, and spoke to haddad-ben-ahab with a loud voice, perhaps thinking to make him hear was the way to make him understand. but haddad-ben-ahab only held up the forefinger of his right hand and shook it to and fro. in the end, however, he was taken on board the ship, and no sooner was he there than he sat down on a sofa, and drawing his legs up under him kindled his pipe and began to smoke, much at his ease, making observations with his eyes as he did so. the first observation haddad-ben-ahab made was, that the sofa on which he had taken his place was not at all like the sofas of bagdad, and therefore when he returned he would show that he had not travelled without profit by having one made exactly similar for his best chamber, with hens and ducks under it, pleasantly feeding and joyously cackling and quacking. and he also observed a remarkable sagacity in the ducks, for when they saw he was a stranger, they turned up the sides of their heads and eyed him in a most curious and inquisitive manner,--very different, indeed, from the ducks of bagdad. when the ship had taken on board her cargo she spread her sails, and haddad-ben-ahab felt himself in a new situation; for presently she began to lie over, and to plunge and revel among the waves like a glad creature. but haddad-ben-ahab became very sick, and the captain showed him the way down into the inside of the vessel, where he went into a dark bed, and was charitably tended by one of the sailors for many days. after a season there was much shouting on the deck of the ship, and haddad-ben-ahab crawled out of his bed, and went to the sofa, and saw that the ship was near the end of her voyage. when she had come to a bank where those on board could step out, haddad-ben-ahab did so: and after he had seen all the strange things which were in the town where he thus landed, he went into a baker's shop,--for they eat bread in that town as they do in bagdad,--and bought a loaf, which having eaten, he quenched his thirst at a fountain hard by, in his ordinary manner of drinking, at which he wondered exceedingly. when he had solaced himself with all the wonders of that foreign city, he went to a fakier, who was holding two horses ready saddled; beautiful they were, and, as the fakier signified by signs, their hoofs were so fleet that they left the wind behind them. haddad-ben-ahab then showed the fakier his gold, and mounted one of the horses, pointing with the shaft of his pipe to the fakier to mount the other; and then they both rode away into the country, and they found that the wind blew in their faces. at last they came to a caravansary, where the fakier bought a cooked hen and two onions, of which they both partook, and stretching themselves before the fire which they had lighted in their chamber, they fell asleep and slept until the dawn of day, when they resumed their journey into remoter parts and nearer to the wall of the world, which haddad-ben-ahab conjectured they must soon reach. they had not, however, journeyed many days in the usual manner when they came to the banks of a large river, and the fakier would go no farther with his swift horses. haddad-ben-ahab was in consequence constrained to pay and part from him, and to embark in a ferry-boat to convey him over the stream, where he found a strange vehicle with four horses standing ready to carry him on towards the wall of the world, "which surely," said he to himself, "ought not to be now far off." haddad-ben-ahab showed his gold again, and was permitted to take a seat in the vehicle, which soon after drove away; and he remarked, in a most sagacious manner, that nothing in that country was like the things in his own; for the houses and trees and all things ran away as the vehicle came up to them; and when it gave a jostle, they gave a jump; which he noted as one of the most extraordinary things he had seen since he left bagdad. at last haddad-ben-ahab came to the foot of a lofty green mountain, with groves and jocund villages, which studded it, as it were, with gems and shining ornaments, and he said, "this must be the wall of the world, for surely nothing can exist on the other side of these hills! but i will ascend them and look over, for i should like to tell my friends in bagdad what is to be seen on the outside of the earth." accordingly he ascended the green mountain, and he came to a thick forest of stubby trees: "this is surprising," said haddad-ben-ahab, "but higher i will yet go." and he passed through that forest of trees and came to a steep moorland part of the hill, where no living thing could be seen, but a solitude without limit, and the living world all glittering at the foot of the mountain. "this is a high place," said haddad-ben-ahab, "but i will yet go higher," and he began to climb with his hands. after an upward journey of great toil he came to a frozen region, and the top of the wall of the world was still far above him. he was, however, none daunted by the distance, but boldly held on in the ascent, and at last he reached the top of the wall. but when he got there, instead of a region of fog and chaos, he only beheld another world much like our own, and he was greatly amazed, and exclaimed with a loud voice,--"will my friends in bagdad believe this?--but it is true, and i will so tell them." so he hastened down the mountain, and went with all the speed he could back to bagdad; saying, "bagdad," and giving gold to every man he met, until he reached the kiosk of dreams, where his friends were smoking and looking at the gambols of the tigris. when the friends of haddad-ben-ahab saw him approach, they respectively took their pipes from their mouths and held them in their left hands, while they pressed their bosoms with their right, and received him with a solemn salaam, for he had been long absent, and all they in the mean time had heard concerning him was only what orooblis, the armenian dyer, on his return told them: namely, that he was gone to the wall of the world, which limits the travels of man. no wonder then that they rejoiced with an exceeding gladness to see him return and take his place in the kiosk among them, as if he had never been a day's journey away from bagdad. they then questioned him about his adventures, and he faithfully related to them all the wonders which have been set forth in our account of the journey; upon which they declared he had made himself one of the sages of the earth. afterward they each made a feast, to which they invited all the philosophers in bagdad, and haddad-ben-ahab was placed in the seat of honor, and being courteously solicited, told them of his travels, and every one cried aloud, "god is great, and mahomet is his prophet!" when they had in this manner banqueted, haddad-ben-ahab fell sick, and there was a great talk concerning the same. some said he was very ill; others shook their heads and spoke not; but the world is full of envy and hard-heartedness, and those who were spiteful because of the renown which haddad-ben-ahab, as a traveller who had visited the top of the wall of the world with so much courage, had acquired, jeered at his malady, saying he had been only feasted overmuch. nevertheless, haddad-ben-ahab died; and never was such a funeral seen in all bagdad, save that of the caliph mahoud, commonly called the magnificent. such was the admiration in which the memory of the traveller was held, the poets made dirges on the occasion, and mournful songs were heard in the twilight from the windows of every harem. nor did the generation of the time content itself with the ceremonies of lamentation: they caused a fountain to be erected, which they named the fountain of haddad-ben-ahab the traveller; and when the slaves go to fetch water, they speak of the wonderful things he did, and how he was on the top of the wall of the world, and saw the outside of the earth; so that his memory lives forever among them, as one of the greatest, the wisest, and the bravest of men. bluebeard's ghost. by william makepeace thackeray. for some time after the fatal accident which deprived her of her husband, mrs. bluebeard was, as may be imagined, in a state of profound grief. there was not a widow in all the country who went to such an expense for black bombazine. she had her beautiful hair confined in crimped caps, and her weepers came over her elbows. of course, she saw no company except her sister anne (whose company was anything but pleasant to the widow); as for her brothers, their odious mess-table manners had always been disagreeable to her. what did she care for jokes about the major, or scandal concerning the scotch surgeon of the regiment? if they drank their wine out of black bottles or crystal, what did it matter to her? their stories of the stable, the parade, and the last run with the hounds, were perfectly odious to her; besides, she could not bear their impertinent mustachios, and filthy habit of smoking cigars. they were always wild, vulgar young men, at the best; but now,--_now_, o, their presence to her delicate soul was horror! how could she bear to look on them after what had occurred? she thought of the best of husbands ruthlessly cut down by their cruel, heavy, cavalry sabres; the kind friend, the generous landlord, the spotless justice of peace, in whose family differences these rude cornets of dragoons had dared to interfere, whose venerable blue hairs they had dragged down with sorrow to the grave. she put up a most splendid monument to her departed lord over the family vault of the bluebeards. the rector, dr. sly, who had been mr. bluebeard's tutor at college, wrote an epitaph in the most pompous yet pathetic latin: "siste, viator! moerens conjux, heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse"; in a word, everything that is usually said in epitaphs. a bust of the departed saint, with virtue mourning over it, stood over the epitaph, surrounded by medallions of his wives, and one of these medallions had as yet no name in it, nor (the epitaph said) could the widow ever be consoled until her own name was inscribed there. "for then i shall be with him. in coelo quies," she would say, throwing up her fine eyes to heaven, and quoting the enormous words of the hatchment which was put up in the church, and over bluebeard's hall, where the butler, the housekeeper, the footman, the housemaid, and scullions were all in the profoundest mourning. the keeper went out to shoot birds in a crape band; nay, the very scarecrows in the orchard and fruit garden were ordered to be dressed in black. sister anne was the only person who refused to wear black. mrs. bluebeard would have parted with her, but she had no other female relative. her father, it may be remembered by readers of the former part of her memoirs, had married again, and the mother-in-law and mrs. bluebeard, as usual, hated each other furiously. mrs. shacabac had come to the hall on a visit of condolence; but the widow was so rude to her on the second day of the visit that the step-mother quitted the house in a fury. as for the bluebeards, of course _they_ hated the widow. had not mr. bluebeard settled every shilling upon her? and, having no children by his former marriage, her property, as i leave you to fancy, was pretty handsome. so sister anne was the only female relative whom mrs. bluebeard would keep near her; and, as we all know, a woman _must_ have a female relative under any circumstances of pain, or pleasure, or profit,--when she is married, or when she is widowed, or when she is in a delicate situation. but let us continue our story. "i will never wear mourning for that odious wretch, sister!" anne would cry. "i will trouble you, miss anne, not to use such words in my presence regarding the best of husbands, or to quit the room at once!" the widow would answer. "i'm sure it's no great pleasure to sit in it. i wonder you don't make use of the closet, sister, where the _other_ mrs. bluebeards are." "impertinence! they were all embalmed by m. gannal. how dare you report the monstrous calumnies regarding the best of men? take down the family bible, and read what my blessed saint says of his wives,--read it, written in his own hand:-- "'_friday, june _.--married my beloved wife, anna maria scrogginsia. "'_saturday, august _.--a bereaved husband has scarcely strength to write down in this chronicle that the dearest of wives, anna maria scrogginsia, expired this day of sore throat.' "there! can anything be more convincing than that? read again:-- "'_tuesday, september _.--this day i led to the hymeneal altar my soul's blessing, louisa matilda hopkinson. may this angel supply the place of her i have lost! "'_wednesday, october _.--o heavens! pity the distraction of a wretch who is obliged to record the ruin of his dearest hopes and affections! this day my adored louisa matilda hopkinson gave up the ghost! a complaint of the head and shoulders was the sudden cause of the event which has rendered the unhappy subscriber the most miserable of men. "'bluebeard.' "every one of the women are calendared in this delightful, this pathetic, this truly virtuous and tender way; and can you suppose that a man who wrote such sentiments could be a _murderer_, miss?" "do you mean to say that he did not _kill_ them, then?" said anne. "gracious goodness, anne, kill them! they died all as naturally as i hope you will. my blessed husband was an angel of goodness and kindness to them. was it _his_ fault that the doctors could not cure their maladies? no, that it wasn't! and when they died the inconsolable husband had their bodies embalmed in order that on this side of the grave he might never part from them." "and why did he take you up in the tower, pray? and why did you send me in such a hurry to the leads? and why did he sharpen his long knife, and roar out to you to come down?" "merely to punish me for my curiosity,--the dear, good, kind, excellent creature!" sobbed the widow, overpowered with affectionate recollections of her lord's attentions to her. "i wish," said sister anne, sulkily, "that i had not been in such a hurry in summoning my brothers." "ah!" screamed mrs. bluebeard, with a harrowing scream, "don't,--don't recall that horrid, fatal day, miss! if you had not misled your brothers, my poor, dear, darling bluebeard would still be in life, still--still the soul's joy of his bereaved fatima!" whether it is that all wives adore husbands when the latter are no more, or whether it is that fatima's version of the story is really the correct one, and that the common impression against bluebeard is an odious prejudice, and that he no more murdered his wives than you and i have, remains yet to be proved, and, indeed, does not much matter for the understanding of the rest of mrs. b.'s adventures. and though people will say that bluebeard's settlement of his whole fortune on his wife, in event of survivorship, was a mere act of absurd mystification, seeing that he was fully determined to cut her head off after the honeymoon, yet the best test of his real intentions is the profound grief which the widow manifested for his death, and the fact that he left her mighty well to do in the world. if any one were to leave you or me a fortune, my dear friend, would we be too anxious to rake up the how and the why? pooh! pooh! we would take it and make no bones about it, and mrs. bluebeard did likewise. her husband's family, it is true, argued the point with her, and said, "madam, you must perceive that mr. bluebeard never intended the fortune for you, as it was his fixed intention to chop off your head! it is clear that he meant to leave his money to his blood relations, therefore you ought in equity to hand it over." but she sent them all off with a flea in their ears, as the saying is, and said, "your argument may be a very good one, but i will, if you please, keep the money." and she ordered the mourning as we have before shown, and indulged in grief, and exalted everywhere the character of the deceased. if any one would but leave me a fortune, what a funeral and what a character i would give him! bluebeard hall is situated, as we all very well know, in a remote country district, and, although a fine residence, is remarkably gloomy and lonely. to the widow's susceptible mind, after the death of her darling husband, the place became intolerable. the walk, the lawn, the fountain, the green glades of park over which frisked the dappled deer, all,--all recalled the memory of her beloved. it was but yesterday that, as they roamed through the park in the calm summer evening, her bluebeard pointed out to the keeper the fat buck he was to kill. "ah!" said the widow, with tears in her fine eyes, "the artless stag was shot down, the haunch was cut and roasted, the jelly had been prepared from the currant-bushes in the garden that he loved, but my bluebeard never ate of the venison! look, anne sweet, pass we the old oak hall; 'tis hung with trophies won by him in the chase, with pictures of the noble race of bluebeard! look! by the fireplace there is the gig-whip, his riding-whip, the spud with which you know he used to dig the weeds out of the terrace-walk; in that drawer are his spurs, his whistle, his visiting-cards, with his dear, dear name engraven upon them! there are the bits of string that he used to cut off the parcels and keep, because string was always useful; his button-hook, and there is the peg on which he used to hang his h--h--_hat_!" uncontrollable emotions, bursts of passionate tears, would follow these tender reminiscences of the widow; and the long and short of the matter was, that she was determined to give up bluebeard hall and live elsewhere; her love for the memory of the deceased, she said, rendered the place too wretched. of course, an envious and sneering world said that she was tired of the country, and wanted to marry again; but she little heeded its taunts; and anne, who hated her step-mother and could not live at home, was fain to accompany her sister to the town where the bluebeards have had for many years a very large, genteel, old-fashioned house. so she went to the town-house, where they lived and quarrelled pretty much as usual; and though anne often threatened to leave her, and go to a boarding-house, of which there were plenty in the place, yet, after all, to live with her sister, and drive out in the carriage with the footman and coachman in mourning, and the lozenge on the panels, with the bluebeard and shacabac arms quartered on it, was far more respectable, and so the lovely sisters continued to dwell together. * * * * * for a lady under mrs. bluebeard's circumstances, the town-house has other and peculiar advantages. besides being an exceedingly spacious and dismal brick building, with a dismal iron railing in front, and long, dismal, thin windows, with little panes of glass, it looked out into the churchyard, where, time out of mind, between two yew-trees, one of which is cut into the form of a peacock, while the other represents a dumb-waiter, it looked into the churchyard where the monument of the late bluebeard was placed over the family vault. it was the first thing the widow saw from her bedroom window in the morning, and 'twas sweet to watch at night, from the parlor, the pallid moonlight lighting up the bust of the departed, and virtue throwing great black shadows athwart it. polyanthuses, rhododendra, ranunculuses, and other flowers, with the largest names and of the most delightful odors, were planted within the little iron railing that enclosed the last resting-place of the bluebeards; and the beadle was instructed to half kill any little boys who might be caught plucking these sweet testimonials of a wife's affection. over the sideboard in the dining-room hung a full-length of mr. bluebeard, by ticklegill, r. a., in a militia uniform, frowning down upon the knives and forks and silver trays. over the mantel-piece he was represented in a hunting costume, on his favorite horse; there was a sticking-plaster silhouette of him in the widow's bedroom, and a miniature in the drawing-room, where he was drawn in a gown of black and gold, holding a gold-tasselled trencher cap with one hand, and with the other pointing to a diagram of pons asinorum. this likeness was taken when he was a fellow-commoner at st. john's college, cambridge, and before the growth of that blue beard which was the ornament of his manhood, and a part of which now formed a beautiful blue neck-chain for his bereaved wife. sister anne said the town-house was even more dismal than the country-house, for there was pure air at the hall, and it was pleasanter to look out on a park than on a churchyard, however fine the monuments might be. but the widow said she was a light-minded hussy, and persisted as usual in her lamentations and mourning. the only male whom she would admit within her doors was the parson of the parish, who read sermons to her; and, as his reverence was at least seventy years old, anne, though she might be ever so much minded to fall in love, had no opportunity to indulge her inclination; and the town-people, scandalous as they might be, could not find a word to say against the _liaison_ of the venerable man and the heart-stricken widow. all other company she resolutely refused. when the players were in the town, the poor manager, who came to beg her to bespeak a comedy, was thrust out of the gates by the big butler. though there were balls, card-parties, and assemblies, widow bluebeard would never subscribe to one of them; and even the officers, those all-conquering heroes who make such ravages in ladies' hearts, and to whom all ladies' doors are commonly open, could never get an entry into the widow's house. captain whiskerfield strutted for three weeks up and down before her house, and had not the least effect upon her. captain o'grady (of an irish regiment) attempted to bribe the servants, and one night actually scaled the garden wall; but all that he got was his foot in a man-trap, not to mention being dreadfully scarified by the broken glass; and so _he_ never made love any more. finally, captain blackbeard, whose whiskers vied in magnitude with those of the deceased bluebeard himself, although he attended church regularly every week,--he who had not darkened the doors of a church for ten years before,--even captain blackbeard got nothing by his piety; and the widow never once took her eyes off her book to look at him. the barracks were in despair; and captain whiskerfield's tailor, who had supplied him with new clothes in order to win the widow's heart, ended by clapping the captain into jail. his reverence the parson highly applauded the widow's conduct to the officers; but, being himself rather of a social turn, and fond of a good dinner and a bottle, he represented to the lovely mourner that she should endeavor to divert her grief by a little respectable society, and recommended that she should from time to time entertain a few grave and sober persons whom he would present to her. as dr. sly had an unbounded influence over the fair mourner, she acceded to his desires; and accordingly he introduced to her house some of the most venerable and worthy of his acquaintance,--all married people, however, so that the widow should not take the least alarm. it happened that the doctor had a nephew, who was a lawyer in london, and this gentleman came dutifully in the long vacation to pay a visit to his reverend uncle. "he is none of your roystering, dashing young fellows," said his reverence; "he is the delight of his mamma and sisters; he never drinks anything stronger than tea; he never missed church thrice a sunday for these twenty years; and i hope, my dear and amiable madam, that you will not object to receive this pattern of young men for the sake of your most devoted friend, his uncle." the widow consented to receive mr. sly. he was not a handsome man, certainly. "but what does that matter?" said the doctor. "he is _good_, and virtue is better than all the beauty of all the dragoons in the queen's service." mr. sly came there to dinner, and he came to tea; and he drove out with the widow in the carriage with the lozenge on it; and at church he handed the psalm-book; and, in short, he paid her every attention which could be expected from so polite a young gentleman. at this the town began to talk, as people in towns will. "the doctor kept all bachelors out of the widow's house," said they, "in order that that ugly nephew of his may have the field entirely to himself." these speeches were of course heard by sister anne, and the little minx was not a little glad to take advantage of them, in order to induce her sister to see some more cheerful company. the fact is, the young hussy loved a dance or a game at cards much more than a humdrum conversation over a tea-table; and so she plied her sister day and night with hints as to the propriety of opening her house, receiving the gentry of the county, and spending her fortune. to this point the widow at length, though with many sighs and vast unwillingness, acceded; and she went so far as to order a very becoming half-mourning, in which all the world declared she looked charming. "i carry," said she, "my blessed bluebeard in my heart,--_that_ is in the deepest mourning for him, and when the heart grieves, there is no need of outward show." so she issued cards for a little quiet tea and supper, and several of the best families in the town and neighborhood attended her entertainment. it was followed by another and another; and at last captain blackbeard was actually introduced, though, of course, he came in plain clothes. dr. sly and his nephew never could abide the captain. "they had heard some queer stories," they said, "about proceedings in barracks. who was it that drank three bottles at a sitting? who had a mare that ran for the plate? and why was it that dolly coddlins left the town so suddenly?" mr. sly turned up the whites of his eyes as his uncle asked these questions, and sighed for the wickedness of the world. but for all that he was delighted, especially at the anger which the widow manifested when the dolly coddlins affair was hinted at. she was furious, and vowed she would never see the wretch again. the lawyer and his uncle were charmed. o short-sighted lawyer and parson, do you think mrs. bluebeard would have been so angry if she had not been jealous?--do you think she would have been jealous if she had not ... had not what? she protested that she no more cared for the captain than she did for one of her footmen; but the next time he called she would not condescend to say a word to him. "my dearest miss anne," said the captain, as he met her in sir roger de coverley (she herself was dancing with ensign trippet), "what is the matter with your lovely sister?" "dolly coddlins is the matter," said miss anne. "mr. sly has told all." and she was down the middle in a twinkling. the captain blushed so at this monstrous insinuation, that any one could see how incorrect it was. he made innumerable blunders in the dance, and was all the time casting such ferocious glances at mr. sly (who did not dance, but sat by the widow and ate ices), that his partner thought he was mad, and that mr. sly became very uneasy. when the dance was over, he came to pay his respects to the widow, and, in so doing, somehow trod so violently on mr. sly's foot, that that gentleman screamed with pain, and presently went home. but though he was gone, the widow was not a whit more gracious to captain blackbeard. she requested mr. trippet to order her carriage that night, and went home without uttering one single word to captain blackbeard. the next morning, and with a face of preternatural longitude, the rev. dr. sly paid a visit to the widow. "the wickedness and bloodthirstiness of the world," said he, "increase every day. o my dear madam, what monsters do we meet in it,--what wretches, what assassins, are allowed to go abroad! would you believe it, that this morning, as my nephew was taking his peaceful morning-meal, one of the ruffians from the barracks presented himself with a challenge from captain blackbeard?" "is he hurt?" screamed the widow. "no, my dear friend, my dear frederick is not hurt. and o, what a joy it will be to him to think you have that tender solicitude for his welfare!" "you know i have always had the highest respect for him," said the widow; who, when she screamed, was in truth thinking of somebody else. but the doctor did not choose to interpret her thoughts in that way, and gave all the benefit of them to his nephew. "that anxiety, dearest madam, which you express for him emboldens me, encourages me, authorizes me, to press a point upon you which i am sure must have entered your thoughts ere now. the dear youth in whom you have shown such an interest lives but for you! yes, fair lady, start not at hearing that his sole affections are yours; and with what pride shall i carry to him back the news that he is not indifferent to you!" "are they going to fight?" continued the lady, in a breathless state of alarm. "for heaven's sake, dearest doctor, prevent the horrid, horrid meeting. send for a magistrate's warrant; do anything; but do not suffer those misguided young men to cut each other's throats!" "fairest lady, i fly!" said the doctor, and went back to lunch quite delighted with the evident partiality mrs. bluebeard showed for his nephew. and mrs. bluebeard, not content with exhorting him to prevent the duel, rushed to mr. pound, the magistrate, informed him of the facts, got out warrants against both mr. sly and the captain, and would have put them into execution; but it was discovered that the former gentleman had abruptly left town, so that the constable could not lay hold of him. it somehow, however, came to be generally known that the widow bluebeard had declared herself in favor of mr. sly, the lawyer; that she had fainted when told her lover was about to fight a duel; finally, that she had accepted him, and would marry him as soon as the quarrel between him and the captain was settled. dr. sly, when applied to, hummed and ha'd, and would give no direct answer; but he denied nothing, and looked so knowing, that all the world was certain of the fact; and the county paper next week stated:-- "we understand that the lovely and wealthy mrs. bl--b--rd is about once more to enter the bands of wedlock with our distinguished townsman, frederick s--y, esq., of the middle temple, london. the learned gentleman left town in consequence of a dispute with a gallant son of mars, which was likely to have led to warlike results, had not a magistrate's warrant intervened, when the captain was bound over to keep the peace." in fact, as soon as the captain was so bound over, mr. sly came back, stating that he had quitted the town not to avoid a duel,--far from it, but to keep out of the way of the magistrates, and give the captain every facility. _he_ had taken out no warrant; _he_ had been perfectly ready to meet the captain; if others had been more prudent, it was not his fault. so he held up his head, and cocked his hat with the most determined air; and all the lawyers' clerks in the place were quite proud of their hero. as for captain blackbeard, his rage and indignation may be imagined; a wife robbed from him, his honor put in question by an odious, lanky, squinting lawyer! he fell ill of a fever incontinently; and the surgeon was obliged to take a quantity of blood from him, ten times the amount of which he swore he would have out of the veins of the atrocious sly. the announcement in "the mercury," however, filled the widow with almost equal indignation. "the widow of the gallant bluebeard," she said, "marry an odious wretch who lives in dingy chambers in the middle temple! send for dr. sly." the doctor came; she rated him soundly, asked him how he dared set abroad such calumnies concerning her; ordered him to send his nephew back to london at once; and as he valued her esteem, as he valued the next presentation to a fat living which lay in her gift, to contradict everywhere, and in the fullest terms, the wicked report concerning her. "my dearest madam," said the doctor, pulling his longest face, "you shall be obeyed. the poor lad shall be acquainted with the fatal change in your sentiments!" "change in my sentiments, dr. sly!" "with the destruction of his hopes, rather let me say; and heaven grant that the dear boy have strength to bear up against the misfortune which comes so suddenly upon him!" the next day sister anne came with a face full of care to mrs. bluebeard. "o, that unhappy lover of yours!" said she. "is the captain unwell?" exclaimed the widow. "no, it is the other," answered sister anne. "poor, poor mr. sly! he made a will leaving you all, except five pounds a year to his laundress: he made his will, locked his door, took heart-rending leave of his uncle at night, and this morning was found hanging at his bedpost when sambo, the black servant, took him up his water to shave. 'let me be buried,' he said, 'with the pincushion she gave me and the locket containing her hair.' _did_ you give him a pincushion, sister? _did_ you give him a locket with your hair?" "it was only silver-gilt!" sobbed the widow; "and now, o heavens! i have killed him!" the heart-rending nature of her sobs may be imagined; but they were abruptly interrupted by her sister. "killed him?--no such thing! sambo cut him down when he was as black in the face as the honest negro himself. he came down to breakfast, and i leave you to fancy what a touching meeting took place between the nephew and the uncle." "so much love!" thought the widow. "what a pity he squints so! if he would but get his eyes put straight, i might perhaps--" she did not finish the sentence: ladies often leave this sort of sentence in a sweet confusion. but hearing some news regarding captain blackbeard, whose illness and blood-letting were described to her most pathetically, as well as accurately, by the scotch surgeon of the regiment, her feelings of compassion towards the lawyer cooled somewhat; and when dr. sly called to know if she would condescend to meet the unhappy youth, she said in rather a _distrait_ manner, that she wished him every happiness; that she had the highest regard and respect for him; that she besought him not to think any more of committing the dreadful crime which would have made her unhappy forever; _but_ that she thought, for the sake of both parties, they had better not meet until mr. sly's feelings had grown somewhat more calm. "poor fellow! poor fellow!" said the doctor, "may he be enabled to bear his frightful calamity! i have taken away his razors from him, and sambo, my man, never lets him out of his sight." the next day, mrs. bluebeard thought of sending a friendly message to dr. sly's, asking for news of the health of his nephew; but, as she was giving her orders on that subject to john thomas the footman, it happened that the captain arrived, and so thomas was sent down stairs again. and the captain looked so delightfully interesting with his arm in a sling, and his beautiful black whiskers curling round a face which was paler than usual, that, at the end of two hours, the widow forgot the message altogether, and, indeed, i believe, asked the captain whether he would not stop and dine. ensign trippet came, too, and the party was very pleasant; and the military gentlemen laughed hugely at the idea of the lawyer having been cut off the bedpost by the black servant, and were so witty on the subject, that the widow ended by half believing that the bedpost and hanging scheme on the part of mr. sly was only a feint,--a trick to win her heart. though this, to be sure, was not agreed to by the lady without a pang, for, _entre nous_, to hang one's self for a lady is no small compliment to her attractions, and, perhaps, mrs. bluebeard was rather disappointed at the notion that the hanging was not a _bona fide_ strangulation. however, presently her nerves were excited again; and she was consoled or horrified, as the case may be (the reader must settle the point according to his ideas and knowledge of womankind),--she was at any rate dreadfully excited by the receipt of a billet in the well-known clerk-like hand of mr. sly. it ran thus:-- "i saw you through your dining-room windows. you were hob-nobbing with captain blackbeard. you looked rosy and well. you smiled. you drank off the champagne at a single draught. "i can bear it no more. live on, smile on, and be happy. my ghost shall repine, perhaps, at your happiness with another,--but in life i should go mad were i to witness it. "it is best that i should be gone. "when you receive this, tell my uncle to drag the fish-pond at the end of bachelor's acre. his black servant sambo accompanies me, it is true. but sambo shall perish with me should his obstinacy venture to restrain me from my purpose. i know the poor fellow's honesty well, but i also know my own despair. "sambo will leave a wife and seven children. be kind to those orphan mulattoes for the sake of "frederick." the widow gave a dreadful shriek, and interrupted the two captains, who were each just in the act of swallowing a bumper of claret. "fly--fly--save him," she screamed; "save him, monsters, ere it is too late! drowned!--frederick!--bachelor's wa--" syncope took place, and the rest of the sentence was interrupted. deucedly disappointed at being obliged to give up their wine, the two heroes seized their cocked hats, and went towards the spot which the widow in her wild exclamations of despair had sufficiently designated. trippet was for running to the fish-pond at the rate of ten miles an hour. "take it easy, my good fellow," said captain blackbeard; "running is unwholesome after dinner. and, if that squinting scoundrel of a lawyer _does_ drown himself, i sha'n't sleep any the worse." so the two gentlemen walked very leisurely on towards the bachelor's walk; and, indeed, seeing on their way thither major macabaw looking out of the window at his quarters and smoking a cigar, they went up stairs to consult the major, as also a bottle of schiedam he had. "they come not!" said the widow, when restored to herself. "o heavens! grant that frederick is safe! sister anne, go up to the leads and look if anybody is coming." and up, accordingly, to the garrets sister anne mounted. "do you see anybody coming, sister anne?" "i see dr. drench's little boy," said sister anne; "he is leaving a pill and draught at miss molly grub's." "dearest sister anne, don't you see any one coming?" shouted the widow once again. "i see a flock of dust--no! a cloud of sheep. pshaw! i see the london coach coming in. there are three outsides, and the guard has flung a parcel to mrs. jenkins's maid." "distraction! look once more, sister anne." "i see a crowd,--a shutter,--a shutter with a man on it,--a beadle,--forty little boys,--gracious goodness! what _can_ it be?" and down stairs tumbled sister anne, and was looking out of the parlor-window by her sister's side, when the crowd she had perceived from the garret passed close by them. at the head walked the beadle, slashing about at the little boys. two scores of these followed and surrounded a shutter carried by four men. on the shutter lay _frederick_! he was ghastly pale; his hair was draggled over his face; his clothes stuck tight to him on account of the wet; streams of water gurgled down the shutter-sides. but he was not dead! he turned one eye round towards the window where mrs. bluebeard sat, and gave her a look which she never could forget. sambo brought up the rear of the procession. he was quite wet through; and, if anything would have put his hair out of curl, his ducking would have done so. but, as he was not a gentleman, he was allowed to walk home on foot, and, as he passed the widow's window, he gave her one dreadful glance with his goggling black eyes, and moved on, pointing with his hands to the shutter. john thomas the footman was instantly despatched to dr. sly's to have news of the patient. there was no shilly-shallying now. he came back in half an hour to say that mr. frederick flung himself into bachelor's acre fish-pond with sambo, had been dragged out with difficulty, had been put to bed, and had a pint of white wine whey, and was pretty comfortable. "thank heaven!" said the widow, and gave john thomas a seven-shilling piece, and sat down with a lightened heart to tea. "what a heart!" said she to sister anne. "and o, what a pity it is that he squints!" here the two captains arrived. they had not been to the bachelor's walk; they had remained at major macabaw's consulting the schiedam. they had made up their minds what to say. "hang the fellow! he will never have the pluck to drown himself," said captain blackbeard. "let us argue on that, as we may safely." "my sweet lady," said he, accordingly, "we have had the pond dragged. no mr. sly. and the fisherman who keeps the punt assures us that he has not been there all day." "audacious falsehood!" said the widow, her eyes flashing fire. "go, heartless man! who dares to trifle thus with the feelings of a respectable and unprotected woman. go, sir, you're only fit for the love of a--dolly--coddlins!" she pronounced the _coddlins_ with a withering sarcasm that struck the captain aghast; and, sailing out of the room, she left her tea untasted, and did not wish either of the military gentlemen good night. but, gentles, an' ye know the delicate fibre of woman's heart, ye will not in very sooth believe that such events as those we have described--such tempests of passion--fierce winds of woe--blinding lightnings of tremendous joy and tremendous grief--could pass over one frail flower and leave it all unscathed. no! grief kills as joy doth. doth not the scorching sun nip the rose-bud as well as the bitter wind? as mrs. sigourney sweetly sings:-- "ah! the heart is a soft and a delicate thing; ah! the heart is a lute with a thrilling string; a spirit that floats on a gossamer's wing!" such was fatima's heart. in a word, the preceding events had a powerful effect upon her nervous system, and she was ordered much quiet and sal-volatile by her skilful medical attendant, dr. glauber. to be so ardently, passionately loved as she was, to know that frederick had twice plunged into death from attachment to her, was to awaken in her bosom "a thrilling string," indeed! could she witness such attachment and not be touched by it? she _was_ touched by it,--she was influenced by the virtues, by the passion, by the misfortunes, of frederick: but then he was so abominably ugly that she could not--she could not consent to become his bride! she told dr. sly so. "i respect and esteem your nephew," said she; "but my resolve is made. i will continue faithful to that blessed saint whose monument is ever before my eyes" (she pointed to the churchyard as she spoke). "leave this poor tortured heart in quiet. it has already suffered more than most hearts could bear. i will repose under the shadow of that tomb until i am called to rest within it,--to rest by the side of my bluebeard!" the ranunculuses, rhododendra, and polyanthuses, which ornamented that mausoleum, had somehow been suffered to run greatly to seed during the last few months, and it was with no slight self-accusation that she acknowledged this fact on visiting "the garden of the grave," as she called it; and she scolded the beadle soundly for neglecting his duty towards it. he promised obedience for the future, dug out all the weeds that were creeping round the family vault, and (having charge of the key) entered that awful place, and swept and dusted the melancholy contents of the tomb. next morning, the widow came down to breakfast looking very pale. she had passed a bad night; she had had awful dreams; she had heard a voice call her thrice at midnight. "pooh! my dear, it's only nervousness," said sceptical sister anne. here john thomas, the footman, entered, and said the beadle was in the hall, looking in a very strange way. he had been about the house since daybreak, and insisted on seeing mrs. bluebeard. "let him enter," said that lady, prepared for some great mystery. the beadle came; he was pale as death; his hair was dishevelled, and his cocked hat out of order. "what have you to say?" said the lady, trembling. before beginning, he fell down on his knees. "yesterday," said he, "according to your ladyship's orders, i dug up the flower-beds of the family vault, dusted the vault and the--the coffins (added he, trembling) inside. me and john sexton did it together, and polished up the plate quite beautiful." "for heaven's sake, don't allude to it," cried the widow, turning pale. "well, my lady, i locked the door, came away, and found in my hurry--for i wanted to beat two little boys what was playing at marbles on alderman paunch's monyment--i found, my lady, i'd forgot my cane. "i couldn't get john sexton to go back with me till this morning, and i didn't like to go alone, and so we went this morning; and what do you think i found? i found his honor's coffin turned round, and the cane broke in two. here's the cane!" "ah!" screamed the widow, "take it away,--take it away!" "well, what does this prove," said sister anne, "but that somebody moved the coffin, and broke the cane?" "somebody! _who's somebody?_" said the beadle, staring round about him. and all of a sudden he started back with a tremendous roar, that made the ladies scream and all the glasses on the sideboard jingle, and cried, "_that's the man!_" he pointed to the portrait of bluebeard, which stood over the jingling glasses on the sideboard. "that's the man i saw last night walking round the vault, as i'm a living sinner. i saw him a-walking round and round, and, when i went up to speak to him, i'm blessed if he didn't go in at the iron gate, which opened afore him like--like winking, and then in at the vault door, which i'd double-locked, my lady, and bolted inside, i'll take my oath on it!" "perhaps you had given him the key?" suggested sister anne. "it's never been out of my pocket. here it is," cried the beadle; "i'll have no more to do with it." and he flung down the ponderous key, amidst another scream from widow bluebeard. "at what hour did you see him?" gasped she. "at twelve o'clock, of course." "it must have been at that very hour," said she, "i heard the voice." "what voice?" said anne. "a voice that called, 'fatima! fatima! fatima!' three times, as plain as ever voice did." "it didn't speak to me," said the beadle; "it only nodded its head, and wagged its head and beard." "w--w--was it a _bl--ue beard_?" said the widow. "powder-blue, ma'am, as i've a soul to save!" dr. drench was of course instantly sent for. but what are the medicaments of the apothecary in a case where the grave gives up its dead? dr. sly arrived, and he offered ghostly--ah! too ghostly--consolation. he said he believed in them. his own grandmother had appeared to his grandfather several times before he married again. he could not doubt that supernatural agencies were possible, even frequent. "suppose he were to appear to me alone," ejaculated the widow, "i should die of fright." the doctor looked particularly arch. "the best way in these cases, my dear madam," said he, "the best way for unprotected ladies is to get a husband. i never heard of a first husband's ghost appearing to a woman and her second husband in my life. in all history there is no account of one." "ah! why should i be afraid of seeing my bluebeard again?" said the widow; and the doctor retired quite pleased, for the lady was evidently thinking of a second husband. "the captain would be a better protector for me certainly than mr. sly," thought the lady, with a sigh; "but mr. sly will certainly kill himself, and will the captain be a match for two ghosts? sly will kill himself; but ah! the captain won't." and the widow thought with pangs of bitter mortification of dolly coddlins. how--how should these distracting circumstances be brought to an end? she retired to rest that night not without a tremor,--to bed, but not to sleep. at midnight a voice was heard in her room, crying, "fatima! fatima! fatima!" in awful accents. the doors banged to and fro, the bells began to ring, the maids went up and down stairs skurrying and screaming, and gave warning in a body. john thomas, as pale as death, declared that he found bluebeard's yeomanry sword, that hung in the hall, drawn, and on the ground; and the sticking-plaster miniature in mr. bluebeard's bedroom was found turned topsy-turvy! "it is some trick," said the obstinate and incredulous sister anne. "to-night i will come and sleep with you, sister." and the night came, and the two sisters retired together. 'twas a wild night. the wind howling without went crashing through the old trees of the old rookery round about the old church. the long bedroom windows went thump thumping; the moon could be seen through them lighting up the graves with their ghastly shadows; the yew-tree, cut into the shape of a bird, looked particularly dreadful, and bent and swayed as if it would peck something off that other yew-tree which was of the shape of a dumb-waiter. the bells at midnight began to ring as usual, the doors clapped, jingle--jingle down came a suit of armor in the hall, and a voice came and cried, "fatima! fatima! fatima! look, look, look; the tomb, the tomb, the tomb!" she looked. the vault door was open, and there in the moonlight stood bluebeard, exactly as he was represented in the picture, in his yeomanry dress, his face frightfully pale, and his great blue beard curling over his chest, as awful as mr. muntz's. sister anne saw the vision as well as fatima. we shall spare the account of their terrors and screams. strange to say, john thomas, who slept in the attic above his mistress's bedroom, declared he was on the watch all night, and had seen nothing in the churchyard, and heard no sort of voices in the house. and now the question came, what could the ghost want by appearing? "is there anything," exclaimed the unhappy and perplexed fatima, "that he would have me do? it is well to say 'now, now, now,' and to show himself; but what is it that makes my blessed husband so uneasy in his grave?" and all parties consulted agreed that it was a very sensible question. john thomas, the footman, whose excessive terror at the appearance of the ghost had procured him his mistress's confidence, advised mr. screw, the butler, who communicated with mrs. baggs, the housekeeper, who condescended to impart her observations to mrs. bustle, the lady's-maid,--john thomas, i say, decidedly advised that my lady should consult a cunning man. there was such a man in town; he had prophesied who should marry his (john thomas's) cousin; he had cured farmer horn's cattle, which were evidently bewitched; he could raise ghosts, and make them speak, and he therefore was the very person to be consulted in the present juncture. "what nonsense is this you have been talking to the maids, john thomas, about the conjurer who lives in--in--" "in hangman's lane, ma'am, where the gibbet used to stand," replied john, who was bringing in the muffins. "it's no nonsense, my lady. every word as that man says comes true, and he knows everything." "i desire you will not frighten the girls in the servants' hall with any of those silly stories," said the widow; and the meaning of this speech may, of course, at once be guessed. it was that the widow meant to consult the conjurer that very night. sister anne said that she would never, under such circumstances, desert her dear fatima. john thomas was summoned to attend the ladies with a dark lantern, and forth they set on their perilous visit to the conjurer at his dreadful abode in hangman's lane. * * * * * what took place at that frightful interview has never been entirely known. but there was no disturbance in the house on the night after. the bells slept quite quietly, the doors did not bang in the least, twelve o'clock struck, and no ghost appeared in the churchyard, and the whole family had a quiet night. the widow attributed this to a sprig of rosemary which the wizard gave her, and a horseshoe which she flung into the garden round the family vault, and which would keep _any_ ghost quiet. it happened the next day, that, going to her milliner's, sister anne met a gentleman who has been before mentioned in this story, ensign trippet by name; and, indeed, if the truth must be known, it somehow happened that she met the ensign somewhere every day of the week. "what news of the ghost, my dearest miss shacabac?" said he (you may guess on what terms the two young people were by the manner in which mr. trippet addressed the lady); "has bluebeard's ghost frightened your sister into any more fits, or set the bells a-ringing?" sister anne, with a very grave air, told him that he must not joke on so awful a subject, that the ghost had been laid for a while, that a cunning man had told her sister things so wonderful that _any_ man must believe in them; that among other things, he had shown to fatima her future husband. "had," said the ensign, "he black whiskers and a red coat?" "no," answered anne, with a sigh, "he had red whiskers and a black coat." "it can't be that rascal sly!" cried the ensign. but anne only sighed more deeply and would not answer yes or no. "you may tell the poor captain," she said, "there is no hope for him, and all he has left is to hang himself." "he shall cut the throat of sly first, though," replied mr. trippet, fiercely. but anne said things were not decided as yet. fatima was exceedingly restive, and unwilling to acquiesce in the idea of being married to mr. sly; she had asked for further authority. the wizard said he could bring her own husband from the grave to point out her second bridegroom, who shall be, can be, must be, no other than frederick sly. "it is a trick," said the ensign; but anne was too much frightened by the preceding evening's occurrences to say so. "to-night," she said, "the grave will tell all." and she left ensign trippet in a very solemn and affecting way. * * * * * at midnight, three figures were seen to issue from widow bluebeard's house, and pass through the churchyard turnstile, and so away among the graves. "to call up a ghost is bad enough," said the wizard; "to make him speak is awful. i recommend you, ma'am, to beware, for such curiosity has been fatal to many. there was one arabian necromancer of my acquaintance who tried to make a ghost speak, and was torn in pieces on the spot. there was another person who _did_ hear a ghost speak certainly, but came away from the interview deaf and dumb. there was another--" "never mind," says mrs. bluebeard, all her old curiosity aroused, "see him and hear him i will. haven't i seen him and heard him, too, already? when he's audible _and_ visible, _then_'s the time." "but when you heard him," said the necromancer, "he was invisible, and when you saw him he was inaudible; so make up your mind what you will ask him, for ghosts will stand no shilly-shallying. i knew a stuttering man who was flung down by a ghost, and--" "i _have_ made up my mind," said fatima, interrupting him. "to ask him what husband you shall take," whispered anne. fatima only turned red, and sister anne squeezed her hand; they passed into the graveyard in silence. there was no moon; the night was pitch dark. they threaded their way through the graves, stumbling over them here and there. an owl was toowhooing from the church tower, a dog was howling somewhere, a cock began to crow, as they will sometimes at twelve o'clock at night. "make haste," said the wizard. "decide whether you will go on or not." "let us go back, sister," said anne. "i _will_ go on," said fatima. "i should die if i gave it up, i feel i should." "here's the gate; kneel down," said the wizard. the women knelt down. "will you see your first husband or your second husband?" "i will see bluebeard first," said the widow; "i shall know then whether this be a mockery, or you have the power you pretend to." at this the wizard uttered an incantation, so frightful, and of such incomprehensible words, that it is impossible for any mortal man to repeat them. and at the end of what seemed to be a versicle of his chant he called bluebeard. there was no noise but the moaning of the wind in the trees, and the toowhooing of the owl in the tower. at the end of the second verse he paused again, and called _bluebeard_. the cock began to crow, the dog began to howl, a watchman in the town began to cry out the hour, and there came from the vault within a hollow groan, and a dreadful voice said, "who wants me?" kneeling in front of the tomb, the necromancer began the third verse. as he spoke, the former phenomena were still to be remarked. as he continued, a number of ghosts rose from their graves, and advanced round the kneeling figures in a circle. as he concluded, with a loud bang the door of the vault flew open, and there in blue light stood bluebeard in his blue uniform, waving his blue sword, and flashing his blue eyes round about! "speak now, or you are lost," said the necromancer, to fatima. but, for the first time in her life, she had not a word to say. sister anne, too, was dumb with terror. and, as the awful figure advanced towards them as they were kneeling, the sister thought all was over with them, and fatima once more had occasion to repent her fatal curiosity. the figure advanced, saying, in dreadful accents, "fatima! fatima! fatima! wherefore am i called from my grave?" when all of a sudden down dropped his sword, down the ghost of bluebeard went on his knees, and, clasping his hands together, roared out, "murder, mercy!" as loud as man could roar. _six other ghosts_ stood round the kneeling group. "why do you call me from the tomb?" said the first; "who dares disturb my grave?" said the second; "seize him and away with him!" cried the third. "murder, mercy!" still roared the ghost of bluebeard, as the white-robed spirits advanced and caught hold of him. "it's only tom trippet," said a voice at anne's ear. "and your very humble servant," said a voice well known to mrs. bluebeard; and they helped the ladies to rise, while the other ghosts seized bluebeard. the necromancer took to his heels and got off; he was found to be no other than mr. claptrap, the manager of the theatre. it was some time before the ghost of bluebeard could recover from the fainting-fit into which he had been plunged when seized by the opposition ghosts in white; and while they were ducking him at the pump his blue beard came off, and he was discovered to be--who do you think? why, mr. sly, to be sure; and it appears that john thomas, the footman, had lent him the uniform, and had clapped the doors, and rung the bells, and spoken down the chimney; and it was mr. claptrap who gave mr. sly the blue fire and the theatre gong; and he went to london next morning by the coach; and, as it was discovered that the story concerning miss coddlins was a shameful calumny, why, of course, the widow married captain blackbeard. dr. sly married them, and has always declared that he knew nothing of his nephew's doings, and wondered that he has not tried to commit suicide since his last disappointment. mr. and mrs. trippet are likewise living happily together, and this, i am given to understand, is the ultimate fate of a family in whom we were all very much interested in early life. you will say that the story is not probable. pshaw! isn't it written in a book? and is it a whit less probable than the first part of the tale? the picnic party. by horace smith. to give a picnic party a fair chance of success, it must be almost impromptu: projected at twelve o'clock at night at the earliest, executed at twelve o'clock on the following day at the latest; and even then the odds are fearfully against it. the climate of england is not remarkable for knowing its own mind; nor is the weather "so fixed in its resolve" but that a bright august moon, suspended in a clear sky, may be lady-usher to a morn of fog, sleet, and drizzle. then, again,--but this being tender ground, we will only hint at the possibility of such a change,--a lady of the intended party might quit the drawing-room at night in the sweetest humor imaginable, and make her appearance at breakfast in a less amiable mood, or, perhaps, "prefer taking breakfast in her own room,"--from which notice husbands sometimes infer that such a change has taken place. mr. claudius bagshaw, a retired silk mercer, in the vicinity of london, determined, notwithstanding all these arguments, to have a picnic party on the th of august, his wedding-day. on the d of july, mr. claudius bagshaw, after eating his breakfast and reading the morning post, looked out of his parlor window to watch the horticultural pursuits of his better part. mr. bagshaw had become a member of one of the "march-of-intellect-societies," and was confident that the picnic would turn out a very pleasant thing. "how fortunate we shall be, dear," said mr. bagshaw, "how happy we shall be, if the weather should be as fine on our wedding-day as it is now." "true, love," replied mrs. bagshaw; "but this is only the d of july, and, as the anniversary of our happy day is the th of august, the weather _may_ change." this proposition mr. bagshaw did not attempt to deny. the bagshaws were the happiest couple in the world. being blessed with the negative blessing of no offspring, the stream of their affections was not diverted into little channels, but ebbed and flowed in one uninterrupted tide reciprocally from bosom to bosom. they never disputed, they never quarrelled. yes, they did sometimes, but then it was from a mutual over-anxiety to please. each was afraid to pronounce a choice, or a preference, lest it might be disagreeable to the other; and hence there occasionally did arise little bickerings, and tiffings, and miffings, which were quite as unpleasant in their effects, and sometimes as difficult to settle, as quarrels originating in less amiable causes. "but," said mr. bagshaw, referring to the barometer, "the instrument for indicating the present state and probable changes of the weather still maintains its elevation, and i tell you what, dear, if the weather should be _preposterous_ on the th of august, suppose, instead of going into the north, as we did last year, we migrate into kent or surrey? instead of dining at hampstead, as we did last year, shall we go to greenwich, or to putney, and eat little fishes?" "whichever you like, love," was the lady's answer to the so-intended question. "but i put it to your choice, dear." "either--or neither--please yourself, love, and you are sure you will please me." "pshaw! but it is for the gratification of your--or, more properly speaking, for your gratification. i submit to you an alternative for the purpose of election; and you know, jane, i repudiate indifference, even as concerning or applying to trifles." "you know, claudius, we have but one wish, and that is to please each other; so do you decide." "but, mrs. bagshaw, i must promulgate a request that--having, as i have, no desire but to please you--you will--" "how, sir! would you force me to choose, when i am so obedient as to choose that you should have the choice entirely your own way? this treatment of me is monstrous!" and here mrs. bagshaw did what is usual and proper for ladies to do on such occasions,--she burst into tears. "why, then, madam, to use a strong expression, i must say that--" but a loud rap at the street-door prevented the utterance of an "expression," the force of which would doubtless have humbled mrs. claudius bagshaw down to the very dust. "claudius," said the lady, hastily drying her eyes, "that is uncle john's knock. we'll go to gre--put--greenwich, love." "that's well, dear; and be assured, love, that nothing is so adverse to the constitution of what locke emphatically calls the human mind, philosophically considered, as to persevere in that state of indecision which--that--whereof--but we will not go to either; uncle john shall select the locality." uncle john was a bachelor of fifty-five, possessing twelve thousand pounds, a strong disinclination to part with any of them, a good heart, and a bad temper. "good morning t' ye, good folks; as usual, i perceive, billing and cooing." the bagshaws had by this time got together in a corner of the garden, and were lovingly occupied in trimming the same pot of sweet peas. "quite the contrary, uncle john," said mrs. bagshaw. "claudius and i have just had one of our most desperate quarrels." and here the happy pair giggled, and exchanged looks which were meant to imply that _their_ most desperate quarrels were mere kitten's play; and that uncle john did so interpret them, he made manifest by a knowing shake of his forefinger. "the fact is, sir, jane and i talk of commemorating the annual recurrence of the anniversary of our wedding-day, at some place a _leetle_ farther in the country; but our minds are in a perfect vacuum concerning the identity of the spot. now, sir, will you reduce the place to a mathematical certainty, and be one of the party?" "why--um--no; these things are expensive; we come home at night with a guinea apiece less in our pockets, and i don't see the good of that." "i have it!" cried bagshaw; "we'll make it a picnic; that _won't_ be expensive." "then i'm with you, bagshaw, with all my heart,--and it shall be _al fresco_." "there or anywhere else you please, sir," gravely replied the learned member of the universal-knowledge-warehouse. "uncle john means in the open air, claudius; that _will_ be delightful." "charming!" rejoined bagshaw. it may be inquired why uncle john, who objected to the disbursement of a guinea for a day's pleasure, should so readily have yielded at the suggestion of a picnic. uncle john possessed a neat little morocco pocket-case, containing a dozen silver spoons, and silver-handled knives and forks, and although we are told that these implements are of later invention than fingers, there is, nevertheless, a very general bias in their favor, for the purpose to which they are applied. now, uncle john being aware of the prevalence of their employment, it was for this reason he never objected to make one of a picnic party; for, whilst others contributed chickens, pigeon-pies, or wines,--it being the principle of such parties that each member should furnish something to the feast,--uncle john invariably contributed the use of his knives, forks, and spoons. the whole morning was spent in debating on who should be invited to partake of this "pleasantest thing that ever was," and examining into their several pretensions, and their powers of contributing to the amusements of the day; when, at length, the honor of nomination was conferred upon the persons following, and for the reasons assigned:-- sir thomas and lady grouts--because of their title, which would give an air to the thing--(sir thomas, formerly a corn-chandler, having been knighted for carrying up an address in the late reign). miss euphemia grouts, daughter no. --who would bring her guitar. miss corinna grouts, ditto no. --because she would sing. mr. and mrs. snodgrass--mr. snodgrass being vice-president of the grand junction march-of-intellect society. mr. frederick snodgrass, their son (lately called to the chancery bar), who would bring his flute. messrs. wrench and son (eminent dentists). the father to be invited because he was charming company, and the son, a dead bore, because the father would be offended if he were not. and, lastly, miss snubbleston, a rich maiden lady of forty-four, for no other earthly qualification whatever than her carriage, which (to use bagshaw's words) would carry herself and _us three_, and also transplant a large portion of the provender to the place of rendezvous. bagshaw having made out a fair copy of this list, somewhat in the shape of a bill of parcels, this, the first step towards the "pleasantest thing that ever was," was taken with entire satisfaction. "why, bagshaw," exclaimed uncle john, who had cast up the numbers, "including our three selves, we shall be thirteen!" the member of the institution perceived the cause of his alarm! but having been lectured out of _prejudices_ respecting matters of greater moment than this, he prepared a look of ineffable contempt as his only reply; however, happening to think of uncle john's twelve thousand pounds, he suppressed it, and just contented himself with, "and what then, sir?" "why, _then_, sir, that is a risk i won't run; and unless we can manage to--i have it! the very man. how came we to forget him? _the--very--man!_ you know jack richards?" the last four words were delivered in a tone implying the utter impossibility of any human creature being unacquainted with jack richards. "not in the least, sir. i never heard of him." "what! never heard of ja--the thing is impossible; everybody knows jack richards. the very thing for us; such a wit! such a wag!--he is the life and soul of everything. should he be unengaged for the th of august. but he is so caught up! i was invited to meet him at dinner last sunday at jones's, but he didn't come. such a disappointment to us! however, i shall meet him on thursday at the tims's, if he should but keep his promise, and then--" "but, uncle," said mrs. bagshaw, "hadn't you better send him an invitation at once?" "i'll do better still, my dear; i'll call at his lodgings, and if i find him hanging loose, i'll bring him to dine with you to-day." then, turning to bagshaw, he added, "that a man like _you_ shouldn't know jack richards, is surprising!" as this was evidently pointed at mr. claudius bagshaw in his capacity of member of a learned body, bagshaw pursed up his mouth into a mock-modesty smile, and slightly bowed. off went uncle john in quest of jack richards; and, that the pleasantest thing in the world might not suffer by delay, off went mr. bagshaw to apprize the snodgrasses, the groutses, and the rest of the nominees; and, more important still, off went the lady to the poulterer's, to inquire whether he was likely to have any nice pigeons for a pie, about the twenty-third of next month. the dinner-hour arrived, and so did uncle john, but with a face of unspeakable woe. "i feared how it would be." "what! can't he be with us on the th?" inquired both the bagshaws at the same instant. "he will if he can; but he won't promise. but to-day!--however, it serves us right; we were unwise to indulge a hope of his coming at so short a notice. he has almost engaged himself to you for sunday fortnight, though. what a creature it is!--he has given me such a pain in my side!" "something he said that almost killed you with laughing? repeat it, uncle, repeat it." "why, no, he didn't say anything particular; but he has a knack of poking one in the ribs, in his comical way, and sometimes he hurts you." we intended to describe jack richards at length; uncle john's accidental notice of this trait has, most probably, rendered that trouble unnecessary. indeed, we feel that we need scarcely add to it, that he can sing a devilish good song (and everybody knows what is meant by that), and imitated the inimitable mathews's imitations of the actors, not even excepting his imitation of tate wilkinson's imitation of garrick. except the uncertainty of jack richards, the result of the morning's occupation was satisfactory. bagshaw, still retaining his old business-like habits of activity and industry, had contrived to wait on every person named in the list, all of whom had promised their attendance; and mrs. bagshaw had received from the poulterer a positive assurance that he would raise heaven and earth to supply her with pigeons on the d of the ensuing august! committees were forthwith summoned. first, a committee to consider of the whereabout. at this, after an evening of polite squabbling, which had nearly put an end to the project altogether, twickenham meadows received the honor of selection,--_nem. con._ as bagshaw said. next, lest it should happen, as it did once happen, for want of such preconcert, that a picnic party of ten found themselves at their place of meeting with ten fillets of veal and ten hams, mr. bagshaw called a committee of "provender." here it was settled that the snodgrasses should contribute four chickens and a tongue; the bagshaws, their pigeon-pie; wrench and son, a ham; sir thomas grouts, a hamper of his own _choice_ wine; miss snubbleston, a basket of fruit and pastry; uncle john, his silver spoons, knives, and forks; and jack richards--his charming company. and lastly came the committee for general purposes! at this important meeting, it was agreed that the party proceed to twickenham by water; that to save the trouble of loading and unloading, miss snubbleston's carriage convey the hampers, etc., direct to the place appointed,--the said carriage, moreover, serving to bring the ladies to town, should the evening prove cold; that, for the _water-music_, the following programme be adopted: . on reaching vauxhall bridge, the concert to commence with madame pasta's grand scena in "medea," previous to the murder of the children, by miss corinna grouts. . nicholson's grand flute concerto in five sharps, by mr. frederick snodgrass. . grand aria, with variations, guitar, by miss euphemia grouts. . sweet bird; accompaniment, flute obligato, miss c. g. and mr. f. s.--and . the dettingen te deum (arranged for three voices, by mr. f. s.) by miss euphemia, miss corinna, and mr. frederick snodgrass. the "interstices," as mr. bagshaw called them, to be filled up by the amusing talents of the elder wrench and uncle john's friend. and, lastly, that the company do assemble at mr. bagshaw's on the morning of the th of august, at ten o'clock _precisely_, in order to have the advantage of the tide both ways. three days prior to the important th, mr. bagshaw went to engage the boat, but, in a squabble with the boatman, mr. b. got a black eye. this was the first mishap. restless and impatient though you be, depend upon it, there is not a day of the whole three hundred and sixty-five will put itself, in the slightest degree, out of the way, or appear one second before its appointed time, for your gratification. o that people would consider this, and await events with patience! certainly mr. bagshaw did not. the night of the d to him appeared an age. his repeater was in his hand every ten minutes. he thought the morning would never dawn,--but he was mistaken; it did; and as fine a morning as if it had been made on purpose to favor his excursion. by six o'clock he was dressed!--by eight the contributions from all the members had arrived, and were ranged in the passage. there was their own pigeon-pie, carefully packed in brown paper and straw; sir thomas's hamper of his own choice wine; and the rest. everything promised fairly. the young ladies and mr. frederick had had thirty rehearsals of their grand arias and concertos, and were perfect to a demi-semiquaver; jack richards would _certainly_ come; and the only drawback upon mr. bagshaw's personal enjoyment--but nothing in this world is perfect--was the necessity he was under of wearing his green shade, which would totally deprive him of the pleasure of contemplating the beauties of the thames scenery,--a thing he had set his heart upon. nine! ten! "no one here yet! jane, my love, we shall infallibly lose the tide." and for the next quarter of an hour the place of the poor repeater was no sinecure. a knock! mr. and mrs. snodgrass and mr. frederick. another! the whole family of the groutses. next came mr. charles wrench. "bless us! mr. charles," said bagshaw, "where is your father?" now, mr. wrench, senior, was an agreeable old dentist, always gay, generally humorous, sometimes witty; he could _sketch_ characters as well as _draw_ teeth; and, on occasions of this kind, was invaluable. the son was a mere donkey; a silly, simpering, well-dressed young gentleman, the owner of no more than the eighth of an idea, and of a very fine set of teeth, which he constantly exhibited like a sign or advertisement of his shop. appended to everything he uttered were a preface and postscript, in the form of a sort of billy-goat grin. "he! he! he! he! fayther regrets emezingly he caint come, being called to attend the duchess of dilborough. he! he! he! he!" as we have already said that it was in pure compliment to the father that the son was invited, and not at all for the sake of his own company, his presence was a grievous aggravation of the disappointment. the next knock announced miss snubbleston. but where was her carriage? why, it had been newly varnished, and they might scratch her panels with the hampers; and then she was afraid of her springs. so here was miss snubbleston without her carriage, for the convenience of which alone she had been invited, considered by the rest in exactly the same light as young mr. wrench without old mr. wrench,--_id est_, a damper. a new arrangement was the necessary consequence; and the baskets, under the superintendence of a servant, were jolted down in a hackney-coach, to be embarked at westminster. but miss snubbleston brought with her a substitute, which was by no means a compensation. cupid, her wretched, little, barking, yelping, dutch pug, had eaten something that had disagreed with him, and his fair mistress would not "for worlds" have left him at home while he was so indisposed. well, no one chose to be the first to object to the intruder, so cupid was received. "but where can uncle john and his friend be? we shall lose the tide, that's certain," was scarcely uttered by mr. bagshaw, when in came our uncle, together with the long-expected jack richards. the usual introductions over, mr. richards saluted everybody with the self-sufficient swagger of a vulgar lion. "the day smiles auspicious, sir," said bagshaw, who thought it requisite he should throw off something fine to so celebrated a person. "smile?--a broad grin, i call it, sir." and here was a general laugh. "o, excellent!" "capital!" uncle john, proud of his friend, whispered in bagshaw's ear, "you see, jack's beginning." and now hats and gloves were in motion. "you have got your flute, frederick?" "yes, mother," was the reply. "lau, ma," cried miss corinna, "if i haven't come without 'sweet bird,' and my scena from 'medea,' i declare." as these were indispensable to the amusements of the day, a servant was despatched for them. he couldn't be gone longer than half an hour. half an hour! thought bagshaw; 'tis eleven now; and the tide.--but the servant was absent a few minutes beyond the half-hour, and poor bagshaw suffered severely from that gnawing impatience, amounting almost to pain, which every mother's son of us has experienced upon occasions of greater--or less importance than this. they were again at the very point of starting, when a message was brought to mrs. snodgrass that little master charles had cut his thumb dreadfully! what was to be done? mrs. snodgrass vowed she shouldn't be easy in her mind the whole day unless she knew the extent of the mischief; and as they _only_ lived in euston square, and she could be there and back again in twenty minutes, she would herself go see what really was the matter,--and away she went. twenty minutes! during all this time, bagshaw--but who would attempt to describe anguish indescribable? at length he was relieved by the return of mrs. snodgrass; but, to the horror and consternation of himself and of all present, she introduced the aforesaid master charles,--an ugly, ill-tempered, blubbering little brat of seven years old, with a bloated red face, scrubby white hair, and red eyes; and with the interesting appendage of a thick slice of bread and butter in his hand. "i'm sure you'll pardon this liberty," said the affectionate mamma; "but poor charley has cut himself very much, and he would not be pacified till i consented to take him with us. he has promised to be very good. there, don't cry any more, darling!" and, accordingly, the urchin roared with tenfold vigor. there were no particular manifestations of joy at this arrival; and it is just possible, although nothing was uttered to that effect, that there did exist a general and cordial wish that young master snodgrass were sprawling at the bottom of the deepest well in england. uncle john, indeed, did utter something about the pug and the child--two such nuisances--people bringing their brats into grownup company. at length the procession set out: the bagshaws, uncle john, and jack richards bringing up the rear in a hackney-coach. on reaching the corner of the street, mrs. bagshaw called out to the driver to stop. "what is the matter, dear?" said bagshaw. "your eye-lotion, love." "well, never mind that, sweet." "claudius, i shall be miserable if you go without it. dr. nooth desired you would use it every two hours. i must insist,--now, for my sake, love,--such an eye as he has got, mr. richards!" so away went bagshaw to the lake of lausanne lodge for the lotion, which, as it always happens when folks are in a hurry, it took him a quarter of an hour to find. they were now fairly on the road. "what a smell of garlic!" exclaimed uncle john; "it is intolerable!" "dear me!" said mr. richards, "do you perceive it? 'tis a fine italian sausage i bought at morel's, as my contribution. we shall find it an excellent relish in the country." and he exhibited his purchase, enveloped in a brown paper. "pha! shocking!--'tis a perfect nuisance! put it into your pocket again, or throw it out at the window." but mr. richards preferred obeying the first command. apropos of contributions--"uncle, have you brought your spoons?" "here they are," replied uncle, at the same time drawing from his pocket a parcel in size and form very closely resembling mr. richards's offensive contribution. on arriving at westminster bridge, they found the rest of the party already seated in the barge, and the first sound that saluted their ears was an intimation that, owing to their being two hours behind time (it was now past twelve), they should hardly save the tide. "i knew it would be so," said bagshaw, with more of discontent than he had thought to experience, considering the pains he had taken that everything should be well ordered. as uncle john was stepping into the boat, richards, with great dexterity, exchanged parcels with him, putting the italian sausage into uncle john's pocket and the spoons into his own; enhancing the wit of the manoeuvre by whispering to the bagshaws, who, with infinite delight, had observed it. "hang me," said richards, "but he shall have enough of the garlic!" the old gentleman was quite unconscious of the operation, as richards adroitly diverted his attention from it by giving him one of his facetious pokes in the ribs, which nearly bent him double, and drew a roar of laughter from every one else. just as they were pushing off, their attention was attracted by a loud howling. it proceeded from a large newfoundland dog which was standing at the water's edge. "confound it!" cried richards, "that's my carlo! he has followed me, unperceived, all the way from home--i would not lose him for fifty pounds. i must take him back--pray put me ashore. this is very provoking--though he is _a very quiet dog_!" there was no mistaking this hint. already were there two nuisances on board,--master charles and the dutch pug: but as they were to choose between jack richards with his dog, or no jack richards (or in other words, no life and soul of the party), it was presently decided that carlo should be invited to a seat on the hampers, which were stowed at the head of the boat,--uncle john having first extracted from mr. richards an assurance that their new guest would lie there as still as a mouse. this complaisance was amply rewarded by a speedy display of mr. richards's powers of entertainment. as soon as they reached the middle of the river jack richards suddenly jumped up, for the purpose of frightening miss snubbleston; a jest at which everybody else would have laughed, had not their own lives been endangered by it. even his great admirer suggested to him that once of that was enough. his next joke was one of a more intellectual character. though he had never till this day seen sir thomas, he had accidentally heard something about his former trade. "what is the difference between lord eldon and sir thomas grouts?" nobody could tell. "one is an ex-chancellor,--the other is an ex-chandler." everybody laughed, except the grouts family. this was succeeded by another thrust in uncle john's side; after which came a pun, which we shall not record, as the effect of it was to force the ladies to cough and look into the water, the gentlemen to look at each other, and mrs. snodgrass to whisper to mrs. bagshaw,-- "who _is_ this mr. richards?" indeed, there would have been no end to his pleasantries had they not been interrupted by a request that miss corinna would open the concert, as they were fast approaching vauxhall bridge. mr. bagshaw (looking at the programme, which he had drawn out on paper ruled with red and blue lines) objected to this, as it would disturb the previous arrangement, according to which the concert was not to commence till they were _through_ the bridge. this objection was overruled, and the fair corinna unrolled the music, for which the servant had been despatched with so much haste. miss corinna screamed. what was the matter? "they had not sent the grand scena from medea, after all, but a wrong piece!" and the pains she had taken to be perfect in it! "could not miss corinna sing it from memory?" "impossible!" "how careless of you, corinna! then sing what they have sent." "why, ma," said corinna, with tears in her eyes, and holding up the unfortunate sheets,--"why, bless me, ma, i can't sing the overture to der freyschutz!" the difficulty of such a performance being readily admitted, mr. frederick snodgrass declared himself but too happy to comply with the calls for his concerto in five sharps, which stood next on the list; and with the air of one well satisfied that an abundance of admiration and applause would reward his efforts, he drew forth his flute, when, lo! one of the joints was missing! this accident was nearly fatal to the musical entertainments of the day; for not only was the concerto thereby rendered impracticable, but "sweet bird" with the flute-accompaniment obligato, was put _hors de combat_. disappointment having, by this, been carried to its uttermost bounds, the announcement that two strings of the guitar had gone was received with an indifference almost stoical; and every one was grateful to miss euphemia for so _willingly_ undertaking (the whispered menaces of lady grouts being heard by nobody but the young lady herself) to do all that could be done under such untoward circumstances. she would endeavor to accompany herself through a little ballad; but she failed. mr. claudius bagshaw, with all his literature, science, and philosophy, now, for the first time, wondered how anything could fail, so much trouble having been taken to insure success. drawing forth his repeater, he ahem'd, and just muttered,-- "unaccountable! hem! upon my word! one o'clock, and no pleasure yet!" "one o'clock!" echoed his spouse; "then 'tis time for your eye, dear!" and bagshaw was compelled not only to suffer his damaged optics to be dabbled by his tormentingly affectionate wife, but to submit again to be hoodwinked, in spite of his entreaties to the contrary, and his pathetic assurances that he had not yet seen a bit of the prospect; a thing he had set his heart upon. now occurred a dead silence of some minutes. a steamboat rushed by. bagshaw seized this opportunity to make a display of his scientific acquirements; and this he did with the greater avidity, as he had long wished to astonish vice-president snodgrass. besides, in the event of his offering to deliver a course of lectures at the institution, the vice-president might bear evidence to his capabilities for the purpose,--his acquaintance not only with the facts, but with the terms of science. whether those terms were always correctly applied, we confess ourselves not sufficiently learned to pronounce. "how wondrous is the science of mechanism! how variegated its progeny, how simple, yet how compound! i am propelled to the consideration of this subject by having optically perceived that ingenious nautical instrument, which has just now flown along like a mammoth, that monster of the deep! you ask me how are steamboats propagated? in other words, how is such an infinite and immovable body inveigled along its course? i will explain it to you. it is by the power of friction: that is to say, the two wheels, or paddles, turning diametrically, or at the same moment, on the axioms, and repressing by the rotundity of their motion the action of the menstruum in which the machine floats,--water being, in a philosophical sense, a powerful non-conductor,--it is clear, that in proportion as is the revulsion so is the progression; and as is the centrifugal force, so is the--" "pooh!" cried uncle john, impatiently; "let us have some music." "i have an apprehension, bagshaw," said the vice-president,--"that i should not presume to dispute with you,--that you are wrong in your theory of the centrifugal force of the axioms. however, we will discuss that point at the grand-junction. but come, frederick, the 'dettingen te deum.'" frederick and the young ladies having, by many rehearsals, perfected themselves in the performance of this piece, instantly complied. scarcely had they reached the fourth bar, when jack richards, who had not for a long time perpetrated a joke, produced a harsh, brassy-toned, german eolina, and "blew a blast so loud and shrill," that the dutch pug began to bark, carlo to howl, and the other nuisance, master charles, to cry. the german eolina was of itself bad enough, but these congregated noises were intolerable. uncle john aimed a desperate blow with a large apple, which he was just about to bite, at the head of carlo, who, in order to give his lungs fair play, was standing on all fours on the hampers. the apple missed the dog, and went some distance beyond him into the water. mr. carlo, attributing to uncle john a kinder feeling than that which actually prompted the proceeding, looked upon it as a good-natured expedient to afford him an opportunity of adding his mite to the amusements of the day, by displaying a specimen of his training. without waiting for a second hit, he plunged into the river, seized the apple, and, paddling up the side of the boat with the prize triumphantly exhibited in his jaws, to the consternation of the whole party, he scrambled in between uncle john and his master, dropped the apple upon the floor, distributed a copious supply of thames water amongst the affrighted beholders, squeezed his way through them as best he could, and, with an air of infinite self-satisfaction, resumed his place on the hampers. had mr. jack richards, the owner of the dog, been at the bottom of the thames a week before this delightful th, not one of the party, mr. richards himself excepted, would have felt in the slightest degree concerned; but since, with a common regard to politeness, they could not explicitly tell him so, they contented themselves with bestowing upon mr. carlo every term of opprobrium, every form of execration, which good manners will allow,--leaving it to the sagacity of "the life and soul of the company" to apply them to himself, if so it might be agreeable to him. poor fellow! he felt the awkwardness of his situation, and figuratively, as well as literally speaking, this exploit of his dog threw a _damp_ upon him, as it had done upon every one else. for some time the picnickers pursued their way in solemn silence. at length bagshaw, perceiving that there would be very little pleasure if matters were allowed to go on in this way, exclaimed,-- "an intelligent observer, not imbued with the knowledge of our intentions, would indicate us to be a combination of perturbed spirits, rowed by charon across the river tiber." in cases of this kind, the essential is to break the ice. conversation was now resumed. "ah! ha!" said the vice-president, "sion-house." "the residuum of the northumberlands," said claudius, "one of the most genealogical and antique families in england." and here, having put forth so much classical and historical lore, almost in a breath, he marked his own satisfaction by a short, single cough. the vice-president _said_ nothing, but he thought to himself, "there is much more in this bagshaw than i suspected." jack richards was up again. "come, what's done can't be helped; but, upon my soul! i am sorry at being the innocent cause of throwing cold water on the party." "cold water, indeed! look at me, sir," said miss snubbleston, with tears in her eyes, and exhibiting her _ci-devant_ shoulder-of-mutton sleeves, which, but half an hour before as stiff and stately as starch could make them, were now hanging loose and flabby about her skinny arms. "too bad, jack," said uncle john, "to bring that cursed carlo of yours!" carlo, perceiving that he was the subject of conversation, was instantly on his legs, his eye steadily fixed upon uncle john, evidently expecting a signal for a second plunge. the alarm was general, and every tongue joined in the scream of "lie down, sir! lie down!" uncle john, who had been more than once offended by the odor from his friend's garlic sausage, and who had on each and every such occasion vented an exclamation of disgust, to the great amusement of mr. richards (who chuckled with delight to think of the exchange he had secretly effected) here, in the very middle of the stream, resolved to rid himself of the annoyance. unperceived by any one, he gently drew the parcel from richards's coat-pocket, and let it drop into the water! like king richard's pierced coffin, once in, it soon found the way to the bottom. uncle john could scarcely restrain his inclination to laugh aloud; however, he contrived to assume an air of indifference, and whistled part of a tune. arrived at twickenham, the boatmen were ordered to pull up to a beautiful meadow, sloping down to the water's edge. there was no time to lose,--they had had no pleasure yet,--so bagshaw entreated that every one "would put his shoulder to the wheel, and be on the _qui rala_." in an instant a large heavy hamper was landed, but as, in compliance with bagshaw's request, every one did something to _help_, a scene of confusion was the consequence, and numerous pieces of crockery were invalided ere the cloth was properly spread, and the dishes, plates, and glasses distributed. but for the feast. mr. snodgrass's basket was opened, and out of it were taken four remarkably fine chickens, and a tongue--uncooked! there was but one mode of accounting for this trifling omission. mr. snodgrass's betty was a downright matter-of-fact person, who obeyed orders to the very letter. having been told, the evening before, to get four fine chickens for roasting, together with a tongue, and to pack them, next morning, in a basket, she did so literally and strictly; but, as she had received no distinct orders to dress them, to have done so she would have deemed an impertinent departure from her instructions. well; since people in a high state of civilization, like mr. claudius bagshaw and his friends, cannot eat raw chickens, they did the only thing they could under the circumstances,--they grumbled exceedingly, and put them back again into the basket. this was a serious deduction in the important point of quantity, and uncle john felt a slight touch of remorse at having thrown, as he thought, his friend's italian sausage into the thames. however, there was still provision in the garrison. but the run of luck in events, as at a game of whist, may be against you; and when it is so, be assured that human prudence and foresight--remarkable as even mrs. bagshaw's, who bespoke her pigeons seven weeks before she wanted them--avail but little. when the packages were first stowed in the boat, the pigeon-pie was inadvertently placed at the bottom, and everything else, finishing with the large heavy hamper of crockery, with carlo on that, upon it; so that when it was taken up it appeared a chaotic mass of pie-crust, broken china, pigeons, brown paper, beefsteak, eggs, and straw! "now this is enough to provoke a saint!" said bagshaw; and no one attempting to deny the position, with this salvo for his own character of philosophic patience, he indulged himself in the full expression of his vexation and sorrow. after a minute examination, he declared the pie to be "a complete squash," and that nobody could venture to eat it but at the imminent risk of being choked. as he was about to throw it over the hedge, miss snubbleston, seized with an unusual fit of generosity, called out to him,-- "what _are_ you doing? though it isn't fit for us to eat, it will be quite a treat to the poor watermen. i dare say, poor souls, they don't often get pigeon-pie." but the good genius of mr. carlo prevailed; and the truth of the adage, "'tis an ill wind that blows nobody good," was confirmed in his mind as he found himself busily employed in the ingenious operation of separating pigeon from porcelain. it was, doubtless, extremely ill-bred in one dog not to invite another, and cupid expressed his sense of the slight by a long-continued yell, which drew down upon him, from the equally disappointed bipeds of the company, sundry wishes, the positive accomplishment of which would not have tended much to his personal happiness. the next basket was opened. things were not altogether in a desperate state. mr. wrench's ham was in perfect order, and that, with miss snubbleston's salad, and some bread, and--could it be possible! after so much preparation, and mr. bagshaw's committee of "provender" to boot, that no one should have thought of so obvious a requisite as bread! there would not be time to send mr. bagshaw to twickenham town to procure some, for it was getting late, and if they lost the tide, they should be on the water till midnight, and they did not like the appearance of the sky, which was by no means so blue as it had hitherto been. however, the want of bread did not _much_ signify; they could make a shift with miss snubbleston's biscuits and poundcakes. but uncle john did not come out on an excursion of pleasure to make shift; no more did bagshaw; no more did any of the others. there was nothing else to be done; so where is miss snubbleston's basket? and where is master charles? gracious! don't be alarmed, the precious rarity is in no danger. he was soon discovered behind a tree, whither he had dragged the fruit and cakes, and was engaged with all his might and main, in an endeavor, with a piece of stick, to force out an apple. in this attempt, as it was presently seen, the interesting child had cracked a bottle, the contents of which--merely a preparation of oil, vinegar, and mustard for the salad--were quietly dribbling through the poundcakes, biscuits, and fruit. similar aspirations to those which had lately been so cordially expressed for the dutch pug were now most devoutly formed in behalf of master charles. "this comes of bringing their plaguy brats with them," said uncle and bagshaw. whilst this scene was going on, jack richards, perceiving that the service of the table was incomplete, bethought him of uncle john's silver-handled knives and forks and spoons; he felt first in one pocket, and then in the other, then he ran down to search the boat, then he rummaged the baskets. "jack, my boy," hallooed uncle john, "don't trouble yourself, you'll never see _that_ again." "what, sir?" "i could not bear the smell of it any longer, so i slyly drew it out of your pocket, and dexterously let it fall into the deepest part of the thames." and here uncle john chuckled, and looked about him for applause. "bless me, sir! don't say so--why--bless my heart--you don't know--before we got into the boat, i put the sausage into your pocket, and your case of cutlery into my own!" there was a general burst of laughter against uncle john. he turned as pale as--nay, paler than anything that has ever yet been dragged into the comparison; for an instant he stood stock-still, then thrust his hand into his pocket, drew forth the unfortunate substitute, and at the same time exclaiming d----tion! dashed it violently to the ground. he next buttoned his coat from the bottom to the top, pulled down his cuffs, whispered to his no longer admired jack richards, "you shall hear from me, mr.----," and saying aloud to bagshaw, "this comes of your confounded party of pleasure, sir," away he went, and returned to town outside a twickenham coach; resolving by the way to call out _that_ mr. richards, and to eject the bagshaws from the snug corner they held in his last will and testament. this explosion seemed to have banished pleasure for that day. they were all, more or less, out of humor; and instead of making the best of things, as they had hitherto done, they now made the worst of them. sir thomas's hamper of _his choice wine_ (which, by the by, he purchased at a cheap shop for the occasion) was opened; and slices of ham were cut with the only knife and fork. jack richards tried to be facetious, but it would not do. he gave bagshaw a poke in the ribs, which was received with a very formal, "sir, i must beg--" to mr. wrench, junior, he said,-- "you have not spoken much to-day--but you have made amends for your silence--d' ye take?--your _ham_ is good, though your _tongue_ is not worth much!" instead of laughing, mr. wrench simpered something about impertinent liberties and satisfaction. on being invited by sir thomas to a second glass of his old east india, he said that one was a dose--had rather not double the _cape_; and at the first glass of champagne, he inquired whether there had been a plentiful supply of gooseberries that year. in short, whether it were that the company knew not how to appreciate his style of wit and pleasantry, or that he was in reality a very disagreeable person, the fact is that--but hold! let us say nothing ill of him; he died last week, at folkestone, of a surfeit of goose, in the forty-ninth year of his age. for the consolation of such as were amused by him, and regret his loss, be it remembered that there are still to be found many jack richards in this world. as we have said, they now resolved to make the worst of everything; the grass was damp, the gnats were troublesome, carlo's nose was in everybody's face, cupid's teeth at everybody's calves, and master charles was ill of the many sour apples; it was growing late, and no good could come of sitting longer in the open air. they re-embarked. by the time they reached putney it was pitch dark, and the tide was setting against them. they moved on in mute impatience, for there was a slight sprinkling of rain. it now fell in torrents. master charles grew frightened and screamed. cupid yelped, and carlo howled. accompanied the rest of the way by these pleasing sounds, at one in the morning (two hours and a half later than they intended) they arrived at westminster stairs, dull, dreary, drowsy, discontented, and drenched. father tom and the pope, as related by mr. michael heffernan, master of the national school at tallymactaggart, in the county leitrim, to a friend, during his official visit to dublin for the purpose of studying political economy, in the spring of . by samuel ferguson. i. how father tom went to take pot-luck at the vatican. when his riv'rence was in room, ov coorse the pope axed him to take pot-look wid him. more be token, it was on a friday; but, for all that, there was plenty of mate; for the pope gev himself an absolution from the fast on account of the great company that was in it,--at laste so i'm tould. howandiver, there's no fast on the dhrink, anyhow,--glory be to god!--and so, as they wor sitting, afther dinner, taking their sup together, says the pope, says he, "thomaus," for the pope, you know, spakes that away, and all as one as ov uz,--"thomaus _a lanna_," says he, "i'm tould you welt them english heretics out ov the face." "you may say that," says his riv'rence to him again. "be my soul," says he, "if i put your holiness undher the table, you won't be the first pope i floored." well, his holiness laughed like to split; for you know, pope was the great prodesan that father tom put down upon purgathory; and ov coorse they knew all the ins and outs of the conthravarsy at room. "faix, thomaus," says he, smiling across the table at him mighty agreeable,--"it's no lie what they tell me, that yourself is the pleasant man over the dhrop ov good liquor." "would you like to thry?" says his riv'rence. "sure, and amn't i thrying all i can?" says the pope. "sorra betther bottle ov wine's betuxt this and salamanca, nor there's fornenst you on the table; it's raal lachrymachrystal, every spudh ov it." "it's mortial could," says father tom. "well, man alive," says the pope, "sure, and here's the best ov good claret in the cut decanther." "not maining to make little ov the claret, your holiness," says his riv'rence, "i would prefir some hot wather and sugar, wid a glass ov spirits through it, if convanient." "hand me over the bottle of brandy," says the pope to his head butler, "and fetch up the materi'ls," says he. "ah, then, your holiness," says his riv'rence, mighty eager, "maybe you'd have a dhrop ov the native in your cellar? sure, it's all one throuble," says he, "and, troth, i dunna how it is, but brandy always plays the puck wid my inthrails." "'pon my conscience, then," says the pope, "it's very sorry i am, misther maguire," says he, "that it isn't in my power to plase you; for i'm sure and certaint that there's not as much whiskey in room this blessed minit as 'ud blind the eye ov a midge." "well, in troth, your holiness," says father tom, "i knewn there was no use in axing; only," says he, "i didn't know how else to exqueeze the liberty i tuck," says he, "of bringing a small taste," says he, "of the real stuff," says he, hauling out an imperi'l quart bottle out ov his coat-pocket; "that never seen the face ov a guager," says he, setting it down on the table fornenst the pope; "and if you'll jist thry the full ov a thimble ov it, and it doesn't rise the cockles ov your holiness's heart, why then, my name," says he, "isn't tom maguire!" and with that he out's wid the cork. well, the pope at first was going to get vexed at father tom for fetching dhrink thataway in his pocket, as if there wasn't lashins in the house: so says he, "misther maguire," says he, "i'd have you to comprehind the differ betuxt an inwitation to dinner from the succissor of saint pether, and from a common nagur of a prodesan squirean that maybe hasn't liquor enough in his cupboard to wet more nor his own heretical whistle. that may be the way wid them that you wisit in leithrim," says he, "and in roscommon; and i'd let you know the differ in the prisint case," says he, "only that you're a champion ov the church and entitled to laniency. so," says he, "as the liquor's come, let it stay. and, in troth, i'm curi's myself," says he, getting mighty soft when he found the delightful smell ov the _putteen_, "in inwistigating the composition ov distilled liquors; it's a branch ov natural philosophy," says he, taking up the bottle and putting it to his blessed nose. ah! my dear, the very first snuff he got ov it, he cried out, the dear man, "blessed vargin, but it has the divine smell!" and crossed himself and the bottle half a dozen times running. "well, sure enough, it's the blessed liquor now," says his riv'rence, "and so there can be no harm any way in mixing a dandy of punch; and," says he, stirring up the materi'ls wid his goolden meeddlar,--for everything at the pope's table, to the very shcrew for drawing the corks, was ov vergin goold,--"if i might make boold," says he, "to spake on so deep a subjic afore your holiness, i think it 'ud considherably whacilitate the inwestigation ov its chemisthry and phwarmaceutics, if you'd jist thry the laste sup in life ov it inwardly." "well, then, suppose i do make the same expiriment," says the pope, in a much more condescinding way nor you'd have expected,--and wid that he mixes himself a real stiff facer. "now, your holiness," says father tom, "this bein' the first time you ever dispinsed them chymicals," says he, "i'll jist make bould to lay doun one rule ov orthography," says he, "for conwhounding them, _secundum mortem_." "what's that?" says the pope. "put in the sperits first," says his riv'rence; "and then put in the sugar; and remember, every dhrop ov wather you put in after that, spoils the punch." "glory be to god!" says the pope, not minding a word father tom was saying. "glory be to god!" says he, smacking his lips. "i never knewn what dhrink was afore," says he. "it bates the lachymalchrystal out ov the face!" says he,--"it's necthar itself, it is, so it is!" says he, wiping his epistolical mouth wid the cuff ov his coat. "'pon my secret honor," says his riv'rence, "i'm raally glad to see your holiness set so much to your satiswhaction; especially," says he, "as, for fear ov accidents, i tuck the liberty of fetching the fellow ov that small vesshel," says he, "in my other coat-pocket. so devil a fear of our running dhry till the but-end of the evening, anyhow," says he. "dhraw your stool into the fire, misther maguire," says the pope, "for faix," says he, "i'm bent on anilizing the metaphwysics ov this phinomenon. come, man alive, clear off," says he, "you're not dhrinking at all." "is it dhrink?" says his riv'rence; "by gorra, your holiness," says he, "i'd dhrink wid you till the cows 'ud be coming home in the morning." so wid that they tackled to, to the second fugil apiece, and fell into a larned discourse. but it's time for me now to be off to the lecthir at the boord. o, my sorra light upon you, docther whately, wid your plitical econimy and your hydherastatics! what the _divul_ use has a poor hedge-masther like me wid sich deep larning as is only fit for the likes ov them two i left over their second tumbler? howandiver, wishing i was like them, in regard ov the sup ov dhrink, anyhow, i must brake off my norration for the prisint; but when i see you again, i'll tell you how father tom made a hare ov the pope that evening, both in theology and the cube root. ii. how father tom sacked his holiness in theology and logic. well, the lecther's over, and i'm kilt out and out. my bitther curse be upon the man that invinted the same boord! i thought onc't i'd fadomed the say ov throuble; and that was when i got through fractions at ould mat kavanagh's school, in firdramore,--god be good to poor mat's sowl, though he did deny the cause the day he suffered! but its fluxions itself we're set to bottom now, sink or shwim! may i never die if my head isn't as throughother, as anything wid their ordinals and cardinals,--and, begad, it's all nothing to the econimy lecthir that i have to go to at two o'clock. howandiver, i mustn't forget that we left his riv'rence and his holiness sitting fornenst one another in the parlor ov the vatican, jist afther mixing their second tumbler. when they had got well down into the same, they fell, as i was telling you, into learned discourse. for you see, the pope was curious to find out whether father tom was the great theologinall that people said; and says he "mister maguire," says he, "what answer do you make to the heretics when they quote them passidges agin thransubstantiation out ov the fathers?" says he. "why," says his riv'rence, "as there is no sich passidges i make myself mighty asy about them; but if you want to know how i dispose ov them," says he, "just repate one ov them, and i'll show you how to catapomphericate it in two shakes." "why then," says the pope, "myself disremimbers the particlar passidges they allidge out ov them ould felleys," says he, "though sure enough they're more numerous nor edifying,--so we'll jist suppose that a heretic was to find sich a saying as this in austin, 'every sensible man knows that thransubstantiation is a lie,'--or this out of tertullian or plutarch, 'the bishop ov rome is a common imposther,'--now tell me, could you answer him?" "as easy as kiss," says his riv'rence. "in the first, we're to understand that the exprission, 'every sinsible man,' signifies simply, 'every man that judges by his nath'ral sinses'; and we all know that nobody follying them seven deludhers could ever find out the mysthery that's in it, if somebody didn't come in to his assistance wid an eighth sinse, which is the only sinse to be depended on, being the sinse ov the church. so that, regarding the first quotation which your holiness has supposed, it makes clane for us, and tee-totally agin the heretics." "that's the explanation sure enough," says his holiness; "and now what div you say to my being a common imposther?" "faix, i think," says his riv'rence, "wid all submission to the better judgment ov the learned father that your holiness has quoted, he'd have been a thrifle nearer the thruth, if he had said that the bishop ov rome is the grand imposther and top-sawyer in that line over us all." "what do you mane?" says the pope, getting quite red in the face. "what would i mane," says his riv'rence, as composed as a docther ov physic, "but that your holiness is at the head ov all them,--troth i had a'most forgot i wasn't a bishop myself," says he, the deludher was going to say, as the head of all _uz_, "that has the gift ov laving on hands. for sure," says he, "imposther and _imposithir_ is all one, so you're only to undherstand _manuum_, and the job is done. auvuich!" says he, "if any heretic 'ud go for to cast up sich a passidge as that agin me, i'd soon give him a p'lite art ov cutting a stick to welt his own back wid." "'pon my apostolical word," says the pope, "you've cleared up them two pints in a most satiswhactery manner." "you see," says his riv'rence,--by this time they wor mixing their third tumbler,--"the writings of them fathers is to be thrated wid great veneration; and it 'ud be the height ov presumption in any one to sit down to interpret them widout providing himself wid a genteel assortment ov the best figures of rhetoric, sich as mettonymy, hyperbol, cattychraysis, prolipsis, mettylipsis, superbaton, pollysyndreton, hustheronprotheron, prosodypeia and the like, in ordher that he may never be at a loss for shuitable sintiments when he comes to their high-flown passidges. for unless we thrate them fathers liberally to a handsome allowance ov thropes and figures they'd set up heresy at onc't, so they would." "it's thru for you," says the pope; "the figures ov spache is the pillars ov the church." "bedad," says his riv'rence, "i dunna what we'd do widout them at all." "which one do you prefir?" says the pope; "that is," says he, "which figure of spache do you find most usefullest when you're hard set?" "metaphour's very good," says his riv'rence, "and so's mettonymy,--and i've known prosodypeia stand to me at a pinch mighty well,--but for a constancy, superbaton's the figure for my money. devil be in me," says he, "but i'd prove black white as fast as a horse 'ud throt wid only a good stick ov superbaton." "faix," says the pope, wid a sly look, "you'd need to have it backed, i judge, wid a small piece of assurance." "well now, jist for that word," says his riv'rence, "i'll prove it widout aither one or other. black," says he, "is one thing and white is another thing. you don't conthravene that? but everything is aither one thing or another thing; i defy the apostle paul to get over that dilemma. well! if anything be one thing, well and good; but if it be another thing, then it's plain it isn't both things, and so can't be two things,--nobody can deny that. but what can't be two things must be one thing,--_ergo_, whether it's one thing or another thing it's all one. but black is one thing and white is another thing,--_ergo_, black and white is all one. _quod erat demonsthrandum._" "stop a bit," says the pope, "i can't althegither give in to your second miner--no--your second major," says he, and he stopped. "faix, then," says he, getting confused, "i don't rightly remimber where it was exactly that i thought i seen the flaw in your premises. howsomdiver," says he, "i don't deny that it's a good conclusion, and one that 'ud be ov materil service to the church if it was dhrawn wid a little more distinctiveness." "i'll make it as plain as the nose on your holiness's face, by superbaton," says his riv'rence. "my adversary says, black is not another color, that is white? now that's jist a parallel passidge wid the one out ov tartulion that me and hayes smashed the heretics on in clarendon sthreet. 'this is my body, that is, the figure ov my body.' that's a superbaton, and we showed that it oughtn't to be read that way at all but this way, 'this figure of my body _is_ my body.' jist so wid my adversary's proposition, it mustn't be undherstood the way it reads, by no manner of manes; but it's to be taken this way,--'black, that is, white, is not another color,'--green, if you like, or orange, by dad, for anything i care, for my case is proved. 'black,' that is, 'white,' lave out the 'that,' by sinnalayphy, and you have the orthodox conclusion, 'black is white,' or by convarsion, 'white is black.'" "it's as clear as mud," says the pope. "bedad," says his riv'rence, "i'm in great humor for disputin' to-night. i wisht your holiness was a heretic jist for two minutes," says he, "till you'd see the flaking i'd give you!" "well, then, for the fun o' the thing suppose me my namesake, if you like," says the pope, laughing, "though, by jayminy," says he, "he's not one that i take much pride out ov." "very good,--devil a bitther joke ever i had," says his riv'rence. "come, then, misther pope," says he, "hould up that purty face ov yours, and answer me this question. which 'ud be the biggest lie, if i said i seen a turkey-cock lying on the broad ov his back, and picking the stars out ov the sky, or if i was to say that i seen a gandher in the same intherrestin' posture, raycreating himself wid similar asthronomical experiments? answer me that, you ould swaddler?" says he. "how durst you call me a swaddler, sir?" says the pope, forgetting, the dear man, the part that he was acting. "don't think to bully me!" says his riv'rence. "i always daar to spake the truth, and it's well known that you're nothing but a swaddling ould sent ov a saint," says he, never letting on to persave that his holiness had forgot what they were agreed on. "by all that's good," says the pope, "i often hard ov the imperance ov you irish afore," says he, "but i never expected to be called a saint in my own house, either by irishman or hottentot. i'll till you what, misther maguire," says he, "if you can't keep a civil tongue in your head, you had betther be walking off wid yourself; for i beg lave to give you to undherstand, that it won't be for the good ov your health if you call me by sich an outprobrious epithet again," says he. "o, indeed! then things is come to a purty pass," says his riv'rence, (the dear funny soul that he ever was!) "when the lik ov you compares one of the maguires ov tempo wid a wild ingine! why, man alive, the maguires was kings ov fermanagh three thousand years afore your grandfather, that was the first ov your breed that ever wore shoes and stockings" (i'm bound to say, in justice to the poor prodesan, that this was all spoken by his riv'rence by way of a figure ov spache), "was sint his majesty's arrand to cultivate the friendship of prince lee boo in botteney bay! o, bryan dear," says he, letting on to cry, "if you were alive to hear a _boddagh sassenagh_ like this casting up his counthry to me ov the name ov maguire." "in the name ov god," says the pope, very solemniously, "what _is_ the maning ov all this at all at all?" says he. "sure," says his riv'rence, whispering to him across the table,--"sure, you know we're acting a conthrawarsy, and you tuck the part ov the prodesan champion. you wouldn't be angry wid me, i'm sure, for sarving out the heretic to the best ov my ability." "o begad, i had forgot," says the pope, the good-natured ould crethur; "sure enough, you were only taking your part as a good milesian catholic ought agin the heretic sassenagh. well," says he, "fire away now, and i'll put up wid as many conthroversial compliments as you plase to pay me." "well, then, answer me my question, you santimonious ould dandy," says his riv'rence. "in troth, then," says the pope, "i dunna which 'ud be the biggest lie, to my mind," says he; "the one appears to be about as big a bounce as the other." "why, then, you poor simpleton," says his riv'rence, "don't you persave that forbye the advantage the gandher 'ud have in the length ov his neck, it 'ud be next to empossible for the turkey-cock lying thataway to see what he was about, by rason ov his djollars and other accouthrements hanging back over his eyes? the one about as big a bounce as the other! o you misfortunate crethur! if you had ever larned your a b c in theology, you'd have known that there's a differ betuxt them two lies so great, that, begad, i wouldn't wondher if it 'ud make a balance ov five years in purgathory to the sowl that 'ud be in it. ay, and if it wasn't that the church is too liberal entirely, so she is, it 'ud cost his heirs and succissors betther nor ten pounds to have him out as soon as the other. get along, man, and take half a year at dogmatical theology: go and read your dens, you poor dunce, you!" "raaly," says the pope, "you're making the heretic shoes too hot to hould me. i wundher how the prodesans can stand afore you at all." "don't think to delude me," says his riv'rence, "don't think to back out ov your challenge now," says he, "but come to the scratch like a man, if you are a man, and answer me my question. what's the rason, now, that julius cæsar and the vargin mary was born upon the one day,--answer me that, if you wouldn't be hissed off the platform?" well, my dear, the pope couldn't answer it, and he had to acknowledge himself sacked. then he axed his riv'rence to tell him the rason himself; and father tom communicated it to him in latin. but as that is a very deep question, i never hard what the answer was, except that i'm tould it was so mysterious, it made the pope's hair stand on end. but there's two o'clock, and i'll be late for the lecthir. iii. how father tom made a hare of his holiness in latin. o docther whateley, docther whateley, i'm sure i'll never die another death, if i don't die aither ov consumption or production! i ever and always thought that asthronomy was the hardest science that was till now,--and, it's no lie i'm telling you, the same asthronomy is a tough enough morsel to brake a man's fast upon,--and geolidgy is middling and hard too,--and hydherastatics is no joke,--but ov all the books ov science that ever was opened and shut, that book upon p'litical econimy lifts the pins! well, well, if they wait till they persuade me that taking a man's rints out ov the counthry, and spinding them in forrain parts isn't doing us out ov the same, they'll wait a long time in truth. but you're waiting, i see, to hear how his riv'rence and his holiness got on after finishing the disputation i was telling you of. well, you see, my dear, when the pope found he couldn't hould a candle to father tom in theology and logic, he thought he'd take the shine out ov him in latin anyhow; so says he, "misther maguire," says he, "i quite agree wid you that it's not lucky for us to be spaking on them deep subjects in sich langidges as the evil spirits is acquainted wid; and," says he, "i think it 'ud be no harm for us to spake from this out in latin," says he, "for fraid the devil 'ud undherstand what we are saying." "not a hair i care," says father tom, "whether they undherstand what we're saying or not, as long as we keep off that last pint we wer discussing, and one or two others. listners never hear good ov themselves," says he, "and if belzhebub takes anything amiss that aither you or me says in regard ov himself or his faction, let him stand forrid like a man, and never fear, i'll give him his answer. howandiver, if it's for a taste ov classic conwersation you are, jist to put us in mind ov ould cordarius," says he, "here's at you." and wid that he lets fly at his holiness wid his health in latin. "vesthræ sanctitatis salutem volo," says he. "vesthræ revirintiæ salutritati bibo," says the pope to him again (haith, it's no joke, i tell you, to remimber sich a power ov larning). "here's to you wid the same," says the pope, in the raal ciceronian. "nunc poculum alterhum imple," says he. "cum omni jucunditate in vita," says his riv'rence. "cum summâ concupiscintiâ et animositate," says he, as much as to say, "wid all the veins ov my heart, i'll do that same,"--and so wid that they mix'd their fourth gun apiece. "aqua vitæ vesthra sane est liquor admirabilis," says the pope. "verum est pro te,--it's thrue for you,"--says his riv'rence, forgetting the idyim ov the latin phwraseology in a manner. "prava est tua latinitas, domine," says the pope, finding fault like wid his etymology. "parva culpa mihi," "small blame to me, that's," says his riv'rence, "nam multum laboro in partibus interioribus," says he--the dear man! that never was at a loss for an excuse! "quid tibi incommodi?" says the pope, axing him what ailed him. "habesne id quod anglicè vocamus a looking-glass," says his riv'rence. "immo, habeo speculum splendidissimum subther operculum pyxidis hujus starnutatoriæ," says the pope, pulling out a beautiful goold snuff-box, wid a looking-glass in undher the lid--"subther operculum pyxidis hujus starnutatorii--no--starnutatoriæ--quam dono accepi ab arch-duce austhriaco siptuagisima prætheritâ," says he,--as much as to say that he got the box in a prisint from the queen ov spain last lint, if i rightly remimber. well, father tom laughed like to burst. at last, says he, "pather sancte," says he, "sub errore jaces. 'looking-glass' apud nos habet significationem quamdam peculiarem ex tempore diei dependentem,"--there was a sthring ov accusatives for yes!--"nam mane speculum sonat," says he, "post prandium vero mat--mat--mat--sorra be in me but i disremimber the classic appellivation ov the same article. howandiver, his riv'rence went on explaining himself in such a way as no scholar could mistake. "vesica mea," says he, "ab illo ultimo eversore distenditur, donec similis est rumpere. verbis apertis," says he, "vesthræ sanctitatis præsentia salvata, aquam facere valde desidhero." "ho, ho, ho!" says the pope, grabbing up his box, "si inquinavisses meam pyxidem, excimnicari debuisses--hillo, anthony," says he to his head butler, "fetch misther maguire a--" "you spoke first!" says his riv'rence, jumping off his sate,--"you spoke first in the vernacular! i take misther anthony to witness," says he. "what else would you have me to do?" says the pope, quite dogged like to see himself bate thataway at his own waypons. "sure," says he, "anthony wouldn't undherstand a b from a bull's foot, if i spoke to him any other way." "well, then," says his riv'rence, "in considheration ov the needcessity," says he, "i'll let you off for this time! but mind now, afther i say _præstho_, the first ov us that spakes a word ov english is the hare--_præstho_!" neither ov them spoke for near a minit, considering wid themselves how they were to begin sich a great thrial ov shkill. at last, says the pope,--the blessed man, only think how 'cute it was ov him!--"domine maguire," says he, "valce desidhero, certiorem fieri de significatione istius verbi _eversor_ quo jam jam usus es"--(well, surely i _am_ the boy for the latin!) "_eversor_, id est cyathus," says his riv'rence, "nam apud nos _tumbleri_ seu eversores, dicti sunt ab evertendo ceremoniam inter amicos; non, ut temperantiæ societatis frigidis fautoribus placet, ab evertendis ipsis potatoribus." (it's not every masther undher the boord, i tell you, could carry sich a car-load ov the dead langidges.) "in agro vero louthiano et midensi," says he, "nomine gaudent quodam secundum linguam anglicanam significante bombardam seu tormentum; quia ex eis tanquam ex telis jaculatoriis liquorem facibus immittere solent. etiam inter hæreticos illos melanostomos" (that was a touch ov greek). "presbyterianos septentrionales, qui sunt terribiles potatores, cyathi dicti sunt _faceres_, et dimidium cyathi _hæf-a-glessus_. dimidium cyathi verò apud metropolitanos hibernicos dicitur _dandy_." "en verbum anglicanum!" says the pope, clapping his hands,--"leporem te fecisti"; as much as to say that he had made a hare of himself. "_dandæus, dandæus_ verbum erat," says his riv'rence,--o, the dear man, but it's himself that was handy ever and always at getting out ov a hobble,--"_dandæus_ verbum erat," says he, "quod dicturus eram, cum me intherpillavisti." "ast ego dico," says the pope very sharp, "quod verbum erat _dandy_." "per tibicinem qui coram mose modulatus est," says his riv'rence, "id flagellat mundum! _dandæus_ dixi, et tu dicis _dandy_; ergo tu es lepus, non ego--ah, ha! saccavi vesthram sanctitatem!" "mendacium est!" says the pope, quite forgetting himself, he was so mad at being sacked before the sarvints. well, if it hadn't been that his holiness was in it, father tom 'ud have given him the contints of his tumbler betuxt the two eyes, for calling him a liar; and, in troth, it's very well it was in latin the offence was conveyed, for, if it had been in the vernacular, there's no saying what 'ud ha' been the consequence. his riv'rence was mighty angry anyhow. "tu senex lathro," says he, "quomodo audes me mendacem prædicare?" "et, tu, sacrilege nebulo," says the pope, "quomodo audacitatem habeas, me dei in terris vicarium, lathronem conwiciari?" "interroga circumcirca," says his riv'rence. "abi ex ædibus meis," says the pope. "abi tu in malam crucem," says his riv'rence. "excimnicabo te," says the pope. "diabolus curat," says his riv'rence. "anathema sis," says the pope. "oscula meum pod--" says his riv'rence--but, my dear, afore he could finish what he was going to say, the pope broke out into the vernacular, "get out o' my house, you reprobate!" says he, in sich a rage that he could contain himself widin the latin no longer. "ha, ha, ha!--ho, ho, ho!" says his riv'rence. "who's the hare now, your holiness? o, by this and by that, i've sacked you clane! clane and clever i've done it, and no mistake! you see what a bit of desate will do wid the wisest, your holiness,--sure it was joking i was, on purpose to aggravate you,--all's fair, you know, in love, law, and conthravarsy. in troth if i'd thought you'd have taken it so much to heart, i'd have put my head into the fire afore i'd have said a word to offend you," says he, for he seen that the pope was very vexed. "sure, god forbid, that i'd say anything agin your holiness, barring it was in fun: for aren't you the father ov the faithful, and the thrue vicar ov god upon earth? and aren't i ready to go down on my two knees this blessed minit and beg your apostolical pardon for every word that i said to your displasement?" "are you in arnest that it is in fun you wer?" says the pope. "may i never die if i aren't," says his riv'rence. "it was all to provoke your holiness to commit a brache ov the latin, that i tuck the small liberties i did," says he. "i'd have you to take care," says the pope, "how you take sich small liberties again, or maybe you'll provoke me to commit a brache ov the pace." "well, and if i did," says his riv'rence, "i know a sartan preparation ov chymicals that's very good for curing a brache either in latinity or friendship." "what's that?" says the pope, quite mollified, and sitting down again at the table that he had ris from in the first pluff of his indignation. "what's that?" says he, "for 'pon my epistolical 'davy, i think it 'udn't be asy to bate this miraculous mixthir that we've been thrying to anilize this two hours back," says he, taking a mighty scientifical swig out ov the bottom ov his tumbler. "it's good for a beginning," says his riv'rence; "it lays a very nate foundation for more sarious operation: but we're now arrived at a pariod ov the evening when it's time to proceed wid our shuperstructure by compass and square, like free and excipted masons as we both are." my time's up for the present; but i'll tell you the rest in the evening at home. iv. how father tom and his holiness disputed at metaphysics and algebra. god be wid the time when i went to the classical seminary ov firdramore! when i'd bring my sod o' turf undher my arm, and sit down on my shnug boss o' straw, wid my back to the masther and my shins to the fire, and score my sum in dives's denominations ov the double rule o' three, or play fox and geese wid purty jane cruise that sat next me, as plisantly as the day was long, widout any one so much as saying, "mikey hefferman, what's that you're about?"--for ever since i was in the one lodge wid poor ould mat i had my own way in his school as free as ever i had in my mother's shebeen. god be wid them days, i say again, for it's althered times wid me, i judge, since i got undher carlisle and whateley. sich sthrictness! sich ordher! sich dhrilling, and lecthiring, and tuthoring as they do get on wid! i wisht to gracious the one half ov their rules and regilations was sunk in the say. and they're getting so sthrict too about having fair play for the heretic childer! we've to have no more schools in the chapels, nor masses in the schools. o, by this and by that, it'll never do at all! the ould plan was twenty times betther: and, for my own part, if it wasn't that the clargy supports them in a manner, and the grant's a thing not easily done widout these hard times, i'd see if i couldn't get a sheltered spot nigh hand the chapel, and set up again on the good ould principle: and faix, i think our metropolitan 'ud stand to me, for i know that his grace's motto was ever and always, that, "ignorance is the thrue mother ov piety." but i'm running away from my narrative entirely, so i am. "you'll plase to ordher up the housekeeper, then," says father tom to the pope, "wid a pint ov sweet milk in a skillet, and the bulk ov her fist ov butther, along wid a dust ov soft sugar in a saucer, and i'll show you the way of producing a decoction that, i'll be bound, will hunt the thirst out ov every nook and corner in your holiness's blessed carcidge." the pope ordhered up the ingredients, and they were brought in by the head butler. "that'll not do at all," says his riv'rence, "the ingredients won't combine in due proportion unless ye do as i bid yes. send up the housekeeper," says he, "for a faymale hand is ondispinsably necessary to produce the adaption of the particles and the concurrence of the corpus'cles, widout which you might boil till morning and never fetch the cruds off ov it." well, the pope whispered to his head butler, and by and by up there comes an ould faggot ov a _cuillean_, that was enough to frighten a horse from his oats. "don't thry for to desave me," says his riv'rence, "for it's no use, i tell yes. send up the housekeeper, i bid yes: i seen her presarving gooseberries in the panthry as i came up: she has eyes as black as a sloe," says he, "and cheeks like the rose in june; and sorra taste ov this celestial mixthir shall crass the lips ov man or morteal this blessed night till she stirs the same up wid her own delicate little finger." "misther maguire," says the pope, "it's very unproper ov you to spake that way ov my housekeeper: i won't allow it, sir." "honor bright, your holiness," says his riv'rence, laying his hand on his heart. "o, by this and by that, misther maguire," says the pope, "i'll have none of your insinivations; i don't care who sees my whole household," says he; "i don't care if all the faymales undher my roof was paraded down the high street of room," says he. "o, it's plain to be seen how little you care who sees them," says his riv'rence. "you're afeard, now, if i was to see your housekeeper, that i'd say she was too handsome." "no, i'm not!" says the pope, "i don't care who sees her," says he. "anthony," says he to the head butler, "bid eliza throw her apron over her head, and come up here." wasn't that stout in the blessed man? well, my dear, up she came, stepping like a three-year-old, and blushing like the brake o' day: for though her apron was thrown over her head as she came forrid, till you could barely see the tip ov her chin,--more be token there was a lovely dimple in it, as i've been tould,--yet she let it shlip abit to one side, by chance like, jist as she got fornenst the fire, and if she wouldn't have given his riv'rence a shot if he hadn't been a priest, it's no matther. "now, my dear," says he, "you must take that skillet, and hould it over the fire till the milk comes to a blood hate; and the way you'll know that will be by stirring it onc't or twice wid the little finger ov your right hand, afore you put in the butther: not that i misdoubt," says he, "but that the same finger's fairer nor the whitest milk that ever came from the tit." "none of your deludhering talk to the young woman, sir," says the pope, mighty stern. "stir the posset as he bids you, eliza, and then be off wid yourself," says he. "i beg your holiness's pardon ten thousand times," says his riv'rence, "i'm sure i meant nothing onproper; i hope i'm uncapable ov any sich dirilection of my duty," says he. "but, marciful saver!" he cried out, jumping up on a suddent, "look behind you, your holiness,--i'm blest but the room's on fire!" sure enough the candle fell down that minit, and was near setting fire to the windy-curtains, and there was some bustle, as you may suppose, getting things put to rights. and now i have to tell you ov a really onpleasant occurrence. if i was a prodesan that was in it, i'd say that while the pope's back was turned, father tom made free wid the two lips of miss eliza; but, upon my conscience, i believe it was a mere mistake that his holiness fell into on account of his being an ould man and not having aither his eyesight or his hearing very parfect. at any rate, it can't be denied but that he had a sthrong imprission that sich was the case; for he wheeled about as quick as thought, jist as his riv'rence was sitting down, and charged him wid the offince plain and plump. "is it kissing my housekeeper before my face you are, you villain!" says he. "go down out o' this," says he, to miss eliza, "and do you be packing off wid you," he says to father tom, "for it's not safe, so it isn't, to have the likes ov you in a house where there's temptation in your way." "is it me?" says his riv'rence; "why what would your holiness be at, at all? sure i wasn't doing no such thing." "would you have me doubt the evidence ov my sinses?" says the pope; "would you have me doubt the testimony of my eyes and ears?" says he. "indeed i would so," says his riv'rence, "if they pretend to have informed your holiness ov any sich foolishness." "why," says the pope, "i've seen you afther kissing eliza as plain as i see the nose on your face; i heard the smack you gave her as plain as ever i heard thundher." "and how do you know whether you see the nose on my face or not?" says his riv'rence, "and how do you know whether what you thought was thundher, was thundher at all? them operations on the sinses," says he, "comprises only particular corporal emotions, connected wid sartain confused perciptions called sinsations, and isn't to be depended upon at all. if we were to follow them blind guides we might jist as well turn heretics at onc't. 'pon my secret word, your holiness, it's neither charitable nor orthodox ov you to set up the testimony ov your eyes and ears agin the characther ov a clergyman. and now, see how aisy it is to explain all them phwenomena that perplexed you. i ris and went over beside the young woman because the skillet was boiling over, to help her to save the dhrop ov liquor that was in it; and as for the noise you heard, my dear man, it was neither more nor less nor myself dhrawing the cork out ov this blissid bottle." "don't offer to thrape that upon me!" says the pope; "here's the cork in the bottle still, as tight as a wedge." "i beg your pardon," says his riv'rence, "that's not the cork at all," says he; "i dhrew the cork a good two minits ago, and it's very purtily spitted on the end ov this blessed corkshcrew at this prisint moment; howandiver you can't see it, because it's only its real prisince that's in it. but that appearance that you call a cork," says he, "is nothing but the outward spacies and external qualities of the cortical nathur. them's nothing but the accidents of the cork that you're looking at and handling; but, as i tould you afore, the real cork's dhrew and is here prisint on the end ov this nate little insthrument, and it was the noise i made in dhrawing it, and nothing else, that you mistook for the sound ov the _pogue_." you know there was no conthravening what he said; and the pope couldn't openly deny it. howandiver he thried to pick a hole in it this way. "granting," says he, "that there is the differ you say betwixt the reality ov the cork and these cortical accidents; and that it's quite possible, as you allidge, that the thrue cork is really prisint on the end ov the shcrew, while the accidents keep the mouth ov the bottle stopped--still," says he, "i can't undherstand, though willing to acquit you, how the dhrawing ov the real cork, that's onpalpable and widout accidents, could produce the accident of that sinsible explosion i heard jist now." "all i can say," says his riv'rence, "is that it was a rale accident, anyhow." "ay," says the pope, "the kiss you gev eliza, you mane." "no," says his riv'rence, "but the report i made." "i don't doubt you," says the pope. "no cork could be dhrew with less noise," says his riv'rence. "it would be hard for anything to be less nor nothing, barring algebra," says the pope. "i can prove to the conthrary," says his riv'rence. "this glass ov whiskey is less nor that tumbler ov punch, and that tumbler ov punch is nothing to this jug ov _scaltheen_." "do you judge by superficial misure or by the liquid contents?" says the pope. "don't stop me, betwixt my premises and my conclusion," says his riv'rence: "_ergo_, this glass ov whiskey is less nor nothing; and for that raison i see no harm in life in adding it to the contents ov the same jug, just by way ov a frost-nail." "adding what's less nor nothing," says the pope, "is subtraction according to algebra, so here goes to make the rule good," says he, filling his tumbler wid the blessed stuff, and sitting down again at the table, for the anger didn't stay two minits on him, the good-hearted ould sowl. "two minuses make one plus," says his riv'rence, as ready as you plase, "and that'll account for the increased daycrement i mane to take the liberty of producing in the same mixed quantity," says he, follying his holiness's epistolical example. "by all that's good," says the pope, "that's the best stuff i ever tasted; you call it a mix'd quantity, but i say it's prime." "since it's ov the first ordher, then," says his riv'rence, "we'll have the less deffeequilty in reducing it to a simple equation." "you'll have no fractions at my side anyhow," says the pope. "faix, i'm afeared," says he, "it's only too aisy ov solution our sum is like to be." "never fear for that," says his riv'rence, "i've a good stick ov surds here in the bottle; for i tell you it will take us a long time to exthract the root ov it, at the rate we're going on." "what makes you call the blessed quart an irrational quantity?" says the pope. "because it's too much for one and too little for two," says his riv'rence. "clear it ov its coefficient, and we'll thry," says the pope. "hand me over the exponent then," says his riv'rence. "what's that?" says the pope. "the shcrew, to be sure," says his riv'rence. "what for?" says the pope. "to dhraw the cork," says his riv'rence. "sure, the cork's dhrew," says the pope. "but the sperets can't get out on account ov the accidents that's stuck in the neck ov the bottle," says his riv'rence. "accident ought to be passable to sperit," says the pope, "and that makes me suspect that the reality ov the cork's in it afther all." "that's a barony-masia," says his riv'rence, "and i'm not bound to answer it. but the fact is, that it's the accidents ov the sperits too that's in it, and the reality's passed out through the cortical spacies, as you say; for, you may have observed, we've both been in real good sperits ever since the cork was dhrawn, and where else would the real sperits come from if they wouldn't come out ov the bottle?" "well, then," says the pope, "since we've got the reality, there's no use throubling ourselves wid the accidents." "o, begad," says his riv'rence, "the accidents is very essential too; for a man may be in the best ov good sperits, as far as his immaterial part goes, and yet need the accidental qualities ov good liquor to hunt the sinsible thirst out ov him." so he dhraws the cork in earnest, and sets about brewing the other skillet ov _scaltheen_; but, faiz, he had to get up the ingradients this time by the hands ov ould moley; though devil a taste ov her little finger he'd let widin a yard ov the same coction. but, my dear, here's the "freeman's journal," and we'll see what's the news afore we finish the residuary proceedings of their two holinesses. v. the reason why father tom was not made a cardinal. _hurroo_, my darlings!--didn't i tell you it 'ud never do? success to bould john tuam and the ould siminary ov firdramore! o, more power to your grace every day you rise, 'tis you that has broken their boord into shivers undher your feet! sure, and isn't it a proud day for ireland, this blessed feast ov the chair ov saint pether? isn't carlisle and whateley smashed to pieces, and their whole college of swaddling teachers knocked into smidhereens. john tuam, your sowl, has tuck his pasthoral staff in his hand and heathen them out o' connaught as fast as ever pathric druve the sarpints into clew bay. poor ould mat kevanagh, if he was alive this day, 'tis he would be the happy man. "my curse upon their g'ographies and bibles," he used to say; "where's the use ov perplexing the poor childre wid what we don't undherstand ourselves?" no use at all, in troth, and so i said from the first myself. well, thank god and his grace, we'll have no more thrigonomethry nor scripther in connaught. we'll hould our lodges every saturday night, as we used to do, wid our chairman behind the masther's desk, and we'll hear our mass every sunday morning wid the blessed priest standing afore the same. i wisht to goodness i hadn't parted wid my seven champions ov christendom and freney the robber: they're books that'll be in great requist in leithrim as soon as the pasthoral gets wind. glory be to god! i've done wid their lecthirs,--they may all go and be d--d wid their consumption and production. i'm off to tallymactaggart before daylight in the morning, where i'll thry whether a sod or two o' turf can't consume a cart-load ov heresy, and whether a weekly meeting ov the lodge can't produce a new thayory ov rints. but afore i take my lave ov you, i may as well finish my story about poor father tom that i hear is coming up to slate the heretics in adam and eve during the lint. the pope--and indeed it ill became a good catholic to say anything agin him--no more would i, only that his riv'rence was in it--but you see the fact ov it is, that the pope was as envious as ever he could be, at seeing himself sacked right and left by father tom; and bate out o' the face, the way he was, on every science and subjec' that was started. so, not to be outdone altogether, he says to his riv'rence, "you're a man that's fond of the brute crayation, i hear, misther maguire?" "i don't deny it," says his riv'rence. "i've dogs that i'm willing to run agin any man's, ay, or to match them agin any other dogs in the world for genteel edication and polite manners," says he. "i'll hould you a pound," says the pope, "that i've a quadhruped in my possession that's a wiser baste nor any dog in your kennel." "done," says his riv'rence, and they staked the money. "what can this larned quadhruped o' yours do?" says his riv'rence. "it's my mule," says the pope, "and, if you were to offer her goolden oats and clover off the meadows o' paradise, sorra taste ov aither she'd let pass her teeth till the first mass is over every sunday or holiday in the year." "well, and what 'ud you say if i showed you a baste ov mine," says his riv'rence, "that, instead ov fasting till first mass is over only, fasts out the whole four-and-twenty hours ov every wednesday and friday in the week as reg'lar as a christian?" "o, be asy, masther maguire," says the pope. "you don't b'lieve me, don't you?" says his riv'rence; "very well, i'll soon show you whether or no." and he put his knuckles in his mouth, and gev a whistle that made the pope stop his fingers in his ears. the aycho, my dear, was hardly done playing wid the cobwebs in the cornish, when the door flies open, and in jumps spring. the pope happened to be sitting next the door, betuxt him and his riv'rence, and, may i never die, if he didn't clear him, thriple crown and all, at one spring. "god's presence be about us!" says the pope, thinking it was an evil spirit come to fly away wid him for the lie that he had told in regard ov his mule (for it was nothing more nor a thrick that consisted in grazing the brute's teeth): but, seeing it was only one ov the greatest beauties ov a greyhound that he'd ever laid his epistolical eyes on, he soon recovered ov his fright, and began to pat him, while father tom ris and went to the sideboord, where he cut a slice ov pork, a slice ov beef, a slice ov mutton, and a slice ov salmon, and put them all on a plate thegither. "here, spring, my man," says he, setting the plate down afore him on the hearthstone, "here's your supper for you this blessed friday night." not a word more he said nor what i tell you; and, you may believe it or not, but it's the blessed truth that the dog, afther jist tasting the salmon, and spitting it out again, lifted his nose out o' the plate, and stood wid his jaws wathering, and his tail wagging, looking up in his riv'rence's face, as much as to say, "give me your absolution, till i hide them temptations out o' my sight." "there's a dog that knows his duty," says his riv'rence; "there's a baste that knows how to conduct himself aither in the parlor or the field. you think him a good dog, looking at him here: but i wisht you seen him on the side ov sleeve-an-eirin! be my soul, you'd say the hill was running away from undher him. o, i wisht you had been wid me," says he, never letting on to see the dog stale, "one day, last lent, that i was coming from mass. spring was near a quarther ov a mile behind me, for the childher was delaying him wid bread and butther at the chapel door; when a lump ov a hare jumped out ov the plantations ov grouse lodge and ran acrass the road; so i gev the whilloo, and knowing that she'd take the rise of the hill, i made over the ditch, and up through mullaghcashel as hard as i could pelt, still keeping her in view, but afore i had gone a perch, spring seen her, and away the two went like the wind, up drumrewy, and down clooneen, and over the river, widout his being able onc't to turn her. well, i run on till i come to the diffagher, and through it i went, for the wather was low and i didn't mind being wet shod, and out on the other side, where i got up on a ditch, and seen sich a coorse as i'll be bound to say was never seen afore or since. if spring turned that hare onc't that day, he turned her fifty times, up and down, back and for'ard, throughout and about. at last he run her right into the big quarryhole in mullaghbawn, and when i went up to look for her fud, there i found him sthretched on his side, not able to stir a foot, and the hare lying about an inch afore his nose as dead as a door-nail, and divil a mark of a tooth upon her. eh, spring, isn't that thrue?" says he. jist at that minit the clock sthruck twelve, and, before you could say thrap-sticks, spring had the plateful of mate consaled. "now," says his riv'rence, "hand me over my pound, for i've won my bate fairly." "you'll excuse me," says the pope, pocketing his money, "for we put the clock half an hour back, out ov compliment to your riv'rence," says he, "and it was sathurday morning afore he came up at all." "well, it's no matther," says his riv'rence, putting back his pound-note in his pocket-book. "only," says he, "it's hardly fair to expect a brute baste to be so well skilled in the science ov chronology." in troth his riv'rence was badly used in the same bet, for he won it clever; and, indeed, i'm afeard the shabby way he was thrated had some effect in putting it into his mind to do what he did. "will your holiness take a blast ov the pipe?" says he, dhrawing out his dhudeen. "i never smoke," says the pope, "but i haven't the least objection to the smell of the tobaccay." "o, you had betther take a dhraw," says his riv'rence, "it'll relish the dhrink, that 'ud be too luscious entirely, widout something to flavor it." "i had thoughts," said the pope, wid the laste sign ov a hiccup on him, "ov getting up a broiled bone for the same purpose." "well," says his riv'rence, "a broiled bone 'ud do no manner ov harm at this present time; but a smoke," says he, "'ud flavor both the devil and the dhrink." "what sort o' tobaccay is it that's in it?" says the pope. "raal nagur-head," says his riv'rence, "a very mild and salubrious spacies ov the philosophic weed." "then, i don't care if i do take a dhraw," says the pope. then father tom held the coal himself till his holiness had the pipe lit; and they sat widout saying anything worth mentioning for about five minutes. at last the pope says to his riv'rence, "i dunna what gev me this plaguy hiccup," says he. "dhrink about," says he--"begorra," he says, "i think i'm getting merrier'an's good for me. sing us a song, your riv'rence," says he. father tom then sung him monatagrenage and the bunch o' rushes, and he was mighty well pleased wid both, keeping time wid his hands, and joining in the choruses, when his hiccup 'ud let him. at last, my dear, he opens the lower button ov his waistcoat, and the top one of his waistband, and calls to masther anthony to lift up one ov the windys. "i dunna what's wrong wid me, at all at all," says he; "i'm mortal sick." "i thrust," says his riv'rence, "the pasthry that you ate at dinner hasn't disagreed wid your holiness's stomach." "o my! oh!" says the pope, "what's this at all?" gasping for breath, and as pale as a sheet, wid a could swate bursting out over his forehead, and the palms ov his hands spread out to cotch the air. "o my! o my!" says he, "fetch me a basin!--don't spake to me. oh!--oh!--blood alive!--o, my head, my head, hould my head!--oh!--ubh!--i'm poisoned!--ach!" "it was them plaguy pasthries," says his riv'rence. "hould his head hard," says he, "and clap a wet cloth over his timples. if you could only thry another dhraw o' the pipe, your holiness, it 'ud set you to rights in no time." "carry me to bed," says the pope, "and never let me see that wild irish priest again. i'm poisoned by his manes--ubplsch!--ach!--ach!--he dined wid cardinal wayld yestherday," says he, "and he's bribed him to take me off. send for a confessor," says he, "for my latther end's approaching. my head's like to split--so it is!--o my! o my!--ubplsch!--ach!" well, his riv'rence never thought it worth his while to make him an answer; but, when he seen how ungratefully he was used, afther all his throuble in making the evening agreeable to the ould man, he called spring, and put the but-end ov the second bottle into his pocket, and left the house widout once wishing "good night, an' plaisant dhrames to you"; and, in troth, not one of _them_ axed him to lave them a lock ov his hair. that's the story as i heard it tould: but myself doesn't b'lieve over one half of it. howandiver, when all's done, it's a shame, so it is, that he's not a bishop this blessed day and hour: for, next to the goiant ov saint garlath's, he's out and out the cleverest fellow ov the whole jing-bang. johnny darbyshire. by william howitt. john darbyshire, or, according to the regular custom of the country, johnny darbyshire, was a farmer living in one of the most obscure parts of the country, on the borders of the peak of derbyshire. his fathers before him had occupied the same farm for generations; and as they had been quakers from the days of george fox, who preached there and converted them, johnny also was a quaker. that is, he was, as many others were, and no doubt are, habitually a quaker. he was a quaker in dress, in language, in attendance of their meetings, and, above all, in the unmitigated contempt which he felt and expressed for everything like fashion, for the practices of the world, for the church, and for music and amusements. there never was a man, from the first to the present day of the society, who so thoroughly embodied and exhibited that quality attributed to the quaker, in the rhyming nursery alphabet,--"q was a quaker, and would not bow down." no, johnny darbyshire would not have bowed down to any mortal power. he would have marched into the presence of the king with his hat on, and would have addressed him with just the same unembarrassed freedom as "the old chap out of the west countrie" is made to do in the song. as to any of the more humble and conceding qualities usually attributed to the peaceful quaker, johnny had not an atom of those about him. never was there a more pig-headed, arbitrary, positive, pugnacious fellow. he would argue anybody out of their opinions by the hour; he would "threep them down," as he called it, that is, point blank and with a loud voice insist on his own possession of the right, and of the sound common-sense of the matter; and if he could not convince them, would at least confound them with his obstreperous din and violence of action. that was what he called clearing the field, and not leaving his antagonist a leg to stand on. having thus fairly overwhelmed, dumfoundered, and tired out some one with his noise, he would go off in triumph, and say to the bystanders as he went, "there, lads, you see he hadn't a word to say for himself"; and truly a clever fellow must he have been who could have got a word in edgeways when johnny had once fairly got his steam up, and was shrinking and storming like a cat-o'-mountain. yet had anybody told johnny that he was no quaker, he would have "threeped them down" that they did not know what a quaker meant. what! were not his father, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather before him all quakers? was not he born in the society, brought up in it? hadn't he attended first-day, week-day, preparative, monthly, quarterly, and sometimes yearly meetings too, all his life? had not he regularly and handsomely subscribed to the monthly, and the national, and the ackworth school stocks? had he not been on all sorts of appointments; to visit new members, new comers into the meeting; to warn disorderly walkers; nay, had he not sate even on committees in london at yearly meetings? had he not received and travelled with ministers when they came on religious visits into these parts? had he not taken them in his tax-cart to the next place, and been once upset in a deep and dirty lane with a weighty ministering friend, and dislocated his collar-bone? what? he not a quaker! was george fox one, did they think; or william penn, or robert barclay, indeed? johnny darbyshire _was_ a quaker. he had the dress, and address, and all the outward testimonies and marks of a quaker; nay, he was more; he was an overseer of the meeting, and broke up the meetings. yes, and he would have them to know that he executed his office well. ay, well indeed; without clock to look at, or without pulling out his watch, or being within hearing of any bell, or any other thing that could guide him, he would sit on the front seat of his meeting where not a word was spoken, exactly for an hour and three quarters to a minute, and then break it up by shaking hands with the friend who sate next to him. was not that an evidence of a religious tact and practice? and had not the friends once when he was away, just like people in a ship which had lost both rudder and compass, gone drifting in unconsciousness from ten in the morning till three in the afternoon, and would not then have known that it was time to break up the meeting, but that somebody's servant was sent to see what had happened, and why they did not come home to dinner? johnny could see a sleeper as soon as any, were he ensconced in the remotest and obscurest corner of the meeting, and let him hold up his head and sleep as cleverly as he might from long habit. and did not he once give a most notable piece of advice to a _rich_ friend who was a shocking sleeper? was not this friend very ill, and didn't johnny go to see him; and didn't he, when the friend complained that he could get no sleep, and that not all the physic, the strongest opium even of the doctor's shop, could make him,--didn't johnny darbyshire say right slap-bang out, which not another of the plainest-spoken friends dare have done to a rich man like that,--"stuff and nonsense; and a fig for opium and doctor's stuff,--send, man, send for the meeting-house bench, and lie thee down on that, and i'll be bound thou'lt sleep like one of the seven sleepers." undoubtedly johnny was a quaker; a right slap-dash quaker of the old foxite school; and had anybody come smiling to him in the hope of getting anything out of him, he would have said to him as george fox said to colonel hackett, "beware of hypocrisy and a rotten heart!" true, had you questioned him as to his particular religious doctrines or articles of faith, he would not have been very clear, or very ready to give you any explanation at all, for the very best of reasons,--he was not so superstitious as to have a creed. a creed! that was a rag of the old woman of babylon. no, if you wanted to know all about doctrines and disputations, why, you might look into barclay's apology. there was a book big enough for you, he should think. for himself, like most of his cloth, he would confine himself to his _feelings_. he would employ a variety of choice and unique phrases; such as, "if a man want to know what religion is, he must not go running after parsons, and bishops, and all that sort of man-made ministers, blind leaders of the blind, who can talk by the hour, but about what neither man, woman, nor child, for the life of them, can tell, except when they come for their tithes, or their easter dues, and then they speak plain enough with a vengeance. one of these common-prayer priests," said he, "once came to advise me about the lawfulness of paying church-rates, and, instead of walking into my parlor, he walked through the next door, and nearly broke his neck, into the cellar. a terrible stramash of a lumber, and a plunging and a groaning we heard somewhere; and rushing out, lo and behold! it was no other than diggory dyson, the parish priest, who had gone headlong to the bottom of the cellar steps, and had he not cut his temples against the brass tap of a beer-barrel and bled freely, he might have died on the spot. and that was a man set up to guide the multitude! had he been only led and guided by the spirit of god, as a true minister should be, he would never have gone neck-foremost down my cellar steps. that's your blind leader of the blind!" but if johnny darbyshire thought the "common-prayer priests" obscure, they must have thought him sevenfold so. instead of doctrines and such pagan things, he talked solemnly of "centring down"; "being renewedly made sensible"; "having his mind drawn to this and that thing"; "feeling himself dipped into deep baptism"; "feeling a sense of duty"; and of "seeing, or not seeing his way clear" into this or that matter. but his master phrase was "living near to the truth"; and often, when other people thought him particularly provoking and insulting, it was only "because he hated a lie and the father of lies." johnny thought that he lived so near to the truth, that you would have thought truth was his next-door neighbor, or his lodger, and not living down at the bottom of her well as she long has been. truly was that religious world in which johnny darbyshire lived a most singular one. in that part of the country, george fox had been particularly zealous and well received. a simple country people was just the people to be affected by his warm eloquence and strong manly sense. he settled many meetings there, which, however, william penn may be said to have unsettled by his planting of pennsylvania. these friends flocked over thither with, or after him, and left a mere remnant behind them. this remnant--and it was like the remnant in a draper's shop, a very old-fashioned one--continued still to keep up their meetings, and carry on their affairs as steadily and gravely as fox and his contemporaries did, if not so extensively and successfully. they had a meeting at codnor breach, at monny-ash in the peak, at pentridge, at toad-hole furnace, at chesterfield, etc. most of these places were thoroughly country places, some of them standing nearly alone in the distant fields; and the few members belonging to them might be seen on sundays, mounted on strong horses, a man and his wife often on one, on saddle and pillion, or in strong tax-carts; and others, generally the young, proceeding on foot over fields and through woods, to these meetings. they were truly an old-world race, clad in very old-world garments. arrived at their meeting, they sate generally an hour and three quarters in profound silence, for none of them had a minister in them, and then returned again. in winter they generally had a good fire in a chamber, and sate comfortably round it. once a month, they jogged off in similar style to one of these meetings in particular, to what they called their monthly meeting, where they paid in their subscriptions for the poor, and other needs of the society, and read over and made answers to a set of queries on the moral and religious state of their meetings. one would have thought that this business must be so very small that it would be readily despatched; but not so. small enough, heaven knows! it was; but then they made a religious duty of its transaction, and went through it as solemnly and deliberately as if the very salvation of the kingdom depended on it. o, what a mighty balancing of straws was there! in answering the query, whether their meetings were pretty regularly kept up and attended, though perhaps there was but half a dozen members to one meeting, yet would it be weighed and weighed again whether the phrase should be, that it was "pretty well attended," or "indifferently attended," or "attended, with some exceptions." this stupendous business having, however, at length been got through, then all the men adjourned to the room where the women had, for the time, been just as laboriously and gravely engaged; and a table was soon spread by a person agreed with, with a good substantial dinner of roast-beef and plum-pudding; and the good people grew right sociable, chatty, and even merry in their way; while, all the time in the adjoining stable, or, as in one case, in the stable under them, their steeds, often rough, wild creatures, thrust perhaps twenty into a stable without dividing stalls, were kicking, squealing, and rioting in a manner that obliged some of the good people occasionally to rise from their dinners, and endeavor to diffuse a little of their own quietness among them. or in summer their horses would be all loose in the graveyard before the meeting, rearing, kicking, and screaming in a most furious manner; which, however, only rarely seemed to disturb the meditations of their masters and mistresses. and to these monthly meetings over what long and dreary roads, on what dreadfully wet and wintry days, through what mud and water, did these simple and pious creatures, wrapped in great-coats and thick cloaks, and defended with oil-skin hoods, travel all their lives long? not a soul was more punctual in attendance than johnny darbyshire. he was a little man, wearing a quaker suit of drab, his coat long, his hat not cocked but slouched, and his boots well worn and well greased. peaceful as he sate in these meetings, yet out of them, as i have remarked, he was a very tartar, and he often set himself to execute what he deemed justice in a very dogged and original style. we may, as a specimen, take this instance. on his way to his regular meeting he had to pass through a toll-bar; and being on sundays exempt by law from paying at it, it may be supposed that the bar-keeper did not fling open the gate often with the best grace. one sunday evening, however, johnny darbyshire had, from some cause or other, stayed late with his friends after afternoon meeting. when he passed through the toll-gate he gave his usual nod to the keeper, and was passing on; but the man called out to demand the toll, declaring that it was no longer sunday night, but monday morning, being past twelve o'clock. "nay, friend, thou art wrong," said johnny, pulling out his watch: "see, it yet wants a quarter." "no, i tell you," replied the keeper, gruffly, "it is past twelve. look, there is my clock." "ay, friend, but thy clock, like thyself, doesn't speak the truth. like its master, it is a little too hasty. i assure thee my watch is right, for i just now compared it by the steeple-house clock in the town." "i tell you," replied the keeper, angrily, "i've nothing to do with your watch; i go by my clock, and there it is." "well, i think thou art too exact with me, my friend." "will you pay me or not?" roared the keeper; "you go through often enough in the devil's name without paying." "gently, gently, my friend," replied johnny; "there is the money: and it's really after twelve o'clock, thou says?" "to be sure." "well, very well; then, for the next twenty-four hours i can go through again without paying?" "to be sure; everybody knows that." "very well, then i now bid thee farewell." and with that, johnny darbyshire jogged on. the gatekeeper, chuckling at having at last extorted a double toll from the shrewd quaker, went to bed, not on that quiet road expecting further disturbance till towards daylight; but, just as he was about to pop into bed, he heard some one ride up and cry, "gate!" internally cursing the late traveller, he threw on his things and descended to open the gate, when he was astonished to see the quaker returned. "thou says it really _is_ past twelve, friend?" "to be sure." "then open the gate: i have occasion to ride back again." the gate flew open, johnny darbyshire trotted back towards the town, and the man, with double curses in his mind, returned up stairs. this time he was not so sure of exemption from interruption, for he expected the quaker would in a while be coming back homewards again. and he was quite right. just as he was about to put out his candle, there was a cry of "gate." he descended, and behold the quaker once more presented himself. "it really _is_ past twelve, thou says?" "umph!" grunted the fellow. "then, of course, i have nothing more to pay. i would not, however, advise thee to go to bed to-night, for it is so particularly fine that i propose to enjoy it by riding to and fro here a few hours." the fellow, who now saw johnny darbyshire's full drift, exclaimed, "here, for god's sake, sir, take your money back, and let me get a wink of sleep." but johnny refused to receive the money, observing, "if it _was_ after twelve, then the money is justly thine; but i advise thee another time not to be _too_ exact." and with that he rode off. such was his shrewd, restless, domineering character, that his old friend, the neighboring miller, a shrewd fellow too, thought there must be something in quakerism which contributed to this, and was therefore anxious to attend their meetings, and see what it was. how great, however, was his astonishment, on accompanying johnny, to find about half a dozen people all sitting with their hats on for a couple of hours in profound silence; except a few shufflings of feet, and blowing of noses; and then all start up, shake hands, and hurry off. "why, master darbyshire," said the dry old miller, "how is this? do you sit without parson or clerk, and expect to learn religion by looking at your shoe-toes? by leddy! this warn't th' way george fox went on. he was a very talking man, or he would na ha' got such a heap of folks together, as he did. you've clearly gotten o' th' wrong side o' th' post, johnny, depend on't; an' i dunna wonder now that you've dwindled awee so." but if johnny was as still as a fish at the quaker meetings, he had enough to say at home, and at the parish meetings. he had such a spice of the tyrant in him, that he could not even entertain the idea of marrying, without it must be a sort of shift for the mastery. he, therefore, not only cast his eye on one of the most high-spirited women that he knew in his own society, but actually one on the largest scale of physical dimensions. if he had one hero of his admiration more than another, it was a little dwarf at mansfield, who used to wear a soldier's jacket, and who had taken it into his head to marry a very tall woman, whom he had reduced to such perfect subjection, that he used from time to time to evince his mastery by mounting a round table and making the wife walk round it while he belabored her lustily with a strap. johnny, having taken his resolve, made no circumbendibus in his addresses; but one day, as he was alone in the company of the lady, by name lizzy lorimer,--"lizzy," said he, "i'll tell thee what i have been thinking about. i think thou'd make me a very good wife." "well," replied lizzy; "sure, isn't that extraordinary? i was just thinking the very same thing." "that's right! well done, my wench,--now that's what i call hitting the nail on the head, like a right sensible woman!" cried johnny, fetching her a slap on the shoulder, and laughing heartily. "that's doing the thing now to some tune. i'm for none of your dilly-dally ways. i once knew a young fellow that was desperately smitten by a young woman, and though he could pluck up courage enough to go and see her, he couldn't summon courage enough to speak out his mind when he got there; and so he and the damsel sate opposite one another before the fire. she knew well enough all the while--you're sharp enough, you women--what he was after; and there they sate and sate, and at last he picked up a cinder off the hearth, and looking very foolish, said, 'i've a good mind to fling a cowk at thee!' at which the brave wench, in great contempt, cried, 'i'll soon fling one at thee, if thou artn't off!' that's just as thou'd ha' done, lizzy, and as i shouldn't," said johnny, gayly, and laughing more heartily than before. that was the sum and substance of johnny darbyshire's courtship. all the world said the trouble would come afterwards; but if it did come, it was not to johnny. never was chanticleer so crouse on his own dung-hill, as johnny darbyshire was in his own house. he was lord and master there to a certainty. in doors and out, he shouted, hurried, ran to and fro, and made men, maids, and lizzy herself, fly at his approach, as if he had got a whole cargo of mercury's wings, and put them on their feet. it was the same in parish affairs; and the fame of johnny's eloquence at vestries is loud to this day. on one occasion there was a most hot debate on the voting of a church-rate, which should embrace a new pulpit. johnny had hurt his foot with a stub of wood as he was hurrying on his men at work in thinning a plantation. it had festered and inflamed his leg to a terrible size; but, spite of that, he ordered out his cart with a bed laid in it, and came up to the door of the vestry-room, where he caused himself to be carried in on the bed, and set on the vestry-room floor, not very distant from the clergyman. here he waited, listening first to one speaker and then another, till the debate had grown very loud, when he gave a great hem; and all were silent, for every one knew that johnny was going to speak. "now, i'll tell you what, lads," said johnny; "you've made noise enough to frighten all the jackdaws out of the steeple, and there they are flying all about with a pretty cawarring. you've spun a yarn as long as all the posts and rails round my seven acres, and i dunna see as you've yet hedged in so much as th' owd wise men o' gotham did, and that's a cuckoo. i've heard just one sensible word, and that was to recommend a cast-iron pulpit, in preference to a wooden 'un. as to a church-rate to repair th' owd steeple-house, why, my advice is to pull th' owd thing down, stick and stone, and mend your roads with it. it's a capital heap o' stone in it, that one must allow,--and your roads are pestilent bad. down with the old daw-house, i say, and mend th' roads wi' 't, and set th' parson here up for a guide-post. oh! it's a rare 'un he'd make; for he's always pointing th' way to the folks, but i never see that he moves one inch himself." "mr. darbyshire," exclaimed the clergyman, in high resentment, "that is very uncivil in my presence, to say the least of it." "civil or uncivil," returned johnny; "it's the truth, lad, and thou can take it just as thou likes. i did not come here to bandy compliments; so i may as well be hanged for an old sheep as for a lamb,--we'll not make two mouthfuls of a cherry; my advice is then to have a cast-iron pulpit, by all means, and while you are about it, a cast-iron parson, too. it will do just as well as our neighbor diggory dyson here, and a plaguy deal cheaper, for it will require neither tithes, glebe, easter-dues, nor church-rates!" having delivered himself of this remarkable oration, to the great amusement of his fellow-parishioners, and the equal exasperation of the clergyman, johnny ordered himself to be again hoisted into his cart, and rode home in great glory, boasting that he had knocked all the wind out of the parson, and if he got enough again to preach his sermon on sunday, it would be all. it was only on such occasions as these that johnny darbyshire ever appeared under the church roof. once, on the occasion of the funeral of an old neighbor, which, for a wonder, he attended, he presented himself there, but with as little satisfaction to the clergyman, and less to himself. he just marched into the church with his hat on, which, being removed by the clergyman's orders, johnny declared that he had a good mind to walk out of that well of a place, and would do so only out of respect to his old neighbor. with looks of great wrath he seated himself at a good distance from the clergyman; and as this gentleman was proceeding, in none of the clearest tones, certainly, to read the appropriate service, johnny suddenly shouted out, "speak up, man, speak up! what art mumbling at there, man? we canna hear what thou says here!" "who is that?" demanded the clergyman, solemnly, and looking much as if he did not clearly perceive who it was. "who is that who interrupts the service? i will not proceed till he be removed." the beadle approached johnny, and begged that he would withdraw. "oh!" said johnny, aloud, so as to be heard through all the church, "i'll sit i' th' porch. i'd much rather. what's the use sitting here where one can hear nothing but a buzzing like a bee in a blossom?" johnny accordingly withdrew to the porch, where some of his neighbors, hurrying to him when the funeral was about to proceed from the church to the grave, said, "mr. darbyshire, what have you done? you'll as surely be put into th' spiritual court, as you're a living man. you'd better ax the parson's pardon, and as soon as you can." accordingly, as soon as the funeral was over, and the clergyman was about to withdraw, up marched johnny to him, and said, "what, i reckon i've affronted thee with bidding thee speak up. but thou _should_ speak up, man; thou should speak up, or what art perched up aloft there for. but, however, as you scollards are rayther testy, i know, in being taken up before folks, i mun beg thy pardon for 't'arno."[c] [c] for what i know. "o, mr. darbyshire," said the clergyman, with much dignity, "that will not do, i assure you. i cannot pass over such conduct in such a manner. i shall take another course with you." "o, just as tha' woot. i've axed thy pardon, haven't i? and if that wunna do, why, thou mun please thysen!" johnny actually appeared very likely to get a proper castigation this time; but, however it was, he certainly escaped. the parishioners advised the clergyman to take no notice of the offence,--everybody, they said, knew johnny, and if he called him into the spiritual court, he would be just as bold and saucy, and might raise a good deal of public scandal. the clergyman, who, unfortunately, was but like too many country clergymen of the time, addicted to a merry glass in the village public-house, thought perhaps that this was only too likely, and so the matter dropped. for twenty years did johnny darbyshire thus give free scope to tongue and hand in his parish. he ruled paramount over wife, children, house, servants, parish, and everybody. he made work go on like the flying clouds of march; and at fair and market, at meeting and vestry, he had his fling and his banter at the expense of his neighbors, as if the world was all his own, and would never come to an end. but now came an event, arising, as so often is the case, out of the merest trifle, that more than all exhibited the indomitable stiffness and obstinacy of his character. johnny darbyshire had some fine, rich meadow-land, on the banks of the river derwent, where he took in cattle and horses to graze during the summer. hither a gentleman had sent a favorite and valuable blood mare to run a few months with her foal. he had stipulated that the greatest care should be taken of both mare and foal, and that no one, on any pretence whatever, should mount the former. all this johnny darbyshire had most fully promised. "nay, he was as fond of a good bit of horse-flesh as any man alive, and he would use mare and foal just as if they were his own." this assurance, which sounded very well indeed, was kept by johnny, as it proved, much more to the letter than the gentleman intended. to his great astonishment, it was not long before he one day saw johnny darbyshire come riding on a little shaggy horse down the village where he lived, leading the foal in a halter. he hurried out to inquire the cause of this, too well auguring some sad mischief, when johnny, shaking his head, said, "ill luck, my friend, never comes alone; it's an old saying, that it never rains but it pours; and so it's been with me. t' other day i'd a son drowned, as fine a lad as ever walked in shoe-leather; and in hurrying to th' doctor, how should luck have it, but down comes th' mare with her foot in a hole, breaks her leg, and was obligated to be killed; and here's th' poor innocent foal. it's a bad job, a very bad job; but i've the worst on't, and it canna be helped; so, prithee, say as little as thou can about it,--here's the foal, poor, dumb thing, at all events." "but what business," cried the gentleman, enraged, and caring, in his wrath, not a button for johnny darbyshire's drowned son, in the exasperation of his own loss,--"but what business had you riding to the doctor, or the devil, on my mare? did not i enjoin you, did you not solemnly promise me, that nobody should cross the mare's back?" johnny shook his head. he had indeed promised "to use her as his own," and he had done it to some purpose; but that was little likely to throw cold water on the gentleman's fire. it was in vain that johnny tried the pathetic of the drowning boy; it was lost on the man who had lost his favorite mare, and who declared that he would rather have lost a thousand pounds,--a hundred was exactly her value,--and he vowed all sorts of vengeance and of law. and he kept his word too. johnny was deaf to paying for the mare. he had lost his boy, and his summer's run of the mare and foal, and that he thought enough for a poor man like him, as he pleased to call himself. an action was commenced against him, of which he took not the slightest notice till it came into court. these lawyers, he said, were dear chaps, he'd have nothing to do with them. but the lawyers were determined to have to do with him, for they imagined that the quaker had a deep purse, and they longed to be poking their long, jewelled fingers to the bottom of it. the cause actually came into court at the assizes, and the counsel for the plaintiff got up and stated the case, offering to call his evidence, but first submitted that he could not find that any one was retained on behalf of the defendant, and that, therefore, he probably meant to suffer the cause to go by default. the court inquired whether any counsel at the bar was instructed to appear for darbyshire, in the case shiffnal _v._ darbyshire, but there was no reply; and learned gentlemen looked at one another, and all shook their learned wigs; and the judge was about to declare that the cause was forfeited by the defendant, john darbyshire, by non-appearance at the place of trial, when there was seen a bustle near the box of the clerk of the court; there was a hasty plucking off of a large hat, which somebody had apparently walked into court with on; and the moment afterwards a short man, in a quaker dress, with his grizzled hair hanging in long locks on his shoulders, and smoothed close down on the forehead, stepped, with a peculiar air of confidence and cunning, up to the bar. his tawny, sunburnt features, and small dark eyes, twinkling with an expression of much country subtlety, proclaimed him at once a character. at once a score of voices murmured,--"there's johnny darbyshire himself!" he glanced, with a quick and peculiar look, at the counsel, sitting at their table with their papers before them, who, on their part, did not fail to return his survey with a stare of mixed wonder and amazement. you could see it as plainly as possible written on their faces,--"who have we got here? there is some fun brewing here, to a certainty." but johnny raised his eyes from them to the bench, where sat the judge, and sent them rapidly thence to the jury-box, where they seemed to rest with a considerable satisfaction. "is this a witness?" inquired the judge. "if so, what is he doing there, or why does he appear at all, till we know whether the cause is to be defended?" "ay, lord judge, as they call thee, i reckon i am a witness, and the best witness too, that can be had in the case, for i'm the man himself; i'm john darbyshire. i didn't mean to have anything to do with these chaps i' their wigs and gowns, with their long, dangling sleeves; and i dunna yet mean to have anything to do wi' 'em. but i just heard one of 'em tell thee, that this cause was not going to be defended; and that put my monkey up, and so, thinks i, i'll e'en up and tell 'em that it will be defended though; ay, and i reckon it will too; johnny darbyshire was never yet afraid of the face of any man, or any set of men." "if you are what you say, good man," said the judge, "defendant in this case, you had better appoint counsel to state it for you." "nay, nay, lord judge, as they call thee,--hold a bit; i know better than that. catch johnny darbyshire at flinging his money into a lawyer's bag! no, no. i know them chaps wi' wigs well enough. they've tongues as long as a besom's teal, and fingers as long to poke after 'em. nay, nay, i don't get my money so easily as to let them scrape it up by armfuls. i've worked early and late, in heat and cold, for my bit o' money, and long enough too, before these smart chaps had left their mother's apron-strings; and let them catch a coin of it, if they can. no! i know this case better than any other man can, and for why? because i was in it. it was me that had the mare to summer; it was me that rode her to the doctor; i was in at th' breaking of th' leg, and, for that reason, i can tell you exactly how it all happened. and what's any of those counsellors,--sharp, and fine, and knowing as they look, with their tails and their powder,--what are they to know about the matter, except what somebody'd have to tell 'em first? i tell you, i saw it, i did it, and so there needs no twice telling of the story." "but are you going to produce evidence?" inquired the counsel for the other side. "evidence? to be sure i am. what does the chap mean? evidence? why, i'm defender and evidence and all!" there was a good deal of merriment in the court, and at the bar, in which the judge himself joined. "there wants no evidence besides me; for, as i tell you, i did it, and i'm not going to deny it." "stop!" cried the judge; "this is singular. if mr. darbyshire means to plead his own cause, and to include in it his evidence, he must be sworn. let the oath be administered to him." "nay, i reckon thou need put none of thy oaths to me! my father never brought me up to cursing and swearing, and such like wickedness. he left that to th' ragamuffins and rapscallions i' th' street. i'm no swearer, nor liar neither,--thou may take my word safe enough." "let him take his affirmation, if he be a member of the society of friends." "ay, now thou speaks sense, lord judge. ay, i'm a member, i warrant me." the clerk of the court here took his affirmation, and then johnny proceeded. "well, i don't feel myself any better or any honester now for making that affirmation. i was just going to tell the plain truth before, and i can only tell th' same now. and, as i said, i'm not going to deny what i've done. no! johnny darbyshire's not the man that ever did a thing and then denied it. can any of these chaps i' th' wigs say as much? ay, now i reckon," added he, shaking his head archly at the gentlemen of the bar, "now i reckon you'd like, a good many on you there, to be denying this thing stoutly for me? you'd soon persuade a good many simple folks here that i never did ride the mare, never broke her leg, nay, never saw her that day at all. wouldn't you, now? wouldn't you?"-- here the laughter, on all sides, was loudly renewed. "but i'll take precious good care ye _dunna_! no, no! that's the very thing that i've stepped up here for. it's to keep your consciences clear of a few more additional lies. o dear! i'm quite grieved for you, when i think what falsities and deceit you'll one day have to answer for, as it is." the gentlemen, thus complimented, appeared to enjoy the satire of johnny darbyshire; and still more was it relished in the body of the court. but again remarked the judge, "mr. darbyshire, i advise you to leave the counsel for the plaintiff to prove his case against you." "i'st niver oss!" exclaimed johnny, with indignation. "i'st niver oss!" repeated the judge. "what does he mean?--i don't understand him." and he looked inquiringly at the bar. "he means," my lord, said a young counsel, "that he shall never offer,--never attempt to do so." "that's a darbyshire chap now," said johnny, turning confidentially towards the jury-box, where he saw some of his county farmers. "he understands good english." "but, good neighbors there," added he, addressing the jury, "for i reckon it's you that i must talk to on this business; i'm glad to see that you are, a good many on you, farmers like myself, and so up to these things. to make a short matter of it, then,--i had the mare and foal to summer; and the gentleman laid it down, strong and fast, that she shouldn't be ridden by anybody. and i promised him that i would do my best, that nobody should ride her. i told him that i would use her just as if she was my own,--and i meant it. i meant to do the handsome by her and her master too; for i needn't tell you that i'm too fond of a bit of good blood to see it willingly come to any harm. nay, nay, that never was the way of johnny darbyshire. and there she was, the pretty creature, with her handsome foal cantering and capering round her in the meadow; it was a pleasure to see it, it was indeed! and often have i stood and leaned over the gate and watched them, till i felt a'most as fond of them as of my own children; and never would leg have crossed her while she was in my possession had that not happened that may happen to any man, when he least expects it. "my wife had been ill, very ill. my poor lizzy, i thought i should ha' certainly lost her. the doctors said she must be kept quiet in bed; if she stirred for five days she was a lost woman. well, one afternoon as i was cutting a bit o' grass at th' bottom o' th' orchard for the osses, again they came from ploughing the fallows, i heard a shriek that went through me like a baggonet. down i flings th' scythe. 'that's lizzy, and no other!' i shouted to myself. 'she's out of bed,--and, goodness! what can it be? she's ten to one gone mad with a brain fever!' there seemed to have fallen ten thousand millstones on my heart. i tried to run, but i couldn't. i was as cold as ice. i was as fast rooted to the ground as a tree. there was another shriek more piercing than before--and i was off like an arrow from a bow--i was loose then. i was all on fire. i ran like a madman till i came within sight of th' house; and there i saw lizzy in her nightgown with half her body out of the window, shrieking and wringing her hands like any crazed body. "'stop! stop!' i cried, 'lizzy! lizzy! back! back! for heaven's sake!' "'there! there!' screamed she, pointing with staring eyes and ghastly face down into the darrant that runs under the windows. "'o god!' i exclaimed, 'she'll drown herself! she's crazed, she means to fling herself in'--groaning as i ran, and trying to keep crying to her, but my voice was dead in my throat. "when i reached her chamber, i found her fallen on the floor,--she was as white as a ghost, and sure enough i thought she was one. i lifted her upon the bed, and screamed amain for the nurse, for the maid, but not a soul came. i rubbed lizzy's hands; clapped them; tried her smelling-bottle. at length she came to herself with a dreadful groan,--flashed open her eyes wide on me, and cried, 'didst see him? didst save him? where is he? where is he?' "'merciful providence!' i exclaimed. 'she's gone only too sure! it's all over with her!' "'where is he? where's my dear sam? thou didn't let him drown?' "'drown? sam? what?' i cried. 'what dost mean, lizzy?' "'o john! sammy!--he was drowning i' th' darrant--oh!--' "she fainted away again, and a dreadful truth flashed on my mind. she had seen our little sammy drowning; she had heard his screams, and sprung out of bed, forgetful of herself, and looking out, saw our precious boy in the water. he was sinking! he cried for help! there was nobody near, and there lizzy stood and saw him going, going, going down! there was not a soul in the house. the maid was gone to see her mother that was dying in the next village; the nurse had been suddenly obliged to run off to the doctor's for some physic; lizzy had promised to lie still till i came in, and in the mean time--this happens. when i understood her i flew down stairs, and towards the part of the river she had pointed to. i gazed here and there, and at length caught sight of the poor boy's coat floating, and with a rake i caught hold of it, and dragged him to land. but it was too late! frantic, however, as i was, i flew down to the meadow with a bridle in my hand, mounted the blood mare,--she was the fleetest in the field by half,--and away to the doctor. we went like the wind. i took a short cut for better speed, but it was a hobbly road. just as i came in sight of the doctor's house there was a slough that had been mended with stones and fagots and anything that came to hand. i pushed her over, but her foot caught in a hole amongst the sticks, and--crack! it was over in a moment. "neighbors, neighbors! think of my situation. think of my feelings. oh! i was all one great groan! my wife! my boy! the mare! it seemed as if job's devil was really sent out against me. but there was no time to think; i could only feel, and i could do that running. i sprang over the hedge. i was across the fields, and at the doctor's; ay, long before i could find breath to tell him what was amiss. but he thought it was my wife that was dreadfully worse. 'i expected as much,' said he, and that instant we were in the gig that stood at the door, and we were going like fire back again. but--" here johnny darbyshire paused; the words stuck in his throat,--his lips trembled,--his face gradually grew pale and livid, as if he were going to give up the ghost. the court was extremely moved: there was a deep silence, and there were heard sobs from the throng behind. the judge sate with his eyes fixed on his book of minutes, and not a voice even said "go on." johnny darbyshire meantime, overcome by his feelings, had sate down at the bar, a glass of water was handed to him,--he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief several times, heaved a heavy convulsive sigh or two from his laboring chest,--and again arose. "judge, then," said he, again addressing the jury, "what a taking i was in. my boy--but no--i canna touch on that, he was--gone!" said he in a husky voice that seemed to require all his physical force to send it from the bottom of his chest. "my wife was for weeks worse than dead, and never has been, and never will be, herself again. when i inquired after the mare,--you can guess--when was a broken leg of a horse successfully set again? they had been obliged to kill her! "now, neighbors, i deny nothing. i wunna!--but i'll put it to any of you, if you were in like case, and a fleet mare stood ready at hand, would you have weighed anything but her speed against a wife and--a child?--no, had she been my own, i should have taken her, and that was all i had promised! but there, neighbors, you have the whole business,--and so do just as you like,--i leave it wi' you." johnny darbyshire stepped down from the bar, and disappeared in the crowd. there was a deep silence in the court, and the very jury were seen dashing some drops from their eyes. they appeared to look up to the judge as if they were ready to give in at once their verdict, and nobody could doubt for which party; but at this moment the counsel for the plaintiff arose, and said:-- "gentlemen of the jury,--you know the old saying--'he that pleads his own cause has a fool for his client.' we cannot say that the proverb has held good in this case. the defendant has proved himself no fool. never in my life have i listened to the pleadings of an opponent with deeper anxiety. nature and the awful chances of life have made the defendant in this case more than eloquent. for a moment i actually trembled for the cause of my client,--but it was for a moment only. i should have been something less than human if i had not, like every person in this court, been strangely affected by the singular appeal of the singular man who has just addressed you; but i should have been something less than a good lawyer if i did not again revert confidently to those facts which were in the possession of my witnesses now waiting to be heard. had this been the only instance in which the defendant had broken his engagement, and mounted this mare, i should in my own mind have flung off all hope of a verdict from you. god and nature would have been too strong for me in your hearts; but, fortunately for my client, it is not so. i will show you on the most unquestionable evidence that it was not the first nor the second time that mr. darbyshire had mounted this prohibited but tempting steed. he had been seen, as one of the witnesses expresses it, 'frisking about' on this beautiful animal, and asking his neighbors what they thought of such a bit of blood as that. he had on one occasion been as far as crich fair with her, and had allowed her to be cheapened by several dealers as if she were his own, and then proudly rode off, saying, 'nay, nay, it was not money that would purchase pretty nancy,' as he called her." here the counsel called several respectable farmers who amply corroborated these statements; and he then proceeded. "gentlemen, there i rest my case. you will forget the wife and the child, and call to mind the 'frisking,' and crich fair. but to put the matter beyond a doubt we will call the defendant again, and put a few questions to him." the court crier called,--but it was in vain. johnny darbyshire was no longer there. as he had said, "he had left it wi' 'em," and was gone. the weight of evidence prevailed; the jury gave a verdict for the plaintiff,--one hundred pounds. the verdict was given, but the money was not yet got. when called on for payment, johnny darbyshire took no further notice of the demand than he had done of the action. an execution was issued against his goods; but when it was served, it was found that he had no goods. a brother stepped in with a clear title to all on johnny's farm by a deed dated six years before, on plea of moneys advanced, and johnny stood only as manager. the plaintiff was so enraged at this barefaced scheme to bar his just claim, johnny's bail sureties being found equally unsubstantial, that he resolved to arrest johnny's person. the officers arrived at johnny's house to serve the writ, and found him sitting at his luncheon alone. it was a fine summer's day,--everybody was out in the fields at the hay. door and window stood open, and johnny, who had been out on some business, was refreshing himself before going to the field too. the officers entering declared him their prisoner. "well," said johnny, "i know that very well. don't i know a bum-baily when i see him? but sit down and take something; i'm hungry if you ar'na, at all events." the men gladly sate down to a fine piece of cold beef, and johnny said, "come, fill your glasses; i'll fetch another jug of ale. i reckon you'll not give me a glass of ale like this where we are going." he took a candle, descended the cellar, one of the officers peeping after him to see that all was right, and again sitting down to the beef and beer. both of them found the beef splendid; but beginning to find the ale rather long in making its appearance, they descended the cellar, and found johnny darbyshire had gone quietly off at a back door. loud was the laughter of the country round at johnny darbyshire's outwitting of the bailiff's, and desperate was their quest after him. it was many a day, however, before they again got sight of him. when they did, it was on his own hearth, just as they had done at first. not a soul was visible but himself. the officers declared now that they would make sure of him, and yet drink with him too. "with all my heart," said johnny; "and draw it yourselves, too, if you will." "nay, i will go down with you," said one; "my comrade shall wait here above." "good," said johnny, lighting a candle. "now, mind, young man," added he, going hastily forwards towards the cellar steps,--"mind, i say, some of these steps are bad. it's a dark road, and--nay, here!--this way,--follow me exactly." but the man was too eager not to let johnny go too far before him; he did not observe that johnny went some distance round before he turned down the steps. there was no hand-rail to this dark flight of steps, and he walked straight over into the opening. "hold!--hold! heavens! the man's gone,--didn't i tell him!--" a heavy plunge and a groan announced the man's descent into the cellar. "help!--help!" cried johnny darbyshire, rushing wildly into the room above. "the man, like a madman, has walked over the landing into the cellar. if he isn't killed, it's a mercy. help!" snatching another candle; "but hold--take heed! take heed! or thou'lt go over after him!" with good lighting, and careful examination of the way, the officer followed. they found the other man lying on his back, bleeding profusely from his head, and insensible. "we must have help! there's no time to lose!" cried johnny darbyshire, springing up stairs. "stop!" cried the distracted officer, left with his bleeding fellow, and springing up the steps after johnny. but he found a door already bolted in his face; and cursing johnny for a treacherous and murderous scoundrel, he began vainly denouncing his barbarity in leaving his comrade thus to perish, and kicked and thundered lustily at the door. but he did johnny darbyshire injustice. johnny had no wish to hurt a hair of any man's head. the officer had been eager and confident, and occasioned his own fall; and even now johnny had not deserted him. he appeared on horseback at the barn where threshers were at work; told them what had happened; gave them the key of the cellar door, bade them off and help all they could; and said he was riding for the doctor. the doctor indeed soon came, and pronounced the man's life in no danger, though he was greatly scratched and bruised. johnny himself was again become invisible. from this time for nine months the pursuit of johnny darbyshire was a perfect campaign, full of stratagems, busy marchings, and expectations, but of no surprises. house, barns, fields, and woods, were successively ferreted through, as report whispered that he was in one or the other. but it was to no purpose; not a glimpse of him was ever caught; and fame now loudly declared that he had safely transferred himself to america. unfortunately for the truth of this report, which had become as well received as the soundest piece of history, johnny darbyshire was one fine moonlight night encountered full face to face, by some poachers crossing the fields near his house. the search became again more active than ever, and the ruins of wingfield manor, which stood on a hill not far from his dwelling, were speedily suspected to be haunted by him. these were hunted over and over, but no trace of johnny darbyshire, or any sufficient hiding-place for him, could be found, till, one fine summer evening, the officers were lucky enough to hit on a set of steps which descended amongst bushes into the lower part of the ruins. here, going on, they found themselves, to their astonishment, in an ample old kitchen, with a fire of charcoal in the grate, and johnny darbyshire with a friend or two sitting most cosily over their tea. before they could recover from their surprise, johnny, however, had vanished by some door or window, they could not tell exactly where, for there were sundry doorways issuing into dark places of which former experience bade them beware. rushing up again, therefore, to the light, they soon posted some of their number around the ruins, and, with other assistance sent for from the village, they descended again, and commenced a vigilant search. this had been patiently waited for a good while by those posted without, when suddenly, as rats are seen to issue from a rick when the ferret is in it, johnny darbyshire was seen ascending hurriedly a broken staircase, that was partly exposed to the open day by the progress of dilapidation, and terminated abruptly above. here, at this abrupt and dizzy termination, for the space of half a minute, stood johnny darbyshire, looking round, as if calmly surveying the landscape, which lay, with all its greenness and ascending smokes of cottage chimneys, in the gleam of the setting sun. another instant, and an officer of the law was seen cautiously scrambling up the same ruinous path; but, when he had reached within about half a dozen yards or so of johnny, he paused, gazed upwards and downwards, and then remained stationary. johnny, taking one serious look at him, now waved his hand as bidding him adieu, and disappeared in a mass of ivy. the astonished officer on the ruined stair now hastily retreated downwards; the watchers on the open place around ran to the side of the building where johnny darbyshire had thus disappeared, but had scarcely reached the next corner, when they heard a loud descent of stones and rubbish, and, springing forward, saw these rushing to the ground at the foot of the old manor, and some of them springing and bounding down the hill below. what was most noticeable, however, was johnny darbyshire himself, lying stretched, apparently lifeless, on the greensward at some little distance. on examining afterwards the place, they found that johnny had descended between a double wall,--a way, no doubt, well known to him, and thence had endeavored to let himself down the wall by the ivy which grew enormously strong there; but the decayed state of the stones had caused the hold of the ivy to give way, and johnny had been precipitated, probably from a considerable height. he still held quantities of leaves and ivy twigs in his hands. he was conveyed as speedily as possible on a door to his own house, where it was ascertained by the surgeon that life was sound in him, but that besides plenty of severe contusions, he had broken a thigh. when this news reached his persecutor, though johnny was declared to have rendered himself, by his resistance to the officers of the law, liable to outlawry, this gentleman declared that he was quite satisfied; that johnny was punished enough, especially as he had been visited with the very mischief he had occasioned to the mare. he declined to proceed any further against him, paid all charges and costs, and the court itself thought fit to take no further cognizance of the matter. johnny was, indeed, severely punished. for nearly twelve months he was confined to the house, and never did his indomitable and masterful spirit exhibit itself so strongly and characteristically as during this time. he was a most troublesome subject in the house. as he sate in his bed, he ordered, scolded, and ruled with a rod of iron all the women, including his wife and daughter, so that they would have thought the leg and the confinement nothing to what they had to suffer. he at length had himself conveyed to the sitting-room or the kitchen, as he pleased, in a great easy-chair; but as he did not satisfy himself that he was sufficiently obeyed, he one day sent the servant-girl to fetch him the longest scarlet-bean stick that she could find in the garden. armed with this, he now declared that he would have his own way,--he could reach them now! and, accordingly, there he sate, ordering and scolding, and, if not promptly obeyed in his most extravagant commands, not sparing to inflict substantial knocks with his pea-prick, as he called it. this succeeded so well that he would next have his chair carried to the door, and survey the state of things without. "ay, he knew they were going on prettily. there was fine management, he was sure, when he was thus laid up. he should be ruined, that was certain. o, if he could but see the ploughing and the crops,--to see how they were going on would make the heart of a stone ache, he expected." his son was a steady young fellow, and, it must be known, was all the while farming, and carrying on the business much better than he himself had ever done. "but he would be with them one of these days, and for the present he would see his stock at all events." he accordingly ordered the whole of his stock, his horses, his cows, his bullocks, his sheep, his calves, his pigs, and poultry, to be all, every head of them, driven past as he sate at the door. it was like another naming of the beasts by adam, or another going up into the ark. there he sate, swaying his long stick, now talking to this horse, and now to that cow. to the old bull he addressed a long speech; and every now and then he broke off to rate the farm-servants for their neglect of things. "what a bag of bones was this heifer! what a skeleton was that horse! why, they must have been fairly starved on purpose; nay, they must have been in the pinfold all the time he had been laid up. but he would teach the lazy rogues a different lesson as soon as he could get about." and the next thing was to get about in his cart with his bed laid in it. in this he rode over his farm; and it would have made a fine scene for fielding or goldsmith, to have seen all his proceedings, and heard all his exclamations and remarks, as he surveyed field after field. "what ploughing! what sowing! why, they must have had a crooked plough, and a set of bandy-legged horses, to plough such ploughing. there was no more straightness in their furrows than in a dog's hind leg. and then where had the man flung the seed to? here was a bit come up, and there never a bit. it was his belief that they must go to jericho to find half of his corn that had been flung away. what! had they picked the windiest day of all the year to scatter his corn on the air in? and then the drains were all stopped; the land was drowning, was starving to death; and where were the hedges all gone to? hedges he left, but now he only saw gaps!" so he went round the farm, and for many a day did it furnish him with a theme of scolding in the house. such was johnny darbyshire; and thus he lived for many years. we sketch no imaginary character, we relate no invented story. perhaps a more perfect specimen of the shrewd and clever man converted into the local and domestic tyrant, by having too much of his own humor, never was beheld; but the genus to which johnny darbyshire belonged is far from extinct. in the nooks of england there are not a few of them yet to be found in all their froward glory; and in the most busy cities, though the great prominences of their eccentricities are rubbed off by daily concussion with men as hard-headed as themselves, we see glimpses beneath the polished surface of what they would be in ruder and custom-freer scenes. the johnny darbyshires may be said to be instances of english independence run to seed. the gridiron. by samuel lover. a certain old gentleman in the west of ireland, whose love of the ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret and fox-hunting, was wont, upon festive occasions, when opportunity offered, to amuse his friends by _drawing out_ one of his servants, exceedingly fond of what he termed his "thravels," and in whom, a good deal of whim, some queer stories, and perhaps, more than all, long and faithful services, had established a right of loquacity. he was one of those few trusty and privileged domestics, who, if his master unheedingly uttered a rash thing in a fit of passion, would venture to set him right. if the squire said, "i'll turn that rascal off," my friend pat would say, "troth you won't, sir"; and pat was always right, for if any altercation arose upon the "subject-matter in hand," he was sure to throw in some good reason, either from former services,--general good conduct,--or the delinquent's "wife and children," that always turned the scale. but i am digressing: on such merry meetings as i have alluded to, the master, after making certain "approaches," as a military man would say, as the preparatory steps in laying siege to some _extravaganza_ of his servant, might, perchance, assail pat thus: "by the by, sir john (addressing a distinguished guest), pat has a very curious story, which something you told me to-day reminds me of. you remember, pat (turning to the man, evidently pleased at the notice thus paid to himself),--you remember that queer adventure you had in france?" "troth i do, sir," grins forth pat. "what!" exclaims sir john, in feigned surprise, "was pat ever in france?" "indeed he was," cries mine host; and pat adds, "ay, and farther, plaze your honor." "i assure you, sir john," continues my host, "pat told me a story once that surprised me very much, respecting the ignorance of the french." "indeed!" rejoined the baronet; "really, i always supposed the french to be a most accomplished people." "troth, then, they're not, sir," interrupts pat. "o, by no means," adds mine host, shaking his head emphatically. "i believe, pat, 'twas when you were crossing the atlantic?" says the master, turning to pat with a seductive air, and leading into the "full and true account"--(for pat had thought fit to visit _north amerikay_, for "a raison he had," in the autumn of the year ninety-eight). "yes, sir," says pat, "the broad atlantic,"--a favorite phrase of his, which he gave with a brogue as broad, almost, as the atlantic itself. "it was the time i was lost in crassin' the broad atlantic, a comin' home," began pat, decoyed into the recital; "whin the winds began to blow, and the sae to rowl, that you'd think the _colleen dhas_ (that was her name), would not have a mast left but what would rowl out of her. "well, sure enough, the masts went by the board, at last, and the pumps were choked (divil choke them for that same), and av coorse the water gained an us; and troth, to be filled with water is neither good for man or baste; and she was sinkin' fast, settlin' down, as the sailors call it; and faith i never was good at settlin' down in my life, and i liked it then less nor ever; accordingly we prepared for the worst and put out the boat and got a sack o' bishkits and a cask o' pork, and a kag o' wather, and a thrifle o' rum aboord, and any other little matthers we could think iv in the mortial hurry we wor in,--and faith there was no time to be lost, for, my darlint, the _colleen dhas_ went down like a lump o' lead, afore we wor many sthrokes o' the oar away from her. "well, we dhrifted away all that night, and next mornin' we put up a blanket an the end av a pole as well as we could, and then we sailed iligant; for we darn't show a stitch o' canvas the night before, bekase it was blowin' like bloody murther, savin' your presence, and sure it's the wondher of the world we worn't swally'd alive by the ragin' sae. "well, away we wint, for more nor a week, and nothin' before our two good-lookin' eyes but the canophy iv heaven, and the wide ocean--the broad atlantic--not a thing was to be seen but the sae and the sky; and though the sae and the sky is mighty purty things in themselves, throth they're no great things when you've nothin' else to look at for a week together,--and the barest rock in the world, so it was land, would be more welkim. and then, soon enough, throth, our provisions began to run low, the bishkits, and the wather, and the rum--throth _that_ was gone first of all--god help uz--and oh! it was thin that starvation began to stare us in the face,--'o, murther, murther, captain darlint,' says i, 'i wish we could land anywhere,' says i. "'more power to your elbow, paddy, my boy,' says he, 'for sitch a good wish, and throth it's myself wishes the same.' "'och,' says i, 'that it may plaze you, sweet queen iv heaven, supposing it was only a _dissolute_ island,' says i, 'inhabited wid turks, sure they wouldn't be such bad christians as to refuse us a bit and a sup.' "'whisht, whisht, paddy,' says the captain, 'don't be talking bad of any one,' says he; 'you don't know how soon you may want a good word put in for yourself, if you should be called to quarthers in th' other world all of a suddint,' says he. "'thrue for you, captain darlint,' says i--i called him darlint, and made free with him, you see, bekase disthress makes us all equal,--'thrue for you, captain jewel,'--god betune uz and harm, i owe no man any spite,--and throth that was only thruth. well, the last bishkit was sarved out, and by gor the _wather itself_ was all gone at last, and we passed the night mighty cowld; well, at the brake o' day the sun riz most beautifully out o' the waves, that was as bright as silver and as clear as chrystal. but it was only the more cruel upon us, for we wor beginnin' to feel _terrible_ hungry; when all at wanst i thought i spied the land,--by gor, i thought i felt my heart up in my throat in a minit, and 'thunder an' turf, captain,' says i, 'look to leeward,' says i. "'what for?' says he. "'i think i see the land,' says i. so he ups with his bring-'em-near (that's what the sailors call a spy-glass, sir), and looks out, and, sure enough, it was. "'hurra!' says he, 'we're all right now; pull away, my boys,' says he. "'take care you're not mistaken,' says i; 'maybe it's only a fog-bank, captain darlint,' says i. "'o no,' says he, 'it's the land in airnest.' "'o, then, whereabouts in the wide world are we, captain?' says i; 'maybe it id be in _roosia_, or _proosia_, or the garmant oceant,' says i. "'tut, you fool,' says he, for he had that consaited way wid him--thinkin' himself cleverer nor any one else--'tut, you fool,' says he, 'that's _france_,' says he. "'tare an ouns,' says i, 'do you tell me so? and how do you know it's france it is, captain dear,' says i. "'bekase this is the bay o' bishky we're in now,' says he. "'throth, i was thinkin' so myself,' says i, 'by the rowl it has; for i often heerd av it in regard of that same; and throth the likes av it i never seen before nor since, and, with the help of god, never will.' "well, with that, my heart began to grow light; and when i seen my life was safe, i began to grow twice hungrier nor ever--so, says i, 'captain jewel, i wish we had a gridiron.' "'why, then,' says he, 'thunder and turf,' says he, 'what puts a gridiron into your head?' "'bekase i'm starvin' with the hunger,' says i. "'and sure, bad luck to you,' says he, 'you couldn't eat a gridiron,' says he, 'barrin' you were a _pelican o' the wildherness_,' says he. "'ate a gridiron,' says i, 'och, in throth, i'm not such a _gommoch_ all out as that, anyhow. but sure, if we had a gridiron, we could dress a beefstake,' says i. "'arrah! but where's the beefstake?' says he. "'sure, couldn't we cut a slice aff the pork,' says i. "'be gor, i never thought o' that,' says the captain. 'you're a clever fellow, paddy,' says he, laughin'. "'o, there's many a thrue word said in joke,' says i. "'thrue for you, paddy,' says he. "'well, then,' says i, 'if you put me ashore there beyant' (for we were nearin' the land all the time), 'and sure i can ax them for to lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says i. "'o, by gor, the butther's comin' out o' the stirabout in airnest now,' says he, 'you gommoch,' says he, 'sure i told you before that's france,--and sure they're all furriners there,' says the captain. "'well,' says i, 'and how do you know but i'm as good a furriner myself as any o' thim?' "'what do you mane?' says he. "'i mane,' says i, 'what i towld you, that i'm as good a furriner myself as any o' thim.' "'make me sinsible,' says he. "'by dad, maybe that's more nor me, or greater nor me, could do,' says i,--and we all began to laugh at him, for i thought i would pay him off for his bit o' consait about the garmant oceant. "'lave aff your humbuggin',' says he, 'i bid you, and tell me what it is you mane, at all at all.' "'_parly voo frongsay_,' says i. "'o, your humble sarvant,' says he; 'why, by gor, you're a scholar, paddy.' "'throth, you may say that,' says i. "'why, you're a clever fellow, paddy,' says the captain, jeerin' like. "'you're not the first that said that,' says i, 'whether you joke or no.' "'o, but i'm in airnest,' says the captain; 'and do you tell me, paddy,' says he, 'that you spake frinch?' "'_parly voo frongsay_,' says i. "'by gor, that bangs banagher, and all the world knows banagher bangs the divil,--i never met the likes o' you, paddy,' says he,--'pull away, boys, and put paddy ashore, and maybe we won't get a good bellyful before long.' "so, with that, it wos no sooner said nor done,--they pulled away, and got close into shore in less than no time, and run the boat up in a little creek, and a beautiful creek it was, with a lovely white sthrand,--an illegant place for ladies to bathe in the summer; and out i got,--and it's stiff enough in the limbs i was, afther bein' cramped up in the boat, and perished with the cowld and hunger, but i conthrived to scramble on, one way or t' other, tow'rds a little bit iv a wood that was close to the shore, and the smoke curlin' out iv it, quite timptin' like. "'by the powdhers o' war, i'm all right,' says i, 'there's a house there,'--and sure enough there was, and a parcel of men, women, and childher, ating their dinner round a table, quite convanient. and so i wint up to the door, and i thought i'd be very civil to them, as i heerd the french was always mighty p'lite intirely,--and i thought i'd show them i knew what good manners was. "so i took aff my hat, and, making a low bow, says i, 'god save all here,' says i. "well, to be sure, they all stapt eating at wanst, and began to stare at me, and faith they almost looked me out of countenance,--and i thought to myself, it was not good manners at all, more betoken from furriners which they call so mighty p'lite; but i never minded that, in regard o' wantin' the gridiron; and so says i, 'i beg your pardon,' says i, 'for the liberty i take, but it's only bein' in disthress in regard of eating,' says i, 'that i made bowld to throuble yez, and if you could lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says i, 'i'd be entirely obleeged to ye.' "by gor, they all stared at me twice worse nor before,--and with that, says i (knowing what was in their minds), 'indeed it's thrue for you,' says i, 'i'm tatthered to pieces, and god knows i look quare enough,--but it's by raison of the storm,' says i, 'which dhruv us ashore here below, and we're all starvin',' says i. "so then they began to look at each other again; and myself, seeing at once dirty thoughts was in their heads, and that they tuk me for a poor beggar coming to crave charity,--with that, says i, 'o, not at all,' says i, 'by no manes,--we have plenty of mate ourselves there below, and we'll dhress it,' says i, 'if you would be plased to lind us the loan of a gridiron,' says i, makin' a low bow. "well, sir, with that, throth, they stared at me twice worse nor ever, and faith i began to think that maybe the captain was wrong, and that it was not france at all at all; and so says i, 'i beg pardon, sir,' says i, to a fine ould man, with a head of hair as white as silver,--'maybe i'm under a mistake,' says i, 'but i thought i was in france, sir: aren't you furriners?' says i,--'_parly voo frongsay_?" "'we, munseer,' says he. "'then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says i, 'if you plase?' "o, it was thin that they stared at me as if i had seven heads; and, faith, myself began to feel flushed like and onaisy,--and so, says i, makin' a bow and scrape agin, 'i know it's a liberty i take, sir,' says i, 'but it's only in the regard of bein' cast away; and if you plase, sir,' says i, '_parly voo frongsay_?' "'we, munseer,' says he, mighty sharp. "'then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron!' says i, 'and you'll obleege me.' "well, sir, the ould chap began to munseer me; but the devil a bit of a gridiron he'd gi' me; and so i began to think they wor all neygars, for all their fine manners; and throth my blood begun to rise, and says i, 'by my sowl, if it was you was in distriss,' says i, 'and if it was to ould ireland you kem, it's not only the gridiron they'd give you, if you axed it, but something to put an it, too, and the drop o' dhrink into the bargain, and _cead mile failte_.' "well, the word _cead mile failte_ seemed to sthreck his heart, and the ould chap cocked his ear, and so i thought i'd give him another offer, and make him sensible at last: and so says i, wanst more, quite slow, that he might understand,--'_parly--voo--frongsay_, munseer.' "'we, munseer,' says he. "'then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says i, 'and bad scram to you.' "well, bad win to the bit of it he'd gi' me, and the ould chap begins bowin' and scrapin', and said something or other about a long tongs.[d] [d] some mystification of paddy's touching the french _n'entends_. "'phoo!--the divil swape yourself and your tongs,' says i, 'i don't want a tongs at all at all; but can't you listen to raison,' says i,--'_parly voo frongsay_?' "'we, munseer.' "'then lind me the loan of a gridiron,' says i, 'and howld your prate.' "well, what would you think, but he shook his old noddle as much as to say he wouldn't; and so, says i, 'bad cess to the likes o' that i ever seen,--throth if you wor in my counthry it's not that away they'd use you. the curse o' the crows an you, you owld sinner,' says i, 'the divil a longer i'll darken your door.' "so he seen i was vexed, and i thought, as i was turnin' away, i seen him begin to relint, and that his conscience throubled him; and says i, turnin' back, 'well, i'll give one chance more,--you ould thief,--are you a chrishthan at all? are you a furriner!' says i, 'that all the world calls so p'lite? bad luck to you, do you understand your own language?--_parly voo frongsay_?' says i. "'we, munseer,' says he. "'then, thunder an' turf,' says i, 'will you lind me the loan of a gridiron?' "well, sir, the devil resave the bit of it he'd gi' me,--and so, with that, the 'curse o' the hungry an you, you ould negarly villain,' says i; 'the back o' my hand and the sowl o' my foot to you, that you may want a gridiron yourself yit,' says i; and with that i left them there, sir, and kem away,--and, in throth, it's often sense that i thought that it was remarkable." the box tunnel. by charles reade. the . train glided from paddington, may , . in the left compartment of a certain first-class carriage were four passengers; of these, two were worth description. the lady had a smooth, white, delicate brow, strongly marked eyebrows, long lashes, eyes that seemed to change color, and a good-sized delicious mouth, with teeth as white as milk. a man could not see her nose for her eyes and mouth; her own sex could and would have told us some nonsense about it. she wore an unpretending grayish dress buttoned to the throat with lozenge-shaped buttons, and a scottish shawl that agreeably evaded color. she was like a duck, so tight her plain feathers fitted her, and there she sat, smooth, snug, and delicious, with a book in her hand, and a _soupçon_ of her wrist just visible as she held it. her opposite neighbor was what i call a good style of man,--the more to his credit, since he belonged to a corporation that frequently turns out the worst imaginable style of young men. he was a cavalry officer, aged twenty-five. he had a mustache, but not a very repulsive one; not one of those subnasal pigtails on which soup is suspended like dew on a shrub; it was short, thick, and black as a coal. his teeth had not yet been turned by tobacco smoke to the color of juice, his clothes did not stick to nor hang to him; he had an engaging smile, and, what i liked the dog for, his vanity, which was inordinate, was in its proper place, his heart, not in his face, jostling mine and other people's who have none,--in a word, he was what one oftener hears of than meets,--a young gentleman. he was conversing in an animated whisper with a companion, a fellow-officer; they were talking about what it is far better not to--women. our friend clearly did not wish to be overheard; for he cast ever and anon a furtive glance at his fair _vis-à-vis_ and lowered his voice. she seemed completely absorbed in her book, and that reassured him. at last the two soldiers came down to a whisper (the truth must be told), the one who got down at slough, and was lost to posterity, bet ten pounds to three, that he who was going down with us to bath and immortality would not kiss either of the ladies opposite upon the road. "done, done!" now i am sorry a man i have hitherto praised should have lent himself, even in a whisper, to such a speculation; "but nobody is wise at all hours," not even when the clock is striking five and twenty; and you are to consider his profession, his good looks, and the temptation--ten to three. after slough the party was reduced to three; at twylford one lady dropped her handkerchief; captain dolignan fell on it like a lamb; two or three words were interchanged on this occasion. at reading the marlborough of our tale made one of the safe investments of that day, he bought a times and punch; the latter full of steel-pen thrusts and woodcuts. valor and beauty deigned to laugh at some inflamed humbug or other punctured by punch. now laughing together thaws our human ice; long before swindon it was a talking match--at swindon who so devoted as captain dolignan?--he handed them out--he souped them--he tough-chickened them--he brandied and cochinealed one, and he brandied and burnt-sugared the other; on their return to the carriage, one lady passed into the inner compartment to inspect a certain gentleman's seat on that side of the line. reader, had it been you or i, the beauty would have been the deserter, the average one would have stayed with us till all was blue, ourselves included; not more surely does our slice of bread and butter, when it escapes from our hand, revolve it ever so often, alight face downward on the carpet. but this was a bit of a fop, adonis, dragoon,--so venus remained in _tête-à-tête_ with him. you have seen a dog meet an unknown female of his species; how handsome, how _empressé_, how expressive he becomes; such was dolignan after swindon, and to do the dog justice, he got handsome and handsomer; and you have seen a cat conscious of approaching cream,--such was miss haythorn; she became demurer and demurer; presently our captain looked out of the window and laughed; this elicited an inquiring look from miss haythorn. "we are only a mile from the box tunnel." "do you always laugh a mile from the box tunnel?" said the lady. "invariably." "what for?" "why, hem! it is a gentleman's joke." captain dolignan then recounted to miss haythorn the following:-- "a lady and her husband sat together going through the box tunnel,--there was one gentleman opposite; it was pitch dark: after the tunnel the lady said, 'george, how absurd of you to salute me going through the tunnel.' 'i did no such thing.' 'you didn't?' 'no! why?' 'because somehow i thought you did!'" here captain dolignan laughed and endeavored to lead his companion to laugh, but it was not to be done. the train entered the tunnel. _miss haythorn._ ah! _dolignan._ what is the matter? _miss haythorn._ i am frightened. _dolignan_ (moving to her side). pray do not be alarmed; i am near you. _miss haythorn._ you are near me,--very near me, indeed, captain dolignan. _dolignan._ you know my name? _miss haythorn._ i heard you mention it. i wish we were out of this dark place. _dolignan._ i could be content to spend hours here, reassuring you, my dear lady. _miss haythorn._ nonsense! _dolignan._ pweep! (grave reader, do not put your lips to the next pretty creature you meet, or you will understand what this means.) _miss haythorn._ ee! ee! _friend._ what is the matter? _miss haythorn._ open the door! open the door! there was a sound of hurried whispers, the door was shut and the blind pulled down with hostile sharpness. if any critic falls on me for putting inarticulate sounds in a dialogue as above, i answer with all the insolence i can command at present. "hit boys as big as yourself"; bigger, perhaps, such as sophocles, euripides, and aristophanes; they began it, and i learned it of them, sore against my will. miss haythorn's scream lost most of its effect because the engine whistled forty thousand murders at the same moment; and fictitious grief makes itself heard when real cannot. between the tunnel and bath our young friend had time to ask himself whether his conduct had been marked by that delicate reserve which is supposed to distinguish the perfect gentleman. with a long face, real or feigned, he held open the door; his late friends attempted to escape on the other side,--impossible! they must pass him. she whom he had insulted (latin for kissed) deposited somewhere at his feet a look of gentle, blushing reproach; the other, whom he had not insulted, darted red-hot daggers at him from her eyes; and so they parted. it was, perhaps, fortunate for dolignan that he had the grace to be a friend to major hoskyns of his regiment, a veteran laughed at by the youngsters, for the major was too apt to look coldly upon billiard-balls and cigars; he had seen cannon-balls and linstocks. he had also, to tell the truth, swallowed a good bit of the mess-room poker, which made it as impossible for major hoskyns to descend to an ungentlemanlike word or action as to brush his own trousers below the knee. captain dolignan told this gentleman his story in gleeful accents; but major hoskyns heard him coldly, and as coldly answered that he had known a man to lose his life for the same thing. "that is nothing," continued the major, "but unfortunately he deserved to lose it." at this, blood mounted to the younger man's temples; and his senior added, "i mean to say he was thirty-five; you, i presume, are twenty-one!" "twenty-five." "that is much the same thing; will you be advised by me?" "if you will advise me." "speak to no one of this, and send white the £ , that he may think you have lost the bet." "that is hard, when i won it." "do it, for all that, sir." let the disbelievers in human perfectibility know that this dragoon capable of a blush did this virtuous action, albeit with violent reluctance; and this was his first damper. a week after these events he was at a ball. he was in that state of factitious discontent which belongs to us amiable english. he was looking in vain for a lady, equal in personal attraction to the idea he had formed of george dolignan as a man, when suddenly there glided past him a most delightful vision! a lady whose beauty and symmetry took him by the eyes,--another look: "it can't be! yes, it is!" miss haythorn! (not that he knew her name!) but what an apotheosis! the duck had become a peahen--radiant, dazzling, she looked twice as beautiful and almost twice as large as before. he lost sight of her. he found her again. she was so lovely she made him ill--and he, alone, must not dance with her, speak to her. if he had been content to begin her acquaintance the usual way, it might have ended in kissing: it must end in nothing. as she danced, sparks of beauty fell from her on all around, but him--she did not see him; it was clear she never would see him--one gentleman was particularly assiduous; she smiled on his assiduity; he was ugly, but she smiled on him. dolignan was surprised at his success, his ill taste, his ugliness, his impertinence. dolignan at last found himself injured; "who was this man? and what right had he to go on so? he never kissed her, i suppose," said dolle. dolignan could not prove it, but he felt that somehow the rights of property were invaded. he went home and dreamed of miss haythorn, and hated all the ugly successful. he spent a fortnight trying to find out who his beauty was,--he never could encounter her again. at last he heard of her in this way: a lawyer's clerk paid him a little visit and commenced a little action against him in the name of miss haythorn, for insulting her in a railway train. the young gentleman was shocked; endeavored to soften the lawyer's clerk; that machine did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of the term. the lady's name, however, was at last revealed by this untoward incident; from her name to her address was but a short step; and the same day our crestfallen hero lay in wait at her door, and many a succeeding day, without effect. but one fine afternoon she issued forth quite naturally, as if she did it every day, and walked briskly on the parade. dolignan did the same, met and passed her many times on the parade, and searched for pity in her eyes, but found neither look nor recognition, nor any other sentiment; for all this she walked and walked, till all the other promenaders were tired and gone,--then her culprit summoned resolution, and, taking off his hat, with a voice for the first time tremulous, besought permission to address her. she stopped, blushed, and neither acknowledged nor disowned his acquaintance. he blushed, stammered out how ashamed he was, how he deserved to be punished, how he was punished, how little she knew how unhappy he was, and concluded by begging her not to let all the world know the disgrace of a man who was already mortified enough by the loss of her acquaintance. she asked an explanation; he told her of the action that had been commenced in her name; she gently shrugged her shoulders and said, "how stupid they are!" emboldened by this, he begged to know whether or not a life of distant unpretending devotion would, after a lapse of years, erase the memory of his madness--his crime! "she did not know!" "she must now bid him adieu, as she had some preparations to make for a ball in the crescent, where everybody was to be." they parted, and dolignan determined to be at the ball, where everybody was to be. he was there, and after some time he obtained an introduction to miss haythorn, and he danced with her. her manner was gracious. with the wonderful tact of her sex, she seemed to have commenced the acquaintance that evening. that night, for the first time, dolignan was in love. i will spare the reader all a lover's arts, by which he succeeded in dining where she dined, in dancing where she danced, in overtaking her by accident when she rode. his devotion followed her to church, where the dragoon was rewarded by learning there is a world where they neither polk nor smoke,--the two capital abominations of this one. he made an acquaintance with her uncle, who liked him, and he saw at last with joy that her eye loved to dwell upon him, when she thought he did not observe her. it was three months after the box tunnel that captain dolignan called one day upon captain haythorn, r. n., whom he had met twice in his life, and slightly propitiated by violently listening to a cutting-out expedition; he called, and in the usual way asked permission to pay his addresses to his daughter. the worthy captain straightway began doing quarter-deck, when suddenly he was summoned from the apartment by a mysterious message. on his return he announced with a total change of voice, that "it was all right, and his visitor might run alongside as soon as he chose." my reader has divined the truth; this nautical commander, terrible to the foe, was in complete and happy subjugation to his daughter, our heroine. as he was taking leave, dolignan saw his divinity glide into the drawing-room. he followed her, observed a sweet consciousness deepen into confusion,--she tried to laugh, and cried instead, and then she smiled again; when he kissed her hand at the door it was "george" and "marian" instead of "captain" this and "miss" the other. a reasonable time after this (for my tale is merciful and skips formalities and torturing delays), these two were very happy; they were once more upon the railroad, going to enjoy their honeymoon all by themselves. marian dolignan was dressed just as before,--duck-like and delicious; all bright except her clothes; but george sat beside her this time instead of opposite; and she drank him in gently from her long eyelashes. "marian," said george, "married people should tell each other all. will you ever forgive me if i own to you; no--" "yes! yes!" "well, then, you remember the box tunnel." (this was the first allusion he had ventured to it.) "i am ashamed to say i had £ to £ with white i would kiss one of you two ladies," and george, pathetic externally, chuckled within. "i know that, george; i overheard you," was the demure reply. "oh! you overheard me! impossible." "and did you not hear me whisper to my companion? i made a bet with her." "you made a bet! how singular! what was it?" "only a pair of gloves, george." "yes, i know; but what about it?" "that if you did you should be my husband, dearest." "oh! but stay; then you could not have been so very angry with me, love. why, dearest, then you brought that action against me?" mrs. dolignan looked down. "i was afraid you were forgetting me! george, you will never forgive me?" "sweet angel! why, here is the box tunnel!" now, reader,--fie! no! no such thing! you can't expect to be indulged in this way every time we come to a dark place. besides, it is not the thing. consider, two sensible married people. no such phenomenon, i assure you, took place. no scream in hopeless rivalry of the engine--this time! +--------------------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's notes: | | | |inconsistencies in spelling have been retained as they appear | |in the original. | | | |page was'nt changed to wasn't | | double quotation added after ... the wood | | double quotation added after ... hand it over. | | single quotation added after ... captain jewel, | | "started" changed to "stared" | | double quotation changed to single quotation after | | ... frongsay? | | repeated "in" in "him in in the name" removed | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ max and maurice a juvenile history in seven tricks, by william busch. from the german by charles t. brooks. boston: little, brown, and company, . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by roberts brothers, in the office of the librarian of congress at washington _copyright, ,_ by little, brown, and company. university press . john wilson and son . cambridge u.s.a. max and maurice. preface. [illustration] ah, how oft we read or hear of boys we almost stand in fear of! for example, take these stories of two youths, named max and maurice, who, instead of early turning their young minds to useful learning, often leered with horrid features at their lessons and their teachers. look now at the empty head: he is for mischief always ready. teasing creatures, climbing fences, stealing apples, pears, and quinces, is, of course, a deal more pleasant, and far easier for the present, than to sit in schools or churches, fixed like roosters on their perches. but o dear, o dear, o deary, when the end comes sad and dreary! 'tis a dreadful thing to tell that on max and maurice fell! all they did this book rehearses, both in pictures and in verses. trick first. [illustration] to most people who have leisure raising poultry gives great pleasure first, because the eggs they lay us for the care we take repay us; secondly, that now and then we can dine on roasted hen; thirdly, of the hen's and goose's feathers men make various uses. some folks like to rest their heads in the night on feather beds. one of these was widow tibbets, whom the cut you see exhibits. [illustration] hens were hers in number three, and a cock of majesty. max and maurice took a view; fell to thinking what to do. one, two, three! as soon as said, they have sliced a loaf of bread, cut each piece again in four, each a finger thick, no more. these to two cross-threads they tie, like a letter x they lie in the widow's yard, with care stretched by those two rascals there. [illustration] [illustration] scarce the cock had seen the sight, when he up and crew with might: cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo;-- tack, tack, tack, the trio flew. [illustration] cock and hens, like fowls unfed, gobbled each a piece of bread; [illustration] but they found, on taking thought, each of them was badly caught. [illustration] every way they pull and twitch, this strange cat's-cradle to unhitch; [illustration] up into the air they fly, jiminee, o jimini! [illustration] on a tree behold them dangling, in the agony of strangling! and their necks grow long and longer, and their groans grow strong and stronger. [illustration] each lays quickly one egg more, then they cross to th' other shore. [illustration] widow tibbets in her chamber, by these death-cries waked from slumber, [illustration] rushes out with bodeful thought: heavens! what sight her vision caught! [illustration] from her eyes the tears are streaming: "oh, my cares, my toil, my dreaming! ah, life's fairest hope," says she, "hangs upon that apple-tree." [illustration] heart-sick (you may well suppose), for the carving-knife she goes; cuts the bodies from the bough, hanging cold and lifeless now and in silence, bathed in tears, through her house-door disappears. [illustration] this was the bad boys' first trick, but the second follows quick. trick second. when the worthy widow tibbets (whom the cut below exhibits) had recovered, on the morrow, from the dreadful shock of sorrow, she (as soon as grief would let her think) began to think 'twere better just to take the dead, the dear ones (who in life were walking here once), and in a still noonday hour them, well roasted, to devour. true, it did seem almost wicked, when they lay so bare and naked, picked, and singed before the blaze,-- they that once in happier days, in the yard or garden ground, all day long went scratching round. ah! frau tibbets wept anew, and poor spitz was with her, too. [illustration] [illustration] max and maurice smelt the savor. "climb the roof!" cried each young shaver. [illustration] through the chimney now, with pleasure, they behold the tempting treasure, headless, in the pan there, lying, hissing, browning, steaming, frying. [illustration] at that moment down the cellar (dreaming not what soon befell her) widow tibbets went for sour krout, which she would oft devour with exceeding great desire (warmed a little at the fire). up there on the roof, meanwhile, they are doing things in style. max already with forethought a long fishing-line has brought. [illustration] schnupdiwup! there goes, o jeminy! one hen dangling up the chimney. schnupdiwup! a second bird! schnupdiwup! up comes the third! presto! number four they haul! schnupdiwup! we have them all!-- spitz looks on, we must allow, but he barks: row-wow! row-wow! [illustration] but the rogues are down instanter from the roof, and off they canter.-- ha! i guess there'll be a humming; here's the widow tibbets coming! rooted stood she to the spot, when the pan her vision caught. [illustration] gone was every blessed bird! "horrid spitz!" was her first word. [illustration] "o you spitz, you monster, you! let me beat him black and blue!" [illustration] and the heavy ladle, thwack! comes down on poor spitz's back! loud he yells with agony, for he feels his conscience free. [illustration] max and maurice, dinner over, in a hedge, snored under cover; and of that great hen-feast now each has but a leg to show * * * * * this was now the second trick, but the third will follow quick. trick third. through the town and country round was one mr. buck renowned. [illustration] sunday coats, and week-day sack-coats, bob-tails, swallow-tails, and frock coats, gaiters, breeches, hunting-jackets; waistcoats, with commodious pockets,-- and other things, too long to mention, claimed mr. tailor buck's attention. or, if any thing wanted doing in the way of darning, sewing, piecing, patching,--if a button needed to be fixed or put on,-- any thing of any kind, anywhere, before, behind,-- master buck could do the same, for it was his life's great aim. therefore all the population held him high in estimation. max and maurice tried to invent ways to plague this worthy gent. right before the sartor's dwelling ran a swift stream, roaring, swelling. [illustration] this swift stream a bridge did span, and the road across it ran. [illustration] max and maurice (naught could awe them!) took a saw, when no one saw them: ritze-ratze! riddle-diddle! sawed a gap across the middle. when this feat was finished well, suddenly was heard a yell: [illustration] "hallo, there! come out, you buck! tailor, tailor, muck! muck! muck!" buck could bear all sorts of jeering, jibes and jokes in silence hearing; but this insult roused such anger, nature couldn't stand it longer. [illustration] wild with fury, up he started, with his yard-stick out he darted; for once more that frightful jeer, "muck! muck! muck!" rang loud and clear. [illustration] on the bridge one leap he makes; crash! beneath his weight it breaks. [illustration] once more rings the cry, "muck! muck!" _in_, headforemost, plumps poor buck! while the scared boys were skedaddling, down the brook two geese came paddling. [illustration] on the legs of these two geese, with a death-clutch, buck did seize; [illustration] and, with both geese _well in hand_, flutters out upon dry land. [illustration] for the rest he did not find things exactly to his mind. [illustration] soon it proved poor buck had brought a dreadful belly-ache from the water. [illustration] noble mrs. buck! she rises fully equal to the crisis; with a hot flat-iron, she draws the cold out famously. [illustration] soon 'twas in the mouths of men, all through town: "buck's up again!" * * * * * this was the bad boys' third trick, but the fourth will follow quick. trick fourth. an old saw runs somewhat so: man must learn while here below.-- not alone the a, b, c, raises man in dignity; not alone in reading, writing, reason finds a work inviting; not alone to solve the double rule of three shall man take trouble: but must hear with pleasure sages teach the wisdom of the ages. [illustration] of this wisdom an example to the world was master lämpel. for this cause, to max and maurice this man was the chief of horrors; for a boy who loves bad tricks wisdom's friendship never seeks. with the clerical profession smoking always was a passion; and this habit without question, while it helps promote digestion, is a comfort no one can well begrudge a good old man, when the day's vexations close, and he sits to seek repose.-- max and maurice, flinty-hearted, on another trick have started; thinking how they may attack a poor old man through his tobacco. once, when sunday morning breaking, pious hearts to gladness waking, poured its light where, in the temple, at his organ sate herr lämpel, [illustration] these bad boys, for mischief ready, stole into the good man's study, where his darling meerschaum stands. this, max holds in both his hands; [illustration] while young maurice (scapegrace born!) climbs, and gets the powderhorn, and with speed the wicked soul pours the powder in the bowl. hush, and quick! now, right about! for already church is out. [illustration] lämpel closes the church-door, glad to seek his home once more; [illustration] all his service well got through, takes his keys, and music too, and his way, delighted, wends homeward to his silent friends. full of gratitude he there lights his pipe, and takes his chair. [illustration] [illustration] "ah!" he says, "no joy is found like contentment on earth's round!" [illustration] fizz! whizz! bum! the pipe is burst, almost shattered into dust. coffee-pot and water-jug, snuff-box, ink-stand, tumbler, mug, table, stove, and easy-chair, all are flying through the air in a lightning-powder-flash, with a most tremendous crash. [illustration] when the smoke-cloud lifts and clears, lämpel on his back appears; god be praised! still breathing there, only somewhat worse for wear. [illustration] nose, hands, eyebrows (once like yours), now are black as any moor's; burned the last thin spear of hair, and his pate is wholly bare. who shall now the children guide, lead their steps to wisdom's side? who shall now for master lämpel lead the service in the temple? now that his old pipe is out, shattered, smashed, _gone up the spout_? [illustration] time will heal the rest once more, but the pipe's best days are o'er. * * * * * this was the bad boys' fourth trick, but the fifth will follow quick. trick fifth. if, in village or in town, you've an uncle settled down, always treat him courteously; uncle will be pleased thereby. in the morning: "'morning to you! any errand i can do you?" fetch whatever he may need,-- pipe to smoke, and news to read; or should some confounded thing prick his back, or bite, or sting, nephew then will be near by, ready to his help to fly; or a pinch of snuff, maybe, sets him sneezing violently: "prosit! uncle! good health to you! god be praised! much good may't do you!" or he comes home late, perchance: pull his boots off then at once, fetch his slippers and his cap, and warm gown his limbs to wrap. be your constant care, good boy, what shall give your uncle joy. max and maurice (need i mention?) had not any such intention. see now how they tried their wits-- these bad boys--on uncle fritz. what kind of a bird a may- bug was, _they_ knew, i dare say; [illustration] in the trees they may be found, flying, crawling, wriggling round. [illustration] max and maurice, great pains taking, from a tree these bugs are shaking. [illustration] in their cornucopiæ papers, they collect these pinching creepers. [illustration] soon they are deposited in the foot of uncle's bed! [illustration] with his peaked nightcap on, uncle fritz to bed has gone; tucks the clothes in, shuts his eyes, and in sweetest slumber lies. [illustration] [illustration] kritze! kratze! come the tartars single file from their night quarters. [illustration] and the captain boldly goes straight at uncle fritzy's nose. [illustration] "baugh!" he cries: "what have we here?" seizing that grim grenadier. [illustration] uncle, wild with fright, upspringeth, and the bedclothes from him flingeth. [illustration] "awtsch!" he seizes two more scape- graces from his shin and nape. [illustration] crawling, flying, to and fro, round the buzzing rascals go. [illustration] wild with fury, uncle fritz stamps and slashes them to bits. [illustration] o be joyful! all gone by is the may bug's deviltry. [illustration] uncle fritz his eyes can close once again in sweet repose. * * * * * this was the bad boys' fifth trick, but the sixth will follow quick. trick sixth. easter days have come again, when the pious baker men bake all sorts of sugar things, plum-cakes, ginger-cakes, and rings. max and maurice feel an ache in their sweet-tooth for some cake. [illustration] but the baker thoughtfully locks his shop, and takes the key. [illustration] who would steal, then, _this_ must do: wriggle down the chimney-flue. [illustration] ratsch! there come the boys, my jiminy! black as ravens, down the chimney. [illustration] puff! into a chest they drop, full of flour up to the top. [illustration] out they crawl from under cover just as white as chalk all over. [illustration] but the cracknels, precious treasure, on a shelf they spy with pleasure. [illustration] knacks! the chair breaks! down they go-- [illustration] schwapp!--into a trough of dough! [illustration] all enveloped now in dough, see them, monuments of woe. [illustration] in the baker comes, and snickers when he sees the sugar-lickers. [illustration] one, two, three! the brats, behold! into two good _brots_ are rolled. [illustration] there's the oven, all red-hot,-- shove 'em in as quick as thought. [illustration] ruff! out with 'em from the heat, they are brown and good to eat. [illustration] now you think they've _paid the debt_! no, my friend, they're living yet. [illustration] knusper! knasper! like two mice through their roofs they gnaw in a trice; [illustration] and the baker cries, "you bet! there's the rascals living yet!" * * * * * this was the bad boys' sixth trick, but the last will follow quick. last trick max and maurice! i grow sick, when i think on your last trick. [illustration] why must these two scalawags cut those gashes in the bags? [illustration] see! the farmer on his back carries corn off in a sack. [illustration] scarce has he begun to travel, when the corn runs out like gravel. [illustration] all at once he stops and cries: "darn it! i see where it lies!" [illustration] ha! with what delighted eyes max and maurice he espies. [illustration] rabs! he opens wide his sack, shoves the rogues in--hukepack! [illustration] it grows warm with max and maurice, for to mill the farmer hurries. [illustration] "master miller! hallo, man! grind me _that_ as quick as you can!" [illustration] "in with 'em!" each wretched flopper headlong goes into the hopper. [illustration] as the farmer turns his back, he hears the mill go "creaky! cracky!" [illustration] here you see the bits _post mortem_, just as fate was pleased to sort 'em. [illustration] master miller's ducks with speed gobbled up the coarse-grained feed. [illustration] conclusion. in the village not a word, not a sign, of grief, was heard. widow tibbets, speaking low, said, "i thought it would be so!" "none but self," cried buck, "to blame! mischief is not life's true aim!" then said gravely teacher lämpel, "there again is an example!" "to be sure! bad thing for youth," said the baker, "a sweet tooth!" even uncle says, "good folks! see what comes of stupid jokes!" but the honest farmer: "guy! what concern is that to i?" through the place in short there went one wide murmur of content: "god be praised! the town is free from this great rascality!" * * * * * university press: john wilson & son, cambridge. nonsense books by edward lear [illustration] containing-- a book of nonsense. nonsense songs. nonsense stories. nonsense cookery. nonsense botany. nonsense alphabets. more nonsense botany. one hundred nonsense pictures and rhymes. twenty-six nonsense rhymes and pictures. laughable lyrics. more nonsense botany. more nonsense alphabets. it is, as our readers will remember, the remarkable work that ruskin placed at the head of the best books.--_baltimore american._ [illustration] _with all the original illustrations, a sketch of the author's life, and a portrait. mo. $ . _ children's poetry and nursery rhymes [illustration] rhymes and ballads for girls and boys. by susan coolidge. illustrated. vo. cloth, gilt. $ . . posies for children. selected by mrs. anna c. lowell. with illustrations. small to. cloth. $ . . popular edition, mo. cloth. cents. sing song. a nursery rhyme book. by christina g. rossetti. with illustrations. mo. cloth. $ . . in my nursery. rhymes, chimes, and jingles for children. by laura e. richards. numerous illustrations. small to. cloth. $ . . the children's friend series [illustration] handy illustrated volumes by popular authors, including: louisa m. alcott, susan coolidge, nora perry, helen hunt jackson, louise chandler moulton, juliana h. ewing, edward everett hale, laura e. richards, a. g. plympton, etc. choicely printed and attractively bound in cloth, with gold and ink stamp on side. issued at the popular price of cents per volume. _first issues._ . against wind and tide. by louise chandler moulton, author of "bed-time stories," etc. . a hole in the wall. by louisa m. alcott, author of "little women," "little men," etc. . a little knight of labor. by susan coolidge, author of "what katy did," etc. . children's hour. by mary w. tileston, author of "daily strength for daily needs," etc. . chop-chin and the golden dragon. by laura e. richards, author of "captain january," "the joyous story of toto," etc. . cottage neighbors. by nora perry, author of "another flock of girls," "hope benham," etc. . curly locks. by susan coolidge, author of "what katy did," etc. . daddy darwin's dovecot. by juliana h. ewing, author of "jackanapes," etc. . four of them. by louise chandler moulton, author of "bed-time stories," etc. . golden-breasted kootoo. by laura e. richards. . goostie. by mary caroline hyde. . hunter cats of connorloa. by helen hunt jackson, author of "ramona," "nelly's silver mine," etc. . jackanapes. by juliana h. ewing. . little olive the heiress. by a. g. plympton, author of "dear daughter dorothy," etc. . man without a country. by edward everett hale, author of "ten times one is ten," etc. . marjorie's three gifts. by louisa m. alcott. . may flowers. by louisa m. alcott. . miss toosey's mission. by the author of "belle," "laddie," etc. . nonsense songs. by edward lear. . rags and velvet gowns. by a. g. plympton, author of "dear daughter dorothy," etc. . story of a short life. by juliana h. ewing. . sundown songs. by laura e. richards. . that little smith girl. by nora perry. . under the stable floor. a christmas story. by mary caroline hyde. . yan and nochie of tappan sea. by mary caroline hyde. best short stories collected by thomas l. masson published by doubleday, page & company for review of reviews co. a foreword to everybody there is a wide difference of opinion, even among the most discriminating critics, as to what constitutes the point of a good joke. aside from varying temperaments, this is largely due to one's experience with life in general. or intimate acquaintance with certain phases of life gives us a subtler appreciation of certain niceties, which would be lost upon those who have not traveled over that particular path. the doctor, the lawyer, the family man, and the soldier, each have their minds sensitized to their own fields of thought. human nature, however, works according to universal laws, and a really first-class joke strikes home to the majority. the compiler of this collection has had it in mind to get as much variety as possible, while at the same time to use only such material as serves to illustrate some easily recognizable human trait. it is almost needless to say that this book should not be read continuously. it should be taken in small doses, as it is highly concentrated. many old friends will be noticed in the crowd. but old friends, even among jokes, should not be passed by too lightly. best short stories the point of honor a young lieutenant was passed by a private, who failed to salute. the lieutenant called him back, and said sternly: "you did not salute me. for this you will immediately salute two hundred times." at this moment the general came up. "what's all this?" he exclaimed, seeing the poor private about to begin. the lieutenant explained. "this ignoramus failed to salute me, and as a punishment, i am making him salute two hundred times." "quite right," replied the general, smiling. "but do not forget, sir, that upon each occasion you are to salute in return." always get the facts it is never wise to jump to conclusions. always wait until the evidence is all in. a jersey man of a benevolent turn of mind encountered a small boy in his neighborhood who gave evidence of having emerged but lately from a severe battle. "i am sorry," said the man, "to see that you have a black eye, sammy." whereupon sammy retorted: "you go home and be sorry for your own little boy--he's got two!" can this be true? a certain irishman was taken prisoner by the huns. while he was standing alone, waiting to be assigned to his prison, or whatever fate awaited him, the kaiser came up. "hello," said the kaiser. "who have we here?" "i'm an irishman, your honor." then he winked solemnly. "oi say," he continued. "we didn't do a thing to you germans, did we? eh, old chap?" the kaiser was horrified. calling an orderly he said to him: "take this blasphemer away and put a german uniform on him, and then bring him back." shortly the irishman was returned, in a full german uniform. "well," said the kaiser, "maybe you feel better now. how is it?" pat grabbed him by the arm, and leaning over, whispered: "oi say, we gave them irish hell, didn't we?" new servant-girl story the wife of a successful young literary man had hired a buxom dutch girl to do the housework. several weeks passed and from seeing her master constantly about the house, the girl received an erroneous impression. "ogscuse me, mrs. blank," she said to her mistress one day, "but i like to say somedings." "well, rena?" the girl blushed, fumbled with her apron, and then replied, "vell, you pay me four tollars a veek--' "yes, and i really can't pay you any more." "it's not dot," responded the girl; "but i be villing to take tree tollars till--till your husband gets vork." he was broad minded even married life does not affect some people unpleasantly, or take away the fine spirit of their charity. a certain factory-owner tells of an old employee who came into the office and asked for a day off. "i guess we can manage it, pete," says the boss, "tho we are mighty short-handed these days. what do you want to get off for?" "ay vant to get married," blushed pete, who is by way of being a scandinavian. "married? why, look here--it was only a couple of months ago that you wanted to get off because your wife was dead!" "yas, ay gess so." "and you want to get married again, with your wife only two months dead?" "yas. ay ain't ban hold no grudge long." missed his chance before introducing lieutenant de tessan, aide to general joffre, and colonel fabry, the "blue devil of france," chairman spencer, of the st. louis entertainment committee, at the m.a.a. breakfast told this anecdote: "in washington lieutenant de tessan was approached by a pretty american girl, who said: "'and did you kill a german soldier?' "'yes,' he replied. "'with what hand did you do it?' she inquired. "'with this right hand,' he said. "and then the pretty american girl seized his right hand and kissed it. colonel fabry stood near by. he strolled over and said to lieutenant de tessan: "'heavens, man, why didn't you tell her that you bit him to death?'" great relief in heaven the following story is from the _libre belgique_, the anonymous periodical secretly published in brussels, and which the utmost vigilance of the german authorities has been unable to suppress. once upon a time doctor bethman-holweg went up to heaven. the pearly gates were shut, but he began to push his way through in the usual german fashion. st. peter rushed out of his lodge, much annoyed at the commotion. "hi, there, who are you?" he demanded. "i am doctor von bethman-holweg, the imperial chancellor," was the haughty reply. "well, you don't seem to be dead; what are you doing around here?" "i want to see god." "sorry," replied st. peter, "but i don't think you can see him to-day; in fact, he's not very well." "ah, i'm distressed to hear that," said the chancellor somewhat more politely. "what seems to be the trouble?" "we don't quite know, but we are afraid it is a case of exaggerated ego," answered st. peter. "he keeps walking up and down, occasionally striking his chest with his clenched fist, and muttering to himself: 'i am the kaiser! i am the kaiser!'" "dear me! that is really very sad," said the chancellor in a still kindlier tone. "now i happen to be the bearer of a communication from my imperial master; perhaps it might cheer him up to hear it." "what is it?" "why, the emperor has just issued a decree, providing that in future he shall have the use of the nobiliary particle; from henceforth he will have the right to call himself 'von gott'." "step right in, your excellency," interrupted st. peter. "i am very sure the new graf will be much gratified to learn of the honor done him. third door to the right. mind the step. thank you." unchangeable a story about lord kitchener, who was often spoken of as "the most distinguished bachelor in the world," is being told. a young member of his staff when he was in india asked for a furlough in order to go home and be married. kitchener listened to him patiently then he said: "kenilworth, you're not yet twenty-five. wait a year. if then you still desire to do this thing you shall have leave." the year passed. the officer once more proffered his request. "after thinking it over for twelve months," said kitchener, "you still wish to marry?" "yes, sir." "very well, you shall have your furlough. and frankly, my boy, i scarcely thought there was so much constancy in the masculine world." kenilworth, the story concludes, marched to the door, but turned to say as he was leaving: "thank you, sir. only it's not the same woman." he knew the law an old colored man charged with stealing chickens was arraigned in court and was incriminating himself when the judge said: "you ought to have a lawyer. where's your lawyer?" "ah ain't got no lawyer, jedge," said the old man. "very well, then," said his honor, "i'll assign a lawyer to defend you." "oh, no, suh; no, suh! please don't do dat!" the darky begged. "why not?" asked the judge. "it won't cost you anything. why don't you want a lawyer?" "well, jedge, ah'll tell you, suh," said the old man, waving his tattered old hat confidentially. "hit's dis way. ah wan' tah enjoy dem chickens mahse'f." a sermon on the war by parson brown the historic colored preacher who held forth so strenuously after the civil war has almost become obsolete, but in certain sections he still holds his own, as the following sermon, taken from _life_, will show: brederen an' sisterin: i done read de bible from kiver to kiver, from lid to lid an' from end to end, an' nowhar do i find a mo' 'propriate tex' at dis time, when de whole worl' is scrimmigin' wid itse'f, dan de place whar paul pinted de pistol at de philippines an' said, "dou art de man." kaiser bill ob germany is de man, an' uncle sam done got de pistol pinted his way, an' goin' to pull de trigger, lessen bill gits off his perch, like dat woman jezebel dat sassed ahab from de roof top. ahab say to his soldiers, "go up an' th'ow dat woman down," an' dey th'ew her down. den he say, "go up an' th'ow her down again," an' dey th'ew her down again; an' he say, "take her back up an th'ow her down seben times," an' dey th'owed her down seben times, an' ast if dat ain't enough. but ahab done got his dander up, an' say, "no! dat ain't enough. th'ow her down sebenty times seben." and afterwards dey done pick up twelve baskets ob de fragments dereob. dat's what gwine ter happen ter dat bill heah him hollerin. de good book done fo'told dis here war, an' jist how it gwine ter end. don't it say about de four beasts in de book of relations, what spit fire an' brimstone, meanin' de kaiser, de turks, de ostriches, and de bullgeraniums, case two ob dem beasteses is birds, an' ostriches an' turkys is birds. de bigges' beast is de kaiser, case he uses germans to pizen his enemies. de newspapers say as how diseases is all caused by germans gittin' in de food an' bein' breathed in de lungs, givin' folks hydrophobia an' lumbago an' consumption. dis brings us to de time when abraham led de chillun ob israel into egypt, an' moses led 'em out again case de folks ob egypt so bad dey shoot craps all day, and eben make faro de king. dey take all de money 'way from de jews an' raise de price ob cawn an' hay till de po' jews can't live. rockefeller-morgan faro, de king, say dey can't go, but moses done got de lawd on his side, an' he crossed de red sea in submarines, so faro got drowned wid all his host. de mummy ob dat same faro is still alive in de big museums ob de world, but whar de host is no man can tell. dat de way de wall street gang dat been raisin' de price ob food gwine ter pass in dey checks--in de red sea ob blood ob dis war. moses an' de jews went trabelin' ober de desert till one day dey gits so hungry dey makes a fatted calf ob gold while moses up on mount sinai gittin' de law laid down. moses come er-cussin' back an' busted de law ober aaron's head, an' den dey killed de fatted calf an' put a ring on his finger. for de prodigal done return, an' dey is mo' rejoicin' ober one sinner sabed dan ninety an' nine what doan know 'nuff to put deir money in de contribution box instead ob shootin' it 'way on craps. oh, i knows you backsliders, an' ef any ob you doan come across while dekin jones passes de box, i'se gwine ter preach nex' sunday on what happened ter de money-chasers in de temple. we will now sing two verses ob "th'ow out de lifeline, anoder ship sinkin' to-day." "over here" the hobo knocked at the back door and the lady of the house appeared. "lady," he said, "i was at the front--" "you poor man!" she exclaimed. "one of war's victims. wait till i get you some food, and you shall tell me your story. you were in the trenches, you say?" "not in the trenches. i was at the front--" "don't try to talk with your mouth full. take your time. what deed of heroism did you do at the front?" "why, i knocked, but i couldn't make nobody hear, so i came around to the back." life's eternal query did it ever occur to you that a man's life is full of cussedness? he comes into the world without his consent, and goes out against his will, and the trip between is exceedingly rocky. when he is little, the big girls kiss him; when he is big, the little girls kiss him. if he is poor, he is a bad manager; if he is rich, he's a crook. if he is prosperous, everybody wants to do him a favor; if he needs credit, they hand him a lemon. if he is in politics, it is for graft; if out of politics, he is no good to his country. if he doesn't give to charity, he's a tightwad; if he does, it's for show. if he is actively religious, he is a hypocrite; and if he takes no interest in religion, he is a heathen. if he is affectionate, he is a soft mark; if he cares for no one, he is cold-blooded. if he dies young, there was a great future for him; if he lives to an old age, he missed his calling. if you don't fight, you're yellow; if you do, you're a brute. if you save your money, you're a grouch; if you spend it, you're a loafer; if you get it, you're a grafter, and if you don't get it, you're a bum. _so what's the use?_ high finance even certain professors, who are supposed to be immune from commercial inducements are sometimes financially overcautious. a party of tourists were watching professor x as he exhumed the wrapt body of an ancient egyptian. "judging from the utensils about him," remarked the professor, "this mummy must have been an egyptian plumber." "wouldn't it be interesting," said a romantic young lady, "if we could bring him to life?" "interesting, but a bit risky," returned professor x. "somebody might have to pay him for his time." matrimonial profundity a young planter in mississippi had an old servant called uncle mose, who had cared for him as a child and whose devotion had never waned. the young man became engaged to a girl of the neighborhood who had a reputation for unusual beauty and also for a very violent temper. noticing that uncle mose never mentioned his approaching marriage, the planter said: "mose, you know i am going to marry miss currier?" "yassuh, i knows it." "i haven't heard you say anything about it," persisted the planter. "no, suh," said mose. "tain't fo' me to say nothin' 'bout it. i's got nothin' to say." "but you must have some opinion about so important a step on my part." "well, suh," said the old negro with some hesitation, "yo' knows one thing--the most p'izonest snakes has got the most prettiest skins." the new regime the new change in social conditions to be brought about by the war is illustrated in the following advertisements taken from _life_: situations wanted husband and wife would like position as gardener and cook, or will do anything. years in last place as czar and czarina. salary not so important as permanent place in quiet, peaceful atmosphere. address romanoff, this paper. employers, giving up royalty, would like to secure position for their king. steady, experienced, thoroughly broken to crown and sceptre. distance no objection. will go anywhere. small salary to start. constantine, greece, in rear. (ring sophy's bell.) young monarch, years old, years as king in last place, would accept like position in small, tranquil country, latin preferred. no objection to south america. light, rangy and stylish, very fast, and thoroughly broken to bombs and revolutions. manuel j. portugal, london. king and queen, swedish, expecting to make change shortly, would like position as gardener and coachman, cook and laundress. good home more important than salary. a references. address gus and vicky, care this paper. emperor, years as kaiser in present position, expecting to be at liberty shortly, owing to change in employers' circumstances, would like place as assassin, or pig-sticker in abattoir. no aversion to blood. cool, resourceful, determined. address efficient, care this paper. where ignorance is bliss; thus, seeking to be kind and fraternal, but at the same time perfectly honest, if we make mistakes, we may still comfort ourselves with the assurance which his irish catholic servant once expressed to the devout and learned bishop whately. "do you really believe," he asked her, "that there is no salvation outside of the roman catholic church?" "shure, an' i do," she replied, "for that's what the praist ses." "well, then, what is going to become of me?" "oh, that's all right," she answered, with an irish twinkle in her eyes. "yer riverence will be saved by yer ignorince." when the "s" fell out "we are thorry to thay," explained the editor of the skedunk _weekly news_, "that our compothing-room wath entered lath night by thome unknown thcoundrel, who thtole every 'eth' in the ethtablithment, and thucceeded in making hith ethcape undetected. "the motive of the mithcreant doubtleth wath revenge for thome thuppothed inthult. "it thall never be thaid that the petty thpite of any thmall-thouled villain hath dithabled the _newth_, and if thith meet the eye of the detethtable rathcal, we beg to athure him that he underethtimated the rethourceth of a firtht-clath newthpaper when he thinkth he can cripple it hopelethly by breaking into the alphabet. we take occathion to thay to him furthermore that before next thurthday we thall have three timeth ath many etheth ath he thtole. "we have reathon to thuthpect that we know the cowardly thkunk who committed thith act of vandalithm, and if he ith ever theen prowling about thith ethtablithment again, by day or by night, nothing will give uth more thatithfaction than to thoot hith hide full of holeth." full particulars free they were seated in a tramcar--the mother and her little boy. the conductor eyed the little boy suspiciously. he had to keep a lookout for people who pretended that their children were younger than they really were, in order to obtain free rides for them. "and how old is your little boy, madam, please?" "three and a half," said the mother truthfully. "right, ma'am," said the conductor, satisfied. little willie pondered a minute. it seemed to him that fuller information was required. "and mother's thirty-one," he said politely. they were so glad to see him "i am taking some notes about civic pride," said the urbane stranger, as he wandered into the up-to-date community. "i suppose you have such a thing?" "well, i should say we had," said the corner real estate agent. "i am loaded with it myself." "good!" replied the agent, taking out his memo-book. "i'll make a note of it. this, you will understand, is a more or less scientific inquiry, and i shall make my estimates as carefully as possible, with all due regard to the human equation. who, should you say, has the most civic pride in town?" "that is some problem," replied the agent, "but you might go across the way to the woman's club. out of courtesy to the ladies i am ready to yield the palm." "yes," said the president of the woman's club when she had heard the visitor's errand. "we have the most civic pride, of course. the town council thinks it has, and the board of education thinks it has, but pay no attention to them; we are on the job day and night; as a factory for turning out civic pride, nobody in this vicinity can beat us. you want to hear my lecture on the subject at the next meeting." "thanks," said the visitor, "but you will appreciate that in these piping times of war, i am a busy man, and must hurry on. has anybody else any civic pride here that you could name?" he was presented with a list and went about town getting them all down. at the end of several days, all the organizations in town that dealt in civic pride got together and arranged for a banquet for the distinguished stranger. they were immensely proud that he had come among them. it was a great affair. the mayor, who was swelling with civic pride, vied with the president of the woman's club. it was, indeed, a neck-and-neck race between them as to who had the greater quantity of civic pride. at the end of the banquet, when they were all bidding the guest good-bye with tears streaming down their faces, the only pessimist in town got up and said: "excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, for obtruding my repellent personality on this joyful assemblage, but our dear guest will not, i am sure, object to answering a simple question. i have no civic pride myself, but do you mind, sir, telling me the object of your visit to this lovely little burg?" "certainly not," said the guest, as he prepared to take a quick slant through the door, "no objection at all. you see, my friends, civic pride is the only thing that the government hasn't taxed. you'll get your bills a little later, based on your own estimates. much obliged for all your first-hand information." had to be settled "johnny, it was very wrong for you and the boy next door to fight." "we couldn't help it, father." "could you not have settled your differences by a peaceful discussion of the matter, calling in the assistance of unprejudiced opinion, if need be?" "no, father. he was sure he could whip me and i was sure i could whip him, and there was only one way to find out." still unbeaten the sergeant-major had the reputation of never being at a loss for an answer. a young officer made a bet with a brother officer that he would in less than twenty-four hours ask the sergeant-major a question that would baffle him. the sergeant-major accompanied the young officer on his rounds, in the course of which the cook-house was inspected. pointing to a large copper of water just commencing to boil, the officer said: "why does that water only boil round the edges of the copper and not in the centre?" "the water round the edge, sir," replied the veteran, "is for the men on guard; they have their breakfast half an hour before the remainder of the company." accounting for it levi cohen was looking very dejected. that morning he left the house with five pounds in his pocket to try his luck at the races, but, alas! he had returned at nightfall footsore and weary, and nothing in his possession but a bad half-penny. no wonder his better half was in a bad temper. "how is it," she snapped, "that you're so unlucky at the races, and yet you always win at cards?" "well, my dear," responded levi, meekly, "you see, it's this way: i don't shuffle the horses." his lack a keen-eyed mountaineer led his overgrown son into a country schoolhouse. "this here boy's arter larnin'," he announced. "what's yer bill o' fare?" "our curriculum, sir," corrected the school-master, "embraces geography, arithmetic, trigonometry--" "that'll do," interrupted the father. "that'll do. load him up well with triggernometry. he's the only poor shot in the family." a revised classic "now, my dear girl," said bluebeard, "remember you can go anywhere in the house but the pantry. that is locked up, and the key will be placed under the mat. remove it at your peril." consumed with curiosity, mrs. bluebeard could scarcely wait until her husband had cranked his machine before she was trying the key. it fitted perfectly. she turned it, and entered. within was the finest collection of provisions that she had ever seen: at least a hundred dozen eggs preserved in water, sacks of potatoes, barrels of wheat--in fact, a complete commissary department. and then, as she looked out of the window, she gave a faint scream. her husband was returning. he had a puncture. she retained her presence of mind, however, long enough to step to the telephone. just as she had finished delivering the message bluebeard entered. "ha!" he exclaimed. "so you have forced the pantry. i see flour on your lips. prepare to die." mrs. bluebeard only smiled. "not so fast," she muttered. at this moment herbert hoover entered the house. "so you are the wretch who has been storing up private food supplies, contrary to my orders!" he exclaimed. "ninety days in jail!" whereupon mrs. bluebeard, waving her late lord and master farewell, prepared to beat up a luscious eggnog. scotch thrills sandy macpherson came home after many years and met his old sweetheart. honey-laden memories thrilled through the twilight and flushed their glowing cheeks. "ah, mary," exclaimed sandy, "ye're just as beautiful as ye ever were, and i ha'e never forgotten ye, my bonnie lass." "and ye, sandy," she cried, while her blue eyes moistened, "are just as big a leear as ever, an' i believe ye jist the same." his application an alien, wishing to be naturalized, applied to the clerk of the office, who requested him to fill out a blank, which he handed him. the first three lines of the blank ran as follows: name? born? business? the answers follow: name, jacob levinsky. born, yes. business, rotten. a clincher pat o'flaherty, very palpably not a prohibitionist, was arrested in arizona recently, charged with selling liquor in violation of the prohibition law. but pat had an impregnable defense. his counsel, in addressing the jury, said: "your honor, gentlemen of the jury, look at the defendant." a dramatic pause, then: "now, gentlemen of the jury, do you honestly think that if the defendant had a quart of whiskey he would sell it?" the verdict, reached in one minute, was "not guilty." smarty a full-blown second lieutenant was endeavoring to display his great knowledge of musketry. sauntering up to the latest recruit, he said: "see here, my man, this thing is a rifle, this is the barrel, this is the butt, and this is where you put the cartridge in." the recruit seemed to be taking it all in, so the officer, continuing, said: "you put the weapon to your shoulder; these little things on the barrel are called sights; then to fire you pull this little thing, which is called the trigger. now, smarten yourself up, and remember what i have told you; and, by the way, what trade did you follow before you enlisted? a collier, i suppose!" "no, sir," came the reply; "i only worked as a gunsmith for the government small arms factory." the eclipse to order on the evening before a solar eclipse the colonel of a german regiment of infantry sent for all the sergeants and said to them: "there will be an eclipse of the sun to-morrow. the regiment will meet on the parade ground in undress. i will come and explain the eclipse before drill. if the sky is cloudy the men will meet in the drill shed, as usual." whereupon the ranking sergeant drew up the following order of the day: "to-morrow morning, by order of the colonel, there will be an eclipse of the sun. the regiment will assemble on the parade ground, where the colonel will come and superintend the eclipse in person. if the sky is cloudy the eclipse will take place in the drill shed." a connoisseur two brothers were being entertained by a rich friend. as ill luck would have it, the talk drifted away from ordinary topics. "do you like omar khayyam?" thoughtlessly asked the host, trying to make conversation. the elder brother plunged heroically into the breach. "pretty well," he said, "but i prefer chianti." nothing more was said on this subject until the brothers were on their way home. "bill," said the younger brother, breaking a painful silence, "why can't you leave things that you don't understand to me? omar khayyam ain't a wine, you chump; it's a cheese." nourishment an old south carolina darky was sent to the hospital of st. xavier in charleston. one of the gentle, black-robed sisters put a thermometer in his mouth to take his temperature. presently, when the doctor made his rounds, he said: "well, nathan, how do you feel?" "i feel right tol'ble, boss." "have you had any nourishment?" "yassir." "what did you have?" "a lady done gimme a piece of glass ter suck, boss." had had treatment he was a mine-sweeper, and, home on leave, was feeling a bit groggy. he called to see a doctor, who examined him thoroughly. "you're troubled with your throat, you say?" said the doctor. "aye, aye, sir," said the sailor. "have you ever tried gargling it with salt and water?" asked the doctor. the mine-sweeper groaned. "i should say so!" he said. "i've been torpedoed seven times!" how he got them a british soldier was walking down the strand one day. he had one leg off and an arm off and both ears missing and his head was covered with bandages, and he was making his way on low gear as best he could, when he was accosted by an intensely sympathetic lady who said: "oh, dear, dear! i cannot tell you how sorry i am for you. this is really terrible. can't i do something? do tell me, did you receive all these wounds in real action?" a weary expression came over that part of the soldier's face that was visible as he replied: "no, madam; i was cleaning out the canary bird cage, and the d----d bird bit me!" cÃ�sar visits cicero how modern are the old fellows. here is a story related by cicero in one of his letters which will recall the embarrassments we have ourselves felt in the presence of the unexpected. cicero gives an account to his friend of a visit he had just received from the emperor julius cæsar. he had invited julius to pass a few days with him, but he came quite unexpectedly with a thousand men! cicero, seeing them from afar, debated with another friend what he should do with them but at length managed to encamp them. to feed them was a less easy matter. the emperor took everything quite easily, however, and was very pleasant, "but," adds cicero, "he is not the man to whom i should say a second time, 'if you are passing this way, give me a call.'" why be polite anyway? every seat was occupied, when a group of women got in. the conductor noticed a man who he thought was asleep. "wake up!" shouted the conductor. "i wasn't asleep," said the passenger. "not asleep! then what did you have your eyes closed for?" "it was because of the crowded condition of the car," explained the passenger. "i hate to see the women standing." the arrival of wilhelm what may be the kaiser's ultimate fate is thus amusingly told by _life_ of the scene in hell on a certain day: "what's all the racket about?" said satan, stepping out of the brimstone bath, where he was giving two or three u-boat commanders an extra flaying. "poor old hohenzollern has got it in the neck at last," said machiavelli, who was hosing off the premises with vitriol in preparation for a new squad of shirtwaist-factory owners. satan listened attentively. indeed, it was true. the hohenzollerns had been booted off the throne of germany. "well, that's tough," said satan. "i never could see why they chivied those poor hohenzollerns so. they were perfect devils. i have often said so. poor old bill! why, he was one of the best pupils i ever had. i heard someone say that he had made belgium a hell upon earth. wasn't that a compliment?" "not only that," said machiavelli; "he had the novel idea of making the sea a hell, too. he and tirpitz did magnificent work. not even a party of schoolgirls could go on the water without getting torpedoed. they drowned i don't know how many innocent women and children in a manner worthy of the highest education." "that deportation of non-combatants from lille was excellent, too," mused satan. "don't forget the shooting of miss cavell," said machiavelli. "and there was the bombing of unfortified towns, and the poison gas. why, in my palmiest days i never thought of anything so choice as that poison gas. i told borgia about it, and she went green with envy." "you're right, mac," said satan, treading in his excitement on a captain of uhlans who was hanging out to cool; "that kaiser is a regular prince of darkness. when he gets down here (and i guess he will pretty soon) we'll omit the setting-up exercises and put him right into advanced tactics. come to think of it, there were those prison camps, too, where he allowed captured soldiers to rot with filth and disease without any physicians. excellent!" "there's only one drawback," said machiavelli regretfully. "the man has raised so much hell on earth that i doubt if there's much we can teach him down here. really, he's not an amateur at all, but a professional. i don't know whether it wouldn't be more punishment to send him to heaven instead. as a matter of fact, down here he'll feel perfectly at home." "i guess we can still think up one or two little novelties for him," said satan, as he opened a trap-door and let a dozen of billy sunday's converts drop into the blazing sulphur. immortal! when julia ward howe died, memorial services in her honor were held at san francisco, and the local literary colony attended practically en masse to pay by their presence a tribute to the writer. a municipal officer was asked to preside. dressed in his long frock coat and his broad white tie, he advanced to the edge of the platform to launch the exercises and introduce the principal eulogist. he bowed low and spoke as follows: "your attendance here, ladies and gents, in such great numbers shows san francisco's appreciation of good literature. this meeting is a great testimonial to the immortal author of 'uncle tom's cabin'--the late julia ward howard!" oriental politeness william m. chase used to tell this story: "i was standing on a railway platform in japan, waiting for a train, and whiling away my time by watching a particularly beautiful sunset. "suddenly a freight train pulled in and, stopping in front of me, cut off my view. being a good american, and trained in a very proper respect for 'business,' i merely turned philosophically away and proceeded to look at something else. in a moment, however, the station master appeared at my side and inquired with the politest of bows if i had been enjoying the sunset. "i admitted that i had, and smilingly accepted his apology for the intrusion of the train. 'of course i recognized that trains were the first consideration in stations,' i said. "imagine my surprise, then, when the little japanese shook his head firmly. 'but no,' he said, bowing even more deeply than before, 'the train must not be allowed to obstruct the honorable artistic traveler's honorable æsthetic enjoyment'--or words to that effect. 'i will cause it to withdraw,' "and he actually did precisely that!" alas! too late! the englishman's undying love for certain civilized things is thus portrayed by r. richard schayer in _life_. in a gorse bush a hundred yards beyond his trench lay lieutenant fitzhugh throckmorton of the king's own rifles, asleep at his post. for hours he had lain there, searching the position of the enemy through his binoculars. overcome by fatigue, he had nodded, drowsed, and finally slumbered. the sun hung low in the western mists when throckmorton awoke. he glanced at his wristwatch and sprang to his feet with an oath. regardless of peril, he turned and sprinted toward his trench. his was not a nature to count the risk when duty, however delayed, called. every german sniper within range sent shot upon shot after the flying figure. the enemy's trenches took up the hunt and fairly blazed with rifle and machine gun fire. the bullets hummed in throckmorton's ears like a swarm of savage hornets. they snarled and bit at the turf about his feet like a pack of wolves. with a last desperate burst of speed, his clothing tattered with bullet holes, the lieutenant gained his trench and leaped down to its cover. his face, wearing an expression of mingled hope and despair, he rushed to the bomb-proof dug-out where sat his colonel and brother officers. they looked up at him with cold eyes. one glance and throckmorton's heart failed him. he was too late. they had finished tea. who could tell? a scottish doctor who was attending a laird had instructed the butler of the house in the art of taking and recording his master's temperature with a thermometer. on paying his usual morning call he was met by the butler, to whom he said: "well, john, i hope the laird's temperature is not any higher to-day?" the man looked puzzled for a minute, and then replied: "weel, i was just wonderin' that mysel'. ye see, he deed at twal' o'clock." he couldn't have missed it the average foreigner can rarely comprehend the geographical area of the united states, as was quite fully illustrated by the englishman and his valet who had been traveling due west from boston for five days. at the end of the fifth day master and servant were seated in the smoking-car, and it was observed that the man was gazing steadily and thoughtfully out of the window. finally his companion became curious. "william," said he, "of what are you thinking?" "i was just thinking, sir, about the discovery of hamerica," replied the valet. "columbus didn't do such a wonderful thing, after all, when he found this country, did he, now, sir? hafter hall's said an' done, 'ow could 'e 'elp it?" guilty the sniper is ever prevalent on the western front. a certain colonel, who was by the way quite unpopular with his regiment, was one afternoon sitting in a shack, when a report was heard and a bullet whizzed over his head. calling a private, he said testily: "go out and get that sniper." the man was gone for some time, but he eventually returned with fritz. he had not got him in, however, before he began to belabor him fiercely. "what are you beating up that hun for?" asked a comrade. "he missed the colonel," whispered the other. envy miss amy lowell, sister of president lowell of harvard, is not only a distinguished poetess, being by many considered the head of the vers libre school in this country, but she is also the guardian of a most handsome and stately presence. oliver herford, himself a poet and wit, doubtless inspired by envy, recently remarked of her that "one half of amy lowell doesn't know how the other half lives." a gentle dissolution a couple of philadelphia youths, who had not met in a long while, met and fell to discussing their affairs in general. "i understand," said one, "that you broke your engagement with clarice collines." "no, i didn't break it." "oh, she broke it?" "no, she didn't break it." "but it is broken?" "yes. she told me what her raiment cost, and i told her what my income was. then our engagement sagged in the middle and gently dissolved." a futile experiment william williams hated nicknames. he used to say that most fine given names were ruined by abbreviations, which was a sin and a shame. "i myself," he said, "am one of six brothers. we were all given good, old-fashioned christian names, but all those names were shortened into meaningless or feeble monosyllables by our friends. i shall name my children so that it will be impracticable to curtail their names." the williams family, in the course of time, was blessed with five children, all boys. the eldest was named after the father--william. of course, that would be shortened to "will" or enfeebled to "willie"--but wait! a second son came and was christened willard. "aha!" chuckled mr. williams, "now everybody will have to speak the full names of each of these boys in order to distinguish them." in pursuance of this scheme the next three sons were named wilbert, wilfred, and wilmont. they are all big boys now. and they are respectively known to their intimates as bill, skinny, butch, chuck, and kid. they meant to be paid no man is ever willing to admit that he has any prejudices. but sometimes the facts confront him sternly, as in the case of the two gentlemen in the following dialogue: briggs: i wonder why it is that when men like bryan and billy sunday accept good money we have a tendency secretly to despise them. griggs: well, i presume because they are posing to be disinterested. when they take away such big returns we set them down as hypocrites. briggs: but they have a right to make a living. griggs: you might say that of any one else--any get-rich-quick chap, for example, provided he can get away with it. briggs: but the get-rich-quick man is cheating his customers. griggs: well, a good many people feel that both bryan and sunday are cheating their customers. i don't say they are, mind you. i am only giving that side of the argument, and, according to it, they are deluding their customers with false hopes. bryan says that a combination of free silver, grape juice, and peace will cure all ills, and he gets five hundred dollars a lecture for saying it. billy sunday gets thousands of dollars for dragging hell out into the limelight. they are both popular forms of amusement. they divert the mind. why shouldn't they be paid? there are far worse moving-picture shows than bryan or sunday. briggs: you believe that, now, don't you? be honest and say it's your genuine opinion, and not put it off on someone else. griggs _(lowering his voice_): well, i'll tell you, old chap. i believe it about bryan, but not about sunday. sunday's all right. he hates money! how do you feel about it? briggs: you're wrong. i believe it about sunday, but not about bryan. bill bryan is all right. he's a patriot. i wouldn't trust sunday, but w.j. bryan's whole thought is for others. (_looking at his watch_.) heavens! i didn't realize it was so late. i must rush off. griggs: is it that late? i must hurry away also. where are you going? briggs: i'm going to hear sunday. where are you going? griggs: i'm going to hear bryan. a poser when james b. reynolds was assistant secretary of the treasury, senator root sent for mr. reynolds one day to discuss with him some matters concerning a trade conference in paris which mr. reynolds had been selected to attend. "i suppose," said mr. root, "you speak french?" "well, yes," responded mr. reynolds. "i know a little french. i have no trouble to make the waiters and the cab drivers understand me." "i see," said mr. root. "but, mr. reynolds, suppose there should be no waiters and cab drivers at the conference?" no danger much sobered by the importance of the news he had to communicate, youthful thomas strode into the house and said breathlessly: "mother, they have a new baby next door, and the lady over there is awful sick. mother, you ought to go right in and see her." "yes, dear," said his mother. "i will go over in a day or two just as soon as she gets better." "but, mother," persisted thomas. "i think you ought to go in right away; she is real sick, and maybe you can do something to help." "yes, dear," said the mother patiently, "but wait a day or so until she is just a little better." thomas seemed much dissatisfied at his mother's apparent lack of neighborly interest, and then something seemed to dawn upon him, for he blurted out: "mother, you needn't be afraid--it ain't catching." might draw business burton holmes, the lecturer, had an interesting experience while in london. he told some washington friends a day or two ago that when he visited the theatre where he was to deliver his travelogue he decided that the entrance to the theatre was rather dingy and that there should be more display of his attraction. accordingly, he suggested to the manager of the house that the front be brightened up at night by electrical signs, one row of lights spelling his name "burton" and another row of lights spelling the name "holmes." the manager told him it was too much of an innovation for him to authorize and referred him to the owner of the theatre. mr. holmes traveled several hours into the country to consult with the owner, who referred him to his agent in the city. the agent in turn sent mr. holmes to the janitor of the theatre. "i talked with the janitor and explained my plan to him for about an hour," mr. holmes said. "finally, after we had gone into every detail of the cost and everything else, the janitor told me that the theatre was a very exclusive and high-class theatre, and that he would not put up the sign. i asked him why?" "because it would attract too much attention to the theatre," the janitor replied. safe the fine art of concealment is thus formulated by carolyn wells, writing in _life_: once upon a time there lived an elderly millionaire who had four nephews. desiring to make one of these his heir, he tested their cleverness. he gave to each a one-hundred-dollar bill, with the request that they hide the bills for a year in the city of new york. any of them who should succeed in finding the hidden bill at the end of the year should share in the inheritance. the year being over, the four nephews brought their reports. the first, deeply chagrined, told how he had put his bill in the strongest and surest safety deposit vaults, but, alas, clever thieves had broken in and stolen it. the second had put his bill in charge of a tried and true friend. but the friend had proved untrustworthy and had spent the money. the third had hidden his bill in a crevice in the floor of his room, but a mouse had nibbled it to bits to build her nest. the fourth nephew calmly produced his hundred-dollar bill, as crisp and fresh as when it had been given him. "and where did you hide it?" asked his uncle. "too easy! i stuck it in a hotel bible." compliments of the day soldiers have to do their own mending when it is done at all, and it appears--although few persons would have guessed it--that the thoughtful war office supplies them with outfits for that purpose. otherwise, this joke would be impossible. everything was ready for kit inspection; the recruits stood lined up ready for the officer, and the officer had his bad temper all complete. he marched up and down the line, grimly eyeing each man's bundle of needles and soft soap, and then he singled out private mactootle as the man who was to receive his attentions. "toothbrush?" he roared. "yes, sir." "razor?" "yes, sir." "hold-all?" "yes, sir." "hm! you're all right, apparently," growled the officer. then he barked: "housewife?" "oh, very well, thank you," said the recruit amiably. "how's yours?" manna there is a story of bransby williams, famous impersonator of dickens's characters, which will come home to many of us in these days of food shortage. he had a hard time before he "arrived," and hunger was a familiar companion. one night he had to play in a sketch in which he was supposed to consume a steak pudding. "imagine my surprise," he says, "when a real, good, smoking hot steak and kidney pudding arrived on the scene. 'my eye!' i exclaimed to myself. i had to cut it and serve it, and in the ordinary course of events we should have got through this stage meal in about five or six minutes. "but not to-night! i made up my mind that that pudding should not be wasted, but eaten, and i commenced in earnest. i made the best meal i had had for days, and improvised conversation till it was all polished off!" she knew him mr. budger and his wife were continually at variance regarding their individual capabilities of making and keeping a good fire. he contended that she did not know how to make a fire, nor how to keep one after it was made. she, on the other hand, maintained that he never meddled with the fire that he didn't put it out--in short, that he was a perfect fire damper; and, as he was always anxious to stir up things in the varous fireplaces, she made a practice of hiding the poker just before it was time for him to come into the house. one night there was an alarm of fire in the village and budger flew for his hat and coat. "where are you going, my dear?" asked his wife. "why, there's a fire, and i'm going to help put it out." "well, my love," responded mrs. budger, "i think the best thing you can do is to take the poker along with you." a get-rich-quick scheme two young irishmen in a canadian regiment were going into the trenches for the first time, and their captain promised them five shillings each for every german they killed. pat lay down to rest, while mick performed the duty of watching. pat had not lain long when he was awakened by mick shouting: "they're comin'! they're comin'!" "who's comin'?" shouts pat. "the germans," replies mick. "how many are there?" "about fifty thousand." "begorra," shouts pat, jumping up and grabbing his rifle, "our fortune's made!" a flattering explanation a sturdy scot, feet inches in height, is a gamekeeper near strafford. one hot day last summer he was accompanying a bumptious sportsman, of very small stature, when he was greatly troubled by gnats. the other said to him: "my good man, why is it that the gnats do not trouble me?" "i daresay," replied the gamekeeper, with a comprehensive glance at the other's small proportions, "it will be because they havna' seen ye yet!" didn't suit him tim casey, a juror, rose suddenly from his seat and hastened to the door of the courtroom. he was prevented, however, from leaving the room, and was sternly questioned by the judge. "yes, your honor, i'll explain meself," said the juror. "when mr. finn finished his talking me mind was clear all through, but whin mr. evans begins his talkin' i becomes all confused an' says i to meself, taith, i'd better lave at once, an' shtay away until he is done,' because, your honor, to tell the truth, i didn't like the way the argument was going." on her nerves the local pawnbroker's shop was on fire, and among the crowd of spectators was an old woman who attracted much attention by her sobs and cries of despair. "what is the matter with you?" a fireman said. "you don't own the shop, do you?" "no," she wailed, "but my old man's suit is pawned there, and he don't know it." cash we cannot deny that one of the great questions of the day among tradespeople is how to get their bills paid. neither can we deny that we have all been over-extravagant. this little story (which is really a satire) contains its moral. one bright morning mr. dobson, an american gentleman in excellent circumstances, and yet (quite singular to relate of any american gentleman!) constantly harried by his bills, conceived of a brilliant idea. thereupon he said to mrs. dobson: "my dear, let us pay cash for one day." "how absurd!" "it may seem so, but you must admit that it is a brand-new idea, and therefore worth while for you, as a modern woman, to try." this was the only possible way in which the astute mr. dobson could have persuaded his wife to try his ideas. they both agreed, and he gave her a hundred dollars in bright, new bills. taking the same amount himself, he began his day. it would be easily possible for us to make a story out of this by recording the incidents of that day. but they would be too painful for modern readers, who insist upon being amused. sufficient is it to observe that at night the dobsons met each other face to face. "i have been grossly insulted by four people," said mrs. dobson, who looked very much the worse for wear. "by a saleswoman in a department store, my milliner, my shoemaker, and my glovemaker. i offered them all cash, and it will take years to reinstate myself with them again." "i got in wrong with my haberdasher and my hatter," said dobson, "and then quit for the day. i didn't have the courage to attempt to buy anything more. your people, by the way, sent collectors to collect last month's bills. also, i calculated this afternoon that if we should pay cash for everything, it would cost me twice my income." "how much does it cost now?" "i don't know--that's the strange part of it. but, my dear, isn't it worthwhile to learn something, even by making such a mistake?" at this point mrs. dobson, who had been softly shedding tears, braced up and impulsively put her arms about her erring husband's neck. "never mind, dear," she said, "we must face this together. we are probably ruined, but we are both comparatively young, and we will live it down side by side." too much in these days of the conservation of fuel no wonder a certain gentleman was disturbed. "you've made a mistake in your paper," said this indignant man, entering the editorial sanctum of a daily paper. "i was one of the competitors at that athletic match yesterday, and you have called me 'the well-known light-weight champion.'" "well, aren't you?" inquired the editor. "no, i'm nothing of the kind, and it's confoundedly awkward, because i'm in the coal business." mistaken identity? a kindergarten teacher entering a street-car saw a gentleman whose face seemed familiar, and she said, "good evening!" he seemed somewhat surprised, and she soon realized that she had spoken to a stranger. much confused, she explained: "when i first saw you i thought you were the father of two of my children." this happened in chicago some time after the civil war james russell lowell was asked to go to chicago to deliver a political speech upholding the republican party. it was a great occasion, for russell was easily the foremost literary and political figure of the day, and his coming was widely advertised. but at the last moment, just before the address was to be delivered, for certain political reasons it was deemed inexpedient by the managers of the affair to have russell talk politics, and so a hurried announcement was made that mr. russell, instead of speaking on the issues of the day, would deliver his celebrated lecture on shakespeare. this he did, it having been correctly described by critics as the best lecture on the great poet ever delivered. after the lecture was over, however, one of the chicago politicians, who doubtless had never heard of shakespeare, was in his disappointment led to exclaim: "hum! i suppose he thought anything was good enough for us!" had heard him before the critical instinct grows by what it is fed upon. no matter how well you may do, some people are never satisfied and this is especially true in families. a philadelphia divine was entertaining a couple of clergymen from new york at dinner. the guests spoke in praise of a sermon their host had delivered the sunday before. the host's son was at the table, and one of the new york clergymen said to him: "my lad, what did you think of your father's sermon?" "i guess it was very good," said the boy, "but there were three mighty fine places where he could have stopped." her domestic instincts we must not always look down upon those innocent people who may not have had the same cultural influences we have had, although it is some difficult not to smile at their point of view: sir frederick kenyon, the director of the british museum and a man of great knowledge, has had all sorts of funny experiences with visitors there. once he was showing a distinguished lady visitor some of the priceless treasures of which he is the custodian, but for a long time nothing seemed to interest her very much. then suddenly he noticed a change. her face lighted up and she leaned forward. "what is it, madam?" asked sir frederick, gratified at this tardy sign of awakening appreciation. "pray do not hesitate to ask if there is anything you would like to know." "so good of you!" chirruped the lady. "i wish you would tell me what brand of blacklead you use on those iron ventilators that are let into the floor. we have the same sort of things at my house, but my maids never get them to shine half so brilliantly." last resort anybody who, a stranger, has tried to find his way about boston will understand the experience of mr. hubb, a native who was addressed by his friend mr. penn, from philadelphia. "they say," remarked mr. penn, "the streets in boston are frightfully crooked." "they are," replied mr. hubb. "why, do you know, when i first went there i could hardly find my way around." "that must be embarrassing." "it is. the first week i was there i wanted to get rid of an old cat we had, and my wife got me to take it to the river a mile away." "and you lost the cat all right?" "lost nothing! i never would have found my way home if i hadn't followed the cat!" looked that way doris was radiant over a recent addition to the family, and rushed out of the house to tell the news to a passing neighbor. "oh, you don't know what we've got upstairs." "what is it?" the neighbor asked. "a new baby brother," said doris, and she watched very closely the effect of her announcement. "you don't say so," the neighbor exclaimed. "is he going to stay?" "i think so," said doris. "he's got his things off." comrades in a trench over in flanders, during a slight lull in the engagement, a soldier was making an impromptu toilet. he lowered his head for an instant and thereby caught a cootie. as he did so, a shell fragment flew by, just where his head had been. he held the cootie in hand meditatively for a moment, and then said: "old fellow, oi cawnt give you the victoria cross, but i can put you back!" comparison one of the ladies who first introduced interpretative dancing--whatever that is--into this country has fleshened up considerably since the days of her initial terpsichorean triumphs among the society folk along the eastern sea-board. nevertheless, she continues to give performances to select audiences of artistic souls. not long ago finley peter dunne, the humorist, was lured to one of these entertainments. the lady, wearing very few clothes, and, as a result of their lack, looking even plumper than usual, danced in an effect of moonlight calcium beams. as dunne was leaving, one of the patronesses hailed him. "oh, mr. dunne," she twittered, "how did you enjoy the madame's dancing?" "immensely," said dunne. "made me think of grant's tomb in love." "next!" the wonders of modern science never cease to be of absorbing interest and even the following story, which is supposed to take place in the near future, may be more realistic than we now think possible, although it is rather hard on our good friends the doctors. "be seated, sir," said the distinguished practitioner. the man who had entered the doctor's office a few moments before in obedience to the invitation sank into a luxurious chair. the doctor looked at him casually, and, touching an indicator at the side of his desk, said: "what a pleasant day." "yes, it is." a nurse appeared at the door. "turn on number nine hundred and eleven," said the doctor. "very well, sir." the doctor turned to the patient. "i heard a most amusing story the other day," he said. "but--" "just a moment. i am quite sure you will be interested in hearing it," he told the story. the patient stirred impatiently in the chair, although the story was amusing and he laughed at it. "by the way," he began, looking at his watch. the doctor got up. he turned off the switch at his desk. "it is all right, sir. you may go now." "but i came in to see you about--" "yes, the operation has been performed. i should be a little bit careful for a few days if i were you. don't play golf or walk excessively." "you mean to say that--" "your appendix has been removed in accordance with your symptoms." the patient smiled incredulously. "when did you do it?" he asked. "while you were sitting there. perfectly simple. it was absorbed." "how did you know what was the matter with me?" "that chair sends a record of your symptoms--in fact, diagnoses your case completely--to the laboratory. all you needed was to have your appendix removed, and by turning on number nine hundred and eleven it was absorbed in three minutes. nothing strange, sir. quite usual, i assure you." the man got up. his face grew rather pale. he advanced to the desk. "how much do i owe you?" he asked. the doctor smiled again. "that has all been arranged, sir." "what do you mean?" "according to the new state law which has just gone into effect, while you were being operated on your property was transferred to me. good morning, sir. call again." mr. sunshine and mr. gloom changing others over to suit yourself is not always the easiest thing in the world, although it is often tried. the head of a large firm thought he would try it, and his experience is related by one of the "boys" in the office: the old man--for we always referred to the head of the firm in this way--called the young fellow in to him one day and said: "look here, young man; you've got to be more agreeable. i want everybody in this place to have a smiling face. if i didn't think you had ability i would have fired you long ago. your manners are bad. make 'em better. don't be a grouch." the young chap didn't seem to take kindly to this advice. the frown on his face was still there. but he bowed and said: "all right, sir." then the old man--for it was his busy morning--called another young fellow in and said: "look here, young man; i don't want you to be so genial. you're always telling funny stories around the place and waiting on the girls. your sunny smile is all right, but you carry it too far. why, when you come around everybody stops work. get down to business." "that reminds me, sir," said the young chap--but his employer waved him off. "do as i tell you," he said sternly, "or--" at the end of another week the old man called them both into his office. "neither of you seems to be improving in the way i want. but i have an idea. i'm going to put your desks next to each other. that ought to do it. you're both good men, but you lean too far in the opposite directions. run away now and act on each other." at the end of still another week, however, when once more they both stood in front of him, he betrayed his disappointment. "it doesn't seem to work," he exclaimed. "what's the matter with you boys, anyway? i thought my experiment would cure both of you, but it doesn't seem to work." turning to mr. sunshine, he said: "look here; why hasn't he done you any good?" mr. sunshine beamed and chuckled. "well, sir," he said, "i can't help it. why, that fellow over there hasn't got a thing in the world to worry him. he isn't married, his salary is really more than he needs. he has no responsibilities, and if he should die to-morrow nobody would suffer. but he hasn't got sense enough to have a good time. he strikes me as being such a joke that it makes me laugh harder than ever." turning to mr. gloom, the old man said: "well, how about you? why hasn't this chap done you any good?" mr. gloom looked more sour than ever. "he hasn't the slightest idea of the problems that confront me," he said, "or what i suffer. but what really makes me mad is this: he has a wife and four young children on his hands, on the same salary i get. how they manage i don't know. it isn't living at all. and when i see a fellow like that, who ought to be worried to death all the time--and who would be if he looked the facts squarely in the face--grinning and telling stories like a minstrel, it makes me so d----d mad that i can't see straight." her own there are certain family privileges which we all guard jealously: an attorney was consulted by a woman desirous of bringing action against her husband for a divorce. she related a harrowing tale of the ill-treatment she had received at his hands. so impressive was her recital that the lawyer, for a moment, was startled out of his usual professional composure. "from what you say this man must be a brute of the worst type!" he exclaimed. the applicant for divorce arose and, with severe dignity, announced: "sir, i shall consult another lawyer. i came here to get advice as to a divorce, not to hear my husband abused!" mark twain on millionaires at one time in his varied career mark twain was not only poor, but he did not make a practice of associating with millionaires. the paragraph which follows is taken from an open letter to commodore vanderbilt. one paragraph of the "open letter" is worth embalming here: poor vanderbilt! how i pity you: and this is honest. you are an old man, and ought to have some rest, and yet you have to struggle, and deny yourself, and rob yourself of restful sleep and peace of mind, because you need money so badly. i always feel for a man who is so poverty ridden as you. don't misunderstand me, vanderbilt. i know you own seventy millions: but then you know and i know that it isn't what man has that constitutes wealth. no--it is to be satisfied with what one has; that is wealth. as long as one sorely needs a certain additional amount, that man isn't rich. seventy times seventy millions can't make him rich, as long as his poor heart is breaking for more. i am just about rich enough to buy the least valuable horse in your stable, perhaps, but i cannot sincerely and honestly take an oath that i need any more now. and so i am rich. but you, you have got seventy millions and you need five hundred millions, and are really suffering for it. your poverty is something appalling. i tell you truly that i do not believe i could live twenty-four hours with the awful weight of four hundred and thirty millions of abject want crushing down upon me. i should die under it. my soul is so wrought upon by your helpless pauperism that if you came to me now, i would freely put ten cents in your tin cup, if you carry one, and say, "god pity you, poor unfortunate." a moving tale many a young man has succumbed to his environment. the hero of the following moving tale is no exception: she was waiting for him at the station. it was two o'clock in the afternoon, and he had to go back that evening on the midnight train. he acted like a man in a dream, but, none the less, he appeared to know precisely what he was about. as the train drew up the station was crowded. there she was in the midst of the crowd, smiling and beckoning to him. without a moment's hesitation, and before she even realized what was happening, he sprang forward, put his arms around her, and planted a clinging kiss on her lips. she blushed intensely and whispered as well as she could: "oh, you mustn't!" he made no reply. his eyes were fixed. half frightened, she led the way to the motor car. they got in. he promptly took her hand. she attempted to motion to him that the chauffeur was in front and could see their reflection in the glass windshield. he merely threw both arms around her and almost crushed her, as he kissed her over and over again. her face showed surprise and indignation. "you mustn't! we're not engaged." "as if that mattered," he muttered, taking another kiss. the motor car arrived at her home. they got out. they entered the house. her mother came forward to receive them. suddenly, without warning, he sprang forward and kissed her, throwing his arms about her like a cyclone. her mother, attempting to free herself, gasped. this young man--whom she scarcely knew! the girl herself stared at him in open-eyed astonishment. at this moment the maid entered the room. as she stepped forward the young man caught sight of her. wasting no time, and before the surprised mother and daughter could stop him, he had folded the maid in his arms and kissed her also. she screamed, and finally ran away. there was an aunt visiting them. this gentle, middle-aged spinster was dozing in the next room. aroused by the maid's screams, she hurried into the room. but no sooner did this remarkable young man visitor see her than he promptly grabbed her, and covered her face with kisses. the girl's father all this time had been quietly smoking on the piazza. hearing the commotion he hurried also into the room, just in time to see the spinster lady, almost fainting with terror, tear herself loose. "he's been kissing every one of us," murmured the girl's mother. "there must be something the matter with him." the girl's father caught the young man squarely by the shoulders and faced him about. "he kissed me at the station--before everybody!" sobbed the girl. "then he kissed mama and the maid and aunt jane." "what is the meaning of this?" said the girl's father, sternly. "how dare you, sir, abuse our hospitality?" the young man shuddered. his eyes closed. still in the clutch of his host, there was a tragic silence. then he opened them once more and gazed feebly about him. he passed his hand wearily over his forehead. "forgive me!" he whispered. "it is not my fault. i live in bachelor quarters in town. my friends had all gone away and there was nothing for me to do but go to the moving picture shows night after night. i have been doing this for weeks. in the moving pictures the young man hero kisses everybody he meets. it's the regular thing--nothing but kissing, kissing, all the time. my mind has been unhinged by it. forgive me and take me to some asylum." then he burst into tears, threw his arms about the old gentleman--and kissed him, and they led the poor wretch away. historical at a military church service during the south african war some recruits were listening to the chaplain in church saying, "let them slay the boers as joshua smote the egyptians," when a recruit whispered to a companion: "say, bill, the old bloke is a bit off; doesn't he know it was kitchener who swiped the egyptians?" memories an american lady at stratford-on-avon showed even more than the usual american fervor. she had not recovered when she reached the railway station, for she remarked to a friend as they walked on the platform: "to think that it was from this very platform the immortal bard would depart whenever he journeyed to town!" ecclesiastical dues enforced "i canna get ower it," a scotch farmer remarked to his wife. "i put a twa shillin' piece in the plate at the kirk this morning instead o' ma usual penny." the beadle had noticed the mistake, and in silence he allowed the farmer to miss the plate for twenty-three consecutive sundays. on the twenty-fourth sunday the farmer again ignored the plate, but the old beadle stretched the ladle in froat of him and, in a loud, tragic whisper, hoarsely said: "your time's up noo, sandy." still companionable jennie, the colored maid, arrived one morning with her head swathed in bandages--the result of an argument with her hot-tempered spouse. "jennie," said her mistress, "your husband treats you outrageously. why don't you leave him?" "well, i don' 'zactly wants to leave him." "hasn't he dragged you the length of the room by your hair?" demanded her mistress. "yas'm, he has done dat." "hasn't he choked you into insensibility?" "yas'm, he sho has choked me." "and now doesn't he threaten to split your head with an ax?" "yas'm, he has done all dat," agreed jennie, "but he ain' done nothin' yet so bad i couldn't live wid him." an easy adjustment andy donaldson, a well-known character of glasgow, lay on his deathbed. "i canna' leave ye thus, nancy," the old scotsman wailed. "ye're ower auld to work, an' ye couldna' live in the workhoose. gin i dee, ye maun marry anither man, wha'll keep ye in comfort in yer auld age." "nay, nay, andy," answered the good spouse; "i couldna' marry anither man, fer whit wull i daw wi' twa husbands in heaven?" andy pondered over this, but suddenly his face brightened. "i ha'e it, nancy!" he cried. "ye ken auld john clemmens? he's a kind man, but he's no' a member o' the kirk. he likes ye, nancy, an' gin ye'll marry him, 'twill be a' the same in heaven. john's no' a christian, and he's no' likely to get there." appraised one morning, mollie, the colored maid, appeared before her mistress, carrying, folded in a handkerchief, a five-dollar gold piece and all her earthly possessions in the way of jewelry. this package she proffered her mistress, with the request that miss sallie take it for safe keeping. "why, mollie!" exclaimed the mistress in surprise. "are you going away?" "naw'm, i ain' goin' nowheres," mollie declared. "but me an' jim harris we wuz married this mawnin'. yas'm, jim, he's a new nigger in town. you don' know nothin' 'bout him, miss sallie. i don' know nothin' 'bout him myself. he's er stranger to me." miss sallie glanced severely at the little package of jewelry. "but, mollie," she demanded, "don't you trust him?" "yas'm," replied mollie, unruffled. "cose i trus' him, personally--but not wid ma valuables." an easy matter how to own your own home is a problem which confronts the great majority. that it is oftentimes easily solved, however, is revealed by the following simple experience as related by h.m. perley in _life_: how did we do it? simply by going without everything we needed. when i was first married my salary was thirty dollars a month. my mother-in-law, who lived with us, decided to save enough out of my salary to build us a home. when the cellar was finished, i became ill and lost my position, and had to mortgage the cellar to make my first payment. although we went without food for thirty days the first year, we never missed a monthly payment. the taxes, interest on mortgage, and monthly payment on house were now three times the amount of my earnings. however, by dispensing with the service of a doctor, we lost our father and mother-in-law, which so reduced our expenses that we were able to pay for the parlor floor and windows. in ten years seven of our nine children died, possibly owing to our diet of excelsior and prunes. i only mention these little things to show how we were helped in saving for a home. i wore the same overcoat for fifteen years, and was then able to build the front porch, which you see at the right of the front door. now, at the age of eighty-seven, my wife and i feel sure we can own our comfortable little home in about ten years and live a few weeks to enjoy it. jeems henry was conjured. "mars john," excitedly exclaimed aunt tildy, as she pantingly rushed into a fire-engine house, "please, suh, phonograph to de car-cleaners' semporium an' notify dan'l to emergrate home diurgently, kaze jeems henry sho' done bin conjured! doctor cutter done already distracted two blood-vultures from his 'pendercitis, an' i lef him now prezaminatin' de chile's ante-bellum fur de germans ob de neuroplumonia, which ef he's disinfected wid, dey gotter 'noculate him wid the ice-coldlated quarantimes--but i b'lieves it's conjuration!" keeping it in the family a lady had the misfortune to lose her season ticket for the railway. on the same evening she had a call from two boys, the elder of whom at once handed her the lost ticket. the lady, delighted at the prompt return of her property, offered the boy a shilling for his trouble. the lad refused to accept it, telling the lady he was a boy scout, and that no member of the boy scouts is allowed to accept any return for a service rendered. just as the coin was about to be placed back in the purse of the lady, the boy, looking up into her face, suddenly blurted out: "but my wee brither's no' a scout." not so difficult sometimes a situation which to the kind of a mind which requires certainty seems hopeless can be adjusted in the most common-place manner: congressman charles r. davis of minnesota relates that one afternoon a train on a western railroad stopped at a small station, when one of the passengers, in looking over the place, found his gaze fixed upon an interesting sign. hurrying to the side of the conductor, he eagerly inquired: "do you think that i will have time to get a soda before the train starts?" "oh, yes," answered the conductor. "but suppose," suggested the thirsty passenger, "that the train should go on without me?" "we can easily fix that," promptly replied the conductor. "i will go along and have one with you." deserved the legacy a turkish story runs that, dying, a pious man bequeathed a fortune to his son, charging him to give £ to the meanest man he could find. a certain cadi filled the bill. accordingly the dutiful son offered him £ . "but i can't take your £ ," said the cadi. "i never knew your father. there was no reason why he should leave me the money." "it's yours, all right," persisted the mourning youth. "i might take it in a fictitious transaction," said the cadi, relenting. "suppose--i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll sell you all that snow in the courtyard for £ ." the young man agreed, willing to be quit of his trust on any terms. next day he was arrested, taken before the cadi, and ordered to remove his snow at once. as this was a command the young man was utterly unable to execute, he was fined £ by the cadi for contumacy. "at least," the young man said ruefully as he left the court, "father's £ went to the right man." improvement if you are going to be too fussy about your own particular brand of beauty then you must expect to reap the consequences. an actor visited a beauty doctor to see if he could have something done for his nose. the beauty doctor studied the organ, and suggested a complicated straightening and remoulding process--cost, twenty guineas. "i may go you," said the actor thoughtfully. he stroked his nose before the mirror, regarding it from all sides. "yes, i think i'll go you. but, look here, do you promise to give my nose--er--ideal beauty?" the surgeon grew meditative. "as to ideal beauty, i can't say," he replied at last. "why, my friend i couldn't help improving it a lot if i hit it with a hammer." why should he know? we cannot all of us be truly literary. most of us lead busy lives and, after all, is it of any real importance to be familiar with the world's greatest writers? no doubt this may all depend upon our occupation, as the following conversation reveals. the slight man with the bulging brow leaned forward and addressed the complacent looking individual with a look of almost human intelligence. it was a monotonous railway journey. "wonderful transportation facilities to-day, sir," he ventured. "as we have been bowling along, my mind has unconsciously been dwelling on jane austen. think of it, sir, only one hundred years ago and no railroads. have we really lost or gained? marvelous girl, that, sir. masterpiece of literature when she was twenty-one, and no background but an untidy english village. you've heard of jane austen, i presume?" "can't say i have." the slight man smiled sympathetically. "i get a great deal of pleasure from books," he went on. "bachelor. marvelous solace. may know wordsworth's famous lines, eh? 'books we know are a substantial world,' etc. perhaps you have read something of thomas love peacock?" "never heard of him." "ah! missed a great deal. wonderful satirist, that. but still, i must admit that neither he nor miss austen are common. now there's mark twain--for general reading, rain or shine, can't be beaten. american to the core, sir. smacks of the soil. perhaps he missed any warm love interest--but a delightful humorist, sir. you read him regularly, i presume?" "can't say i do." "of course, sir, books are not all. i agree with our old friend, montaigne, about that. by the way, which do you prefer, dickens or thackeray?" "can't say, sir. they're strangers to me." "perhaps you've heard of a man named walter scott. as his name implies, he was born in scotland. he wrote books, you know--novels, stories. rather good, eh? human interest--wholesome reading--and all that sort of thing." "don't recall him." the slight man rose up in his seat. he bore down hard upon the stranger. "possibly," he suggested, "in the course of your deep and intimate intercourse with men and affairs, you may recall the name of an individual named shakespeare." "yes, i think i remember." "how about macaulay, the greatest essayist in england, and homer, the prince of ancient poets, with seven birthplaces? then there's emerson and longfellow and goethe and--" he paused and grabbed the other man by the collar. "my friend," he said, "you don't seem interested in the world's greatest authors. may i inquire what your occupation in life is?" the other man nodded gravely, even austerely. "certainly, sir," he replied. "i'm a holiday salesman in buncum's department store book shop." one on him the code of manners enjoyed by the germans needs scarcely any further illumination, but the following incident may serve as further light upon this threadbare subject. a physician boarded a crowded crosstown car. a woman was standing, and a big german seated, sprawling over twice the space necessary. indignantly the doctor said to him: "see here! why don't you move a little so that this tired woman may have a seat?" for a moment the german looked dazed. then a broad smile spread over his countenance as he answered: "say, dot's a joke on you, all right! dot's my vife!" revealed in view of the spirit of comradeship shown between officers and men, this story is at least open to question, but it may have happened in some former war. the lieutenant was instructing the squad in visional training. "tell me, number one," he said, "how many men are there in that trench-digging party over there?" "thirty men and one officer," was the prompt reply. "quite right," observed the lieutenant, after a pause. "but how do you know one is an officer at this distance?" "'cos he's the only one not working, sir." diagnosing himself the officer of the day, during his tour of duty, paused to question a sentry who was a new recruit. "if you should see an armed party approaching, what would you do?" asked the officer. "turn out the guard, sir." "very well. suppose you saw a battleship coming across the parade-ground, what would you do?" "report to the hospital for examination, sir," was the prompt reply. in our melting pot during a political campaign in new york a tammany leader on the east side, a self-made man and one not entirely completed yet in some respects, was addressing a mass meeting of italian-born voters on behalf of the democratic ticket. "gintlemen and fellow citizens," he began, "i deem it an honor to be permitted to address you upon the issues of the day. i have always had a deep admiration for your native land. i vinerate the mimory of that great, that noble eyetalian who was the original and first discoverer of this here land of ours. "why, gintlemen, at me mother's knee i was taught to sing that inspirin' song: 'columbus, the jim of the ocean'!" whereupon there was loud applause. give him time mr. johnsing had an enthusiastic admirer in little eph jones. "yes, suh," he concluded one of his eulogies, "mistuh johnsing is the biggest man what evuh was." "bigger than general grant?" queried the white man to whom he was talking. "suttinly mistuh johnsing is a bigguh man than general grant," affirmed eph. "bigger than president wilson?" "of co'se he's bigguh than president wilson." "bigger than god?" "well--well--" stammered eph. "you see, mistuh johnsing's young yet." a bay state solomon unfortunately we've mislaid the judge's name, but his court room is in new bedford, mass. before him appeared a defendant who, hoping for leniency, pleaded, "judge, i'm down and out." whereupon said the wise judge: "you're down but you're not out. six months." in memoriam availing herself of her ecclesiastical privileges, the clergyman's wife asked questions which, coming from anybody else, would have been thought impertinent. "i presume you carry a memento of some kind in that locket you wear?" she said. "yes, ma'am," said the parishioner. "it is a lock of my husband's hair." "but your husband is still alive!" the lady exclaimed. "yes, ma'am, but his hair is gone." a disadvantage the germans will be immensely hated after this war. they will be the pariahs of the future. already we see signs of german hatred everywhere. at a reception the other night in a neutral city, the guest of honor said to a man who had just been presented to her: "you are a foreigner, are you not? where do you come from?" "from berlin, ma'am," he answered. the lady stared at him through her lorgnette. "dear me!" she said. "couldn't you go back and come from somewhere else?" the life they were two sweet young american girls, able, beautiful, versatile, patriotic to the core, rushed to death. and one of them said breathlessly: "what have you been doing?" and the other one as breathlessly replied: "doing! my dear, i hate to tell you. i got up at six. i drove a car forty miles to camp. i knitted a sweater and a pair of socks in between. i went to a red cross meeting. i acted as bridesmaid. i read a book on the war. i took a last lesson in first aid. i canned eighty cans of vegetables and, oh--!" "do tell me!" "why, will you believe me, i have been so busy all day that i almost forgot to get married!" welcoming the actor a well-known society performer volunteered to entertain a roomful of patients of the colney hatch lunatic asylum, and made up a very successful little monologue show, entirely humorous. the audience in the main gave symptoms of being slightly bored, but one highly intelligent maniac saw the whole thing in the proper light, and, clapping the talented actor on the shoulder, said: "glad you've come, old fellow. you and i will get along fine. the other dippies here are so dashed dignified. what i say is if a man is mad, he needn't put on airs about it." couldn't be bothered mose approached the registration booth hesitatingly, and being accosted by the official in charge, assured that dignitary that he had just walked ten miles to register. "well, mose, what branch of the service would you like to be placed in?" inquired the official. "how about the cavalry?" "what will ah have ter do in de calvary?" "oh, you won't have to do anything but ride a horse all the time." mose scratched his woolly noggin in perplexity for a few moments, and finally said: "nawssur, ah don't believe ah wants ter jine the calvary." "what's the matter with the cavalry, mose?" "well, yer see, boss, hit's jest like dis: when y'awl blow dem bugles ter retreet, ah don't want ter be troubled wid no hoss." their "bit" jimmie, very proud of his first job and weekly salary of $ . , purchased a liberty bond on the installment plan. that evening he saw in the newspaper that john d. rockefeller had invested in liberty bonds to the extent of $ , , . turning to his mother, jimmie said proudly, "well, ma, two of us americans have done our duty, anyhow." mistakes will happen a woman doctor of philadelphia was calling on a young sister, recently married, who was in distress. in response to the doctor's inquiry the newly-wed said: "i cooked a meal for the first time yesterday, and i made an awful mess of it." "never mind, dearie," said the doctor, cheerfully; "it's nothing to worry about. i lost my first patient." danger signals an ingenious american has invented a device to prevent such motoring accidents as arise from over-speeding. he describes his contrivance as follows: "while the car is running fifteen miles an hour a white bulb shows on the radiator, at twenty-five miles a green bulb appears, at forty a red bulb, and, when the driver begins to bat 'em out around sixty per, a music-box under the seat begins to play 'nearer, my god, to thee.'" vulnerable a visiting minister, preaching in a town famous for its horse races, vigorously denounced the sport. the principal patron of the church always attended the races, and of this the clergyman was later informed. "i am afraid i touched one of your weaknesses," said the pastor, not wishing to offend the wealthy one, "but it was quite unintentional, i assure you." "oh, don't mind that," said the sportsman genially. "it's a mighty poor sermon that don't hit me somewhere." misleading johnson, a bachelor, had been to call on his sister, and was shown the new baby. the next day some friends asked him to describe the new arrival. the bachelor replied: "um--very small features, clean shaven, red faced, and a very hard drinker!" a soft answer the ocean liner was rolling like a chip, but as usual in such instances one passenger was aggressively, disgustingly healthy. "sick, eh?" he remarked to a pale-green person who was leaning on the rail. the pale-green person regarded the healthy one with all the scorn he could muster. "sick nothing!" he snorted weakly. "i'm just hanging over the front of the boat to see how the captain cranks it!" balls a young married couple who lived near a famous golf-course were entertaining an elderly aunt from the depths of the country. "well, aunt mary, how did you spend this afternoon?" asked the hostess on the first day. "oh, i enjoyed myself very much," replied auntie with a beaming smile, "i went for a walk across the fields. there seemed to be a great many people about, and some of them shouted to me in a most eccentric manner, but i just took no notice. and, by the way," she went on, "i found such a number of curious little round white things. i brought them home to ask you what they are." joe's diagnosis a colored man entered the general store of a small ohio town and complained to the storekeeper that a ham that he had purchased there a few days before had proved not to be good. "the ham is all right, joe," insisted the storekeeper. "no, it ain't, boss," insisted the other. "dat ham's sure bad." "how can that be," continued the storekeeper, "when it was cured only last week?" joe reflected solemnly a moment, and then suggested: "maybe it's done had a relapse." purely literary a celebrated author thus sketched out his daily programme to an interviewer: rise at ; breakfast at ; attention to mail; a few afternoon calls; a ride in the park; dinner; the theatre, and then to bed. "but when do you do your literary work?" he was asked. "why, the next day, of course," was the reply. too forward at a parade of a company of newly-called-up men the drill instructor's face turned scarlet with rage as he slated a new recruit for his awkwardness. "now, rafferty," he roared, "you'll spoil the line with those feet. draw them back at once, man, and get them in line." rafferty's dignity was hurt. "plaze, sargint," he said, "they're not mine; they're micky doolan's in the rear rank!" obeying orders the manager of a big australian sheep-ranch engaged a discharged sailor to do farm work. he was put in charge of a large flock of sheep. "now, all you've got to do," explained the manager, "is to keep them on the run." a run is a large stretch of bushland enclosed by a fence, and sheep have many ingenious methods of escaping from their own to neighboring runs and so getting mixed up with other flocks. at the end of a couple of hours the manager rode up again--the air was thick with dust as though a thousand head of cattle had passed by. at last he distinguished the form of his new shepherd--a collapsed heap prone upon the ground. surrounding him were the sheep, a pitiful, huddled mass, bleating plaintively, with considerably more than a week's condition lost. "what the dickens have you been doing to those sheep?" shrieked the almost frantic manager. the ex-sailor managed to gasp out: "well, sir, i've done my best. you told me to keep them on the run, and so i hunted them up and down and round--and now--i'm just dead beat myself." table of comparison to instill into the mind of his son sound wisdom and business precepts was cohen senior's earnest endeavor. he taught his offspring much, including the advantages of bankruptcy, failures, and fires. "two bankruptcies equal one failure, two failures equal one fire," etc. then cohen junior looked up brightly. "fadder," he asked, "is marriage a failure?" "vell, my poy," was the parent's reply, "if you marry a really wealthy woman, marriage is almost as good as a failure." knew his job it was easter eve on leap year, and the dear young thing, who had been receiving long but somewhat unsatisfactory visits from the very shy young man, decided she might take a chance. robert had brought her a splendid easter lily. "i'll give you a kiss for that lily," she promised blushingly. the exchange was duly, not to say happily, made. robert started hurriedly toward the door. "why, where are you going?" asked his girl in surprise. "to the florist's for more easter lilies!" he replied. an anglomaniac "what are you studying now?" asked mrs. johnson. "we have taken up the subject of molecules," answered her son. "i hope you will be very attentive and practise constantly," said the mother. "i tried to get your father to wear one, but he could not keep it in his eye." yankee fodder senator hoar used to tell with glee of a southerner just home from new england who said to his friend, "you know those little white round beans?" "yes," replied the friend; "the kind we feed to our horses?" "the very same. well, do you know, sir, that in boston the enlightened citizens take those little white round beans, boil them for three or four hours, mix them with molasses and i know not what other ingredients, bake them, and then--what do you suppose they do with the beans?" "they--" "they eat 'em, sir," interrupted the first southerner impressively; "bless me, sir, they eat 'em!" one explanation at the meeting of the afro-american debating club the question of capital punishment for murder occupied the attention of the orators for the evening. one speaker had a great deal to say about the sanity of persons who thus took the law into their own hands. the last speaker, however, after a stirring harangue, concluded with great feeling: "ah disagrees wif capital punishment an' all dis heah talk 'bout sanity. any pusson 'at c'mits murdeh ain't in a sanitary condition." remorse "i got son in army," said a wrinkled old chief to united states senator clapp during his recent visit to an indian reservation in minnesota. "fine," exclaimed the senator. "you should be proud that he is fighting for all of us." "who we fight?" the redskin continued. "why," the senator replied, surprised. "we are fighting the kaiser--you know, the germans." "hah," mourned the chief. "too dam bad." "why bad?" protested senator clapp, getting primed for a lecture on teutonic kultur and its horrors. "too dam bad," repeated the old indian. "couple come through reservation last week. i could killed um, easy as not. too dam bad." he wrapped his face in his blanket and refused to be comforted. the real culprit the crown prince had been so busy that he hadn't had time to get together with his father and have a confidential chat. but one evening when there was a lull in the -centimeter guns, they managed to get a few moments off. the crown prince turned to his father and said: "dad, there is something i have been wanting to ask you for a long time. is uncle george really responsible for this scrap?" "no, my son." "well, did cousin nick have anything to do with it?" "not at all" "possibly you did?" "no, sir." "then would you mind telling me who it was?" the anointed one was silent for a moment. then he turned to his son and said: "i'll tell you how it happened. about two or three years ago there was a wild man came over here from the united states, one of those rip-roaring rough riders that you read about in dime novels, but he certainly did have about him a plausible air. i took him out and showed him our fleet. then i showed him the army, and after he had looked them over he said to me, 'bill, you could lick the world,' and i was damn fool enough to believe him." a matter of nomenclature a negro was recently brought into police court in a little town in georgia, charged with assault and battery. the negro, who was well known to the judge, was charged with having struck another "unbleached american" with a brick. after the usual preliminaries the judge inquired: "why did you hit this man?" "jedge, he called me a damn black rascal." "well, you are one, aren't you?" "yessah, i _is_ one. but, jedge, s'pose somebody'd call you a damn black rascal, wouldn't you hit 'em?" "but i'm not one, am i?" "naw, sah, naw, sah, you ain't one; but s'pose somebody'd call you de kind o' rascal you _is_, what'd you do?" "it is forbidden" early in the war j.b. adopted a french soldier and furnishes him with a monthly allowance of tobacco. incidentally, he is also lubricating his rusty french by carrying on a correspondence with his "_filleul de guerre_" who writes him from the trenches, "somewhere in france." in a recent letter, the soldier informed his american benefactor that "_hier j'ai tué deux boches. ils sont allés à l'enfer._" (yesterday i killed two boches. they went straight to hell.) the censor wrote between the lines, "_il est defendu de dire où est l'ennemi._" (it is forbidden to tell where the enemy is!) her prayer a visitor to a glasgow working woman whose son was at the front was treated to a fluent harangue on the misdeeds of that "auld blackguard," the kaiser. she ventured to suggest that we should love our enemies and pray for them. "oh, but i pray for him, too." "what do you say?" "i say, 'oh, lord, deal wi' yon old blackguard, saften his heart, and damp his powther.'" cautious mourner walking through the village street one day, the widowed lady bountiful met old farmer stubbs on his way to market. her greeting went unnoticed. "stubbs," said she, indignantly, "you might at least raise your hat to me!" "i beg your pardon, m'lady," was the reply, "but my poor wife ain't dead moren' two weeks, and i ain't started lookin' at the wimmen yet!" unprepared base threatened tommy tonkins was keen on baseball and particularly ambitious to make his mark as a catcher. any hint, however small, was welcomed if it helped on his advance in his department of the game. when he began to have trouble with his hands, and somebody suggested soaking them in salt water to harden the skin, he quickly followed the advice. alas! a few days later tommy had a misfortune. a long hit at the bottom of the garden sent the ball crashing through a neighbor's sitting-room window. it was the third tommy had broken since the season began. mrs. tonkins nearly wept in anger when tommy broke the news. "yer father'll skin yer when 'e comes 'ome to-night," she said. poor tommy, trembling, went outside to reflect. his thoughts traveled to the strap hanging in the kitchen, and he eyed his hands ruefully. "ah!" he muttered, with a sigh. "i made a big mistake. i ought to 'ave sat in that salt and water!" inconsiderate a more kind-hearted and ingenuous soul never lived than aunt betsey, but she was a poor housekeeper. on one occasion a neighbor who had run in for a "back-door" call was horrified to see a mouse run across aunt betsey's kitchen floor. "why on earth don't you set a trap, betsey?" she asked. "well," replied aunt betsey. "i did have a trap set. but land, it was such a fuss! those mice kept getting into it!" another engagement an italian, having applied for citizenship, was being examined in the naturalization court. "who is the president of the united states?" "mr. wils'." "who is the vice-president?" "mr. marsh'." "could you be president?" "no." "why?" "mister, you 'scuse, please. i vera busy worka da mine." a hard knock during the cross-examination of a young physician in a lawsuit, the plaintiff's lawyer made disagreeable remarks about the witness's youth and inexperience. "you claim to be acquainted with the various symptoms attending concussion of the brain?" asked the lawyer. "i do." "we will take a concrete case," continued the lawyer. "if my learned friend, counsel for the defence, and myself were to bang our heads together, would he get concussion of the brain?" the young physician smiled. "the probabilities are," he replied, "that the counsel for the defence would." durable the admiration which bob felt for his aunt margaret included all her attributes. "i don't care much for plain teeth like mine, aunt margaret," said bob, one day, after a long silence, during which he had watched her in laughing conversation with his mother. "i wish i had some copper-toed ones like yours." accuracy an american editor had a notice stuck up above his desk that read: "accuracy! accuracy! accuracy!" and this notice he always pointed out to the new reporters. one day the youngest member of the staff came in with his report of a public meeting. the editor read it through, and came to the sentence: "three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine eyes were fixed upon the speaker." "what do you mean by making a silly blunder like that?" he demanded, wrathfully. "but it's not a blunder," protested the youngster. "there was a one-eyed man in the audience!" had his rights "why did you strike this man?" asked the judge sternly. "he called me a liar, your honor," replied the accused. "is that true?" asked the judge, turning to the man with the mussed-up face. "sure, it's true," said the accused, "i called him a liar because he is one, and i can prove it." "what have you got to say to that?" asked the judge of the defendant. "it's got nothing to do with the case, your honor," was the unexpected reply. "even if i am a liar i guess i've got a right to be sensitive about it, ain't i?" a ready-witted parson the evening lesson was from the book of job, and the minister had just read, "yea, the light of the wicked shall be put out," when immediately the church was in total darkness. "brethren," said the minister, with scarcely a moment's pause, "in view of the sudden and startling fulfilment of this prophecy, we will spend a few minutes in silent prayer for the electric lighting company." a stock suffrage argument a member of congress and his wife had been to baltimore one afternoon. when they left the train at washington, on their return, the wife discovered that her umbrella, which had been entrusted to the care of her husband, was missing. "where's my umbrella?" she demanded. "i fear i have forgotten it, my dear," meekly answered the statesman. "it must still be in the train." "in the train!" snorted the lady. "and to think that the affairs of the nation are entrusted to a man who doesn't know enough to take care of a woman's umbrella!" a deep one johnny stood beside his mother as she made her selection from the huckster's wagon, and the farmer told the boy to take a handful of cherries, but the child shook his head. "what's the matter? don't you like them?" asked the huckster. "yes," replied johnny. "then go ahead an' take some." johnny hesitated, whereupon the farmer put a generous handful in the boy's cap. after the farmer had driven on, the mother asked: "why didn't you take the cherries when he told you to?" "'cause his hand was bigger'n mine." proving it a woman owning a house in philadelphia before which a gang of workmen were engaged in making street repairs was much interested in the work. "and which is the foreman?" she asked of a big, burly celt. a proud smile came to the countenance of that individual as he replied: "oi am, mum." "really?" continued the lady. "oi kin prove it, mum," rejoined the irishman. then, turning to a laborer at hand, he added, "kelly, ye're fired!" prayer of the unrighteous we had a new experience the other day (relates a writer in the _atlantic monthly_) when we picked up two boatloads of survivors from the----, torpedoed without warning. i will say they were pretty glad to see us when we bore down on them. as we neared they began to paddle frantically, as though fearful we should be snatched away from them at the last moment. the crew were mostly arabs and lascars, and the first mate, a typical comic magazine irishman, delivered himself of the following: "sure, toward the last some o' thim haythen gits down on their knees and starts calling on allah: but i sez, sez i, 'git up afore i swat ye wid the ax handle, ye benighted haythen; sure if this boat gits saved 't will be the holy virgin does it or none at all, at all! git up,'sez i." much simpler for an hour the teacher had dealt with painful iteration on the part played by carbohydrates, proteids, and fats, respectively, in the upkeep of the human body. at the end of the lesson the usual test questions were put, among them: "can any girl tell me the three foods required to keep the body in health?" there was silence till one maiden held up her hand and replied: "yer breakfast, yer dinner, and yer supper." silent contempt a certain man whose previous record was of the best was charged with a minor offense. law and evidence were unquestionably on the side of the defense, but when the arguments had been concluded a verdict of "guilty" was given and a fine imposed. the lawyer for the defense was sitting with his back toward the magistrate. without changing his position or rising to address the court, he remarked: "judge, please fine me for contempt of court." the magistrate inquired: "what d'ye mean, sir? you haven't committed contempt." "i have," came from the old lawyer. "it's silent." what did solomon say? london children certainly get some quaint views of life. an instance of this recently occurred in an east end sunday-school, where the teacher was talking to her class about solomon and his wisdom. "when the queen of sheba came and laid jewels and fine raiment before solomon, what did he say?" she asked presently. one small girl, who had evidently had experience in such matters, promptly replied: "'ow much d'yer want for the lot?" his ultimatum quite recently a warship of the atlantic fleet found it necessary to call for a few hours at a military port on the coast of ireland. tommy atkins, meeting a full-bearded irish tar in the street a couple of hours later, said: "pat, when are you going to place your whiskers on the reserve list?" "when you place your tongue on the civil list," was the irish sailor's reply. a gifted youth although alfred had arrived at the age of years he showed no inclinaton either to pursue his studies or in any way adapt himself to his father's business. "i don't know what i will ever make of that son of mine," bitterly complained his father, a hustling business man. "maybe he hasn't found himself yet," consoled the confidential friend. "isn't he gifted in any way?" "gifted?" queried the father. "well, i should say he is! he ain't got a thing that wasn't given to him." it happened in illinois the time was registration day; the place was a a small town in southern illinois. there was no girl. he was a gentleman of color, and the registrar was having considerable trouble explaining the whys and wherefors of the registration. at last rastus showed a faint glimmer of intelligence. "dis heyah registrashum fo' de draf' am a whole lot like 'lection votin', ain't it?" he asked uncertainly. "yes," answered the kindly registrar. rastus scratched his head in troubled doubt. he was thinking deeply. presently his brow cleared and a smile spread over his face. he had come to a decision. "den i votes for julius jackson ter be drafted," he said. "i nebah did hab no use fo' dat niggah." getting even james, years old, had been naughty to the point of evoking a whipping from his long-suffering mother, and all day long a desire for revenge rankled in his little bosom. at length bedtime came, and, kneeling beside her, he implored a blessing on each member of the family individually, his mother alone being conspicuous by her absence. then, rising from his devout posture, the little suppliant fixed a keenly triumphant look upon her face, saying, as he turned to climb into bed: "i s'pose you noticed you wasn't in it." archie's neck little willie--in small boy stories the central figure is nearly always named little willie--came running into the house, stuttering in his excitement. "mommer," he panted, "do you know archie sloan's neck?" "do i know what?" asked his mother. "do you know archie sloan's neck?" repeated her offspring. "i know archie sloan," answered the puzzled parent; "so i suppose i must know his neck. why?" "well," said willie, "he just now fell into the back-water up to it." their one topic "the kaiser and hindenburg," said edsell ford, son of henry ford, "and the crown prince and the other german big-wigs can never mention the war without saying that it was forced upon them, that they are fighting in defense of the fatherland, that their enemies are to blame for all the bloodshed, and so forth. "the way the germans insist on this defense talk of theirs, in season and out of season," he went on, "reminds me of the colored preacher who always preached on infant baptism. "a deputation waited on him one evening and asked him if he wouldn't please drop infant baptism for a time. he said he'd try to meet the deputation's wishes and the following sunday he announced as his text, 'adam, where art thou?' "this text, brethern and sistern,' said the preacher, 'can be divided into fo' heads. fust, every man is somewhar. second, most men is whar they hain't got no business to be. third, you'd better watch out or that's whar you'll be yourself. fo'th, infant baptism. and now, brethern and sistern, i guess we might as well pass up the first three heads and come immediately to the fo'th--infant baptism.'" probably right here is a story of the late lord haversham's schooldays. glancing through his pocket-book, his mother saw a number of entries of small sums, ranging from s. d. to s., against which were the letters "p.g." thinking this must mean the propagation of the gospel, she asked her son why he did not give a lump sum and a larger amount to so deserving a cause. "that is not for the propagation of the gospel," he replied. "when i cannot remember exactly on what i spend the money i put 'p.g.,' which means 'probably grub.'" unreturned favors a connecticut farmer was asked to assist at the funeral of his neighbor's third wife and, as he had attended the funerals of the two others, his wife was surprised when he declined the invitation. on being pressed to give his reason he said, with some hesitation: "you see, mary, it makes a chap feel a bit awkward to be always accepting other folks's civilities when he never has anything of the same sort of his own to ask them back to." the proper spirit here is a story our wounded boys have brought back from the front about sir douglas haig. sir douglas was, some few weeks ago, in a great hurry to get to a certain place. he found his car, but the chauffeur was missing. so sir douglas got in the car and drove off by himself. then the driver appeared and saw the car disappearing in the distance. "great scot!" cried the driver, "there's 'aig a-driving my car!" "well, get even with him," said a tommy, standing by, "and go and fight one of 'is battles for him." experienced a judge presiding over a court in washington, d.c., was administering the oath to a boy of tender years, and to him put the following question: "have you ever taken the oath? do you know how to swear, my boy?" whereupon the lad responded: "yes, sir. i am your caddie at the chevy chase club." perpetual motion alderman curran, of new york city, worked his way through yale college. during his course he was kept very busy by the various jobs he did to help with his expenses. on graduation he went to new york, and was even busier than he had been in new haven. after some months of life in new york, a friend met him and said, "henry, what are you doing?" "i have three jobs," replied mr. curran, "i am studying law, i am a newspaper reporter, and i am selling life insurance." "how do you manage to get it all in?" said the friend. "oh," replied mr curran, "that's easy enough. they're only eight-hour jobs." pride in the daily task a quaint story is told to exemplify the pride that every man should take in the work by which he makes a living. two street sweepers, seated on a curbstone, were discussing a comrade who had died the day before. "bill certainly was a good sweeper," said one. "y-e-s," conceded the other thoughtfully. "but don't you think he was a little weak around the lamp-posts?" didn't want to rob him his face was pinched and drawn. with faltering footsteps he wended his way among the bustling christmas crowd. "kind sir," he suddenly exclaimed, "will you not give me a loaf of bread for my wife and little ones?" the stranger regarded him not unkindly. "far be it from me," he rejoined, "to take advantage of your destitution. keep your wife and little ones; i do not want them." his generosity a "tommy," lying in a hospital, had beside him a watch of curious and foreign design. the attending doctor was interested. "where did your watch come from?" he asked. "a german give it me," he answered. a little piqued, the doctor inquired how the foe had come to convey this token of esteem and affection. "e 'ad to," was the laconic reply. joy of eating a well-known banker in a downtown restaurant was eating mush and milk. "what's the matter?" inquired a friend. "got dyspepsia." "don't you enjoy your meals?" "enjoy my meals?" snorted the indignant dyspeptic. "my meals are merely guide-posts to take medicine before or after." try this the quick wit of a traveling salesman, who has since become a well-known proprietor, was severely tested one day. he sent in his card by the office-boy to the manager of a large concern, whose inner office was separated from the waiting-room by a ground-glass partition. when the boy handed his card to the manager the salesman saw him impatiently tear it in half and throw it in the wastebasket; the boy came out and told the caller that he could not see the chief. the salesman told the boy to go back and get him his card; the boy brought out five cents, with the message that his card was torn up. then the salesman took out another card and sent the boy back, saying: "tell your boss i sell two cards for five cents." he got his interview and sold a large bill of goods. bargain-counter golf "fore!" yelled the golfer, ready to play. but the woman on the course paid no attention. "fore!" he shouted again with no effect. "ah," suggested his opponent in disgust, "try her once with 'three ninety-eight'!" uneasy it was in a churchyard. the morning sun shone brightly and the dew was still on the grass. "ah, this is the weather that makes things spring up," remarked a passer-by casually to an old gentleman seated on a bench. "hush!" replied the old gentleman. "i've got three wives buried here." perfectly natural they gave the old lady the only unoccupied room in the hotel--one with a private bath adjoining. the next morning, when the guest was ready to check out, the clerk asked: "did you have a good night's rest?" "well, no, i didn't," she replied. "the room was all right, and the bed was pretty good; but i couldn't sleep very much, for i was afraid someone would want to take a bath, and the only way to it was through my room." a diplomat an ohio man was having a lot of trouble piloting a one-tent show through the middle west. he lost a number of valuable animals by accident and otherwise. therefore, it was with a sympathetic mien that one of the keepers undertook the task of breaking the news of another disaster. he began thus: "mr. smith, you remember that laughin' hyena in cage nine?" "remember the laughing hyena?" demanded the owner, angrily. "what the deuce are you driving at?" "only this, mr. smith: he ain't got nothing to laugh at this morning." the difference two pals, both recently wedded, were comparing the merits of their wives. "ah, yes," said george, who was still very much in love, "my little woman is an angel! she couldn't tell a lie to save her life!" "lucky bounder!" said samuel, sighing. "my wife can tell a lie the minute i get it out of my mouth!" worse! the worried countenance of the bridegroom disturbed the best man. tiptoeing up the aisle, he whispered: "what's the matter, jock? hae ye lost the ring?" "no," blurted out the unhappy jock, "the ring's safe eno'. but, mon, i've lost ma enthusiasm." the teuton way a story illustrative of the changes in methods of warfare comes from a soldier in france who took a german officer prisoner. the soldier said to the officer: "give up your sword!" but the officer shook his head and answered: "i have no sword to give up. but won't my vitriol spray, my oil projector, or my gas cylinder do as well?" appreciation it was just after a rainstorm and two men were walking down the street behind a young woman who was holding her skirt rather high. after an argument as to the merits of the case, one of the men stepped forward and said: "pardon, me, miss, but aren't you holding your skirt rather high?" "haven't i a perfect right?" she snapped. "you certainly have, miss, and a peach of a left," he replied. allegro "that'sallfergusoni'llringifiwantyouagain." "yessirthankyousirshallisayyouareoutifanyonecallssir?" "tellthemiamoutofthecityandferguson." "yessir?" "havetheautoreadyforanearlyruninthemorning. havealargebunchoforchidsinthevaseferguson." "yessiranythingelsesir?" "nothingelseferguson." readeritisonlytheconversationinatalkingmovieshowtryingtokeepupwiththepictures. just answered a soldier in the english army wrote home: "they put me in barracks; they took away my clothes and put me in khaki; they took away my name and made me 'no. '; they took me to church, where i'd never been before, and they made me listen to a sermon for forty minutes. then the parson said: 'no. . art thou weary, art thou languid?' and i got seven days in the guardhouse because i answered that i certainly was." too long a shot a famous jockey was taken suddenly ill, and the trainer advised him to visit a doctor in the town. "he'll put you right in a jiffy," he said. the same evening he found benjamin lying curled up in the stables, kicking his legs about in agony. "hello, benny! haven't you been to the doctor?" "yes." "well, didn't he do you any good?" "i didn't go in. when i got to his house there was a brass plate on his door--'dr. kurem. ten to one'--i wasn't going to monkey with a long shot like that!" sensitive here is a story of a london "nut" who had mounted guard for the first time: the colonel had just given him a wigging because of the state of his equipment. a little later the colonel passed his post. the nut did not salute. the indignant colonel turned and passed again. the nut ignored him. "why in the qualified blazes don't you salute?" the colonel roared. "ah," said the nut, softly, "i fawncied you were vexed with me." no use for it pat walked into the post-office. after getting into the telephone-box he called a wrong number. as there was no such number, the switch-attendant did not answer him. pat shouted again, but received no answer. the lady of the post-office opened the door and told him to shout a little louder, which he did, but still no answer. again she said he would have to speak louder. pat got angry at this, and, turning to the lady, said: "begorra, if i could shout any louder i wouldn't use your bloomin' ould telephone at all!" effective some people are always optimists: "beanborough," said a friend of that gentleman, "always looks on the bright side of things." "why?" "well, the other day i went with him to buy a pair of shoes. he didn't try them on at the store, and when he got home he found that a nail was sticking right up through the heel of one." "did he take them back?" "not much. he said that he supposed the nail was put there intentionally to keep the foot from sliding forward in the shoe." german arithmetic german equals unkultured foreigners. soldiers equal civilians. officers equal privates. treaties equal scraps of paper. poisoned wells equal strategic retreat. iron crosses equal ruined cathedral. zeppelin raids equal demonstrations of frightfulness. eggs equal hearty meals (common people). eggs equal appetizer (aristocracy). deported belgians equal unmarked graves. torpedoed neutrals equal disavowals. gotts equal kaiser. a difficult passage "i thought you were preaching, uncle bob," said the colonel, to whom the elderly negro had applied for a job. "yessah, ah wuz," replied uncle; "but ah guess ah ain't smaht enough to expound de scriptures. ah almost stahved to deff tryin' to explain de true meanin' uv de line what says 'de gospel am free,' dem fool niggahs thought dat it meant dat ah wuzn't to git no salary." where vermont scored a gentleman from vermont was traveling west in a pullman when a group of men from topeka, kansas, boarded the train and began to praise their city to the vermonter, telling him of the wide streets and beautiful avenues. finally the vermonter became tired and said the only thing that would improve their city would be to make it a seaport. the enthusiastic westerners laughed at him and asked how they could make it a seaport being so far from the ocean. the vermonter replied that it would be a very easy task. "the only thing that you will have to do," said he, "is to lay a two-inch pipe from your city to the gulf of mexico. then if you fellows can suck as hard as you can blow you will have it a seaport inside half an hour." doing unto his neighbor "hey, kid!" yelled the game warden, appearing suddenly above the young fisherman. "you are fishing for trout. don't you know they ain't in season?" "sure," replied the youth, "but when it's the season for trout they ain't around, and when it ain't the season there's lots of 'em. if the fish ain't a-goin' to obey the rules, i ain't neither." the limit he was a very small boy. paddy was his dog, and paddy was nearer to his heart than anything on earth. when paddy met swift and hideous death on the turnpike road his mother trembled to break the news. but it had to be, and when he came home from school she told him simply: "paddy has been run over and killed." he took it very quietly; finished his dinner with appetite and spirits unimpaired. all day it was the same. but five minutes after he had gone up to bed there echoed through the house a shrill and sudden lamentation. his mother rushed upstairs with solicitude and sympathy. "nurse says," he sobbed, "that paddy has been run over and killed." "but, dear, i told you that at dinner, and you didn't seem to trouble at all." "no; but--but i didn't know you said paddy. i--i thought you said daddy!" no telling a rather patronizing individual from town was observing with considerable interest the operations of a farmer with whom he had put up for a while. as he watched the old man sow the seed in his field the man from the city called out facetiously: "well done, old chap. you sow; i reap the fruits." whereupon the farmer grinned and replied: "maybe you will. i am sowing hemp." a record breaker along the fox river, a few miles above wedron, ill., an old-timer named andy haskins has a shack, and he has made most of the record fish catches in that vicinity during forty years. he has a big record book containing dates and weights to impress visitors. last summer a young married couple from chicago camped in a luxurious lodge three miles above old haskins's place. a baby was born at the lodge, and the only scales the father could obtain on which to weigh the child was that with which andy haskins had weighed all the big fish he had caught in ten years. the baby tipped the scales at thirty-five pounds! evidence circumstantial evidence is not always conclusive. but certain kinds of it cannot be disputed. in the following colloquy the policeman appears to have the best of it. "not guilty, sir," replied the prisoner. "where did you find the prisoner?" asked the magistrate. "in trafalgar square, sir," was the bobby's reply. "and what made you think he was intoxicated?" "well, sir, he was throwing his walking-stick into the basin of one of the fountains and trying to entice one of the stone lions to go and fetch it out again." a future statesman all the talk of hyphenated citizenship has evidently had its effect upon a san francisco youngster, american born, who recently rebelled fiercely when his italian father whipped him for some misdemeanor. "but, tomaso," said one of the family, "your father has a right to whip you when you are bad." tomaso's eyes flashed. "i am a citizen of the united states," he declared. "do you think that i am going to let any foreigner lick me?" smarty! william dean howells, at a dinner in boston, said of modern american letters: "the average popular novel shows, on the novelist's part, an ignorance of his trade, which reminds me of a new england clerk. in a new england village i entered the main-street department store one afternoon and said to the clerk at the book counter: 'let me have, please, the "letters of charles lamb".' 'post-office right across the street, mr. lamb,' said the clerk, with a polite, brisk smile" how to tell a well-bred dog if he defies all the laws of natural beauty and symmetry, if he has a disease calling for specialists, if he cannot eat anything but russian caviar and broiled sweetbreads, if he costs more than a six-cylinder roadster, if he must be bathed in rose water and fed out of a cutglass bowl, if he cannot be touched by the naked hand, or patted more than twice a day, if he refuses to wear anything but imported leather collars, if he has to sleep on a silk cushion. if he dies before you can get him home. then he is a well-bred dog. try it and see a few years ago, while watching a parade in boston in which the stars and stripes were conspicuous, a fair foreigner with strong anti-american proclivities turned to a companion, and commenting on the display, pettishly remarked: "that american flag makes me sick. it looks just like a piece of checkerberry candy." senator lodge, who was standing near by, overheard the remark, and turning to the young lady, said: "yes, miss, it does. and it makes everyone sick who tries to lick it." what he might have been being well equipped physically, michael murphy had no difficulty in holding his job as village sexton, until the first interment, when he was asked to sign the certificate. "oi can't write," said mike, and was discharged. out of a job, mike turned to contracting and in time became wealthy and a figure in his community. when he applied to the leading bank for a loan of fifty thousand dollars, he was assured that he could get it--and was asked to sign the necessary notes. again he was obliged to reply: "oi can't write." the banker was astounded. "and you have accumulated all this wealth and position without knowing how to write!" he exclaimed. "what would you have been to-day if you could write?" mike paused a moment, and answered: "oi would have been a sexton." conclusive two irishmen were working on the roof of a building one day when one made a mis-step and fell to the ground; the other leaned over and called: "are ye dead or alive, mike?" "i'm alive," said mike, feebly. "sure, yer such a liar i don't know whether to believe ye or not." "well, then, i must be dead," said mike, "for ye would never dare to call me a liar if i were alive." why not? they were a very saving old couple, and as a result they had a beautifully furnished house. one day the old woman missed her husband. "joseph, where are you?" she called out. "i'm resting in the parlor," came the reply. "what, on the sofy?" cried the old woman, horrified. "no, on the floor." "not on that grand carpet!" came in tones of anguish. "no; i've rolled it up!" how could he know? the youth seated himself in the dentist's chair. he wore a wonderful striped shirt and a more wonderful checked suit and had the vacant stare of "nobody home" that goes with both. the dentist looked at his assistant. "i am afraid to give him gas," he said. "why?" asked the assistant. "well," said the dentist, "how can i tell when he's unconscious?" in advance in a rural court the old squire had made a ruling so unfair that three young lawyers at once protested against such a miscarriage of justice. the squire immediately fined each of the lawyers five dollars for contempt of court. there was silence, and then an older lawyer walked slowly to the front of the room and deposited a ten-dollar bill with the clerk. he then addressed the judge as follows: "your honor, i wish to state that i have twice as much contempt for this court as any man in the room." no free advertising a violinist was bitterly disappointed with the account of his recital printed in the paper of a small town. "i told your man three or four times," complained the musician to the owner of the paper, "that the instrument i used was a genuine stradivarius, and in his story there was not a word about it, not a word." whereupon the owner said with a laugh: "that is as it should be. when mr. stradivarius gets his fiddles advertised in my paper under ten cents a line, you come around and let me know." why not? jimmie giggled when the teacher read the story of the man who swam across the tiber three times before breakfast. "you do not doubt that a trained swimmer could do that, do you?" "no, sir," answered jimmie, "but i wonder why he did not make it four and get back to the side where his clothes were." the same old hours she was a widow who was trying to get in touch with her deceased husband. the medium, after a good deal of futile work, said to her: "the conditions this evening seem unfavorable. i can't seem to establish communication with mr. smith, ma'am." "well, i'm not surprised," said the widow, with a glance at the clock. "it's only half-past eight now, and john never did show up till about three a.m." why not? private jones was summoned to appear before his captain. "jones," said the officer, frowning darkly, "this gentleman complains that you have killed his dog." "a dastardly trick," interrupted the owner of the dog, "to kill a defenseless animal that would harm no one!" "not much defenseless about him," chimed in the private, heatedly. "he bit pretty freely into my leg, so i ran my bayonet into him." "nonsense!" answered the owner angrily. "he was a docile creature. why did you not defend yourself with the butt of your rifle?" "why didn't he bite me with his tail?" asked private jones, with spirit. figuratively speaking dr. harvey wiley tells the following story: sleepily, after a night off, a certain interne hastened to his hospital ward. the first patient was a stout old irishman. "how goes it?" he inquired. "faith, it'sh me breathin', doctor. i can't get me breath at all, at all." "why, your pulse is normal. let me examine the lung-action," replied the doctor, kneeling beside the cot and laying his head on the ample chest. "now, let's hear you talk," he continued, closing his eyes and listening. "what'll oi be sayin', doctor?" "oh, say anything. count one, two, three, and up," murmured the interne, drowsily. "wan, two, three, four, five, six," began the patient. when the young doctor, with a start, opened his eyes, he was counting huskily: "tin hundred an' sixty-nine, tin hundred an' sivinty, tin hundred an' sivinty-wan." the man he left behind an english storekeeper went to the war and left his clerk behind to look after things. when he was wounded and taken to the hospital, what was his surprise to find his clerk in the cot next to him. "well, i thought i left you to take care of the store," said the storekeeper. "you did," answered the clerk, "but you didn't tell me i had to look after your women folks as well as the store. i stood it as long as i could and then i said to myself: 'look here, if you've got to fight, you might as well go and fight someone that you can hit.'" some speed it was a dull day in the trenches, and a bunch of tommies had gathered and were discussing events. after a while the talk turned on a big boche who had been captured the night before. "he was scared stiff," said one tommy. "did he run?" asked another. "run?" replied the first. "why, if that boche had had jest one feather in his hand he'd 'a' flew." a deep-laid plan "would you mind letting me off fifteen minutes early after this, sir?" asked the bookkeeper. "you see, i've moved into the suburbs and i can't catch my train unless i leave at a quarter before five o'clock." "i suppose i'll have to," grumbled the boss; "but you should have thought of that before you moved." "i did," confided the bookkeeper to the stenographer a little later, "and that's the reason i moved." only one thing for him a three-hundred-pound man stood gazing longingly at the nice things displayed in a haberdasher's window for a marked-down sale. a friend stopped to inquire if he was thinking of buying shirts or pyjamas. "gosh, no!" replied the fat man wistfully. "the only thing that fits me ready-made is a handkerchief." a test of friendship andy foster, a well-known character in his native city, had recently shuffled off this mortal soil in destitute circumstances, although in his earlier days he enjoyed financial prosperity. a prominent merchant, an old friend of the family, attended the funeral and was visibly affected as he gazed for the last time on his old friend and associate. the mourners were conspicuously few in number and some attention was attracted by the sorrowing merchant. "the old gentleman was very dear to you?" ventured one of the bearers after the funeral was over. "indeed, he was," answered the mourner. "andy was one true friend. he never asked me to lend him a cent, though i knew that he was practically starving to death." blissful ignorance it was during the nerve-racking period of waiting for the signal to go over the top that a seasoned old sergeant noticed a young soldier fresh from home visibly affected by the nearness of the coming fight. his face was pale, his teeth chattering, and his knees tried to touch each other. it was sheer nervousness, but the sergeant thought it was sheer funk. "tompkins," he whispered, "is it trembling you are for your dirty skin?" "no, no, sergeant," said he, making a brave attempt to still his limbs. "i'm trembling for the germans; they don't know i'm here." grateful to the doctor a chinaman was asked if there were good doctors in china. "good doctors!" he exclaimed. "china have best doctors in world. hang chang one good doctor; he great; save life, to me." "you don't say so! how was that?" "me velly bad," he said. "me callee doctor han kon. give some medicine. get velly, velly ill. me callee doctor san sing. give more medicine. me glow worse--go die. blimebly callee doctor hang chang. he got no time; no come. save life." he might be, but she wasn't dinah had been troubled with a toothache for some time before she got up enough courage to go to a dentist. the moment he touched her tooth she screamed. "what are you making such a noise for?" he demanded. "don't you know i'm a 'painless dentist'?" "well, sah," retorted dinah, "mebbe yo' is painless, but ah isn't." a sporting proposition an arkansas man who intended to take up a homestead claim in a neighboring state sought information in the matter from a friend. "i don't remember the exact wording of the law," said the latter, "but i can give ye the meanin' of it all right. it's like this: the government of the united states is willin' to bet one hundred and sixty acres of land against fourteen dollars that ye can't live on it five years without starvin' to death." the proposal he was a morbid youth and a nervous lover. often had he wished to tell the maiden how he longed to make her all his own. again and again had his nerve failed him. but to-night there was a "do-or-die" look in his eye. they started for their usual walk, and rested awhile upon his favorite seat--a gravestone in the village churchyard. a happy inspiration seized him. "maria," he said in trembling accents--"maria! when you die--how should you like to be buried here with my name on the stone over you?" knew more about hens than history after reading the famous poem, "the landing of the pilgrim fathers," to the class, the teacher said: "as a drawing exercise suppose you each draw, according to your imagination, a picture of plymouth rock." all but one little fellow set to work. he paused and finally raised his hand. "what is it, edgar?" the teacher asked. "please, ma'am," edgar piped out, "do you want us to draw a hen or a rooster?" charity bishop penhurst was talking, in boston, about charity. "some charities," he said, "remind me of the cold, proud, beautiful lady who, glittering with diamonds, swept forth from a charity ball at dawn, crossed the frosty sidewalk, and entered her huge limousine. "a beggar woman whined at the window: "'could ye give me a trifle for a cup of coffee, lady?' "the lady looked at the beggar reproachfully. "'good gracious!' she said. 'here you have the nerve to ask me for money when i've been tangoing for you the whole night through! home, james.' "and she snapped the window shut in the beggar's face indignantly." advice to mabel a london man just back from the states says that a little girl on the train to pittsburgh was chewing gum. not only that, but she insisted on pulling it out in long strings and letting it fall back into her mouth again. "mabel!" said her mother in a horrified whisper. "mabel, don't do that. chew your gum like a little lady." not a native a new york man took a run not long ago into connecticut, to a town where he had lived as a boy. on his native heath he accosted a venerable old chap of some eighty years, who proved to be the very person the gothamite sought to answer certain inquiries concerning the place. as the conversation proceeded the new yorker said: "i suppose you have always lived around here?" "no," said the old man, "i was born two good miles from here." he got it twice they were twins. it was bathing time and from the twins' bedroom came sounds of hearty laughter and loud crying. their father went up to find the cause. "what's the matter up here?" he inquired. the laughing twin pointed to his weeping brother. "nothing," he giggled, "only nurse has given alexander two baths and hasn't given me any at all." too much one of the scottish golf clubs gives a dinner each year to the youngsters it employs as caddies. at the feast last year one of the boys disdained to use any of the forks he found at his place, and loaded his food into himself with his knife. when the ice-cream course was reached and he still used his knife, a boy who sat opposite to him, and who could stand it no longer, shouted: "great scot! look at skinny, usin' his iron all the way round!" the dignities of office this story--which is perhaps true and perhaps not--is being told in many italian messrooms. on one of his royal tours, king victor emmanuel spent the night in a small country town, where the people showed themselves unusually eager in caring for his comfort. so when he had gone to bed, he was surprised to be wakened by a servant who wanted to put clean sheets on his bed. however, he waited good-naturedly while it was done, and wished the servant good-night. he had dozed off to sleep, when he was roused for the second time by a rap on the door; and the servant reappeared, asking to change the sheets again. naturally, the king asked why the change was made so often. the servant answered reverently, "for oneself, one changes the sheets every week; for an honored friend, every day; but for a king, every hour." fame a long island teacher was recounting the story of red riding hood. after describing the woods and the wild animals that flourished therein, she added: "suddenly red riding hood heard a great noise. she turned about, and what do you suppose she saw standing there, gazing at her and showing all its sharp, white teeth?" "teddy roosevelt!" volunteered one of the boys. no peace for him willie was out walking with his mother, when she thought she saw a boy on the other side of the street making faces at her darling. "willie," asked mother, "is that horrid boy making faces at you?" "he is," replied willie, giving his coat a tug. "now, mother, don't start any peace talk--you just hold my coat for about five minutes." boiled not long ago the editor of an english paper ordered a story of a certain length, but when the story arrived he discovered that the author had written several hundred words too many. the paper was already late in going to press so there was no alternative--the story must be condensed to fit the allotted space. therefore the last few paragraphs were cut down to a single sentence. it read thus: "the earl took a scotch high-ball, his hat, his departure, no notice of his pursuers, a revolver out of his hip pocket, and finally, his life." forced into it even the excessive politeness of some men may be explained on purely practical grounds. of a certain suburbanite, a friend said: "i heard him speaking most beautifully of his wife to another lady on the train just now. rather unusual in a man these days." "not under the circumstances," said the other man. "that was a new cook he was escorting out." hoodooed appealing to a lady for aid, an old darky told her that through the dayton flood he had lost everything he had in the world, including his wife and six children. "why," said the lady, "i have seen you before and i have helped you. were you not the colored man who told me you had lost your wife and six children by the sinking of the _titanic_?" "yeth, ma'am, dat wuz me. mos' unfort'nit man dat eber wuz. kain't keep a fam'ly nohow." safe deposit an old lady, who was sitting on the porch of a hotel at asheville, north carolina, where also there were a number of youngsters, was approached by one of them with this query: "can you crack nuts?" the old lady smiled and said: "no, my dear, i can't. i lost all my teeth years ago." "then," said the boy, extending two hands full of walnuts, "please hold these while i go and get some more." the matter with kansas governor capper, of kansas, recently pointed out what he deemed to be the "matter with kansas." the average kansan, he said, gets up in the morning in a house made in michigan, at the sound of an alarm clock made in illinois; puts on his missouri overalls; washes his hands with cincinnati soap in a pennsylvania basin; sits down to a grand rapids table; eats battle creek breakfast food and chicago bacon cooked on a michigan range; puts new york harness on a span of missouri mules and hitches them to a south bend wagon, or starts up his illinois tractor with a moline plow attached. after the day's work he rides down town in a detroit automobile, buys a box of st. louis candy for his wife, and spins back home, where he listens to music "canned" in new jersey. the better way charles m. schwab, congratulated in pittsburgh on a large war order contract which he had just received from one of the warring nations, said: "some people call it luck, but they are mistaken. whatever success i have is due to hard work and not to luck. "i remember a new york business man who crossed the ocean with me one winter when the whole country was suffering from hard times. "'and you. mr. schwab,' the new yorker said, 'are, like the rest of us, i suppose, hoping for better things?' "'no, my friend,' i replied. 'no, i am not hoping for better things. i've got my sleeves rolled up and i'm working for them.'" a horse psychologist twice as the horse-bus slowly wended its way up the steep hill the door at the rear opened and slammed. at first those inside paid little heed, but the third time they demanded to know why they should be disturbed in this fashion. "whist!" cautioned the driver. "don't spake so loud. he'll overhear us." "who?" "the hoss. spake low. shure oo'm desavin' the crayture. every toime he 'ears th' door close he thinks wan o' yez is gettin' down ter walk up th' hill, an' that sort o' raises 'is sperrits." still not satisfied mrs. higgins was an incurable grumbler. she grumbled at everything and everyone. but at last the vicar thought he had found something about which she could make no complaint; the old lady's crop of potatoes was certainly the finest for miles round. "ah, for once you must be well pleased," he said, with a beaming smile, as he met her in the village street. "everyone's saying how splendid your potatoes are this year." the old lady glowered at him as she answered: "they're not so poor. but where's the bad ones for the pigs?" a coaxer the latest american church device for "raising the wind" is what a religious paper describes as "some collection-box." the inventor hails from oklahoma. if a member of the congregation drops in a twenty-five cent piece or a coin of larger value, there is silence. if it is a ten-cent piece a bell rings, a five-cent piece sounds a whistle, and a cent fires a blank cartridge. if any one pretends to be asleep when the box passes, it awakens him with a watchman's rattle, and a kodak takes his portrait. automatic "efficiency" a young lady telephone operator recently attended a watch-night service and fell asleep during the sermon. at the close the preacher said, "we will now sing hymn number three forty-one--three forty-one." the young lady, just waking in time to hear the number, yawned and said, "the line is busy." the winner while chopin probably did not time his "minute waltz" to exactly sixty seconds, some auditors insist that it lives up to its name. mme. theodora surkow-ryder on one of her tours played the "minute waltz" as an encore, first telling her audience what it was. thereupon a huge man in a large riding suit took out an immense silver watch, held it open almost under her nose, and gravely proceeded to time her. the pianist's fingers flew along the keys, and her anxiety was rewarded when the man closed the watch with a loud slap and said in a booming voice: "gosh! she's done it." taxed to capacity a friendly american who has just arrived in london brings a story of edison. the great inventor was present at a dinner in new york to which count bernstorff had also found his way. the count spoke of the number of new ships which germany had built since the war began. he was listened to respectfully enough, although a little coldly, because the sympathies of the party were not with him or germany. when he had stopped, edison looked up and said in a still, small voice, and with a serious face: "must not the kiel canal be very crowded, your excellency?" gastronomical a man and a woman entered a café. "do you want oysters, louise?" asked the man, as he glanced over the bill of fare. "yes, george," answered the woman, "and i want a hassock, too." george nodded, and as he handed the waiter his written order, he said: "bring a hassock for the lady." "yes, sir," answered the waiter, "one hassock." a moment later the waiter, apparently puzzled, approached the man, and leaning over him, said: "excuse me, sir, but i have only been here two days and do not want to make any mistakes. will the lady have the hassock broiled or fried?" a literal censor joe t. marshall, formerly of kansas, recently became the father of an eight-pound boy, and wished to cable the news to his family in america. the censor refused to allow the message to go through. "what's the matter?" marshall asked indignantly. "we aren't permitted to announce the arrival of americans in france!" up to him david belasco was smiling at the extravagant attentions that are lavished by the rich upon pet dogs. he spoke of the canine operations for appendicitis, the canine tooth crownings, the canine wardrobes, and then he said: "how servants hate these pampered curs! at a house where i was calling one cold day the fat and pompous butler entered the drawing-room and said: "'did you ring, madam?' "'yes, harrison, i wish you to take fido out walking for two hours.' "harrison frowned slightly. 'but fido won't follow me, madam,' he said. "'then, harrison, you must follow fido.'" not in the tactics a company of very new soldiers were out on a wide heath, practising the art of taking cover. the officer in charge of them turned to one of the rawest of his men. "get down behind that hillock there," he ordered, sternly, "and mind, not a move or a sound!" a few minutes later he looked around to see if they were all concealed, and, to his despair, observed something wriggling behind the small mound. even as he watched the movements became more frantic. "i say, you there!" he shouted, angrily, "do you know you are giving our position away to the enemy?" "yes, sir," said the recruit, in a voice of cool desperation, "and do you know that this is an anthill?" a guilty conscience a young fellow who was the crack sprinter of his town--somewhere in the south--was unfortunate enough to have a very dilatory laundress. one evening, when he was out for a practice run in his rather airy and abbreviated track costume, he chanced to dash past the house of that dusky lady, who at the time was a couple of weeks in arrears with his washing. he had scarcely reached home again when the bell rang furiously and an excited voice was wafted in from the porch: "foh de lawd's sake! won't you-all tell marse bob please not to go out no moh till i kin git his clo'es round to him?'" making it fit "did you hear about the defacement of mr. skinner's tombstone?" asked mr. brown a few days after the funeral of that eminent captain of industry. "no, what was it?" inquired his neighbor curiously. "someone added the word 'friends' to the epitaph." "what was the epitaph?" "'he did his best.'" a lesson in manners this is the way the agent got a lesson in manners. he called at a business office, and saw nobody but a prepossessing though capable-appearing young woman. "where's the boss?" he asked abruptly. "what is your business?" she asked politely. "none of yours!" he snapped. "i got a proposition to lay before this firm, and i want to talk to somebody about it." "and you would rather talk to a gentleman?" "yes." "well," answered the lady, smiling sweetly, "so would i. but it seems that it's impossible for either one of us to have our wish, so we'll have to make the best of it. state your business, please!" an unfortunate affair "look here," yelled the infuriated bridegroom of a day, dashing wildly into the editor's room of the country weekly; "what do you mean by such an infernal libel on me in your account of our wedding?" "what's the matter?" asked the editor calmly. "didn't we say that after your wedding tour you would make your home at the old manse?" "yes," howled the newly made benedict, "and just see how you've spelled it." and the editor looked and read: after their wedding tour the newly married couple will make their home at the old man's. curiosity "children," said the sunday-school superintendent, "this picture illustrates to-day's lesson: lot was warned to take his wife and daughters and flee out of sodom. here are lot and his daughters, with his wife just behind them; and there is sodom in the background. now, has any girl or boy a question before we take up the study of the lesson? well, susie?" "pleathe, thir," lisped the latest graduate from the infant class, "where ith the flea?" the simple political life the american characteristic which demands ornaments and "fixin's" to all ceremonies, as contrasted with genuine simplicity, is thus scored by judge pettingill of chanute: "my ambition in life," said the judge, "is to be the organizer of a lodge without flub-dub, gold tassel uniforms, red tape ritual, a regiment of officers with high-sounding titles, a calisthenic drill of idiotic signs and grips, a goat, and members who call each other 'brother.' i would name the presiding officer 'it,' and its first by-law would provide for the expulsion of the member who advocated the wearing of a lodge pin." pigtails and moustaches when wu ting fang was minister to the united states from china, he visited chicago. a native of the windy city said to him at a reception: "mr. wu, i see there is a movement in china to abolish the pigtails you wear. why do you wear the foolish thing, anyhow?" "well," countered mr. wu, "why do you wear your foolish moustache?" "oh, that's different," said the chicago man; "you see i've got an impossible mouth." "so i should suppose," retorted mr. wu, "judging from some of your remarks." his search for the practical "now," it was explained to aladdin, "this is a wonderful lamp. rub it and a genie appears." "i see little to that," he replied. "what i want is a lamp that won't go out on my automobile and get me pinched by a traffic cop." hard up for wind everything in the dear old village seemed the same to jones after his absence of four years. the old church, the village pump, the ducks on the green, the old men smoking while their wives gossip--it was so restful after the rush and bustle of the city. suddenly he missed something. "where's hodge's windmill?" he asked in surprise. "i can only see one mill, and there used to be two." the native gazed thoughtfully round, as if to verify the statement. then he said slowly: "they pulled one down. there weren't enough wind for two on'em!" he knew bryan at a recent political convention two of the delegates were discussing the religious affiliations of prominent statesmen, when one of them, a baptist, observed to the other, who was a methodist: "i understand that william jennings bryan has turned baptist." "what?" exclaimed the methodist. "why, that can't be!" "yes, it is," persisted the baptist. "no, sir," continued the methodist; "it can't be true. to become a baptist one must be entirely immersed." "yes, that is very true; but what has that to do with it?" "simply this," returned the methodist: "mr. bryan would never consent to disappear from public view as long as that." his need john hendricks, a singular western character, awoke one morning to find himself wealthy through a rich mining strike. soon he concluded to broaden his mind by travel, and decided to go to europe boarding the ship, he singled out the captain and said: "captain, if i understand the way this here ship is constructed it's got several water-tight compartments?" "yes, sir." "water's all on the outside--can't none get in nohow?" "no, sir." "captain," said hendricks, decidedly, "i want one o' them compartments--i don't care what it costs extry." all or nothing senator jim nye of nebraska tells this story to illustrate some of the evils of prohibition. the senator said, apropos of his visit to a "dry" town. "after a long speech and then talking to all the magnates of the neighborhood, i went to bed dry as a powder horn. i could not sleep and as soon as it was daylight i went down into the dining room: as i sat there the mistress of the house came in and said 'senator, you are up early.' i said: 'yes, living in the west so long, i am afflicted with malaria, and i could not sleep.' she went over to a tea caddy, took out a bottle and said: 'senator, this is a prohibition town, you know, but we have malaria and we find this a good antidote. i know it will do you good.'" the senator seized the bottle with avidity and thankfulness. he settled again in his seat by the window, more in harmony with the world. then the head of the house came in and said: "senator, you are up early." he replied: "yes, malaria, you know." "well," said the old gentleman, "we have a cure for that. this is a prohibition town; it is good thing for our work people; but i have a little safety in my locker," and he produced a bottle. after the old gentleman left the two sons came in and said: "senator, are you fond of livestock?" the senator by that time was fond of everything and everybody. he said: "yes, i love livestock, i have plenty of it on my ranch." they said: "come out to the barn and we will show you some." they took him out to the barn, closed the doors, and said: "senator, we know you must have had a hard time last night. we have no livestock but we have a bottle in the haymow." senator nye then said: "the trouble with a prohibition town is that when you most need it you can't get it, and when it does come it is like a western flood, too much of it." business is business eugene was a very mischievous little boy and his mother's patience was worn to the limit. she had spoken very nicely to him several times without effect. finally she said: "you are a perfect little heathen!" "do you mean it?" demanded eugene. "indeed, i do," said the mother. "then, mother," said the boy, "why can't i keep that ten cents a week you gimme for the sunday-school collection? i guess i'm as hard up as any of the rest of 'em." the bootblack's generosity when paderewski was on his last visit to america he was in a boston suburb, when he was approached by a bootblack who called: "shine?" the great pianist looked down at the youth whose face was streaked with grime and said: "no, my lad, but if you will wash your face i will give you a quarter." "all right!" exclaimed the youth, who forthwith ran to a neighboring trough and made his ablutions. when he returned paderewski held out the quarter, which the boy took but immediately handed back, saying: "here, mister, you take it yourself and get your hair cut." on duty elsewhere an irish soldier had lost an eye in battle, but was allowed to continue in the service on consenting to have a glass eye in its place. one day, however, he appeared on parade without his artificial eye. "nolan," said the officer, "you are not properly dressed. why is your artificial eye not in its place?" "sure, sir," replied nolan, "i left it in me box to keep an eye on me kit while i'm on parade." the kaiser's last word arthur train, the novelist, put down a german newspaper at the century club, in new york, with an impatient grunt. "it says here," he explained, "that it is germany who will speak the last word in this war." then the novelist laughed angrily and added: "yes, germany will speak the last word in the war, and that last word will be '_kamerad!_'" a revised classic--the sleeping beauty when the prince entered the enchanted castle he noticed about it an air of unusual quiet, as if there were a meeting of the american peace society. "everybody is asleep," he muttered. "there isn't a single defense gun mounted on a parapet. i don't believe there is a rifle on the premises. no ammunition, either." walking rapidly upstairs, he saw a couple of servants lying prone. "this reminds me of the time i lived in the suburbs," he continued. entering one of the sleeping-rooms, he discovered the celebrated beauty, sound asleep, in the four-poster. "this must be a frame-up," he observed. "i see it all. if i wake her up, i shall have to marry her." he was about to pass down the stairs, when a voice stopped him. "well, why not?" said the voice. "the young woman has not received a modern education. she cannot drive a motor, play bridge, insist upon your going to the most fashionable restaurant and ordering eight dollars' worth of worthless imitation food, dance like a fiend, and spend money generally like the manager of an international war. she's been asleep so long that she might be just the one you want." "by jove!" exclaimed the prince. "and to think i might have gone off without her!" so saying, he did the proper thing. specially endowed "some un sick at yo' house, mis' carter?" inquired lila. "ah seed de doctah's kyar eroun' dar yestidy." "it was for my brother, lila." "sho! what's he done got de matter of 'im?" "nobody seems to know what the disease is. he can eat and sleep as well as ever, he stays out all day long on the veranda in the sun, and seems as well as anyone, but he can't do any work at all." "he cain't--yo' says he cain't work?" "not a stroke." "law, mis' carter, dat ain't no disease what yo' broth' got. dat's a gif!" no joque the difficulties of western journalism are illustrated by the following notice from _the rocky mountain cyclone_: ad astra per aspera we begin the publication ov the _rocy mountain cyclone_ with some phew diphiculties in the way. the type phounder phrom whom we bought our outphit phor this printing ophice phailed to supply us with any ephs or cays, and it will be phour or phive weex bephore we can get any. we have ordered the missing letters and will have to get along without them until they come. we don't lique the loox ov this variety ov spelling any better than our readers, but mistaix will happen in the best ov regulated phamilies, and iph the ephs and c's and x's and q's hold out we shall ceep (sound the c hard) the _cyclone_ whirling aphter a phashion till the sorts arrive. it is no joque to us, it's a serious aphair. elimination to meet every situation which arises, and to do it in diplomatic language, is only the gift of the elect: "waiter, bring me two fried eggs, some ham, a cup of coffee, and a roll," said a traveler in a city of the middle west. "bring me the same," said his friend, "but eliminate the eggs." "yessir," said the waiter. in a moment he came back, leaned confidentially and penitently over the table, and whispered: "we 'ad a bad accident just before we opened this mornin', sir, and the 'andle of the liminator got busted off. will you take yer eggs fried, same as this 'ere gentleman?" his great ambition no true american likes to acknowledge that he has a superior, even in his own family. little sydney had reached the mature age of three and was about to discard petticoats for the more manly raiment of knickerbockers. the mother had determined to make the occasion a memorable one. the breakfast table was laden with good things when the newly breeched infant was led into the room. "ah!" exclaimed the proud mother, "now you are a little man!" sydney, thoughtfully displaying his garments to their full advantage, edged close to his mother and whispered, "can i call pa bill now?" guide our boys in france need little guidance to become on good terms with the french girls. the following hints at conversation have therefore been made as simple as possible: bong swah, mad-mwa-zell! vou zay tray beautiful. kesker say votr name? zhe swee edward jones. vooley voo take a walk? eecy ate oon fine place to sit down. bokoo moon to-night, nace paw? avay voo ever studied palmistry? donney mwa votr hand. votr hand ay tray soft! dahn lay zaytah unee are bokoo girls, may voo zay more beautiful than any of them. chay mwa zhe nay pah seen a girl that could touch voo! voo zay oon peach! le coleur de votr yer ay tray beautiful. votr dress ay bokoo dress. donney mwa oon kiss? zhe voo zame! apprehending the kaiser early in the war the kaiser was haled before a virginia court. at least that was the intention of charles l. zoll, justice of the peace of broad run district, loudoun county, who delivered into the hands of the sheriff this warrant: commonwealth of virginia, county of loudoun, to wit: to the sheriff of the said county: wheras, woodrow wilson has this day made oath before me, a justice of said court, that william hohan zollern, alias wilhelm, has at various times and places between july, , and november, , committed murder, assault, and arson upon the bodies of various people and sundry properties, against the peace and dignity of the government of the united states, the state of virginia and broad run district in particular. these are therefore in the name of the commonwealth of virginia and the government of the united states to command you to forthwith apprehend the said william hohan zollern, alias kaiser wilhelm, and bring his body before me at my office in aushburn, va., to answer said charges, and there and then be dealt with according to law. and by the power vested in me i hereby extend your jurisdiction to the continent of europe and i do by these presents declare the said william hohan zollern, alias kaiser wilhelm, to be an outlaw, and offer as a reward for his apprehension three barrels of corn, five bushels of potatoes and meat of ham, said ham to weigh not less than twenty-one pounds nor more than thirty-five pounds. and you are moreover required to summon marshal joffre, albert, king of the belgians; victor emanuel of italy and george v to appear at same time and place as witnesses in behalf of the commonwealth touching the matter said complaint. given under my hand and seal this th day of november, . charles l. zoll, justice of the peace. justice to t. r. in the english royal library at windsor, in the centre of the magazine table, there is a large album of pictures of many eminent and popular men and women of the day. this book is divided into sections--a section for each calling or profession. some years ago prince edward, in looking through the book, came across the pages devoted to the pictures of the rulers of the various nations. prominently placed among these was a large photograph of colonel roosevelt. "father," asked prince edward, placing his finger on the colonel's picture, "mr. roosevelt is a very clever man, isn't he?" "yes, child," answered king george with a smile. "he is a great and good man. in some respects i look upon him as a genius." a few days later, king george, casually glancing through the album, noticed that president roosevelt's photograph had been removed and placed in the section devoted to "men and women of the time." on asking the prince whether he had removed the picture, the latter solemnly replied: "yes, sir. you told me the other day that you thought mr. roosevelt a genius, so i took him away from the kings and emperors and put him among the famous people." he was not a prohibitionist when the question of america's being prepared for war was uppermost representative thomas heflin, of alabama, told the following story to illustrate his belief that we ought always to be ready: "there was an old fellow down in north alabama and out in the mountains; he kept his jug in the hole of a log. he would go down at sundown to take a swig of mountain dew--mountain dew that had never been humiliated by a revenue officer nor insulted by a green stamp. he drank that liquid concoction that came fresh from the heart of the corn, and he glowed. one evening while he was letting the good liquor trickle down his throat he felt something touch his foot. he looked down and saw a big rattle-snake coiled ready to strike. "the old fellow took another swig of the corn, and in defiance he swept that snake with his eyes. "'strike, dern you, strike, you will never find me better prepared.'" he scorned the thought the father of a certain charming girl is well known in this town as "a very tight old gentleman." when dad recently received a young man, who for some time had been "paying attention" to the daughter, it was the old gentleman who made the first observation: "huh! so you want to marry my daughter, eh?" "yes, sir; very much, indeed." "um--let me see. can you support her in the style to which she has been accustomed?" "i can, sir," said the young man, "but i am not mean enough to do it." rivalry a young american artist who has just returned from a six months' job of driving a british ambulance on the war front in belgium brings this back straight from the trenches: "one cold morning a sign was pushed up above the german trench facing ours, only about fifty yards away, which bore in large letters the words: 'got mit uns!' one of our cockney lads, more of a patriot than a linguist, looked at this for a moment and then lampblacked a big sign of his own, which he raised on a stick. it read: 'we got mittuns, too!'" impersonal a pretty girl at an evening party was bantering a genial bachelor on his reasons for remaining single. "no-oo. i never was exactly disappointed in love," he said. "i was what you might call discouraged. you see, when i was very young i became very much enamored of a young lady of my acquaintance. i was mortally afraid to tell her of my feeling, but at length i screwed up my courage to the proposing point. i said, 'let's get married,' and she said, 'why, who'd have us?'" and he succeeded the military strategist is born not made. for example: two youngsters, one the possessor of a permit, were fishing on a certain estate when a gamekeeper suddenly darted from a thicket. the lad with the permit uttered a cry of fright, dropped his rod, and ran off at top speed. the gamekeeper was led a swift chase. then, worn out, the boy halted. the man seized him by the arm and said between pants: "have you a permit to fish on this estate?" "yes, to be sure," said the boy quietly. "you have? then show it to me." the boy drew the permit from his pocket. the man examined it and frowned in perplexity and anger. "why did you run when you had this permit?" he asked. "to let the other boy get away," was the reply. "he didn't have any." no change in shylock an old woman who lived in the country recently visited some friends in the city. during her stay she was taken to see "the merchant of venice," a play she had witnessed more than thirty years before, and which she had always had a strong desire to see again. calling next day, a friend asked her how the previous night's performance compared with that of thirty years ago. "well," she replied, "venice seems to have smartened up a bit, but that shylock is the same mean, grasping creature that he used to be." enough after all, only a feminine mind can be truly broadminded and make a correct deduction of a whole from a knowledge of a part. said a certain lady in a shop: "i want a pair of pants for my sick husband." "what size?" asked the clerk. "i don't know, but he wears a - / collar." he obeyed a certain woman demands instant and unquestioning obedience from her children. one afternoon a storm came up and she sent her little son john to close the trap leading to the flat roof of the house. "but, mother," began john. "john, i told you to shut the trap." "yes, but, mother--" "john, shut that trap!" "all right, mother, if you say so--but--" "john!" whereupon john slowly climbed the stairs and shut the trap. two hours later the family gathered for dinner, but aunt mary, who was staying with the mother, did not appear. the mother, quite anxious, exclaimed, "where can aunt mary be?" "i know," john answered triumphantly, "she is on the roof." fair warning andrew carnegie said: "i was traveling londonward on an english railway last year, and had chosen a seat in a non-smoking carriage. at a wayside station a man boarded the train, sat down in my compartment, and lighted a vile clay pipe. "this is not a smoking carriage," said i. "'all right, governor,' said the man. 'i'll just finish this pipe here.' "he finished it, then refilled it. "'see here,' i said, 'i told you this was not a smoking carriage. if you persist with that pipe i shall report you at the next station to the guard.' i handed him my card. he looked at it, pocketed it, but lighted his pipe nevertheless. at the next station, however, he changed to another compartment. "calling the guard, i told him what had occurred, and demanded that the smoker's name and address be taken. "'yes, sair,' said the guard, and hurried away. in a little while he returned. he seemed rather awed and, bending over me, said apologetically: "'do you know, sir, if i were you i would not prosecute that gent. he has just given me his card. here it is. he is mr. andrew carnegie.'" preparedness scotchmen are proverbial for their caution. mr. mactavish attended a christening where the hospitality of the host knew no bounds except the several capacities of the guests. in the midst of the celebration mr. mactavish rose up and made rounds of the company, bidding each a profound farewell. "but, sandy, man," objected the host, "ye're not goin' yet, with the evenin' just started?" "nay," said the prudent mactavish. "i'm no' goin' yet. but i'm tellin' ye good-night while i know ye all." full speed ahead he was the slowest boy on earth, and had been sacked at three places in two weeks, so his parents had apprenticed him to a naturalist. but even he found him slow. it took him two hours to give the canaries their seed, three to stick a pin through a dead butterfly, and four to pick a convolvulus. the only point about him was that he was willing. "and what," he asked, having spent a whole afternoon changing the goldfishes' water, "shall i do now, sir?" the naturalist ran his fingers through his locks. "well, robert," he replied at length, "i think you might now take the tortoise out for a run." playing safe a lady recently selecting a hat at a milliner's asked, cautiously: "is there anything about these feathers that might bring me into trouble with the bird protection society?" "oh, no, madam," said the milliner. "but did they not belong to some bird?" persisted the lady. "well, madam," returned the milliner, pleasantly, "these feathers are the feathers of a howl; and the howl, you know, madam, seein' as 'ow fond he is of mice, is more of a cat than a bird." words failed her the budding authoress had purchased a typewriter, and one morning the agent called and asked: "how do you like your new typewriter, madam?" "it's wonderful!" was the enthusiastic reply. "i wonder how i ever done my writing without it." "would you mind," asked the agent, "giving me a little testimonial to that effect?" "certainly not," she responded. "i'll do it gladly." seating herself at the machine, she pounded out the following: aafteb using thee automatid backactiom atype write, er for thre emonth %an d over. i unhesittattingly pronoun ce it tobe al ad more than th e manufacturss claim! for it. durinb the tim e been in myy possessio n $i thre month it had more th an paid paid for itse*f in thee saving off tim e and laborr? one way out one of the congregation of a church not far from boston approached her pastor with the complaint that she was greatly disturbed by the unmelodious singing of one of her neighbors. "it's positively unbearable!" she said. "that man in the pew in front of us spoils the service for me. his voice is harsh and he has no idea of a tune. can't you ask him to change his pew?" the good pastor was sorely perplexed. after a few moments' reflection, he said, "well, i naturally would feel a little delicacy on that score, especially as i should have to tell him why i asked it. but i'll tell you what i might do." here his face became illuminated by a happy thought. "i might ask him to join the choir." how war began there have been a great many explanations for war, but the following appears to have its special merits: the world was supplied with an original producer; namely, woman. woman produced babies. the babies grew up and produced tradespeople. the tradespeople produced goods with which to supply the woman. the goods, coming into competition with each other, owing to the different parts of the world wherein they were manufactured, produced trouble. the trouble produced international jealousies. the international jealousies produced war. then the war proceeded to destroy the women and babies, because it was through woman in the beginning that war became possible. matrimonial endurance a happily married woman, who had enjoyed thirty-three years of wedlock, and who was the grandmother of four beautiful little children, had an amusing old colored woman for a cook. one day when a box of especially beautiful flowers was left for the mistress the cook happened to be present, and she said: "yo' husband send you all the pretty flowers you gits, missy?" "certainly, my husband, mammy," proudly answered the lady. "glory!" exclaimed the cook, "he suttenly am holdin' out well." missing it the folks in the southern part of arkansas are not noted for their speed. a man and his wife were sitting on their porch when a funeral procession passed the house. the man was comfortably seated in a chair that was tilted back against the house, and was whittling a piece of wood. as the procession passed, he said: "i reckon ol' man williams has got about the biggest funeral that's ever been held around hyer, caroline." "a purty good-sized one, is it, bud?" queried the wife, making no effort to move. "certainly is!" bud answered. "i surely would like to see it," said the woman. "what a pity i ain't facin' that way!" the obvious place what is known in a certain town as "a shop carnival" was being held, and little girls represented the various shops. one, dressed in a white muslin frock gaily strung with garlands of bonbons, advertised the local sweet shop. when the festival began she fairly glistened with attractive confectionery, but as time wore on her decorations grew less. finally, at the end of the last act, not a bonbon was to be seen. "why, dora," cried the stage manager, "where in the world are all your decorations? have you lost them?" "oh, no," replied dora; "they're perfectly safe. i'm wearing them inside." their opportunity in war times cupid is not only active but overworked, and people who have never loved before do not wait upon ceremony. in the spring of , a certain rector, just before the service, was called to the vestibule to meet a couple who wanted to be married. he explained that there wasn't time for the ceremony then. "but," said he, "if you will be seated i will give you an opportunity at the end of the service for you to come forward, and i will then perform the ceremony." the couple agreed, and after a stirring war sermon at the proper moment the clergyman said: "will those who wish to be united in the holy bond of matrimony please come forward?" thereupon thirteen women and one man proceeded to the altar. doing his duty, but-- that time-honored subject the wife who talks and the husband who endures never ceases to be a source of inspiration to the humorist, and it is truly astonishing how many new ways it can be treated: one day the telephone bell rang with anxious persistence. the doctor answered the call of a tired husband. "yes?" he said. "oh, doctor," said a worried voice, "something seems to have happened to my wife. her mouth seems set and she can't say a word." "why, she may have lockjaw," said the medical man. "do you think so? well, if you are up this way some time next week you might step in and see what you can do for her." anticipating the pleasure will hogg of texas says that down in houston one monday morning a negro boy in his employ came to him with a request. "boss," said the darky, "i'd lak to git off nex' friday fur the day." "what for?" inquired hogg. "got to go to a fun'el." "whose funeral is it?" "my uncle's." "when did your uncle die?" "lawd, boss, he ain't daid yit!" "then how do you know his funeral is going to take place on friday?" "'case dey's gwine hang him thursday!" his complaint to be truthful and at the same time diplomatic is one of the rarest of combinations, and only a small boy would be equal to it: johnny's manners had been improving at home, but at what a cost to his appetite when he had an invitation to dine at a boy friend's house! his hostess said, concernedly, when dessert was reached, "you refuse a second helping of pie? are you suffering from indigestion, johnny?" "no, ma'am; politeness." putting it up to the horse pat had just joined a horse regiment, and was undergoing the necessary practice in the riding school. after a particularly desperate attempt to unseat its rider, the horse managed to entangle a hoof in one of the stirrups. "begorra," said pat, "if you're comin' on, then i'm gettin' off!" the worm turned a party of engineers were tracing a township line across some farm lands in illinois. as chance would have it, the line passed directly through a large barn having double doors on each side of it, and they found they could continue their measurements through the barn by opening the doors and thus avoiding the dreaded détour. the owner watched their progress with considerable interest, but made no comment until they had reached the farther side of the barn, when he asked: "thet a railroad ye-all surveyin' fer?" "certainly," replied the chief. the farmer meditated a bit as he closed the barn doors behind them, when he remarked, somewhat aggressively, "i hain't got no objections ter havin' er railroad on my farm, but i'll be darned ef i'm goin' ter git up at all hours of the night ter open and shet them doors fer yer train ter go through!" makes a difference the german may understand his own point of view, but he hates exceedingly to have that point of view taken, even in part, by any one else. an official who has scrutinized the reports made by german diplomatic representatives to their government before the declaration of war furnishes this extract from one of them: "the americans are very rough. if you call one of them a liar he does not argue the matter after the manner of a german gentleman, but brutally knocks you down. the americans have absolutely no _kultur_." solving a great problem the whole irish question, and its perfect solution--at least from one side--is summed up by the reply given by an irishman to a professor, who, when they chanced to meet, said: "pat, tell me, now, what is your solution to the world problem?" "well, sor," replied pat, "i think we should have a world democracy--with an irishman for king!" diagnosed starting with a wonderful burst of oratory, the great evangelist had, after two hours' steady preaching, become rather hoarse. a little boy's mother in the congregation whispered to her son, "isn't it wonderful? what do you think of him?" "he needs a new needle," returned the boy sleepily. getting even the captain and the mate on board the _pretty polly_ were at loggerheads. they scowled whenever they met, and seized opportunities of scoring off each other with fearful glee. each took a turn at making the day's entries in the log-book, and the mate, when making his entries, was very surprised to find, in the captain's handwriting, the words: "june nd, .--mate drunk." he stared at it wrathfully a moment, then a slow grin broke over his face. he took his pen and wrote: "june rd, .--captain sober." knew his business a bellhop passed through the hall of the st. francis hotel whistling loudly. "young man," said manager woods sternly, "you should know that it is against the rules of this hotel for an employee to whistle while on duty." "i am not whistling, sir," replied the boy, "i'm paging mrs. jones's dog." then things happened though she was old she wasn't by any means incapable of supporting herself; and at the fresh, youthful age of seventy-nine she went into the business of providing teas for perspiring cyclists, and storing the cycles of those travellers who decided that they had better return by train. her first customers were four young men who left their cycles in her charge while they explored the neighborhood. for each cycle she gave them a ticket with a number upon it. late at night the tourists returned. the old woman led them to their cycles with a smile of self-satisfaction on her face. "you'll know which is which," she told them, "because i've fastened duplicate tickets on them." they gratefully thanked her; and when they found their cycles they discovered that the tickets were neatly pinned into each back tire! wasn't calling her dear desirous of buying a camera, a certain fair young woman inspected the stock of a local shopkeeper. "is this a good one?" she asked, as she picked up a dainty little machine. "what is it called?" "that's the belvedere," said the handsome young shopman politely. there was a chilly silence. then the young woman drew herself coldly erect, fixed him with an icy stare, and asked again: "er--and can you recommend the belva?" something! a young irishman recently applied for a job as life-saver at the municipal baths. as he was about six feet six inches tall and well built, the chief life-saver gave him an application blank to fill out. "by the way," said the chief life-saver, "can you swim?" "no," replied the applicant, "but i wade like blazes!" not enough scenery the negro stevedores of the southern states of the american union have been conscripted and shipped in great numbers to ports in france for unloading the incoming american steamers. their cheerfulness has quite captivated the gayety loving french, who never tire of listening to their laughter and their ragtime songs. when the "bosses" want to get a dockyard job done in double-quick time they usually order a brass band to play lively negro tunes alongside the ship. every stevedore thereupon "steps lively," and apparently his heavy labor becomes to him a light and joyous task. one stevedore, to whom the atlantic voyage had been a test, exclaimed: "mah goodness! ah never knew dere was so much water between dem tew countries! dere ain't enuf scenery for me, no sah, an' if de united states don't build a bridge across dat dere atlantic, ah's agwine to be a frenchman for life." ian hay's fate captain "ian hay," on one of his war lecture tours, entered a barber's shop in a small town to have his hair cut. "stranger in the town, sir?" the barber asked. "yes, i am," ian hay replied. "anything going on here to-night?" "there's a war lecture by an english fighter named hay," said the barber; "but if you go you'll have to stand, for every seat in the hall is sold out." "well, now," said ian hay, "isn't that provoking? it's always my luck to have to stand when that chap hay lectures." camouflage after a "push" some of the lads of the northumberland fusiliers who entered one of the captured villages set about making things comfortable for themselves. seeing a large wooden box some distance away, they made tracks to commandeer it on the way back an officer met them and queried: "here, lads, where are you going with that?" "this old egg-box, sir--we're taking it along to our dug-out, sir," one of them explained. "egg-box be hanged!" retorted the officer. "why, that's the general's roll-top desk!" happy ending wanted a charming, auburn-haired nurse tells the story. she bent over the bed of one badly wounded man and asked him if he would like anything to read. the soldier fixed a humorous eye on her and said, "miss, can you get me a nice novel? i'd like one about a golden-haired girl and a wounded soldier with a happy ending." after this the pretty nurse looks down contemptuously on civilian compliments. a skeptic a colored baptist was exhorting. "now, breddern and sistern, come up to de altar and have yo' sins washed away." all came up but one man. "why, brudder jones, don't yo' want yo' sins washed away?" "i done had my sins washed away." "yo' has? where yo' had yo' sins washed away?" "ober at de methodist church." "ah, brudder jones, yo' ain't been washed, yo' jes' been dry cleaned." a person of discernment a quaker had got himself into trouble with the authorities, and a constable called to escort him to the lock-up. "is your husband in?" he inquired of the good wife who came to the door. "my husband will see thee," she replied. "come in." the officer entered, was bidden to make himself at home, and was hospitably entertained for half an hour, but no husband appeared. at last he grew impatient. "look here," said he, "i thought you said your husband would see me." "he has seen thee," was the calm reply, "but he did not like thy look, and so he's gone another way." an old hand after two months at rockford private nelson got his leave at last, and made what he conceived to be the best use of his holiday by getting married. on the journey back at the station he gave the gateman his marriage certificate in mistake for his return railway ticket. the official studied it carefully, and then said: "yes, my boy, _you've_ got a ticket for a long, wearisome journey, but not on this road." a true optimist it was christmas eve in camp, and very cold at that. there was a certain amount of confusion owing to the christmas festivities and leave, and so forth, and one man was unable to find any of his outer garments. he wandered about, asking all his mates if they knew where they were. "has any one seen my b-b-blanket?" he demanded, and was told that no one had. "has any one seen my t-t-trousers?" no answer. the unfortunate tommy scratched his head for a moment. "well, i'm jolly g-g-glad i have got a nice w-w-warm pair of sus-sus-suspenders." tit for tat the young couple were dawdling over a late breakfast after a night at an ultra smart party. "was it you i kissed in the conservatory last night?" hubby inquired. she looked at him reminiscently: "about what time was it?" too good to be wasted a lady of great beauty and attractiveness, who was an ardent admirer of ireland, once crowned her praise of it at a party by saying: "i think i was meant for an irishwoman." "madam," rejoined a witty son of erin, who happened to be present, "thousands would back me in saying you were meant for an irishman." he understood the pale-faced passenger looked out of the car window with exceeding interest. finally he turned to his seat mate. "you likely think i never rode in the cars before," he said, "but the fact is, pardner, i just got out of prison this mornin' and it does me good to look around. it is goin' to be mighty tough, though, facin' my old-time friends. i s'pose, though, you ain't got much idea how a man feels in a case like that." "perhaps i have a better idea of your feelings than you think," said the other gentleman, with a sad smile. "i am just getting home from congress." touchy lysander, a farm hand, was recounting his troubles to a neighbor. among other things he said that the wife of the farmer who employed him was "too close for any use." "this very mornin'," said he, "she asked me: 'lysander, do you know how many pancakes you have et this mornin'?' i said, 'no, ma'am; i ain't had no occasion to count 'em,' 'well,' says she, 'that last one was the twenty-sixth.' and it made me so mad i jest got up from the table and went to work without my breakfast!" the intelligent cat two suburban gardeners were swearing vengeance on cats. "it appears to me," one said, "that they seem to pick out your choicest plants to scratch out of the ground." "there's a big tomcat," the other said, "that fetches my plants out and then sits and actually defies me." "why don't you hurl a brick at him?" asked the first speaker. "that's what makes me mad," was the reply. "i can't. he gets on top of my greenhouse to defy me." pride a little boy was on his knees recently one night, and auntie, staying at the house, was present. "it is a pleasure," she said to him, afterward, "to hear you saying your prayers so well. you speak so earnestly and seriously, and mean what you say, and care about it." "ah!" he answered, "ah, but, auntie, you should hear me gargle!" robbing himself "germany's claim that she imports nothing, buys only of herself, and so is growing rich from the war, is a dreadful fallacy." the speaker was herbert c. hoover, chairman of the american food board. "germany," he went on, "is like the young man who wisely thought he'd grow his own garden stuff. this young man had been digging for about an hour when his spade turned up a quarter. ten minutes later he found another quarter. then he found a dime. then he found a quarter again. "'by gosh!' he said, 'i've struck a silver mine,' and, straightening up, he felt something cold slide down his leg. another quarter lay at his feet. he grasped the truth: there was a hole in his pocket." pessimists out at the front two regiments, returning to the trenches, chanced to meet. there was the usual exchange of wit. "when's the bloomin' war goin' to end?" asked one north-country lad. "dunno," replied one of the south-shires. "we've planted some daffydils in front of our trench." "bloomin' optimists!" snorted the man from the north. "we've planted acorns." delayed the way they take air raids in england is illustrated by the following conversation from _punch_: "just ask dr. jones to run round to my place right away. our cook's fallen downstairs--broke her leg; the housemaid's got chicken-pox, and my two boys have been knocked down by a taxi." "i'm sorry, sir, but the doctor was blown up in yesterday's air raid, and he won't be down for a week." how mary lost a tip soon after a certain judge of the supreme court of rhode island had been appointed he went down into one of the southern counties to sit for a week. he was well satisfied with himself. "mary," he said to the irish waitress at the hotel where he was stopping, "you've been in this country how long?" "two years, sir," she said. "do you like it?" "sure, it's well enough," answered mary. "but, mary," the judge continued, "you have many privileges in this country which you'd not have in ireland. now at home you would never be in a room with a justice of the supreme court, and chatting familiarly with him." "but, sure, sir," said mary, quite in earnest, "you'd never be a judge at home." a little too thrifty secretary of war baker tells a story of a country youth who was driving to the county fair with his sweetheart when they passed a booth where fresh popcorn was for sale. "my! abner, ain't that nice?" said the girl. "ain't what nice?" asked abner. "why, the popcorn, it smells so awfully good," replied the girl. "it does smell kind o' fine," drawled the youth. "i'll jest drive a little closer so you can get a better smell." beyond him a young couple, speeding along the country highway, were stopped by the justice of the peace. "ten and costs for reckless driving," announced the justice. "listen," said the young man, "judge, we were on our way to have you marry us." "twenty and costs, then!" cried the justice. "you're more reckless than i thought you were." its name in a kindergarten class flags were shown, and in answer to a question a little girl gave the response that was expected of her: "this is the flag of my country." "and what is the name of your country?" was the next question. "'tis of thee," was the prompt reply. the original method katherine and margaret found themselves seated next each other at a dinner-party and immediately became confidential. "molly told me that you told her that secret i told you not to tell her," whispered margaret. "oh, isn't she a mean thing!" gasped katherine. "why, i told her not to tell you!" "well," returned margaret, "i told her i wouldn't tell you she told me--so don't tell her i did." give us the chance when booth tarkington was visiting naples he was present at an eruption of vesuvius. "you haven't anything like that in america, have you?" said an italian friend with pride. "no, we haven't," replied tarkington; "but we've got niagara falls that would put the d----d thing out in five minutes." a delightful experience! we often take delight in fancying what we would do if things were really reversed in this oftentimes trying world: and particularly what we would do to the president of our bank. here is a little story which gives the pleasant variety: "i have come in to borrow some money from you," said the bank president timidly, as he stood before one of his depositors, nervously twirling his hat in his hand. "ah, yes," said the depositor, gazing at him severely. "but you don't expect to get it, do you?" "i had hoped to." "what collateral have you to offer?" "my bank with all the money in it." "all the people in the bank?" "yes." "please say 'yes, sir.' it is more respectful." "thank you, sir." "um! ah! will you put in your own family?" "yes, sir, i'll throw in my family also." "your prospects in life? don't hesitate, man. remember you are up against it." "well, yes, sir." "how much money do you want?" "one thousand dollars." "dear me! for such a small amount as that i shall have to charge you at least six per cent. if you were a regular millionaire and wanted, say, half a million, i could let you have it for three or four per cent." "yes, sir. i appreciate your generosity." the depositor handed the president of the bank, who was now almost completely bathed in a cold perspiration, a blank form. "here," he said, "sign this." "do you wish me to read it first, sir?" "what! read something you wouldn't understand anyway? no. i'll tell you what's in it. it mortgages yourself, your bank, all the people in it, your family, all your property, and your soul sign here." the bank president signed with trembling fingers, got a piece of paper which entitled him to the privilege of entertaining a thousand dollars for six months at his own expense, and withdrew. then the depositor, smiling to himself and rubbing his hands, said: "aha! i'll teach these fellows to know their places!" dad was wise when the conversation turned to the subject of romantic marriage this little anecdote was volunteered by h.m. asker, a north dakota politician: "so you were married ten years ago. took place in the church, i suppose, with bridesmaids, flowers, cake, and the brass band?" "no; it was an elopement." "an elopement, eh? did the girl's father follow you?" "yes, and he has been with us ever since." kindness private simpkins had returned from the front, to find that his girl had been walking out with another young man, and naturally asked her to explain her frequent promenades in the town with the gentleman. "well, dear," she replied, "it was only kindness on his part. he just took me down every day to the library to see if you were killed." more scotch thrift harry lauder tells the following story about a funeral in glasgow and a well-dressed stranger who took a seat in one of the mourning coaches. the other three occupants of the carriage were rather curious to know who he was, and at last one of them began to question him. the dialogue went like this: "ye'll be a brither o' the corp?" "no, i'm no' a brither o' the corp." "weel, ye'll be his cousin?" "no, i'm no' a cousin." "at ony rate ye'll be a frien' o' the corp?" "no, i'm no' that either. ye see, i've no' been very weel masel," the stranger explained complacently, "an' my doctor has ordered me carriage exercise, so i thocht this would be the cheapest way to tak' it." worth a chance the small boy stood at the garden gate and howled and howled and howled. a passing lady paused beside him. "what's the matter, little man?" she asked in a kindly voice. "o-o-oh!" wailed the youngster. "pa and ma won't take me to the pictures to-night." "but don't make such a noise," said the dame, admonishingly. "do they ever take you when you cry like that?" "s-sometimes they do, an'--an' sometimes they d-d-don't," bellowed the boy. "but it ain't no trouble to yell!" change for the better "we were bounding along," said a recent traveller on a local south african single-line railway, "at the rate of about seven miles an hour, and the whole train was shaking terribly. i expected every moment to see my bones protruding through my skin. passengers were rolling from one end of the car to the other. i held on firmly to the arms of the seat. presently we settled down a bit quieter; at least i could keep my hat on and my teeth didn't chatter. "there was a quiet-looking man opposite me. i looked up with a ghastly smile, wishing to appear cheerful, and said: "'we are going a bit smoother, i see.' "'yes,' he said, 'we're off the track now,'" big chances both ways the famous physician and the eminent clergyman were deep in a discussion which threatened to become acrimonious. "you see," said the minister sarcastically, "you medical men know so much about the uncertainties of this world that i should think you would not want to live." "oh, i don't know," responded the physician caustically. "you clergymen tell us so much about the uncertainties of the next world that we don't want to die." warning to authors one of mr. kipling's trees was injured by a bus, the driver of which was also landlord of an inn. kipling wrote this man a letter of complaint, which the recipient sold to one of his guests for ten shillings. again the angry author wrote, this time a more violent letter, which immediately fetched one pound. a few days later kipling called on the landlord and demanded to know why he had received no answer to his letters. "why, i was hoping you would send me a fresh one every day," was the cool reply. "they pay a great deal better than bus driving." considering father does the american woman always consider her lesser half? the following tale shows that she does, although the lady's husband undoubtedly moved in a lower sphere. she was at that period in her existence where she gave literary afternoons and called her college-graduated daughter to her side and said: "this afternoon, as i understand, we attend the current events club, where miss spindleshank corkerly of new york and washington will give us her brief and cheery synopsis of the principal world events during the last month." "yes, mother." "this evening the birth control association meets at mrs. mudhaven's, where i shall read my paper on the moral protoplasm." "yes, mother." "to-morrow morning the efficiency circle will assemble here for its weekly discussion and will be addressed by professor von skintime closhaven on the scientific curtailment of catnaps." "yes, mother." "to-morrow afternoon the superwoman's civic conference committee will take up the subject of the higher feminism, and in the evening the hygienic sex sisters will confer with the superintendent of our school system on several ideas for our schools which we have in mind." "yes, mother. that brings us up to thursday. what shall we do on that evening?" "i thought, my dear, that we would take a night off and go to the movies with your dear father." stories about james gordon bennett many are the stories told of the late james gordon bennett. one, more than any other, reveals one of his weaknesses--a disinclination to acknowledge an error. before taking up his residence abroad he frequently breakfasted at delmonico's, then downtown. one christmas morning he gave the waiter who always served him a small roll of bills. as soon as opportunity offered the waiter looked at the roll, and when he recovered his equilibrium took it to mr. delmonico. there were six $ , bills in the roll. the proprietor, sensing that a mistake had been made, put them in the safe. when the publisher next visited the café mr. delmonico told him the waiter had turned the money in. he added he would return it as mr. bennett departed. "why return it? didn't i give it to him?" "yes. but, of course, it was a mistake. you gave him $ , ." "mr. delmonico," replied bennett, rising to his full height, "you should know by this time that james gordon bennett never makes a mistake." a pressman had just returned to work after a protracted spree. his face was battered, an eye was blackened, and an ear showed a tendency to mushroom. the night of his return was one on which mr. bennett visited the pressroom. he saw mr. bennett before mr. bennett saw him, and, daubing a handful of ink on his face, he became so busy that bennett noticed him. "who is that man?" he asked the foreman. "what do you pay him?" the foreman gave him the information. "double his salary," replied mr. bennett. "he's the only man in the place who seems to be doing any work." a dramatic critic, still a well-known writer, lost his place because he would not get his hair cut. bennett in paris asked him why he wore his hair so long and was told because he liked it that way. an order sending him to copenhagen followed. when his return was announced by a secretary, bennett asked if he had had his hair cut, and being informed that he had not, ordered him to st. petersburg. on his return from russia, still unshorn, he was sent to the far east. "has he had his hair cut?" asked bennett when his return was once more announced. "no, sir," replied the secretary, "it's as long as ever." "then fire him," replied bennett. "he's too slow to take a hint to suit me." staying on the job in introducing the honorable w.g. mcadoo to an audience of north carolinians in the raleigh auditorium, governor t.w. bickett had occasion to refer to the north carolina trait of stick-to-it-ness. he used as an example the case of private jim webb, a green soldier and a long, lanky individual from the farm who had never been drilled in his whole life and knew even less about the usages and customs of war, so when he was conscripted into the north carolina divisions in the late war between the states, he was given only a week's drill and then assigned to duty. his regiment was in the peninsular campaign, and jim was soon put on guard duty, being given, as his first post, a place along the river bank, and cautioned to stick to his post under any conditions, to watch closely for the enemy, and to allow no one to pass who could not give the countersign. "obey your instructions," said the officer of the guard, "and i will return at two o'clock with relief. do not leave your post under any conditions." promptly at two o'clock the officer returned, to find jim gone. he searched long and diligently, but no trace of jim. finally he called, lowly at first, then louder, seeking to know if jim were in the vicinity or had been captured. finally came jim's answering voice from out in the middle of the river, "here i be." "what in the world are you doing out there?" asked the indignant officer. "did i not tell you not to leave your post?" "i hain't moved, nuther," replied the indignant jim; "the durn river's riz." business is business "may i see you privately?" the well-dressed stranger approached the mayor of the suburban town with the air of one who knew his business. when they were alone he said: "i want to apply for the position of village burglar." "village burglar!" "yes, sir. i guarantee results, i only rob one house a week. this includes a clean get-away. when a man, no matter how conscientious, attempts any more than this, he is bound to deteriorate. by employing me regularly you get the best results." "what inducements do you offer?" "your village will be advertised regularly and in the most efficient manner. i will guarantee to keep away all other burglars, thus insuring the comfort and safety of your police. i return all goods stolen. if it is necessary at any time to wound any of your citizens, i will pay half of the hospital expenses. salary five thousand a year. can furnish references." "nothing else?" "my dear sir, what more do you want?" the mayor shook his head, as rising, he indicated that the interview was over. "sorry, my friend," he said, "that i can't accept your offer, but i am just closing a contract with a man who not only will burglarize our village regularly on your terms, but also will turn over to us as a rebate one-half of the salary he gets from the burglary insurance company that employs him." his favorite beast harris dickson, on a hunting trip in sunflower county, mississippi, met an old darky who had never seen a circus in his life. when the big show came in the following season to dickson's town of vicksburg he sent for the old man and treated him to the whole thing--arrival of the trains, putting up the tents, grand free street parade, menagerie, main performance, concert, side show, peanuts, red lemonade, and all. the old darky followed his white patron through with popping eyes, but saying never a word. late in the afternoon they got back to the dickson home. "john," said dickson, "you enjoyed it?" "boss," said john fervently. "ah shore did!" "what did you like the most?" "mistah dickson," answered john, "ah shore laked hit all." "well, what impressed you most?" "well, suh, boss," he said, "ah reckin hit waz dat dere animul you calls de camuel." "the camel, eh? well, what was so remarkable about the camel?" "he suttinly is got such a noble smell!" a long story "may i ask the cause of all this excitement?" asked the stranger in the little village. "certainly," replied the countryman. "we're celebrating the birthday of the oldest inhabitant sir. she's a hundred and one to-day." "indeed! and may i ask who is that little man, with the dreadfully sad countenance, walking by the old lady's side?" "oh, that's the old lady's son-in-law, sir. he's been keeping up the payments on her life-insurance for the last thirty years!" a dual reputation as grantland rice tells the story, a certain distinguished english actor, whom we may safely call jones-brown, plays a persistent but horrible game of golf. during a recent visit to this country the actor in question occasionally visited the links of a well-known country club in westchester county, near new york. after an especially miserable showing of inaptness one morning, he flung down his driver in disgust. "caddy," he said, addressing the silent youth who stood alongside, "that was awful, wasn't it?" "purty bad, sir," stated the boy. "i freely confess that i am the worst golfer in the world," continued the actor. "oh, i wouldn't say that, sir," said the caddy soothingly. "did you ever see a worse player than i am?" "no, sir, i never did," confessed the boy truthfully; "but some of the other boys was tellin' me yistiddy about a gentleman that must be a worse player than you are. they said his name was jones-brown." always safety first "you say that you want some name engraved on this ring," said the jeweller to the bashful young man. "yes; i want the words, 'george, to his dearest alice' engraved on the inside of the ring." "is the young lady your sister?" "no; she is the young lady to whom i am engaged." "well, if i were you i would not have 'george, to his dearest alice' engraved on the ring. if alice changes her mind you can't use the ring again." "what would you suggest?" "i would suggest the words, 'george, to his first and only love,' you see, with that inscription you can use the ring half a dozen times. i have had experience in such matters myself." surprising pat came to the dentist's with his jaw very much swollen from a tooth he desired to have pulled. but when the suffering son of erin got into the dentist's chair and saw the gleaming pair of forceps approaching his face, he positively refused to open his mouth. the dentist quietly told his page boy to prick his patient with a pin, and when pat opened his mouth to yell the dentist seized the tooth, and out it came. "it didn't hurt as much as you expected it would, did it?" the dentist asked, smilingly. "well, no," replied pat, hesitatingly, as if doubting the truthfulness of his admission. "but," he added, placing his hand on the spot where the little boy pricked him with the pin, "begorra, little did i think the roots would reach down like that." true optimist among the passengers on a train on a one-track road in the middle west was a talkative jewelry drummer. presently the train stopped to take on water, and the conductor neglected to send back a flagman. an express came along and, before it could be stopped, bumped the rear end of the first train. the drummer was lifted from his seat and pitched head first into the seat ahead. his silk hat was jammed clear down over his ears. he picked himself up and settled back in his seat. no bones had been broken. he drew a long breath, straightened up, and said: "well, they didn't get by us, anyway." indissoluble partners memory and imagination had a discussion as to which was the greater. "without me," said memory, "your buildings, your fine castles, would all go down. i alone give you power to retain them." "without me," said imagination, "there would be no use of retaining them, for, indeed, they wouldn't be there. i am the great builder." "and i the great recorder." "it appears, then, that no one of us is greater than the other. yet i would not change places with you." "why not?" said memory. "because," replied imagination, "without you i can still keep on creating over and over." at the end of a year memory came back. "what have you done?" asked memory. "nothing," said imagination. "and you were wrong when you said that without me you could still go on creating." "yes. i did not realize how dependent i was upon you. what have you been doing during the year?" "reviewing some old friends. that was all i could do." "then we are practically equal." "yes. let us live together hereafter in harmony, carrying on our door this legend: there is no memory without imagination, and no imagination without memory." depended on the mule speaking at a political gathering, congressman frederick w. dallinger, of massachusetts, referred to the many amusing incidents of the schoolrooms, and related a little incident along that line. a teacher in a public school was instructing a youthful class in english when she paused and turned to a small boy named jimmy brown. "james," said she, "write on the board, 'richard can ride the mule if he wants to,'" this jimmie proceeded to do to the satisfaction of all concerned. "now, then," continued the teacher when jimmy had returned to his place, "can you find a better form for that sentence?" "yes, ma'am," was the prompt response of jimmy. "'richard can ride the mule if the mule wants him to.'" crown prince called down some years before the war the german crown prince got a very neat call-down from miss bernice willard, a philadelphia girl. it was during the emperor's regatta, and the two mentioned were sitting with others on the deck of a yacht. a whiff of smoke from the prince's cigarette blowing into the young lady's face, a lieutenant near by remarked: "smoke withers flowers." "it is no flower," said the prince, jocularly, "it is a thistle." miss willard raised her eyes a trifle. "in that case," she said, "i had better retire or i shall be devoured" humbled mrs. mellon did not wish to offend her new cook. "john," she said to the manservant, "can you find out without asking the cook whether the tinned salmon was all eaten last night? you see, i don't wish to ask her, because she may have eaten it, and then she would feel uncomfortable," added the good soul. "if you please, ma'am," replied the man, "the new cook has eaten the tinned salmon, and if you was to say anything to her you couldn't make her feel any more uncomfortable than she is." is this tact? an officer on board a warship was drilling his men. "i want every man to lie on his back, put his legs in the air, and move them as if he were riding a bicycle," he explained. "now commence." after a short effort one of the men stopped. "why have you stopped, murphy?" asked the officer. "if ye plaze, sir," was the answer, "oi'm coasting." warned in twenty years several scotchmen were discussing the domestic unhappiness of a mutual friend. "aye," said one, "jock mcdonald has a sair time wi' that wife o' his. they do say they're aye quarrelin'." "it serve' him richt," said another feelingly. "the puir feckless creature marrit after coortin' only eight year. man, indeed, he had nae chance to ken the wumman in sic a short time. when i was coortin' i was coortin' twenty year." "and how did it turn out?" inquired a stranger in the party. "i tell ye, i was coortin' twenty year, an' in that time i kenned what wumman was, an' so i didna marry." beginning early jack disliked being kissed, and, being a handsome little chap, sometimes had a good deal to put up with. one day he had been kissed a lot. then, to make matters worse, on going to the picture palace in the evening, instead of his favorite cowboy and indian pictures, there was nothing but a lot more hugging and kissing. he returned home completely out of patience with the whole tribe of women. after he had tucked into bed mother came in to kiss him good-night. he refused to be kissed. mother begged and begged, till in disgust he turned to his father, who was standing at the doorway looking on, and said: "daddy, for the love of heaven, give this woman a kiss!" discerning "daisy," remarked the teacher, "don't love your cat too much. what would you do if it died--you wouldn't see it again?" "oh, yes; i should see it in heaven." "no, dear, you're mistaken; animals cannot go to heaven like people." daisy's eyes filled with tears, but suddenly she exclaimed triumphantly: "animals do go to heaven, for the bible says the promised land is flowing with milk and honey, and, if there are no animals, where do they get the milk?" rotund an elderly woman who was extremely stout was endeavoring to enter a street car when the conductor, noticing her difficulty, said to her: "try sideways, madam; try sideways." the woman looked up breathlessly and said: "why, bless ye, i ain't got no sideways!" beyond the sense of humor a scottish soldier, badly wounded, requested an army chaplain to write a letter for him to his wife. the chaplain, anxious to oblige, started off with "my dear wife--" "na, na," said the scotsman, "dinna pit that doon. ma wife canna see a joke." a new complaint a german, whose wife was ill at the seney hospital, brooklyn, called the first evening she was there and inquired how she was getting along. he was told that she was improving. next day he called again, and was told she was still improving. this went on for some time, each day the report being that his wife was improving. finally, one day he called and said: "how iss my wife?" "she's dead." he went out and met a friend, and the friend said: "well, how is your wife?" "she's dead." "ooh! how terrible! what did she die of?" "improvements!" some fight an american negro stevedore assigned to the great docks in southwestern france had written several letters to his black susanna in jacksonville, fla., when she wrote back saying: "you-all don't nevah tell me nothin' 'bout de battle a-tall. tilda sublet's dave done wrote her all about how he kotched two germans all by hisself and kilt three mo'." the stevedore was reluctant to tell his girl that he was doing manual labor and that his only accoutrement was the tinware from which he ate his war bread, "slum" and coffee. his reply ran: "dear sue: de battle am goin' on. you would faint if i tole yuh de full details. ah'm standin' in blood up to mah knees, and every time ah move ah step on a daid german. we're too close to use our rifles, and we're bitin' and gougin' 'em. at one time me and two othah niggahs was hangin' onto de crown prince wid our teeth, an' old papa kaiser done beat us off wid a fence rail untwell ree-umfo's-ments come!" too strong a term one evening just before dinner the wife, who had been playing bridge all the afternoon, came in to find her husband and a strange man (afterward ascertained to be a lawyer) engaged in some mysterious business over the library table upon which were spread several sheets of paper. "what are you doing with all that paper, henry?" demanded the wife. "i am making a wish," meekly responded the husband. "a wish?" "yes, my dear. in your presence i shall not presume to call it a will." not for her to say the value of travel oftentimes depends upon who travels. mrs. williams, who had recently returned from abroad, was attending an afternoon tea which was given in her honor. "and did you actually go to rome?" asked the hostess. "i really don't know, my dear," replied mrs. williams. "you see, my husband always bought the tickets." an expert "so," said the old general, "you think you would make a good valet for an old wreck like me, do you? i have a glass eye, a wooden leg, and a wax arm that need looking after, not to mention false teeth, and so forth." "oh, that's all right, general," replied the applicant, enthusiastically; "i've had lots of experience. i worked six years in the assembling department of a big motor-car factory." she admitted it our ideals are often a personal matter and, after all, it is just as well to be humble about our achievements a certain woman was brought before a magistrate. "it appears to be your record, mary moselle," said the magistrate, "that you have been thirty-five times convicted of stealing." "i guess, your honor," replied mary, "that is right. no woman is perfect." a benefactor of mankind this story teaches us a very old moral. the man of whom it is told was travelling in a railroad train when he leaned forward confidentially to the man in the next seat: "excuse me, sir," he said. "you're not going to get off at the next station, are you?" "no, sir." "then that will give me time to tell you. are you aware, sir, what is the matter with this great country?" "no, sir." "as i thought. it's due entirely to misunderstanding. we are always jumping to conclusions about others. that makes us suspicious. result, constant friction. take you and me, for example. at present we are comparative strangers. but when we get to know each other better we shall slowly but surely come to realize that each of us is trying to do our best, and--" "but i don't want to know you any better." "precisely. exactly. that's what causes all the trouble. i judge you and you judge me too hastily. as you become better acquainted with my motives you will gradually come to realize that deep down in my heart is a passionate desire to benefit my fellowmen. same here. my tendency is to treat you as a stranger, not to give you credit for noble generosity and genuine civic virtue. but i am determined to overcome this attitude and recognize you as a brother. i know i'm a hundred years ahead of my age, but someone must make the sacrifice." the train stopped and the other man got up and, leaning over, grabbed him by the arm. "i'm changing my mind," he said; "guess i will get off at this station. by-by. sorry i can't know you better." the pioneer in human progress sat for some time after the train had started, pondering on the deep problem of destiny. suddenly, however, he clapped his hands to his pockets and ran forward to the conductor. "say, conductor," he whispered, hoarsely, "did that man i was talking to get off at the last station?" "yes, sir; did you lose anything?" the human benefactor smiled sadly. "not in comparison with what the world has lost," he replied. "the human race has lost one of those priceless ideas which, in the course of centuries, sometimes come to real genius only to be abandoned. i lost only my watch." the silver lining he was a scot, with the usual thrifty characteristics of his race. wishing to know his fate, he telegraphed a proposal of marriage to the lady of his choice. after waiting all day at the telegraph office he received an affirmative answer late at night. "well, if i were you," said the operator who delivered the message, "i'd think twice before i'd marry a girl who kept me waiting so long for an answer." "na, na," replied the scot. "the lass for me is the lass wha waits for the night rates." french politeness as a truly polite nation the french undoubtedly lead the world, thinks a contributor to a british weekly. the other day a paris dentist's servant opened the door to a woebegone patient. "and who, monsieur," he queried in a tender tone, "shall i have the misery of announcing?" simple faith the methodist minister in a small country town was noted for his begging propensities and for his ability to extract generous offerings from the close-fisted congregation, which was made up mostly of farmers. one day the young son of one of the members accidentally swallowed a ten-cent piece, much to the excitement of the rest of the family. every means of dislodging the coin had failed and the frightened parents were about to give up in despair when a bright thought struck the little daughter, who exclaimed: "oh, mamma, i know how you can get it! send for our minister; he'll get it out of him!" limited dissipation a small, hen-pecked, worried-looking man was about to take an examination for life insurance. "you don't dissipate, do you?" asked the physician, as he made ready for tests. "not a fast liver, or anything of that sort?" the little man hesitated a moment, looked a bit frightened, then replied, in a small, piping voice: "i sometimes chew a little gum." the limit the manager of a factory recently engaged a new man and gave instructions to the foreman to instruct him in his duties. a few days afterward the manager inquired whether the new man was progressing with his work. the foreman, who had not agreed very well with the man in question, exclaimed angrily: "progressing! there's been a lot of progress. i have taught him everything i know and he is still an ignorant fool." a perfect program this story has the merit of being true, anyhow: the official pessimist of a small western city, a gentleman who had wrestled with chronic dyspepsia for years, stood in front of the post office as the noon whistles sounded. "twelve o'clock, eh?" he said, half to himself and half to an acquaintance. "well, i'm going home to dinner. if dinner ain't ready i'm going to raise hell; and if it is ready i ain't going to eat a bite." "tipperary" in chinese the chinese have put "tipperary" into their own language, and native newspapers print the chorus as follows: shih ko yuan lu tao ti-po-lieh-li, pi yao ti jih hsing tsou. shih ko yuan lu tao ti-po-lieh-li, yao chien we ngai tzu nu, tsai hui pi-ko-ti-li, tsai chien lei-ssu kwei-rh, shih ko yuan lu tao ti-po-lieh-li, tan wo hsin tsai na-rh. this is the literal translation: this road is far from ti-po-lieh-li, we must walk for many days, this road is far from ti-po-lieh-li, i want to see my lovely girl, to meet again pi-ko-ti-li, to see again lei-ssu kwei-rh, this road is far from ti-po-lieh-li, but my heart is already in that place. non fit she was a very stout, jolly-looking woman, and she was standing at the corset counter, holding in her hand an article she was returning. evidently her attention had been suddenly drawn to the legend printed on the label, for she was overheard to murmur, "'made expressly for john wanamaker.' well, there! no wonder they didn't fit me!" his by right an irish chauffeur in san francisco, who had been having trouble with numerous small boys in the neighborhood of his stand, discovered one day on examining his car that there was a dead cat on one of the seats. in his anger he was about to throw the carcass into the street, when he espied a policeman. holding up the carcass, he exclaimed: "this is how i am insulted. what am i to do with it?" "well, don't you know? take it straight to headquarters, and if it is not claimed within a month it becomes your property." best of reasons a teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. trying to make the matter clearer, he said: "now, boys, if i stood on my head the blood, as you know, would run into it, and i should turn red in the face." "yes, sir," said the boys. "now," continued the teacher, "what i want to know is this: how is it that while i am standing upright in the ordinary position the blood doesn't rush into my feet?" and a little fellow shouted: "why, sir, because yer feet ain't empty." a story from the front one day an ammunition dump blew up. cordite was blazing, shells and bombs bursting, and splinters and whole shells flying everywhere in the vicinity. the atmosphere was full of smoke and resounding with metallic whines. out of a shack hard by came a darky, loaded to the waterline with kit, blankets, rifle, etc., and up the road he dangled. "here! where are _you_ going?" shouted an officer. "i ain't goin', suh," panted the darky. "i's gone." equatorial michigan representative billy wilson, who dwells in chicago, found himself in the upper peninsula of michigan doing some fishing and hunting. while there he conversed with the guide that he had hired in order to have somebody around to talk to. "must get mighty all-fired cold up here in winter," remarked wilson one morning. "yes, it often gets away down to forty-five below zero," replied the native. "don't see how you stand it," said the congressman. "oh, i always spend my winters in the south," explained the guide. "go south, eh? well, well! that's enterprising. and where do you go?" "grand rapids," said the guide. scriptural the college boys played a mean trick on "prexy" by pasting some of the leaves of his bible together. he rose to read the morning lesson, which might have been as follows: "now johial took unto himself a wife of the daughters of belial." (_he turned a leaf._) "she was eighteen cubits in height and ten cubits in breadth." (_a pause, and careful scrutiny of the former page_.) he resumed: "now johial took unto himself a wife," etc. (_leaf turned._) "she was eighteen cubits in height and ten cubits in breadth, and was pitched within and without--" (_painful pause and sounds of subdued mirth._) "prexy" turns back again in perplexity. "young gentlemen, i can only add that 'man is fearfully and wonderfully made'--and woman also." the fact was saying is one thing and doing is another. in montana a railway bridge had been destroyed by fire, and it was necessary to replace it. the bridge engineer and his staff were ordered in haste to the place. two days later came the superintendent of the division. alighting from his private car, he encountered the old master bridge-builder. "bill," said the superintendent--and the words quivered with energy--"i want this job rushed. every hour's delay costs the company money. have you got the engineer's plans for the new bridge?" "i don't know," said the bridge-builder, "whether the engineer has the picture drawed yet or not, but the bridge is up and the trains is passin' over it." the last word, as usual the ways of a woman are supposed to be past finding out, but after all there are times when her logic is irresistible as in the case of a certain wife who had spent her husband's money, had compromised him more than once, had neglected her children and her household duties, and had done everything that woman can do to make his life a failure. and then, as they were both confronted by the miserable end of it all, and realized that there was no way out of it, he said: "perhaps i ought not to appear to be too trivially curious, but i confess to a desire to know why you have done all this. you must have known, if you kept on, just what the end would be. of course, nobody expects a woman to use her reason. but didn't you have, even in a dim way, some idea of what you were doing?" she gazed at him with her usual defiance, a habit not to be broken even by the inevitable. "certainly i did. it was your fault." "my fault! how do you make that out?" "because i have never had the slightest respect for you." "why not?" she actually laughed. "how could you expect me to have any respect for a man who could not succeed in preventing me from doing the things i did?" frugal to the end not long ago a certain publication had an idea. its editor made up a list of thirty men and women distinguished in art, religion, literature, commerce, politics, and other lines, and to each he sent a letter or a telegram containing this question: "if you had but forty-eight hours more to live, how would you spend them?" his purpose being to embody the replies in a symposium in a subsequent issue of his periodical. among those who received copies of the inquiry was a new york writer. he thought the proposition over for a spell, and then sent back the truthful answer by wire, collect: "one at a time." not much to talk about there was an explosion of one of the big guns on a battleship not long ago. shortly afterward one of the sailors who was injured was asked by a reporter to give an account of it. "well, sir," rejoined the jacky, "it was like this: you see, i was standin' with me back to the gun, a-facin' the port side. all of a sudden i hears a hell of a noise; then, sir, the ship physician, he says, 'set up an' take this,'" following instructions youth (_with tie of the stars and stripes_): i sent you some suggestions telling you how to make your paper more interesting. have you carried out any of my ideas? editor: did you meet the office boy with the waste-paper basket as you came upstairs? youth: yes, yes, i did. editor: well, he was carrying out your ideas. no place for him on the western plains the sheepman goes out with several thousand head and one human companion. the natural result is that the pair, forced on one another when they least want it, form the habit of hating each other. an ex-sheepman while in a narrative mood one evening was telling a party of friends of a fellow he once rode with. "not a word had passed between us for more than a week, and that night when we rolled up in our blankets he suddenly asked: "'hear that cow beller?' "'sounds to me like a bull,' i replied. "no answer, but the following morning i noticed him packing up. "'going to leave?' i questioned. "'yes,' he replied. "'what for?' "too much argument,'" in the old days lord northcliffe at a washington luncheon was talking about the british premier. "mr. lloyd george is the idol of the nation," he said. "it is hard to believe how unpopular he was, at least among the unionists, once. among the many stories circulated about mr. lloyd george's unpopularity at that time there was one which concerned a rescue from drowning. the heroic rescuer, when a gold medal was presented to him for his brave deed, modestly declared: "'i don't deserve this medal. i did nothing but my duty. i saw our friend here struggling in the water. i knew he must drown unless someone saved him. so i plunged in, swam out to him, turned him over to make sure it wasn't lloyd george, and then lugged him to safety on my back.'" taking no chances a big darky was being registered. "ah can't go to wah," he answered in _re_ exemption, "foh they ain't nobody to look afteh ma wife." a dapper little undersized colored brother stepped briskly up and inquired, "what kind of a lookin' lady _is_ yoh wife?" too personal upon the recent death of an american politician, who at one time served his country in a very high legislative place, a number of newspaper men were collaborating on an obituary notice. "what shall we say of the former senator?" asked one of the men. "oh, just put down that he was always faithful to his trust." "and," queried a cynical member of the group, "shall we mention the name of the trust?" an acrobat in the squad sergeant (_drilling awkward squad_): "company! attention, company! lift up your left leg and hold it straight out in front of you!" one of the squad held up his right leg by mistake. this brought his right-hand companion's left leg and his own right leg close together. the officer, seeing this, exclaimed angrily: "and who is that blooming galoot over there holding up both legs?" his system was a complete one we know that the achievements of american business experts are often beyond belief. whether the following story is true, or is merely a satire, must be left to the judgment of the acute reader: "may i have a few moments' private conversation?" the faultlessly dressed gentleman addressed the portly business man, standing upon the threshold of his office. "this is a business proposition, sir," he said, rapidly closing the door and sinking into a seat beside the desk. "i am not a book agent, nor have i any article to sell. i have come to see you about your wife." "my wife!" "yes, sir. glancing over the society column of your local paper, i am informed that she is about to take her annual autumn trip to virginia. you will, or course, have to remain behind to take care of your vast business interests. your wife, sir, is a charming and attractive woman, still in the bloom of youth. have you, sir, considered the possibilities?" the other man started to get up, his face red with rage. "you--" he began. "one moment, sir, and i think i can satisfy your mind that my motives are pure as alabaster. this is an age of machinery, of science and invention, and, above all, of efficiency. i am simply carrying this idea of efficiency into the domestic life, which, as you are doubtless aware, is so much more important than the physical. one moment, sir. i can furnish you with the highest credentials. this is purely professional, i can assure you. will give bond if you so desire. my proposition is this: i will accompany your wife on her trip, always, when travelling, at a respectful distance, you understand, and it will be my pleasure as well as business to amuse and interest her during her stay. i do everything--play tennis, bridge, dance all the latest steps, know the latest jokes, can sing, converse on any subject or remain silent, am a life-saver, can run an auto, flirt discreetly, and, in fact, am the most delightful companion for a wife that you can imagine. remember, sir, that unless you engage my services your wife is at the mercy of all the strangers she may meet and being in that peculiar condition of mind where she is bound to be attracted by things that would otherwise seem commonplace, there is no telling what the end might be. but with me she is perfectly safe. i guarantee results. i insure your heart's happiness against the future. terms reasonable. i can refer you to--" in reply the enforced host rose up, and, taking him not too gently by the arm, led him to the door. "my friend," he said, coldly, "your proposition of safety first doesn't interest me. no, sir! i'm sending my wife to virginia in hopes that she will actually fall in love with somebody else, so i won't have to endure what little i see of her any more, and here you come in to spoil my future. no, sir!" his visitor turned and faced him with a bright smile. "my dear sir," he said, "wait. business man that you are, you do not understand the extent of our resources, which cover every emergency. in accordance with our usual custom, i have already met your wife at a bridge party, and i might say that she is crazy about me. now, sir, for double the price of my regular fee and a small annual stipend, which is about half the alimony you might have to pay, i will agree to marry and take her off your hands in six months, making you happy for the rest of your life. sign here, please. thank you." facing the truth sanderson was on a visit to simpkins, and in due course, naturally, he was shown the family album. "yes," said simpkins, as he turned the leaves, "that's my wife's second cousin's aunt susan. and that's cousin james, and that's a friend of ours, and that--oh, now, who do you think that is?" "don't know," said sanderson. "well, that's my wife's first husband, my boy." "great scot! what a perfect brainless-looking idiot. but excuse me, old fellow, i didn't know your wife was a widow when you married her." "she wasn't," said simpkins stiffly. "that, sir, is a portrait of myself at the age of twenty." he got results, anyway american troops who during the early days of the european war were landed in france received a more careful and prolonged training than could possibly be given the most of the regiments hurriedly raised during the civil war. the story goes that a raw battalion of rough backwoodsmen, who had "volunteered," once joined general grant. he admired their fine physique, but distrusted the capacity of their uncouth commander to handle troops promptly and efficiently in the field, so he said: "colonel, i want to see your men at work; call them to attention, and order them to march with shouldered arms in close column to the left flank." without a moment's hesitation the colonel yelled to his fellow-ruffians: "boys, look wild thar! make ready to thicken and go left endways! tote yer guns! git!" the manoeuvre proved a brilliant success and the self-elected colonel was forthwith officially commissioned. the two treatments president wilson an ardent advocate of every kind of social reform, is fond of telling a story about an old teamster. this old fellow said to the treasurer of the concern one day: "me and that off horse has been workin' for the company seventeen years, sir." "just so, winterbottom, just so," said the treasurer, and he cleared his throat and added: "both treated well, i hope?" the old teamster looked dubious. "wall," he said, "we wus both tooken down sick last month, and they got a doctor for the hoss, while they docked my pay." comprehensive there is nothing like taking precautions. in the following colloquy mr, casey, so far as we can judge, neglected nothing. mrs. casey said to him: "me sister writes me that every bottle in that box we sent her was broken. are ye sure yez printed 'this side up with care' on it?" "oi am," said casey emphatically. "an' for fear they shouldn't see it on the top oi printed it on the bottom as well." biting reproof during a dust-storm at one of the army camps, a recruit sought shelter in the cook's tent. "if you put the lid on that camp kettle you would not get so much dust in your soup." "see here, my lad, your business is to serve your country." "yes," replied the recruit, "but not to eat it." discriminative on a road in belgium a german officer met a boy leading a jackass and addressed him in heavy jovial fashion as follows: "that's a fine jackass you have, my son. what do you call it? albert, i bet!" "oh, no, officer," the boy replied quickly. "i think too highly of my king." the german scowled and returned: "i hope you don't dare to call it william." "oh, no, officer. i think too highly of my jackass." nothing to lose an author has favored us with the following anecdote, which is taken from the opening of a chapter in a forthcoming book dealing with the war. it is another example of the pioneer character of ministerial service with us. the varieties of opportunity are constantly changing, but out in the front, according to the needs of our day and generation, there stands the unitarian with the equipped mind and the ready hand. "a year ago, in london, a man originally from new york state came up and spoke to me as a fellow-american. he wore the garb of a canadian officer. after i had answered his query as to what i was doing in england, he said: 'my work is rather different. i am looking after the social evil and venereal diseases in the canadian army.' 'then you are a medical man?' 'no, said he, 'i tried to get my english medical friends to take hold of the work, but they said that they had their reputations to look after. i have no reputation to lose. _i am simply a unitarian clergyman._'" bait when mike flaherty abandoned south boston for lynn and hired a cottage with a bit of a back yard the first thing he did was to hurry back to the hub of the universe and purchase a monkey. "divil a wurrd" of his scheme would he disclose to his old cronies in boston. but afterward he let out: "'twas like this: i chained the monk to a shtick in me yard, and the coal thrains do be passin' all day foreninst, and on iv'ry cairr do be a brakeman. in one waik, begorra, i had two tons of coal in me cellar, and the monk never wanst hit." baseball "over there" in a camp "over there" the turkish prisoners are allowed some freedom and among other things our american boys introduced them to the game of baseball. the turks did remarkably well at it. one of them stepped up to the bat one day, and taking it firmly in his hand turned to the east and salaaming said in a reverent voice "allah, assist thy servant." he then made a three bagger. the next player to the bat was an american boy who was not going to let that turk beat him. he also stepped up to the bat, clasped it firmly in his hand, salaaming to the east said, "you know me, al,' keeping up with the turk." index of titles accounting for it accuracy acrobat in the squad, an advice to mabel alas! too late! allegro all or nothing always get the facts always safety first anglomaniac, an and he succeeded another engagement anticipating the pleasure appraised appreciation apprehending the kaiser archie's neck arrival of wilhelm, the automatic "efficiency" bait balls bargain-counter golf baseball "over there" bay state solomon, a beginning early benefactor of mankind, a best of reasons better way, the beyond him beyond the sense of humor big chances both ways biting reproof blissful ignorance boiled bootblack's generosity, the business is business , cæsar visits cicero camouflage can this be true? cash! cautious mourner change for the better charity clincher, a coaxer, a comparison compliments of the day comprehensive comrades! conclusive connoisseur, a considering father couldn't be bothered crown prince called down curiosity dad was wise danger signals deep-laid plan, a deep one, a delayed delightful experience, a depended on the mule deserved the legacy diagnosed diagnosing himself didn't suit him didn't want to rob him difference, the difficult passage, a dignities of office, the diplomat, a disadvantage, a discerning discriminative doing his duty, but doing unto his neighbor dual reputation, a durable easy adjustment, an easy matter, an ecclesiastical dues enforced eclipse, the, to order effective! elimination endurance enough! envy? equatorial michigan evidence experienced expert, an facing the truth fact was, the fair warning fame figuratively speaking flattering explanation, a following instructions forced into it french politeness frugal to the end full particulars free full spead ahead futile experiment, a future statesman, a gastronomical gentle dissolution, a german arithmetic get-rich-quick scheme, a getting even , gifted youth, a give him time give us the chance grateful to the doctor great relief in heaven guide! guilty guilty conscience, a had had treatment had his rights had heard him before had to be settled happy ending wanted hard knock, a hard up for wind heaven sent he couldn't have missed it he got it twice he got results anyway he knew bryan he knew the law he might be, but she wasn't he obeyed her domestic instincts her own her prayer he scorned the thought he understood he was broad minded he was not a prohibitionist high finance his application his by right his complaint his favorite beast his generosity his great ambition his lack his need his search for the practical his system was a complete one historical his ultimatum hoodooed horse psychologist, a how could he know? how he got them how mary lost a tip how to tell a well-bred dog how war began humbled ian hay's fate immortal! impersonal improvement! in advance inconsiderate indissoluble partners in memoriam in our melting pot intelligent cat, the in the old days is this tact? it happened in illinois "it is forbidden" its name jeems henry was conjured! joe's diagnosis joy of eating just answered justice to t.r. kaiser's last word, the keeping it in the family kindness knew his business knew his job knew more about hens than history, last resort last word, the, as usual lesson in manners, a life, the life's eternal query limit, the , limited dissipation literal censor, a little too thrifty, a long story, a looked that way makes a difference making it fit man he left behind, the manna mark twain on millionaires matrimonial endurance matrimonial profundity matter of nomenclature, a matter with kansas, the memories might draw business misleading missed his chance missing it mistaken identity? mistakes will happen more scotch thrift moving tale, a much simpler new complaint, a new régime, the new servant-girl story "next!" no change in shylock no danger non fit no free advertising no joque no peace for him no place for him no telling no use for it not a native not enough scenery not for her to say nothing to lose not in the tactics not much to talk about not so difficult nourishment obeying orders obvious place, the old hand, an on duty elsewhere one explanation one on him one way out on her nerves only one thing for him oriental politeness original method, the "over here" perfectly natural perfect program, a perpetual motion person of discernment, a pessimists pigtails and moustaches playing safe point of honor, the poser, a "prayer of the unrighteous" preparedness pride pride in the daily task probably right proper spirit, the proposal, the proving it purely literary putting it up to the horse ready-witted parson, a real culprit, the record breaker, a remorse revealed revised classics , rivalry robbing himself rotund safe safe deposit same old hours, the scotch thrills scriptural sensitive sermon on the war, a, by parson brown, she admitted it she knew him silent contempt silver lining, the simple faith simple political life, the skeptic, a smarty! smarty! soft answer, a solving a great problem some fight some speed something! specially endowed sporting proposition, a staying on the job still companionable still not satisfied still unbeaten stock suffrage argument, a story from the front, a stories about james gordon bennett, sunshine, mr., and mr, gloom surprising table of comparison taking no chances taxed to capacity test of friendship, a teuton way, the their "bit" their one topic their opportunity then things happened they meant to be fair they were so glad to see him this happened in chicago "tipperary" in chinese tit for tat too forward too good to be wasted too long a shot too much! , too personal too strong a term touchy try it and see try this true optimist, a , two treatments, the unchangeable uneasy unfortunate affair, an unprepared base threatened unreturned favors up to him vulnerable warned in twenty years warning to authors wasn't calling her dear welcoming the actor what did solomon say? what he might have been when the "s" fell out where ignorance is bliss where vermont scored who could tell? why be polite anyway? why not? , , why should he know? winner, the words failed her worm turned, the worse! worth a chance yankee fodder the book of anecdotes, and budget of fun; containing a collection of over one thousand of the most laughable sayings and jokes of celebrated wits and humorists. philadelphia: geo. g. evans, publisher, no. chestnut street. . entered according to the act of congress, in the year , by g. g. evans in the clerk's office of the district court for the eastern district of pennsylvania. preface. nothing is so well calculated to preserve the healthful action of the human system as a good, hearty laugh. it is with this indisputable and important sanitary fact in view, that this collection of anecdotes has been made. the principle in selecting each of them, has been, not to inquire if it were odd, rare, curious, or remarkable; but if it were really funny. will the anecdote raise a laugh? that was the test question. if the answer was "yes," then it was accepted. if "no," then it was rejected. anything offensive to good taste, good manners, or good morals, was, of course, out of the question. book of anecdotes, and budget of fun lord mansfield and his coachman. the following is an anecdote of the late lord mansfield, which his lordship himself told from the bench:--he had turned off his coachman for certain acts of peculation, not uncommon in this class of persons. the fellow begged his lordship to give him a character. "what kind of character can i give you?" says his lordship. "oh, my lord, any character your lordship pleases to give me, i shall most thankfully receive." his lordship accordingly sat down and wrote as follows:--"the bearer, john ----, has served me three years in the capacity of coachman. he is an able driver, and a very sober man, i discharged him because he cheated me."--(signed) "mansfield." john thanked his lordship, and went off. a few mornings afterwards, when his lordship was going through his lobby to step into his coach for westminster hall, a man, in a very handsome livery, made him a low bow. to his surprise he recognized his late coachman. "why, john," says his lordship, "you seem to have got an excellent place; how could you manage this with the character i gave you?" "oh! my lord," says john, "it was an exceeding good character, and i am come to return you thanks for it; my new master, on reading it, said, he observed your lordship recommended me as an able driver and a sober man. 'these,' says he, 'are just the qualities i want in a coachman; i observe his lordship adds he discharged you because you cheated him. hark you, sirrah,' says he, 'i'm a yorkshireman, and i'll defy you to cheat _me_.'" a disclaimer. general zaremba had a very long polish name. the king having heard of it, one day asked him good humouredly, "pray, zaremba, what is your name?" the general repeated to him immediately the whole of his long name. "why," said the king, "the devil himself never had such a name." "i should presume not, sire," replied the general, "as he was _no relation of mine_." a considerate darkie. "cÆsar," said a planter to his negro, "climb up that tree and thin the branches." the negro showed no disposition to comply, and being pressed for a reason, answered: "well, look heah, massa, if i go up dar and fall down an' broke my neck, dat'll be a thousand dollars out of your pocket. now, why don't you hire an irishman to go up, and den if _he_ falls and kills himself, dar won't be no loss to nobody?" ocular demonstration. mr. newman is a famous new england singing-master; _i. e._, a teacher of vocal music in the rural districts. stopping over night at the house of a simple minded old lady, whose grandson and pet, enoch, was a pupil of mr. newman, he was asked by the lady how enoch was getting on. he gave a rather poor account of the boy, and asked his grandmother if she thought enoch had any ear for music. "wa'al," said the old woman, "i raaly don't know; won't you just take the candle and see?" a sufficient reason. there was once a clergyman in new hampshire, noted for his long sermons and indolent habits. "how is it," said a man to his neighbour, "parson ----, the laziest man living, writes these interminable sermons?" "why," said the other, "he probably gets to writing and he is too lazy to stop." inconsiderate cleanliness. "bring in the oysters i told you to open," said the head of a household growing impatient. "there they are," replied the irish cook proudly. "it took me a long time to clean them; but i've done it, and thrown all the nasty insides into the strate." yankee thrift. quoth patrick of the yankee: "bedad, if he was cast away on a dissolute island, he'd get up the next mornin' an' go around sellin' maps to the inhabitants." safe man. a poor son of the emerald isle applied for employment to an avaricious hunks, who told him he employed no irishmen; "for," said he, "the last one died on my hands, and i was forced to bury him at my own expense." "ah! your honour," said pat, brightening up, "and is that all? then you'll give me the place, for sure i can get a certificate that i niver died in the employ of any master i iver sarved." a pair of husbands. a country editor perpetrates the following upon the marriage of a mr. husband to the lady of his choice: "this case is the strongest we have known in our life; the husband's a husband, and so is the wife." art criticism. at a recent exhibition of paintings, a lady and her son were regarding with much interest, a picture which the catalogue designated as "luther at the diet of worms." having descanted at some length upon its merits, the boy remarked, "mother, i see luther and the table, but where are the worms?" cutting a swell. "a sturdy-looking man in cleveland, a short time since, while busily engaged in cow-hiding a dandy, who had insulted his daughter, being asked what he was doing, replied: "_cutting a swell_;" and continued his amusement without further interruption. talleyrand. to a lady who had lost her husband, talleyrand once addressed a letter of condolence, in two words: "oh, madame!" in less than a year, the lady had married again, and then his letter of congratulation was, "ah, madame!" that's nothing. a man, hearing of another who was years old, said contemptuously: "pshaw! what a fuss about nothing! why, if my grandfather was alive he would be one hundred and fifty years old." large pocket-book. the most capacious pocket-book on record is the one mentioned by a coroner's jury in iowa, thus:--"we find the deceased came to his death by a visitation of god, and not by the hands of violence. we find upon the body a pocket-book containing $ , a check on fletcher's bank for $ , and two horses, a wagon, and some butter, eggs, and feathers." degradation. we once heard of a rich man, who was badly injured by being run over. "it isn't the accident," said he, "that i mind; that isn't the thing, but the idea of being run over by an infernal swill-cart makes me mad." deaf to his own call. a new orleans paper states, there is in that city a hog, with his ears so far back, that he can't hear himself squeal. dr. parr. dr. parr had a great deal of sensibility. when i read to him, in lincoln's inn fields, the account of o'coigly's death, the tears rolled down his cheeks. one day mackintosh having vexed him, by calling o'coigly "a rascal," parr immediately rejoined, "yes, jamie, he was a bad man, but he might have been worse; he was an irishman, but he might have been a scotchman; he was a priest, but he might have been a lawyer; he was a republican, but he might have been an apostate." good. during a recent trial at auburn, the following occurred to vary the monotony of the proceedings: among the witnesses was one, as verdant a specimen of humanity as one would wish to meet with. after a severe cross-examination, the counsel for the government paused, and then putting on a look of severity, and an ominous shake of the head, exclaimed: "mr. witness, has not an effort been made to induce you to tell a different story?" "a different story from what i have told, sir?" "that is what i mean." "yes sir; several persons have tried to get me to tell a different story from what i have told, but they couldn't." "now, sir, upon your oath, i wish to know who those persons are." "waal, i guess you've tried 'bout as hard as any of them." the witness was dismissed, while the judge, jury, and spectators, indulged in a hearty laugh. i'll vote for the other man. the following story is told of a revolutionary soldier who was running for congress. it appears that he was opposed by a much younger man who had "never been to the wars," and it was his practice to tell the people of the hardships he had endured. says he: "fellow-citizens, i have fought and bled for my country--i helped whip the british and indians. i have slept on the field of battle, with no other covering than the canopy of heaven. i have walked over frozen ground, till every footstep was marked with blood." just about this time, one of the "sovereigns," who had become very much affected by this tale of woe, walks up in front of the speaker, wiping the tears from his eyes with the extremity of his coat-tail, and interrupting him, says: "did you say that you had fought the british and the injines?" "yes, sir, i did." "did you say you had followed the enemy of your country over frozen ground, till every footstep was covered with blood?" "yes!" exultingly replied the speaker. "well, then," says the tearful "sovereign," as he gave a sigh of painful emotion, "i'll be blamed if i don't think you've done enough for your country, and i'll vote for the other man!" the height of impudence. taking shelter from a shower in an umbrella shop. declining an office. "ben," said a politician to his companion, "did you know i had declined the office of alderman?" "_you_ declined the office of alderman? was you elected?" "o, no." "what then? nominated?" "no, but i attended our party caucus last evening, and took an active part; and when a nominating committee was appointed, and were making up the list of candidates, i went up to them and begged they would not nominate me for alderman, as it would be impossible for me to attend to the duties?" "show, jake; what reply did they make?" "why, they said they hadn't thought of such a thing." good witnesses. an attorney before a bench of magistrates, a short time ago, told the bench, with great gravity, "that he had two witnesses in court, in behalf of his client, and they would be sure to speak the truth; for he had had no opportunity to communicate with them!" talleyrand's wit. "ah! i feel the torments of hell," said a person, whose life had been supposed to be somewhat of the loosest. "already?" was the inquiry suggested to m. talleyrand. certainly, it came natural to him. it is, however, not original; the cardinal de retz's physician is said to have made a similar exclamation on a like occasion. a fighting fowl. during colonel crockett's first winter in washington, a caravan of wild animals was brought to the city and exhibited. large crowds attended the exhibition; and, prompted by common curiosity, one evening colonel crockett attended. "i had just got in," said he; "the house was very much crowded, and the first thing i noticed, was two wild cats in a cage. some acquaintance asked me if they were like wild cats in the backwoods; and i was looking at them, when one turned over and died. the keeper ran up and threw some water on it. said i, 'stranger, you are wasting time: my look kills them things; and you had much better hire me to go out of here, or i will kill every varmint you've got in the caravan.' while i and he were talking, the lions began to roar. said i, 'i won't trouble the american lion, because he is some kin to me; but turn out the african lion--turn him out--turn him out--i can whip him for a ten dollar bill, and the zebra may kick occasionally, during the fight.' this created some fun; and i then went to another part of the room, where a monkey was riding a pony. i was looking on, and some member said to me, 'crockett, don't that monkey favor general jackson?' 'no,' said i, 'but i'll tell you who it does favor. it looks like one of your boarders, mr. ----, of ohio.' there was a loud burst of laughter at my saying so, and, upon turning round, i saw mr. ----, of ohio, within three feet of me. i was in a right awkward fix; but bowed to the company, and told 'em, i had either slandered the monkey, or mr. ----, of ohio, and if they would tell me which, i would beg his pardon. the thing passed off, but the next morning, as i was walking the pavement before my door, a member came to me and said, 'crockett, mr. ----, of ohio, is going to challenge you.' said i, 'well, tell him i am a fighting fowl. i s'pose if i am challenged, i have the right to choose my weapons?' 'oh yes,' said he. 'then tell him,' said i, 'that i will fight him with bows and arrows.'" elephant. when the great lord clive was in india, his sisters sent him some handsome presents from england; and he informed them by letter, that he had returned them an "_elephant_;" (at least, so they read the word;) an announcement which threw them into the utmost perplexity; for what could they possibly do with the animal? the true word was "equivalent." "the last war." mr. pitt, once speaking in the house of commons, in the early part of his career, of the glorious war which preceded the disastrous one in which the colonies were lost, called it "the last war." several members cried out, "the last war but one." he took no notice; and soon after, repeating the mistake, he was interrupted by a general cry of "the last war but one--the last war but one." "i mean, sir," said mr. pitt, turning to the speaker, and raising his sonorous voice, "i mean, sir, the last war that britons would wish to remember." whereupon the cry was instantly changed into an universal cheering, long and loud. kisses. when an impudent fellow attempts to kiss a tennessee girl, she "cuts your acquaintance;" all their "divine luxuries are preserved for the lad of their own choice." when you kiss an arkansas girl, she hops as high as a cork out of a champagne bottle, and cries, "whew, how good!" catch an illinois girl and kiss her, and she'll say, "quit it now, you know i'll tell mamma!" a kiss from the girls of old williamson is a tribute paid to their beauty, taste, and amiability. it is not _accepted_, however, until the gallant youth who offers it is _accepted_ as the lord of their hearts' affections, and firmly united with one, his "chosen love," beneath the same bright star that rules their destiny for ever. the common confectionery make-believe kisses, wrapped in paper, with a verse to sweeten them, won't answer with them. we are certain they won't, for we once saw such a one handed to a beautiful young lady with the following:-- i'd freely give whole years of bliss, to gather from thy lips one kiss. to which the following prompt and neat response was immediately returned:-- young men present these to their favourite miss, and think by such means to entrap her; but la! they ne'er catch us with this kind of kiss, the right kind hain't got any wrapper. if you kiss a mississippian gal she'll flare-up like a scorched feather, and return the compliment by bruising your sky-lights, or may-be giving the _quid pro quo_ in the shape of a blunder-_buss_. baltimore girls, more beautiful than any in the world, all meet you with a half-smiling, half-saucy, come-kiss-me-if-you-dare kind of a look, but you must be careful of the first essay. after that no difficulty will arise, unless you be caught attempting to kiss another--then look out for thundergust. when a broome girl gets a _smack_, she exclaims, "if it was anybody else but you, i'd make a fuss about it." american wonders. "she be a pretty craft, that little thing of yours," observed old tom. "how long may she take to make the run?" "how long? i expect in just no time; and she'd go as fast again, only she won't wait for the breeze to come up with her." "why don't you heave to for it?" said young tom. "lose too much time, i guess. i have been chased by an easterly wind all the way from your land's-end to our narrows, and it never could overhaul me." "and i presume the porpusses give it up in despair, don't they?" replied old tom with a leer; "and yet i've seen the creatures playing before the bows of an english frigate at her speed, and laughing at her." "they never play their tricks with me, old snapper; if they do, i cut them in halves, and a-starn they go, head part floating one side, and tail part on the other." "but don't they join together again when they meet in your wake?" inquired tom. "shouldn't wonder," replied the american captain. "my little craft upset with me one night, in a pretty considerable heavy gale; but she's smart, and came up again on the other side in a moment, all right as before. never should have known anything about it, if the man at the wheel had not found his jacket wet, and the men below had a round turn in all the clues of their hammocks." "after that round turn, you may belay," cried tom laughing. "yes, but don't let's have a stopper over all, tom," replied his father. "i consider all this excessively diverting. pray, captain, does everything else go fast in the new country?" "everything with us clear, slick, i guess." "what sort of horses have you in america?" inquired i. "our kentuck horses, i've a notion, would surprise you. they're almighty goers at a trot, beat a n. w. gale of wind. i once took an englishman with me in a gig up alabama country, and he says, 'what's this great church yard we are passing through?' 'stranger,' says i, 'i calculate it's nothing but the mile-stones we are passing so slick.' but i once had a horse, who, i expect, was a deal quicker than that; i once seed a flash of lightning chase him for half an hour round the clearance, and i guess it couldn't catch him." no harm. "mother," said a little fellow the other day, "is there any harm in breaking egg shells?" "certainly not, my dear, but why do you ask?" "cause i dropt the basket jist now, and see what a mess i'm in with the yolk." taken down a peg. an irishman, observing a dandy taking his usual strut in broadway, stepped up to him and inquired: "how much do you ax for thim houses?" "what do you ask me that for?" "faith, an' i thought the whole strate belonged to ye," replied the irishman. dutch marriage. an old dutch farmer, just arrived at the dignity of justice of the peace, had his first marriage case. he did it up in this way. he first said to the man: "vell, you vants to be marrit, do you? vell, you lovesh dis voman so goot as any voman you have ever seen?" "yes," answered the man. then to the woman: "vell, do you love dis man so better as any man you have ever seen?" she hesitated a little, and he repeated: "vell, vell, do you like him so vell as to be his vife?" "yes, yes," she answered. "vell, dat ish all any reasonable man can expect. so you are marrit; i pronounce you man and vife." the man asked the justice what was to pay. "nothing at all, nothing at all; you are velcome to it if it vill do you any good." save the material. a rich old farmer at crowle, near bantry, england, speaking to a neighbour about the "larning" of his nephew, said:--"why i shud a made tom a lawyer, i think, but he was sich a good hand to hold a plough that i thought 'twere a pity to spoil a good ploughboy." be discreet. if your sister, while tenderly engaged in a tender conversation with her tender sweetheart, asks you to bring a glass of water from an adjoining room, you can start on the errand, but you need not return. you will not be missed--that's certain; we've seen it tried. don't forget this, little boys. traveler's tale. a traveler, relating his adventures, told the company that he and his servant had made fifty wild arabs run; which startling them, he observed that there was no great matter in it--"for," said he, "we ran, and they ran after us." an opinion. a tipsy irishman, leaning against a lamp post as a funeral was passing by, was asked who was dead. "i can't exactly say, sir," said he, "but i presume it's the gentleman in the coffin." garrick. a certain lord wished garrick to be a candidate for the representation of a borough in parliament. "no, my lord," said the actor, "i would rather play the part of a great man on the stage than the part of a fool in parliament." jonathan's last. the people live uncommon long at vermont. there are two men there so old that they have quite forgotten who they are, and there is nobody alive who can remember it for them. metaphysics. a scotch blacksmith, being asked the meaning of metaphysics, explained it as follows:--"when the party who listens disna ken what the party who speaks means, and when the party who speaks disna ken what he means himsel'--that is metaphysics." forensic eloquence. the _wheeling gazette_ gives the following, as an extract from the recent address of a barrister "out west," to a jury:--"the law expressly declares, gentlemen, in the beautiful language of shakspeare, that where no doubt exists of the guilt of the prisoner, it is your duty to fetch him in innocent. if you keep this fact in view, in the case of my client, gentlemen, you will have the honor of making a friend of him, and all his relations; and you can allers look upon this occasion, and reflect with pleasure, that you have done as you would be done by. but if, on the other hand, you disregard the principle of law, and set at nought my eloquent remarks, and fetch him in guilty, the silent twitches of conscience will follow you over every fair cornfield, i reckon; and my injured and down-trodden client will be apt to light on you one of these dark nights, _as my cat lights on a sasserful of new milk_." a definition in political economy. "will you never learn, my dear, the difference between real and exchangeable value?" the question was put to a husband, who had been lucky enough to be tied up to a political economist in petticoats. "oh yes, my dear, i think i begin to see." "indeed!" responded the lady. "yes," replied the husband. "for instance, my dear, i know your deep learning, and all your other virtues. that's your _real_ value. but i know, also, that none of my married friends would swap wives with me. that's your _exchangeable_ value. couldn't understand. "ah, pat, pat," said a schoolmistress to a thick-headed urchin into whose muddy brain she was attempting to beat the alphabet--"i'm afraid you'll never learn anything. now, what's that letter, eh?" "sure, and i don't know ma'am," replied pat. "thought you might have remembered that." "why, ma'am?" "because it has a dot over the top of it." "och, ma'am, i mind it well; but sure i thought it was a speck." "well, now remember, pat, it's i." "you, ma'am?" "no! no! not u but i." "not i, but you, ma'am--how's that?" "not u, but i, blockhead!" "och, yis, faith; now i have it, ma'am. you mean to say, that not i but you are a blockhead?" "fool! fool!" exclaimed the pedagoguess bursting with rage. "just as you please," quietly responded pat, "fool or blockhead--it's no matter, so long as yer free to own it!" great calf. at a cattle show, recently, a fellow who was making himself ridiculously conspicuous, at last broke forth--"call these ere prize cattle? why, they ain't nothin' to what our folks raised. my father raised the biggest calf of any man round our parts." "i don't doubt it," remarked a bystander, "and the noisiest." go in and win. "ma, i am going to make some soft soap, for the fair this fall!" said a beautiful miss of seventeen, to her mother, the other day. "what put that notion into your head, sally?" "why, ma, the premium is just what i have been wanting." "pray, what is it?" "a 'westchester farmer,' i hope he will be a good looking one!" not here. a correspondent from northampton, mass., is responsible for the following:--"a subscriber to a moral-reform paper, called at our post office, the other day, and enquired if _the friend of virtue_ had come. "no," replied the postmaster, "there has been no such person here for a long time." gentlemen and their debts. the late rev. dr. sutton, vicar of sheffield, once said to the late mr. peach, a veterionary surgeon, "mr. peach, how is it you have not called upon me for your account?" "oh," said mr. peach, "i never ask a gentleman for money." "indeed!" said the vicar, "then how do you get on if he don't pay?" "why," replied mr. peach, "after a certain time i conclude that he is not a gentleman, and then i ask him." charles james fox and his friend. i saw lunardi make the first ascent in a balloon, which had been witnessed in england. it was from the artillery ground. fox was there with his brother, general f. the crowd was immense. fox, happening to put his hand down to his watch, found another hand upon it, which he immediately seized. "my friend," said he to the owner of the strange hand, "you have chosen an occupation which wilt be your ruin at last." "o mr. fox," was the reply, "forgive me, and let me go! i have been driven to this course by necessity alone; my wife and children are starving at home." fox, always tender-hearted, slipped a guinea into the hand, and then released it. on the conclusion of the show, fox was proceeding to look what o'clock it was. "good god!" cried he, "my watch is gone!" "yes," answered general f., "i know it is; i saw your friend take it." "saw him take it! and you made no attempt to stop him?" "really, you and he appeared to be on such good terms with each other, that i did not choose to interfere."--_rogers' table-talk._ ministerial drinking. stothard the painter happened to be, one evening, at an inn on the kent road, when pitt and dundas put up there on their way from walmer. next morning, as they were stepping into their carriage, the waiter said to stothard, "sir, do you observe these two gentlemen?" "yes," he replied; "and i know them to be mr. pitt and mr. dundas." "well, sir, how much wine do you suppose they drank last night?"--stothard could not guess.--"seven bottles, sir." parr and erskine. dr. parr and lord erskine are said to have been the vainest men of their time. at a dinner some years since, dr. parr, in ecstasies with the conversational powers of lord erskine, called out to him, though his junior, "my lord, i mean to write your epitaph." "dr. parr," replied the noble lawyer, "it is a temptation to commit suicide." senatorial peculiarity. a few days since, says the _new york courier_, mr. wise appealed to the speaker of the house of representatives for protection against mr. adams, who, he alleged, was "_making mouths at him_." precisely the same complaint was subsequently made by a gentleman from massachusetts, against mr. marshall of kentucky; but the latter gentleman defended himself by saying, "it was only a _peculiar mode he had of chewing his tobacco_." family fleas. when the late lord erskine, then going the circuit, was asked by his landlord how he slept, he replied, "union is strength; a fact of which some of your inmates seem to be unaware; for had they been unanimous last night, they might have pushed me out of bed." "fleas!" exclaimed boniface, affecting great astonishment, "i was not aware that i had a single one in the house." "i don't believe you have," retorted his lordship, "they are all married, and have uncommonly large families." pulpit pleasantry. one day, naisr-ed-din ascended the pulpit of the mosque, and thus addressed the congregation:--"oh, true believers, do you know what i am going to say to you?" "no," responded the congregation. "well, then," said he, "there is no use in my speaking to you." and he came down from the pulpit. he went to preach a second time, and asked the congregation, "oh, true believers, do you know what i am going to say to you?" "we know," replied the audience. "ah, as you know," said he, quitting the pulpit, "why should i take the trouble of telling you?" when next he came to preach, the congregation resolved to try his powers; and when he asked his usual question, replied, "some of us know, and some of us do not know." "very well," said he, "let those who know, tell those who do not know."--_turkish jest-book._ affectionate husband. the other day, mrs. snipkins being unwell, sent for a medical man, and declared that she was poisoned, and that mr. snipkins did it. "i didn't do it," shouted snipkins. "it's all gammon; she isn't poisoned. prove it, doctor--open her on the spot--i'm willing." brummell. "may i help you to some beef?" said the master of the house to the late mr. brummell. "i never eat beef, nor horse, nor anything of that sort," answered the astonished and indignant epicure. bathos. some years ago, during a discussion respecting the bank of waterford, an honourable member said, "i conjure the right honourable the chancellor of the exchequer to pause in his dangerous career, and desist from a course only calculated to inflict innumerable calamities on my country--to convulse the entire system of society with anarchy and revolution--to shake the very pillars of civil government itself--and to cause _a fall in the price of butter in waterford_." dangerous visits. a person who was recently called into court, for the purpose of proving the correctness of a doctor's bill, was asked by the lawyer whether the doctor did not make several visits after the patient was out of danger? "no," replied the witness, "i considered the patient in danger as long as the doctor continued his visits!" nonsense. being asked to give a definition of nonsense, dr. johnson replied, "sir, it is nonsense to bolt a door with a boiled carrot." conceit. i believe every created crittur in the world thinks that he's the most entertainin' one on it, and that there's no gettin' on anyhow without him. _consait grows as natural as the hair on one's head, but is longer in comin' out._--_sam slick's wise saws._ kissing by proxy. one of the deacons of a certain church asked the bishop if he usually kissed the bride at weddings. "always," was the reply. "and how do you manage when the happy pair are negroes?" was the next question. "in all such cases," replied the bishop, "the duty of kissing is appointed to the deacons!" a bargain. "i reckon i couldn't drive a trade with you to-day, squire?" said a genuine specimen of a yankee pedler, as he stood at the door of a certain merchant in st. louis. "i reckon you calculate about right, for you can't," was the sneering reply. "wall, i guess you needn't get huffy 'bout it. now here's a dozen ginooine razer strops--worth two dollars and a half; you may have 'em for two dollars." "i tell you i don't want any of your strops--so you may as well be going along." "wall, now, look here, squire, i'll bet you five dollars, that if you make me an offer for them 'ere strops, we'll have a trade yet!" "done!" replied the merchant, placing the money in the hands of a bystander. the yankee deposited a like sum. "now," said the merchant, "i'll give you a picayune for the strops." "they're yourn," said the yankee, as he quietly pocketed the stakes. "but," said he, after a little reflection, and with great apparent honesty, "i'll trade back." the merchant's countenance brightened. "you are not so bad a chap, after all," said he. "here are your strops--give me the money." "there it is," said the yankee, as he received the strops and passed over the sixpence. "a trade is a trade; and, now you are wide awake, the next time you trade with that 'ere sixpence you'll do a little better than buy razer strops." and away walked the pedler with his strops and his wager, amidst the shouts of the laughing crowd. conundrums. what is the difference between a big man and a little man?--one is a tall fellow and the other not at all. why is a betting-list keeper like a bride?--because he's taken for better or worse. why is a person asking questions the strangest of all individuals?--because he's the querist. why is a thief called a "jail-bird?"--because he has been a "robbin." why should an editor look upon it as ominous when a correspondent signs himself "nemo?"--because there is an omen in the very letters. ready reply. a gentleman asked a friend, in a somewhat knowing manner, "pray, sir, did you ever see a cat-fish?" "no," was the response, "but i've seen a rope walk." a yankee prayer. in the state of ohio, there resided a family, consisting of an old man, of the name of beaver, and his three sons, all of whom were hard "pets," who had often laughed to scorn the advice and entreaties of a pious, though very eccentric, minister, who resided in the same town. it happened one of the boys was bitten by a rattlesnake, and was expected to die, when the minister was sent for in great haste. on his arrival, he found the young man very penitent, and anxious to be prayed with. the minister calling on the family, knelt down, and prayed in this wise:--"o lord! we thank thee for rattlesnakes. we thank thee because a rattlesnake has bit jim. we pray thee send a rattlesnake to bite john; send one to bite bill; send one to bite sam; and, o lord! send the biggest kind of a rattlesnake to bite the old man; for nothing but rattlesnakes will ever bring the beaver family to repentance." chief justice bushe. counsellor (afterwards chief justice) bushe, being asked which of mr. power's company of actors he most admired, maliciously replied, "the prompter; for i heard the most, and saw the least of him." presence of mind. i once observed to a scotch lady, "how desirable it was in any danger _to have presence of mind_." "i had rather," she rejoined, "_have absence of body_."--_rogers' table-talk._ glory without danger. a man hearing the drum beat up for volunteers for france, in the expedition against the dutch, imagined himself valiant enough, and thereupon enlisted himself; returning again, he was asked by his friends, "what exploits he had performed there?" he said, "that he had cut off one of the enemy's legs;" and being told that it would have been more honorable and manly to have cut off his head, said, "oh! you must know his head was cut off before." lord chesterfield. witticisms are often attributed to the wrong people. it was lord chesterfield, not sheridan, who said, on occasion of a certain marriage, that "nobody's son had married everybody's daughter." lord chesterfield remarked of two persons dancing a minuet, that "they looked as if they were hired to do it, and were doubtful of being paid." unanimity. a scotch parson, in his prayer, said, "lord, bless the grand council, the parliament, and grant that they may hang together." a country fellow standing by, replied, "yes, sir, with all my heart, and the sooner the better--and i am sure it is the prayer of all good people." "but, friends," said the parson, "i don't mean as that fellow does, but pray they may all hang together in accord and concord." "no matter what cord," replied the other, "so 'tis but a strong one." simplicity. the bishop of oxford, having sent round to the churchwardens in his diocese a circular of inquiries, among which was:--"does your officiating clergyman preach the gospel, and is his conversation and carriage consistent therewith?" the churchwarden near wallingford replied:--"he preaches the gospel, but does not keep a carriage." patriotism and liberality. a lady solicitor for the mount vernon fund visited one of the schools in boston, says the bee, to collect offerings from the children. on the dismission of the school, one of the boys went home, and said to his father--"papa! general washington's wife came to our school to-day, trying to raise some money to buy a graveyard for him where he's buried, and i want a dime to put into the contribution-box." in an ecstasy of patriotism the gentleman contributed. sheridan. sheridan was one day much annoyed by a fellow-member of the house of commons, who kept crying out every few minutes, "hear! hear!" during the debate he took occasion to describe a political contemporary that wished to play rogue, but had only sense enough to act fool. "where," exclaimed he, with great emphasis, "where shall we find a more foolish knave or a more knavish fool than he?" "hear! hear!" was shouted by the troublesome member. sheridan turned round, and, thanking him for the prompt information, sat down amid a general roar of laughter. the way to win a kiss. the late mr. bush used to tell a story of a brother barrister:--as the coach was about starting, before breakfast, the modest limb of the law approached the landlady, a pretty quakeress, who was seated near the fire, and said he "could not think of going without giving her a kiss." "friend," said she, "thee must not do it." "oh! by heavens, i will!" replied the barrister. "well, friend, as thou hast sworn, thee may do it; but thee must not make a practice of it." a butcher's compliment. in the bristol market, a lady laying her hand on a joint of veal, said, "i think, mr. f., this veal is not quite so white as usual." "put on your _glove_, madam," replied the dealer, "and you will think differently." it may be needless to remark, that the veal was ordered home without another word of objection. drunkenness. a gentleman finding his servant intoxicated, said--"what, drunk again, sam! i scolded you for being drunk last night, and here you are drunk again." "no, massa, same drunk, massa, same drunk," replied sambo. can't be beat. a lively hibernian exclaimed, at a party where theodore hook shone as the evening star, "och, master theodore, but you're the hook that nobody can bait." mrs. ramsbottom's letter from paris.[*] _paris, december th, ._ my dear mr. bull,--having often heard travelers lament not having put down what they call _memorybillious_ of their journies, i was determined while i was on my _tower_, to keep a _dairy_ (so called from containing the cream of one's information), and record everything which recurred to me--therefore i begin with my departure from london. resolving to take time by the _firelock_, we left montague place at o'clock by mr. fulmer's pocket thermometer, and proceeded over westminister bridge to _explode_ the european continent. i never pass whitehall without dropping a tear to the memory of charles the second, who was decimated, after the rebellion of , opposite the horse guards--his memorable speech to archbishop caxon rings in my ears whenever i pass the spot. i reverted my head and affected to look to see what o'clock it was by the dial, on the opposite side of the way. it is quite impossible not to notice the improvements in this part of the town, the beautiful view which one gets of westminster hall and its curious roof, after which, as everybody knows, its builder was called william roofus. amongst the lighter specimens of modern architecture is ashley's _ampletheatre_, on your right, as you cross the bridge (which was built, mr. fulmer informed me, by the court of arches and house of peers). in this ampletheatre there are equestrian performances, so called because they are exhibited _nightly_ during the season. the toll at the marsh gate is _ris_ since we last came through--it was here we were to have taken up lavinia's friend, mr. smith, who has promised to go with us to dover--but we found his servant instead of himself with a _billy_, to say he was sorry he could not come, because his friend, sir john somebody, wished him to stay and go down to _poll_ at lincoln. i have no doubt that this _poll_, whoever she may be, is a very respectable young woman, but mentioning her by her christian name only in so abrupt a manner had a very unpleasant appearance at any rate. nothing remarkable occurred till we reached the _obstacle_ in st. george's fields, where our attention was arrested by those great institutions--the school for the _indignant_ blind, and the _misanthropic_ society for making shoes, both of which claim the gratitude of the nation. at the bottom of the lane, leading to peckham, i saw that they had removed the _dollygraph_ which used to stand upon the declivity to the right of the road--the dollygraphs are all to be superseded by _serampores_. when we came to the green man at blackheath, we had an opportunity of noticing the errors of former travellers, for the heath is green and the man is black. mr. fulmer endeavoured to account for this, by saying, that mr. colman has discovered that moors being black, and heaths being a kind of moor, he looks upon the confusion of words as the cause of the mistake. n. b.--mr. colman is the _itinerary_ surgeon, who constantly resides at st. pancras. as we went near woolwich, we saw at a distance the artillery officers on a common, a firing away in mortars like anything. at dartford they make gunpowder--here we changed horses. at the inn we saw a most beautiful _roderick random_ in a pot covered with flowers--it is the finest i ever saw, except those at dropmore. when we got to rochester, we went to the crown inn and had a cold _collection_--the charge was _absorbant_. i had often heard my poor dear husband talk of the influence of the crown, and the bill of _wrights_, but i had no idea what it really meant, till we had to pay one. as we passed near chatham, i saw several _pitts_, and mr. fulmer shewed me a great many buildings--i believe he said they were _fortyfications_, but i think there must have been fifty of them; he also showed me the lines at chatham, which i saw quite distinctly, with the clothes drying on them. rochester was remarkable in king charles's time, for being a very witty and dissolute place, as i have read in books. at canterbury, we stopped ten minutes to visit all the remarkable buildings and curiosities in it, and about its neighborhood; the church is most beautiful. when oliver cromwell conquered william the third, he _perverted_ it into a stable--the stalls are now standing. the old _virgin_, who shewed us the church, wore buckskin _breaches and powder_--he said it was an archypiscopal sea--but i saw no sea, nor do i think it possible he could see it either, for it is at least seventeen miles off. we saw mr. thomas à beckett's tomb--my poor husband was extremely intimate with the old gentleman, and one of his nephews, a very nice young man, who lives near golden square, dined with us twice, i think, in london. in trinity chapel is the monument of eau de cologne, just as it is now exhibiting at the _diarrhoea_ in the regent's park. it was late when we got to dover. we walked about while our dinner was preparing, looking forward to our snug tête-à-tête of three. we went to look at the sea--so called, perhaps, from the uninterrupted view one has when upon it. it was very curious to see the locks to keep the water here, and the _keys_ which are on each side of them, all ready, i suppose, to open them if they are wanted. we were awake with the owl next morning, and a walking away before eight, we went to see the castle,--which was built, the man told us, by seizer, so called, i conclude, from seizing everything he could lay his hands upon. the man said moreover that he had invaded britain and conquered it, upon which i told him, that if he repeated such a thing in my presence again, i should write to the government about him. we saw the inn where alexander the _autograph_ of all the russians lived when he was here--and as we were going along, we met twenty or thirty dragons mounted on horses, and the ensign who commanded them was a friend of mr. fulmer's--he looked at lavinia and seemed pleased with her _tooting assembly_--he was quite a "sine qua non" of a man, and wore tips on his lips, like lady hopkins' poodle. i heard mr. fulmer say he was a son of _marrs_; he spoke as if everybody knew his father, so i suppose he must be the son of the poor gentleman who was so barbarously murdered some years ago, near ratcliff highway--if he is, he is uncommon genteel. at o'clock we got into a boat and rowed to the packet; it was a very fine and clear day for the season, and mr. fulmer said he should not dislike pulling lavinia about all the morning--this, i believe, was a _naughty-call_ phrase--which i did not rightly comprehend, because mr. f. never offered to talk in that way on shore to either of us. the packet is not a _parcel_, as i imagined, in which we were to be made up for exportation, but a boat of very considerable size; it is called a cutter--why i do not know, and did not like to ask. it was very curious to see how it rolled about--however i felt quite mal-á-propos--and instead of exciting any of the soft sensibility of the other sex, a great unruly man, who held the handle of the ship, bid me lay hold of a companion, and when i sought his arm for protection, he introduced me to a ladder, down which i _ascended_ into the cabin, one of the most curious places i ever beheld--where ladies and gentlemen are put upon shelves like books in a library, and where tall men are doubled up like bootjacks, before they can be put away at all. a gentleman in a heavy cap without his coat laid me perpendicular on a mattrass, with a basin by my side, and said that was my birth. i thought it would have been my death, for i never was so ill-disposed in all my life. i behaved extremely ill to a very amiable middle-aged gentleman, who had the misfortune to be attending on his wife, in a little bed under me. there was no _symphony_ to be found among the tars (so called from their smell), for just before we went off i heard them throw a painter overboard, and directly after they called out to one another to hoist up the ensign. i was too ill to inquire what the poor young gentleman had done; but after i came up stairs, i did not see his body hanging anywhere, so i conclude they cut him down--i hope it was not young mr. marr, a venturing after my lavy. i was quite shocked to find what democrats the sailors are--they seem to hate the nobility--especially the law lords. the way i discovered this _apathy_ of theirs to the nobility, was this--the very moment we lost sight of england and were close to france, they began, one and all, to swear first at the peer, and then at the bar, in such gross terms as made my very blood run cold. i was quite pleased to see lavinia sitting with mr. fulmer in the traveling carriage on the outside of the packet; but lavinia afforded great proofs of her good bringing up, by commanding her feelings. it is curious what could have agitated the _billy ducks_ of my stomach, because i took every precaution which is recommended in different books to prevent ill-disposition. i had some mutton chops at breakfast, some scotch marmalade on bread and butter, two eggs, two cups of coffee, and three of tea, besides toast, a little fried whiting, some potted char, and a few shrimps, and after breakfast i took a glass of warm white wine negus and a few oysters, which lasted me till we got into the boat, where i began eating gingerbread nuts all the way to the packet, and there was persuaded to take a glass of bottled porter to keep everything snug and comfortable. adieu, yours truly, dorothea julia ramsbottom. [*] this jeu d'esprit is attributed to theodore hook. very busy. some one asked a lad how it was he was so short for his age? he replied, "father keeps me so busy i haint time to grow." john bull. the english are a calm, reflecting people; they will give time and money when they are convinced; but they love dates, names, and certificates. in the midst of the most heart-rending narratives, bull requires the day of the month, the year of our lord, the name of the parish, and the countersign of three or four respectable householders. after these affecting circumstances, he can no longer hold out; but gives way to the kindness of his nature--puffs, blubbers, and subscribes!--_sydney smith._ yankee ingenuity. in some of our towns we don't allow smokin' in the streets, though most of them we do, and where it is agin law, it is two dollars fine in a gineral way. well, sassy went down to boston, to do a little chore of business there, where this law was, only he didn't know it. so, soon as he gets off the coach, he outs with his case, takes a cigar, lights it, and walks on, smoking like a furnace flue. no sooner said than done. up steps a constable and says, "i'll trouble you for two dollars for smokin' agin law, in the streets." sassy was as quick as wink on him. "smokin'!" says he; "i warn't a smokin'." "o, my!" says constable, "how you talk, man! i won't say you lie, 'cause it aint polite, but it's very like the way i talk when i fib. didn't i see you with my own eyes?" "no," says sassy, "you didn't. it don't do always to believe your own eyes, they can't be depended on more than other people's. i never trust mine, i can assure you. i own i had a cigar in my mouth, but it was because i liked the flavor of tobacco, but not to smoke. i take it don't convene with the dignity of a free and enlightened citizen of our almighty nation, to break the law, seein' that he makes the law himself, and is his own sovereign, and his own subject, too. no, i warn't smokin', and if you don't believe me, try this cigar yourself, and see if it aint so. it han't got no fire in it." well, constable takes the cigar, puts it into his mug, and draws away at it, and out comes the smoke like anythin'. "i'll trouble _you_ for two dollars, mr. high sheriff's representative," says sassy, "for smokin' in the streets; do you underconstand, my old coon?" well, constable was taken all aback; he was finely bit. "stranger," says he, "where was you raised?" "to canady line," says sassy. "well," says he, "you're a credit to your broughtens up. we'll let the fine drop, for we are about even, i guess. let's liquor," and he took him into a bar and treated him to a mint julep. it was generally considered a great bite, that, and i must say, i don't think it was bad--do you?--_sam slick._ comfortable. theodore hook, when surprised, one evening, in his arm-chair, two or three hours after dinner, is reported to have apologised, by saying: "when one is alone, the bottle _does_ come round so often." it was sir hercules langrishe, who, being asked, on a similar occasion, "have you finished all that port (three bottles) without assistance?" answered, "no, not quite that; i had the assistance of a bottle of madeira." horne tooke. when horne tooke was at school, the boys asked him "what his father was?" tooke answered, "a turkey merchant." (he was a poulterer.) he once said to his brother, a pompous man, "you and i have reversed the natural course of things; you have risen by your gravity; i have sunk by my levity." to judge ashhurst's remark, that the law was open to all, both to the rich and to the poor, tooke replied, "so is the london tavern." he said that hume wrote his history, as witches say their prayers--backwards. lamb and erskine. counsellor lamb, an old man when lord erskine was in the height of his reputation, was of timid manners and nervous disposition, usually prefacing his pleadings with an apology to that effect; and on one occasion, when opposed, in some cause, to erskine, he happened to remark that "he felt himself growing more and more timid as he grew older." "no wonder," replied the witty, but relentless barrister; "every one knows the older a _lamb_ grows, the more _sheepish_ he becomes." the truth told by mistake. i shall not easily forget the sarcasm of swift's simile as he told us of the prince of orange's harangue to the mob of portsmouth:--"we are come," said he, "for your good--for _all_ your _goods_." "a universal principle," added swift, "of all governments; but, like most other truths, only told by mistake."--_ethel churchill._ talleyrand's wit. talleyrand being asked, if a certain authoress, whom he had long since known, but who belonged rather to the last age, was not "a little tiresome?" "not at all," said he, "she was perfectly tiresome." a gentleman in company was one day making a somewhat zealous eulogy of his mother's beauty, dwelling upon the topic at uncalled for length--he himself having certainly inherited no portion of that kind under the marriage of his parents. "it was your father, then, apparently, who may not have been very well favoured," was talleyrand's remark, which at once released the circle from the subject. when madame de staël published her celebrated novel of _delphine_, she was supposed to have painted herself in the person of the heroine, and m. talleyrand in that of an elderly lady, who is one of the principal characters. "they tell me," said he, the first time he met her, "that we are both of us in your novel, in the disguise of women." rulhières, the celebrated author of the work on the polish revolution, having said, "i never did but one mischievous work in my life." "and when will it be ended?" was talleyrand's reply. "is not geneva dull?" asked a friend of talleyrand. "especially when they amuse themselves," was the reply. "she is insupportable," said talleyrand, with marked emphasis, of one well known; but, as if he had gone too far, and to take off something of what he had said, he added, "it is her only defect." bussing. buss--to kiss. re-bus--to kiss again. blunder-buss--two girls kissing each other. omni-bus--to kiss all the girls in the room. bus-ter--a general kisser. _e pluri_-bus _unum_--a thousand kisses in one. wanted. "you want a flogging, that's what you do;" said a parent to his unruly son. "i know it, dad; but i'll try to get along without it," replied the brat. national school scenes. the following anecdotes were told by the late bishop of chichester, as having occurred to himself. at the annual examination of the charity schools, around the city of chichester, he was seated in the front row of the school room, together with his daughters, and the family of the noble house of richmond, when the bishop kindly took part in the examination, and put several questions. to one boy, he said, "we have all sinned and come short of the glory of god. now, does that passage mean that _every one_ of us has sinned?" the boy hesitated--but upon a repetition of the question, the lad replied, "every one except your lordship, and the company sitting on the front form." the same bishop, at one of his confirmations, saw a school girl inclined to be inattentive and troublesome; he therefore held up his finger as a warning. these children, being accustomed to _signs_ from their teachers, of which they were expected to declare the meaning, did not suppose that the elevation of the bishop's finger, was an exception to their general rule of reply to such tokens, they therefore all arose together, and from the middle of the church exclaimed in an exulting tone, "_perpendicular_," to the astonishment and consternation of the better inclined, and to the amusement, we fear, of not a few of the congregation. mrs. partington. "so there's another rupture of mount vociferous," said mrs. partington, as she put up her specs; "the paper tells us about the burning lather running down the mountain, but it don't tell how it got a fire." an hibernian m. p. a very laughable incident occurred in the house of commons. an irish member, whose name i will not mention, having risen, he was assailed by loud cries of "spoke! spoke!" meaning, that having spoken once already, he had no right to do it a second time. he had, evidently, a second speech struggling in his breast for an introduction into the world, when seeing after remaining for some time on his legs, that there was not the slightest chance of being suffered to deliver a sentence of it, he observed, with imperturbable gravity, and in a rich tipperary brogue, "if honorable gintlemin suppose that i was going to spake again, they are quite mistaken. i merely rose for the purpose of saying that i had nothing more to say on the subject." the house was convulsed with laughter, for a few seconds afterwards, at the exceeding ready wit of the hibernian m. p.--_random recollections of the lords and commons.--new series._ modesty. there is a young lady down east, so excessively modest, that every night before retiring, she closes the window curtain, to prevent the "man in the moon" from looking in. she is related to the young lady who would not allow the _christian observer_ to remain in her room over night. american toast. "the ladies; the only endurable aristocracy, who rule without laws--judge without jury--decide without appeal, and are never in the wrong." passing a counterfeit. diggs saw a note lying on the ground, but knew that it was a counterfeit, and walked on without picking it up. he told the story to smithers, when the latter said: "do you know, diggs, you have committed a very grave offence?" "why, what have i done?" "you have passed a counterfeit bill, knowing it to be such," said smithers, without a smile, and fled. lord chesterfield. lord chesterfield being given to understand that he would die by inches, very philosophically replied, "if that be the case, i am happy that i am not so tall as sir thomas robinson." a penny. a good woman called on dr. b---- one day in a great deal of trouble, and complained that her son had swallowed a penny. "pray madam," said the doctor, "was it a counterfeit?" "no, sir, certainly not;" was the reply. "then it will pass, of course," rejoined the facetious physician. johnson. a lady, after performing, with the most brilliant execution, a sonata on the pianoforte, in the presence of dr. johnson, turning to the philosopher, took the liberty of asking him if he was fond of music? "no madam," replied the doctor; "but of all noises i think music is the least disagreeable." clever lampoon. upon frederick prince of wales, son of george the second, a prince whom people of all parties are now agreed in thinking no very great worthy, nor superior to what a lively woman has here written upon him; for if we understand horace walpole rightly, who says the verses were found among her papers, they were the production of the honourable miss rollo, probably daughter of the fourth lord rollo, who was implicated in the rebellion. frederick was familiarly termed _feckie_ and _fed_. "here lies prince fed, gone down among the dead. had it been his father, we had much rather; had it been his mother, better than any other; had it been his sister, few would have miss'd her; had it been the whole generation, ten times better for the nation; but since 'tis only fed, there's no more to be said." in his shirt sleeves. a good story is told of a "country gentleman," who, for the first time, heard an episcopal clergyman preach. he had read much of the aristocracy and pride of the church, and when he returned home he was asked if the people were "stuck up." "pshaw! no," replied he, "why the minister preached in his shirt-sleeves." a mormon preacher. the _boston herald_, in announcing the death of elder g. adams, a mormon preacher, says:--"on his second visit to boston, the elder preached, baptized converts, whipped a newspaper editor, and played a star engagement at the national theatre. he was industrious, and filled up all his time. we have a fund of anecdotes concerning this strange mortal, which we shall be glad to print at some other time. we close this article by briefly adverting to the chastisement he gave an editor, for strongly criticising his performance of _richard iii_. the office of the editor was in washington street, where propeller now keeps. adams armed himself with a cowhide, and watched for his victim. soon, the unsuspecting fellow came down the stairs, and adams sprang upon him, exclaiming, "the lord has delivered thee into my hands, and i shall give thee forty stripes, save one, scripture measure. brother graham, keep tally." so saying, he proceeded to lay on the punishment with hearty good will. in the meantime, a large crowd had gathered around the avenging priest and the delinquent. when the tally was up, adams let the man go, and addressed the crowd as follows: "men and brethren, my name is elder george j. adams, preacher of the everlasting gospel. i have chastised mine enemy. i go this afternoon to fulfil an engagement at the providence theatre, where i shall play one of shakspeare's immortal creations. i shall return to this city, at the end of the week, and will, by divine permission, preach three times next sabbath, on the immortality of the soul, the eternity of matter, and in answer to the question 'who is the devil?' may grace and peace be with you.--amen!" john kemble. john kemble was often very amusing when he had had a good deal of wine. he and two friends were returning to town, in an open carriage, from the priory, (lord abercorn's,) where they had dined; and as they were waiting for change at a toll-gate, kemble, to the amazement of the toll-keeper, called out, in the tone of rolla, "we seek no _change_; and, least of all, such _change_ as he would bring us." a surprise. a green 'un, who had never before seen a steamboat, fell through the hatchway, down into the hold, and being unhurt, thus loudly expressed his surprise--"well, if the darned thing aint holler." queer duel. an englishman and a frenchman having quarrelled, they were to fight a duel. being both great cowards, they agreed (for their mutual safety, of course) that the duel should take place in a room perfectly dark. the englishman had to fire first. he groped his way to the hearth, fired up the chimney, and brought down--the frenchman, who had taken refuge there. lawyers. "a lawyer," said lord brougham, in a facetious mood, "is a learned gentleman, who rescues your estate from your enemies, and keeps it himself." a frenchman puzzled with the word "box." sir--in the course of my study in the english language, which i made now for three years, i always read your periodically, and now think myself capable to write at your magazin. i love always the modesty, or you shall have a letter of me very long time pass. but, never mind. i would well tell you, that i am come to this country to instruct me in the manners, the customs, the habits, the policies, and the other affairs general of great britain. and truly i think me good fortunate, being received in many families, so as i can to speak your language now with so much facility as the french. i am but a particular gentleman, come here for that what i said; but, since i learn to comprehend the language, i discover that i am become an object of pleasantry, and for himself to mock, to one of your comedians even before i put my foot upon the ground at douvres. he was mr. mathew, who tell of some contretems of me and your word detestable _box_. well, never mind. i know at present how it happen, because i see him since in some parties and dinners; and he confess he love much to go travel and mix himself altogether up with the stage coach and vapouring boat for fun, what he bring at his theatre. well, never mind. he see me, perhaps, to ask a question in the paque-bot--but he not confess after, that he goed and bribe the garçon at the hotel and the coachman to mystify me with all the boxes; but, very well, i shall tell you how it arrived, so as you shall see that it was impossible that a stranger could miss to be perplexed, and to advertise the travellers what will come after, that they shall converse with the gentleman and not with the badinstructs. but, it must that i begin. i am a gentleman, and my goods are in the public rentes, and a chateau with a handsome propriety on the banks of the loire, which i lend to a merchant english, who pay me very well in london for my expenses. very well. i like the peace nevertheless that i was force, at other time, to go to war with napoleon. but it is passed. so i come to paris in my proper post-chaise, where i selled him, and hire one, for almost nothing at all, for bring me to calais all alone, because i will not bring my valet to speak french here where all the world is ignorant. the morning following, i get upon the vapouring boat to walk so far as douvres. it was fine day, and after i am recover myself of a malady of the sea, i walk myself about the ship, and i see a great mechanic of wood with iron wheel, and thing to push up inside, and handle to turn. it seemed to be ingenious, and proper to hoist great burdens. they use it for shoving the timber, what come down of the vessel, into the place; and they tell me it was call "jacques in the _box_:" and i was very much pleased with the invention so novel. very well. i go again promenade upon the board of the vessel, and i look at the compass, and little boy sailor come and sit him down, and begin to chatter like the little monkey. then the man that turns a wheel about and about laugh, and say, "very well, jacques," but i not understand one word the little fellow say. so i make inquire, and they tell me he was "_box_ the compass." i was surprise, but i tell myself, "well, never mind;" and so we arrive at douvres. i find myself enough well in the hotel, but as there has been no _table d'hôte_, i ask for some dinner, and it was long time i wait: and so i walk myself to the customary house, and give the key to my portmanteau to the douaniers, or excisemen, as you call, for them to see as i had no smuggles in my equipage. very well. i return at my hotel, and meet one of the waiters, who tell me (after i stand little moment to the door to see the world what pass by upon a coach at the instant), "sir," he say, "your dinner is ready." "very well," i make response, "where was it?" "this way, sir," he answer, "i have put it in a _box_ in the _café_ room." "well, never mind," i say to myself, "when a man himself finds in a stranger country, he must be never surprised. '_nil admirari._' keep the eyes open and stare at nothing at all." i found my dinner only there there, because i was so soon come from france; but, i learn, another sort of the box was a partition and table particular in a saloon, and i keep there when i eated some good sole fritted, and some not cooked mutton cutlet; and a gentleman what was put in another _box_, perhaps mr. mathew, because nobody not can know him twice, like a cameleon he is, call for the "pepper-_box_." very well. i take a cup of coffee, and then all my hards and portmanteau come with a wheel-barrow; and, because it was my resolution to voyage up at london with the coach, and i find my many little things was not convenient, i ask the waiter where i may buy a night sack, or get them tie up all together in a burden. he was well attentive at my cares, and responded, that he shall find me a _box_ to put them all into. well, i say nothing to all but "yes," for fear to discover my ignorance; so he brings the little _box_ for the clothes and things into the great _box_ what i was put into; and he did my affairs in it very well. then i ask him for some spectacle in the town, and he sent boot boy with me so far as the theatre, and i go in to pay. it was shabby poor little place, but the man what set to have the money, when i say, "how much," asked me if i would not go into the _boxes_. "very well," i say, "never mind--oh yes--to be sure;" and i find very soon the _box_ was the loge, same thing. i had not understanding sufficient in your tongue then to comprehend all what i hear--only one poor maiger doctor, what had been to give his physic too long time at a cavalier old man, was condemned to swallow up a whole _box_ of his proper pills. "very well," i say, "that must be egregious. it is cannot be possible," but they bring a little _box_ not more grand nor my thumb. it seemed to be to me very ridiculous; so i returned to my hotel at despair how i could possibility learn a language what meant so many differents in one word. i found the same waiter, who, so soon as i come in, tell me--"sir, did you not say that you would go by the coach to-morrow morning?" i replied--"yes; and i have bespeaked a seat out of the side, because i shall wish to amuse myself with the country, and you have no cabriolets in your coaches." "sir," he say, very polite, "if you shall allow me, i would recommend you the _box_, and then the coachman shall tell everything." "very well," i reply, "yes--to be sure--i shall have a _box_ then--yes;" and then i demanded a fire into my chamber, because i think myself enrhumed upon the sea, and the maid of the chamber come to send me in bed: but i say, "no so quick, if you please; i will write to some friend how i find myself in england. very well--here is the fire, but perhaps it shall go out before i have finish." she was pretty laughing young woman, and say, "oh no, sir, if you pull the bell, the porter, who sits up all night, will come, unless you like to attend to it yourself, and then you will find the coal-_box_ in the closet." well--i say nothing but "yes--oh yes." but, when she is gone, i look direct into the closet, and see a _box_ not no more like none of the other _boxes_ what i see all day than nothing. well--i write at my friends, and then i tumble about when i wake, and dream in the sleep what should possible be the description of the _box_, what i must be put in to-morrow for my voyage. in the morning, it was very fine time, i see the coach at the door, and i walk all around before they bring the horses; but i see nothing what they can call _boxes_, only the same kind as what my little business was put into. so i ask for the post of letters at a little boots boy, who showed me by the quay, and tell me, pointing by his finger at a window--"there see, there was the letter-_box_," and i perceive a crevice. "very well--all _box_ again to-day," i say, and give my letter to the master of postes, and go away again at the coach, where i very soon find out what was coach-_box_, and mount myself upon it. then come the coachman habilitated like the gentleman, and the first word he say was--"keep horses! bring my _box_-coat!" and he push up a grand capote with many scrapes. "but--never mind," i say; "i shall see all the _boxes_ in time." so he kick his leg upon the board, and cry "cheat!" and we are out into the country in lesser than one minute, and roll at so grand pace, what i have had fear we will be reversed. but after little times, i take courage and we begin to entertain together: but i hear one of the wheels cry squeak, so i tell him, "sir, one of the wheel would be greased;" then he make reply nonchalancely, "oh it is nothing but one of the _boxes_ what is too tight." but it is very long time after as i learn that wheel a _box_ was pipe of iron what go turn round upon the axle. well--we fly away at the pace of charge. i see great castles, many; then come a pretty house of country well ornamented, and i make inquire what it should be. "oh!" responded he, "i not remember the gentleman's name, but it is what we call a snug country _box_." then i feel myself abymed at despair, and begin to suspect that he amused himself. but, still i tell myself, "well, never mind; we shall see." and then after sometimes, there come another house, all alone in a forest, not ornated at all. "what, how you call that?" i demand of him--"oh!" he responded again, "that is a shooting-_box_ of lord killfot's." "oh!" i cry at last out," that is little too strong;" but he hoisted his shoulders and say nothing. well, we come at a house of country, ancient with the trees cut like some peacocks, and i demand--"what you call these trees?" "_box_, sir," he tell me. "devil is in the _box_," i say at myself. "but, never mind; we shall see." so i myself refreshed with a pinch of snuff and offer him, and he take very polite, and remark upon an instant--"that is a very handsome _box_ of yours, sir." "morbleu!" i exclaimed with inadvertencyness, but i stop myself. then he pull out his snuff-_box_, and i take a pinch, because i like at home to be sociable when i am out at voyages, and not show some pride with inferior. it was of wood beautiful with turnings, and colour of yellowish. so i was pleased to admire very much, and inquire the name of the wood, and again he say--"_box_, sir."--well, i hold myself with patience, but it was difficilly; and we keep with great gallop, till we come at a great crowd of the people. then i say, "what for all so large concourse?" "oh!" he response again, "there is one grand _boxing_ match--a battle here to-day." "peste!" i tell myself, "a battle of _boxes_! well, never mind! i hope it can be a combat at the outrance, and they all shall destroy one another, for i am fatigued." well--we arrive at an hotel, very superb, all as it ought, and i demand a morsel to refresh myself. i go into a saloon, but, before i finish, great noise come into the passage, and i pull the bell's rope to demand why so great tapage? the waiter tell me, and he laugh at same time, but very civil no less--"oh, sir, it is only two of the women what quarrel, and one has given another a _box_ on the ear." well--i go back on the coach-box, but i look, as i pass, at all the women ear, for the _box_; but not none i see. "well," i tell myself once more, "never mind, we shall see;" and we drive on very passable and agreeable times till we approached ourselves near london: but then come one another coach of the opposition to pass by, and the coachman say--"no, my boy, it shan't do!" and then he whip his horses, and made some traverse upon the road, and tell to me, all the times, a long explication what the other coachman have done otherwhiles, and finish not till we stop, and the coach of opposition come behind him in one narrow place. well--then he twist himself round, and, with full voice, cry himself out at the another man, who was so angry as himself--"i'll tell you what, my hearty! if you comes some more of your gammon at me, i shan't stand, and you shall yourself find in the wrong _box_." it was not for many weeks after as i find out the wrong _box_ meaning. well--we get at london, at the coaches office, and i unlightened from my seat, and go at the bureau for pay my passage, and gentleman very polite demanded if i had some friend at london. i converse with him very little time in voyaging, because he was in the interior; but i perceive he is real gentleman. so, i say--"no, sir, i am stranger." then he very honestly recommend me at an hotel, very proper, and tell me--"sir, because i have some affairs in the banque, i must sleep in the city this night; but to-morrow i shall come at the hotel, where you shall find some good attentions if you make the use of my name." "very well," i tell myself, "this is best." so we exchange the cards, and i have hackney coach to come at my hotel, where they say--"no room, sir--very sorry--no room." but i demand to stop the moment, and produce the card what i could not read before, in the movements of the coach with the darkness. the master of the hotel take it from my hand, and become very polite of the instant, and whisper to the ear of some waiters, and these come at me, and say--"oh yes, sir, i know mr. _box_ very well. worthy gentleman, mr. box. very proud to incommode any friend of mr. box. pray inlight yourself, and walk in my house." so i go in, and find myself very proper, and soon come so as if i was in my own particular chamber; and mr. box come next day, and i find very soon that he was the _right_ box, and not the _wrong_ box. ha, ha! you shall excuse my badinage--eh? but never mind--i am going at leicestershire to see the foxes hunting, and perhaps will get upon a coach-box in the spring, and go at edinburgh; but i have fear i cannot come at your "noctes," because i have not learn yet to eat so great supper. i always read what they speak there twice over, except what mons. le "shepherd" say, what i read three time; but never could comprehend exactly what he say, though i discern some time the grand idea, what walk in darkness almost "visible," as your divine milton say. i am particular fond of the poetry. i read three books of the "paradise lost" to mr. box, but he not hear me no more--he pronounce me perfect. after one such compliment, it would be almost the same as ask you for another, if i shall make apology in case i have not find the correct idiotism of your language in this letter; so i shall not make none at all--only throw myself at your mercy, like a great critic. i have the honour of subscribe myself, your much obedient servant, louis le cheminant. p. s. ha! ha! it is very droll! i tell my valet, we go at leicestershire for the hunting fox. very well. so soon as i finish this letter, he come and demand what i shall leave behind in orders for some presents, to give what people will come at my lodgments for christmas _boxes_.--_blackwood's magazine._ absurdities. to attempt to borrow money on the plea of extreme poverty.--to lose money at play, and then fly into a passion about it.--to ask the publisher of a new periodical how many copies he sells per week.--to ask a wine merchant how old his wine is.--to make yourself generally disagreeable, and wonder that nobody will visit you, unless they gain some palpable advantage by it.--to get drunk, and complain the next morning of a headache.--to spend your earnings on liquor, and wonder that you are ragged.--to sit shivering in the cold because you won't have a fire till november.--to suppose that reviewers generally read more than the title-page of the works they praise or condemn.--to judge of people's piety by their attendance at church.--to keep your clerks on miserable salaries, and wonder at their robbing you.--not to go to bed when you are tired and sleepy, because "it is not bed time."--to make your servants tell lies for you, and afterwards be angry because they tell lies for themselves.--to tell your own secrets, and believe other people will keep them.--to render a man a service voluntarily, and expect him to be grateful for it.--to expect to make people honest by hardening them in a jail, and afterwards sending them adrift without the means of getting work.--to fancy a thing is cheap because a low price is asked for it.--to say that a man is charitable because he subscribes to an hospital.--to keep a dog or a cat on short allowance, and complain of its being a thief.--to degrade human nature in the hope of improving it.--to praise the beauty of a woman's hair before you know whether it did not once belong to somebody else.--to expect that your tradespeople will give you long credit if they generally see you in shabby clothes.--to arrive at the age of fifty, and be surprised at any vice, folly, or absurdity your fellow creatures may be guilty of. good reason. an irishman being asked why he wore his stockings wrong side out, replied, "because there's a hole on the ither side ov 'em." putting down a lady. at a religious meeting, a lady persevered in standing on a bench, and thus intercepting the view of others, though repeatedly requested to sit down. a reverend old gentleman at last rose, and said, gravely, "i think, if the lady knew that she had a large hole in each of her stockings, she would not exhibit them in this way." this had the desired effect--she immediately sunk down on her seat. a young minister standing by, blushed to the temples, and said, "o brother, how could you say what was not the fact?" "not the fact!" replied the old gentleman; "if she had not a large hole in each of her stockings, i should like to know how she gets them on." woman's rights. miss lucy stone, of boston, a "woman's rights" woman, having put the question, "marriage--what is it?" an irish echo in the _boston post_ inquires, "wouldn't you like to know?" a compromise. a boy was caught in the act of stealing dried berries in front of a store, the other day, and was locked up in a dark closet by the grocer. the boy commenced begging most pathetically to be released, and after using all the persuasion that his young imagination could invent, proposed, "now, if you'll let me out, and send for my daddy, he'll pay you for them, and _lick me besides_." this appeal was too much for the grocer to stand out against. election morals. an elector of a country town, who was warmly pressed during the recent contest to give his vote to a certain candidate, replied that it was impossible, since he had already promised to vote for the other. "oh," said the candidate, "in election matters, promises, you know, go for nothing." "if that is the case," rejoined the elector, "i promise you my vote at once."--_galignani's messenger._ a quandary. the _new orleans picayune_ defines a quandary thus:--"a baker with both arms up to the elbows in dough, and a flea in the leg of his trowsers." we have just heard a story which conveys quite as clever an idea of the thing as the _picayune's_ definition. an old gentleman, who had studied theological subjects rather too much for the strength of his brains, determined to try his luck in preaching; nothing doubting but that matter and form would be given him, without any particular preparation on his own part. accordingly on sunday he ascended the pulpit, sung and prayed, read his text, and stopped. he stood a good while, first on one leg, and then on the other, casting his eyes up towards the rafters, and then on the floor, in a merciless quandary. at length language came to his relief:--"if any of you down there think you can preach, just come up here and try it!"--_north carolina patriot._ elegant extract. a perfumer should make a good editor, because he is accustomed to making "elegant extracts." evidence of a jockey. the following dialogue was lately heard at an assizes:-- _counsel_: what was the height of the horse?--_witness_: sixteen feet. _counsel_: how old was he?--_witness_: six years. _counsel_: how high did you say he was?--_witness_: sixteen hands. _counsel_: you said, just now, sixteen feet.--_witness_: sixteen _feet_! did i say sixteen _feet_? _counsel_: you did.--_witness_: _if i did say sixteen feet, it was sixteen feet!_--you don't catch me crossing myself! the cape cod yankee. a yankee visiting boston, introduced himself, as follows: "my name is ichabod eli erastus pickrel; i used to keep a grocery store deown cape cod. patience doolittle, she kept a notion store, right over opposite. one day, patience come into my store arter a pitcher of lasses, for home consumption, (ye see, i'd had a kind of a sneaking notion arter patience, for some time,) so, ses i, 'patience, heow would you like to be made mrs. pickrel?' upon that, she kerflounced herself rite deown on a bag of salt, in a sort of kniption fitt. i seased the pitcher, forgetting what was in it, and soused the molasses all over her, and there she sat, looking like mount vesuvius, with the lava running deown its sides; ye see, she was kivered with love, transport, and molasses. she was a master large gal, of her bigness, she weighed three hundred averdupoise, and _a breakfast over_. she could throw eanermost any feller in our neighborhood, at _indian hugs_. arter awhile, she kum tu, and i imprinted a kiss right on her bussers, that is, as near as i could for the molasses, and twan't more than a spell and a half, before _we caught a couple of little pickrels_. the whooping cough collered one of them, and _snaked him rite eout of town_. the other one had a fight with the measles, and got licked. mrs. pickrel took to having the typhus fever for a living, and twan't more than a half a spell, before she busted up, and left me a disconsolate wider-er-er. if you know of any putty gals that is in the market, just tell them that i'm thar myself." joseph and potiphar's wife. a dutch boy, being asked why joseph would not sleep with potiphar's wife, replied, after considerable hesitation, "_i schpose he vash not schleepy_." she didn't take any. a little girl, after returning from church, where she saw a collection taken up for the first time, related what took place, and, among other things, she said, with all her childish innocence, "that a man passed round a plate that had some money on it, _but she didn't take any_." definitions. a lady walking with her husband on the beach, inquired of him, the difference between exportation and transportation. "why, my dear," replied he, "if you were on board yonder vessel, you would be _exported_, and i should be _transported_." chancery. every animal has its enemies; the land tortoise has two enemies--man and the boa constrictor. man takes him home and roasts him; and the boa constrictor swallows him whole, shell and all, and consumes him slowly in the interior, _as the court of chancery does a great estate_.--_sydney smith._ smart uns. first class in astronomy, stand up. "where does the sun rise?" "please, sir, down in our meadow; i seed it yesterday!" "hold your tongue, you dunce; where does the sun rise?" "i know--in the east!" "right, and why does it rise in the east?" "because the _'east_ makes _everything_ rise." "out, you booby!" mrs. partington. mrs. partington lately remarked to a legal friend: "if i owes a man a debt, and makes him the lawless tenant of a blank bill, and he infuses to incept it, but swears out an execration and levels it upon my body, if i wouldn't make a pollywog of him drown me in the nuxwine sea." to those about to go to law. to him that goes to law, nine things are requisite:-- st, a good deal of money; nd, a good deal of patience; rd, a good cause; th, a good attorney; th, a good counsel; th, good evidence; th, a good jury; th, a good judge; th, good luck. even with all these, a wise man should hesitate before going to law. error corrected. the rev. sydney smith, preaching a charity sermon, frequently repeated the assertion that, of all nations, englishmen were the most distinguished for generosity and the love of their species. the collection happened to be inferior to his expectations, and he said that he had evidently made a great mistake, for that his expression should have been, that they were distinguished for the love of their _specie_. a query. which travels at the greater speed, heat or cold? heat: because you can easily catch cold. backgammon. tom brown says, "a woman may learn one useful doctrine from the game of backgammon, which is, not to take up her man till she's sure of him." talleyrand again. monsieur de semonville, one of the ablest tacticians of his time, was remarkable for the talent with which, amidst the crush of revolutions, he always managed to maintain his post and take care of his personal interests. he knew exactly where to address himself for support, and the right time of availing himself of it. when talleyrand, one of his most intimate friends, heard of his death, he reflected for a few minutes, and then drily observed, "i can't for the life of me make out what interest semonville had to serve by dying just now." an evening party. a friend of mine, in portland place, has a wife who inflicts upon him, every season, two or three immense evening parties. at one of those parties, he was standing in a very forlorn condition, leaning against the chimney-piece, when a gentleman coming up to him, said, "sir, as neither of us is acquainted with any of the people here, i think we had best go home." sam slick hooking lucy's gown. "well, just as i was ready to start away, down comes lucy to the keepin' room, with both arms behind her head, a fixin' of the hooks and eyes. 'man alive,' says she, 'are you here yet? i thought you was off gunnin' an hour ago; who'd a thought you was here?' 'gunnin'?' says i, 'lucy, my gunnin' is over, i shan't go no more, now, i shall go home; i agree with you; shiverin' alone under a wet bush, for hours, is no fun; but if lucy was there'--'get out,' says she, 'don't talk nonsense, sam, and just fasten the other hook and eye of my frock, will you?' she turned round her back to me. well, i took the hook in one hand, and the eye in the other; but arth and seas! my eyes fairly snapped again; i never see such a neck since i was raised. it sprung right out o' the breast and shoulder, full round, and then tapered up to the head like a swan's, and the complexion would beat the most delicate white and red rose that ever was seen. lick, it made me all eyes! i jist stood stock still, i couldn't move a finger, if i was to die for it. 'what ails you, sam,' says she, 'that you don't hook it?' 'why,' says i, 'lucy, dear, my fingers is all thumbs, that's a fact, i can't handle such little things as fast as you can.' 'well, come,' says she, 'make haste, that's a dear, mother will be comin' directly;' and at last i shut to both my eyes, and fastened it; and when i had done, says i, 'there is one thing i must say, lucy.' 'what's that?' says she. 'that you may stump all connecticut to show such an angeliferous neck as you have. i never saw the beat of it in all my born days--it's the most----' 'and you may stump the state, too,' says she, 'to produce such another bold, forrard, impedent, onmannerly tongue, as you have--so there now--so get along with you.'"--_sam slick._ a great calf. sir william b., being at a parish meeting, made some proposals which were objected to by a farmer. highly enraged, "sir," says he to the farmer, "do you know that i have been at two universities, and at two colleges at each university?" "well, sir," said the farmer, "what of that? i had a calf that sucked two cows, and the observation i made was, the more he sucked, the greater calf he grew."--_flowers of anecdote._ taxation. there is one passage in the scriptures, to which all the potentates of europe seem to have given their unanimous assent and approbation, and to have studied so thoroughly, as to have it at their fingers' ends:--"there went out a decree in the days of augustus cæsar, that all the world should be taxed."--_c. c. colton._ an itinerant martyr. "jim," said one fast man, yesterday to another, "it is reported that you left the east, on account of your belief, an itinerant martyr." "how," replied jim, flattered by the remark, "how's that?" "why, a police officer told me that you believed everything you saw belonged to you, and as the public didn't, you left." see--saw. "noggs, jr," speaking of a blind wood sawyer, says: "while none ever _saw_ him _see_, thousands have _seen_ him _saw_." fellow-feeling. a countryman was dragging a calf by a rope in a cruel manner. an irishman asked him if that was the way "he threated a fellow creathur?" misapplication of words by foreigners. the misapplication of english words by foreigners is often very ludicrous. a german friend saluted us once with, "oh, good bye, good bye!"--meaning, of course, "how d'ye do?" it is said that dr. chalmers once entertained a distinguished guest from switzerland, whom he asked if he would be helped to kippered salmon. the foreign divine asked the meaning of the uncouth word "kippered," and was told that it meant "preserved." the poor man, in a public prayer, soon after, offered a petition that the distinguished divine might long be "kippered to the free church of scotland." what is a spoon? a "spoon" is a thing that is often near a lady's lips without kissing them. this is like the definition of a "muff," viz., a thing which holds a lady's hand without squeezing it. a certificate of marriage. "you say, mrs. smith, that you have lived with the defendant for eight years. does the court understand from that, that you are married to him?" "in course it does." "have you a marriage certificate?" "yes, your honor, three on 'em--two gals and a boy." verdict for the plaintiff. unfair advantage. one of the best things lately said upon age--a very ticklish subject by the way--was the observation of mr. james smith to mr. thomas hill. "hill," said the former gentleman, "you take an unfair advantage of an accident: the register of your birth was burnt in the great fire of london, and you avail yourself of the circumstance to give out that you are younger than you are." two-fold illustration. sir fletcher norton was noted for his want of courtesy. when pleading before lord mansfield, on some question of manorial right, he chanced unfortunately to say, "my lord, i can illustrate the point in an instant in my own person: i myself have two little manors." the judge immediately interposed, with one of his blandest smiles, "we all know it, sir fletcher." a yankee story. an englishman was bragging of the speed on english railroads to a yankee traveler seated at his side in one of the cars of a "fast train," in england. the engine bell was rung as the train neared a station. it suggested to the yankee an opportunity of "taking down his companion a peg or two." "what's that noise?" innocently inquired the yankee. "we are approaching a town," said the englishman; "they have to commence ringing about ten miles before they get to a station, or else the train would run by it before the bell could be heard! wonderful, isn't it? i suppose they haven't invented bells in america yet?" "why, yes," replied the yankee, "we've got bells, but can't use them on our railroads. we run so 'tarnal fast that the train always keeps ahead of the sound. no use whatever; the sound never reaches the village till after the train gets by." "indeed!" exclaimed the englishman. "fact," said the yankee; "had to give up bells. then we tried steam whistles--but they wouldn't answer either. i was on a locomotive when the whistle was tried. we were going at a tremendous rate--hurricanes were nowhere, and i had to hold my hair on. we saw a two-horse wagon crossing the track about five miles ahead, and the engineer let the whistle on, screeching like a trooper. it screamed awfully, but it wasn't no use. the next thing i knew, i was picking myself out of a pond by the roadside, amid the fragments of the locomotive, dead horses, broken wagon, and dead engineer lying beside me. just then the whistle came along, mixed up with some frightful oaths that i had heard the engineer use when he first saw the horses. poor fellow! he was dead before his voice got to him. after that we tried lights, supposing these would travel faster than the sound. we got some so powerful that the chickens woke up all along the road when we came by, supposing it to be morning. but the locomotive kept ahead of it still, and was in the darkness, with the lights close on behind it. the inhabitants petitioned against it; they couldn't sleep with so much light in the night time. finally, we had to station electric telegraphs along the road, with signal men to telegraph when the train was in sight; and i have heard that some of the fast trains beat the lightning fifteen minutes every forty miles. but i can't say as that is true; the rest i know to be so."--_new york tribune._ ancient descent. not long since a certain noble peer in yorkshire, who is fond of boasting of his norman descent, thus addressed one of his tenants, who, he thought, was not speaking to him with proper respect: "do you not know that my ancestors came over with william the conqueror?" "and, mayhap," retorted the sturdy saxon, nothing daunted, "they found mine here when they comed." the noble lord felt that he had the worst of it. bad's the best. mr. canning was once asked by an english clergyman how he had liked the sermon he had preached before him. "why, it was a short sermon," quoth canning. "oh, yes," said the preacher; "you know i avoid being tedious." "ah, but," replied canning, "you _were_ tedious." queer duels. a certain man of pleasure, about london, received a challenge from a young gentleman of his acquaintance; and they met at the appointed place. just before the signal for firing was given, the man of pleasure rushed up to his antagonist, embraced him, and vehemently protested that he could not lift his arm "_against his own flesh and blood_!" the young gentleman, though he had never heard any imputation cast upon his mother's character, was so much staggered, that (as the ingenious man of pleasure had foreseen) no duel took place. humphrey howarth, the surgeon, was called out, and made his appearance in the field, stark naked, to the astonishment of the challenger, who asked him what he meant. "i know," said h., "that if any part of the clothing is carried into the body, by a gunshot wound, festering ensues; and therefore i have met you thus." his antagonist declared, that fighting with a man _in puris naturalibus_, would be quite ridiculous; and accordingly they parted, without further discussion. lord alvanley, on returning home, after his duel with young o'connell, gave a guinea to the hackney-coachman, who had driven him out, and brought him back. the man, surprised at the largeness of the sum, said, "my lord, i only took you to ----." alvanley interrupted him, "my friend, the guinea is _for bringing me back_, not for taking me out." provoking. to kneel before your goddess, and burst both pantaloon straps. teaching a foreigner to speak english. my friend, the foreigner, called on me to bid me farewell, before he quitted town, and on his departure, he said, "i am going at the country." i ventured to correct his phraseology, by saying that we were accustomed to say "going into the country." he thanked me for this correction and said he had profited by my lesson, and added, "i will knock _into your_ door, on my return."--_memorials._ philosophy. _experimental_ philosophy--asking a man to lend you money. _moral_ philosophy--refusing to do it. ingenious advertisement. sydney smith, once upon a time, despatched a pretentious octavo, in the _edinburgh_, with a critique, one paragraph in length; that achievement is matched by the disposal of a work in the _courier and enquirer_, as follows, by ingeniously employing the opening sentence of the book itself:-- "_the history of rasselas, prince of abyssinia._ a tale by samuel johnson, ll. d. a new edition, with illustrations. mo., pp. . new york: c. s. francis & co. "ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope; who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and that deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow; attend to the history of _rasselas_, prince of abyssinia." curious conveyance. sutton was part of the demesne of john of gaunt, the celebrated duke of lancaster, who gifted it to an ancestor of the proprietor, sir j. m. burgoyne, as appears from the following quaint lines:-- "i, john of gaunt, do give and do grant, unto roger burgoyne, and the heirs of his loin, both sutton and potton, until the world's rotten." smoking manners. a kentuckian visited a merchant at new york, with whom, after dinner, he drank wine and smoked cigars, spitting on the carpet, much to the annoyance of his host, who desired a spittoon to be brought for his troublesome visitor; he, however, pushed it away with his foot, and when it was replaced, he kicked it away again, quite unaware of its use. when it had been thrice replaced, the kentuckian drawled out to the servant who had brought it: "i tell you what; you've been pretty considerable troublesome with that ere thing, i guess; if you put it there again, i'm hung if i don't spit in it." landseer and sidney smith. mr. landseer, the best living animal painter, once asked the late rev. sydney smith if he would grant him a sitting, whereupon the rev. canon biblically replied--"is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing?" speckled butter. "do you want to buy a real lot of butter?" said a yankee notion dealer, who had picked up a load at fifty different places, to a boston merchant. "what kind of butter is it?" asked the buyer. "the clean quill; all made by my wife; a dairy of forty cows, only two churnings." "but what makes it so many different colors?" said the merchant. "darnation! hear that, now. i guess you wouldn't ax that question if you'd see my cows, for they are a darned sight speckleder than the butter is." a logical baggage master. the post of baggage master on a railroad train is not an enviable one. there is often a wide difference between the company's regulations, and the passenger's opinion of what articles, and what amount of them, properly come under the denomination of baggage; and this frequently subjects the unlucky official of the trunks and bandbox department to animated discussions with a certain class of the traveling public. we heard lately an anecdote of george, the affable b. m. on capt. cobb's train on the virginia and tennessee road, which is too good to be lost. a passenger presented himself at a way station on the road, with two trunks and a saddle for which he requested checks. the baggage master promptly checked the trunks, but demanded the extra charge of twenty-five cents for the saddle. to this the passenger demurred, and losing his temper, peremptorily asked:-- "will you check my baggage, sir?" "are you a horse?" quietly inquired george. "what do you mean, sir?" exclaimed the irritated traveler. "you claim to have this saddle checked as baggage?" "certainly--it is baggage," positively returned the passenger. "well," said the imperturbable george, "by the company's regulations nothing but wearing apparel is admitted to be baggage, and if the saddle is your wearing apparel, of course you must be a horse! now, sir, just allow me to strap it on your back, and it shall go to the end of the road without any extra charge whatever." the traveller paid his quarter and offered george his hat.--_bristol news._ a physician's life. nothing vexes a physician so much as to be sent for in great haste, and to find, after his arrival, that nothing, or next to nothing, is the matter with his patient. we remember an "urgent case" of this kind, recorded of an eminent english surgeon. he had been sent for by a gentleman who had just received a slight wound, and gave his servant orders to go home with all haste imaginable, and fetch a certain plaster. the patient turning a little pale, said: "heavens, sir! i hope there is no danger!" "indeed there is!" answered the surgeon: "for if the fellow doesn't run there like a cart horse, the wound will be healed before he can possibly get back." a constellation. the following conversation occurred between a theatrical manager and an aspirant for thespian honors: "what is your pleasure?" asked the manager. "an engagement at your theatre," said the applicant. "but you stammer." "like hatterton." "you are very small." "like kean." "you speak monotonously." "like macready." "and through the nose." "like booth." "and you make faces." "like burton." "you have badly shaped legs." "like wallack." "and brawny arms." "like forrest." "an obese person." "like blake." "but you unite the defects of all these stars." "th-th-that's just it. if you engage me, you will need no stars at all." interest. "pa, what is the interest of a kiss?" asked a sweet sixteen of her sire. "well, really, i don't know. why do you ask?" "because george borrowed a kiss from me last night, and said he would pay it back with interest after we were married." flatfooted courtship. one long summer afternoon there came to mr. davidson's the most curious specimen of an old bachelor the world ever heard of. he was old, gray, wrinkled, and odd. he hated women, especially old maids, and wasn't afraid to say so. he and aunt patty had it hot and heavy, whenever chance threw them together; yet still he came, and it was noticed that aunt patty took unusual pains with her dress whenever he was expected. one day the contest waged unusually strong. aunt patty left him in disgust and went out into the garden. "the bear!" she muttered to herself, as she stooped to gather a blossom which attracted her attention. "what did you run away for?" said a gruff voice close to her side. "to get rid of you." "you didn't do it, did you?" "no, you are worse than a burdock bur." "you won't get rid of me neither." "i won't! eh?" "only in one way." "and what?" "marry me!" "what! us two fools get married? what will people say?" "that's nothing to us. come, say yes or no, i'm in a hurry." "well, no, then." "very well, good bye. i shan't come again." "but stop a bit--what a pucker to be in!" "yes or no?" "i must consult"-- "all right--i thought you was of age. good bye." "jabez andrews, don't be a fool. come back, come back, i say. why, i believe the critter has taken me for earnest. jabez andrews, i'll consider." "i don't want no considering. i'm gone. becky hastings is waiting for me. i thought i'd give you the first chance. all right. good bye." "jabez! jabez! that stuck up becky hastings shan't have him, if i die for it. jabez--yes. do you hear? y-e-s!" amusing incident in court. at the durham assizes, a very deaf old lady, who had brought an action for damages against a neighbor, was being examined, when the judge suggested a compromise, and instructed counsel to ask her what she would take to settle the matter. "what will you take?" asked a gentleman in a bob-tailed wig, of the old lady. the old lady merely shook her head at the counsel, informing the jury, in confidence, that "she was very hard o' hearing." "his lordship wants to know what you will take?" asked the counsel again, this time bawling as loud as ever he could in the old lady's ear. "i thank his lordship kindly," the ancient dame answered stoutly, "and if it's no ill convenience to him, i'll take a little warm ale." (roars of laughter.)--_english paper._ bad dinner. theodore hook, in describing a badly dressed dinner, observed that everything was sour but the vinegar. printer and dutchman. seldom does a live dutchman get the credit of more smart things than are set down to him in this catechism that he puts to a journeyman printer. a dutchman sitting at the door of his tavern in the far west, is approached by a tall, thin yankee, who is emigrating westward on foot, with a bundle on a cane over his shoulder: "vell, misther valking sthick, vat you vant?" "rest and refreshments," replied the printer. "super and lotchin, i reckon?" "yes, supper and lodging, if you please." "pe ye a yankee peddler, mit chewelry in your pack, to sheat the gals?" "no, sir, i am no yankee peddler." "a singin'-master, too lazy to work?" "no, sir." "a shenteel shoemaker, vat loves to measure te gals' feet and hankles petter tan to make te shoes?" "no, sir, or i should have mended my own shoes." "a pook achent, vat podders te school committees till they do vat you vish, shoost to get rid of you?" "guess again, sir. i am no book agent." "te tyfels! a dentist, preaking te people's jaws at a dollar a shnag, and running off mit my daughter?" "no sir, i am no tooth-puller." "prenologus, ten, feeling te young folks, heads like so much cabbitch?" "no, i am no phrenologist." "vell, ten, vat the mischief can you be? shoost tell, and ye shall have te pest sassage for supper, and shtay all night, free gratis, mitout a cent, and a shill of whiskey to start mit in te morning." "i am an humble disciple of faust--a professor of the art that preserves all arts--a typographer at your service." "votch dat?" "a printer, sir: a man that prints books and newspapers." "a man vat printish nooshpapers! oh yaw! yaw! ay, dat ish it. a man vat printish nooshpapers! yaw! yaw! valk up! a man vat printish nooshpapers! i vish i may pe shot if i didn't dink you vas a poor old dishtrict schoolmaster, who verks for notting and poards around--i tought you vas him!" truth stranger than fiction. a new orleans lady recently eloped, leaving a note, bidding her idolizing husband good bye, and requesting him not to mourn for the children, as "none of them were his." telling one's age. a lady, complaining how rapidly time stole away, said, "alas! i am near thirty." scarron, who was present, and knew her age, said, "do not fret at it, madam; for you will get further from that frightful epoch every day." all flesh is dust. "mamma," said a promising youth of some four or five years, "if all people are made of dust, ain't niggers made of coal-dust?" talleyrand. at a time when public affairs were in a very unsettled state, a gentleman, who squinted terribly, asked talleyrand how things were going on. "why, as you see, sir," was the reply. kitchiner and colman. the most celebrated wits and _bon vivans_ of the day graced the dinner-table of the late dr. kitchiner, and, _inter alios_, the late george colman, who was an especial favourite; his interpolation of a little monosyllable in a written admonition which the doctor caused to be placed on the mantel-piece of the dining-parlour will never be forgotten, and was the origin of such a drinking bout as was seldom permitted under his roof. the caution ran thus: "come at seven, go at eleven." colman briefly altered the sense of it; for, upon the doctor's attention being directed to the card, he read, to his astonishment, "come at seven, go it at eleven!" which the guests did, and the claret was punished accordingly. credit. among the witty aphorisms upon this unsafe topic, are lord alvanley's description of a man who "muddled away his fortune in paying his tradesmen's bills;" lord orford's definition of timber, "an excrescence on the face of the earth, placed there by providence for the payment of debts;" and pelham's argument, that it is respectable to be arrested, because it shows that the party once had credit. swift. in the reign of king william, it happened that the king had either chosen or actually taken this motto for his stage coach in ireland: "non rapui, sed recepi,"--"i did not steal it, but received it," alluding to his being called to the throne by the people. this was reported to swift by one of the court emissaries. "and what," said he to the dean, "do you think the prince of orange has chosen for his motto?" "dutch cheese," said the dean. "no," said the gentleman, "but 'non rapui, sed recepi.'" "aye," said the dean, "but it is an old saying and a true one, '_the receiver is as bad as the thief._'" all corned. a showman giving entertainments in lafayette, ind., was offered by one man a bushel of corn for admission. the manager declined it, saying that all the members of his company had been corned for the last week. the sewing machine. "what do you think of the new sewing machine?" inquired a gentleman of his friend, who was somewhat of a wag. "oh," replied the punster, "i consider it a capital make shift." politeness. an irish officer, in battle, happening to bow, a cannon ball passed over his head, and took off the head of a soldier who stood behind him; "you see," said he, "that a man never loses by politeness." george selwyn. george selwyn, as everybody knows, delighted in seeing executions; he never missed _being in at a death_ at tyburn. when lord holland (the father of charles fox) was confined to bed, by a dangerous illness, he was informed by his servant that mr. selwyn had recently called to inquire for him. "on his next visit," said lord holland, "be sure you let him in, whether i am alive or a corpse; for, if i am alive, i shall have great pleasure in seeing _him_; and if i am a corpse, _he will have great pleasure in seeing me_." chancery pun. lord eldon (the chancellor) related of his predecessor, _lord erskine_, that, being at a dinner party with captain parry, after his first voyage of discovery, he (lord erskine) asked the intrepid navigator, what himself and his hardy crew lived on, when frozen up in the polar seas. "on _the seals_, to be sure," replied parry. "and a very good living, too," said the ex-chancellor, "if you keep them long enough!"--_twiss's life of lord eldon._ kilts. i shall be off to the highlands this fall; but cuss 'em, they han't got no woods there; nuthin' but heather, and that's only high enough to tear your clothes. that's the reason the scotch don't wear no breeches; they don't like to get 'em ragged up that way for everlastinly; they can't afford it; so they let 'em scratch and tear their skin, for that will grow agin, and trousers won't.--_sam slick._ lord ellenborough. lord ellenborough had infinite wit. when the income-tax was imposed, he said that lord kenyon (who was not very nice in his habits) intended, in consequence of it, to lay down--his pocket-handkerchief. a lawyer, one day, pleading before him, and using several times, the expression, "my unfortunate client," lord ellenborough suddenly interrupted him: "there, sir, the court is with you." evidence. the following is the next best thing to the evidence concerning the stone "_as big as a piece of chalk_." "were you traveling on the night this affair took place?" "i should say i was, sir." "what kind of weather was it? was it raining at the time?" "it was so dark that i could not see it raining; but i felt it dropping, though." "how dark was it?" "i had no way of telling; but it was not light, by a jug full." "can't you compare it to something?" "why, if i was going to compare it to anything, i should say it was about as dark as a stack of black cats." an up and down reply. during the examination of a witness, as to the locality of stairs in a house, the counsel asked him, "which way the stairs ran?" the witness, who, by the way, was a noted wag, replied, that "one way they ran up stairs, but the other way they ran down stairs." the learned counsel winked both eyes and then took a look at the ceiling. snoring. a western statesman, in one of his tours in the far west, stopped all night at a house, where he was put in the same room with a number of strangers. he was very much annoyed by the snoring of two persons. the black boy of the hotel entered the room, when our narrator said to him: "ben, i will give you five dollars if you will kill that man next to me who snores so dreadfully." "can't kill him for five dollars, but if massa will advance on the price, i'll try what i can do." by this time the stranger had ceased his nasal fury. the other was now to be quieted. so stepping to him he woke him, and said: "my friend, [he knew who he was,] you're talking in your sleep, and exposing all the secrets of the brandon bank, [he was a director,] you had better be careful." he was careful, for he did not go to sleep that night. tanning. "daddy," said a hopeful urchin to his parental relative, "why don't our schoolmaster send the editor of the newspaper an account of all the lickings he gives to the boys?" "i don't know, my son," replied the parent, "but why do you ask me such a question?" "why, this paper says that mr. b. has tanned three thousand hides at his establishment during the past year, and i know that old grimes has tanned our hides more'n twice that many times--the editor ought to know it." a printer in court. a suit came on the other day in which a printer named kelvy was a witness. the case was an assault and battery that came off between two men named brown and henderson. "mr. kelvy, did you witness the affair referred to?" "yes, sir." "well, what have you to say about it?" "that it was the best piece of punctuation i have seen for some time." "what do you mean by that?" "why, that brown dotted one of henderson's eyes, for which henderson put a period to brown's breathing for about half a minute." the court comprehended the matter at once, and fined the defendant fifty dollars. taking the paper. "sir," said a pompous personage who once undertook to bully an editor, "do you know that i take your paper?" "i've no doubt you take it," replied the man of the quill, "for several of my honest subscribers have been complaining lately about their papers being missing in the morning." impressive discourse. it is stated that the rev. george trask, of pittsburg, lectured so powerfully in webster, a few days ago, against the use of tobacco, that several of his audience went home and burned their cigars--holding one end of them in their mouths. how "george" became a teetotaler. a short time since, a young man living in ogdensburgh, n. y., whose name we shall call george, took to drinking rather more than usual, and some of his friends endeavored to cure him. one day, when he was in rather a loose condition, they got him in a room, and commenced conversing about _delirium tremens_, directing all their remarks to him, and telling him what fearful objects, such as snakes and rats, were always seen by the victims of this horrible disease. when the conversation had waxed high on this theme, one of the number stepped out of the room, and from a trap which was at hand let a large rat into the room. none of his friends appeared to see it, but the young man who was to be the victim seized a chair and hurled it at the rat, completely using up the piece of furniture in the operation. another chair shared the same fate, when his friends seized him, and with terror depicted on their faces, demanded to know what was the matter. "why, don't you see that cursed big rat?" said he, pointing to the animal, which, after the manner of rats, was making his way round the room, close to the walls. they all saw it, but all replied that they didn't see it--"_there was no rat_." "but there _is_!" said he, as another chair went to pieces in an ineffectual attempt to crush the obnoxious vermin. at this moment they again seized him, and after a terrific scuffle threw him down on the floor, and with terror screamed-- "charley! run for a doctor!" charley started for the door, when george desired to be informed "what the devil was up." "up!" said they, "why, you've got the _delirium tremens_!" charley opened the door to go out, when george raised himself on his elbow, and said, "charley, where are you going?" "going!" said charley, "going for a doctor." "going for a doctor!" rejoined george; "for what?" "for what?" repeated charley, "why, you've got the _delirium tremens_!" "the _delirium tremens_--have i?" repeated george. "how do you know i've got the delirium tremens?" "easy enough," says charley; "you've commenced _seeing rats_." "seeing rats!" said george, in a sort of musing way; "seeing rats. think you must be mistaken, charley." "mistaken!" said charley. "yes, mistaken," rejoined george. "_i ain't the man--i haven't seen no rat!_" the boys let george up after that, and from that day to this he hasn't touched a glass of liquor, and "_seen no rats_"--not the first rat. bishop burnet. bishop burnet, once preaching before charles ii., was much warmed by his subject, and uttering a religious truth in a very earnest manner, with great vehemence struck his fist upon the desk, and cried out in a loud voice, "who dare deny this?" "faith," observed the king, in a tone not quite so loud as the preacher, "nobody that is within the reach of that great fist of yours." ana from "moore's life." mercer mentioned that, on the death of the danish ambassador here, (in paris,) some commissaire of police, having come to the house for the purpose of making a _procès verbal_ of his death, it was resisted by the suite, as an infringement of the ambassador's privilege, to which the answer of the police was, that _un ambassadeur dès qu'il est mort, rentre dans la vie privée._--"an ambassador, when dead, returns to private life." lord bristol and his daughters came in the evening; the rancliffes, too. mr. rich said, at dinner, that a curé (i forget in what part of france) asked him once, whether it was true that the english women wore rings in their noses? to which mr. r. answered, that "in the north of england, near china, it was possible they might, but certainly not about london." we talked of wordsworth's exceedingly high opinion of himself; and she mentioned, that one day, in a large party, wordsworth, without anything having been previously said that could lead to the subject, called out suddenly, from the top of the table to the bottom, in his most epic tone, "davy!" and, on davy's putting forth his head, in an awful expectation of what was coming, said, "do you know the reason why i published the 'white doe' in quarto?" "no, what was it?" "to show the world my own opinion of it." bushe told of an irish country squire, who used, with hardly any means, to give entertainments to the militia, &c., in his neighborhood; and when a friend expostulated with him, on the extravagance of giving claret to these fellows, when whiskey punch would do just as well, he answered, "you are very right, my dear friend; but i have the claret on tick, and where the devil would i get credit for the _lemons_?" douglas mentioned the story of some rich grazier, in ireland, whose son went on a tour to italy, with express injunctions from the father, to write to him whatever was worthy of notice. accordingly, on his arrival in italy, he wrote a letter, beginning as follows: "dear father, the alps is a very high mountain, and bullocks bear no price." lady susan and her daughters, and the kingstons, came in the evening, and all supped. a french writer mentions, as a proof of shakspeare's attention to particulars, his allusion to the climate of scotland, in the words, "hail, hail, all hail!"--_grêle, grêle, toute grêle._ met luttrell on the boulevards, and walked with him. in remarking rather a pretty woman who passed, he said, "the french women are often in the suburbs of beauty, but never enter the town." company at lord holland's, allen, henry fox, the _black_ fox, (attached to the embassy,) denon, and, to my great delight, lord john russell, who arrived this morning. lord holland told, before dinner, (_a propos_ of something,) of a man who professed to have studied "euclid," all through, and upon some one saying to him, "well, solve me that problem," answered, "oh, i never looked at the cuts." after williams and i had sung one of the "irish melodies," somebody said, "everything that's national, is delightful." "except the national debt, ma'am," says poole. took tea at vilamil's, and danced to the piano-forte. wrote thirteen or fourteen lines before i went out. in talking of the organs in gall's craniological system, poole said he supposed a drunkard had a _barrel_ organ. dined at lattin's: company, lords holland, john russell, thanet, and trimelstown; messrs. maine de biron and denon, luttrel and concannon. abundance of noise and irish stories from lattin; some of them very good. a man asked another to come and dine off boiled beef and potatoes, with him. "that i will," says the other; "and it's rather odd it should be exactly the same dinner i had at home for myself, _barring the beef_." some one, using the old expression about some light wine he was giving, "there's not a head-ache in a hogshead of it," was answered; "no, but there's a belly-ache in every glass of it." denon told an anecdote of a man, who, having been asked repeatedly to dinner, by a person whom he knew to be but a shabby amphitryon, went at last, and found the dinner so meagre and bad, that he did not get a bit to eat. when the dishes were removing, the host said, "well, now the ice is broken, i suppose you will ask me to dine with you, some day."--"most willingly." "name your day, then."--"_aujourd'hui par example_," answered the dinnerless guest. luttrel told of a good phrase of an attorney's, in speaking of a reconciliation that had taken place between two persons whom he wished to set by the ears, "i am sorry to tell you, sir, that a compromise has _broken out_ between the parties." catchup question. a person meeting a friend running through the rain, with an umbrella over him, said, "where are you running to in such a hurry, _like a mad mushroom_?" a rebuke. a yankee, whose face had been mauled in a pot-house brawl, assured general jackson that he had received his scars in battle. "then," said old hickory, "be careful the next time you run away, and don't look back." a gentleman. "there can be no doubt," said mrs. nickleby, "that he is a gentleman, and has the manners of a gentleman, and the appearance of a gentleman, although he does wear smalls, and gray worsted stockings. that may be eccentricity, or he may be proud of his legs. i don't see why he shouldn't be. the prince regent was proud of his legs, and so was daniel lambert, who was also a fat man; _he_ was proud of his legs. so was miss biffin: she was--no, "added mrs. nickleby, correcting herself, "i think she had only toes, but the principle is the same."--_dickens._ modesty. there is a young man in cincinnati, who is so modest that he will not "embrace an opportunity." he would make a good mate for the lady who fainted when she heard of the naked truth. national paradoxes. somebody once remarked, that the englishman is never happy, but when he is miserable; the scotchman is never at home, but when he is abroad; and the irishman is never at peace, but when he is fighting. a dutch jury. judge jones, of indiana, who never allows a chance for a joke to pass him, occupied the bench when it became necessary to obtain a juryman in a case in which l----and b---- were employed as counsel. the former was an illiterate hibernian, the latter decidedly german in his modes of expression: the sheriff immediately proceeded to look around the room in search of a person to fill the vacant seat, when he espied a dutch jew, and claimed him as his own. the dutchman objected. "i can't understant goot englese." "what did he say?" asked the judge. "i can't understant goot englese," he repeated. "take your seat," cried the judge, "take your seat; that's no excuse. you are not likely to hear any of it!" under that decision he took his seat. a yellow fever joke. the _mobile advertiser_, of the th ult., tells the following good story of a notorious practical joker of that city, yclept "straight-back dick." dick was at the wharf, one day last week, when one of the up river boats arrived. he watched closely the countenance of each passenger as he stepped from the plank upon the wharf, and at length fastened his gaze upon an individual, who, from his appearance and manner, was considerably nearer mobile than he had ever been before. he was evidently ill at ease, and had probably heard the reports which were rife in the country relative to the hundreds dying in mobile every hour from yellow fever. the man started off towards dauphin street, carpet sack in hand, but had not proceeded far when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he suddenly stopped. upon turning round, he met the cold, serious countenance of dick, and it seemed to send a thrill of terror throughout his whole frame. after looking at him steadily for about a minute, dick slowly ejaculated: "yes, you are the man. stand straight!" with fear visible in his countenance, the poor fellow essayed to do as commanded. "straighter yet!" said dick. "there, that will do," and taking from his pocket a small tape measure, he stooped down and measured him from the sole of his boot to the crown of his hat, took a pencil and carefully noted the height in his pocket book, to the utter amazement of the stranger; after which he measured him across the shoulders, and again noted the dimensions. he then looked the stranger firmly in the face and said: "sir, i am very sorry that it is so, but i really will not be able to finish it for you before morning." "finish what?" asked the stranger, endeavoring in vain to appear calm. "why, your coffin, to be sure! you see, i am the city undertaker, and the people are dying here so fast, that i can hardly supply the demand for coffins. you will have to wait until your turn comes, which will be to-morrow morning--say about o'clock." "but what do i want with a coffin? i have no idea of dying!" "you haven't, eh? sir, you will not live two hours and a half. i see it in your countenance. why, even now, you have a pain--a slight pain--in your back." "y-yes, i believe i h-have," replied the trembling hoosier. "exactly," said dick, "and in your limbs too?" "yes, stranger, you're right, and i begin to feel it in the back of my neck and head." "of course you do, and unless you do something for it, you'll be dead in a short time, i assure you. take my advice now, go back aboard the boat, swallow down a gill of brandy, get into your state-room, and cover up with blankets. stay there till you perspire freely, then leave here like lightning!" hoosier hurried on board the boat, and followed dick's instructions to the letter. he says he never will forget the kindness of the tall man in mobile, who gave him such good advice. let off. "boy! did you let off that gun?" exclaimed an enraged schoolmaster. "yes, master." "well, what do you think i'll do to you?" "why, let me off!" complimentary. a gentleman expatiating upon the good looks of women, declared that he had never yet seen an ugly woman. one who was extremely flat nosed, said, "sir, i defy you not to find me ugly." "you, madam," he replied, "are an angel fallen from heaven, only you have fallen on your nose." keen retort. a priest said to a peasant whom he thought rude, "you are better fed than taught." "shud think i was," replied the clodhopper, "as i feeds myself and you teaches me." the auctioneer at home. an auctioneer, vexed with his audience, said: "i am a mean fellow--mean as dirt--and i feel at home in this company." sacks and bags. mr. lover tells a good anecdote of an irishman giving the pass-word at the battle of fontenoy, at the same time the great saxe was marshal. "the pass-word is saxe; now don't forget it, pat," said the colonel. "saxe! faith an' i won't. wasn't me father a miller?" "who goes there?" cries the sentinel, after he had arrived at the pass. pat looked as confidential as possible, and whispered in a sort of howl, "bags, yer honor." iteration. a servant girl, on leaving her place, was accosted by her master as to her reason for leaving. "mistress is so quick-tempered that i cannot live with her," said the girl. "well," said the gentleman, "you know it is no sooner begun than it's over." "yes, sir, and no sooner over than begun again." quid pro quo. in a case tried at the king's bench, a witness was produced who had a very red nose; and one of the counsel, an impudent fellow, being desirous to put him out of countenance, called out to him, after he was sworn, "well, let's hear what you have to say, with your copper nose." "why, sir," said he, "by the oath i have taken, i would not exchange my copper nose for your brazen face." hard squeezing. a gentleman from new york, who had been in boston for the purpose of collecting some money due him in that city, was about returning, when he found that one bill of a hundred dollars had been overlooked. his landlord, who knew the debtor, thought it a doubtful case; but added that if it _was_ collectable at all, a tall, rawboned yankee, then dunning a lodger in another part of the hall, would "worry it out" of the man. calling him up, therefore, he introduced him to the creditor, who showed him the account. "wall, squire," said he, "'taint much use o' tryin', i guess. i _know_ that critter. you might as well try to squeeze ile out of bunker hill monument as to c'lect a debt out of him. but _any_ how, squire, what'll you give, sposin' i _do_ try?" "well, sir, the bill is one hundred dollars, i'll give you--yes, i'll give you half, if you'll collect it." "'greed," replied the collector, "there's no harm in _tryin'_, any way." some weeks after, the creditor chanced to be in boston, and in walking up tremont street, encountered his enterprising friend. "look o' here," said he, "squire. i had considerable luck with that bill o' yourn. you see, i stuck to him like a log to a root, but for the first week or so 'twant no use--not a bit. if he was home, he was short; if he _wasn't_ home i could get no satisfaction. 'by the by,' says i, after goin' sixteen times, 'i'll fix you!' says i. so i sat down on the door-step, and sat all day and part of the evening, and i began airly _next_ day; but about ten o'clock he 'gin in.' _he paid me_ my _half, and i gin him up the note!_" pat's response. an irishman was about to marry a southern girl for her property. "will you take this woman to be your wedded wife?" said the minister. "yes, your riverence, and the _niggers_ too," said pat. wanted satisfaction. "well, pat, jimmy didn't quite kill you with a brickbat, did he?" "no, but i wish he had." "what for?" "so i could have seen him hung, the villain!" mean _vs._ means. "is mr. brown a man of means?" asked a gentleman of old mrs. fizzleton, referring to one of her neighbors. "well i reckon he ought to be," drawled out the old bel-dame, "for he is just the meanest man in town." what happened to our house. arter we wus married, we'll say about a year, wun mornin' thar wus a terrible commoshun in our house--old wimmin a runnin in an out, and finally the doctor he cum. i was in a great hurry myself, wantin to heer, i hardly noed what, but after a while, an ole granny of a woman, as had been very busy about that, poked her head into the room whar i was a walkin' about and ses: ses she, "mr. sporum, hit's a gal." "what," ses i. "a gal," ses she, an with that she pops her head back agin. well, thinks i, i'm the daddy uv a gal, and begin to feel my keepin' mitely--i'd rather it was a boy tho', thinks i, fur then he'd feel neerur to me, as how he'd bare my name and there be less chance fur the sporums to run out, but considerin' everything, a gal will do mi'ty well. jist then the ole nuss pokes her head out agin and ses, ses she, "anuther wun, mr. sporum; a fine boy." "anuther," ses i, "that's rather crowdin' things on to a feller." she laffed and poked her he'd back. well, thinks i, this is no joke sure, at this lick i'll have family enuff to do me in a few years. jis then the ole she devil (always shall hate her) pokes her he'd in, and ses, ses she, "anuther gal, mr. sporum." "anuther whot," ses i. "anuther gal," ses she. "well," ses i, "go rite strate and tell sal i won't stand it, i don't want 'em, and i ain't goin' to have 'em; dus she think i'm a turk? or a mormon? or brigham young? that she go fur to have tribbles?--three at a pop! dus she think i'm wurth a hundred thousand dollars? that i'm jo'n jacob aster, or mr. roschile? that i kin afford thribbles, an clothe an feed an school three children at a time? i ain't a goin' to stand it no how, i didn't want 'em, i don't want 'em, and ain't a going to want 'em now, nur no uther time. hain't i bin a good and dootiful husband to sal? hain't i kep' in doors uv a nite, an quit chawn tobacker and smokin' segars just to please her? hain't i attended devine worship reg'lar? hain't i bought her all the bonnets an frocks she wanted? an then for her to go an have thribbs. she noed better an hadn't orter dun it. i didn't think sal wud serve me such a trick now. have i ever stole a horse? have i ever done enny mean trick, that she should serve me in this way?" an with that i laid down on the settee, an felt orful bad, an the more i tho't about it, the wus i felt. presently sal's mammy, ole miss jones, cums in an ses, ses she, "peter, cum in and see what purty chillun you've got." "chillun!" says i, "you'd better say a 'hole litter. now miss jones, i luv sal you no, an have tried to make a good husban', but i call this a scaly trick, an ef thar's any law in this country i'm goin' to see ef a woman kin have thribbs, an make a man take keer uv 'em. i ain't goin' to begin to do it," ses i. with that she laffed fit to kill herself, an made all sorts of fun of me, an sed enny uther man would be proud to be in my shoes. i told her i'd sell out mi'ty cheap ef enny body wanted to take my place. well, the upshot uv it wus that she pursuaded me that i wus 'rong, an got me to go into the room whar they all wus. when i got in, sal looked so lovin' at me, an reached out her little hands so much like a poor, dear little helpless child, that i forgot everything but my luv for her, and folded her gently up tu my h'art like a precious treasure, and felt like i didn't keer ef she had too and forty uv em. jist then number wun set up a whine like a young pup, an all the ballance follered. _them thribbles noed their daddy._ well, everything wus made up, an sal promised she wud never do it agin; an sense then i have bin at work sertin, workin all day to make bred for them thribs, an bissy nus'n uv 'em at nite. the fact is, ef i didn't have a mi'ty good constitushun, i'd had to giv' in long ago. number wun has the collick an wakes up number too an he wakes up number three, an so it goes, an me a flying about all the time a tryin' to keep 'em quiet. generous child. _mother_--here, tommy, is some nice castor oil, with orange ice in it. _doctor_--now, remember, don't give it all to tommy, leave some for me. _tommy_--(who has "been there")--doctor's a nice man, ma, give it all to the doctor! all the reciprocating on one side. "can you return my love, dearest julia?" "certainly, sir, i don't want it i'm sure." how he meant to do better. a few days since, as a lady of rather inquisitive character was visiting our county seat, among other places she called at the jail. she would ask the different prisoners for what crime they were in there. it went off well enough, till she came to a rather hard looking specimen of humanity, whom she asked: "what are you in here for?" "for stealing a horse." "are you not sorry for it?" "yes." "won't you try and do better next time?" "_yes! i'll steal two._" dutch soliloquy. a dutchman's heart-rending soliloquy is described thus: "she lofes shon mickle so much better as i, pecause he's cot koople tollers more as i has!" just alike. a stuttering man at a public table, had occasion to use a pepper box. after shaking it with all due vengeance, and turning it in various ways, he found that the pepper was in no wise inclined to come forth. "t-th-this-p-pep-per box," he exclaimed, with a sagacious grin, "is so-something like myself." "why?" asked a neighbor. "p-poor-poor delivery," he replied. story of a wig. lord ellenborough was once about to go on the circuit, when lady e. said that she should like to accompany him. he replied that he had no objections, provided she did not encumber the carriage with bandboxes, which were his utter abhorrence. they set off. during the first day's journey, lord ellenborough, happening to stretch his legs, struck his feet against something below the seat. he discovered that it was a bandbox. his indignation is not to be described. up went the window, and out went the bandbox. the coachman stopped; and the footman, thinking that the bandbox had tumbled out of the window by some extraordinary chance, was going to pick it up, when lord ellenborough furiously called out, "drive on!" the bandbox accordingly was left by a ditch side. having reached the county-town, where he was to officiate as judge, lord ellenborough proceeded to array himself for his appearance in the court-house. "now," said he, "where's my wig,--where _is_ my wig?" "my lord," replied his attendant, "it was thrown out of the carriage window." a singular forgiveness. sir walter scott, in his article in the _quarterly review_, on the culloden papers, mentions a characteristic instance of an old highland warrior's mode of pardon. "you must forgive even your bitterest enemy, kenmuir, now," said the confessor to him, as he lay gasping on his death-bed. "well, if i must, i must," replied the chieftain, "but my curse be on you, donald," turning towards his son, "if you forgive him." cabbage and ditto. we have just now heard a cabbage story which we will cook up for our laughter loving readers: "oh! i love you like anything," said a young countryman to his sweetheart, warmly pressing her hand. "ditto," said she gently returning his pressure. the ardent lover, not happening to be over and above learned, was sorely puzzled to understand the meaning of ditto--but was ashamed to expose his ignorance by asking the girl. he went home, and the next day being at work in a cabbage patch with his father, he spoke out: "daddy, what's the meaning of ditto?" "why," said the old man, "this here is one cabbage head, ain't it?" "yes, daddy." "well, that ere's ditto." "rot that good-for-nothing gal!" ejaculated the indignant son; "she called me a cabbage head, and i'll be darned if ever i go to see her again." flag at half-mast. an old sailor, at the theatre, said he supposed that dancing girls wore their dresses at half-mast as a mark of respect to departed modesty. longfellow. some one having lavishly lauded longfellow's aphorism, "suffer, and be strong," a matter-of-fact man observed that it was merely a variation of the old english adage, "grin, and bear it." a sorrel sheep. some years ago, a bill was up before the alabama legislature for establishing a botanical college at wetumpka. several able speakers had made long addresses in support of the bill when one mr. morrisett, from monroe, took the floor. with much gravity he addressed the house as follows: "mr. speaker, i cannot support this bill unless assured that a distinguished friend of mine is made one of the professors. he is what the bill wishes to make for us, a regular root doctor, and will suit the place exactly. he became a doctor in two hours, and it only cost him twenty dollars to complete his education. he bought a book, sir, and read the chapter on fevers, that was enough. he was called to see a sick woman indeed, and he felt her wrist, looked into her mouth, and then, turning to her husband, asked solemnly, if he had a 'sorrel sheep?' 'why, no, i never heard of such a thing.' said the doctor, nodding his head knowingly, 'have you got a sorrel horse then?' 'yes,' said the man, 'i drove him to the mill this morning.' 'well,' said the doctor, 'he must be killed immediately, and some soup made of him for your wife.' the woman turned her head away, and the astonished man inquired if something else would not do for the soup, the horse was worth a hundred dollars, and was all the one he had. 'no,' said the doctor, 'the book says so, and if you don't believe it i will read it to you: good for fevers--sheep sorrel or horse sorrel. there, sir.' 'why, doctor,' said the man and his wife, 'it don't mean a sorrel sheep or horse, but--' 'well, i know what i am about,' interrupted the doctor; 'that's the way we doctors read it, and we understand it.' "now," continued the speaker, amidst the roars of the house, "unless my sorrel doctor can be one of the professors, i must vote against this bill." the blow most effectually killed the bill, it is needless to state. editorials. a noted chap once stepped in the sanctum of a venerable and highly respected editor, and indulged in a tirade against a citizen with whom he was on bad terms. "i wish," said he, addressing the man with the pen, "that you would write a severe article against r----, and put it in your paper." "very well," was the reply. after some more conversation the visitor went away. the next morning he came rushing into the office, in a violent state of excitement. "what did you put in your paper? i have had my nose pulled and been kicked twice." "i wrote a severe article, as you desired," calmly returned the editor, "and signed your name to it."--_harrisburgh telegraph._ compensation. a miserly old farmer, who had lost one of his best hands in the midst of hay-making, remarked to the sexton, as he was filling up the grave: "it's a sad thing to lose a good mower, at a time like this--but after all, poor tom was a great eater." just right. "is that clock right over there?" asked a visitor. "right over there? certainly; 'tain't nowhere else." funny mistake. lord seaforth, who was born deaf and dumb, was to dine, one day, with lord melville. just before the time of the company's arrival, lady melville sent into the drawing-room, a lady of her acquaintance, who could talk with her fingers to dumb people, that she might receive lord seaforth. presently, lord guilford entered the room, and the lady, taking him for lord seaforth, began to ply her fingers very nimbly: lord guilford did the same; and they had been carrying on a conversation in this manner for about ten minutes, when lady melville joined them. her female friend immediately said, "well, i have been talking away to this dumb man." "dumb!" cried lord guilford; "bless me, i thought _you_ were dumb."--i told this story (which is perfectly true) to matthews; and he said that he could make excellent use of it, at one of his evening entertainments; but i know not if he ever did.--_rogers' table-talk._ filial affection. "if ever i wanted anything of my father," said sam, "i always asked for it in a very 'spectful and obliging manner. if he didn't give it to me, i took it, for fear i should be led to do anything wrong, through not having it. i saved him a world o' trouble this way, sir."--_dickens._ definite information. "well, robert, how much did your pig weigh?" "it did not weigh as much as i _expected_, and i always thought it _wouldn't_."--_detroit spectator._ frenchmen's english. copied, three years ago, from a card in the _hôtel du rhin_, at boulogne. "special omnibus, on the arrived and on the départure, of every convoy of the railway. restoration on the card, and dinners at all hour. table d'hôte at ten half-past, one, and five o'clock. bathing place horses and walking carriage. interpreter attached to the hôtel. great and little apartments with saloon for family. this établissement entirely new, is admirably situed, on the centre of the town at proximity of the theatre and coach office, close by the post horses offer to the travellers all the comfortable désirable and is proprietor posse by is diligence and is good tenuous justifyed the confidence wich the travellers pleased to honoured him." (the orthography and pointing of the stops, are precisely as printed in the card.) admiral duncan. admiral duncan's address to the officers, who came on board his ship for instructions previous to the engagement with admiral de winter, was both laconic and humorous, "gentlemen, you see a severe _winter_ approaching; i have only to advise you to keep up a good fire." tom dibdin's toast. poor tom dibdin, a convivial, but always a sober man, gives a delicate allusion to the drinking propensity, in the following toast:--"may the man who has a good wife, never be addicted to liquor (_lick her_.)"--_bentley's miscellany._ kicking a yankee. a very handsome friend of ours, who a few weeks ago was poked out of a comfortable office up the river, has taken himself to bangor for a time to recover from the wound inflicted upon his feelings by our "unprincipled and immolating administration." change of air must have had an instant effect upon his spirits, for, from galena, he writes us an amusing letter, which, among other things, tells of a desperate quarrel that took place on board of a boat, between a real live tourist and a real live yankee settler. the latter trod on the toes of the former, whereupon the former threatened to "kick out of the cabin" the latter. "you'll kick me out of this cabing?" "yes, sir, i'll kick you out of this cabin!" "you'll kick _me_, mr. hitchcock, out of this cabing?" "yes, sir, i'll kick _you_, mr. hitchcock!" "well, i guess," said the yankee, very coolly, after being perfectly satisfied that it was himself that stood in such imminent danger of assault, "i guess, since you talk of kicking, you've never heard me tell about old bradly and my mare to hum?" "no, sir, nor do i wish--" "wall, guess it won't set you back much, any how, as kicking's generally best to be considered on. you see old bradly is one of those sanctimonious, long-faced hypocrites who put on a religious suit every sabbath day morning, and with a good deal of screwing, manage to keep it on till after sermon in the afternoon; and as i was a universalist, he allers picked me out as a subject for religious conversation--and the darned hypocrite would talk about heaven, and hell, and the devil--the crucifixion and prayer without ever winking. wall, he had an old roan mare that would jump over any fourteen rail fence in illinois, and open any door in any barn that hadn't a padlock on it. tu or three times i found her in my stable, and i told bradly about it, and he was 'very sorry--an unruly animal--would watch'--and a hull lot of such things; all said in a serious manner, with a face twice as long as old deacon farrar's on sacrament day. "i knew, all the time, he was lying, and so i watched him and his old roan tu; and for three nights regular, old roan came to my stable about bed-time, and just at day-light bradly would come, bridle her, and ride off. i then just took my old mare down to a blacksmith's shop and had some shoes made with corks about four inches long, and had 'em nailed on her hind feet. your heels, mister, ain't nuthin to 'em. i took her hum--gave her about ten feet halter, tied her right in the centre of the stable, fed her well with oats at nine o'clock, and after taking a good smoke, went to bed, knowing that my old mare was a truth-telling animal, and that she'd give a good report of herself in the morning. "i hadn't got fairly asleep before the old woman hunched me, and wanted to know what on airth was the matter out in the stable. so says i, 'go to sleep, peggy, it's nothing but kate--she's kicking off flies, i guess.' putty soon she hunched me again, and says, 'mr. hitchcock, du get up, and see what in the world is the matter with kate, for she is kicking most powerfully.' "'lay still, peggy, kate will take care of herself, i guess.' "well the next morning, about daylight, bradly, with bridle in hand, cum to the stable, and true as the book of genesis, when he saw the old roan's sides, starn, and head, he cursed and swore worse than you did, mister, when i came down on your toes. after breakfast that morning, joe davis cum down to my house, and says he-- "'bradly's old roan is nearly dead--she's cut all to pieces, and can scarcely move.' "'i want to know,' says i; 'how on airth did it happen?' "now joe was a member of the same church with bradly, and whilst we were talking, up cum the everlastin hypocrite, and says he, "'my old mare is ruined!' "'du tell!' says i. "'she is all cut to pieces,' says he; 'do you know whether she was in your stable, mr. hitchcock, last night?' "wall, mister, with this i let out: 'do i _know_ it?'--(the yankee here, in illustration, made way for him, unconsciously, as it were.) 'do i know it, you no-souled, shad-bellied, squash-headed old night owl, you!--you hay-lookin, corn-cribbin, fodder-fudgin, cent-shavin, whitlin-of-nothin, you? kate kicks like a dumb beast, but i have reduced the thing to a science!'" the yankee had not ceased to advance, nor the dandy, in his astonishment, to retreat; and now the motion of the latter being accelerated by the apparent demonstration on the part of the former to suit the action to the word, he found himself in the "social hall," tumbling backwards over a pile of baggage, tearing the knees of his pants as he scrambled up, and a perfect scream of laughter stunning him on all sides. the defeat was total. a few moments afterward he was seen dragging his own trunk ashore, while mr. hitchcock finished his story on the boiler deck.--_st. louis reveille._ dancing their rags off. two unsophisticated country lasses visited niblo's in new york during the ballet season. when the short-skirted, gossamer clad nymphs made their appearance on the stage they became restless and fidgety. "oh, annie!" exclaimed one _sotto voce_. "well, mary?" "it ain't nice--i don't like it." "hush." "i don't care, it ain't nice, and i wonder aunt brought us to such a place." "hush, mary, the folks will laugh at you." after one or two flings and a pirouette, the blushing mary said: "oh, annie, let's go--it ain't nice, and i don't feel comfortable." "do hush, mary," replied the sister, whose own face was scarlet, though it wore an air of determination: "it's the first time i ever was at a theatre, and i suppose it will be the last, _so i am just going to stay it out, if they dance every rag off their backs_!" disinterested advice. "husband, i have the asthma so bad that i can't breathe." "well, my dear, i wouldn't try; nobody wants you to." an editor dreaming on wedding cake. a bachelor editor out west, who had received from the fair hand of a bride, a piece of elegant wedding-cake to dream on, thus gives the result of his experience. "we put it under the head of our pillow, shut our eyes sweetly as an infant blessed with an easy conscience, and snored prodigiously. the god of dreams gently touched us, and lo! in fancy we were married! never was a little editor so happy. it was 'my love,' 'dearest,' 'sweetest,' ringing in our ears every moment. oh! that the dream had broken off here. but no! some evil genius put it into the head of our ducky to have pudding for dinner just to please her lord. "in a hungry dream, we sat down to dinner. well, the pudding moment arrived, and a huge slice almost obscured from sight the plate before us. "'my dear,' said we fondly, 'did you make this?' "'yes, my love, ain't it nice?' "'glorious--the best bread pudding i ever tasted in my life.' "'plum pudding, ducky,' suggested my wife. "'o, no, dearest, bread pudding. i was always fond of 'em.' "'call them bread pudding!' exclaimed my wife, while her lips slightly curled with contempt. "'certainly, my dear--reckon i've had enough at the sherwood house, to know bread pudding, my love, by all means.' "'husband--this is really too bad--plum pudding is twice as hard to make as bread pudding, and is more expensive, and is a great deal better. i say this is plum pudding, sir!' and my pretty wife's brow flushed with excitement. "'my love, my sweet, my dear love,' exclaimed we soothingly, 'do not get angry. i am sure it is very good, if it is bread pudding.' "'you mean, low wretch,' fiercely replied my wife, in a higher tone, 'you know it's plum pudding.' "'then, ma'am, it's so meanly put together and so badly burned, that the devil himself wouldn't know it. i tell you, madam, most distinctly and emphatically, that it is bread pudding and the meanest kind at that.' "'it is plum pudding,' shrieked my wife, as she hurled a glass of claret in my face, the glass itself tapping the claret from my nose. "'bread pudding!' gasped we, pluck to the last, and grasped a roasted chicken by the left leg. "'plum pudding!' rose above the din, as i had a distinct perception of feeling two plates smashed across my head. "'bread pudding!' we groaned in a rage, as the chicken left our hand and flying with swift wing across the table landed in madam's bosom. "'plum pudding!' resounded the war-cry from the enemy, as the gravy-dish took us where we had been depositing a part of our dinner, and a plate of beets landed upon our white vest. "'bread pudding forever!' shouted we in defiance, dodging the soup tureen, and falling beneath its contents. "'plum pudding!' yelled the amiable spouse; noticing our misfortune, she determined to keep us down by piling upon our head the dishes with no gentle hand. then in rapid succession, followed the war-cries. 'plum pudding!' she shrieked with every dish. "'bread pudding,' in smothered tones, came up from the pile in reply. then it was 'plum pudding,' in rapid succession, the last cry growing feebler, till just as i can distinctly recollect, it had grown to a whisper. 'plum pudding' resounded like thunder, followed by a tremendous crash as my wife leaped upon the pile with her delicate feet, and commenced jumping up and down, when, thank heaven! we awoke, and thus saved our life. we shall never dream on wedding cake again--that's the moral." pat query. a gentleman was threatening to beat a dog who barked intolerably. "why," exclaimed an irishman, "would you beat the poor dumb animal for spakin' out?" friendly visits. a gentleman was speaking the other day of the kindness of his friends in visiting him. one old aunt in particular visited him twice a year, and stayed six months each time. remote. "i'd have you to know, mrs. stoker, that my uncle was a banister of the law." "a fig for your banister," retorted mrs. grumly, turning up her nose, "haven't i a cousin as is a corridor in the navy?" a cat story. a philosophical old gentleman was one day passing a new school-house, erected somewhere towards the setting sun borders of our glorious union, when his attention was suddenly attracted to a crowd of persons gathered around the door. he inquired of a boy, whom he met, what was going on. "well, nothin', 'cept the skule committy, and they're goin' in." "a committee meets to-day! what for?" "well," continued the boy, "you see bill, that's our biggest boy, got mad at the teacher, and so he went all round and gathered dead cats. nothin' but cats, and cats, and cats. oh! it was orful, them cats!" "pshaw! what have the cats to do with the school committee?" "now, well, you see bill kept a bringing cats and cats; allers a pilin' them up yonder," pointing to a huge pile as large in extent as a pyramid, and considerably aromatic, "and he piled them. nothing but cats, cats!" "never mind, my son, what bill did; what has the committee met for?" "then bill got sick haulin' them, and everybody got sick a nosin' them, but bill got madder, and didn't give it up, but kept a pilin' up the cats and--" "can you tell what the committee are holding a meeting for?" "why, the skule committy are goin' to hold a meetin' up here to say whether they'll move the skule house or the cats." the old gentleman evaporated immediately. conundrums. if a husband were to see his wife drowning, what single letter of the alphabet would he name?--_answer._ let-her b. what is most like a hen stealing?--_ans._ a cock _robbing_ (robin). what wind would a hungry sailor wish for, at sea?--_ans._--a wind that blows _fowl_ and then _chops_. when is a lane dangerous to walk in?--_ans._ when the hedges are _shooting_, and the _bull-rushes_ out. in what color should a secret be kept?--_ans._ in violet (inviolate). what proof is there that robinson crusoe found his island inhabited?--_ans._ because he saw a great swell pitching into a little cove. what was joan of arc made of?--_ans._ _maid_ of orleans. why is the county of bucks, like a drover's stick?--_ans._ because it runs into _oxon_ (oxen) and herts (_hurts_). who is the greatest dandy you meet at sea?--_ans._ the great _swell_ of the ocean. why may it be presumed that moses wore a wig?--_ans._ because he was sometimes seen with aaron (hair on), and sometimes without. love. a little sighing, a little crying, a little dying, and a deal of lying.--_jonathan._ the thief and the duke. the great duke of marlborough, passing the gate of the tower, after having inspected that fortress, was accosted by an ill-looking fellow, with, "how do you do, my lord duke? i believe your grace and i have now been in every jail in the kingdom?" "i believe, my friend," replied the duke, with surprise, "this is the only jail i ever visited." "very like," replied the other, "but i have been in all the rest." loss of time. a devotee lamented to her confessor, her love of gaming. "ah, madam," replied the priest, "it is a grievous sin:--in the first place, consider the loss of time." "yes," replied the fair penitent, "i have often begrudged the time lost in _shuffling_ and _dealing_." unexpected reply. a preacher, in arabia, having for his text, a portion of the koran, "i have called noah," after twice repeating his text, made a long pause; when an arab present, thinking that he was waiting for an answer, exclaimed, "if noah will not come, call somebody else." generous. "i will save you a thousand pounds," said a young buck to an old gentleman. "how?" "you have a daughter, and you intend to give her ten thousand pounds as her portion." "i do." "sir, i will take her with nine thousand." friendly banter. friend grace, it seems, had a very good horse and a very poor one. when seen riding the latter, he was asked the reason (it turned out that his better half had taken the good one). "what!" said the bantering bachelor, "how comes it you let your mistress ride the better horse?" the only reply was--"friend, when thee beest married theel't know." taking a receipt. the hartford times vouches for the truth of the following story: "pat malone, you are fined five dollars for assault and battery on mike sweeney." "i have the money in me pocket, and i'll pay the fine, if your honor will give me the resate." "we give no receipts here. we just take the money. you will not be called upon a second time for your fine." "but your honor, i'll not be wanting to pay the same till after i get the resate." "what do you want to do with it?" "if your honor will write one and give it to me, i'll tell you." "well, there's your receipt. now what do you want to do with it?" "i'll tell your honor. you see, one of those days i'll be after dying, and when i go to the gate of heaven i'll rap, and st. peter will say, 'who's there?' and i'll say, 'it's me, pat malone,' and he'll say, 'what do you want?' and i'll say, 'i want to come in,' and he'll say, 'did you behave like a dacent boy in the other world, and pay all the fines and such things?' and i'll say, 'yes, your holiness,' and then he'll want to see the resate, and i'll put my hand in my pocket and take out my resate and give it to him, and i'll not have to go ploddin' all over hell to find your honor to get one." kind father. an old gentleman says, he is the last man in the world to tyrannize over a daughter's affections. so long as she marries the man of _his_ choice, he don't care who she loves. destroying the romance. a capital story is told of a young fellow who one sunday strolled into a village church, and during the service was electrified and gratified by the sparkling of a pair of eyes which were riveted upon his face. after the service he saw the possessor of the shining orbs leave the church alone, and emboldened by her glances, he ventured to follow her, his heart aching with rapture. he saw her look behind, and fancied she evinced some emotion at recognizing him. he then quickened his pace, and she actually slackened hers, as if to let him come up with her--but we will permit the young gentleman to tell the rest in his own way: "noble young creature!" thought i, "her artless and warm heart is superior to the bonds of custom. "i had reached within a stone's throw of her. she suddenly halted, and turned her face toward me. my heart swelled to bursting. i reached the spot where she stood, she began to speak, and i took off my hat as if doing reverence to an angel. "'are you a peddler?' "'no, my dear girl, that is not my occupation.' "'well, i don't know,' continued she, not very bashfully, and eyeing me very sternly, 'i thought when i saw you in the meetin' house that you looked like a peddler who passed off a pewter half dollar on me three weeks ago, an' so i just determined to keep an eye on you. brother john has got home now, and says if he catches the fellow he'll wring his neck for him; and i ain't sure but you're the good-for-nothing rascal after all!'" doing a yankee. sir allen mcnab was once traveling by steamer, and as luck would have it, was obliged to occupy a state-room with a full blooded yankee. in the morning, while sir allen was dressing, he beheld his companion making thorough researches into his (sir allen's) dressing case. having completed his examination, he proceeded coolly to select the tooth-brush, and therewith to bestow on his long yellow teeth an energetic scrubbing. sir allen said not a word. when jonathan had concluded, the old scotchman gravely set the basin on the floor, soaped one foot well, and taking the tooth-brush, applied it vigorously to his toes and toe-nails. "you dirty fellow," exclaimed the astonished yankee, "what the mischief are you doing that for?" "oh," said sir allen coolly, "that's the brush i always do it with." drovers _vs._ fops. dinner was spread in the cabin of that peerless steamer, the new world, and a splendid company were assembled about the table. among the passengers thus prepared for gastronomic duty, was a little creature of the genus fop, decked daintily as an early butterfly, with kids of irreproachable whiteness, "miraculous" neck-tie, and spider-like quizzing glass on his nose. the little delicate animal turned his head aside with, "waitah!" "sah!" "bwing me a pwopellah of a fwemale woostah!" "yes, sah!" "and, waitah, tell the steward to wub my plate with a vegetable, wulgarly called onion, which will give a delicious flavow to my dinnah." while the refined exquisite was giving his order, a jolly western drover had listened with opened mouth and protruding eyes. when the diminutive creature paused, he brought his fist down upon the table with a force that made every dish bounce, and then thundered out: "here you darned ace-of-spades!" "yes, sah!" "bring me a thunderin' big plate of skunk's gizzards!" "sah!" "and, old ink pot, tuck a horse blanket under my chin, and rub me down with brickbats while i feed!" the poor dandy showed a pair of straight coat-tails instanter, and the whole table joined in a "tremenjous" roar. story of an almanac maker. david ditson was and is the great almanac man, calculating the signs and wonders in the heavens, and furnishing the astronomical matter with which those very useful annuals abound. in former years it was his custom, in all his almanacs, to utter sage predictions as to the weather, at given periods in the course of the revolving year. thus he would say, 'about--this--time--look--out--for--a--change--of--weather; and by stretching such a prophecy half-way down the page, he would make very sure that in some one of the days included, the event foretold would come to pass. he got cured of this spirit of prophecy, in a very remarkable manner. one summer day, clear and calm as a day could be, he was riding on horseback; it was before railroads were in vogue, and being on a journey some distance from home, and wishing to know how far it was to the town he was going to visit, he stopped at the roadside and inquired of a farmer at work in the field. the farmer told him it was six miles; "but," he added, "you must ride sharp, or you will get a wet jacket before you reach it." "a wet jacket!" said the astronomer; "you don't think it is going to rain, do you?" "no, i don't _think_ so, i know so," replied the farmer; "and the longer you sit there, the more likely you are to get wet." david thought the farmer a fool, and rode on, admiring the blue sky uncheckered by a single cloud. he had not proceeded more than half the distance to the town before the heavens were overcast, and one of those sudden showers not unusual in this latitude came down upon him. there was no place for shelter, and he was drenched to the skin. but the rain was soon over, and david thought within himself, that old man must have some way of guessing the weather that beats all my figures and facts. i will ride back and get it out of him. it will be worth more than a day's work to learn a new sign. by the time he had reached the farmer's field again, the old man had resumed his labor, and david accosted him very respectfully: "i say, my good friend, i have come all the way back to ask you how you were able to say that it would certainly rain to-day?" "ah," said the sly old fellow, "and wouldn't you like to know!" "i would certainly; and as i am much interested in the subject, i will willingly give you five dollars for your rule." the farmer acceded to the terms, took the money, and proceeded to say: "well, you see now, we all use david ditson's almanacs around here, and he is the greatest liar that ever lived; for whenever he says 'it's going to rain,' we know it ain't; and when he says 'fair weather,' we look out for squalls. now this morning i saw it put down for to-day _very pleasant_, and i knew for sartin it would rain before night. that's the rule. use david's almanac, and always read it just t'other way." the crest-fallen astronomer plodded on his weary way, another example of a fool and his money soon parted. but that was the end of his prophesying. since that he has made his almanacs without weatherwise sayings, leaving every man to guess for himself. how to board and lodge in new york. the _philadelphia chronicle_ calls the hero of the following story a yankee, but he will wager a sixpence that he was born in pennsylvania. but no matter, it is a good joke:--"'what do you charge for board?' asked a tall green mountain boy, as he walked up to the bar of a second-rate hotel in new york--'what do you ask a week for board and lodging?' 'five dollars.' 'five dollars! that's too much; but i s'pose you'll allow for the times i am absent from dinner and supper?' 'certainly; thirty-seven and a half cents each.' here the conversation ended, and the yankee took up his quarters for two weeks. during this time, he lodged and breakfasted at the hotel, but did not take either dinner or supper, saying his business detained him in another portion of the town. at the expiration of the two weeks, he again walked up to the bar, and said, 's'pose we settle that account--i'm going, in a few minutes.' the landlord handed him his bill--'two weeks board at five dollars--ten dollars.' 'here, stranger,' said the yankee, 'this is wrong--you've made a mistake; you've not deducted the times i was absent from dinner and supper-- days, two meals per day; meals, at - / cents each; dollars cents. if you've not got the fifty cents that's due to me, _i'll take a drink, and the balance in cigars_!" never say die. "the politicians have thrown me overboard," said a disappointed politician; "but i have strength enough to swim to the other side." how to become a connoisseur. sposin' it's pictures that's on the carpet, wait till you hear the name of the painter. if it's rubens, or any o' them old boys, praise, for it's agin the law to doubt them; but if it's a new man, and the company ain't most especial judges, criticise. "a leetle out o' keeping," says you. "he don't use his grays enough, nor glaze down well. that shadder wants depth. general effect is good, though parts ain't. those eyebrows are heavy enough for stucco," says you, and other unmeaning terms like these. it will pass, i tell you. your opinion will be thought great. them that judged the cartoons at westminster hall, knew plaguey little more nor that. but if this is a portrait of the lady of the house, hangin' up, or it's at all like enough to make it out, stop--gaze on it, walk back, close your fingers like a spy-glass, and look through 'em amazed like--enchanted--chained to the spot. then utter, unconscious like, "that's a most beautiful pictur'. by heavens! that's a speakin' portrait. it's well painted, too. but whoever the artist is, he is an unprincipled man." "good gracious!" she'll say, "how so?" "'cause, madam, he has not done you justice."--_sam slick._ boots. "i bought _them_ boots to wear only when i go into genteel society," said one of the codfish tribe, to a wag, the other day. "oh, you did, eh?" quoth the wag. "well, then, in that case, _them_ boots will be likely to last you a lifetime, and be worth something to your heirs."--exit codfish, rather huffy. sour krout. when the territory now composing the state of ohio was first organized into a government, and congressmen about being elected, there were two candidates, both men of standing and ability, brought out in that fertile region watered by the beautiful muskingum. mr. morgan, the one, was a reluctant aspirant for the honor, but he payed his respects to the people by calling meetings at various points and addressing them. in one part of the district there was a large and very intelligent german settlement, and it was generally conceded that their vote, usually given one way, would be decisive of the contest. to secure this important interest, mr. morgan, in the course of the campaign, paid this part of the district a visit, and by his condescension and polite manner, made a most favourable impression on the entire population--the electors, in fact, all pledging themselves to cast their votes for him. colonel jackson, the opposing candidate, and ambitious for the office, hearing of this successful move on the part of his opponent, determined to counteract it if possible. to this end he started for the all-important settlement. on introducing himself, and after several fruitless attempts to dissipate the favourable effects of mr. morgan's visit, he was finally informed by one of the leading men of the precinct that: "it ish no good you coming hare, colonel shackson, we have all promisht to vote for our friendt, meisther morgans." "ah! ha!" says the colonel: "but did you hear what mr. morgan did when he returned from visiting you?" "no, vat vas it?" "why, he ordered his chamber-maid to bring him some soap and warm water, that he might wash the sour krout off his hands." the colonel left, and in a few days the election coming off, each candidate made his appearance at the critical german polls. the votes were then given _viva voce_, and you may readily judge of mr. morgan's astonishment as each lusty dutchman announced the name of colonel shackson, holding up his hand toward the outwitted candidate, and indignantly asking: "ah! ha! meisther morgans, you zee ony zour krout dare?" it is needless to say that colonel shackson took a seat in the next congress. confession. "susan, stand up and let me see what you have learned. what does c-h-a-i-r spell?" "i don't know, marm." "why, you ignorant critter! what do you always sit on?" "oh, marm, i don't like to tell." "what on earth is the matter with the gal?--tell what is it." "i don't like to tell--it was bill crass's knee, but he never kissed me but twice." "airthquake and apple-sarse!" exclaimed the schoolmistress, and she fainted. a hay field anecdote. an old gentleman who was always bragging how folks used to work in his young days, one time challenged his two sons to pitch on a load of hay as fast as he could load it. the challenge was accepted and the hay-wagon driven round and the trial commenced. for some time the old man held his own very creditably, calling out, tauntingly, "more hay! more hay!" thicker and faster it came. the old man was nearly covered; still he kept crying, "more hay! more hay!" until struggling to keep on the top of the disordered and ill-arranged heap, it began first to roll, then to slide, and at last off it went from the wagon, and the old man with it. "what are you down here for?" cried the boys. "i came down after hay," answered the old man, stoutly. which was a literal fact. he had come down after the wagon load, which had to be pitched on again rather more deliberately. why brother dickson left the church. mr. dickson, a colored barber, was shaving one of his customers, a respectable citizen, one morning, when a conversation occurred between them respecting mr. dickson's former connection with a colored church in the place. "i believe you are connected with the church in ----street, mr. dickson," said the customer. "so, sah, not at all." "what! are you not a member of the african church?" "not dis year, sah." "why did you leave their communion, mr. dickson? if i may be permitted to ask." "why, i tell you, sah," said mr. dickson, strapping a concave razor on the palm of his hand. "it was just like dis. i jined dat church in good faif. i gib ten dollars toward de stated preaching ob de gospel de fus' year, and de peepil all call me brudder dickson. de second year my business not good, and i only gib five dollars. dat year the church peepil call me mr. dickson. "dis razor hurt you, sah?" "no; the razor goes very well." "well, sah, de third year i felt very poor, sickness in my family, and didn't gib nuffin for the preaching. well, sah, after dat they call me old nigger dickson, and i leff 'em." so saying, mr. dickson brushed his customer's hair and the gentleman departed, well satisfied with the reason why mr. dickson left the church. foresight. a young lady in the interior, thinks of going to california to get married, for the reason that she has been told that in that country the men folks "rock the cradle." vice versa. what is the difference between an attempted homicide, and a hog butchery? one is an assault with intent to kill, and the other is a kill with intent to salt. human nature. here, reader, is a little picture of _one_ kind of "human nature," that, while it will make you laugh, conveys at the same time a lesson not unworthy of heed. the story is of a gentleman traveling through canada in the winter of , who, after a long day's ride, stopped at a roadside inn called the "lion tavern," where the contents of the stage coach, numbering some nine persons, soon gathered round the cheerful fire. among the occupants of the room was an ill-looking cur, who had shown its wit by taking up its quarters in so comfortable an apartment. after a few minutes the landlord entered, and observing the dog, remarked: "fine dog, that! is he yours, sir?" appealing to one of the passengers. "no, sir." "_beautiful_ dog! _yours_, sir?" addressing himself to a second. "_no!_" was the blunt reply. "come here, pup! perhaps he is _yours_, sir?" "no!" was again the reply. "very sagacious animal! belongs to you, i suppose, sir?" "no, he doesn't!" "then he is _yours_, and you have a treasure in him, sir?" at the same time throwing the animal a cracker. "no, sir, he is not!" "oh!" (_with a smile_) "he belongs to _you_, as a matter of course, then?" addressing the last passenger. "_me!_ i wouldn't have him as a gift!" "then, you dirty, mean, contemptible whelp, get out!" and with that the host gave him such a kick as sent him howling into the street, amidst the roars of the company. there was _one_ honest dog in that company, but the two-legged specimen was a little "too sweet to be wholesome." john kemble. moore mentions in his diary a very amusing anecdote of john kemble. he was performing one night at some country theatre, in one of his favourite parts, and being interrupted from time to time by the squalling of a child in one of the galleries, he became not a _little_ angry at the rival performance. walking with solemn step to the front of the stage, and addressing the audience in his most tragic tone, he said: "unless _the play_ is stopped, _the child_ can not possibly go on!" the loud laugh which followed this ridiculous transposition of his meaning, relaxed even the nerves of the immortal hamlet, and he was compelled to laugh with his auditors. confession. a priest of basse bretagne, finding his duty somewhat arduous, particularly the number of his confessing penitents, said from the pulpit one sunday: "brethren, to avoid confusion at the confessional this week, i will on monday confess the liars, on tuesday the thieves, wednesday the gamblers, thursday the drunkards, friday the women of bad life, and saturday the libertines." strange to relate, nobody came that week to confess their sins. a sleepy deacon. there are times and seasons when sleep is never appropriate, and with these may be classed the sleep of the good old cincinnati deacon. the deacon was the owner and overseer of a large pork-packing establishment. his duty it was to stand at the head of the scalding trough, watch in hand, to "time" the length of the scald, crying "hog in!" when the just slaughtered hog was to be thrown into the trough, and "hog out!" when the watch told three minutes. one week the press of business compelled the packers to unusually hard labor, and saturday night found the deacon completely exhausted. indeed, he was almost sick the next morning, when church time came; but he was a leading member, and it was his duty to attend the usual sabbath service, if he could. he went. the occasion was of unusual solemnity, as a revival was in progress. the minister preached a sermon, well calculated for effect. his peroration was a climax of great beauty. assuming the attitude of one intently listening, he recited to the breathless auditory: "hark, they whisper; angels say-- "_hog in!_" came from the deacon's pew, in a stentorian voice. the astonished audience turned their attention from the preacher. he went on, however, unmoved-- "sister spirit, come away." "_hog out!_" shouted the deacon, "_tally four_." this was too much for the preacher and the audience. the latter smiled, some snickered audibly, while a few boys broke for the door, to "split their sides," laughing outside, within full hearing. the preacher was entirely disconcerted, sat down, arose again, pronounced a brief benediction, and dismissed the anything else than solemn minded hearers. the deacon soon came to a realizing sense of his unconscious interlude, for his brethren reprimanded him severely; while the boys caught the infection of the joke, and every possible occasion afforded an opportunity for them to say, "_hog in!_" "_hog out!_" lost in a fog. "suppose you are lost in a fog," said lord c---- to his noble relative, the marchioness, "what are you most likely to be?" "mist, of course," replied her ladyship. no mistake. "you don't seem to know how to take me," said a vulgar fellow to a gentleman he had insulted. "yes, i do," said the gentleman, taking him by the nose. respect for appearances. on a sunday, a lady called to her little boy, who was tossing marbles on the side walk, to come in the house. "don't you know you should not be out there, my son?" said she. "go into the back yard, if you want to play marbles; it is sunday." "i will," answered the little boy; "but ain't it sunday in the back yard, mother?" making the responses. an ignorant fellow, who was about to get married, resolved to make himself perfect in the responses of the marriage service; but, by mistake, he committed the office of baptism for those of riper years; so when the clergyman asked him in the church, "wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" the bridegroom answered, in a very solemn tone, "i renounce them all." the astonished minister said, "i think you are a fool!" to which he replied, "all this i steadfastly believe." personal identity. an ill-looking fellow was asked how he could account for nature's forming him so ugly. "nature was not to blame," said he; "for when i was two months old, i was considered the handsomest child in the neighborhood, but my nurse one day _swapped_ me away for another boy just to please a friend, whose child was rather plain looking." ike partington and pugilism. mrs. partington was much surprised to find ike, one rainy afternoon, in the spare room, with the rag-bag hung to the bed-post, which he was belaboring very lustily with his fists as huge as two one cent apples. "what gymnastiness are you doing here?" said she, as she opened the door. he did not stop, and merely replying, "training," continued to pitch in. she stood looking at him as he danced around the bag, busily punching its rotund sides. "that's the morrissey touch," said he, giving one side a dig; "and that," hitting the other side, "is the benicia boy." "stop!" she said, and he immediately stopped after he had given the last blow for morrissey. "i am afraid the training you are having isn't good," said she, "and i think you had better train in some other company. i thought your going into compound fractures in school would be dilatorious to you. i don't know who mr. morrissey is, and i don't want to, but i hear that he has been whipping the pernicious boy, a poor lad with a sore leg, and i think he should be ashamed of himself." ike had read the "_herald_," with all about "the great prize fight" in it, and had become entirely carried away with it. george selwyn. george selwyn was telling at dinner-table, in the midst of a large company, and with great glee, of the execution of lord lovat, which he had witnessed. the ladies were shocked at the levity he manifested, and one of them reproached him, saying, "how could you be such a barbarian as to see the head of a man cut off?" "oh," said he, "if that was any great crime, i am sure i made amends for it; for i went to see it sewed on again." prompt reply. a fop in company, wanting his servant, called out: "where's that blockhead of mine?" a lady present, answered, "on your shoulders, sir." division of time. "murphy," said an employer, the other morning, to one of his workmen, "you came late this morning, the other men were an hour before you." "sure, and i'll be even wit 'em to-night, then." "how, murphy?" "why, faith, i'll quit an hour before 'em all, sure." a groom. a groom is a chap, that a gentleman keeps to clean his 'osses, and be blown up, when things go wrong. they are generally wery conceited consequential beggars, and as they never knows nothing, why the best way is to take them so young, that they can't pretend to any knowledge. i always get mine from the charity schools, and you'll find it wery good economy, to apply to those that give the boys leather breeches, as it will save you the trouble of finding him a pair. the first thing to do, is to teach him to get up early, and to hiss at everything he brushes, rubs, or touches. as the leather breeches should be kept for sundays, you must get him a pair of corderoys, and mind, order them of large size, and baggy behind, for many 'osses have a trick of biting at chaps when they are cleaning them; and it is better for them to have a mouthful of corderoy, than the lad's bacon, to say nothing of the loss of the boy's services, during the time he is laid up.--_john jorrock's sporting lectures._ in a quiver. a coquette is said to be an imperfect incarnation of cupid, as she keeps her beau, and not her arrows, in a quiver. satisfactory answers. yankees are supposed to have attained the greatest art in parrying inquisitiveness, but there is a story extant of a "londoner" on his travels in the provinces, who rather eclipses the cunning "yankee peddler." in traveling post, says the narrator, he was obliged to stop at a village to replace a shoe which his horse had lost; when the "paul pry" of the place bustled up to the carriage-window, and without waiting for the ceremony of an introduction, said: "good-morning, sir. horse cast a shoe i see. i suppose, sir, you are going to--?" here he paused, expecting the name of the place to be supplied; but the gentleman answered: "you are quite right; i generally go there at this season." "ay--ahem!--do you? and no doubt you are now come from--?" "right again, sir; i _live_ there." "oh, ay; i see: you do! but i perceive it is a london shay. is there anything stirring in london?" "oh, yes; plenty of other chaises and carriages of all sorts." "ay, ay, of course. but what do folks say?" "they say their prayers every sunday." "that isn't what i mean. i want to know whether there is anything new and fresh." "yes; bread and herrings." "ah, you are a queer fellow. pray, mister, may i ask your name?" "fools and clowns," said the gentleman, "call me 'mister;' but i am in reality one of the clowns of aristophanes; and my real name is _brekekekex koax_! drive on, postilion!" now this is what we call a "pursuit of knowledge under difficulties" of the most _obstinate_ kind. baron rothschild. there is a good story told recently of baron rothschild, of paris, the richest man of his class in the world, which shows that it is not only "money which makes the mare go" (or horses either, for that matter), but "_ready_ money," "unlimited credit" to the contrary notwithstanding. on a very wet and disagreeable day, the baron took a parisian omnibus, on his way to the bourse or exchange; near which the "nabob of finance" alighted, and was going away without paying. the driver stopped him, and demanded his fare. rothschild felt in his pocket, but he had not a "red cent" of change. the driver was very wroth: "well, what did you get _in_ for, if you could not pay? you must have _known_ that you had no money!" "i am baron rothschild!" exclaimed the great capitalist; "and there is my card!" the driver threw the card in the gutter: "never heard of you before," said the driver, "and don't want to hear of you again. but i want my fare--and i must have it!" the great banker was in haste. "i have only an order for a million," he said. "give me change;" and he proffered a "coupon" for fifty thousand francs. the conductor stared, and the passengers set up a horselaugh. just then an "agent de change" came by, and baron rothschild borrowed of him the six sous. the driver was now seized with a kind of remorseful respect; and turning to the money-king, he said: "if you want ten francs, sir, i don't mind lending them to you on my own account!" mrs. caudle's umbrella. one of the best chapters in "mrs. caudle's curtain lectures," is where that amiable and greatly abused angel reproaches her inhuman spouse with loaning the family umbrella: "ah! that's the third umbrella gone since christmas! what were you to do? why, let him go home in the rain. i don't think there was any thing about _him_ that would spoil. take cold, indeed! he does not look like one o' the sort to take cold. he'd better taken cold, than our only umbrella. do you hear the rain, caudle? i say do you _hear the rain_? do you hear it against the windows? nonsense; you can't be asleep with such a shower as that. do you _hear_ it, i say? oh, you _do_ hear it, do you? well, that's a pretty flood, i think, to last six weeks, and no stirring all the time out of the house. poh! don't think to fool _me_, caudle: _he_ return the umbrella! as if any body ever _did_ return an umbrella! there--do you hear it? worse and worse! cats and dogs for six weeks--always six weeks--and no umbrella! "i should like to know how the children are to go to school, to-morrow. they shan't go through _such_ weather, _that_ i'm determined. no; they shall stay at home, and never learn anything, sooner than go and get wet. and when they grow up, i wonder who they'll have to thank for knowing nothing. people who can't feel for their children ought never to _be_ fathers. "but _i_ know why you lent the umbrella--_i_ know very well. i was going out to tea to mother's, to-morrow;--you _knew_ that very well; and you did it on purpose. don't tell me; _i_ know: you don't want me to go, and take every mean advantage to hinder me. but don't you think it, caudle. no; if it comes down in buckets-full, i'll go all the more: i will; and what's more, i'll walk every step of the way; and you know that will give me my death," &c., &c., &c. follow your nose. "pray, sir, what makes you walk so crookedly?" "oh, my nose, you see, is crooked, and i have to follow it!" lorenzo dow. lorenzo dow is still remembered by some of the "old fogies" as one of the most eccentric men that ever lived. on one occasion he took the liberty, while preaching, to denounce a rich man in the community, recently deceased. the result was an arrest, a trial for slander, and an imprisonment in the county jail. after lorenzo got out of "limbo," he announced that, in spite of his (in his opinion) unjust punishment, he should preach, at a given time, a sermon about "another rich man." the populace was greatly excited, and a crowded house greeted his appearance. with great solemnity he opened the bible, and read, "and there was a rich man who died and went to ----;" then stopping short, and seeming to be suddenly impressed, he continued: "brethren, i shall not mention the place this rich man went to, for fear he has some relatives in this congregation who will sue me for defamation of character." the effect on the assembled multitude was irresistible, and he made the impression permanent by taking another text, and never alluding to the subject again. smart waiter. the following story, although latterly related of "a distinguished southern gentleman, and former member of the cabinet," was formerly told, we are _almost_ quite certain, of the odd and eccentric john randoph of roanoke, with certain omissions and additions. be that as it may, the anecdote is a good one, and "will do to keep." "the gentleman was a boarder in one of the most splendid of the new york hotels; and preferring not to eat at the _table d'hôte_, had his meals served in his own parlor, with all the elegance for which the establishment had deservedly become noted. "being somewhat annoyed with the airs of the servant who waited upon him--a negro of 'the blackest dye'--he desired him at dinner one day to retire. the negro bowed, and took his stand behind the gentleman's chair. supposing him to be gone, it was with some impatience that, a few minutes after, the gentleman saw him step forward to remove his soup. "'fellow!' said he, 'leave the room! i wish to be alone.' "'excuse me, sah,' said cuffee, drawing himself stiffly up, 'but _i'se 'sponsible for de silver_!'" couldn't find it out. mr. slocum was not educated in a university, and his life has been in by-paths, and out-of-the-way places. his mind is characterized by the literalness, rather than the comprehensive grasp of great subjects. mr. slocum can, however, master a printed paragraph, by dint of spelling the hard words, in a deliberate manner, and manages to gain a few glimpses of men and things, from his little rocky farm, through the medium of a newspaper. it is quite edifying to hear mr. slocum reading the village paper aloud, to his wife, after a hard day's work. a few evenings since, farmer slocum was reading an account of a dreadful accident, which happened at the factory in the next town, and which the village editor had described in a great many words. "i declare, wife, that was an awful accident over to the mills," said mr. slocum. "what was it about, mr. slocum?" "i'll read the 'count, wife, and then you'll know all about it." mr. s. began to read: "_horrible and fatal accident._--it becomes our melancholy and painful duty, to record the particulars of an accident that occurred at the lower mill, in this village, yesterday afternoon, by which a human being, in the prime of life, was hurried to that bourne from which, as the immortal shakspeare says, 'no traveler returns.'" "du tell!" exclaimed mrs. s. "mr. david jones, a workman, who has but few superiors this side of the city, was superintending one of the large drums--" "i wonder if 'twas a brass drum, such as has 'eblubust unum' printed on't," said mrs. slocum. --"when he became entangled. his arm was drawn around the drum, and finally his whole body was drawn over the shaft, at a fearful rate. when his situation was discovered, he had revolved with immense velocity, about fifteen minutes, his head and limbs striking a large beam a distinct blow at each revolution." "poor creeter! how it must have hurt him!" "when the machinery had been stopped, it was found that mr. jones's arms and legs were macerated to a jelly." "well, didn't it kill him?" asked mrs. s., with increasing interest. "portions of the dura mater, cerebrum, and cerebellum, in confused masses, were scattered about the floor; in short, the gates of eternity had opened upon him." here, mr. slocum paused to wipe his spectacles, and the wife seized the opportunity to press the question. "was the man killed?" "i don't know--haven't come to that place yet; you'll know when i've finished the piece." and mr. slocum continued reading: "it was evident, when the shapeless form was taken down, that it was no longer tenanted by the immortal spirit--that the vital spark was extinct." "was the man killed? that's what i want to come at," said mrs. slocum. "do have a little patience, old woman," said mr. slocum, eyeing his better half, over his spectacles, "i presume we shall come upon it right away." and he went on reading: "this fatal casualty has cast a gloom over our village, and we trust that it will prove a warning to all persons who are called upon to regulate the powerful machinery of our mills." "now," said mrs. slocum, perceiving that the narration was ended, "now, i should like to know whether the man was killed or not?" mr. slocum looked puzzled. he scratched his head, scrutinized the article he had been perusing, and took a graceful survey of the paper. "i declare, wife," said he, "it's curious, but really the paper don't say." caught on a jury. the following, which we have heard told as a fact, some time ago, may be beneficial to some gentleman who has a young and unsuspecting wife: a certain man, who lived about ten miles from k----, was in the habit of going to town, about once a week, and getting on a regular spree, and would not return until he had time to "cool off," which was generally two or three days. his wife was ignorant of the cause of his staying out so long, and suffered greatly from anxiety about his welfare. when he would return, of course his confiding wife would inquire what had been the matter with him, and the usual reply was, that he was caught on the jury, and couldn't get off. having gathered his corn, and placed it in a large heap, he, according to custom, determined to call in his neighbors, and have a real corn-shucking frolic. so he gave ned, a faithful servant, a jug and an order, to go to town and get a gallon of whiskey--a very necessary article on such occasions. ned mounted a mule, and was soon in town, and, equipped with the whiskey, remounted to set out for home, all buoyant with the prospect of fun at shucking. when he had proceeded a few hundred yards from town, he concluded to take the "stuff," and not satisfied with once, he kept trying until the world turned round so fast, that he turned off the mule, and then he went to sleep, and the mule to grazing. it was now nearly night, and when ned awoke it was just before the break of day, and so dark, that he was unable to make any start towards home until light. as soon as his bewilderment had subsided, so that he could get the "point," he started with an empty jug, the whiskey having run out, and afoot, for the mule had gone home. of course he was contemplating the application of a "two year old hickory," as he went on at the rate of two forty. ned reached home about breakfast time, and "fetched up" at the back door, with a decidedly guilty countenance. "what in thunder have you been at, you black rascal?" said his master. ned knowing his master's excuse to his wife, when he went on a spree, determined to tell the truth, if he died for it, and said: "well, massa, to tell the truth, i was kotch on the jury, and couldn't get off."--_nashville news._ a cure by laughter. an aged widow had a cow, which fell sick. in her distress for fear of the loss of this her principal means of support, she had recourse to the rector, in whose prayers she had implicit faith, and humbly besought his reverence to visit her cow, and pray for her recovery. the worthy man, instead of being offended at this trait of simplicity, in order to comfort the poor woman, called in the afternoon at her cottage, and proceeded to visit the sick animal. walking thrice round it, he at each time gravely repeated: "_if she dies she dies, but if she lives she lives._" the cow happily recovered, which the widow entirely attributed to the efficacy of her pastor's prayer. some short time after, the rector himself was seized with a quinsy, and in imminent danger, to the sincere grief of his affectionate parishioners, and of none more than the grateful widow. she repaired to the parsonage, and after considerable difficulty from his servants, obtained admission to his chamber, when thrice walking round his bed, she repeated "_if he dies he dies, but if he lives he lives_;" which threw the doctor into such a fit of laughter, that the imposthume broke, and produced an immediate cure. good prayer. a witty lawyer once jocosely asked a boarding-house keeper the following question: "mr. ----, if a man gives you five hundred dollars to keep for him, and he dies, what do you do? do you pray for him?" "no, sir," replied ----, "i pray for another like him." non sum qualis eram. a noble and learned lord, when attorney general, being at a consultation where there was considerable difference of opinion between him and his brother counsel, delivered his sentiments with his usual energy, and concluded by striking his hand on the table, and saying, "this, gentlemen, is _my opinion_." the peremptory tone with which this was spoken so nettled the solicitor, who had frequently consulted him when a young barrister, that he sarcastically repeated, "your opinion! i have often had your opinion for five shillings." mr. attorney with great good humour said, "very true, and probably you then paid its full value." one swallow does not make a summer. one winter day, the prince of wales went into the thatched house tavern, and ordered a steak: "but," said his royal highness, "i am devilish cold, bring me a glass of hot brandy and water." he swallowed it, another, and another. "now," said he, "i am comfortable, bring my steak." on which mr. sheridan took out his pencil, and wrote the following impromptu: "the prince came in, said it was cold, then put to his head the rummer; till _swallow_ after _swallow_ came, when he pronounced it summer." classical bull. milton. adam, the goodliest of _men since born his sons; the fairest of her daughters eve_. give the devil his due. at the grand entertainment given at vauxhall in july, , to celebrate the victories of the marquis of wellington, the fire-works, prepared under the direction of general congreve, were the theme of universal admiration. the general himself was present, and being in a circle where the conversation turned on monumental inscriptions, he observed that nothing could be finer than the short epitaph on purcel, in westminster abbey. "he has gone to that place where only his own harmony can be exceeded." "why, general," said a lady, "it will suit you exactly, with the alteration of a single word. "he is gone to that place, where only his own _fire-works_ can be exceeded." a sound reason. a certain cabinet minister being asked why he did not promote merit? "because," answered he, "merit did not promote me." modern improvements. an eminent barrister arguing a cause respecting the infringement of a patent for buckles, took occasion to hold forth on its vast improvement; and by way of example, taking one of his own out of his shoe, "what," exclaimed he, "would my ancestors have said to see my feet ornamented with this?" "aye," observed mr. mingay, "what would they have said to see your feet ornamented with either shoes or stockings?" a hoosier at the astor. b. met on the train an elderly hoosier, who had been to the show-case exhibition at new york, and who had seen the _hi po dro me_, as he called it. "did you remain long in new york?" asked b. "well, no," he answered thoughtfully, "only two days, for i saw there was a right smart chance of starving to death, and i'm opposed to that way of going down. i put up at one of their taverns, and allowed i was going to be treated to the whole." "where did you stop?" said b., interrupting him. "at the astor house. i allow you don't ketch me in no such place again. they rung a _gong_, as they call it, four times after breakfast, and then, when i went to eat, there wasn't nary vittles on the table." "what was there?" b. ventured to inquire. "well," said the old man, enumerating the items cautiously, as if from fear of omission--"there was a clean plate wrong side up, a knife, a clean towel, a split spoon, and a hand bill, and what was worse," added the old man, "the insultin' nigger up and asked me what i wanted. '_vittles_,' said i, '_bring in your vittles and i'll help myself!_'" economy. "bubby, why don't you go home and have your mother sew up that awful hole in your trowsers?" "oh, you git eout, old 'oman," was the respectful reply, "our folks are economizing, and a hole will last longer than a patch any day." quaker _vs._ quaker. old jacob j---- was a shrewd quaker merchant in burlington, new jersey, and, like all shrewd men, was often a little too smart for himself. an old quaker lady of bristol, pennsylvania, just over the river, bought some goods at jacob's store, _when he was absent_, and in crossing the river on her way home, she met him aboard the boat, and, as was usual with him upon such occasions, he immediately pitched into her bundle of goods and untied it to see what she had been buying. "oh now," says he, "how much a yard did you give for that, and that?" taking up the several pieces of goods. she told him the price, without, however, saying where she had got them. "oh now," says he again, "i could have sold you those goods for so much a yard," mentioning a price a great deal lower than she had paid. "you know," says he, "i can undersell every body in the place;" and so he went on criticising and undervaluing the goods till the boat reached bristol, when he was invited to go to the old lady's store, and when there the goods were spread out on the counter, and jacob was asked to examine the goods again, and say, in the presence of witnesses, the price he would have sold them at per yard, the old lady, meanwhile, taking a memorandum. she then went to the desk and made out a bill of the difference between what she had paid and the price he told her; then coming up to him, she said, "now, jacob, thee is sure thee could have sold those goods at the price thee mentioned?" "oh now, yes," says he. "well, then, thy young man must have made a mistake; for i bought the goods from thy store, and of course, under the circumstances, thee can have no objection to refund me the difference." jacob, being thus cornered, could, of course, under the circumstances, have no objection. it is to be presumed that thereafter jacob's first inquiry must have been, "oh now, where did you get such and such goods?" instead of "oh now, how much did you pay?" hem _vs._ haw. mr. oberon (a man about town) was lately invited to a sewing party. the next day a friend asked him how the entertainment came off. "oh, it was very amusing," replied oberon, "the ladies hemmed and i hawed." poetry done to order. on one occasion a country gentleman, knowing joseph green's reputation as a poet, procured an introduction to him, and solicited a "first-rate epitaph" for a favorite servant who had lately died. green asked what were the man's chief qualities, and was told that "cole excelled in all things, but was particularly good at raking hay, which he could do faster than anybody, the present company, of course, excepted." green wrote immediately-- "here lies the body of john cole: his master loved him like his soul; he could rake hay; none could rake faster, except that raking dog, his master." the rival candidates. two candidates disputed the palm for singing, and left the decision to dr. arne, who having heard them exert their vocal abilities, said to the one, "you, sir, are the worst singer i ever heard." on which the other exulting, the umpire, turning to him, said, "and as for you, sir, you cannot sing at all." parliamentary oratory. a member of parliament took occasion to make his maiden speech, on a question respecting the execution of a particular statute. rising solemnly, after three loud hems, he spoke as follows: "mr. speaker, have we laws, or have we not laws? if we have laws, and they are not executed, for what purpose were they made?" so saying, he sat down full of self-consequence. another member then rose, and thus delivered himself: "mr. speaker, did the honourable member speak to the purpose, or not speak to the purpose? if he did not speak to the purpose, to what purpose did he speak?" a broad hint. an irish gentleman, of tolerable assurance, obtruded his company where he was far from being welcome; the master of the house, indeed, literally kicked him down stairs. returning to some acquaintance whom he had told his intention of dining at the above house, and being asked why he had so soon returned, he answered, "i got a hint that my company was not agreeable." parliamentary oratory. mr. addison, whose abilities no man can doubt, was from diffidence totally unable to speak in the house. in a debate on the union act, desirous of delivering his sentiments, he rose, and began, "mr. speaker, _i conceive_"--but could go no farther. twice he repeated, unsuccessfully, the same attempt; when a young member, possessed of greater effrontery than ability, completely confused him, by rising and saying, "mr. speaker, the honourable gentleman _has conceived three times, and brought forth nothing_." a severe reproof. the late duke of grafton, one of the last of the old school of polished gentlemen, being seated with a party of ladies in the stage-box of drury-lane theatre, a sprig of modern fashion came in booted and spurred. at the end of the act, the duke rose, and made the young man a low bow: "i beg leave, sir, in the name of these ladies, and for myself, to offer you our thanks for your forbearance." "i don't understand you; what do you mean?" "i mean, that as you have come in with your boots and spurs, to thank you for that you have not brought your horse too." canine learning. a foreigner would be apt to suppose that all the dogs of england were literary, on reading a notice on a board stuck up in a garden at millbank: "all dogs found in this garden will be shot." a stratagem. a traveler coming, wet and cold, into a country ale-house on the coast of kent, found the fire completely blockaded. he ordered the landlord to carry his horse half a peck of oysters. "he cannot eat oysters," said mine host. "try him," quoth the traveller. the company all ran out to see the horse eat oysters. "he won't eat them, as i told you," said the landlord. "then," coolly replied the gentleman, who had taken possession of the best seat, "bring them to me, and i'll eat them myself." a necessary hint. over the chimney-piece, in the parlor of a public house, in fleet street, is this inscription: "_gentlemen learning to spell, are requested to use yesterday's paper._" a reason. a country parish clerk, being asked how the inscriptions on the tombs in the church-yard were so badly spelled? "because," answered _amen_, "the people are so niggardly, that they won't pay for good spelling." capital jokes. while a counsellor was pleading at the irish bar, a louse unluckily peeped from under his wig. curran, who sat next to him, whispered what he saw. "you joke," said the barrister. "if," replied mr. curran, "you have many such _jokes_ in your head, the sooner you _crack_ them the better." rapid traveling. a dignified clergyman, possessor of a coal mine, respecting which he was likely to have a law-suit, sent for an attorney in order to have his advice. our lawyer was curious to see a coal-pit, and was let down by a rope. before he was lowered, he said to the parson, "doctor, your knowledge is not confined to the surface of the world, but you have likewise penetrated to its inmost recesses; how far may it be from this to hell?" "i don't know, exactly," answered he, gravely, "but if you let go your hold, _you'll be there in a minute_." a misappellation. a young officer being indicted for an assault on an aged gentleman, mr. erskine began to open the case thus: "this is an indictment against a soldier for assaulting an old man." "sir," indignantly interrupted the defendant, "i am no soldier, i am an officer!" "i beg your pardon," said mr. erskine; "then, gentlemen of the jury, this is an indictment against _an officer_, who is _no soldier_, for assaulting an old man." connubial bliss. i once met a free and easy actor, who told me he had passed three festive days at the marquis and marchioness of ---- without any invitation, convinced (as proved to be the case) that my lord and my lady, not being on _speaking terms_, each would suppose the other had asked him.--_reynold's life and times._ quick firing. when mr. thelwell was on his trial for high treason, he wrote this note to his counsel, mr. erskine: "i am determined to plead my own cause." erskine answered, "if you do, you'll be hanged." thelwell replied, "i'll be hanged if i do." the hardships of life. a dramatic author, not unconscious of his own abilities, observed, that he knew nothing so terrible as reading a play in the green-room, before so critical an audience. "i know something more terrible," said mrs. powell. "what is that?" "to be obliged to sit and hear it read." symptoms of civilization. walking stuart, being cast away on an unknown shore, where, after he and his companions had proceeded a long way without seeing a creature, at length, to their great delight, they descried _a man hanging on a gibbet_. "the joy," says he, "which this _cheering sight_ excited, cannot be described; for it convinced us that we were in a _civilized country_." an improvement. a gentleman asked his _black diamond merchant_ the price of coals. "ah!" said he, significantly shaking his head, "coals are coals, now." "i am glad to hear that," observed the wit, "for the last i had of you, were half of them slates." a sentimental fossil. "what is your name?" "my name is norval, on the grampian hills." "where did you come from?" "i come from a happy land, where care is unknown." "where are you lodging now?" "i dreamt i dwelt in marble halls." "where are you going to?" "far, far o'er hill and dell." "what is your occupation?" "some love to roam." "are you married?" "long time ago. polly put the kettle on." "how many children have you?" "there's doll, and bet, and moll, and kate, and--" "what is your wife's name?" "o no, we never mention her." "did your wife oppose your leaving her?" "she wept not, when we parted." "in what condition did you leave her?" "a rose tree in full bearing." "is your family provided for?" "a little farm, well tilled." "did your wife drive you off?" "oh, sublime was the warning." "what did your wife say to you, that induced you to _slope_?" "come, rest in this bosom." "was your wife good-looking?" "she wore a wreath of roses." "did your wife ever treat you badly?" "oft in the stilly night." "when you announced your intention of emigrating, what did she say?" "oh, dear, what can the matter be?" "and what did you reply?" "sweet kitty clover, you bother me so!" "where did you last see her?" "near the lakes, where drooped the willow." "what did she say to you, when you were in the act of leaving?" "a place in thy memory, dearest!" "do you still love her?" "'tis said that absence conquers love." "what are your possessions?" "the harp that once through tara's halls--" "what do you propose to do with it?" "i'll hang my harp on a willow tree." "where do you expect to make a living?" "over the water with charley." an inscription. mr. campbell, a highland gentleman, through whose estate in argyleshire runs the military road which was made under the direction of general wade, in grateful commemoration of its benefits, placed a stone seat on the top of a hill, where the weary traveler may repose, after the labour of his ascent, and on which is judiciously inscribed, _rest, and be thankful_. it has, also, the following sublime distich: "had you seen this road, _before it was made_, you would lift up your hands, and bless general wade." pun alphabetical. "there was a man hanged this morning; one _vowel_." "well, let us be thankful, _it was neither u nor i_." shakspearean cookery. an argument took place in a coffee-house, between two men of _taste_, as to the best method of dressing a beefsteak. they referred the matter to a comedian, who, having an eye to the _shop_, said he preferred shakspeare's recipe to either of theirs, "shakspeare's recipe!" they both exclaimed. "aye, shakspeare's recipe: 'if when 'twere done, 'twere well done, then 'twere well, it were done quickly.'" a reproof. mr. king and mr. lewis walking together in birmingham, a chimney sweeper and his boy passed them. the lad stared at them, exclaiming, "they be players!" "hush! you dog," says the old sweep, "you don't know what you may come to yourself yet." a reasonable bill. an undertaker waited on a gentleman, with the bill for the burial of his wife, amounting to _l._ "that's a vast sum," said the widower, "for laying a silent female horizontally; you must have made some mistake!" "not in the least," answered the coffin-monger, "handsome hearse--three coaches and six, well-dressed mutes, handsome pall--nobody, your honor, could do it for less." the gentleman rejoined: "it is a large sum, mr. crape; but as i am satisfied the poor woman would have given twice as much to bury me, i must not be behind her in an act of kindness; there is a check for the amount." a partnership. the marquis della scallas, an italian nobleman, giving a grand entertainment, his major domo informed him that there was a fisherman below with a remarkably fine fish, but who demanded for it a very uncommon price--he won't take any money, but insists on a hundred strokes of the strappado on his bare shoulders. the marquis surprised, ordered him in, when he persisted in his demand. to humor him the marquis complied, telling his groom not to lay on too hard. when he had received the fiftieth lash, he cried, "hold! i have got a partner, to whom i have engaged that he should have half of whatever i was to receive for my fish--your lordship's porter, who would admit me only on that condition." it is almost unnecessary to add, that the porter had his share well paid, and that the fisherman got the full value for his prize. life insurance. james ii., when duke of york, found his brother, king charles, in hyde-park, unattended, at what was considered a perilous time. the duke expressed his surprise that his majesty should venture alone in so public a place. "james," said the king, "take care of yourself; no man in england will kill me to make you king." an irish notice. in a pool across a road in the county of tipperary is stuck up a pole, having affixed to it a board, with this inscription: "_take notice, that when the water is over this board the road is impassable._" mouths and meat. a poor man, with a family of seven children, complained to his richer neighbor of his hard case, his heavy family, and the inequality of fortune. the other callously observed, that whenever providence sent mouths it sent meat. "true," said the former, "but it has sent to you the _meat_, and me the _mouths_." the benefit of lying. a fellow was tried for stealing, and it was satisfactorily proved that he had acknowledged the theft to several persons, yet the jury acquitted him. the judge, surprised, asked their reason. the foreman said that he and his fellows knew the prisoner to be such an abominable liar, that they could not believe one word he said. a broad hint. a german prince being one day on a balcony with a foreign minister, told him, "one of my predecessors made an ambassador leap down from this balcony." "perhaps," said his excellency, "it was not the fashion then for ambassadors to wear swords." preferment. an auctioneer having turned publican, was soon after thrown into the king's bench; on which the following paragraph appeared in the morning post: "mr. a., who lately quitted the _pulpit_ for the _bar_, has been promoted to the _bench_." shoes misused. a lady bespoke a pair of dress shoes from an eminent shoemaker in jermyn-street. when they were brought home she was delighted with them. she put them on the same evening, and went to a ball, where she danced. next day, examining her favorite shoes, she found them almost in pieces. she sent for the tradesman, and showed him them. "good god!" said he, "it is not possible." at length, recollecting himself, he added, "how stupid i am! as sure as death your ladyship must have _walked in them_." a supposition. in the time of the persecution of the protestants in france, the english ambassador solicited of louis xiv. the liberation of those sent to the galleys on account of their religion. "what," answered the monarch, "would the king of england say, were i to demand the liberation of the prisoners in newgate?" "the king, my master," replied the minister, "would grant them to your majesty, if you reclaimed them as brothers." a character supported. a beggar asking alms under the character of a poor scholar, a gentleman put the question, _quomodo vales?_ the fellow, shaking his head, said he did not understand his honor. "why," said the gentleman, "did you not say you were a poor scholar?" "yes," replied the other, "a very poor scholar; so much so that i don't understand a word of latin." an especial favor. a baronet scientifically skilled in pugilism, enjoyed no pleasure so much as giving gratuitous instructions in his favorite art. a peer paying him a visit, they had a sparring-match, in the course of which he seized his lordship behind, and threw him over his head with a violent shock. the nobleman not relishing this rough usage, "my lord," said the baronet, respectfully, "i assure you that i never show this manoeuvre except to my particular friends." a charm. buchanan the historian was, from his learning, thought in his days of superstition to be a wizard. an old woman, who kept an ale-house in st. andrews, consulted george, in hopes that by necromantic arts he might restore her custom, which was unaccountably decreasing. he readily promised his aid. "every time you brew, maggy," says he, "go three times to the left round the copper, and at each round take out a ladle-full of water in the devil's name; then turn three times round to the right, and each time throw in a ladle-full of malt in god's name; but above all, wear this charm constantly on your breast, and never during your life attempt to open it, or dread the worst." she strictly conformed, and her business increased astonishingly. on her death her friends ventured to open and examine the charm, when they found it to contain these words: "if maggy will brew good ale, maggy will have good sale." short dialogue. _lady_: you can not imagine, captain, how deeply i feel the want of children, surrounded as i am by every comfort--nothing else is wanting to render me supremely happy. _captain o'flinn_: faith, ma'am, i've heard o' that complaint running in families; p'rhaps your mother had not any childer either? a blunt witness. at a late term of the court of sessions a man was brought up by a farmer, accused of stealing some ducks. "how do you know they are your ducks?" asked the defendant's counsel. "oh, i should know them _any_ where," replied the farmer; and he went on to describe their different peculiarities. "why," said the prisoner's counsel, "those ducks can't be such a rare breed; i have some very like them in my own yard." "that's not unlikely, sir," replied the farmer; "they are not the _only_ ducks i have had stolen lately!" "call the _next_ witness!" question solved. a mathematician being asked by a stout fellow, "if two pigs weigh twenty pounds, how much will a large hog weigh?" "jump into the scales," was the reply, "and i'll tell you in a minute!" the mathematician "had him there!" scottish theatricals. a company of performers announced in their bills the opening of a theatre at montrose, with the farce of _the devil to pay_, to be followed with the comedy of _the west indian_. adverse winds, however, prevented the arrival of their scenes from aberdeen, in time for representation, on the evening appointed. it was therefore found necessary to give notice of the postponement of the performance, which was thus delivered by the town-crier: "o yes! o yes! o yes! this is to let you to wit, that the play-ackers havena' got their screens up yet frae aberdeen, and so canna begin the night; but on monday night, god willing, there will be _the deevil to pay in the west indies_." the cunning fool. a gentleman had a son who was deemed an idiot. the little fellow, when nine or ten years of age, was fond of drumming, and once dropt his drum-stick into the draw-well. he knew that his carelessness would be punished by its not being searched for, and therefore did not mention his loss, but privately took a large silver punch-ladle, and dropped it into the same well. strict inquiry took place; the servants all pleaded ignorance, and looked with suspicion on each other; when the young gentleman, who had thrust himself into the circle, said he had observed something shine at the bottom of the draw-well. a fellow was dropt down in the bucket, and soon bawled out from the bottom, "i have found the punch-ladle, so wind me up." "stop," roared out the lad, "stop, _now your hand's in, you may as well bring up my drum-stick_." the dean instructed. a gentleman having sent a turbot as a present to swift, the servant who carried it entered the doctor's study abruptly, and laying down the fish, said, "master has sent you this turbot." "heyday! young man," exclaimed the dean, "is this the way you behave yourself? let me teach you better. sit down on this chair, and i will show you how to deliver such a message." the boy sat down, and the dean going to the door, with the fish in his hand, came up to the table, and making a low bow, said, "sir, my master presents his kind compliments, and begs your acceptance of this turbot." "does he?" answered the boy, assuming all the consequence of his situation. "here, john! (_ringing_,) take this honest lad down to the kitchen, and let him have as much as he can eat and drink; then send him up to me, and i'll give him half a crown." advice. a gentleman, who used to frequent the chapter coffee-house, being unwell, thought he might make so free as to steal an opinion concerning his case; accordingly, one day he took an opportunity of asking one of the faculty, who sat in the same box with him, what he should take for such a complaint? "i'll tell you," said the doctor, "you should _take advice_." miracle of miracles. the author of the life of st. francis xavier, asserts, that "by one sermon he converted _ten thousand persons_ in a _desert_ island." credat judÆus apella, non ego. a gentleman, talking of the tenacity of life in turtles, asserted that he had himself seen the head of one, which had been cut off three weeks, open its jaws. the circle around did not exactly contradict him, but exhibited expressive appearances of incredulity. the historian referred himself to a stranger, whose polite attention to the tale flattered him that it had received his full credence, which was corroborated by the other observing that he had himself seen strong instances of the turtle's tenaciousness of life. the stranger answered, "your account is a very extraordinary one; could you have believed it if you had not seen it yourself?" the narrator readily answered, "no." "then," replied the other, to his infinite mortification, and the gratification of the company, "i hope you will pardon me if i do not believe it." warning. a servant telling her master that she was going to give her mistress warning, as she kept scolding her from morning till night, he exclaimed with a sigh, "happy girl! i wish i could give her warning too!" irish recruiting. a serjeant enlisted a recruit, who on inspection turned out to be a woman. being asked by his officer how he made such a blunder, he said, "plase your honor i could not help it; i enlisted this _girl_ for a _man_, and _he_ turns out to be a _woman_." scene in a police office. the prisoner in this case, whose name was dickey swivel, alias "stove pipe pete," was placed at the bar, and questioned by the judge to the following effect: _judge_: bring the prisoner into court. _pete_: here i am, bound to blaze, as the spirits of turpentine said, when he was all a fire. _judge_: we'll take a little fire out of you. how do you live? _pete_: i ain't particular, as the oyster said when they asked if he'd be roasted or fried. _judge_: we don't want to know what the oyster said or the turpentine either. what do you follow? _pete_: anything that comes in my way, as the engine said when he run over a little nigger. _judge_: don't care anything about the locomotive. what's your business? _pete_: that's various, as the cat said when she stole the chicken off the table. _judge_: if i hear any more absurd comparisons, i will give you twelve months. _pete_: i am done, as the beef steak said to the cook. _judge_: now, sir, your punishment shall depend on the shortness and correctness of your answers. i suppose you live by going around the docks? _pete_: no, sir. i can't go around docks without a boat, and i hain't got none. _judge_: answer me now, sir. how do you get your bread? _pete_: sometimes at the baker's, and sometimes i eat taters. _judge_: no more of your stupid nonsense. how do you support yourself? _pete_: sometimes on my legs, and sometimes on a cheer, (chair.) _judge_: how do you keep yourself alive? _pete_: by breathing, sir. _judge_: i order you to answer this question correctly. how do you do? _pete_: pretty well, thank you, judge. how do _you_ do? _judge_: i shall have to commit you. _pete_: well, you have committed yourself first, that's some consolation. cheap traveling. a youth of more vanity than talent, bragging that during his travels he never troubled his father for remittances, and being asked how he lived on the road, answered, "_by my wits._" "then," replied his friend, "you must have traveled _very cheaply_." nautical polemics. two sailors on board of a man of war had a sort of religious dispute over their grog, in which one of them referred to the _apostle paul_. "he was no apostle," said the other; and this minor question, after much altercation, they agreed to refer to the boatswain's mate, who after some consideration declared "that paul was certainly never _rated_ as an apostle on the books, because he is not in the list, which consisted only of twelve; but then he was an _acting apostle_." the best customers. dr. radcliff and dr. case being together in a jovial company over their bottle, the former, filling his glass, said, "come, brother case, here's to all the fools that are your patients." "i thank you, my wise brother radcliff," answered case, "let me have all the fools, and you are heartily welcome to all the rest of the practice." a west india legislator. in the jamaica house of assembly, a motion being made for leave to bring in a bill to prevent the frauds of wharfingers, mr. paul phipps, member for st. andrew, rose and said, "mr. speaker, i second the motion; the wharfingers are to a man a set of rogues; i know it well; _i was one myself for ten years_." thy own mouth shall condemn thee. a player applied to the manager of a respectable country company for an engagement for himself and his wife, stating that his lady was capable of all the first line of business; but as to himself, he was _the worst actor in the world_. they were engaged, and the lady answered the character given of her. the husband having had the part of a mere walking gentleman sent him for his first appearance, asked the manager, indignantly, how he could put him into so paltry a part. "sir," answered the other, "here is your own letter, stating that you are the worst actor in the world." "true," replied the other, "but then i had not seen you." avoid all offence. during the riots of , when most persons, to save their houses, wrote on their doors, _no popery_, grimaldi, to avoid all mistakes, chalked up on his, _no religion_. a liberal price. louis xi. in his youth used to visit a peasant, whose garden produced excellent fruit. when he ascended the throne, his friend presented him a turnip of extraordinary size. the king smiled, and remembering his past pleasures, ordered a thousand crowns to the peasant. the lord of the village hearing of this liberality, thus argued with himself: "if this fellow get a thousand crowns for his turnip, i have only to present a capital horse to the munificent monarch, and my fortune is made." accordingly he carries to court a beautiful barb, and requests his majesty's acceptance of it. louis highly praised the steed, and the donor's expectation was raised to the highest, when the king called out, "bring me my turnip!" and presenting it to the seigneur, added, "this turnip cost me a thousand crowns, and i give it you for your horse." a precedent. in a trial in the king's bench, mr. erskine, counsel for the defendant, was charged by his opponent with traveling out of his way. mr. erskine in answer said, it reminded him of the celebrated whitefield, who being accused by some of his audience of rambling in his discourse, answered, "if you will ramble to the devil, i must ramble after you." a convenient nap. an oxford scholar, calling early one morning on another, when in bed, says, "jack, are you asleep?" "why?" "because, i want to borrow half a crown of you." "then i am asleep." literary correspondence. dr. johnson, about the end of the year , completed the copy of his dictionary, not more to his own satisfaction, than that of mr. millar, his bookseller, who, on receiving the concluding sheet, sent him the following note: "andrew millar sends his compliments to mr. samuel johnson, with the money for the last sheet of the copy of the dictionary, and thanks god he has done with him." to which, the lexicographer returned the following answer: "samuel johnson returns his compliments to mr. andrew millar, and is very glad to find, as he does by his note, that andrew millar has the grace to thank god for anything." a proper address. the keeper of a mad-house, in a village near london, published an address in a newspaper, inviting customers, and commencing with, "worthy the attention of the insane!" a debt of honor. moody, the actor, was robbed of his watch and money. he begged the highwayman to let him have cash enough to carry him to town, and the fellow said, "well, master moody, as i know you, i'll lend you half a guinea; but, remember, honor among thieves!" a few days after, he was taken, and moody hearing that he was at the brown bear, in bow street, went to enquire after his watch; but when he began to speak of it, the fellow exclaimed, "is that what you want? i thought you had come to pay the half guinea you borrowed of me." a relic. a student, showing the museum at oxford to a party, among other things produced a rusty sword. "this," said he, "is the sword with which balaam was going to kill his ass." "i thought," said one of the company, "that balaam had no sword, but only wished for one." "you are right, sir," replied the student, nowise abashed, "this is the very sword he wished for." stupidity personified. m. bouret, a french farmer-general, of immense fortune, _but stupid to a proverb_, being one day present, when two noblemen were engaged, in a party, at piquet, one of them happening to play a wrong card, exclaimed, "oh, what a bouret i am!" offended at this liberty, bouret said instantly, "sir, you are an ass." "_the very thing i meant_," replied the other. the difficulty surmounted. executions not being very frequent in sweden there are a great number of towns in that country without an executioner. in one of these a criminal was sentenced to be hanged which occasioned some little embarrassment, as it obliged them to bring a hangman from a distance at a considerable expense, besides the customary fee of two crowns. a young tradesman, belonging to the city council, giving his sentiments, said, "i think, gentlemen, we had best give the malefactor the two crowns, and let him go and be hanged where he pleases." humorous mistakes. the humors of the telegraph are very amusing. a year or so since, the agent of the delaware and hudson freighting line, at honesdale, pennsylvania, sent the following dispatch to the agent at new york: "d. horton--dear sir: please send me a shipping-book for ." the dispatch received, read as follows: "d. horton:--please send me a shipping-box eighteen feet by nine." the following might have been more disastrous in its results; the same parties were concerned. mr. horton wrote to the proprietor of the line that he had been subpoenaed on a trial to be held in the supreme court of new york, and that as navigation was about to open, it would be necessary to send a man to perform his office duties. the following reply was entrusted to the tender care of the telegraph wire: "see the judge at once and get excused. i cannot send a man in your place." when received, it read as follows: "see the judge at once and get executed; i can send a man in your place." mr. h. claims on the margin of the dispatch a stay of execution. not long since a gentleman telegraphed to a friend at cleveland an interesting family affair, as follows: "sarah and little one are doing well." the telegraph reached its destination, when it read thus: "sarah and litter are doing well." the recipient telegraphed back the following startling query: "for heaven's sake, how many?" sleeping in church. a clergyman observed in his sermon, that this was unpardonable, as people did it with their _eyes open_. wrapt up in the admiration of his own discourse, he did not observe that from its tediousness his audience one by one had slipped away, until there only remained a natural. lifting up his eyes, he exclaimed, "what! all gone, except this poor idiot!" "aye," says the lad, "and _if i had not been a poor idiot i had been gone too_." economy. a lady asked her butler how she might best save a barrel of excellent small beer; he answered, "by placing a cask of strong beer by it." a constellation of bulls. a letter written during the irish rebellion. _my dear sir_:--having now a little _peace and quietness_, i sit down to inform you of a dreadful _bustle and confusion_ we are in from these blood-thirsty rebels, most of whom are, however, thank god, _killed or dispersed_. we are in a pretty _mess_; can get _nothing to eat_, nor any _wine_ to drink, _except whiskey_; and when we _sit down_ to dinner, we are obliged to _stand_ with arms in both hands: _whilst i write this letter, i hold a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. i concluded_, from the _beginning_, that this would be the _end_ of it; and i see i was right, for _it is not half over yet_. at present there is such _goings on_, that every thing is _at a stand_. i should have answered your letter _a fortnight ago_, but _it only came this morning_. indeed, hardly a mail arrives _safe_, without being _robbed_. yesterday the coach with the mails from dublin was _robbed_ near this town: but the _bags_ had been judiciously _left behind_, for fear of accidents; and by good luck there was nobody _in the coach_, except _two outside_ passengers, who had nothing for the thieves to take. last thursday an alarm was given, that a gang of rebels were advancing hither, under the french _standard_; but they had no _colors_, nor any _drums_ except _bagpipes_. immediately every _man_ in the place, including _women and children_, ran out to meet them. we soon found our force _much too little_; and they were _far_ too _near_ for us to think of retreating; so to it we went: _death_ was _in every face_; but by the time _half_ our little party was _killed_, we began to be _all alive_. the rebels fortunately had no _guns_, except _cutlasses and pikes_; and as we had plenty of _muskets and ammunition_, we put them all to the _sword_: not a soul of them _escaped_, except some that were _drowned_ in the adjoining bog; and in a very short time nothing was to be _heard_ but _silence_. their _uniforms_ were _all_ of _different shapes_ and _colours_--in general they were green. after the action we rummaged their camp; all we found was a few _pikes without heads_, a parcel of _empty bottles full_ of water, and a bundle of _blank_ french commissions _filled up_ with irishmen's names. troops are now stationed every where _round_ the country, which exactly _squares_ with my ideas. nothing, however, can save us but a union, which would turn our _barren hills_ into fruitful _valleys_. i have only _leisure_ to add, that i am in _great haste_. yours truly, j. b. p. s. if you do not _receive this in course_, it must have _miscarried_, therefore _write_ immediately to _let me know_. the logician rewarded. a farmer's son, who had been bred at the university, coming home to visit his parents, a couple of chickens were brought to the table for supper. "i can prove," said he, "by logic, that these two chickens are three." "well, let us hear," said the old man. "this," cried the scholar, "is one; and this is two; one and two make three." "very good," replied the father, "your mother shall have the first chicken, i will have the second, and you, for your great learning, shall have the third." double punishment. the captain of the magnanime found it necessary one day to order a negro on board a flogging. being tied up, the captain harangued him on his offence. quaco, naked and shivering in the month of december, exclaimed, "massa! if you preachee, preachee; if you floggee, floggee; but no preachee and floggee too." reason and a proverb explained. in a party of wits an argument took place as to the definition of a reasonable animal. speech was principally contended for; but on this dr. johnson observed, that parrots and magpies speak; were they therefore rational? "women," he added, "we know, are rational animals; but would they be less so if they spoke less?" jamie boswell contended that cookery was the criterion of reason; for that no animal but man did cook. "that," observed burke, "explains to me a proverb, which i never before could understand--_there is reason in the roasting of eggs_." a general complaint. the lieutenant colonel of one of the irish regiments in the french service being dispatched from fort keil by the duke of berwick to the king of france, with a complaint of some irregularities that had occurred in that regiment, his majesty observed passionately, that the irish troops gave him more trouble than all his forces besides. "sir," said the officer, "all your majesty's enemies make the same complaint." coolness in action. in the action off camperdown, admiral de winter asked one of his lieutenants for a quid of tobacco. in the act of presenting it, the lieutenant was carried off by a cannon-ball. "i must be obliged to _you_ then," said the admiral, turning to another officer, "for you see our friend is gone away with his tobacco box." a caution. a traveler coming into an inn in a very cold night, stood rather too close before the kitchen fire. a rogue in the chimney corner told him, "sir, you'll burn your spurs." "my boots, you mean," said the gentleman. "no, sir," replied the other, "they are burnt already." improvement. a french marquis boasted of the inventive genius of his nation, especially in matters of dress and fashion; "for instance," said he, "the ruffle, that fine ornament of the hand, which has been followed by all other nations." "true," answered the englishman, "but we generally improve on your inventions; for example, _in adding the shirt to the ruffle_." an amendment. at the time of the jubilee, , a meeting was held of the felons in newgate to pray his majesty for their pardon and liberation on the auspicious occasion. one of them observed, that it would be better, for them and their successors, to petition that all felonies be tried in the _court of chancery_. the learned dog. frank sims, the theatrical registrar, had a dog named bob, and a sagacious dog he was; but he was a pusillanimous dog, in a word, an arrant coward, and above all things he dreaded the fire of a gun. his master having taken him once to the enclosed part of hyde park next to kensington gardens, when the guards were exercising, their first fire so alarmed bob that he scampered off, and never after could be prevailed on to enter that ground. one day he followed his master cordially till he arrived at its entrance, where a board is placed, with this inscription: "do shoot all dogs _who_ shall be found within this inclosure;" when immediately he turned tail, and went off as fast as his legs could carry him. a french gentleman, surprised at the animal's rapid retreat, politely asked mr. sims what could be the cause. "don't you see," said sims, "what is written on the board?" to the utter astonishment of the frenchman, who had never before seen a dog that could read. cause of bulls. sir richard steele, being asked why his countrymen were so addicted to making bulls, said, he believed there must be something in the air of ireland, adding, "i dare say, _if an englishman were born there_ he would do the same." mot-malin. a noted miser boasted that he had lost five shillings without uttering a single complaint. "i am not at all surprised at that," said a wit, "_extreme sorrow is mute_." as the fool thinks the bell clinks. a widow, desirous of marrying her servant john, consulted the curate on the subject. "i am not yet beyond the age of marriage." "marry then." "but people will say that my intended is too young for me." "don't marry." "he would assist me in managing the business." "marry then." "but i am afraid he would soon despise me." "don't marry." "but on the other hand a poor widow is despised who has no protector." "marry then." "i am sadly afraid, however, that he would take up with the wenches." "then don't marry." uncertain from these contradictory responses, the dame consulted the bells when ringing, and which seemed to repeat, "marry your man john." she took this oracular advice, married, and soon repented. she again applied to the curate, who told her, "you have not observed well what the bells said; listen again." she did so, when they distinctly repeated, "don't marry john." a double entendre. a gentleman inspecting lodgings to be let, asked the pretty girl who showed them, "and are you, my dear, to be let with the lodgings?" "no," answered she, "i am to be let--_alone_." reason on both sides. charles ii. asked bishop stillingfleet how it happened that he preached in general without book, but always read the sermons which he delivered before the court. the bishop answered, that the awe of seeing before him so great and wise a prince made him afraid to trust himself. "but will your majesty," continued he, "permit me to ask you a question in my turn? why do you read your speeches to parliament?" "why doctor," replied the king, "i'll tell you very candidly. i have asked them so often for money, that i am ashamed to look them in the face." self taught genius. in a company of artists, the conversation turned on the subject, whether self-taught men could arrive at the perfection of genius combined with instruction. a german musician maintained the affirmative, and gave himself as an example. "i have," said he, "made a fiddle, which turns out as good as any cremona i ever drew a bow over, all _out of my own head_; aye, and i have got _wood enough left to make another_." an artful request. a gentleman traveling from paris to calais, was accosted by a man walking along, who begged the favor of him to let him put his great coat in his carriage. "with all my heart," said the gentleman, "but if we should be going different ways, how will you get your great coat?" "sir," answered the other, with apparent _naïvetè_, "i shall be in it." a felony. a young gentleman, a clerk in the treasury, used every morning, as he came from his lady mother's to the office, to pass by the canal in the green park, and feed the ducks then kept there, with bread and corn, which he carried in his pocket for the purpose. one day, having called his grateful friends, the _ducky, ducky, duckies_, he found unfortunately that he had forgotten them. "poor duckies!" he cried, "i am sorry i have not brought your allowance, _but here is sixpence for you to buy some_," and threw in a sixpence, which one of them caught and gobbled up. at the office he very wisely told the story to the other gentlemen there, with whom he was to dine next day. one of the party putting the landlord up to the story, desired him to have ducks at the table, and put a sixpence in the body of one of them, which was taken care to be placed before our hero. on cutting it up, and discovering the sixpence in its belly, he ordered the waiter to send up his master, whom he loaded with the epithets of rascal and scoundrel, swearing that he would have him prosecuted for robbing the king of his ducks; "for," said he, "gentlemen, i assure you, on my honor, that yesterday morning, _i gave this sixpence to one of the ducks in the green park_."' convincing evidence. a certain clergyman having been examined as a witness in the king's bench, the adverse counsel, by way of brow-beating, said, "if i be not mistaken, you are known as the _bruising parson_." "i am," said the divine, "and if you doubt it i will give it you _under my hand_." too bad. a man who was sentenced to be hung was visited by his wife, who said: "my dear, would you like the children to see you executed?" "no," replied he. "that's just like you," said she, "for you never wanted the children to have any enjoyment." parliamentary bull. in the irish bank-bill, passed in june , there is a clause, providing, that the profits shall be _equally_ divided; and the _residue go to the governor_. another. in a bill for pulling down the old newgate in dublin, and rebuilding it on the same spot, it was enacted, that the prisoners should remain in the _old jail_ till the new one was completed. classical bull. milton. the deeds themselves, though _mute_, _spoke loud_ the doer. another. shakspeare. i will strive with things impossible, yea, _get the better of them_. another. dr. johnson. turn from the glittering bribe your scornful eye, nor sell for gold _what gold can never buy_. classical bull. dr. johnson. every monumental inscription should be in latin; for that being a _dead_ language, it will always _live_. another. _ibid._ nor yet perceived the vital spirit fled, but still fought on, _nor knew that he was dead_. another. _ibid._ shakspeare has not only _shown_ human nature as it is, but as it would be found _in situations to which it cannot be exposed_. another. _ibid._ these observations were made _by favor of a contrary wind_. another. dryden. a horrid _silence_ first _invades the ear_. another. pope. when first young maro, in his noble mind, a work _t'outlast immortal rome designed_. depravity of the age. an itinerant clergyman preaching on this subject, said that little children, _who could neither speak nor walk_, were to be seen _running about the street, cursing and swearing_. the signal. a monk having intruded into the chamber of a nobleman, who was at the point of death, and had lost his speech, continued crying out, "my lord, will you make the grant of such and such a thing to our monastery? it will be for the good of your soul." the peer, at each question, nodded his head. the monk, on this, turned round to the son and heir, who was in the room: "you see, sir, my lord, your father, gives his assent to my request." to this, the son made no reply; but turning to his father, asked him, "is it your will, sir, that i kick this monk down stairs?" the nod of assent was given, and the permission put in force with hearty good will. a long bow. a dealer in the marvellous was a constant frequenter of a house in lambeth-walk, where he never failed to entertain the company with his miraculous tales. a bet was laid, that he would be surpassed by a certain actor, who, telling the following story, the palm was not only given to him by the company, but the story teller, ashamed, deserted the house: "gentlemen," said the actor, "when i was a lad, at sea, as we lay in the bay of messina, in a moonlight night, and perfectly calm, i heard a little splashing, and looking over the ship's bow, i saw, as i thought, a man's head, and to my utter surprise, there arose out of the water a man, extremely well-dressed, with his hair highly powdered, white silk stockings, and diamond buckles, his garment being embroidered with the most brilliant scales. he walked up the cable with the ease and elegance of a richer. stepping on deck, he addressed me in english, thus: 'pray, young man, is the captain on board?' i, with my hair standing on end, answered, 'yes, sir.' at this moment, the captain, overhearing our conversation, came on deck, and received the visitor very courteously, and without any apparent surprise. asking his commands, the stranger said, 'i am one of the submarine inhabitants of this neighborhood. i had, this evening, taken my family to a ball, but on returning to my house, i found the fluke of your anchor jammed so close up to my street door, that we could not get in. i am come therefore, to entreat you, sir, to weigh anchor, so that we may get in, as my wife and daughters are waiting in their carriage, in the street.' the captain readily granted the request of his aquatic visitor, who took his leave with much urbanity, and the captain returned to bed." good humor restored. one evening, at the haymarket theatre, the farce of the _lying valet_ was to be performed, _sharp_, by mr. shuter; but that comedian being absent, an apology was made, and it was announced that the part would be undertaken by mr. weston, whose transcendent comic powers were not then sufficiently appreciated. coming on with mrs. gardner, in the part of _kitty pry_, there was a tumultuous call of "shuter! shuter!" but tom put them all in good temper, by asking, with irresistibly quaint humor, "why should i _shoot her_? she plays her part very well." the reverse. the abbé tegnier, secretary to the french academy, one day made a collection of a pistole a head from the members, for some general expense. not observing that the president rose, who was very penurious, had put his money in the hat, he presented it to him a second time. m. rose assured him that he had put in his pistole. "i believe it," said the abbé, "though i did not see it." "and i," said fontenelle, "saw it, and could not believe it." sterling composition. at a party of noblemen of wit and genius, it was proposed to try their skill in composition, each writing a sentence on whatsoever subject he thought proper, and the decision was left to dryden, who formed one of the company. the poet having read them all, said, "there are here abundance of fine things, and such as do honor to the noble writers, but i am under the indispensable necessity of giving the palm to my lord dorset; and when i have read it, i am convinced your lordships will all be satisfied with my judgment--these are the inimitable words: "'i promise to pay to john dryden, on order, the sum of five hundred pounds. dorset.'" a card pun. a butcher's boy, running against a gentleman with his tray, made him exclaim, "the _deuce_ take the _tray_!" "sir," said the lad, "the _deuce can't take the tray_." a whimsical idea. the late sir thomas robinson was a tall, uncouth figure, and his appearance was still more grotesque, from his hunting-dress: a postilion's cap, a tight green jacket, and buckskin breeches. being at paris, and going in this habit to visit his sister, who was married, and settled there, he arrived when there was a large company at dinner. the servant announced m. robinson, and he entered, to the great amazement of the guests. among others, an abbé thrice lifted his fork to his mouth, and thrice laid it down, with an eager stare of surprise. unable longer to restrain his curiosity, he burst out with, "excuse me, sir, are you the _robinson crusoe_ so famous in history?" an irish soldier's quarters. two irish soldiers being stationed in a borough in the west of england, got into a conversation respecting their quarters. "how," said the one, "are you quartered?" "pretty well." "what part of the house do you sleep in?" "upstairs." "in the garret, perhaps?" "the garret! no, dennis o'brien would never sleep in the garret." "where then?" "why, i know not what you call it; but if the house were turned topsy turvy, i should be in the cellar." that's so. a distinguished wag about town says, the head coverings the ladies wear now-a-days, are barefaced false hoods. the perpetrator of this is still at large. a marshal humbled. a french field marshal who had attained that rank by court favour, not by valour, received from a lady the present of a drum, with this inscription--"_made to be beaten_." the same _hero_, going one evening to the opera, forcibly took possession of the box of a respectable abbé, who for this outrage brought a suit in a court of honour, established for such cases under the old government. the abbé thus addressed the court: "i come not here to complain of admiral suffrein, who took so many ships in the east indies. i come not to complain of count de grasse, who fought so nobly in the west; i come not to complain of the duke de crebillon, who took minorca; but i come to complain of the marshal b----, who _took my box_ at the opera, and _never took any thing else_." the court paid him the high compliment of refusing his suit, declaring that he had himself inflicted sufficient punishment. a courtly compliment. a french officer, just arrived, and introduced to the court at vienna, the empress told him she heard he had in his travels visited a lady renowned for her beauty; and asked if it was true that she was the most handsome princess of her time. the courtier answered, "_i thought so yesterday._" a congratulation. at a circuit dinner, a counsellor observed to another, "i shall certainly hang your client." his friend answered, "i give you joy of your new office." algerine wit. a frenchman, taken into slavery by an algerine, was asked what he could do. his answer was, that he had been used to a _sedentary_ employment. "well, then," said the pirate, "you shall have a pair of feather breeches, to sit and hatch chickens." a royal decision. the princess of prussia, having ordered some silks from lyons, they were stopped for duties by an excise officer, whom she ordered to attend her with the silks, and receive his demand. on his entrance into her apartment, the princess flew at the officer, and seizing the merchandise, gave him two or three hearty cuffs on the face. the mortified exciseman complained to the king in a memorial, to which his majesty returned the following answer: "the loss of the duties belonging to my account, the silks are to remain in the possession of the princess, and the cuffs with the receiver. as to the alleged dishonor, i cancel the same, at the request of the complainant; but it is, of itself, null; for the white hand of a fair lady cannot possibly dishonor the face of an exciseman. frederick." _berlin, nov. th, ._ fellow feeling. a lady's favorite dog having bitten a piece out of a male visitor's leg, she exclaimed, "poor dear little creature! _i hope it will not make him sick._" unreasonable fasting. two gentlemen, wishing to go into a tavern on one of the national fast-days, found the door shut; and on their knocking, the waiter told them from within, that his master would allow no one to enter during service on the fast-day. "your master," said one of them, "might be contented _to fast himself_, without making his _doors fast too_." a whimsical idea. a noble lord asked a clergyman at the foot of his table, why, if there was a goose at dinner, it was always placed next the parson. "really," said he, "i can give no reason for it; but your question is so odd, that i shall never after see a _goose_ without thinking of your lordship." the breeches-maker captain. a captain in a volunteer corps, drilling his company, had occasion to desire one of the gentlemen to step farther out in marching. the order not being attended to, was repeated in a peremptory tone, when the private exclaimed, "i cannot, captain, _you have made my breeches too tight_." tit for tat. two contractors, who had made large fortunes, had a quarrel. one of them, in the midst of the altercation, asked the other contemptuously, "do you remember, sir, when you were my footman?" the other answered, "i do; and had you been my footman, you would have been a footman still." sound argument. a sailor being about to set out for india, a citizen asked him: "where did your father die?" "in shipwreck." "and where did your grandfather die?" "as he was fishing, a storm arose, and the bark foundering, all on board perished." "and your great-grandfather?" "he also perished on board a ship which struck on a rock." "then," said the citizen, "if i were you, _i would never go to sea_." "and pray, mr. philosopher," observed the seaman, "where did your father die?" "in his bed." "and your grandfather?" "in his bed." "and your great-grandfather?" "he and all my ancestors died quietly in their beds." "then, if i were you, _i would never go to bed_." ingratitude. when the _school for scandal_ was first performed, mr. cumberland sat in the front of the stage box with the most complete apathy; its wit and humor never affected his risible muscles. this being reported to mr. sheridan, he observed, "that was very ungrateful, for i am sure i laughed heartily at his tragedy of _the battle of hastings_." reasons for dram-drinking. a gentleman in a coffee-house called, "waiter! bring me a glass of brandy; i am very hot." another, "waiter! a glass of brandy; i am devilish cold." mr. quin, "waiter! give me a glass of brandy; because i like it." smuggling. a lady asked a silly but conceited scotch nobleman, how it happened that the scots who came out of their own country were in general of more abilities than those who remained at home. "madam," said he, "the reason is obvious; at every outlet there are persons stationed to examine those who pass, that for the honor of the country no one be permitted to leave it who is not a person of understanding." "then," said she, "i presume your lordship was smuggled." a mis-under-standing. a gentleman desired his boot-maker, as he took measure, to observe particularly that one of his legs was bigger than the other, and of course to make one of his boots bigger than the other. when they were brought home, trying the larger boot on the small leg, it went on easily, but when he attempted the other, his foot stuck fast. "you are a pretty tradesman," said he, "i ordered you to make one of the boots _larger than the other_; and, instead of that, you have made one of them _smaller than the other_." the double bull. "how can you call these blackberries, when they are red?" "don't you know that _black_ berries are always _red_ when they are _green_?" irish dreaming. when general and mrs. v. were in dublin, they were perpetually teased by an old woman whom they had relieved, but whose importunity had no bounds; every time she could find an opportunity she had a fresh tale to extract money from their pockets. one day as they were stepping into their carriage, molly accosted them: "ah! good luck to your honor's honor, and your ladyship's honor,--to be sure i was not dreaming of you last night; i dreamt that your honor's honor gave me a pound of tobacco, and her ladyship gave me a pound of taa." "aye, my good woman," says the general, "but you know dreams always go by contraries." "do they so?" replied she, "then it must be that your honor will give me the taa, and her ladyship the tobacco." the provident wife. a tailor dying said to his wife, who was plunged in tears, "my dear, don't let my death afflict you too much. i would recommend you to marry thomas, our foreman; he is a good lad and a clever workman, and would assist you to carry on the trade." "my love," answered the disconsolate dame, "make yourself easy on that score, for tom and i have settled the matter already." the cockney's baggage. sut lovingood sends the following to an exchange. a full-blooded cockney who is now taking notes on the united states, chanced to be on one of our southern trains, when a "run off" took place, and a general mixing up of things was the consequence. cockney's first act, after straightening out his collapsed hat, was to raise a terrible 'ubbub about 'is baggage, and among other things, wanted to know, "hif railroads hin hamerika wasn't responsible for baggage stolen, smashed, or missing?" "well, yes," said the tennessean addressed, "but it is a deuce of a job to get your pay." "why so?" "they will perhaps admit your claim, but then _they offer to fight you for it_; that's a standing american rule. there is the man employed by this road to _fight for baggage_," pointing to a huge bewhiskered train-hand, who stood by with his sleeves rolled up, "i think, if my memory serves me, he has fought for sixty-nine lots, _an' blamed if he haint won 'em all_. they gave him the empty trunks for his pay, and he is making a hundred dollars a month in selling trunks, valises, carpet-bags, and satchels. have you lost any baggage?" "no, no, not hat hall. hi just hasked to learn your custom hin case hi _did_ lose hany. hi don't _think_ hi'll lose mine 'owever." here the train-hand who overheard the talk, stepped up, and inquired, "have you lost anything?" "ho no! ho no!" replied cockney, with unusual energy. "can't i sell you a trunk?" "thank you, sir. no, i think i have a supply." "well, if you do either lose baggage or want to buy a trunk _already marked_, deuced if i ain't the man to call on." it is needless to say that instead of raising cain generally, as cockney had been doing, he betook him to zealously writing notes on american customs during the remainder of the delay. probably he indited something fully equal to the _london times_ georgia railroad story. equivoque. a scholar put his horse into a field belonging to morton college, on which the master sent him a message, that if he continued his horse there, he would cut off his tail. "say you so!" answered the scholar, "go tell your master, if he cuts off my horse's tail, i will cut off his ears." this being delivered to the master, he in a passion sent for the scholar, who appearing before him, he said sternly, "how now, sir, what mean you by that menace you sent me?" "sir," said the youth, "i menaced you not; i only said, _if you cut off my horse's tail, i would cut off his ears_." the lost found. a servant being sent with half a dozen living partridges in a present, had the curiosity to open the lid of the basket containing them, when they all made their escape. he proceeded, however, with the letter: the gentleman to whom it was addressed having read it, said, "i find _in this letter_ half a dozen of partridges." "do you, indeed?" cried pat, "i am glad you have _found them in the letter_, for they all _flew out of the basket_." a fillip to a king. the earl of st. albans was, like many other staunch loyalists, little remembered by charles ii. he was, however, an attendant at court, and one of his majesty's companions in his gay hours. on one such occasion, a stranger came with an important suit for an office of great value, just vacant. the king, by way of joke, desired the earl to personate him, and ordered the petitioner to be admitted. the gentleman, addressing himself to the supposed monarch, enumerated his services to the royal family, and hoped the grant of the place would not be deemed too great a reward. "by no means," answered the earl, "and i am only sorry that as soon as i heard of the vacancy i conferred it upon my faithful friend the earl of st. albans [pointing to the king], who has constantly followed the fortunes both of my father and myself, and has hitherto gone unrewarded." charles granted for this joke what the utmost real services looked for in vain. a merited reward. a physician, during his attendance on a man of letters, remarking that the patient was very punctual in observing his regimen and taking his prescriptions, exclaimed with exultation, "my dear sir, you really _deserve to be ill_!" cockneyism. a londoner told his friend that he was going to margate for a change of _hair_. "you had better," said the other, "go to the _wig-maker's shop_." a story applied. mr. balfour, a scotch advocate of dry humour, but much pomposity, being in a large company, where the convivial earl of kelly presided, was requested to give a song, which he declined. lord kelly, with all the despotism of a chairman, insisted that if he would not sing, he must tell a story or drink a pint bumper of wine. mr. balfour, being an abstemious man, would not submit to the latter alternative, but consented to tell a story. "one day," said he, "a thief, prowling about, passed a church, the door of which was invitingly open. thinking that he might even there find some prey, he entered, and was decamping with the pulpit-cloth, when he found his exit interrupted, the doors having been in the interim fastened. what was he to do to escape with his plunder? he mounted the steeple, and let himself down by the bell-rope; but scarcely had he reached the bottom when the consequent noise of the bell brought together people, who seized him. as he was led off to prison he addressed the bell, _as i now address your lordship_; said he, '_had it not been for your long tongue and your empty head i had made my escape_.'" amor patriÆ. a dispute arose as to the site of goldsmith's _deserted village_. an irish clergyman insisted that it was the little hamlet of auburn, in the county of westmeath. one of the company observed that this was improbable, as dr. goldsmith had never been in that part of the country. "why, gentlemen," exclaimed the parson, "was milton in hell when he wrote his _paradise lost_?" a quaker joke. a correspondent sends the buffalo express the following good thing for the hot weather: k----, the quaker president of a pennsylvania railroad, during the confusion and panic last fall, called upon the w---- bank, with which the road had kept a large regular account, and asked for an extension of a part of its paper falling due in a few days. the bank president declined rather abruptly, saying, in a tone common with that fraternity, "mr. k., your paper _must be paid at maturity_. we _cannot renew it_." "very well," our quaker replied, and left the bank. but he did not let the matter drop here. on leaving the bank, he walked quietly over to the depot and telegraphed all the agents and conductors on the road, to reject the bills on the w---- bank. in a few hours the trains began to arrive, full of panic, and bringing the news of distrust of the w---- bank all along the line of the road. stock-holders and depositors flocked into the bank, making the panic, inquiring, "what is the matter?" "is the bank broke?" a little inquiry by the officers showed that the trouble originated in the rejection of the bills by the railroad. the president seized his hat, and rushed down to the quaker's office, and came bustling in with the inquiry: "mr. k., have you directed the refusal of our currency by your agents?" "yes," was the quiet reply. "why is this? it will ruin us!" "well, friend l., i supposed thy bank was about to fail, as thee could not renew a little paper for us this morning." it is needless to say mr. l. renewed all the quaker's paper, and enlarged his line of discount, while the magic wires carried all along the road to every agent the sedative message, "the w---- bank is all right. thee may take its currency." a royal physician. henry viii. hunting in windsor forest, struck down about dinner to the abbey of reading, where, disguising himself as one of the royal guards, he was invited to the abbot's table. a sirloin was set before him, on which he laid to as lustily as any _beef-eater_. "well fare thy heart," quoth the abbot, "and here in a cup of sack i remember the health of his grace your master. i would give a hundred pounds that i could feed on beef as heartily as you do. alas! my poor queasy stomach will scarcely digest the wing of a chicken." the king heartily pledged him, thanked him for his good cheer, and departed undiscovered. shortly after, the abbot was sent to the tower, kept a close prisoner, and fed on bread and water, ignorant of the cause, and terrified at his situation. at last, a sirloin of beef was set before him, on which his empty stomach made him feed voraciously. "my lord!" exclaimed the king entering from a private closet, "instantly deposit your hundred pounds, or no going hence. i have been your physician, and here, as i deserve it, i demand my fee." a selfish pun. a certain tavern-keeper, who opened an oyster-shop as an appendage to his other establishment, was upbraided by a neighboring oyster-monger, as being ungenerous and _selfish_; "and why," said he, "would you not have me _sell-fish_?" sympathy. a good deacon making an official visit to a dying neighbor, who was a very churlish and universally unpopular man, put the usual question--"are you willing to go, my friend?" "oh, yes," said the sick man, "i am." "well," said the simple minded deacon, "i am glad you are, for _all the neighbors are willing_!" maternal advice. a noble lord being in his early years much addicted to dissipation, his mother advised him to take example by a gentleman, whose food was herbs, and his drink water. "what! madam," said he, "would you have me to imitate a man, who _eats like a beast, and drinks like a fish_!" proverbs applied. a "fat and greasy citizen," having made a ridiculous motion in the common council, observed afterwards at a select _dinner party_, (or rather _party dinner_,) that he was afraid he should be _hauled over the coals_ for it. an alderman present observed, "_then all the fat would be in the fire._" proof of yorkshire. a lad, seeing a gentleman in a public house eating eggs, said, "be so good, sir, as give me a little salt." "salt, for what?" "perhaps, sir, you'll ask me to eat an egg, and i should like to be ready." "what country are you from, my lad?" "i's yorkshire, sir." "i thought so--well, there take your egg." "thank you, sir." "well, they are great horse-stealers in your country are not they?" "yes; my father, though an honest man, would think no more of taking a horse, than i would of drinking your glass of ale," _taking it off_. "yes, i see you are yorkshire." scotch weather. on a very wet day in the west of scotland, a traveler, who had been detained a week by bad weather, peevishly asked a native, if it always rained in that country? he replied, drily, "no, it _snows sometimes_." an observation exemplified. a boy on the stage danced very finely and obtained much applause. a senior dancer enviously observed, that he never knew a clever boy turn out a great man. the boy said, "sir, you must have been a very clever boy." tit for tat. dobbs was up and doing, april fool day. a singular phenomenon was to be seen in the vicinity of his place of business. dobbs went home from his store, the last evening in march, and while taking his tea, remarked to his wife, that his colored porter had been blessed with an increase in his family. "why," said mrs. d., "that makes nine!" "exactly," said he; "but the singularity about this new comer, is, that one half of its face is black." "dear me!" exclaimed mrs. d., "that is singular, indeed. how strange! what can be the cause of such disfigurement?" "can't say," replied dobbs, "but it is a curiosity worth seeing, to say the least of it." "so i should think," returned his better half. "i will go down in the morning, and take such delicacies as the woman needs, and see the child at the same time." dobbs knew she would, so he went out to smoke a cigar, and the subject was dropped for the evening. next morning after he went to his store, the kind-hearted woman made up a basket of nice things, and taking the servant girl, went down to cheer up the mother, and see the singular child. when dobbs came home to dinner, his wife looked surprised. before he had time to seat himself, she said: "have you seen cousin john? he was here, this morning, to pay you the money you lent him, and as he could not wait for you, and must leave town again to-day; i told him you would be at the store, at half-past two. "how fortunate!" said he; "i need just that amount to take up a note to-morrow. just two, now," said dobbs, looking at his watch, "i will go down at once, for fear of missing him." "can't you have dinner first?" said his affectionate wife, "you will be in time." "no," said he, "i want that money, and would not like to miss him, so i will go at once." "by the by," said the lady, "how came you to tell me such a story about one side of that child's face being white?" "no, no," said he, as he put on his hat, "you are mistaken. i said one side was black. you did not ask me about the other side; _that was black, too_. first of april, my dear, first of april, you know." dobbs departed in haste, and did not return again until tea time, and then he looked disappointed. "what is the matter, my dear?" said mrs. d. "why, i missed cousin john, and i needed the thousand dollars to take up a note to-morrow. and every one is so short, i cannot raise it." "oh! is that all?" returned she, "then it's all right. cousin john paid me the money, and said you could send him a receipt by mail." "but," asked dobbs, "why couldn't you tell me so at dinner time, and not say he would be at the store, to pay me, at half-past two, and so send me off without my dinner, besides causing me so much anxiety for nothing?" "i am sorry you have had so much anxiety and trouble," returned his wife; "but you are mistaken in supposing i told you he would be at the store, at that time. i said i told him _you_ would be there, at half-past two, and knowing you were in want of that money, i knew you would not fail. _first of april, my dear, first of april, you know!_" dobbs caved in; he acknowledged the corn, and mr. and mrs. dobbs enjoyed a pleasant supper. the regret. joseph ii. emperor of germany, traveling incognito, stopped at an inn in the netherlands, where, it being fair time, and the house crowded, he readily slept in an outhouse, after a slender supper of bacon and eggs, for which, and bed, he paid the charge of about three shillings and sixpence, english. a few hours after, some of his majesty's suite coming up, the landlord appeared very uneasy at not having known the rank of his guest. "pshaw! man," said one of the attendants, "joseph is accustomed to such adventures, and will think nothing of it." "very likely," replied mine host, "but i shall. i can never forgive myself for having an emperor in my house, and letting him off for three and sixpence." not to be twice deceived. a person, more ready to borrow than to pay, prevailed on a friend to lend him a guinea, on a solemn promise of returning it the ensuing week, which, to the surprise of the lender, he punctually kept. shortly after, he made an application for a larger sum. "no," said the other, "you have deceived me once, and i will take care you shall not do so a second time." murder and suicide. a clergyman preaching against lending money on usury, asserted it to be as great a sin as _murder_. some time after, he applied to a parishioner to lend him twenty pounds. "what!" said the other, "after declaring your opinion that to lend money on usury, was as bad as _murder_?" "i do not mean," answered the parson, "that you should lend it to me on usury, but _gratis_." "that," replied the parishioner, "would, in my opinion, be as bad as _suicide_." a challenge. a son of galen, when a company was making merry by ridicule on physicians, exclaimed, "i defy any person i ever attended, to accuse me of ignorance or neglect." "that you may do, doctor, _dead men tell no tales_." a qualification. a young nobleman, lately admitted a member of the board of agriculture, observed, as he took his seat, that he himself was an extensive farmer. the company knowing his lordship's pursuits to be very different, stared a little at the declaration; but he explained it, by saying, he had sowed a great deal of _wild oats_. quick work. mrs. partington, speaking of the rapid manner in which wicked deeds are perpetrated, said that it only required two _seconds_ to fight a duel. non committal. a calm, blue-eyed, self-composed, and self-possessed young lady, in a village "down east," received a long call the other day, from a prying old spinster, who, after prolonging her stay beyond even her own conception of the young lady's endurance, came to the main question which brought her thither: "i've been asked a good many times if you was engaged to dr. c----. now, if folks enquire again whether you be or not, what shall i tell them i think?" "tell them," answered the young lady, fixing her calm blue eyes in unblushing steadiness upon the inquisitive features of her interrogator, "tell them that you think you don't know, and you're sure it's none of your business." grief. a dutchman having suddenly lost an infant son, of whom he was very fond, thus vented his inconsolable grief over the loss of his child. "i don't see wot dit make him die; he was so fatter as butter. i wouldn't haf him tie for five dollars!" judicious remark. a negro, whom dr. franklin brought over from america, observed, that the only gentleman in this country was the hog--"everything work: _man_ work, _woman_ work, _horse_ work, _bullock_ work, _ass_ work, _fire_ work, _water_ work, _smoke_ work, _dog_ work, _cat_ work; but the _hog_, he eat, he sleep, he do nothing all day--he be the only gentleman in england." a knotty pun. the late caleb whitefoord, seeing a lady knotting fringe for a petticoat, asked her, what she was doing? "knotting, sir," replied she; "pray mr. whitefoord, can you knot?" he answered, "_i can-not._" retort from a child. a very diminutive man, instructing his young son, told him if he neglected his learning he would never grow tall. the child observed, "father, did you ever learn anything?" an apt scholar. "john, what is the past of see?" "seen, sir." "no, john, it is saw." "yes, sir, and if a _sea_-fish swims by me it becomes a _saw_-fish, when it is past and can't be _seen_." "john, go home. ask your mother to soak your feet in hot water, to prevent a rush of brains to the head." classical bull. pope. eight callow _infants_ filled the mossy nest, _herself the ninth._ another. home. beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote and _inaccessible_ by _shepherds trod_. a rowland for an oliver. a sailor examined on an assault committed on board of ship, was asked by the counsel, whether the plaintiff or defendant struck first. "i know nothing," said he, "of plaintiff and defendant; i only know, as i have said already, that tom knocked jack down with a marlinspike." "here," said the counsel, "is a pretty witness, who does not know the plaintiff from the defendant!" proceeding in his cross examination, the counsel asked where the affray happened? the answer was, "abaft the binnacle." "abaft the binnacle! where's that?" "here," said the witness, "is a pretty counsel for you, that does not know abaft the binnacle!" the counsel, not yet abashed, asked, "and pray, my witty friend, how far were you from tom when he knocked down jack?" "just five feet seven inches." "you are very accurate; and how do you happen to know this so very exactly?" "i thought some fool would ask me, and so i measured it." slang. lord mansfield examining a witness, asked, "what do you know of the defendant?" "o! my lord, _i was up to him_." "up to him! what do you mean by that?" "mean, my lord! why, _i was down upon him_." "up to him and down upon him! what does the fellow mean?" "why i mean, my lord, _i stagged him_." "i do not understand your language, friend." "lord! what a flat you must be!" scientific distinctions. an eminent physician, and fellow of the royal society, seeing over the door of a paltry ale-house, _the crown and thistle_, by malcolm mac tavish, m.d., f.r.s., walked in, and severely rebuked the landlord for this presumptuous insult on science. boniface, with proper respect, but with a firmness that showed he had been a soldier, assured the doctor that he meant no insult to science. "what right then," asked he, "have you to put up those letters after your name?" "i have," answered the landlord, "as good a right to these as your honor, as _drum major of the royal scots fusileers_." corporal punishment. a soldier having been sentenced to receive military punishment, one of the drummers refused to inflict it, saying it was not his duty. "not your duty, sirrah!" said the adjutant, "what do you mean?" "i know very well," replied tattoo, "that it is not my duty; i was present at the court martial, and heard the colonel say he was to receive _corporal_ punishment. i am no _corporal_, but only a _drummer_." an apology. lieutenant o'brien, called _sky-rocket jack_, was blown up in the edgar, but saved on the carriage of a gun. having got on board the admiral's ship, all dirty and wet, he said, "i hope, sir, you will excuse my appearing before you in this dishabille, as i came away _in such a devil of a hurry_." blindness _vs._ sight. a blind man having hidden a hundred guineas in the corner of his garden, a neighbor, who observed him in the act, dug them up, and took them. the blind man, missing his money, suspected who was the thief; but to accuse him would serve no purpose. he called on him, saying he wished to take his advice; that he was possessed of two hundred guineas, one hundred of which he had deposited in a secret spot; now he wished to have his opinion, whether he should conceal the remainder in the same place, or if he had better put it in the hands of a banker. the neighbor advised him, by all means, as the safest way, to hide it along with the rest, and hastened to replace what he had taken, in the hope of catching double the sum. but the blind man, having recovered his treasure, took occasion to tell his neighbor, "blind as i am, _i can see as far into a mill-stone as you_." a retort. a spendthrift rallying a miser, among other things, said, "i'll warrant these buttons on your coat were your great-grandfather's." "yes," answered he, "and i have likewise got my great-grandfather's lands." a christian precept. a physician seeing old bannister about to drink a glass of brandy, said, "don't drink that poisonous stuff! brandy is the worst enemy you have." "i know that," answered charles, "but we are commanded _to love our enemies_." vanity humbled. a consequential scotch laird riding on the footpath of the high road between edinburgh and dalkeith, met a respectable farmer-looking man on foot, whom he insolently ordered to get out of the way. the other answered, "i am in the proper way, while you very improperly ride on the footpath." "do you know, sir, to whom you are talking?" "not i, indeed." "i am mr. ----, of ----." "very likely." "and i am one of the trustees for this road." "then you are a very bad trustee, thus to misuse the foot-way, and interrupt passengers." "you are an impudent scoundrel, and i have a great mind to have you laid by the heels. what is your name, fellow?" "_henry, duke of montague._" a lesson. a miser having heard of another still more parsimonious than himself, waited on him to gain instruction. he found him reading over a small lamp, and having explained the cause of his visit, "if that be all," said the other, "we may as well put out the lamp, we can converse full as well in the dark." "i am satisfied," said the former, "that as an economist i am much your inferior, and i shall not fail to profit by this lesson." a legislator. an irish member, adverting to the great number of _suicides_ that had occurred, moved for leave to bring in a bill to make it a capital offence! dear wine. mr. elwes, who united the most rigid parsimony with the most gentlemanly sentiments, received a present of some very _fine wine_ from a wine merchant, who knew that nothing could so win his heart as small gifts. it had the effect to obtain from him the loan of several hundred pounds. mr. elwes, who could never ask a gentleman for money, and who was a perfect philosopher as to his losses, used jocularly to say, "it was indeed very fine wine; for it cost him twenty pounds a bottle." a good hit. a gentleman being out a-shooting with mr. elwes, missed a dozen times successively. at length, firing at a covey of partridges, he lodged two pellets in mr. elwes's cheek, which gave him considerable pain; but on the other apologizing, and expressing his sorrow for the unfortunate accident, "my dear sir," said the old man, "i give you joy of your improvement; _i knew you would hit_ something _by and by_." spending time. "what makes you spend your time so freely, jack?" "because it's the only thing i have to spend." the lesson profited by. an attorney traveling with his clerk to the circuit, the latter asked his master what was the chief point in a lawsuit. he answered, "if you will pay for a couple of fowls to our supper, i'll tell you." this being agreed to, the master said, "the chief point was _good witnesses_." arrived at the inn, the attorney ordered the fowls, and when the bill was brought in, told the clerk to pay for them according to agreement. "o sir," said he, "where are your _good witnesses_?" black work well paid. a clergyman meeting a chimney sweeper, asked whence he came? "i have been sweeping your reverence's chimneys." "how many were there?" "twenty, sir." "well, and how much do you get a chimney?" "only a shilling a piece, sir." "why, i think a pound is pretty well for your morning's work." "yes, sir, _we black-coats_ get our money easy enough." proof of identity. richard ii., on the pope reclaiming, as a son of the church, a bishop whom he had taken prisoner in battle, sent him the prelate's _coat of mail_, and in the words of the scripture asked him, "know now whether this be _thy son's coat_ or not?" no loss for an excuse. the welsh formerly drank their ale, mead, or metheglin out of earthen vessels, glazed and painted, within and without, with _dainty devices_. a farmer in the principality, who had a curious quart mug, with an angel painted on the bottom, on the inside, found that a neighbor who very frequently visited him, and with the customary hospitality had the first draught, always gave so hearty a swig as to leave little for the rest of the party. this, our farmer three or four times remonstrated against, as unfair; but was always answered, "hur does so love to look at that pretty angel, that hur always drinks till hur can see its face." the farmer on this set aside his angel cup, and the next shrewsbury fair, bought one with the figure of the devil painted at the bottom. this being produced, foaming with ale, to his guest, he made but one draught, and handed it to the next man quite empty. being asked his reason, as he could not now wish to look at the angel, he replied, "no, but hur cannot bear to leave that ugly devil a drop." the general challenged. general craig, when in dublin, called his servant to get ready his horse, but pat was missing, and when he did make his appearance, he was _not perfectly sober_. the general asked where he had been? "i have been, sir," answered he, "where you dare not show your face, and doing what you dare not do, brave as you are." "where, and what?" demanded the general, sternly. "why, i have been _at the whiskey shop, spending my last sixpence_." a question answered. a sailor on ship-board, having fallen from the mizen-top, but his fall having been broken by the rigging, got up on the quarter deck, little hurt. the lieutenant asked where he _came from_? "plase your honor," replied he, "i came from _the north of ireland_." a counsellor. when lord chesterfield was in administration, he proposed a person to his late majesty, as proper to fill a place of great trust, but which the king himself was determined should be given to another. the council, however, resolved not to indulge the king, _for fear of a dangerous precedent_. it was lord chesterfield's business to present the grant of the office for the king's signature. not to incense his majesty, by asking him abruptly, he, with accents of great humility, begged to know with whose name his majesty would be pleased to have the blanks filled up? "_with the devil's!_" replied the king, in a paroxysm of rage. "and shall the instrument," said the earl, coolly, "run as usual--_to our trusty and well-beloved cousin and counsellor?_" an hibernian capture. lieutenant connolly, an irishman, in the service of the united states, during the american war, having himself taken three hessians prisoners, and being asked by the general, how he took them, he answered, "_i surrounded them._" a bon bouche. an irish counsellor, author of one of the numerous pamphlets which emanated from the press on the subject of the union, meeting a brother barrister, asked him if he had seen his publication. the other answered, that he had, that very day, been dipping into part of it, and was delighted with its contents. quite elated, the author asked his friend what part of the contents pleased him so much. "it was," answered the other, "a _mince pie_ which i got from the pastry cook's, wrapped up in half a sheet of your work." can't be worse. a very plain man was acting the character of mithridates, in a french theatre, when monima said to him, "my lord, you change countenance;" a young fellow in the pit, cried, "for heaven's sake, let him." virtue cheap. a stone mason was employed to engrave the following epitaph on a tradesman's wife: "a virtuous woman is a crown to her husband." the stone, however, being narrow, he contracted the sentence in the following manner: "a virtuous woman is _s._ to her husband." thorough work. a bricklayer fell through the rafters of an unfinished house, and nearly killed himself; a bystander declared that he ought to be employed, as he went smartly through his work. not to be done brown. dr. brown courted a lady for many years unsuccessfully; during which time, he had always accustomed himself to propose her health, whenever he was called upon for a lady. but being observed, one evening, to omit it, a gentleman reminded him that he had forgotten to toast his favorite lady. "why, indeed," said the doctor, "i find it all in vain; i have toasted her so many years, and cannot make her brown, that i am determined to toast her no longer." fitness of things. an irish sergeant, on a march, being attacked by a dog, pierced the animal with his halbert. on the complaint of the owner, the superior officer said to the offender, "murphy, you were wrong in this. you should have struck the dog with the butt end of your halbert, and not with your blade." "plaise your honor," says murphy, "and i would have been glad for to save myself the trouble of claining my iron, if he had only been so kind as to bite me with his tail, instead of his teeth." letting on. a lawyer, in ireland, who was pleading the cause of an infant plaintiff, took the child up in his arms, and presented it to the jury, suffused with tears. this had a great effect, till the opposite lawyer asked what made him cry? "he pinched me!" answered the little innocent. the whole court was convulsed with laughter. an infallible receipt. as louis xiv. was, one severe frosty day, traveling from versailles to paris, he met a young man, very lightly clothed, tripping along in as much apparent comfort as if it had been in the midst of summer. he called him,--"how is it," said the king, "that, dressed as you are, you seem to feel no inconvenience from the cold, while, notwithstanding my warm apparel, i cannot keep from shivering?" "sire," replied the pedestrian, "if your majesty will follow my example, i engage that you will be the warmest monarch of europe." "how so?" asked the king. "your majesty need only, like me, _carry all your wardrobe on your back_." an apt scholar. "george, what does c a t spell?" "don't know, sir." "what does your mother keep to catch mice?" "trap, sir." "no, no, what animal is very fond of milk?" "a baby, sir." "you dunce, what was it scratched your sister's face?" "my nails, sir." "i am out of all patience! there, do you see that animal on the fence?" "yes, sir." "do you know its name?" "yes, sir." "then tell me what c a t spells." "kitten, sir." propensities. the american general lee, being one day at dinner where there were some scotch officers, took occasion to say, that when he had got a glass too much, he had an unfortunate propensity to abuse the scotch, and therefore should such a thing happen, he hoped they would excuse him. "by all means," said one of the caledonians, "we have all our failings, especially when in liquor. i have myself, when inebriated, a very disagreeable propensity, if i hear any person abusing my country, to take the first thing i can lay hold of, and knock that man down. i hope therefore the company will excuse me if anything of the kind should happen." general lee did not that afternoon indulge his propensity. unconscionable expectation. a culprit having been adjudged, on a conviction of perjury, to lose his ears, when the executioner came to put the sentence in force, he was rather disappointed at finding the fellow had been cropped before. the criminal with great _sang froid_ exclaimed, "what! do you think i am always obliged to find you ears?" a case of alarm. an irish gentleman, hearing that his widowed mother was married again, said, in great perturbation, "i hope she won't have a son _older than me_, to cut me out of the estate!" indian finesse. soon after the settlement of new england, governor dudley saw a stout indian idling in the market-place of boston, and asked him why he did not work? he said he had nobody to employ him, but added, "why don't you work, massa?" "oh!" says the governor, "my head works; but come, if you are good for any thing i will give you employment." he accordingly took him into his service, but soon found him to be an idle and thievish vagabond. for some tricks one day, his excellency found it necessary to order him a whipping, which he did by a letter he desired him to carry, addressed to the provost marshal. jack's guilty conscience made him suspect the contents, and meeting another indian, he gave him a glass of rum to carry it for him. the poor devil willingly undertook to deliver it, and the marshal, as directed, caused the bearer to receive a hearty flogging. when this reached the governor's ears, he asked mr. jack how he dared do such a thing. "ah! massa," said he, "_head work_!" economical. mrs. partington says that she did not marry her second husband because she loved the male sex, but just because he was the size of her first protector, and would come so good to wear his old clothes out. good toast. at a dinner in springfield, mass., recently, a lady sent the following volunteer toast:--"_spruce_ old bachelors--the _ever greens_ of society." new cause of imprisonment. a counsel having been retained to oppose a person justifying bail in the court of king's bench, after asking some common-place questions, was getting rather aground, when a waggish brother, sitting behind, whispered him to interrogate the bail as to his having been a prisoner in gloucester gaol. thus instructed, our learned advocate boldly asked, "when, sir, were you last in gloucester gaol?" the bail, a reputable tradesman, with astonishment declared that he never was in a gaol in his life. the counsel persisted; but not being able to get any thing more out of him, turned round and asked his friendly brother, for what the man had been imprisoned? the answer was, "_for suicide_." without hesitation, he then questioned him thus: "now, sir, i ask you on your oath, and remember i shall have your words taken down, were you not _imprisoned_ in gloucester gaol _for the crime of suicide_?" the bishop answered. an ignorant rector had occasion to wait on a bishop, who was so incensed at his stupidity that he exclaimed, "what _blockhead_ gave you a living?" the rector respectfully bowing, answered, "your lordship." simplicity _vs._ wit. a country booby boasting of the numerous acres he enjoyed, ben jonson peevishly told him, "for every acre you have of land, i have an acre of wit." the other, filling his glass, said, "my service to you, mr. _wiseacre_!" an eligible corps. mr. bensley, before he went on the stage, was a captain in the army. one day he met a scotch officer who had been in the same regiment. the latter was happy to meet his old messmate, but was ashamed to be seen with a player. he therefore hurried bensley to an unfrequented coffee-house, where he asked him very seriously, "hoo could ye disgrace the corps by turning a play-actor?" mr. bensley answered, that he by no means considered it in that light; on the contrary, that a respectable performer of good conduct was much esteemed, and kept the best company. "and what, man," said the other, "do you get by this business of yours?" "i have," replied mr. b., "at present an income of near a thousand a year." "a thousand a year!" exclaimed saunders, astonished, "_hae ye ony vacancies in your corps?_" an invitation. a little girl, who was at dinner among a large party, fearing she had been forgotten to be helped, crumbled some bread upon her plate, saying at the same time to a boiled chicken near her, "_come biddy, come!_" an arch question. dominico, the harlequin, going to see louis xiv. at supper, which was served in gold, fixed his eyes on a dish of partridges. the king, of whom he was a favourite, said, "give that dish to dominico." "_and the partridges too, sire?_" said the actor. the king repeated, smiling, "and the partridges too." if the cap fits. the following advertisement was some years ago posted up at north shields: "whereas several idle and disorderly persons have lately made a practice of riding on an ass belonging to mr. ----, the head of the ropery stairs; now, lest any accident should happen, he takes this method of informing the public, that he has determined _to shoot his said ass_, and cautions any person who may be riding on it at the time, to take care of himself, lest by some unfortunate mistake he should shoot the _wrong one_." a privileged place. a beau highwayman and a miserable chimney sweeper were to be hanged together at newgate for their respective deserts. when the ordinary was exhorting them, previously to the execution, the latter brushed rather rudely against the former, to hear what the parson was saying. "you black rascal!" said the highwayman, "what do you mean by pressing on me so?" poor sweep, whimpering, said, "_i am sure i have as good a right here as you have._" advantage of spectacles. dr. franklin always wore spectacles. one day, on ludgate hill, a porter passing him was nearly pushed off the pavement by an unintentional motion of the doctor. the fellow, with characteristic insolence, exclaimed, "damn your spectacles!" franklin, smiling, observed, "it is not the first time they have _saved my eyes_." a rare bit. the following extract from the inimitable "autocrat of the breakfast table," is a fair specimen of the author's genius for humor: do i think that the particular form of lying often seen in newspapers, under the title, "from our foreign correspondent," does any harm?--why, no,--i don't know that it does. i suppose it doesn't really deceive people any more than the "arabian nights," or "gulliver's travels" do. sometimes the writers compile _too_ carelessly, though, and mix up facts out of geographies, and stories out of the penny papers, so as to mislead those who are desirous of information. i cut a piece out of one of the papers, the other day, which contains a number of improbabilities, and, i suspect, misstatements. i will send up and get it for you, if you would like to hear it.----ah, this is it; it is headed "our sumatra correspondence." "this island is now the property of the stamford family,--having been won, it is said, in a raffle, by sir ----stamford, during the stock-gambling mania of the south-sea scheme. the history of this gentleman may be found in an interesting series of questions (unfortunately not yet answered) contained in the 'notes and queries.' this island is entirely surrounded by the ocean, which here contains a large amount of saline substance, crystallizing in cubes remarkable for their symmetry, and frequently displays on its surface, during calm weather, the rainbow tints of the celebrated south-sea bubbles. the summers are oppressively hot, and the winters very probably cold; but this fact cannot be ascertained precisely, as, for some peculiar reason, the mercury in these latitudes never shrinks, as in more northern regions, and thus the thermometer is rendered useless in winter. "the principal vegetable productions of the island are the pepper tree and the bread-fruit tree. pepper being very abundantly produced, a benevolent society was organized in london during the last century for supplying the natives with vinegar and oysters, as an addition to that delightful condiment. [note received from dr. d. p.] it is said, however, that, as the oysters were of the kind called _natives_ in england, the natives of sumatra, in obedience to a natural instinct, refused to touch them, and confined themselves entirely to the crew of the vessel in which they were brought over. this information was received from one of the oldest inhabitants, a native himself, and exceedingly fond of missionaries. he is said also to be very skillful in the _cuisine_ peculiar to the island. "during the season of gathering the pepper, the persons employed are subject to various incommodities, the chief of which is violent and long-continued sternutation, or sneezing. such is the vehemence of these attacks, that the unfortunate subjects of them are often driven backwards for great distances at immense speed, on the well-known principle of the æolipile. not being able to see where they are going, these poor creatures dash themselves to pieces against the rocks or are precipitated over the cliffs, and thus many valuable lives are lost annually. as, during the whole pepper-harvest, they feed wholly on this stimulant, they become exceedingly irritable. the smallest injury is resented with ungovernable rage. a young man suffering from the _pepper-fever_, as is called, cudgeled another most severely for appropriating a superannuated relative of trifling value, and was only pacified by having a present made him of a pig of that peculiar species of swine called the _peccavi_ by the catholic jews, who, it is well known, abstain from swine's flesh in imitation of the mahometan buddhists. "the bread-tree grows abundantly. its branches are well known to europe and america under the familiar name of _maccaroni_. the smaller twigs are called _vermicelli_. they have a decided animal flavor, as may be observed in the soups containing them. maccaroni, being tubular, is the favourite habitat of a very dangerous insect, which is rendered peculiarly ferocious by being boiled. the government of the island, therefore, never allows a stick of it to be exported without being accompanied by a piston with which its cavity may at any time be thoroughly swept out. these are commonly lost or stolen before the maccaroni arrives among us. it therefore always contains many of these insects, which, however, generally die of old age in the shops, so that accidents from this source are comparitavely rare. "the fruit of the bread-tree consists principally of hot rolls. the buttered-muffin variety is supposed to be a hybrid with the cocoa-nut palm, the cream found on the milk of the cocoa-nut exuding from the hybrid in the shape of butter, just as the ripe fruit is splitting, so as to fit it for the tea-table, where it is commonly served up with cold"-- --there,--i don't want to read any more of it. you see that many of these statements are highly improbable.--no, i shall not mention the paper.--no, neither of them wrote it, though it reminds me of the style of these popular writers. i think the fellow who wrote it must have been reading some of their stories, and got them mixed up with his history and geography. i don't suppose _he_ lies;--he sells it to the editor, who knows how many squares off "sumatra" is. the editor, who sells it to the public----by the way, the papers have been very civil----haven't they?--to the--the--what d'ye call it?--"northern magazine,"--isn't it?--got up by some of those come-outers, down east, as an organ for their local peculiarities. shakspeare quoted. a vile scraper making a discordant sound with his violin, a friend observed, "if your instrument could speak, it would address you in the words of hamlet: "_though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me_." caution to gamesters. a german baron at a gaming house, being detected in an _odd trick_, one of the players fairly threw him out of the one pair of stairs window. on this outrage he took the advice of foote, who told him never to play _so high again_. at the bar. a criminal being asked, in the usual form, what he had to say why judgment of death should not be passed against him, answered, "why, i think there has been quite enough said about it already--if you please we'll drop the subject." hock. a pedantic fellow called for a bottle of hock at a tavern, which the waiter, not hearing distinctly, asked him to repeat. "a bottle of hock--hic, hæc, hoc," replied the visitor. after sitting, however, a long time, and no wine appearing, he ventured to ring again, and enquire into the cause of delay. "did i not order some hock, sir? why is it not brought in?" "because," answered the waiter, who had been taught latin grammar, "you afterwards _declined_ it." doric wit. a person asking another, while viewing the front of covent-garden theatre, of what order the pillars at the entrance were, received the answer, "why, sir, i am not very conversant in the orders of architecture; but from their being at the entrance of the house, i take it for granted, it must be the dor-ic." family likeness. a yankee, speaking of his children, said he had seven sons, none of whom looked alike but jonathan, and jonathan did look just alike. actual experiment. "la me! good old neighbor," cried mrs. popps, "what are you going to do with that great ugly crow?" "why, you see, we hear as how they live a hundred years, so husband and i got one to try." a tremendous threat. a man being convicted of bigamy, at the wexford assizes, the judge, in pronouncing sentence, thus addressed the prisoner: "yours is a most atrocious case, and i am sorry that the greatest punishment which the law allows me to inflict, is, that you be transported to parts beyond the seas, for seven years; but if i had my will, you should not escape thus easily; i would sentence you to _reside in the same house with both your wives, for the term of your natural life_." inquisitive. a smart old yankee lady, being called into court as a witness, grew impatient at the questions put to her, and told the judge she would quit the stand, for he was "raly one of the most inquisitive old gentlemen she ever see." grafting. a lady, being so unfortunate as to have her husband hang himself on an apple tree, the wife of a neighbor immediately came to beg a branch of the tree for grafting. "for who knows," said she, "but it may bear the same kind of fruit?" in orders. a country squire introduced his baboon, in clerical habits, to say grace. a clergyman, who was present, immediately left the table, and asked ten thousand pardons for not remembering, that his lordship's nearest relation was in orders. no stranger. a humorous divine, visiting a gentleman whose wife none of the most amiable, overheard his friend say, "if it were not for the stranger in the next room, i would kick you out of doors." upon which, the clergyman stepped in, and said, "pray, sir, make no stranger of me." both one. an honest clergyman, in the country, was reproving a married couple for their frequent dissensions, seeing they were both one. "both one!" cried the husband; "were you to come by our door sometimes, when we quarrel, you would swear we were twenty." press and squeeze. a frenchman having frequently heard the word _press_ made use of to imply _persuade_, as, "press that gentleman to take some refreshment," "press him to stay to-night," thought he would show his talents, by using a synonymous term; and therefore made no scruple, one evening, to cry out in company, "pray _squeeze_ that lady to sing." too much of a good thing. a certain gentleman, not well skilled in orthography, requested his friend to send him _too_ monkeys. the _t_ not being distinctly written, his friend concluded his _too_ was intended for . with difficulty, he procured fifty, which he sent; adding, "the other fifty, agreeable to your order, will be forwarded as soon as possible." long nose. a gentleman having put out a candle, by accident, one night, ordered his waiting-man, who was a simple being, to light it again in the kitchen. "but take care, john," added he, "that you do not hit yourself against anything, in the dark." mindful of the caution, john stretched out both his arms at full length, before him; but unluckily, a door, which stood half open, passed between his hands, and struck him a woful blow upon the nose. "dickens!" muttered he, when he recovered his senses a little, "i always heard that i had a plaguey long nose, but i vow i never have thought, before, that it was longer than my arm." riding double. an irish sailor, as he was riding, made a pause; the horse, in beating off the flies, caught his hind foot in the stirrup. the sailor observing it, exclaimed, "how now, dobbin, if you are going to get on, i will get off; for, by the powers, i will not ride double with you." begin right. an irishman, some years ago, attending the university of edinburgh, waited upon one of the most celebrated teachers of the german flute, desiring to know on what terms he would give him a few lessons. the flute-player informed him that he generally charged two guineas for the first month, and one guinea for the second. "then, by my sowl," replied the cunning hibernian, "i'll come the second month." interview between the editor and phoenix. the thomas hunt had arrived, she lay at the wharf at new town, and a rumor had reached our ears that "the judge" was on board. public anxiety had been excited to the highest pitch to witness the result of the meeting between us. it had been stated publicly that "the judge" would whip us the moment he arrived; but though we thought a conflict probable, we had never been very sanguine as to its terminating in this manner. coolly we gazed from the window of the office upon the new town road; we descried a cloud of dust in the distance; high above it waved a whip lash, and we said, "'the judge' cometh, and 'his driving is like that of jehu the son of nimshi, for he driveth furiously.'" calmly we seated ourselves in the "_arm chair_," and continued our labors upon our magnificent pictorial. anon, a step, a heavy step, was heard upon the stairs, and "the judge" stood before us. "in shape and gesture proudly eminent, he stood like a tower: ... but his face deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care sat on his faded cheek; but under brows of dauntless courage and pride, waiting revenge." "we rose, and with an unfaltering voice said: "well, judge, how do you do?" he made no reply but commenced taking off his coat. we removed ours, also our cravat. * * * * * the sixth and last round, is described by the pressman and compositors, as having been fearfully scientific. we held "the judge" down over the press by our nose (which we had inserted between his teeth for that purpose), and while our hair was employed in holding one of his hands we held the other in our left, and with the "sheep's foot" brandished above our head, shouted to him, "say waldo," "never!" he gasped-- "o my bigler!" he would have muttered, but that he "dried up," ere the word was uttered. at this moment we discovered that we had been laboring under a "misunderstanding," and through the amicable intervention of the pressman, who thrust a roller between our faces (which gave the whole affair a very different complexion), the _matter_ was finally settled on the most friendly terms--"and without prejudice to the honor of either party." we write this while sitting without any clothing, except our left stocking, and the rim of our hat encircling our neck like a "ruff" of the elizabethan era--that article of dress having been knocked over our head at an early stage of the proceedings, and the crown subsequently torn off, while "the judge" is sopping his eye with cold water, in the next room, a small boy standing beside the sufferer with a basin, and glancing with interest over the advertisements on the second page of the san diego herald, a fair copy of which was struck off upon the back of his shirt, at the time we held him over the press. thus ends our description of this long anticipated personal collision, of which the public can believe precisely as much as they please; if they disbelieve the whole of it, we shall not be at all offended, but can simply quote as much to the point, what might have been the commencement of our epitaph, had we fallen in the conflict, "here lies phoenix." _phoenixiana._ incredulity. a gentleman telling a very improbable story, and observing one of the company cast a doubtful eye, "zounds, sir," says he, "_i saw the thing happen._" "if you did," says the other, "i _must_ believe it; but i would not have believed it if i had seen it myself." a second methuselah. a statuary was directed to inscribe on a monument the age of the deceased, namely . the person who gave the order recollecting, however, that it should have been , desired the sculptor to add one year more; and the veteran to whose memory this stone was erected, is recorded as having "departed this life at the advanced age of !" a school teacher. a gentleman from swampville, state of new york, was telling how many different occupations he had attempted. among others he had tried school teaching. "how long did you teach?" asked a by-stander. "wal, i didn't teach long; that is, i only _went_ to teach." "did you hire out?" "wal, i didn't hire out; i only _went_ to hire out." "why did you give it up?" "wal, i gave it up--for some reason or nuther. you see, i traveled into a deestrict and inquired for the trustees. somebody said mr. snickles was the man i wanted to see. so i found mr. snickles,--named my objic--interduced myself--and asked him what he thought about lettin' me try my luck with the big boys and unruly gals of the deestrict. he wanted to know if i really thought myself capable; and i told him i wouldn't mind him asken me a few easy questions in 'rithmetic, jography, or showin' my handwritin'. but he said, no, never mind, he could tell a good teacher by his _gait_. 'let me see you walk off a little ways,' says he, 'and i can tell jis's well's i'd heared you examined,' says he. "he sot in the door as he spoke, and i thought, he looked a little skittish; but i was consider'bly frustrated, and didn't mind much; so i turned about and walked off as smart as i know'd how. he said he would tell me when to stop, so i kep' on 'till i tho't i'd gone far 'nough; i then 'spected suthin' was to pay, and looked round. _the door was shet, and snickles was gone!_" posthumous honor. "sancho," said a dying planter to his faithful slave, "for your services i shall leave it in my will, that you shall be buried in our family vault." "ah, massa!" replied sancho, "me rather have de money or de freedom. besides, if the devil come in the dark to look for massa, he make the mistake, and carry away poor negro man." the antigallican. a frenchman in a coffee-house called for a gill of wine, which was brought him in a glass. he said it was the _french_ custom to bring wine in a _measure_. the waiter answered, "sir, we wish for no _french measures_ here." sweet definition. a sprightly school girl who attends the "central high," where the teachers have a way of inciting the pupils to understand what they say in the classes, was reading the "last of the huggermuggers;" and stirred by the spirit of inquiry, stimulated by her teachers, if not by natural feminine curiosity, asked a boy cousin of hers, the meaning of huggermugger. john looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said--"i'll show you;" and before the incipient woman had time to make any further remark, john had his arm around her waist, and subjected it to a gentle pressure--"that's hugger; and this," putting his lips to hers in affectionate collision, "is _mug ger_!" "yes," said the not more than half displeased sarah ann, "and this is the _last_ of the huggermuggers, for if you ever attempt to give me another such definition, i'll box your ears. i've a great mind to tell mr. hall, as i go to school, what sort of dictionary you are carrying about you all the time."--_boston transcript._ couldn't afford it. "i don't care much about the bugs," said mr. wormly to the head of a genteel private boarding house, "but the fact is, madam, i havn't the blood to spare--you see that yourself." pull devil--pull baker. a question for the spike society. "would the devil beat his wife if he had one?" "guess not--for the women generally beat the devil." provoking. "hallo, boy, did you see a rabbit cross the road there just now?" "a rabbit?" "yes, be quick! a rabbit." "was it a kinder gray varmint?" "yes, yes!" "a longish critter, with a short tail?" "yes, be quick or he'll gain his burrow." "had it long legs behind, and big ears?" "yes, yes!" "and sorter jumps when it runs?" "yes, i tell you; jumps when it runs!" "well, i hain't seen such a critter about here." when presidents dine. on davy crocket's return to his constituents after his first session in congress, a nation of them surrounded him one day, and began to interrogate him about washington. "what time do they dine in washington, colonel?" "why," said he, "common people, such as you are, get their dinners about one o'clock, but the gentry and big bugs dine at three. as for representatives we dine at four, and the aristocracy and the senators don't get theirs till five." "well, when does the president fodder?" asked another. "old hickory!" exclaimed the colonel, attempting to appoint a time appropriate to the dignity of the station. "old hickory! well he don't dine until the next day!" cook's strike. a few weeks ago a wealthy family in philadelphia, having hired a cook who had been highly recommended to them, she was ordered one day to prepare among other things, a hash for dinner. the hash came and was charming--all eagerly partaking of it until the dish was scraped out. so popular after this did the hash of the new cook become, that it was nothing but hash every day. at last the poor cook, bringing in a large dish of it, the perspiration pouring down her face, which was red as a coal of fire, she set it down, and turned to her mistress and drawing herself up said: "madam, i strikes!" "strikes! why, what is the matter, betty?" "cause, ma'am, i can't give you hash every day and forever--_me jaws is all broke down, and me teeth is all wore out, chawing it up for ye's!_" bad state. a schoolmaster in a neighboring town, wishing to discover the talents of his scholars for geography, asked one of the youngest of them, what state he lived in? to which the boy replied, "a state of sin and misery." presence of mind. a poor fellow, in scotland, creeping through the hedge of an orchard, with an intention to rob it, was seen by the owner, who called out to him, "sawney, hoot, hoot, man, where are you ganging?" "back agen," says sawney. extravagance. an irish "gintleman" had occasion to visit the south some time since. when he returned, he remarked to a friend that the southern people were very extravagant. upon being asked why so, he remarked, that where he stayed they had a _candlestick_ worth eleven hundred dollars. "why, how in the world could it cost that much?" inquired a friend. "och, be gorry, it was nuthin' mor'n a big nager fellow holdin a torch for us to eat by." somewhere. a lady who gave herself great airs of importance, on being introduced to a gentleman for the first time, said, with much cool indifference, "i think, sir, i have seen you somewhere." "very likely you may," replied the gentleman, with equal sang froid, "as i have been there very often." good shot. a physician, who lived in london, visited a lady who resided in chelsea. after continuing his visits for some time, the lady expressed an apprehension that it might be inconvenient for him to come so far on her account. "oh! by no means," replied the doctor; "i have another patient in the neighborhood, and i always set out hoping to kill two birds with one stone." oriental wit. a young man, going on a journey, intrusted a hundred deenars to an old man. when he came back, the old man denied having had any money deposited with him, and he was had up before the khazee. "where were you, young man, when you delivered this money?" "under a tree." "take my seal and summon that tree," said the judge. "go, young man, and tell the tree to come hither, and the tree will obey you when you show it my seal." the young man went in wonder. after he had been gone some time, the khazee said to the old man, "he is long--do you think he has got there yet?" "no," said the old man; "it is at some distance; he has not got there yet." "how knowest thou, old man," cried the khazee, "where that tree is?" the young man returned and said the tree would not come. "he has been here, young man, and given his evidence--the money is thine." bad lights. an irish gentleman, in company, observing that the lights were so dim as only to render the darkness visible, called out lustily, "here, waiter, let me have a couple of dacent candles, that i may see how those others burn." pair of spectacles. two brothers having been sentenced to death, one was executed first. "see," the other brother said, "what a lamentable spectacle my brother makes! in a few minutes i shall be turned off; and then you will see a pair of spectacles." smart girl. a country girl, riding by a turnpike-road without paying toll, the gate-keeper hailed her and demanded his fee. on her demanding his authority, he referred her to his sign, where she read, "a man and horse, six cents." "well," says she, "you can demand nothing of me, as this is but a woman and a mare." crooked stick. as a number of persons were lately relating to each other the various extraordinary incidents which had fallen within their observation, a traveler attracted their attention by the following: "as i was passing through a forest, i heard a rustling noise in the bushes near the road: and being impelled by curiosity, i was determined to know what it was. when i arrived at the spot, i found it was occasioned by a large stick of wood, which was so very crooked that it would not lie still." a clincher. grace greenwood, in speaking of a certain and too fashionable kind of parental government, in her lecture at cleveland, a few evenings since, told this refreshing little story: a gentleman told his little boy, a child of four years, to shut the gate. he made the request three times, and the youngster paid no sort of attention to it. "i have told you three times, my son, to shut the gate," said the gentleman sorrowfully. "and i've told you _free_ times," lisped the child, "that i won't do it. you must be stupid." a misconception. a barber having a dispute with a parish clerk on a point of grammar, the latter said it was a downright _barbarism, indeed_. "what!" exclaimed the other, "do you mean to insult me? _barberism, indeed!_ i'd have you to know that a barber can speak as good grammar as a parish clerk any day in the week." squibob's antidote for fleas. from phoenixiana. the following recipe from the writings of miss hannah more, may be found useful to your readers: in a climate where the attacks of fleas are a constant source of annoyance, any method which will alleviate them becomes a _desideratum_. it is, therefore, with pleasure i make known the following recipe, which i am assured has been tried with efficacy. boil a quart of tar until it becomes quite thin. remove the clothing, and before the tar becomes perfectly cool, with a broad flat brush, apply a thin, smooth coating to the entire surface of the body and limbs. while the tar remains soft, the flea becomes entangled in its tenacious folds, and is rendered perfectly harmless; but it will soon form a hard, smooth coating, entirely impervious to his bite. should the coating crack at the knee or elbow joints, it is merely necessary to retouch it slightly at those places. the whole coat should be renewed every three or four weeks. this remedy is sure, and having the advantage of simplicity and economy, should be generally known. so much for miss more. a still simpler method of preventing the attacks of these little pests, is one which i have lately discovered myself;--in theory only--i have not yet put it into practice. on feeling the bite of the flea, thrust the part bitten immediately into boiling water. the heat of the water destroys the insect and instantly removes the pain of the bite. you have probably heard of old parry dox. i met him here a few days since, in a sadly seedy condition. he told me that he was still extravagantly fond of whiskey, though he was constantly "running it down." i inquired after his wife. "she is dead, poor creature," said he, "and is probably far better off than ever she was here. she was a seamstress, and her greatest enjoyment of happiness in this world was only so, so." the obsequious carpenter. a carpenter having neglected to make a gibbet ordered, on the ground of his not having been paid for a former one, was severely rated by the sheriff. "fellow," said he, "how dared you neglect making the gibbet that was ordered for me?" "i humbly beg your pardon," said the carpenter, "had i known that it was _for your worship_, i should have left everything else to do it." a double entendre. a lady who strove by the application of washes, paint, &c., to improve her countenance, had her vanity not a little flattered by a gentleman saying, "madam, every time i look at your face i discover some _new beauty_." a reproof. a young fellow in a coffee house venting a parcel of common place abuse on the clergy, in the presence of mr. sterne, and evidently leveled at him, laurence introduced a panegyric on his dog, which he observed had no fault but one, namely, that whenever he saw a parson he fell a barking at him. "and how long," said the youth, "has he had this trick?" "ever since he was a _puppy_." a good turn. "i understand, jones, that you can turn anything neater than any other man in town." "yes, mr. smith, i said so." "well, mr. jones, i don't like to brag, but there is no man on earth that can turn a thing as well as i can whittle it, mr. jones. jest name the article that i can't whittle, that you can turn, and i'll give you a dollar if i don't do it to the satisfaction of those gentlemen present." "well, mr. smith, suppose we take two grindstones, just for a trial, you may whittle and i'll turn." a distinction. shuter, one day meeting a friend with his coat patched at the elbow, observed, he should be ashamed of it. "how so?" said the other, "it is not the first time i have seen you _out at the elbows_." "very true," replied ned, "i should think nothing of exhibiting twenty holes; a hole is the _accident of the day_; but a patch is _premeditated poverty_." consolation. in a party of young fellows, the conversation turned on their learning and education, and one of the company having delivered his thoughts on the subject very respectably, his neighbor, neither extremely wise nor witty, said, "well, jack, you are certainly not the greatest fool living." "no," answered he, "nor shall i be while you live." result of kissing the butcher. "my dear," said an affectionate wife, "what shall we have for dinner to-day?" "one of your smiles," replied the husband. "i can dine on that every day." "but i can't," replied the wife. "then take this," and he gave her a kiss and went to his business. he returned to dinner. "this is excellent steak," said he, "what did you pay for it?" "why, what you gave me this morning, to be sure," replied the wife. "you did!" exclaimed he; "then you shall have the money next time you go to market." not you but i. a tradesman pressing one of his customers for payment of a bill, the latter said, "you need not be in such a hurry; i am not going to run away." "but," says the creditor, "_i am._" my brother's hunting-lodge. from sir jonah barrington's sketches. i met with a ludicrous instance of the dissipation of even latter days, a few months after my marriage. lady b---- and myself took a tour through some of the southern parts of ireland, and among other places visited castle durrow, near which place my brother, henry french barrington, had built a hunting-cottage, wherein he happened to have given a house-warming the previous day. the company, as might be expected at such a place and on such an occasion, was not the most select; in fact, they were "_hard-going_" sportsmen. among the rest, mr. joseph kelly, of unfortunate fate, brother to mr. michael kelly (who by-the-by does not say a word about him in his reminiscences), had been invited, to add to the merriment by his pleasantry and voice, and had come down from dublin for the purpose. of this convivial assemblage at my brother's, he was, i suppose, the very life and soul. the dining-room had not been finished when the day of the dinner-party arrived, and the lower parts of the walls having only that morning received their last coat of plaster, were, of course, totally wet. we had intended to surprise my brother; but had not calculated on the scene i was to witness. on driving to the cottage-door i found it open, while a dozen dogs, of different descriptions, showed ready to receive us not in the most polite manner. my servant's whip, however, soon sent them about their business, and i ventured into the parlor to see what cheer. it was about ten in the morning: the room was strewed with empty bottles--some broken--some interspersed with glasses, plates, dishes, knives, spoons, &c., all in glorious confusion. here and there were heaps of bones, relics of the former day's entertainment, which the dogs, seizing their opportunity, had picked. three or four of the bacchanalians lay fast asleep upon chairs--one or two others on the floor, among whom a piper lay on his back, apparently dead, with a table-cloth spread over him, and surrounded by four or five candles, burnt to the sockets; his chanter and bags were laid scientifically across his body, his mouth was wide open, and his nose made ample amends for the silence of his drone. joe kelly and a mr. peter alley were fast asleep in their chairs, close to the wall. had i never viewed such a scene before, it would have almost terrified me; but it was nothing more than the ordinary custom which we called _waking the piper_, when he had got too drunk to make any more music. i went out, and sent away my carriage and its inmate to castle durrow, whence we had come, and afterward proceeded to seek my brother. no servant was to be seen, man or woman. i went to the stables, wherein i found three or four more of the goodly company, who had just been able to reach their horses, but were seized by morpheus before they could mount them, and so lay in the mangers awaiting a more favourable opportunity. returning hence to the cottage, i found my brother, also asleep, on the only bed which it then afforded: he had no occasion to put on his clothes, since he had never taken them off. i next waked dan tyron, a wood-ranger of lord ashbrook, who had acted as maitre d'hôtel in making the arrangements, and providing a horse-load of game to fill up the banquet. i then inspected the parlor, and insisted on breakfast. dan tyron set to work: an old woman was called in from an adjoining cabin, the windows were opened, the room cleared, the floor swept, the relics removed, and the fire lighted in the kitchen. the piper was taken away senseless, but my brother would not suffer either joe or alley to be disturbed till breakfast was ready. no time was lost; and, after a very brief interval, we had before us abundance of fine eggs, and milk fresh from the cow, with brandy, sugar, and nutmeg, in plenty; a large loaf, fresh butter, a cold round of beef, which had not been produced on the previous day, red herrings, and a bowl dish of potatoes roasted on the turf ashes; in addition to which, ale, whiskey, and port, made up the refreshments. all being duly in order, we at length awakened joe kelly, and peter alley, his neighbor: they had slept soundly, though with no other pillow than the wall; and my brother announced breakfast with a _view holloa_! the twain immediately started, and roared in unison with their host most tremendously! it was, however, in a very different tone from the _view holloa_, and perpetuated much longer. "come, boys," says french, giving joe a pull, "come!" "oh, murder!" says joe, "i can't!"--"murder!--murder!" echoed peter. french pulled them again, upon which they roared the more, still retaining their places. i have in my lifetime laughed till i nearly became spasmodic; but never were my risible muscles put to greater tension than upon this occasion. the wall, as i said before, had only that day received a coat of mortar, and of course was quite soft and yielding, when joe and peter thought proper to make it their pillow; it was, nevertheless, setting fast, from the heat and lights of an eighteen hours' carousal; and, in the morning, when my brother awakened his guests, the mortar had completely set and their hair being the thing most calculated to amalgamate therewith, the entire of joe's stock, together with his _queue_, and half his head, was thoroughly and irrecoverably bedded in the greedy and now marble cement, so that, if determined to move, he must have taken the wall along with him, for separate it would not. one side of peter's head was in the same state of imprisonment. nobody was able to assist them, and there they both stuck fast. a consultation was now held on this pitiful case, which i maliciously endeavored to prolong as much as i could, and which was, in fact, every now and then interrupted by a roar from peter or joe, as they made fresh efforts to rise. at length, it was proposed by dan tyron to send for the stone cutter, and get him to cut them out of the wall with a chisel. i was literally unable to speak two sentences for laughing. the old woman meanwhile tried to soften the obdurate wall with melted butter and new milk--but in vain. i related the school story how hannibal had worked through the alps with hot vinegar and hot irons: this experiment likewise was made, but hannibal's solvent had no better success than the old crone's. peter alley, being of a more passionate nature, grew ultimately quite outrageous: he roared, gnashed his teeth, and swore vengeance against the mason; but as he was only held by one side, a thought at last struck him: he asked for two knives, which being brought, he whetted one against the other, and introducing the blades close to his skull, sawed away at cross corners till he was liberated, with the loss only of half his hair and a piece of his scalp, which he had sliced off in zeal and haste for his liberty. i never saw a fellow so extravagantly happy! fur was scraped from the crown of a hat, to stop the bleeding; his head was duly tied up with the old woman's _praskeen_; and he was soon in a state of bodily convalescence. our solicitude was now required solely for joe, whose head was too deeply buried to be exhumed with so much facility. at this moment, bob casey, of ballynakill, a very celebrated wig-maker, just dropped in, to see what he could pick up honestly in the way of his profession, or steal in the way of anything else; and he immediately undertook to get mr. kelly out of the mortar by a very expert but tedious process, namely clipping with his scissors, and then rooting out with an oyster-knife. he thus finally succeeded, in less than an hour, in setting joe once more at liberty, at the price of his queue, which was totally lost, and of the exposure of his raw and bleeding occiput. the operation was, indeed, of a mongrel description--somewhat between a complete tonsure and an imperfect scalping, to both of which denominations it certainly presented claims. however, it is an ill wind that blows nobody good! bob casey got the making of a skull-piece for joe, and my brother french had the pleasure of paying for it, as gentlemen in those days honored any order given by a guest to the family shopkeeper or artisan. a partnership. after divine service at worcester cathedral, where a remarkably fine anthem had been performed, the organ-blower observed to the organist, "i think we have performed mighty well to-day." "_we_ performed!" answered the organist, "if i am not mistaken it was _i_ that performed." next sunday, in the midst of a voluntary, the organ stopped all at once. the organist, enraged, cried out, "why don't you blow?" the fellow, popping out his head, said, "shall it be _we_ then?" a wit for ladies. a lady of vivacity was by a waggish friend proposed to be made acquainted with a gentleman of infinite wit, an offer she gladly accepted. after the interview, her friend asked how she liked him. she said, "delightfully! i have hardly ever found a person so agreeable." the damsel, uninterrupted in her own loquacity, had not discovered that this witty gentleman was----_dumb_! a braggadocio reproved. an officer relating his feats to the marshal de bessompiere, said, that in a sea-fight he had killed men with his own hand: "and i," said the marshal, "descended through a chimney in switzerland to visit a pretty girl." "how could that be," said the captain, "since there are no chimneys in that country?" "what, sir!" said the marshal, "i have allowed you to kill men in a fight, and surely you may permit me to descend a chimney in switzerland." mrs. munchausen. a traveled london lady gives the following incident, among others, to a circle of admiring friends, on her return from america: "i was a dinin' haboard a first-class steamboat on the hoeigho river. the gentleman next me, on my right, was a southerner, and the gentleman on my left was a northerner. well, they gets into a kind of discussion on the habbolition question, when some 'igh words hariz. 'please to retract, sir,' said the southerner. 'won't do it,' said the northerner. 'pray, ma'am,' said the southerner, 'will you 'ave the goodness to lean back in your chair?' 'with the greatest pleasure,' said i, not knowin' what was a comin'. when what does my gentleman do but whips out an 'oss pistil as long as my harm, and shoots my left 'and neighbor dead! but that wasn't hall! for the bullet, comin' out of the left temple, wounded a lady in the side. she huttered an 'orrifick scream. 'pon my word, ma'am,' said the southerner, 'you needn't make so much noise about it, for i did it by a mistake.'" "and was justice done the murderer?" asked a horrified listener. "hinstantly, dear madam," answered miss l----. "the cabin passengers set right to work, and lynched him. they 'ung 'im in the lamp chains right hover the dinin' table, and then finished the dessert. but for my part, it quite spoiled my happetite." old babes. a hibernian, seeing an old man and woman in the stocks, said that they put him in mind of "the babes in the wood." a sell. the river _monitor_ tells the following story: a countryman (farmer) went into a store in boston, the other day, and told the keeper that a neighbor of his had entrusted him some money to expend to the best advantage, and he meant to do it where he would be the best treated. he had been used very ill by the traders in boston, and he would not part with his neighbor's money until he had found a man who would treat him about right. with the utmost suavity the trader says: "i think i can treat you to your liking; how do you want to be treated?" "well," said the farmer, with a leer in his eye, "in the first place, i want a glass of toddy," which was forthcoming. "now i will have a nice cigar," says the countryman. it was promptly handed him, leisurely lighted, and then throwing himself back with his feet as high as his head, he commenced puffing away like a spaniard. "now what do you want to purchase?" says the store-keeper. "my neighbor," said the countryman, "handed me two cents when i left home, to buy a plug of tobacco--have you got that article?" the store-keeper sloped instanter. a sell. a witty knave bargained with a seller of lace in london for as much as would reach from one of his ears to the other. when they had agreed, it appeared that one of his ears was nailed at the pillory in bristol. practical joking. a few days since, writes an attorney, as i was sitting with brother d----, in his office, court square, a client came in, and said-- "squire d----, w----, the stabler, shaved me dreadfully, yesterday, and i want to come up with him." "state your case," says d----. "i asked him," said client, "how much he would charge me for a horse and wagon to go to dedham. he said one dollar and a half. i took the team, and when i came back, i paid him one dollar and a half, and he said he wanted another dollar and a half for coming back, and made me pay it." d---- gave him some legal advice, which the client immediately acted upon as follows: he went to the stabler and said-- "how much will you charge me for a horse and wagon to go to salem?" stabler replied--"five dollars." "harness him up!" client went to salem, came back by railroad, and went to the stabler, saying-- "here is your money," paying him five dollars. "where is my horse and wagon?" says w. "he is at salem," says client; "i only hired him to go to salem." solitude. "you are always yawning," said a woman to her husband. "my dear friend," replied he, "the husband and wife are _one_; and when i am _alone_, i grow weary." speaking out in dreams. a correspondent of the _richmond dispatch_ tells the following in a letter from one of the springs: an amusing incident occurred in the cars of the virginia and tennessee road, which must be preserved in print. it is too good to be lost. as the train entered the big tunnel, near this place, in accordance with the usual custom _a lamp_ was lit. a servant girl, accompanying her mistress, had sunk in a profound slumber, but just as the lamp was lit she awoke, and half asleep imagined herself in the infernal regions. frantic with fright, she implored her maker to have mercy on her, remarking at the same time, "the devil has got me at last." her mistress, sitting on the seat in front of the terrified negress, was deeply mortified, and called upon her--"molly, don't make such a noise; it is i, be not afraid." the poor african immediately exclaimed, "oh, missus, dat you? jest what i 'spected; i always thought if eber i got to de bad place, i would see you dar." these remarks were uttered with such vehemence, that not a word was lost, and the whole coach became convulsed with laughter. goodbye. a minikin three-and-a-half-feet colonel, being one day at the drill, was examining a strapper of six feet four. "come, fellow, hold up your head; higher, fellow!" "yes, sir." "higher, fellow--higher." " what--so, sir?" "yes, fellow." "and am i always to remain so?" "yes, fellow, certainly." "why then, good bye. colonel, for i never shall see you again." melancholy accident.--death of a young man. from phoenixiana. mr. mudge has just arrived in san diego from arkansas; he brings with him four yoke of oxen, seventeen american cows, nine american children, and mrs. mudge. they have encamped in the rear of our office, pending the arrival of the next coasting steamer. mr. mudge is about thirty-seven years of age, his hair is light, not a "sable silvered," but a _yaller_ gilded; you can see some of it sticking out of the top of his hat; his costume is the national costume of arkansas, coat, waistcoat, and pantaloons of homespun cloth, dyed a brownish yellow, with a decoction of the bitter barked butternut--a pleasing alliteration; his countenance presents a determined, combined with a sanctimonious expression, and in his brightly gleaming eye--a red eye we think it is--we fancy a spark of poetic fervor may be distinguished. mr. mudge called on us yesterday. we were eating watermelon. perhaps the reader may have eaten watermelon, if so, he knows how difficult a thing it is to speak, when the mouth is filled with the luscious fruit, and the slippery seed and sweet though embarrassing juice is squizzling out all over the chin and shirt-bosom. so at first we said nothing, but waved with our case knife toward an unoccupied box, as who should say sit down. mr. mudge accordingly seated himself, and removing his hat (whereat all his hair sprang up straight like a jack in a box), turned that article of dress over and over in his hands, and contemplated its condition with alarming seriousness. "take some melon, mr. mudge," said we, as with a sudden bolt we recovered our speech and took another slice ourself. "no, i thank you," replied mr. mudge, "i wouldn't choose any, now." there was a solemnity in mr. mudge's manner that arrested our attention; we paused, and holding a large slice of watermelon dripping in the air, listened to what he might have to say. "thar was a very serious accident happened to us," said mr. mudge, "as we wos crossin' the plains. 'twas on the bank of the peacus river. thar was a young man named jeames hambrick along and another young feller, he got to fooling with his pistil, and he shot jeames. he was a good young man and hadn't a enemy in the company; we buried him thar on the peacus river, we did, and as we went off, these here lines sorter passed through my mind." so saying, mr. mudge rose, drew from his pocket--his waistcoat pocket--a crumpled piece of paper, and handed it over. then he drew from his coat-tail pocket, a large cotton handkerchief, with a red ground and yellow figure, slowly unfolded it, blew his nose--an awful blast it was--wiped his eyes, and disappeared. we publish mr. mudge's lines, with the remark, that any one who says they have no poets or poetry in arkansas, would doubt the existence of william shakspeare: dirge on the death of jeames hambrick. by mr orion w. mudge, esq. it was on june the tenth our hearts were very sad for it was by an awful accident we lost a fine young lad jeames hambric was his name and alas it was his lot to you i tell the same he was accidently shot on the peacus river side the sun was very hot and its there he fell and died where he was accidently shot on the road his character good without a stain or blot and in our opinions growed until he was accidently shot a few words only he spoke for moments he had not and only then he seemed to choke i was accidently shot we wrapped him in a blanket good for coffin we had not and then we buried him where he stood when he was accidently shot and as we stood around his grave our tears the ground did blot we prayed to god his soul to save he was accidently shot this is all, but i writ at the time a epitaff which i think is short and would do to go over his grave:-- epitaff. here lies the body of jeames hambrick who was accidently shot on the bank of the peacus river by a young man he was accidently shot with one of the large size colt's revolver with no stopper for the cock to rest on it was one of the old fashion kind brass mounted and of such is the kingdom of heaven. truly yourn, orion w mudge esq casuistical arithmetic. a brace of partridges being brought in to supper for three gentlemen; "come, tom," said one of them, "you are fresh from the schools, let us see how learnedly you can divide these two birds among us three." "with all my heart;" answered tom, "there is one for _you two_ and here is one for _me too_." johnsonian advice. mrs. b. desired dr. johnson to give his opinion of a new work she had just written; adding, that if it would not do, she begged him to tell her, for she had other _irons in the fire_, and in case of its not being likely to succeed, she could bring out something else. "then," said the doctor, after having turned over a few leaves, "_i advise you, madam, to put it where your other irons are._" blunders of sir boyle roche. from sir jonah barrington's sketches. the baronet had certainly one great advantage over all other bull and blunder makers: he seldom launched a blunder from which some fine aphorism or maxim might not be easily extracted. when a debate arose in the irish house of commons on the vote of a grant which was recommended by sir john parnel, chancellor of the exchequer, as one not likely to be felt burdensome for many years to come--it was observed in reply, that the house had no just right to load posterity with a weighty debt for what could in no degree operate to their advantage. sir boyle, eager to defend the measures of government, immediately rose, and in a very few words, put forward the most unanswerable argument which human ingenuity could possibly devise. "what, mr. speaker!" said he, "and so we are to beggar ourselves for fear of vexing posterity! now, i would ask the honorable gentleman, and this _still more_ honorable house, why we should put ourselves out of our way for _posterity_: for what has _posterity_ done for _us_?" sir boyle, hearing the roar of laughter which of course followed this sensible blunder, but not being conscious that he had said anything out of the way, was rather puzzled, and conceived that the house had misunderstood him. he therefore begged leave to explain, as he apprehended that gentlemen had entirely mistaken his words: he assured the house that "by _posterity_, he did not at all mean our _ancestors_, but those who were to come _immediately_ after _them_." upon hearing this _explanation_, it was impossible to do any serious business for half an hour. sir boyle roche was induced by government to fight as hard as possible for the union: so he did, and i really believe fancied, by degrees, that he was right. on one occasion, a general titter arose at his florid picture of the happiness which must proceed from this event. "gentlemen," said sir boyle, "may titther, and titther, and titther, and may think it a bad measure; but their heads at present are hot, and will so remain till they grow cool again; and so they can't decide right now; but when the _day of judgment_ comes, _then_ honorable gentlemen will be satisfied at this most excellent union. sir, there is no levitical degrees between nations, and on this occasion i can see neither sin nor shame in _marrying our own sister_." he was a determined enemy to the french revolution, and seldom rose in the house for several years without volunteering some abuse of it. "mr. speaker," said he, in a mood of this kind, "if we once permitted the villanous french masons to meddle with the buttresses and walls of our ancient constitution, they would never stop, nor stay, sir, till they brought the foundation-stones tumbling down about the ears of the nation! there," continued sir boyle, placing his hand earnestly on his heart, his powdered head shaking in unison with his loyal zeal, while he described the probable consequences of an invasion of ireland by the french republicans; "there mr. speaker! if those gallican villains should invade us, sir, 'tis on _that very table_, may-be, these honorable members might see their own destinies lying in heaps a-top of one another!' here perhaps, sir, the murderous _marshallaw-men_ (marseillois) would break in, cut us to mince-meat, and throw our bleeding heads upon that table, to stare us in the face!" sir boyle, on another occasion, was arguing for the habeas corpus suspension bill in ireland: "it would surely be better, mr. speaker," said he, "to give up not only a _part_, but, if necessary, even the _whole_, of our constitution, to preserve _the remainder_!" a placeman. "i cannot conceive," said one nobleman to another, "how you manage; my estate is better than yours, yet you live better than i do." "my lord, i have a place." "a place! i never heard of it; what place?" "i am _my own steward_." let us start fair. many years ago, while a clergyman on the coast of cornwall was in the midst of his sermon, the alarm was given, _a wreck! a wreck!_ the congregation, eager for their prey, were immediately making off, when the parson solemnly entreated them to hear only five words more. this arrested their attention until the preacher, throwing off his canonicals, descended from the pulpit, exclaiming, "now, let's all start fair!" degrees of comparison. an irishman meeting his friend, said, "i've just met our old acquaintance patrick, and he's grown so thin, i could hardly know him. you are thin, and i am thin; but he is _thinner than both of us put together_." a misunderstanding. a poor curate for his sunday dinner sent his servant to a chandler's shop, kept by one paul, for bacon and eggs on credit. this being refused, the damsel, as she had nothing to cook, thought she might as well go to church, and entered as her master, in the midst of his discourse, referring to the apostle, repeated, "what says paul?" the good woman, supposing the question addressed to her, answered, "paul says, sir, that he'll give you no more trust till you pay your old score." a story teller. a person of this description, seated with his pot companions, was in the midst of one of his best stories, when he was suddenly called away to go on board of a vessel, in which he was to sail for jamaica. returning in about a twelvemonth, he resumed his old seat, among his cronies. "well, gentlemen," proceeded he, "as i was saying----" a retort. an irish peer, who sports a ferocious pair of whiskers, meeting a celebrated barrister, the latter asked, "when do you mean to put your _whiskers_ on the _peace establishment_?" his lordship answered, "when you put your _tongue_ on the _civil list_." a loud letter. "what are you writing such a big hand for, pat?" "why, you see my grandmother's dafe, and i'm writing a loud letter to her." go the whole. a peasant, being at confession, accused himself of having stolen some hay. the father-confessor asked him how many bundles he had taken from the stack: "that is of no consequence," replied the peasant; "you may set it down a wagon-load; for my wife and i are going to fetch the remainder soon." sharp boy. a man driving a number of cattle to boston, one of his cows went into a barn-yard, where there stood a young lad. the drover calls to the boy, "stop that cow, my lad, stop that cow." "i am no constable, sir." "turn her out then." "she is right side out now, sir." "well, speak to her then." the boy took off his hat, and very handsomely addressed the cow, with "your servant, madam." the drover rode into the yard, and drove the cow out himself. high family. a person was boasting that he was sprung from a high family in ireland. "yes," said a bystander, "i have seen some of the same family so high that their feet could not touch the ground." settling. "mr. jenkins, will it suit you to settle that old account of yours?" "no, sir, you are mistaken in the man, i am not one of the old _settlers_." cause of regret. a lad, standing by while his father lost a large sum at play, burst into tears. on being asked the cause, "o sir," answered he, "i have read that alexander wept because his father philip gained so many conquests that he would leave him _nothing to gain_; i on the contrary weep for fear that you will leave me _nothing to lose_." the proper person. a gentleman passing through clement's inn, and receiving abuse from some impudent clerks, was advised to complain to the principal, which he did thus: "i have been abused here, by some of the _rascals_ of this inn, and i come to acquaint you of it, as i understand you are the _principal_." an awkward situation. lord lyttleton asked a clergyman the use of his pulpit for a young divine he had brought down with him. "i really know not," said the parson, "how to refuse your lordship; but if the gentleman preach better than i, my congregation will be dissatisfied with me afterwards; and if he preach worse, he is not fit to preach at all." call again to-morrow. a heretic in medicine being indisposed, his physician happened to call. being told that the doctor was below, he said, "tell him to call another time; i am unwell, and can't see him now." joke from harper's drawer. who is not carried back to good old times as he reads this sketch of connecticut goin' to meetin' fifty years ago? it is a genuine story contributed to the drawer: "in the early part of the ministry of rev. jehu c----k, who preached many years in one of the pleasant towns in the western part of connecticut, it was the custom of many of the good ladies from the distant parts of his parish to bring with them food, which they ate at noon; or as they used to say, 'between the intermission.' some brought a hard-boiled egg, some a nut-cake, some a sausage; but one good woman, who had tried them all, and found them all too dry, brought some pudding and milk. in order to bring it in a dish from which it would not spill over on the road, and yet be convenient to eat from, she took a pitcher with a narrow neck at the top, but spreading at the bottom. arrived at the meeting-house, she placed it under the seat. the exercises of the day soon commenced, and the old lady became wholly rapt in her devotional feelings. though no philosopher, she knew by practice--as many church-goers seem to have learned--that she could receive and 'inwardly digest' the sermon by shutting her eyes, and opening her mouth, and allowing all her senses to go to sleep. while thus prepared, and lost to all external impressions, she was suddenly startled by a rustling and splashing under the seat. she had no time to consider the cause before she discovered her dog, put, backing out with the neck of the pitcher over his head, and the pudding and milk drizzling out. poor put had been fixing his thoughts on material objects alone; and taking advantage of the quietness of the occasion, had crept under the seat of his mistress, where he was helping himself to a dinner. his head had glided easily through the narrow portion of the pitcher; but, when quite in, it was as securely fixed as an eel in a pot. unable to extricate himself, he had no alternative but to be smothered or back out. the old lady bore the catastrophe in no wise quietly. a thousand terrible thoughts rushed into her mind; the ludicrous appearance of the dog and pitcher, the place, the occasion, the spattering of her garments, the rascally insult of the puppy--but, above all, the loss of her 'sabber-day' dinner. at the top of her voice she cried, "'get out, put! get out! oh, jehu! i'm speakin' right out in meetin'! oh! i'm talkin' all the time!' "the scene that followed is not to be described. the frightened old lady seized her dog and pitcher, and rushed out of meeting; the astonished preacher paused in the midst of his discourse, while the whole congregation were startled out of their propriety by the explosion; and it was some time before order and the sermon were again resumed." armond. armond, the great comedian, had a great curiosity to see louis xiv. in chapel, and accordingly presented himself one morning during service at the door. the sentinel refused to admit him. "but, friend," said armond, "you must let me pass; i am his majesty's barber." "ah, that may be," said the sentinel, "but the king does not shave in church." mrs. partington's very last. "where did you get so much money, isaac?" said mrs. partington, as he shook a half handful of copper cents before her, grinning all the while like a rogue that he is; "have you found the hornicopia or has anybody given you a request?" she was a little anxious. "i got it from bets," said he, chucking them into the air, and allowing half of them to clatter and rattle about the floor with all the importance of dollars. "got them from bets, did you?" replied she; "and who is bets that she should give you money?--she must be some low creature, or you would not speak of her so disrespectably. i hope you will not get led away by any desolate companions, isaac, and become an unworthy membrane of society." how tenderly the iron-bowed spectacles beamed upon him! "i mean bets," said he, laughing, "that i won on burlingame." "dear me!" she exclaimed, "how could you do so when gaming is such a horrid habit? why, sometimes people are arranged at the bar for it." she was really uneasy until he explained that, in imitation of older ones, he had bet some cents on burlingame and had won. adoration. at a late court, a man and his wife brought cross actions, each charging the other with having committed assault and battery. on investigation, it appeared that the husband had pushed the door against the wife, and the wife in turn pushed the door against the husband. a gentleman of the bar remarked that he could see no impropriety in a man and his wife a-_door_-ing each other. naughty charles lamb. charles lamb once, while riding in company with a lady, descried a party denuded for swimming a little way off. he remarked: "those girls ought to go to a more retired place." "they are boys," replied the lady. "you may be right," rejoined charlie, "i can't distinguish so accurately as you, at such a distance." too green. "sallie," said a young man to his red-haired sweetheart, "keep your head away from me; you will set me on fire." "no danger," was the contemptuous answer, "you are too green to burn." high company. a gascon was vaunting one day, that in his travels he had been caressed wherever he went, and had seen all the great men throughout europe. "have you seen the dardanelles?" inquired one of the company. "parbleu!" says he; "i most surely have seen them, when i dined with them several times." emphasis. the force of emphasis is clearly shown in the following brief colloquy, between two lawyers: "sir," demanded one, indignantly, "do you imagine me to be a scoundrel?" "no, sir," said the other coolly, "i do not _imagine_ you to be one." a forgetful man. a man, endowed with an extraordinary capacity for forgetfulness, was tried some time ago, at paris, for vagabondage. he gave his name as auguste lessite, and believed he was born at bourges. as he had forgotten his age, the registry of all the births in that city, from to , was consulted, but only one person of the name of lessite had been born there during that time, and that was a girl. "are you sure your name is lessite?" asked the judge. "well, i thought it was, but maybe it ain't." "are you confident you were born at bourges?" "well, i always supposed i was, but i shouldn't wonder if it was somewhere else." "where does your family live at present?" "i don't know; i've forgotten." "can you remember ever having seen your father and mother?" "i can't recollect to save myself; i sometimes think i have, and then again i think i haven't." "what trade do you follow?" "well, i am either a tailor or a cooper, and for the life of me i can't tell which: at any rate, i'm either one or the other." an acute hint. an irish footman carrying a basket of game from his master to his friend, waited some time for the customary fee, but seeing no appearance of it, he scratched his head, and said, "sir, if my master should say, paddy, what did the gentleman give you?--_what would your honor have me to tell him?_" cockney narrative. i _laid_ at my friend's house last night, and _just_ as i _laid me down_ to sleep, i heard a rumbling at the window of my chamber, which was _just_ over the kitchen, a sort of portico, the top of which was _just_ even with the floor of my room. well, i _just_ peeped up, and as the moon was _just_ rising, i _just_ saw the head of a man; so i _got me up_ softly, _just_ as i was, in my shirt, _goes_ to where the pistols _laid_ that i had _just_ loaded, and laid them _just_ within my reach. i hid myself behind the curtains, _just_ as he was completely in the room. _just_ as i was about to lift my hand to shoot him, _thinks i_, would it be _just_ to kill _this here_ man, without _one_ were sure he came with an _unjust_ intention? so i _just_ cried out _hem!_ upon which he fell to the ground, and there he _laid_, and i could _just_ see that he looked _just_ as if he was dead; so i _just_ asked him what business he had in _that there_ room? poor man! he could _just_ speak, and said he had _just_ come to see mary! sincere regret. to a gentleman who was continually lamenting the loss of his first wife before his second, she one day said, "_indeed, sir, no one regrets her more than i do._" hard case. a polite young lady recently asserted that she had lived near a barn-yard, and that it was impossible for her to sleep in the morning, on account of the outcry made by a "gentleman hen." big words. the best hit we have lately seen at the _rather_ american fashion of employing big crooked words, instead of little straight ones, is in the following dialogue between a highfalutin lawyer and a plain witness: "did the defendant knock the plaintiff down with _malice prepense_?" "no, sir; he knocked him down with a flat-iron." "you misunderstand me, my friend; i want to know whether he attacked him with any evil intent?" "o no, sir, it was outside of the tent." "no, no; i wish you to tell me whether the attack was at all a preconcerted affair?" "no, sir; it was not a free concert affair--it was at a circus." laconic and decisive. a wealthy jew, having made several ineffectual applications for leave to quit berlin, at length sent a letter to the king imploring permission to travel for the benefit of his health, to which he received the following answer: "dear ephraim, "nothing but death shall part us. "frederick." theatrical criticism. when woodward first played sir john brute, garrick was present. a few days after, when they met, woodward asked garrick how he liked him in the part, adding, "i think i struck out some beauties in it." "_i think,_" said garrick, "_that you struck out all the beauties in it._" a mistake. fredrick i. of prussia, when a new soldier appeared on the parade, was wont to ask him, "how old are you?--how long have you been in my service?--have you received your pay and clothing?" a young frenchman who had volunteered into the service, being informed by his officer of the questions which the monarch would ask, took care to have the answers ready. the king, seeing him in the ranks, unfortunately reversed the questions: q. how long have you been in my service? a. twenty-one years, and please your majesty. q. how old are you? a. one year. the king, surprised, said, "either you or i must be a fool." the soldier, taking this for the third question, relative to his pay and clothing, replied, "_both_, and please your majesty." consolation. an irish officer had the misfortune to be dreadfully wounded in one of the late battles in holland. as he lay on the ground, an unlucky soldier, who was near him, and was also severely wounded, made a terrible howling, when the officer exclaimed, "what do you make such a noise for? _do you think there is nobody killed but yourself?_" several negatives. "mister, i say, i don't suppose you don't know of nobody who don't want to hire nobody to do nothing, don't you?" "yes, i don't." different lines. a person arrived from a voyage to the east indies inquired of a friend after their mutual acquaintance, and, among the rest, one who had the misfortune to be hanged during his absence: "how is tom moody?" "he is dead." "he was in the grocery line when i left this." "he was in quite a different _line_ when he died." negro wit. a jamaica planter, with a nose as fiery and rubicund as that of the _illuminating_ bardolph, was taking his _siesta_ after dinner, when a mosquito lighting on his _proboscis_, instantly flew back. "aha! massa mosquito," cried quacco, who was in attendance, "_you burn your foot!_" theatrical bon-mot. in a very thin house in the country, an actress spoke very low in her communication with her lover. the actor, whose benefit it happened to be, exclaimed with a face of woeful humor, "my dear, you may speak out, there is nobody to hear us." conciseness. louis xiv. traveling, met a priest riding post. ordering him to stop, he asked hastily, "whence? whither? for what?" he answered, "bruges--paris--a benefice." "you shall have it." allies will fall out. a gentleman having to fight a main in the country, gave charge to his servant to carry down two cocks. pat put them together in a bag; on opening which, at his arrival, he was surprised to find one of them dead, and the other terribly wounded. being rebuked by his master for putting them in the same bag, he said he thought there was no danger of them hurting each other, as they were going to fight _on the same side_. catching a tartar. an irish soldier called out to his companion: "hollo! pat, i have taken a prisoner." "bring him along, then; bring him along!" "he won't come." "then come yourself." "_he won't let me._" antigallican. a downright john bull going into a coffee-house, briskly ordered a glass of brandy and water; "but," said he, "bring me none of your cursed _french stuff_." the waiter said respectfully, "_genuine british_, sir, i assure you." impracticability. a gentleman in the pit, at the representation of a certain tragedy, observed to his neighbor, he wondered that it was not hissed: the other answered, "people can't both yawn and hiss at once." a dialogue. the late caleb whitfoord, finding his nephew, charles smith, playing the violin, the following hits took place: _w._ i fear, charles, you _lose_ a great deal of _time_ with this fiddling. _s._ sir, i endeavor to _keep time_. _w._ you mean rather to _kill time_. _s._ no, i only _beat time_. an unlucky compliment. a french gentleman congratulated madame denis on her performance of the part of lara. "to do justice to that part," said she, "the actress should be young and handsome." "ah, madam!" replied the complimenter, "you are a complete proof of the contrary." a command anticipated. in the campaign in holland last war, a party marching through a swamp, was ordered to form _two deep_. a corporal immediately exclaimed, "i'm _too deep_ already; i am up to the middle." a small mistake. an uninformed irishman, hearing the _sphinx_ alluded to in company, whispered to his neighbor, "sphinx! who is that?" "a monster, man." "oh!" said our hibernian, not to seem unacquainted with his family, "_a munster-man_! i thought he was from connaught." a home truth. when the late duchess of kingston wished to be received at the court of berlin, she got the russian minister there to mention her intention to his prussian majesty, and to tell him at the same time, "that her fortune was at rome, her bank at venice, but that her heart was at berlin." the king replied, "i am sorry we are only intrusted with the worst part of her grace's property." shining wit. a buck having his boots cleaned, threw down the money haughtily to the irish shoe-black, who as he was going away said, "by my soul, all the _polish_ you have is on your boots, and that i gave you." a fatal step prevented. a beggar importuned a lady for alms; she gave him a shilling. "god bless your ladyship!" said he, "this will prevent me from executing my resolution." the lady, alarmed, and thinking he meditated suicide, asked what he meant. "alas, madam!" said he, "but for this shilling i should have been obliged to go _to work_." a common error corrected. a sailor being in a company where the shape of the earth was disputed, said, "why look ye, gentlemen, they pretend to say the earth is _round_; now i have been all _round_ it, and i, jack oakum, assure you it is _as flat as a pancake_." a yankee judge and a kentucky lawyer. few persons in this part of the country are aware of the difference that exists between our manners and customs, and those of the people of the western states. their elections, their courts of justice, present scenes that would strike one with astonishment and alarm. if the jurors are not, as has been asserted, run down with dogs and guns, color is given to charges like this, by the repeated successful defiances of law and judges that occur, by the want of dignity and self-respect evinced by the judges themselves, and by the squabbles and brawls that take place between members of the bar. there is to be found occasionally there, however, a judge of decision and firmness, to compel decorum even among the most turbulent spirits, or at least to punish summarily all violations of law and propriety. the following circumstances which occurred in kentucky were related to us by a gentleman who was an eye witness of the whole transaction. several years since, judge r., a native of connecticut, was holding a court at danville. a cause of considerable importance came on, and a mr. d., then a lawyer of considerable eminence, and afterwards a member of congress, who resided in a distant part of the state, was present to give it his personal supervision. in the course of mr. d.'s argument, he let fall some profane language, for which he was promptly checked and reprimanded by the judge. mr. d., accustomed to unrestrained license of tongue, retorted with great asperity, and much harshness of language. "mr. clerk," said the judge coolly, "put down twenty dollars fine to mr. d." "by ----," said mr. d.; "i'll never pay a cent of it under heaven, and i'll swear as much as i ----please." "put down another fine of twenty dollars, mr. clerk." "i'll see the devil have your whole generation," rejoined mr. d., "before my pockets shall be picked by a cursed yankee interloper." "another twenty dollar fine, mr. clerk." "you may put on as many fines as you please, mr. judge, but by ---- there's a difference between imposing and collecting, i reckon." "twenty dollars more, mr. clerk." "ha, ha!" laughed mr. d. with some bitterness, "you are trifling with me, i see, sir; but i can tell you i understand no such joking; and by ----, sir, you will do well to make an end of it." "mr. clerk," said the judge with great composure, "add twenty dollars more to the fine, and hand the account to the sheriff. mr. d., the money must be paid immediately, or i shall commit you to prison." the violence of the lawyer compelled the judge to add another fine; and before night, the obstreperous barrister was swearing with all his might to the bare walls of the county jail. the session of the court was terminated, and the lawyer, seeing no prospect of escape through the mercy of the judge, after a fortnight's residence in prison, paid his fine of a hundred and twenty dollars, and was released. he now breathed nothing but vengeance. "i'll teach the yankee scoundrel," said he, "that a member of the kentucky bar is not to be treated in this manner with impunity." the judge held his next court at frankfort, and thither mr. d. repaired to take revenge for the personal indignity he had suffered. judge r. is as remarkable for resolute fearlessness as for talents, firmness, and integrity; and after having provided himself with defensive weapons, entered upon the discharge of his duties with the most philosophic indifference. on passing from his hotel to the court-house, the judge noticed that a man of great size, and evidently of tremendous muscular strength, followed him so closely as to allow no one to step between. he observed also that mr. d., supported by three or four friends, followed hard upon the heels of the stranger, and on entering the court room, posted himself as near the seat of the judge as possible--the stranger meantime taking care to interpose his huge body between the lawyer and the judge. for two or three days, matters went on this way; the stranger sticking like a burr to the judge, and the lawyer and his assistants keeping as near as possible, but refraining from violence. at length, the curiosity of judge r. to learn something respecting the purposes of the modern hercules became irrepressible, and he invited him to his room, and inquired who he was, and what object he had in view in watching his movements thus pertinaciously. "why, you see," said the stranger, ejecting a quid of tobacco that might have freighted a small skiff, "i'm a ringtailed roarer from big sandy river; i can outrun, outjump, and outfight any man in kentucky. they telled me in danville, that this 'ere lawyer was comin down to give you a lickin. now i hadn't nothin agin that, only he wan't a goin to give you fair play, so i came here to see you out, and now if you'll only say the word, we can flog him and his mates, in the twinkling of a quart pot." mr. d. soon learned the feeling in which the champion regarded him, and withdrew without attempting to execute his threats of vengeance upon the judge. judge peters. on his entrance into philadelphia, general lafayette was accompanied in the barouche by the venerable judge peters. the dust was somewhat troublesome, and from his advanced age, &c., the general felt and expressed some solicitude lest his companion should experience inconvenience from it. to which he replied: general you do not recollect that i am a judge--i do not regard the dust, i am accustomed to it. the lawyers throw dust in my eyes almost every day in the court-house." witty apology. a physician calling one day on a gentleman who had been severely afflicted with the gout, found, to his surprise, the disease gone, and the patient rejoicing in his recovery over a bottle of wine. "come along, doctor," exclaimed the valetudinarian, "you are just in time to taste this bottle of madeira; it is the first of a pipe that has just been broached." "ah!" replied the doctor, "these pipes of madeira will never do; they are the cause of all your suffering." "well, then," rejoined the gay incurable, "fill up your glass, for now that we have found out the cause, the sooner we get rid of it the better." benevolence. "take a ticket, sir, for the widow and orphans fund of the spike society?" "well, y-e-a-s!--don't care much though for the orphans, but _i goes in strong for the widows_!" mrs. partington on education. mrs. partington, after listening to the reading of an advertisement for a young ladies' boarding school, said: "for my part, i can't deceive what on airth eddication is coming to. when i was young, if a girl only understood the rules of distraction, provision, multiplying, replenishing, and the common dominator, and knew all about the rivers and their obituaries, the covenants and domitories, the provinces and the umpires, they had eddication enough. but now they are to study bottomy, algierbay, and have to demonstrate supposition of sycophants of circuses, tangents and diogenes and parallelogramy, to say nothing about the oxhides, corostics, and abstruse triangles!" thus saying, the old lady leaned back in her chair, her knitting work fell in her lap, and for some minutes she seemed in meditation. obeying orders. a certain general of the united states army, supposing his favorite horse dead, ordered an irishman to go and skin him. "what! is silver tail dead?" asked pat. "what is that to you?" said the officer, "do as i bid you, and ask me no questions." pat went about his business, and in about two hours returned. "well, pat, where have you been all this time?" asked the general. "skinning your horse, your honor." "did it take you two hours to perform the operation?" "no, your honor, but then you see it took me about half an hour to catch the horse." "catch him! fires and furies--was he alive?" "yes, your honor, and i could not skin him alive, you know." "skin him alive! did you kill him?" "to be sure i did, your honor--and sure you know i must obey orders without asking questions." a reason. as a nobleman was receiving from louis xiii. the investiture of an ecclesiastical order, and was saying, as is usual on that occasion, _domine, non sum dignus._--"lord, i am not worthy." "i know that well enough," replied the king, "but i could not resist the importunity of my cousin cardinal richelieu, who pressed me to give it you." canvassing. at an election, a candidate solicited a vote. "i would rather vote for the devil than you," was the reply. "but in case your friend is not a candidate," said the solicitor, "might i then count on your assistance?" wit of an irish jarvey. an anecdote, illustrative of the wit of irish "jarveys," is going the rounds in dublin. mr. ---- is a man of aldermanic proportions. he chartered an outside car, t'other day, at island bridge barrack, and drove to the post-office. on arriving he tendered the driver sixpence, which was strictly the fare, though but scant remuneration for the distance. the jarvey saw at a glance the small coin, but in place of taking the money which mr. ----held in his hands, he busied himself putting up the steps of the vehicle, and then, going to the well at the back of the car, took thence a piece of carpeting, from which he shook ostentatiously the dust, and straightway covered his horse's head with it. after doing so he took the "fare" from the passenger, who, surprised at the deliberation with which the jarvey had gone through the whole of these proceedings, inquired, "why did you cover the horse's head?" to which the jarvey, with a humorous twinkle of his eye, and to the infinite amusement of approving bystanders, replied, "why did i cover the horse's head? is that what you want to know? well, because i didn't want to let the dacent baste see that he carried so big a load so far for sixpence?" it should be added, in justice to the worthy citizen, that a half crown immediately rewarded the witty jarvey for his ready joke. a consequence. a gentleman complained that his apothecary had so stuffed him with drugs, that he was _sick_ for a fortnight after he was _quite well_. a sea chaplain. the captain of a man of war lost his chaplain. the first lieutenant, a scotchman, announced his death to his lordship, adding he was sorry to inform him that the chaplain died a roman catholic. "well, so much the better," said his lordship. "oot awa, my lord, how can you say so of a _british clergyman_?" "_why, because i believe i am the first captain that ever could boast of a chaplain who had any religion at all._" the modest barrister. a counsel, examining a very young lady, who was a witness in a case of assault, asked her, if the person who was assaulted did not give the defendant very ill language, and utter words so bad that he, the learned counsel, had not _impudence_ enough to repeat? she replied in the affirmative. "will you, madam, be kind enough," said he, "to tell the court what these words were?" "why, sir," replied she, "if _you_ have not _impudence_ enough to speak them, how can you suppose that _i_ have?" a distinction. a lady came up one day to the keeper of the light-house near plymouth, which is a great curiosity. "i want to see the light-house," said the lady. "it cannot be complied with," was the reply. "do you know who i am, sir?" "no, madam." "i am the captain's _lady_." "_if you were his wife, madam, you could not see it without his order!_" consequence. a pragmatical fellow, who travelled for a mercantile house in town, entering an inn at bristol, considered the traveling room beneath his dignity, and required to be shown to a private apartment; while he was taking refreshment, the good hostess and her maid were elsewhere discussing the point, as to what class their customer belonged. at length the bill was called for, and the charges declared to be enormous. "sixpence for an egg! i never paid such a price since i traveled for the house!" "there!" exclaimed the girl, "i told my mistress i was sure, sir, that you was no gentleman." another gentleman going into a tavern on the strand, called for a glass of brandy and water, with an air of great consequence, and after drinking it off, inquired what was to pay? "fifteen pence, sir," said the waiter. "fifteen pence! fellow, why that is downright imposition: call your master." the master appeared, and the guest was remonstrating, when "mine host" stopped him short, by saying, "sir, fifteen pence is the price we charge to gentlemen; if any persons not entitled to that character trouble us, we take what they can afford, and are glad to get rid of them." proof of civilization. a person who had resided some time on the coast of africa, was asked if he thought it possible to civilize the natives? "as a proof of the possibility of it," said he, "i have known negroes who thought as little of a _lie_ or an _oath_ as any european whatever." man and beast. "i and disraeli put up at the same tavern last night," said a dandified snob, the other day. "it must have been a house of accommodation then for man and beast," replied a bystander. satisfactory proof. a noble, but not a learned lord, having been suspected to be the author of a very severe but well written pamphlet against a gentleman high in office, he sent him a challenge. his lordship professed his innocence, assuring the gentleman that he was not the author; but the other would not be satisfied without a denial under his hand. my lord therefore took the pen and began, "_this is to scratify, that the buk called the ----_" "oh, my lord!" said the gentleman, "i am perfectly satisfied that your lordship did not write the book." languages characterized. charles v., speaking of the different languages of europe, thus described them: "the _french_ is the best language to speak to one's friend--the _italian_ to one's mistress--the _english_ to the people--the _spanish_ to god--and the _german_ to a horse." con. of the silver fork school. why is a man eating soup with a fork like another kissing his sweetheart? do you give it up? because it takes so long to get enough of it. dog-fancying; or injured innocence. bob pickering, short, squat, and squinting, with a yellow "wipe" round his "squeeze," was put to the bar on violent suspicion of dog-stealing. _mr. davis_, silk-mercer, dover-street, piccadilly, said:--about an hour before he entered the office, while sitting in his parlor, he heard a loud barking noise, which he was convinced was made by a favorite little dog, his property. he went out, and in the passage caught the prisoner in the act of conveying it into the street in his arms. _mr. dyer:_ what have you to say? you are charged with attempting to steal the dog. _prisoner:_ (_affecting a look of astonishment_)--vot, me _steal_ a dog? vy, i'm ready and villing to take my solomon hoth 'at i'm hinnocent of sitch an hadwenture. here's the _factotal_ of the consarn as i'm a honest man. i vos a coming along hoxfud-street, ven i seed this here poor dumb hanimal a running about vith not nobody arter him, and a looking jest as if he vas complete lost. vhile i vos in this here sittivation, a perfect gentleman comes up to me, and says he, "vot a cussed shame," says he, "that 'ere handsome young dog should be vithout a nateral pertectur! i'm blow'd, young man," says he, "if i vos you if i vouldn't pick it up and prewent the wehicles from a hurting on it; and," says he, "i'd adwise you, 'cause you looks so _werry honest_ and so werry respectable, to take pity on the poor dumb dog and go and buy it a ha'porth of wittles." vell, my lord, you see i naterally complied vith his demand, and vos valking avay vith it for to look for a prime bit of _bowwow_ grub, ven up comes this here good gentleman, and vants to swear as how i vos arter _prigging_ on it! _mr. dyer:_ how do you get your living? _prisoner:_ vorks along vith my father and mother--and lives vith my relations wot's perticler respectable. _mr. dyer:_ policeman, do you know anything of the prisoner? _policeman:_ the prisoner's three brothers were transported last session, and his mother and father are now in clerkenwell. the prisoner has been a dog-stealer for years. _prisoner:_ take care vot you say--if you proves your vords, vy my carrecter vill be hingered, and i'm blowed if you shan't get a "little vun in" ven i comes out of _quod_. _mr. dyer:_ what is the worth of the dog? _mr. davis:_ it is worth five pounds, as it is of a valuable breed. _prisoner:_ there, your vership, you hear it's a waluable dog--now is it feasible as i should go for to prig a dog wot was a waluable hanimal? the magistrate appeared to think such an occurrence not at all unlikely, as he committed him to prison for three months. a scotchman's consolation. a scotchman who put up at an inn, was asked in the morning how he slept. "troth, man," replied donald, "no very weel either, but i was muckle better aff than the bugs, for deil a ane o' them closed an e'e the hale nicht." the coalheaver and the fine arts. a small-made man, with a carefully cultivated pair of carroty-colored mustaches, whose style of seedy toggery presented a tolerably good imitation of a "polish militaire," came before the commissioners to establish his legal right to fifteen pence, the price charged for a whole-length likeness of one _mister_ robert white, a member of the "black and thirsty" fraternity of coalheavers. the complainant called himself signor johannes benesontagi, but from all the genuine characteristics of cockayne which he carried about him, it was quite evident he had germanized his patronymic of john benson to suit the present judicious taste of the "pensive public." signor benesontagi, a peripatetic professor of the "fine arts," it appeared was accustomed to visit public-houses for the purpose of caricaturing the countenances of the company, at prices varying from five to fifteen pence. in pursuit of his vocation he stepped into the "vulcan's head," where a conclave of coalheavers were accustomed nightly to assemble, with the double view of discussing politics and pots of barclay's entire. he announced the nature of his profession, and having solicited patronage, he was beckoned into the box where the defendant was sitting, and was offered a shilling for a _full-length_ likeness. this sum the defendant consented to enlarge to fifteen pence, provided the artist would agree to draw him in "full fig:"--red velvet smalls--nankeen gaiters--sky-blue waistcoat--canary wipe--and full-bottomed fantail. the bargain was struck and the picture finished, but when presented to the sitter, he swore "he'd see the man's back _open and shet_ afore he'd pay the wally of a farden piece for sitch a reg'lar 'snob' as he was made to appear in the portrait." the defendant was hereupon required to state why he refused to abide by the agreement. "vy, my lords and gemmen," said coaly, "my reasons is this here. that 'ere covey comes into the crib vhere i vos a sitting blowing a cloud behind a drop of heavy, and axes me if as how i'd have my picter draw'd. vell, my lords, being a little 'lumpy,' and thinking sitch a consarn vould please my sall, i told him as i'd stand a 'bob,' and be my pot to his'n, perwising as he'd shove me on a pair of prime welwet breeches wot i'd got at home to vear a sundays. he said he vould, and 'at it should be a 'nout-a-nout' job for he'd larnt to draw _phisogomony_ under _sir peter laurie_." "it's false!" said the complainant, "the brother artist i named was sir thomas lawrence." "vere's the difference?" asked the coalheaver. "so, my lords, this here persecutor goes to vork like a briton, and claps this here thingamy in my fist, vich ain't not a bit like me, but a blessed deal more likerer a _bull with a belly-ache_." (_laughter._) the defendant pulled out a card and handed it to the bench. on inspection it was certainly a monstrous production, but it did present an ugly likeness of the coalheaver. the commissioners were unanimously of opinion it was a good fifteen-penny copy of the defendant's countenance. "'taint a bit like me?" said the defendant, angrily. "vy, lookee here, he's draw'd me vith a _bunch of ingans_ a sticking out of my pocket. i'm werry fond of sitch wegetables, but i never carries none in my pockets." "a bunch of onions!" replied the incensed artist--"i'll submit it to any gentleman who is a _real_ judge of the 'fine arts,' whether that (_pointing to the appendage_) can be taken for any thing else than the gentleman's _watch-seals_." "ha! ha! ha!" roared the coalheaver; "my votch-seals! come, that's a good 'un--i never vore no votch-seals, 'cause i never had none--so the pictur can't be _like_ me." the commissioners admitted the premises, but denied the conclusion; and being of opinion that the artist had made out his claim, awarded the sum sought, and costs. the defendant laid down six shillings one by one with the air of a man undergoing the operation of having so many teeth extracted, and taking up his picture, consoled himself by saying, that "pr'aps his foreman, bill jones, vould buy it, as he had the luck of vearing a votch on sundays." retort courteous. soon after whitefield landed in boston, on his second visit to this country, he and dr. chauncey met in the street, and, touching their hats with courteous dignity, bowed to each other. "so you have returned, mr. whitefield, have you?" he replied, "yes, reverend sir, in the service of the lord." "i am sorry to hear it," said chauncey. "so is the devil!" was the answer given, as the two divines, stepping aside at a distance from each other, touched their hats and passed on. teach your grandmother to suck an egg. "you see, grandma, we perforate an aperture in the apex, and a corresponding aperture in the base; and by applying the egg to the lips, and forcibly inhaling the breath, the shell is entirely discharged of its contents." "bless my soul," cried the old lady, "what wonderful improvements they do make! now in my young days we just made a hole in each end and sucked." accommodating boarder. the landlord of an hotel at brighton entered, in an angry mood, the sleeping apartment of a boarder, and said, "now, sir, i want you to pay your bill, and you _must_. i've asked you for it often enough; and i tell you now, that you don't leave my house till you pay it!" "good!" said his lodger; "just put that in writing; make a regular agreement of it; i'll stay with you as long as i live!" accommodating cook. _mistress:_ "i think, cook, we must part this day month." _cook:_ (in astonishment)--"why, ma'am? i am sure i've let you 'ave your own way in most everything?" good shot. a son of erin, while hunting for rabbits, came across a jackass in the woods, and shot him. "by me soul and st. patrick," he exclaimed, "i've shot the father of all the rabbits." billingsgate rhetoric. an action in the court of common pleas, in , between two billingsgate fishwomen, afforded two junior barristers an opportunity of displaying much small wit. the counsel for the plaintiff stated, that his client, mrs. isaacs, labored in the humble, but honest vocation of a fishwoman, and that while she was at billingsgate market, making those purchases, which were afterwards to furnish dainty meals to her customers, the defendant davis grossly insulted her, and in the presence of the whole market people, called her a thief, and another, if possible, still more opprobrious epithet. the learned counsel expatiated at considerable length on the value and importance of character, and the contempt, misery, and ruin, consequent upon the loss of it. "character, my lord," continued he, "is as dear to a fishwoman, as it is to a duchess. if 'the little worm we tread on feels a pang as great as when a giant dies;' if the vital faculties of a sprat are equal to those of a whale; why may not the feelings of an humble retailer of 'live cod,' and 'dainty fresh salmon,' be as acute as those of the highest rank in society?" another aggravation of this case, the learned counsel said, was, that his client was an _old maid_; with what indignation, then, must she hear that foul word applied to her, used by the moor of venice to his wife? his client was not vindictive, and only sought to rescue her character, and be restored to that _place_ in society she had so long maintained. the judge inquired if that was the _sole_ object of the plaintiff, or was it not rather baiting with a _sprat_ to catch a _herring_? two witnesses proved the words used by the defendant. the counsel for the defendant said, his learned brother on the opposite side had been _floundering_ for some time, and he could not but think that mrs. isaacs was a _flat fish_ to come into court with such an action. this was the first time he had ever heard of a fishwoman complaining of abuse. the action originated at billingsgate, and the words spoken (for he would not deny that they had been used) were nothing more than the customary language, the _lex non scripta_, by which all disputes were settled at that place. if the court were to sit for the purpose of reforming the language at billingsgate, the sittings would be interminable, actions would be as plentiful as mackerel at midsummer, and the billingsgate fishwomen would oftener have a new suit at guildhall, than on their backs. under these circumstances, the learned counsel called on the jury to reduce the damages to a _shrimp_. verdict. damages, _one penny_. hang together or hang separately. richard penn, one of the proprietors, and of all the governors of pennsylvania, under the old régime, probably the most deservedly popular,--in the commencement of the revolution, (his brother john being at that time governor,) was on the most familiar and intimate terms with a number of the most decided and influential whigs; and, on a certain occasion, being in company with several of them, a member of congress observed, that such was the crisis, "they must all _hang together_." "if you do not, gentlemen," said mr. penn, "i can tell you, that you will be very apt to _hang separately_." webster matched by a woman. in the somewhat famous case of mrs. bogden's will, which was tried in the supreme court some years ago, mr. webster appeared as counselor for the appellant. mrs. greenough, wife of rev. william greenough, late of west newton, a tall, straight, queenly-looking woman with a keen black eye--a woman of great self-possession and decision of character, was called to the stand as a witness on the opposite side from mr. webster. webster, at a glance, had the sagacity to foresee that her testimony, if it contained anything of importance, would have great weight with the court and jury. he therefore resolved, if possible, to break her up. and when she answered to the first question put to her, "i believe--" webster roared out: "we don't want to hear what you believe; we want to hear what you know!" mrs. greenough replied, "that is just what i was about to say, sir," and went on with her testimony. and notwithstanding his repeated efforts to disconcert her, she pursued the even tenor of her way, until webster, becoming quite fearful of the result, arose apparently in great agitation, and drawing out his large snuff-box thrust his thumb and finger to the very bottom, and carrying the deep pinch to both nostrils, drew it up with a gusto; and then extracting from his pocket a very large handkerchief, which flowed to his feet as he brought it to the front, he blew his nose with a report that rang distinct and loud through the crowded hall. _webster:_ mrs. greenough, was mrs. bogden a neat woman? _mrs. greenough:_ i cannot give you very full information as to that, sir; she had one very dirty trick. _webster:_ what was that, ma'am? _mrs. greenough:_ she took snuff! the roar of the court-house was such that the future defender of the constitution subsided, and neither rose nor spoke again until after mrs. greenough had vacated her chair for another witness--having ample time to reflect upon the inglorious history of the man who had a stone thrown on his head by a woman. a temperance lecture. "daddy, i want to ask you a question." "well, my son." "why is neighbor smith's liquor shop like a counterfeit dollar?" "i can't tell, my son." "because you can't pass it," said the boy. a darned subject. a female writer says, "nothing looks worse on a lady than darned stockings." allow us to observe that stockings which _need darning_ look much worse than darned ones--darned if they don't! go it. it is astonishing how "toddy" promotes independence. a philadelphia old "brick," lying, a day or two since, in the gutter in a very spiritual manner, was advised in a friendly way to economize, as "flour was going up." "let it go up," said old bottlenose, "i kin git as 'high' as flour kin--any day." tapping. a gentleman in the highlands of scotland was attacked with a dropsy, brought on by a too zealous attachment to his bottle; and it gained upon him, at length, to such a degree, that he found it necessary to abstain entirely from all spirituous liquors. yet though discharged from drinking himself, he was not hindered from making a bowl of punch to his friends. he was sitting at this employment, when his physicians, who had been consulting in an adjoining room, came in to tell him, that they had just come to a resolution to tap him. "you may tap me as you please," said the old gentleman, "but ne'er a thing was ever tapped in my house that lasted long." the saying was but too true, he was tapped that evening, and died the next day. diamond cut diamond. a few weeks ago a "sporting character" _looked in_ at the hygeia hotel, just to see if he could fall in with any subjects, but finding none, and understanding from the respectful proprietor, mr. parks, that he could not be accommodated with a private room wherein to exercise the mysteries of his craft, he felt the time begin to hang heavy on his hands; so in order to dispel _ennui_ he took out a pack of cards and began to amuse the by-standers in the bar-room with a number of ingenious tricks with them, which soon drew a crowd around him. "now," said he, after giving them a good shuffle and slapping the pack down upon the table, "i'll bet any man ten dollars i can cut the jack of hearts at the first attempt." nobody seemed inclined to take him up, however, till at last a weather-beaten new england skipper, in a pea-jacket, stumped him by exclaiming, "darned if i don't bet you! but stop; let me see if all's right." then taking up and inspecting it, as if to see that there was no deception in it, he returned it to the table, and began to fumble about in a side pocket, first taking out a jack-knife, then a twist of tobacco, &c., till he produced a roll of bank notes, from which he took one of $ and handed it to a by-stander; the gambler did the same, and taking out a pen-knife, and literally cutting the pack in two through the middle, turned with an air of triumph to the company, and demanded if he had not _cut_ the jack of hearts. "no, i'll be darned if you have!" bawled out jonathan, "for here it is, safe and sound." at the same time producing the card from his pocket, whither he had dexterously conveyed it while pretending to examine the pack, to see if it was "all right." the company were convulsed with laughter, while the poor "child of chance" was fain to confess that "_it was hard getting to windward of a yankee._" a high authority. mr. curran was once engaged in a legal argument; behind him stood his colleague, a gentleman whose person was remarkably tall and slender, and who had originally intended to take orders. the judge observing that the case under discussion involved a question of ecclesiastical law; "then," said curran, "i can refer your lordship to a _high_ authority behind me, who was once intended for the church, though in my opinion he was fitter for the steeple." mistaken this time. col. moore, a veteran politician of the old dominion, was a most pleasant and affable gentleman, and a great lisper withal. he was known by a great many, and professed to know many more; but a story is told of him in which he failed to convince either himself or the stranger of their previous acquaintance. all things to all men, he met a countryman, one morning, and in his usual hearty manner stopped and shook hands with him, saying-- "why, how _do_ you do, thir? am very glad to thee you; a fine day, thir, i thee you thill ride the old gray, thir." "no, sir, this horse is one i borrowed this morning." "oh! ah! well, thir, how are the old gentleman and lady?" "my parents have been dead about three years, sir!" "but how ith your wife, thir, and the children?" "i am an unmarried man, sir." "thure enough. do you thill live on the old farm?" "no, sir; i've just arrived from ohio, where i was born." "well, thir, i gueth i don't know you after all. good morning, thir." one of the boys. neighbor t---- had a social party at his house a few evenings since, and the "dear boy," charles, a five-year old colt, was favored with permission to be seen in the parlor. "pa" is somewhat proud of his boy, and charles was of course elaborately gotten up for so great an occasion. among other extras, the little fellow's hair was treated to a liberal supply of eau de cologne, to his huge gratification. as he entered the parlor, and made his bow to the ladies and gentlemen-- "lookee here," said he proudly, "if any one of you smells a smell, that's _me_!" the effect was decided, and charles, having thus in one brief sentence delivered an illustrative essay on human vanity, was the hero of the evening. boy all over. a distinguished lawyer says, that in his young days, he taught a boy's school, and the pupils wrote compositions; he sometimes received some of a peculiar sort. the following are specimens: "_on industry._--it is bad for a man to be _idol_. industry is the best thing a man can have, and a wife is the next. prophets and kings desired it long, and without the site. finis." "_on the seasons._--there is four seasons, spring, summer, autumn, and winter. they are all pleasant. some people may like the spring best, but as for me,--give me liberty, or give me death. the end."--_olive branch._ preparation for dining. an irish housemaid who was sent to call a gentleman to dinner, found him engaged in using a tooth-brush. "well, is he coming?" said the lady of the house, as the servant returned. "yes, ma'am, directly," was the reply; "he's just sharpening his teeth." poetry and prigging. between poets and prigs, though seemingly "wide as the poles asunder" in character, a strong analogy exists--and that list of "petty larceny rogues" would certainly be incomplete, which did not include the parnassian professor. the difference, however, between prigs and poets appears to be--that the former hold the well-known maxim of "honor among thieves" in reverence, and steal only from the public, while the latter, less scrupulous, steal unblushingly from one another. this truth is as old as homer, and its proofs are as capable of demonstration as a mathematical axiom. should the alliance between the two professions be questioned, the following case will justify our assertion. mike smith, a ragged urchin, who, though hardly able to peep over a police bar, has been in custody more than a dozen times for petty thefts, was charged by william king, an industrious cobbler and ginger-beer merchant, with having stolen a bottle of "ginger-pop" from his stall. the prosecutor declared the neighborhood in which his stall was situated--that more than cretan labyrinth called the "dials"--was so infested with "young _warmint_" that he found it utterly impossible to turn one honest penny by his ginger-pop, for if his eyes were off his board for an instant, the young brigands who were eternally on the look-out, took immediate advantage of the circumstance, and on his next inspection, he was sure to discover that a bottle or two had vanished. while busily employed on a pair of boots that morning, he happened to cast his eyes where the ginger-pop stood, when, to his very great astonishment, he saw a bottle move off the board just for all the world as if it had possessed the power of locomotion. a second was about to follow the first, when he popped his head out at the door and the mystery was cleared up, for there he discovered the young delinquent making a rapid retreat on all-fours, with the "ginger-pop," the cork of which had flown out, fizzing from his breeches-pocket. after a smart administration of the strappado, he proceeded to examine the contents of his pinafore, which was bundled round him. this led to the discovery that the young urchin had been on a most successful forage for a dinner that morning. he had a delicate piece of pickled pork, a couple of eggs, half a loaf, part of a carrot, a china basin, and the lid of a teapot; all of which, on being closely pressed, he admitted were the result of his morning's legerdemain labor. mr. dyer inquired into the parentage of the boy, and finding that they were quite unable, as well as unwilling, to keep him from the streets, ordered that he should be detained for the present. the boy when removed to the lock-up room--a place which familiarity with had taught him to regard with indifference--amused himself by giving vent to a poetical inspiration in the following admonitory distich, which he scratched on the wall: "him as prigs wot isn't _his'n_-- ven he's cotched--vill go to _pris'n_." nautical sermon. when whitefield preached before the seamen at new york, he had the following bold apostrophe in his sermon: "well, my boys, we have a clear sky, and are making fine headway over a smooth sea, before a light breeze, and we shall soon lose sight of land. but what means this sudden lowering of the heavens, and that dark cloud arising from beneath the western horizon? hark! don't you hear distant thunder? don't you see those flashes of lightning? there is a storm gathering! every man to his duty! how the waves rise and dash against the ship! the air is dark! the tempest rages! our masts are gone! the ship is on her beam ends! what next?" it is said that the unsuspecting tars, reminded of former perils on the deep, as if struck by the power of magic, arose with united voices and minds, and exclaimed, "_take to the long boat._" brevet major. a nobleman having given a grand party, his tailor was among the company, and was thus addressed by his lordship: "my dear sir, i remember your face, but i forget your name." the tailor whispered in a low tone--"i made your breeches." the nobleman, taking him by the hand, exclaimed--"major breeches, i am happy to see you." advertizing high. a tipsy loafer mistook a globe lamp with letters on it, for the queen of night: "i'm blessed," said he, "if somebody haint stuck an advertisement on the moon!" couldn't believe it. governor s---- was a splendid lawyer, and could talk a jury out of their seven senses. he was especially noted for his success in criminal cases, almost always clearing his client. he was once counsel for a man accused of horse-stealing. he made a long, eloquent, and touching speech. the jury retired, but returned in a few moments, and, with tears in their eyes, proclaimed the man not guilty. an old acquaintance stepped up to the prisoner and said: "jim, the danger is past; and now, honor bright, didn't you steal that horse?" "well, tom, i've all along thought i took that horse; but since i've heard the governor's speech, i don't believe i did!" large snake. an indian came to a certain "agency," in the northern part of iowa, to procure some whiskey for a young warrior that had been bitten with a rattlesnake. at first the agent did not credit the story, but the earnestness of the indian, and the urgency of the case, overcame his scruples, and turning to get the liquor, he asked the indian how much he wanted. "four quarts," answered the indian. "four quarts?" asked the agent in surprise; "so much as that?" "yes," replied the indian, speaking through his set teeth, and frowning as savagely as though about to wage war against the snake tribe, "four quarts--_snake very big_." dangers of dusting; or, more beauties of modern legislation. bob smith and bill davis, a couple of boys in the full costume of the "order" chummy, were charged with the high crime and misdemeanor of having attempted to violate that portion of the british constitution, contained in the act relating to the removal of rubbish, by carrying off a portion of the contents of lord derby's dusthole, the property of the dust contractor. "please your lordship's grace," said the dust contractor's deputy, "master and me has lately lost a hunaccountable lot o' dust off our beat, and as ve nat'rally know'd 'at it couldn't have vanished if no body had a prigged it, vy consekvent_lye_ i keeps a look out for them 'ere unlegal covies vot goes out a dusting on the _cross_. vhile i vos out in growener-skvare, i saw'd both these here two young criminals slip down his lordship's airy and begin a shoveling his lordship's stuff into von of their sackses. i drops on 'em in the werry hidentikle hact, and collers both on 'em vith master's property." _mr. conant:_ you hear the charge, my lads--what have you to say in defence? _smith:_ ve vorks for the house, my lud. _mr. conant:_ is it your business to take away the dust? _smith:_ no, my lud--ve're the rig'lar chimbly sveeps vot sveeps his ludship's chimblys. both on us call'd on his ludship to arsk if his ludship's chimblys vonted sveeping--and ve larnt that they didn't; so, my lud, as ve happened to see a lady sifting cinders in his ludship's airy, ve arks'd her if she could be so werry hobliging as to let us have a shovelful. she granted our demand vith the greatest perliteness, and jest as ve vos about to cut our sticks, that there chap comes up and lugs us avay to this here hoffice. _mr. conant:_ the case is proved, and the act says you must be fined _l._ have you got _l._ a-piece? _smith:_ (_grinning from ear to ear_)--me got ten _pounds!_ i should like to see a cove vot ever had sitch a precious sum _all at vonce_. all as ever i got is threeha'pence-farden, and a bag of marbles; (_to the other_)--you got any capital, bill? _bill:_ ain't got nuffin--spent my last _brown_ on vensday for a baked tater. mr. conant looked over the act with a view of ascertaining if power had been granted to mitigate; but the legislature had so carefully provided for the enormity of the offence, that nothing less than the full penalty would, according to the act, satisfy the justice of the case. the fine of _l._ each was imposed, or ten days' imprisonment. arboreal. a rather foolish man of great wealth, was asked one day, if he had his genealogical tree. "i don't know," he replied; "i have a great many trees, and i dare say i have that one. i will ask my gardener." explicit. in an irish provincial journal there is an advertisement running thus:-- "wanted--a handy laborer, who can plow a married man and a protestant, with a son or daughter." bad cough. a friend of ours was traveling lately, while afflicted with a very bad cough. he annoyed his fellow travelers greatly, till finally one of them remarked in a tone of displeasure-- "sir, that is a very bad cough of yours." "true, sir," replied our friend, "but you will excuse me--it's the best i've got." justice. a workman, who was mounted on a high scaffold to repair a town clock, fell from his elevated station, upon a man who was passing. the workman escaped unhurt, but the man upon whom he fell, died. the brother of the deceased accused the workman of murder, had him arrested, and brought to trial. he pursued him with the utmost malignity, and would not admit a word in his defence. at length the judge, provoked at his unfounded hostility, gave the following judgment: "let the accused stand in the same spot whereon the dead man stood, and let the brother mount the scaffold, to the workman's old place and fall upon him. thus will justice be satisfied." the brother withdrew his suit. posthumous. an irish student was once asked what was meant by posthumous works. "they are such works," says the paddy, "as a man writes after he is dead." an instance of remarkable coolness. knickerbocker magazine picks up a good many good things. in the december number we find a story which runs thus:--"judge b., of new haven, is a talented lawyer and a great wag. he has a son, sam, a graceless wight, witty, and, like his father fond of mint juleps and other palatable "fluids." the father and son were on a visit to niagara falls. each was anxious to "take a nip," but (one for example, and the other in dread of hurting the old man's feelings) equally unwilling to drink in the presence of the other. "sam," said the judge, "i'll take a short walk--be back shortly." "all right," replied sam, and after seeing the old gentleman safely around the corner, he walked out quickly, and ordered a julep at a bar-room. while _in concocto_, the judge entered, and (sam just then being back of a newspaper, and consequently viewing, though viewless,) ordered a julep. the second was compounded, and the judge was just adjusting his tube for a cooling draught, when sam stepped up, and taking up his glass, requested the bar-tender to take his pay for both juleps from the bill the old gentleman had handed out to him! the surprise of the judge was only equalled by his admiration for his son's coolness; and he exclaimed, "sam! sam!--you need no julep to cool _you_!" sam "allowed" that he didn't." liberality. "please, sir," said a little beggar girl to her charitable patron, "you have given me a bad sixpence." "never mind," was the reply, "you may keep it for your honesty." pedantry reproved. a young man, who was a student in one of our colleges, being very vain of his knowledge of the latin language, embraced every opportunity that offered, to utter short sentences in latin before his more illiterate companions. an uncle of his, who was a seafaring man, having just arrived from a long voyage, invited his nephew to visit him on board of the ship. the young gentleman went on board, and was highly pleased with everything he saw. wishing to give his uncle an idea of his superior knowledge, he tapped him on the shoulder, and pointing to the windlass, asked, "quid est hoc?" his uncle, being a man who despised such vanity, took a chew of tobacco from his mouth, and throwing it in his nephew's face, replied, "hoc est _quid_." bon mot. mr. bethel, an irish counselor, as celebrated for his wit as his practice, was once robbed of a suit of clothes in rather an extraordinary manner. meeting, on the day after, a brother barrister in the hall of the four courts, the latter began to condole with him on his misfortune, mingling some expressions of surprise at the singularity of the thing. "it is extraordinary indeed, my dear friend," replied bethel, "for without vanity, it is the first _suit_ i ever lost." cause of grief. an affectionate wife lamenting over her sick husband, he bade her dry her tears, for possibly he might recover. "alas! my dear," said she, "the thought of it makes me weep." where you ought to have been. a clergyman who is in the habit of preaching in different parts of the country, was not long since at an inn, where he observed a horse jockey trying to take in a simple gentleman, by imposing upon him a broken-winded horse for a sound one. the parson knew the bad character of the jockey, and taking the gentleman aside, told him to be cautious of the person he was dealing with. the gentleman finally declined the purchase, and the jockey, quite nettled, observed--"parson, i had much rather hear you preach, than see you privately interfere in bargains between man and man, in this way." "well," replied the parson, "if you had been where you ought to have been, last sunday, you might have heard me preach." "where was that?" inquired the jockey. "in the state prison," returned the clergyman. counsel and witness. a gentleman who was severely cross-examined by mr. dunning, was repeatedly asked if he did not lodge in the verge of the court; at length he answered that he did. "and pray, sir," said the counsel, "for what reason did you take up your residence in that place?" "to avoid the rascally impertinence of _dunning_," answered the witness. working a passage. a paddy applied to work his passage on a canal, and was employed to lead the horses which drew the boat--on arriving at the place of destination, he swore, "that he would sooner go on foot, than work his passage in america." timothy dexter. according to his own account, was born in malden, massachusetts. "i was born," says he, (in his celebrated work, a pikel for the knowing ones,) " , jan. ; on this day in the morning, a great snow storm in the signs of the seventh house; whilst mars came forward, jupiter stood by to hold the candle. i was born to be a great man." lord dexter, after having served an apprenticeship to a leather dresser, commenced business in newburyport, where he married a widow, who owned a house and a small piece of land; part of which, soon after the nuptials, was converted into a shop and tan-yard. by application to his business, his property increased, and the purchase of a large tract of land near penobscot, together with an interest which he bought in the ohio company's purchase, afforded him so much profit, as to induce him to buy up public securities at forty cents on the pound, which securities soon afterwards became worth twenty shillings on the pound. his lordship at one time shipped a large quantity of _warming pans_ to the _west indies_, where they were sold at a great advance on prime cost, and used for molasses ladles. at another time, he purchased a large quantity of _whalebone for ships' stays_,--the article rose in value upon his hands, and he sold it to great advantage. property now was no longer the object of his pursuit: but popularity became the god of his idolatry. he was charitable to the poor, gave large donations to religious societies, and rewarded those who wrote in his praise. his lordship about this time acquired his peculiar taste for style and splendor; and to enhance his own importance in the world, set up an elegant equipage, and at great cost, adorned the front of his house with numerous figures of illustrious personages. by his order, a tomb was dug under his summer-house in his garden, during his life, which he mentions in "a pikel for the knowing ones," in the following ludicrous style: "here will lie in this box the first lord in americake, the first lord dexter made by the voice of hampsher state my brave fellows affirmed it they give me the titel and so let it gone for as much as it will fetch it wonte give me any breade but take from me the contrary fourder i have a grand toume in my garding at one of the grasses and the tempel of reason over the toume and my coffen made and all ready in my hous panted with white lead inside and outside tuched with greane and bras trimings eight handels and a gold lock: i have had one mock founrel it was so solmon and there was so much criing about spectators i say my hous is eaqal to any mansion house in twelve hundred miles and now for sale for seven hundred pounds weight of dollars by me timothy dexter." lord dexter believed in transmigration, sometimes; at others he was a deist. he died on the d day of oct. , in the th year of his age. telegraph. a husband telegraphed to his wife: "what have you got for breakfast, and how is the baby?" the answer came back, "buckwheat cakes and the measles." conundrums. what tune is that which ladies never call for? why, the spit-toon. when is a lady's neck not a neck? when it is a little bare. (_bear!_) when is music like vegetables? when there are two _beats_ to the measure. why was the elephant the last animal going into noah's ark? because he waited for his trunk. why is a poor horse greater than napoleon? because in him there are _many_ bony parts. neat reply. a lady wished a seat. a portly, handsome gentleman brought one and seated her. "oh, you're a jewel," said she. "oh, no," replied he, "i'm a jeweller--i have just set the jewel." could there have been anything more gallant than that? on the stump. a speaker at a stump meeting out west, declared that he knew no east, no west, no north, no south. "then," said a tipsy bystander, "you ought to go to school and larn your geography." literary husband. "i wish," said a beautiful wife to her studious husband, "i wish i was a book." "i wish you were--an _almanac_," replied her lord, "and then i would get a new one every year." just then the silk rustled. economy. "blast your stingy old skin!" said a runner to a competitor, before a whole depot full of bystanders: "i knew you when you used to hire your children to go to bed without their suppers, and after they got to sleep you'd go up and steal their pennies to hire 'em with again the next night!" a trick. the following story is told of a boy who was asked to take a jug and get some beer for his father, who had spent all his money for strong drink. "give me the money, then, father," replied the son. "my son, any body can get the beer with money, but to get it without money, that is a trick." so the boy took the jug and went out. shortly he returned, and placing the jug before his father, said, "drink." "how can i drink, when there is no beer in the jug?" "to drink beer out of a jug," says the boy, "where there is beer, anybody could do that; but to drink beer out of a jug where there is no beer, that is a trick!" quick time. a gentleman was one day arranging music for a young lady to whom he was paying his addresses. "pray, miss d----," said he, "what time do you prefer?" "oh," she replied carelessly, "any time will answer, but the quicker the better." strong affection. there is a man who says he has been at evening parties out west, where the boys and girls hug so hard that their sides cave in. he says he has many of his own ribs broken that very way. very affecting. a professional beggar boy, some ten years of age, ignorant of the art of reading, bought a card to put on his breast, and appeared in the public streets as a "poor widow with eight small children." hard shave. "does the razor take hold well?" inquired a darkey, who was shaving a gentleman from the country. "yes," replied the customer, with tears in his eyes, "it takes hold first rate, but it don't let go worth a cent." couldn't tell his father. cicero was of low birth, and metellus was the son of a licentious woman. metellus said to cicero, "dare you tell your father's name?" cicero replied, "can your mother tell yours?" a saucy doctor. "why, doctor," said a sick lady, "you give me the same medicine that you are giving my husband. why is that?" "all right," replied the doctor, "what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander." exposing a parson. a minister was one sabbath examining a sunday school in catechism before the congregation. the usual question was put to the first girl, a strapper, who usually assisted her father, who was a publican, in waiting upon customers. "what is your name?" no reply. "what is your name?" he repeated, "none of your fun, mr. minister," said the girl; "you know my name well enough. don't you say when you come to our house on a night, 'bet, bring me some more ale?'" the congregation, forgetting the sacredness of the place, were in a broad grin, and the parson looked daggers. natural history. "papa, can't i go to the zoologerical rooms to see the camomile fight the rhy-no-sir-ee-hoss?" "sartin, my son, but don't get your trowsers torn. strange, my dear, what a taste that boy has for nat'ral history. no longer ago than yesterday he had a pair of thomas-cats hanging by their tails to the clothes line." none transcriber's note: the letter "e" with a macron is rendered [=e] in this text. the astute reader will notice there is no chapter xv in the table of contents or in the text. this was a printer's error in the original book. the chapters were incorrectly numbered, but no chapter was missing. this e-book has been transcribed to match the original. history of english humour with an introduction upon ancient humour. by the rev. a. g. l'estrange, author of "the life of the rev. william harness," "from the thames to the tamar," etc. in two volumes. vol. ii. london: hurst and blackett, publishers, , great marlborough street. . all rights reserved. contents of the second volume. chapter i. burlesque--parody--the "splendid shilling"--prior--pope--ambrose philips--parodies of gray's elegy--gay chapter ii. defoe--irony--ode to the pillory--the "comical pilgrim"--the "scandalous club"--humorous periodicals--heraclitus ridens--the london spy--the british apollo chapter iii. swift--"tale of a tub"--essays--gulliver's travels--variety of swift's humour--riddles--stella's wit--directions for servants--arbuthnot chapter iv. steele--the funeral--the tatler--contributions of swift--of addison--expansive dresses--"bodily wit"--rustic obtuseness--crosses in love--snuff-taking chapter v. spectator--the rebus--injurious wit--the everlasting club--the lovers' club--castles in the air--the guardian--contributions by pope--"the agreeable companion"--the wonderful magazine--joe miller--pivot humour chapter vi. sterne--his versatility--dramatic form--indelicacy--sentiment and geniality--letters to his wife--extracts from his sermons--dr. johnson chapter vii. dodsley--"a muse in livery"--"the devil's a dunce"--"the toy shop"--fielding--smollett chapter viii. cowper--lady austen's influence--"john gilpin"--"the task"--goldsmith--"the citizen of the world"--humorous poems--quacks--baron münchausen chapter ix. the anti-jacobin--its objects and violence--"the friends of freedom"--imitation of latin lyrics--the "knife grinder"--the "progress of man" chapter x. wolcott--writes against the academicians--tales of a hoy--"new old ballads"--"the sorrows of sunday"--ode to a pretty barmaid--sheridan--comic situations--"the duenna"--wits chapter xi. southey--drolls of bartholomew fair--the "doves"--typographical devices--puns--poems of abel shufflebottom chapter xii. lamb--his farewell to tobacco--pink hose--on the melancholy of tailors--roast pig chapter xiii. byron--vision of judgment--lines to hodgson--beppo--humorous rhyming--profanity of the age chapter xiv. theodore hook--improvisatore talent--poetry--sydney smith--the "dun cow"--thomas hood--gin--tylney hall--john trot--barham's legends chapter xvi. douglas jerrold--liberal politics--advantages of ugliness--button conspiracy--advocacy of dirt--the "genteel pigeons" chapter xvii. thackeray--his acerbity--the baronet--the parson--medical ladies--glorvina--"a serious paradise" chapter xviii. dickens--sympathy with the poor--vulgarity--geniality--mrs. gamp--mixture of pathos and humour--lever and dickens compared--dickens' power of description--general remarks chapter xix. variation--constancy--influence of temperament--of observation--bulls--want of knowledge--effects of emotion--unity of the sense of the ludicrous chapter xx. definition--difficulties of forming one of humour chapter xxi. charm of mystery--complication--poetry and humour compared--exaggeration chapter xxii. imperfection--an impression of falsity implied--two views taken by philosophers--firstly that of voltaire, jean paul, brown, the german idealists, léon dumont, secondly that of descartes, marmontel and dugald stewart--whately on jests--nature of puns--effect of custom and habit--accessory emotion--disappointment and loss--practical jokes chapter xxiii. nomenclature--three classes of words--distinction between wit and humour--wit sometimes dangerous, generally innocuous history of english humour. chapter i. burlesque--parody--the "splendid shilling"--prior--pope--ambrose philips--parodies of gray's elegy--gay. burlesque, that is comic imitation, comprises parody and caricature. the latter is a valuable addition to humorous narrative, as we see in the sketches of gillray, cruikshank and others. by itself it is not sufficiently suggestive and affords no story or conversation. hence in the old caricatures the speeches of the characters were written in balloons over their heads, and in the modern an explanation is added underneath. for want of such assistance we lose the greater part of the humour in hogarth's paintings. we may date the revival of parody from the fifteenth century, although dr. johnson speaks as though it originated with philips. notwithstanding the great scope it affords for humorous invention, it has never become popular, nor formed an important branch of literature; perhaps, because the talent of the parodist always suffered from juxtaposition with that of his original. in its widest sense parody is little more than imitation, but as we should not recognise any resemblance without the use of the same form, it always implies a similarity in words or style. sometimes the thoughts are also reproduced, but this is not sufficient, and might merely constitute a summary or translation. the closer the copy the better the parody, as where pope's lines "here shall the spring its earliest sweets bestow here the first roses of the year shall blow," were applied by catherine fanshawe to the regent's park with a very slight change-- "here shall the spring its earliest coughs bestow, here the first noses of the year shall blow." but all parody is not travesty, for a writing may be parodied without being ridiculed. this was notably the case in the centones,[ ] scripture histories in the phraseology of homer and virgil, which were written by the christians in the fourth century, in order that they might be able to teach at once classics and religion. from the pious object for which they were first designed, they degenerated into fashionable exercises of ingenuity, and thus we find the emperor valentinian composing some on marriage, and requesting, or rather commanding ausonius to contend with him in such compositions. they were regarded as works of fancy--a sort of literary embroidery. it may be questioned whether any of these parodies were intended to possess humour; but wherever we find such as have any traces of it, we may conclude that the imitation has been adopted to increase it. this does not necessarily amount to travesty, for the object is not always to throw contempt on the original. thus, we cannot suppose "the battle of the frogs and mice," or "the banquet of matron,"[ ] although written in imitation of the heroic poetry of homer, was intended to make "the iliad" appear ridiculous, but rather that the authors thought to make their conceits more amusing, by comparing what was most insignificant with something of unsurpassable grandeur. the desire to gain influence from the prescriptive forms of great writings was the first incentive to parody. we cannot suppose that luther intended to be profane when he imitated the first psalm-- "blessed is the man that hath not walked in the way of the sacramentarians, not sat in the seat of the zuinglians, or followed the counsel of the zurichers." probably ben jonson saw nothing objectionable in the quaintly whimsical lines in cynthia's revels-- _amo._ from spanish shrugs, french faces, smirks, irps, and all affected humours. _chorus._ good mercury defend us. _pha._ from secret friends, sweet servants, loves, doves, and such fantastique humours. _chorus._ good mercury defend us. the same charitable allowance may be conceded to the songs composed by the cavaliers in the civil war. we should not be surprised to find a tone of levity in them, but they were certainly not intended to throw any discredit on our church. in "the rump, or an exact collection of the choicest poems and songs relating to the late times from " we have "a litany for the new year," of which the following will serve as a specimen-- "from rumps, that do rule against customes and laws from a fardle of fancies stiled a good old cause, from wives that have nails that are sharper than claws, good jove deliver us." among the curious tracts collected by lord somers we find a "new testament of our lords and saviours, the house of our lords and saviours, the house of commons, and the supreme council at windsor." it gives "the genealogy of the parliament" from the year to , and commences "the book of the generation of charles pim, the son of judas, the son of beelzebub," and goes on to state in the thirteenth verse that "king charles being a just man, and not willing to have the people ruinated, was minded to dissolve them, (the parliament), but while he thought on these things. &c." of the same kind was the parody of charles hanbury williams at the commencement of the last century, "old england's te deum"--the character of which may be conjectured from the first line "we complain of thee, o king, we acknowledge thee to be a hanoverian." sometimes parodies of this kind had even a religious object, as when dr. john boys, dean of canterbury in the reign of james i., in his zeal, untempered with wisdom, attacked the romanists by delivering a form of prayer from the pulpit commencing-- "our pope which art in rome, cursed be thy name," and ending, "for thine is the infernal pitch and sulphur for ever and ever. amen." "the religious recruiting bill" was written with a pious intention, as was also the catechism by mr. toplady, a clergyman, aimed at throwing contempt upon lord chesterfield's code of morality. it is almost impossible to draw a hard and fast line between travesty and harmless parody--the feelings of the public being the safest guide. but to associate religion with anything low is offensive, even if the object in view be commendable. some parodies of scripture are evidently not intended to detract from its sanctity, as, for instance, the attack upon sceptical philosophy which lately appeared in an american paper, pretending to be the commencement of a new bible "suited to the enlightenment of the age," and beginning-- "primarily the unknowable moved upon kosmos and evolved protoplasm. "and protoplasm was inorganic and undifferentiated, containing all things in potential energy: and a spirit of evolution moved upon the fluid mass. "and atoms caused other atoms to attract: and their contact begat light, heat, and electricity. "and the unconditioned differentiated the atoms, each after its kind and their combination begat rocks, air, and water. "and there went out a spirit of evolution and working in protoplasm by accretion and absorption produced the organic cell. "and the cell by nutrition evolved primordial germ, and germ devolved protogene, and protogene begat eozoon and eozoon begat monad and monad begot animalcule ..." we are at first somewhat at a loss to understand what made the "splendid shilling" so celebrated: it is called by steele the finest burlesque in the english language. although far from being, as dr. johnson asserts, the first parody, it is undoubtedly a work of talent, and was more appreciated in than it can be now, being recognised as an imitation of milton's poems which were then becoming celebrated.[ ] reading it at the present day, we should scarcely recognise any parody; but blank verse was at that time uncommon, although the italians were beginning to protest against the gothic barbarity of rhyme, and surrey had given in his translation of the first and fourth books of virgil a specimen of the freer versification. meres says that "piers plowman was the first that observed the true quality of our verse without the curiositie of rime" but he was not followed. the new character of the "splendid shilling" caused it to bring more fame to its author than has been gained by any other work so short and simple. it was no doubt an inspiration of the moment, and was written by john philips at the age of twenty. there is considerable freshness and strength in the poem, which commences-- "happy the man, who void of cares and strife in silken or in leathern purse retains a splendid shilling: he nor hears with pain new oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale; but with his friends, when nightly mists arise to juniper's magpie or town hall[ ] repairs. meanwhile he smokes and laughs at merry tale, or pun ambiguous or conumdrum quaint; but i, whom griping penury surrounds, and hunger sure attendant upon want, with scanty offals, and small acid tiff (wretched repast!) my meagre corps sustain: then solitary walk or doze at home in garret vile, and with a warming puff. regale chilled fingers, or from tube as black as winter chimney, or well polished jet exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent." he goes on to relate how he is besieged by duns, and what a chasm there is in his "galligaskins." he wrote very little altogether, but produced a piece called "blenheim," and a sort of georgic entitled "cyder." prior, like many other celebrated men, partly owed his advancement to an accidental circumstance. he was brought up at his uncle's tavern "the rummer," situate at charing cross--then a kind of country suburb of the city, and adjacent to the riverside mansions and ornamental gardens of the nobility. to this convenient inn the neighbouring magnates were wont to resort, and one day in accordance with the classic proclivities of the times, a hot dispute, arose among them about the rendering of a passage in horace. one of those present said that as they could not settle the question, they had better ask young prior, who then was attending westminster school. he had made good use of his opportunities, and answered the question so satisfactorily that lord dorset there and then undertook to send him to cambridge. he became a fellow of st. john's, and lord dorset afterwards introduced him at court, and obtained for him the post of secretary of legation at the hague, in which office he gave so much satisfaction to william iii. that he made him one of his gentlemen of the bed chamber. he became afterwards secretary of the lord lieutenant of ireland, ambassador in france, and under secretary of state. during his two year's imprisonment by the whigs on a charge of high treason--from which he was liberated without a trial--he prepared a collection of his works, for which he obtained a large sum of money. he then retired from office, but died shortly afterwards in his fifty-eighth year. prior is remarkable for his exquisite lightness and elegance of style, well suited to the pretty classical affectations of the day. he delights in cupids, nymphs, and flowers. in two or three places, perhaps, he verges upon indelicacy, but conceals it so well among feathers and rose leaves, that we may half pardon it. although always sprightly he is not often actually humorous, but we may quote the following advice to a husband from the "english padlock" "be to her virtues very kind, and to her faults a little blind, let all her ways be unconfined, and clap your padlock on her mind." "yes; ev'ry poet is a fool; by demonstration ned can show it; happy could ned's inverted rule, prove ev'ry fool to be a poet." "how old may phyllis be, you ask, whose beauty thus all hearts engages? to answer is no easy task, for she has really two ages. "stiff in brocade and pinched in stays, her patches, paint, and jewels on: all day let envy view her face, and phyllis is but twenty-one. "paint, patches, jewels, laid aside, at night astronomers agree, the evening has the day belied, and phyllis is some forty-three." "helen was just slipt from bed, her eyebrows on the toilet lay, away the kitten with them fled, as fees belonging to her prey." "for this misfortune, careless jane, assure yourself, was soundly rated: and madam getting up again, with her own hand the mouse-trap baited. "on little things as sages write, depends our human joy or sorrow; if we don't catch a mouse to-night, alas! no eyebrows for to-morrow." he wrote the following impromptu epitaph on himself-- "nobles and heralds by your leave, here lies what once was matthew prior, the son of adam and of eve, can bourbon or nassau go higher." but he does not often descend to so much levity as this, his wing is generally in a higher atmosphere. sir walter scott observes that in the powers of approaching and touching the finer feelings of the heart, he has never been excelled, if indeed he has ever been equalled. prior wrote a parody called "erle robert's mice," but pope is more prolific than any other poet in such productions. his earlier taste seems to have been for imitation, and he wrote good parodies on waller and cowley, and a bad travesty on spencer. "january and may" and "the wife of bath" are founded upon chaucer's tales. pope did not generally indulge in travesty, his object was not to ridicule his original, but rather to assist himself by borrowing its style. his productions are the best examples of parodies in this latter and better sense. thus, he thought to give a classic air to his satires on the foibles of his time by arranging them upon the models of those of horace. in his imitation of the second satire of the second book we have-- "he knows to live who keeps the middle state, and neither leans on this side nor on that, nor stops for one bad cork his butler's pay, swears, like albutius, a good cook away, nor lets, like nævius, every error pass, the musty wine, foul cloth, or greasy glass." there is a slight amount of humour in these adaptations, and it seems to have been congenial to the poets mind. generally he was more turned to philosophy, and the slow measures he adopted were more suited to the dignified and pompous, than to the playful and gay. occasionally, however, there is some sparkle in his lines, and, we read in "the rape of the lock"-- "now love suspends his golden scales in air, weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair, the doubtful beam long nods from side to side, at length the wits mount up, the hairs subside." again, his friend mrs. blount found london rather dull than gay-- "she went to plain work and to purling brooks, old-fashioned halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks, she went from opera, park, assembly, play, to morning walks and prayers three hours a day, to part her time 'twixt reading and bohea, to muse and spill her solitary tea, or o'er cold coffee trifle with a spoon, count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon, divert her eyes with pictures in the fire, hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire, up to her godly garret after seven, there starve and pray--for that's the way to heaven." he was seldom able to bring a humorous sketch to the close without something a little objectionable. often inclined to err on the side of severity, he was one of those instances in which we find acrimonious feeling associated with physical infirmity. "the dunciad" is the principal example of this, but we have many others--such as the epigram: "you beat your pate and fancy wit will come, knock as you please, there's nobody at home." at one time he was constantly extolling the charms of lady wortley montagu in every strain of excessive adulation. he wrote sonnets upon her, and told her she had robbed the whole tree of knowledge. but when the ungrateful fair rejected her little crooked admirer, he completely changed his tone, and descended to lampoon of this kind-- "lady mary said to me, and in her own house, i do not care for you three skips of a louse; i forgive the dear creature for what she has said, for ladies will talk of what runs in their head." he is supposed to have attacked addison under the name of atticus. he says that "like the turk he would bear no brother near the throne," but that he would "view him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, and hate for arts that caused himself to rise, damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, and with our sneering teach the rest to sneer; willing to wound and yet afraid to strike, just hint a fault and hesitate dislike, alike reserved to blame or to commend, a tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend, dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, and so obleeging that he ne'er obleeged." pope at first praised ambrose philips, and said he was "a man who could write very nobly," but afterwards they became rivals, and things went so far between them that pope called philips "a rascal," and philips hung up a rod with which he said he would chastise pope. he probably had recourse to this kind of argument, because he felt that he was worsted by his adversary in wordy warfare, having little talent in satire. in fact, his attempts in this direction were particularly clumsy as--"on a company of bad dancers to good music." "how ill the motion with the music suits! so orpheus fiddled, and so danced the brutes." still there is a gaiety and lightness about many of his pieces. the following is a specimen of his favourite style. italian singers, lately introduced, seem to have been regarded by many with disfavour and alarm. to signora cuzzoni. "little syren of the stage, charmer of an idle age, empty warbler, breathing lyre, wanton gale of fond desire, bane of every manly art, sweet enfeebler of the heart; o! too pleasing is thy strain, hence, to southern climes again, tuneful mischief, vocal spell, to this island bid farewell, leave us, as we ought to be, leave the britons rough and free." to parody a work is to pay it a compliment, though perhaps unintentionally, for if it were not well known the point of the imitation would be lost. thus, the general appreciation of gray's "elegy" called forth several humorous parodies of it about the middle of the last century. the following is taken from one by the rev. j. duncombe, vicar of bishop ridley's old church at herne in kent. it is entitled "an evening contemplation in a college." "the curfew tolls the hour of closing gates, with jarring sound the porter turns the key, then in his dreamy mansion, slumbering waits, and slowly, sternly quits it--though for me. "now shine the spires beneath the paly moon, and through the cloister peace and silence reign, save where some fiddler scrapes a drowsy tune, or copious bowls inspire a jovial strain. "save that in yonder cobweb-mantled room, where lies a student in profound repose, oppressed with ale; wide echoes through the gloom, the droning music of his vocal nose. "within those walls, where through the glimmering shade, appear the pamphlets in a mouldering heap, each in his narrow bed till morning laid, the peaceful fellows of the college sleep. "the tinkling bell proclaiming early prayers, the noisy servants rattling o'er their head, the calls of business and domestic cares, ne'er rouse these sleepers from their drowsy bed. "no chattering females crowd the social fire, no dread have they of discord and of strife, unknown the names of husband and of sire, unfelt the plagues of matrimonial life. "oft have they basked along the sunny walls, oft have the benches bowed beneath their weight, how jocund are their looks when dinner calls! how smoke the cutlets on their crowded plate! "oh! let not temperance too disdainful hear how long their feasts, how long their dinners last; nor let the fair with a contemptuous sneer, on these unmarried men reflections cast. * * * * * "far from the giddy town's tumultuous strife, their wishes yet have never learned to stray, content and happy in a single life, they keep the noiseless tenor of their way. "e'en now their books, from cobwebs to protect, inclosed by door of glass, in doric style, on polished pillars raised with bronzes decked, demand the passing tribute of a smile." another parody of this famous elegy published about the same date, has a less pleasant subject--the dangers and vices of the metropolis. it speaks of the activities of thieves. "oft to their subtlety the fob did yield, their cunning oft the pocket string hath broke, how in dark alleys bludgeons did they wield! how bowed the victim 'neath their sturdy stroke! "let not ambition mock their humble toil, their vulgar crimes and villainy obscure; nor rich rogues hear with a disdainful smile, the low and petty knaveries of the poor. "beneath the gibbet's self perhaps is laid, some heart once pregnant with infernal fire, hands that the sword of nero might have swayed, and midst the carnage tuned the exulting lyre. "ambition to their eyes her ample page rich with such monstrous crimes did ne'er unroll, chill penury repressed their native rage, and froze the bloody current of their soul. "full many a youth, fit for each horrid scene, the dark and sooty flues of chimneys bear; full many a rogue is born to cheat unseen, and dies unhanged for want of proper care." gay dedicated his first poem to pope, then himself a young man, and this led to an intimacy between them. in he held the office of secretary to ann, duchess of monmouth; and in he accompanied the earl of clarendon to hanover. in this year he wrote a good travesty of ambrose philips' pastoral poetry, of which the following is a specimen-- _lobbin clout._ as blouzelinda, in a gamesome mood, behind a hayrick loudly laughing stood, i slily ran and snatched a hasty kiss; she wiped her lips, nor took it much amiss. believe me, cuddy, while i'm bold to say, her breath was sweeter than the ripened hay. _cuddy._ as my buxoma in a morning fair, with gentle finger stroked her milky care, i quaintly stole a kiss; at first, 'tis true, she frowned, yet after granted one or two. lobbin, i swear, believe who will my vow, her breath by far excelled the breathing cow. _lobbin._ leek to the welsh, to dutchmen butter's dear, of irish swains potato is the cheer, oats for their feasts the scottish shepherds grind, sweet turnips are the food of blouzelind; while she loves turnips, butter i'll despise, nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potato prize. _cuddy._ in good roast beef my landlord sticks his knife, and capon fat delights his dainty wife; pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare, but white-pot thick is my buxoma's fare; while she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me. the following is not without point at the present day-- to a lady on her passion for old china. what ecstasies her bosom fire! how her eyes languish with desire! how blessed, how happy, should i be, were that fond glance bestowed on me! new doubts and fears within me war, what rival's here? a china jar! china's the passion of her soul, a cup, a plate, a dish, a bowl, can kindle wishes in her breast, inflame with joy, or break her rest. * * * * * husbands more covetous than sage, condemn this china-buying rage, they count that woman's prudence little, who sets her heart on things so brittle; but are those wise men's inclinations fixed on more strong, more sure foundations? if all that's frail we must despise, no human view or scheme is wise. gay's humour is often injured by the introduction of low scenes, and disreputable accompaniments. "the dumps," a lament of a forlorn damsel, is much in the same style as the pastorals. it finishes with these lines-- "farewell ye woods, ye meads, ye streams that flow, a sudden death shall rid me of my woe, this penknife keen my windpipe shall divide, what, shall i fall as squeaking pigs have died? no--to some tree this carcase i'll suspend; but worrying curs find such untimely end! i'll speed me to the pond, where the high stool, on the long plank hangs o'er the muddy pool, that stool, the dread of every scolding queen: yet sure a lover should not die, so mean! thus placed aloft i'll rave and rail by fits, though all the parish say i've lost my wits; and thence, if courage holds, myself i'll throw, and quench my passion in the lake below." he published in "the beggar's opera," the idea had been suggested by swift. this is said to have given birth to the english opera--the italian having been already introduced here. this opera, or musical play, brought out by mr. rich, was so renumerative that it was a common saying that it made "rich gay, and gay rich." in "the beggar's opera" the humour turns on polly falling in love with a highwayman. peachum gives an amusing account of the gang. among them is harry paddington--"a poor, petty-larceny rascal, without the least genius; that fellow, though he were to live these six months would never come to the gallows with any credit--and tom tipple, a guzzling, soaking sot, who is always too drunk to stand, or make others stand. a cart is absolutely necessary for him." peachum, and his wife lament over their daughter polly's choice of captain macheath. there are numerous songs, such as that of mrs. peachum beginning-- "our polly is a sad slut! nor heeds what we have taught her, i wonder any man alive will ever rear a daughter." polly, contemplating the possibility of macheath's being hanged exclaims-- "now, i'm a wretch indeed. methinks, i see him already in the cart, sweeter and more lovely than the nosegay in his hand! i hear the crowd extolling his resolution and intrepidity! what volleys of sighs are sent down from the windows of holborn, that so comely a youth should be brought to disgrace. i see him at the tree! the whole circle are in tears! even butchers weep! jack ketch himself hesitates to perform his duty, and would be glad to lose his fee by a reprieve. what then will become of polly?" to macheath were you sentenced to transportation, sure, my dear, you could not leave me behind you? _mac._ "is there any power, any force, that could tear thee from me. you might sooner tear a pension out of the hands of a courtier, a fee from a lawyer, a pretty woman from a looking-glass, or any woman from quadrille."[ ] gay may have taken his idea of writing fables from dryden whose classical reading tempted him in two or three instances to indulge in such fancies. they were clever and in childhood appeared humorous to us, but we have long ceased to be amused by them, owing to their excessive improbability. such ingenuity seems misplaced, we see more absurdity than talent in representing a sheep as talking to a wolf. to us fables now present, not what is strange and difficult of comprehension, but mentally fanciful folly. in some few instances in la fontaine and gay, the wisdom of the lessons atones for the strangeness of their garb, and the peculiarity of the dramatis personæ may tend to rivet them in our minds. there is something also fresh and pleasant in the scenes of country life which they bring before us. but the taste for such conceits is irrevocably gone, and every attempt to revive it, even when recommended by such ingenuity and talent as that of owen meredith, only tends to prove the fact more incontestably. in russia, a younger nation than ours, the fables of kriloff had a considerable sale at the beginning of this century, but they had a political meaning. chapter ii. defoe--irony--ode to the pillory--the "comical pilgrim"--the "scandalous club"--humorous periodicals--heraclitus ridens--the london spy--the british apollo. defoe was born in , and was the son of a butcher in st. giles'. he first distinguished himself by writing in a poetical satire entitled "the true born englishman," in honour of king william and the dutch, and in derision of the nobility of this country, who did not much appreciate the foreign court. the poem abounded with rough and rude sarcasm. after giving an uncomplimentary description of the english, he proceeds to trace their descent-- "these are the heroes that despise the dutch and rail at new-come foreigners so much, forgetting that themselves are all derived from the most scoundrel race that ever lived; a horrid race of rambling thieves and drones who ransacked kingdoms and dispeopled towns; the pict and painted briton, treacherous scot, by hunger, theft, and rapine hither brought; norwegian pirates, buccaneering danes, whose red-haired offspring everywhere remains; who joined with norman-french compound the breed from whence your true-born englishmen proceed. dutch, walloons, flemings, irishmen, and scots, vaudois, and valtolins and huguenots, in good queen bess's charitable reign, supplied us with three hundred thousand men; religion--god we thank! sent them hither, priests, protestants, the devil, and all together." the first part concludes with a view of the low origin of some of our nobles. "innumerable city knights we know from bluecoat hospitals and bridewell flow, draymen and porters fill the city chair, and footboys magisterial purple wear. fate has but very small distinction set betwixt the counter and the coronet. tarpaulin lords, pages of high renown rise up by poor men's valour, not their own; great families of yesterday we show and lords, whose parents were the lord knows who." so much keen and clever invective levelled at the higher classes of course had its reward in a wide circulation; but we are surprised to hear that the king noticed it with favour; the author was honoured with a personal interview, and became a still stronger partizan of the court. defoe called the "true born englishman", "a contradiction in speech an irony, in fact a fiction;" and we may observe that he was particularly fond of an indirect and covert style of writing. he thought that he could thus use his weapons to most advantage, but his disguise was seen through by his enemies as well as by his friends. irony--the stating the reverse of what is meant, whether good or bad--is often resorted to by those treading on dangerous ground, and admits of two very different interpretations. it is especially ambiguous in writing, and should be used with caution. defoe's "shortest way with the dissenters" was first attributed to a high churchman, but soon was recognised as the work of a dissenter. he explained that he intended the opposite of what he had said, and was merely deprecating measures being taken against his brethren; but his enemies considered that his real object was to exasperate them against the government. even if taken ironically, it hardly seemed venial to call furiously for the extermination of heretics, or to raise such lamentation as, "alas! for the church of england! what with popery on one hand, and schismatics on the other, how has she been crucified between two thieves!" experience had not then taught that it was better to let such effusions pass for what they were worth, and defoe was sentenced to stand in the pillory, and suffer fine and imprisonment he does not seem to have been in such low spirits as we might have expected during his incarceration, for he employed part of his time in composing his "hymn to the pillory," "hail hieroglyphic state machine, contrived to punish fancy in: men that are men in thee can feel no pain, and all thy insignificants disdain." he continues in a strong course of invective against certain persons whom he thinks really worthy of being thus punished, and proceeds-- "but justice is inverted when those engines of the law, instead of pinching vicious men keep honest ones in awe: thy business is, as all men know, to punish villains, not to make men so. "whenever then thou art prepared to prompt that vice thou shouldst reward, and by the terrors of thy grisly face, make men turn rogues to shun disgrace; the end of thy creation is destroyed justice expires of course, and law's made void. "thou like the devil dost appear blacker than really thou art far, a wild chimeric notion of reproach too little for a crime, for none too much, let none the indignity resent, for crime is all the shame of punishment. thou bugbear of the law stand up and speak thy long misconstrued silence break, tell us who 'tis upon thy ridge stands there so full of fault, and yet so void of fear, and from the paper on his hat, let all mankind be told for what." these lines refer to his own condemnation, and the piece concludes,-- "tell them the men who placed him here are friends unto the times, but at a loss to find his guile they can't commit his crimes." defoe seems to have thoroughly imbibed the ascetic spirit of his brethren. he was fond of denouncing social as well as political vanities. the "comical pilgrim" contains a considerable amount of coarse humour, and in one place the supposed cynic inveighs against the drama, and describes the audience at a theatre-- "the audience in the upper gallery is composed of lawyers, clerks, valets-de-chambre, exchange girls, chambermaids, and skip-kennels, who at the last act are let in gratis in favour to their masters being benefactors to the devil's servants. the middle gallery is taken up by the middling sort of people, as citizens, their wives and daughters, and other jilts. the boxes are filled with lords and ladies, who give money to see their follies exposed by fellows as wicked as themselves. and the pit, which lively represents the pit of hell, is crammed with those insignificant animals called beaux, whose character nothing but wonder and shame can compose; for a modern beau, you must know, is a pretty, neat, fantastic outside of a man, a well-digested bundle of costly vanities, and you may call him a volume of methodical errata bound in a gilt cover. he's a curiously wrought cabinet full of shells and other trumpery, which were much better quite empty than so emptily filled. he's a man's skin full of profaneness, a paradise full of weeds, a heaven full of devils, a satan's bedchamber hung with arras of god's own making. he can be thought no better than a promethean man; at best but a lump of animated dust kneaded into human shape, and if he has only such a thing as a soul it seems to be patched up with more vices than are patches in a poor spaniard's coat. his general employment is to scorn all business, but the study of the modes and vices of the times, and you may look upon him as upon the painted sign of a man hung up in the air, only to be tossed to and fro with every wind of temptation and vanity." it would appear that servants had in his day many of the faults which characterise some of them at present. in "everybody's business is nobody's business" we have an amusing picture of the over-dressed maid of the period. "the apparel," he says, "of our women-servants should be next regulated, that we may know the mistress from the maid. i remember i was once put very much to the blush, being at a friend's house, and by him required to salute the ladies. i kissed the chamber-jade into the bargain, for she was as well dressed as the best. but i was soon undeceived by a general titter, which gave me the utmost confusion; nor can i believe myself the only person who has made such a mistake." again "i have been at places where the maid has been so dizzied with idle compliments that she has mistook one thing for another, and not regarded her mistress in the least, but put on all the flirting airs imaginable. this behaviour is nowhere so much complained of as in taverns, coffee houses, and places of public resort, where there are handsome barkeepers, &c. these creatures being puffed up with the fulsome flattery of a set of flies, which are continually buzzing about them, carry themselves with the utmost insolence imaginable--insomuch that you must speak to them with the utmost deference, or you are sure to be affronted. being at a coffee-house the other day, where one of these ladies kept the bar, i bespoke a dish of rice tea, but madam was so taken up with her sparks that she quite forgot it. i spoke for it again, and with some temper, but was answered after a most taunting manner, not without a toss of the head, a contraction of the nostrils, and other impertinences, too many to enumerate. seeing myself thus publickly insulted by such an animal, i could not choose but show my resentment. 'woman,' said i sternly, 'i want a dish of rice tea, and not what your vanity and impudence may imagine; therefore treat me as a gentleman and a customer, and serve me with what i call for. keep your impertinent repartees and impudent behaviour for the coxcombs that swarm round your bar, and make you so vain of your blown carcass.' and indeed, i believe the insolence of this creature will ruin her master at last, by driving away men of sobriety and business, and making the place a den of vagabonds." in july, , defoe commenced a periodical which he called a "review of the affairs of france." it appeared twice, and afterwards three times a week. from the introduction, we might conclude that the periodical, though principally containing war intelligence, would be partly of a humorous nature. he says-- "after our serious matters are over, we shall at the end of every paper present you with a little diversion, as anything occurs to make the world merry; and whether friend or foe, one party or another, if anything happens so scandalous as to require an open reproof, the world may meet with it there. accordingly at the end of every paper we find 'advice for the scandalous club: a weekly history of nonsense, impertinence, vice, and debauchery.'" this contained a considerable amount of indelicacy, and the humour was too much connected with ephemeral circumstances of the times to be very amusing at the present day. the scandalous club was a kind of court of morals, before whom all kinds of offences were brought for judgment, and it also settled questions on love affairs in a very judicious manner. some of the advice is prompted by letters asking for it, but it is probable that they were mostly fictitious and written by defoe himself. many of the shafts in this review were directed against magistrates, and other men in authority. thus we read in april , : "an honest country fellow made a complaint to the club that he had been set in the stocks by the justice of the peace without any manner of reason. he told them that he happened to get a little drunk one night at a fair, and being somewhat quarrelsome, had beaten a man in his neighbourhood, broke his windows, and two or three such odd tricks. 'well, friend,' said the director of the society, 'and was it for this the justice set you in the stocks?' 'yes!' replied the man. 'and don't you think you deserved it?' said the director. 'why, yes, sir,' says the honest man; 'i had deserved it from you, if you had been the justice, but i did not deserve it from sir edward--for it was not above a month before that he was so drunk that he fell into our mill-pond, and if i had not lugged him out he would have been drowned.' the society told him he was a knave, and then voted 'that the justice had done him no wrong in setting him in the stocks--but that he had done the nation wrong when he pulled him out of the pond,' and caused it to be entered in their books--'that sir edward was but an indifferent justice of the peace.'" sometimes religious subjects are touched upon. the following may be interesting at the present day-- "there happened a great and bloody fight this week, (july th ), between two ladies of quality, one a roman catholic, the other a protestant; and as the matter had come to blows, and beauty was concerned in the quarrel, having been not a little defaced by the rudeness of the scratching sex, the neighbours were called in to part the fray, and upon debate the quarrel was referred to the scandalous club. the matter was this: "the roman catholic lady meets the protestant lady in the park, and found herself obliged every time she passed her to make a reverent curtsey, though she had no knowledge of her or acquaintance with her. the protestant lady received it at first as a civility, but afterwards took it for a banter, and at last for an affront, and sends her woman to know the meaning of it. the catholic lady returned for answer that she did not make her honours to the lady, for she knew no respect she deserved, but to the diamond cross she wore about her neck, which she, being a heretic, did not deserve to wear. the protestant lady sent her an angry message, and withal some reflecting words upon the cross itself, which ended the present debate, but occasioned a solemn visit from the catholic lady to the protestant, where they fell into grievous disputes; and one word followed another till the protestant lady offered some indignities to the jewel, took it from her neck and set her foot upon it--which so provoked the other lady that they fell to blows, till the waiting-women, having in vain attempted to part them, the footmen were fain to be called in. after they were parted, they ended the battle with their other missive weapon, the tongue--and there was all the eloquence of billingsgate on both sides more than enough. at last, by the advice of friends it was, as is before noted, brought before the society." the judgment was that for a protestant to wear a cross was a "ridiculous, scandalous piece of vanity"--that it should only be worn in a religious sense, and with due respect, and is not more fitting to be used as an ornament than "a gibbet, which, worn about the neck, would make but a scurvy figure." most of the stories show the democratic tendencies of the writer, for instance-- "a poor man's cow had got into a rich man's corn, and he put her into the pound; the poor man offered satisfaction, but the rich man insisted on unreasonable terms, and both went to the justice of the peace. the justice advised the man to comply, for he could not help him; at last the rich man came to this point; he would have ten shillings for the damage. 'and will you have ten shillings,' says the poor man, 'for six pennyworth of damage?' 'yes, i will,' says the rich man. 'then the devil will have you,' says the poor man. 'well,' says the rich man, 'let the devil and i alone to agree about that, give me the ten shillings.'" "a gentleman came with a great equipage and a fine coach to the society, and desired to be heard. he told them a long story of his wife; how ill-natured, how sullen, how unkind she was, and that in short she made his life very uncomfortable. the society asked him several questions about her, whether she was "unfaithful? no. "a thief? no. "a slut? no. "a scold? no. "a drunkard? no. "a gossip? no. "but still she was an ill wife, and very bad wife, and he did not know what to do with her. at last one of the society asked him, 'if his worship was a good husband,' at which being a little surprised, he could not tell what to say. whereupon the club resolved, " . that most women that are bad wives are made so by their husbands. . that this society will hear no complaint against a virtuous bad wife from a vicious good husband. . he that has a bad wife and can't find the reason of it in her, 'tis ten to one that he finds it in himself." sometimes correspondents ask advice as to which of several lovers they should choose. the following applicants have a different grievances. "gentlemen.--there are no less than sixty ladies of us, all neighbours, dwelling in the same village, that are now arrived at those years at which we expect (if ever) to be caressed and adored, or, at least flattered. we have often heard of the attempts of whining lovers; of the charming poems they had composed in praise of their mistresses' wit and beauty (tho' they have not had half so much of either of them as the meanest in our company), of the passions of their love, and that death itself had presently followed upon a denial. but we find now that the men, especially of our village, are so dull and lumpish, so languid and indifferent, that we are almost forced to put words into their mouths, and when they have got them they have scarce spirit to utter them. so that we are apt to fear it will be the fate of all of us, as it is already of some, to live to be old maids. now the thing, gentlemen, that we desire of you is, that, if possible, you would let us understand the reason why the case is so mightily altered from what it was formerly; for our experience is so vastly different from what we have heard, that we are ready to believe that all the stories we have heard of lovers and their mistresses are fictions and mere banter." the case of these ladies is indeed to be pitied, and the society have been further informed that the backwardness or fewness of the men in that town has driven the poor ladies to unusual extremities, such as running out into the fields to meet the men, and sending their maids to ask them; and at last running away with their fathers' coachmen, prentices, and the like, to the particular scandal of the town. the society concluded that the ladies should leave the village "famous for having more coaches than christians in it," as a learned man once took the freedom to tell them "from the pulpit" and go to market, _i.e._, to london. the "advice of the scandalous club" was discontinued from may, . although we cannot say that defoe carried his sword in a myrtle wreath, he certainly owed much of his celebrity to his insinuating under ambiguous language the boldest political opinions. he was fond of literary whimsicalities, and wrote a humorous "history," referring mostly to the events of the times. towards the end of his career, he happily turned his talent for disguises and fictions into a quieter and more profitable direction. how many thousands remember him as the author of "robinson crusoe" who never heard a word about his jousts and conflicts, his animosities and misfortunes! the last century, although adorned by several celebrated wits, was less rich in humour than the present. literature had a grave and pedantic character, for where there was any mental activity, instruction was sought almost to the exclusion of gaiety. it required a greater spread of education and experience to create a source of superior humour, or to awaken any considerable demand for it. hence, although the taste was so increased that several periodicals of a professedly humorous nature were started, they disappeared soon after their commencement. to record their brief existence is like writing the epitaphs of the departed. towards the termination of the previous century, comic literature was represented by an occasional fly-sheet, shot off to satirize some absurdity of the day. the first humorous periodical which has come to our knowledge, partakes, as might have been expected, of an ecclesiastical character and betokens the severity of the times. it appeared in , under the title of "jesuita vapulans, or a whip for the fool's back, and a gad for his foul mouth." the next seems to have been a small weekly paper called "heraclitus ridens," published in . it was mostly directed against dissenters and republicans; and in no. , we have a kind of litany commencing:-- "from commonwealth, cobblers and zealous state tinkers, from speeches and expedients of politick blinkers, from rebellion, taps, and tapsters, and skinkers, libera nos. * * * * * "from papists on one hand, and phanatick on th' other, from presbyter jack, the pope's younger brother, and congregational daughters, far worse than their mother, libera nos." in the same year appeared "hippocrates ridens," directed against quacks and pretenders to physic, who seem then to have been numerous. the contents of these papers were mostly in dialogue--a form which seems to have been approved, as it was afterwards adopted in similar publications. these papers do not seem to have been written by contributors from the public, but by one or two persons, and this, i believe, was the case with all the periodicals of this time, and one cause of their want of permanence--the periodical was not carried on by an editor, but by its author. the "london spy" appeared in , and went through eighteen monthly parts. any one who wishes to find a merry description of london manners at the end of the seventeenth century, cannot look in a better place. it was written by edward (ned) ward, author of an indifferent narrative entitled "a trip to jamaica;" but he must have possessed considerable observation and talent. a man who proposes to visit and unmask all the places of resort, high and low in the metropolis, could not have much refinement in his nature, but at the present day we cannot help wondering how a work should have been published and bought, containing so much gross language. under the character of a countryman who has come up to see the world, he gives us some amusing glimpses of the metropolis, for instance. he goes to dine with some beaux at a tavern, and gives the following description of the entertainment:-- "as soon as we came near the bar, a thing started up all ribbons, lace, and feathers, and made such a noise with her bell and her tongue together, that had half-a-dozen paper-mills been at work within three yards of her, they'd have signified no more to her clamorous voice than so many lutes to a drum, which alarmed two or three nimble-heel'd fellows aloft, who shot themselves downstairs with as much celerity as a mountebank's mercury upon a rope from the top of a church-steeple, every one charged with a mouthful of 'coming! coming!' this sudden clatter at our appearance so surprised me that i looked as silly as a bumpkin translated from the plough-tail to the play-house, when it rains fire in the tempest, or when don john's at dinner with the subterranean assembly of terrible hobgoblins. he that got the start and first approached us of these greyhound-footed emissaries, desir'd us to walk up, telling my companion his friends were above; then with a hop, stride and jump, ascended the stair-head before us, and from thence conducted us to a spacious room, where about a dozen of my schoolfellow's acquaintances were ready to receive us. upon our entrance they all started up, and on a suddain screwed themselves into so many antick postures, that had i not seen them first erect, i should have query'd with myself, whether i was fallen into the company of men or monkeys. "this academical fit of riggling agility was almost over before i rightly understood the meaning on't, and found at last they were only showing one another how many sorts of apes' gestures and fops' cringes had been invented since the french dancing-masters undertook to teach our english gentry to make scaramouches of themselves; and how to entertain their poor friends, and pacifie their needy creditors with compliments and congies. when every person with abundance of pains had shown the ultimate of his breeding, contending about a quarter of an hour who should sit down first, as if we waited the coming of some herauld to fix us in our proper places, which with much difficulty being at last agreed on, we proceed to a whet of old hock to sharpen our appetites to our approaching dinner; though i confess my stomach was as keen already as a greyhound's to his supper after a day's coursing, or a miserly livery-man's, who had fasted three days to prepare himself for a lord mayor's feast. the honest cook gave us no leisure to tire our appetites by a tedious expectancy; for in a little time the cloth was laid, and our first course was ushered up by the _dominus factotum_ in great order to the table, which consisted of two calves'-heads and a couple of geese. i could not but laugh in my conceit to think with what judgment the caterer had provided so lucky an entertainment for so suitable a company. after the victuals were pretty well cooled, in complimenting who should begin first, we all fell to; and i'faith i found by their eating, they were no ways affronted by their fare; for in less time than an old woman could crack a nut, we had not left enough to dine the bar-boy. the conclusion of our dinner was a stately cheshire cheese, of a groaning size, of which we devoured more in three minutes than a million of maggots could have done in three weeks. after cheese comes nothing; then all we desired was a clear stage and no favour; accordingly everything was whipped away in a trice by so cleanly a conveyance, that no juggler by virtue of hocus pocus could have conjured away balls with more dexterity. all our empty plates and dishes were in an instant changed into full quarts of purple nectar and unsullied glasses. then a bumper to the queen led the van of our good wishes, another to the church established, a third left to the whimsie of the toaster, till at last their slippery engines of verbosity coined nonsense with such a facil fluency, that a parcel of alley-gossips at a christening, after the sack had gone twice round, could not with their tattling tormentors be a greater plague to a fumbling godfather, than their lame jest and impertinent conundrums were to a man of my temper. oaths were as plenty as weeds in an alms-house garden. "the night was spent in another tavern in harmony, the songs being such as:-- "musicks a crotchet the sober think vain, the fiddle's a wooden projection, tunes are but flirts of a whimsical brain, which the bottle brings best to perfection: musicians are half-witted, merry and mad, the same are all those that admire 'em, they're fools if they play unless they're well paid, and the others are blockheads to hire 'em." perhaps the most interesting account is that of st. paul's cathedral--then in progress. we all know that it was nearly fifty years in building, but have not perhaps been aware of all the causes of the delay:-- "thence we turned through the west gate of st. paul's churchyard, where we saw a parcel of stone-cutters and sawyers so very hard at work, that i protest, notwithstanding the vehemency of their labour, and the temperateness of the season, instead of using their handkerchiefs to wipe the sweat off their faces, they were most of them blowing their nails. 'bless me!' said i to my friend, 'sure this church stands in a colder climate than the rest of the nation, or else those fellows are of a strange constitution to seem ready to freeze at such warm exercise.' 'you must consider,' says my friend, 'this is work carried on at a national charge, and ought not to be hastened on in a hurry; for the greater reputation it will gain when it's finished will be, "that it was so many years in building."' from thence we moved up a long wooden bridge that led to the west porticum of the church, where we intermixed with such a train of promiscuous rabble that i fancied we looked like the beasts driving into the ark in order to replenish a new succeeding world.... "we went a little farther, where we observed ten men in a corner, very busie about two men's work, taking as much care that everyone should have his due proportion of the labour, as so many thieves in making an exact division of their booty. the wonderful piece of difficulty, the whole number had to perform, was to drag along a stone of about three hundred weight in a carriage in order to be hoisted upon the moldings of the cupula, but were so fearful of dispatching this facile undertaking with too much expedition, that they were longer in hauling on't half the length of the church, than a couple of lusty porters, i am certain, would have been carrying it to paddington, without resting of their burthen. "we took notice of the vast distance of the pillars from whence they turn the cupula, on which, they say, is a spire to be erected three hundred feet in height, whose towering pinnacle will stand with such stupendous loftiness above bow steeple dragon or the monument's flaming urn, that it will appear to the rest of the holy temples like a cedar of lebanon, among so many shrubs, or a goliath looking over the shoulders of so many davids." "the british apollo, or curious amusements for the ingenious, performed by a society of gentlemen;" appeared in , and seems to have been a weekly periodical, and to have been soon discontinued. the greater part of it consisted of questions and answers. information was desired on all sorts of abstruse and absurd points--some scriptural, others referring to natural philosophy, or to matters of social interest. _question._ messieurs. pray instruct your petitioner how he shall go away for the ensuing long vacation, having little liberty, and less money. yours, solitary. _answer._ study the virtues of patience and abstinence. a right judgment in the theory may make the practice more agreeable. _ques._ gentlemen. i desire your resolution of the following question, and you will oblige your humble servant, sylvia. whether a woman hath not a right to know all her husband's concerns, and in particular whether she may not demand a sight of all the letters he receives, which if he denies, whether she may not open them privately without his consent? _ans._ gently, gently, good nimble-fingered lady, you run us out of breath and patience to trace your unexampled ambition. what! break open your husband's letters! no, no; that privilege once granted, no chain could hold you; you would soon proceed to break in upon his conjugal affection, and commit a burglary upon the cabinet of his authority. but to be serious, although a well-bred husband would hardly deny a wife the satisfaction of perusing his familiar letters, we can noways think it prudent, much less his duty, to communicate all to her; since most men, especially such as are employed in public affairs, are often trusted with important secrets, and such as no wife can reasonably pretend to claim knowledge of. _ques._ apollo say, whence 'tis i pray, the ancient custom came, stockins to throw (i'm sure you know,) at bridegroom and dame? _ans._ when britons bold bedded of old, sandals were backward thrown, the pair to tell, that ill or well, the act was all their own. _ques._ long by orlinda's precepts did i move, nor was my heart a foe or slave to love, my soul was free and calm, no storm appeared, while my own sex my love and friendship shared; the men with due respect i always used, and proffered hearts still civilly refused. this was my state when young alexis came with all the expressions of an ardent flame, he baffles all the objections i can make, and slights superior matches for my sake; our humour seem for one another made, and all things else in equal ballance laid; i love him too, and could vouchsafe to wear the matrimonial hoop, but that i fear his love should not continue, cause i'm told, that women sooner far than men grow old; i, by some years, am eldest of the two, therefore, pray sirs, advise me what to do. _ans._ if 'tis your age alone retards your love, you may with ease that groundless fear remove; for if you're older, you are wiser too, since few in wit must hope to equal you. you may securely, therefore, crown a joy, not all the plagues of hymen can destroy, for tho' in marriage some unhappy be, they are not, sure, so fair, so wise as thee. chapter iii. swift--"tale of a tub"--essays--gulliver's travels--variety of swift's humour--riddles--stella's wit--directions for servants--arbuthnot. the year saw the birth of swift, one of the most highly gifted and successful humorists any country ever produced. a bright fancy runs like a vein of gold through nearly all his writings, and enriches the wide and varied field upon which he enters. he says of himself-- "swift had the sin of wit, no venial crime; nay, 'tis affirmed he sometimes dealt in rhyme: humour and mirth had place in all he writ, he reconciled divinity and wit." whether religion, politics, social follies, or domestic peculiarities come before him, he was irresistibly tempted to regard them in a ludicrous point of view. he observes-- "it is my peculiar case to be often under a temptation to be witty, upon occasions where i could be neither wise nor sound, nor anything to the matter in hand." this general tendency was the foundation of his fortunes, and gained him the favour of sir william temple, and of such noblemen as berkeley, oxford, and bolingbroke. they could nowhere find so pleasant a companion, for his natural talent was improved by cultivation, and it is when humour is united with learning--a rare combination--that it attains its highest excellence. there was much classical erudition at that day, and it was exhibited by men of letters in their ordinary conversation in a way which would appear to us pedantic. thus many of swift's best sayings turned on an allusion to some ancient author, as when speaking of the emptiness of modern writers, who depend upon compilations and digressions for filling up a treatise "that shall make a very comely figure on a bookseller's shelf, there to be preserved neat and clean for a long eternity, never to be thumbed or greased by students: but when the fulness of time is come, shall happily undergo the trial of purgatory in order to ascend the sky." he continues:-- "from such elements as these i am alive to behold the day, wherein the corporation of authors can outvie all its brethren in the guild. a happiness derived to us, with a great many others, from our scythian ancestors, among whom the number of pens was so infinite that grecian eloquence had no other way of expressing it than by saying that in the regions of the north it was hardly possible for a man to travel--the very air was so replete with feathers." the above is taken from the "tale of a tub" published in , but never directly owned by him. at the commencement of it he says that, "wisdom is a fox, who after long hunting will at last cost you the pains to dig out; it is a cheese which, by how much the richer, has the thicker, the homelier, and the coarser coat; and whereof to a judicious palate the maggots are the best; it is a sack posset, wherein the deeper you go you will find it the sweeter. wisdom is a hen, whose cackling we must value and consider, because it is attended with an egg, but then, lastly, it is a nut, which unless you choose with judgment may cost you a tooth, and pay you with nothing but a worm." he attacks indiscriminately the pope, luther, and calvin. of the first he says-- "i have seen him, peter, in his fits take three old high-crowned hats, and clap them all on his head three story high, with a huge bunch of keys at his girdle, and an angling rod in his left hand. in which guise, whoever went to take him by the hand in the way of salutation, peter with much grace, like a well educated spaniel, would present them with his foot; and if they refused his civility, then he would raise it as high as their chaps, and give them a damned kick in the mouth, which has ever since been called a salute." he also ridicules transubstantiation, representing peter as asking his brothers to dine, and giving them a loaf of bread, and insisting that it was mutton. in the history of martin luther--a continuation of the "tale of a tub," he represents queen elizabeth as "setting up a shop for those of her own farm, well furnished with powders, plasters, salves, and all other drugs necessary, all right and true, composed according to receipts made by physicians and apothecaries of her own creating, which they extracted out of peter's, martin's, and jack's receipt books; and of this muddle and hodge-podge made up a dispensary of their own--strictly forbidding any other to be used, and particularly peter's, from whom the greater part of this new dispensatory was stolen." at the conclusion of the "tale of a tub," he says, "among a very polite nation in greece there were the same temples built and consecrated to sleep and the muses, between which two deities they believed the greatest friendship was established. he says he differs from other writers in that he shall be too proud, if by all his labours he has any ways contributed to the repose of mankind in times so turbulent and unquiet." it is evident from this work, as from the "battle of the books," "the spider and the bee," and other of his writings, that allegory was still in high favour. swift first appeared as a professed author in , when he wrote against astrologers, and prophetic almanack-makers, called philomaths--then numerous, but now only represented by zadkiel. this essay was one of those, which gave rise to "the tatler." he wrote about the same time, "an argument against christianity"--an ironical way of rebuking the irreligion of the time-- "it is urged that there are by computation in this kingdom above ten thousand persons, whose revenues added to those of my lords the bishops, would suffice to maintain two hundred young gentlemen of wit and pleasure, and freethinking,--enemies to priestcraft, narrow principles, pedantry, and prejudices; who might be an ornament to the court and town; and then again, so great a body of able (bodied) divines might be a recruit to our fleet and armies." "another advantage proposed by the abolishing of christianity is the clear gain of one day in seven, which is now entirely lost, and consequently the kingdom one seventh less in trade, business, and pleasure; besides the loss to the public of so many stately structures, now in the hands of the clergy, which might be converted into play-houses, market-houses, exchanges, common dormitories, and other public edifices. i hope i shall be forgiven a hard word, if i call this a perfect _cavil_. i readily own there has been an old custom, time out of mind, for people to assemble in the churches every sunday, and that shops are still frequently shut, in order, as it is conceived, to preserve the ancient practice, but how they can be a hindrance to business or pleasure it is hard to imagine. what if the men of pleasure are forced one day in the week to game at home instead of in the chocolate houses? are not the taverns and coffee-houses open? is not that the chief day for traders to sum up the accounts of the week, and for lawyers to prepare their briefs.... but i would fain know how it can be contended that the churches are misapplied? where more care to appear in the foremost box with greater advantage of dress. where more meetings for business, where more bargains are driven, and where so many conveniences and enticements to sleep?" "i am very sensible how much the gentlemen of wit and pleasure are apt to murmur, and be choked at the sight of so many draggle-tailed parsons, who happen to fall in their way and offend their eyes; but at the same time, these wise reformers do not consider what an advantage and felicity it is for great wits to be always provided with objects of scorn and contempt, in order to exercise and improve their talents, and divert their spleen from falling on each other, or on themselves; especially, when all this may be done without the least imaginable danger to their persons." "and to add another argument of a parallel nature--if christianity were once abolished, how could the free-thinkers, the strong reasoners, and the men of profound learning be able to find another subject so calculated in all points, whereon to display their abilities? what wonderful productions of wit should we be deprived of, from those whose genius, by continual practice, has been wholly turned upon raillery and invectives against religion, and would, therefore never be able to shine or distinguish themselves upon any other subject! we are daily complaining of the great decline of wit among us, and would we take away the greatest, perhaps the only topic we have left? who would ever have suspected asgil for a wit, and toland for a philosopher, if the inexhaustible supply of christianity had not been at hand to provide them with materials? what other subject through all art and nature could have produced tindal for a profound author, and furnished him with readers? it is the wise choice of the subject, which alone adorns and distinguishes the writer. for had a hundred such pens as these been employed on the side of religion, they would have sunk into silence and oblivion." pope claims to have shadowed forth such a work as gulliver's travels in the memoirs of martin scriblerus; but swift, no doubt, took the idea from lucian's "true history." he was also indebted to philostratus, who speaks of an army of pigmies attacking hercules. something may also have been gathered from defoe's minuteness of detail; and he made use of all these with a master-hand to improve and increase the fertile resources of his own mind. swift produced the work, by which he will always survive, and be young. in the voyage to lilliput he depreciates the court and ministers of george i., by comparing them to something insignificantly small: in the voyage to brobdingnag by likening them to something grand and noble. but the immortality of the work owes nothing to such considerations but everything to humour and fancy, especially to the general satire upon human vanity. "the emperor of lilliput is taller by almost the breadth of my nail than any of his court, which alone is enough to strike awe into beholders." in the honyhuhums, the human race is compared to the yahoos, and placed in a loathsome and ridiculous light. they are represented as most irrational creatures, frequently engaged in wars or acrimonious disputes as to whether flesh be bread, or bread be flesh, whether it be better to kiss a post or throw it into the fire, and what is the best colour of a coat!--referring to religious disputes between catholics and protestants. he says, that among the yahoos, "it is a very justifiable cause of war to invade the country after the people have been wasted by famine, destroyed by pestilence, or embroiled by factions among themselves." with regard to internal matters, "there is a society of men among us, bred up from youth in the art of proving by words multiplied for the purpose, that white is black, and black is white, according as they are paid. in this society all the rest of the people are slaves." swift's humour, as has been already intimated, by no means confined itself to being a mere vehicle of instruction. it luxuriated in a hundred forms, and on every passing subject. he wrote verses for great women, and for those who sold oysters and herrings, as well as apples and oranges. the flying leaves, so common at that time, contained a great variety of squibs and parodies written by him. here, for instance is a travesty of ambrose philips' address to miss carteret-- "happiest of the spaniel race painter, with thy colours grace, draw his forehead large and high, draw his blue and humid eye, draw his neck, so smooth and round, little neck, with ribbons bound, and the spreading even back, soft and sleek, and glossy black, and the tail that gently twines like the tendrils of the vines, and the silky twisted hair shadowing thick the velvet ear, velvet ears, which hanging low o'er the veiny temples flow ..." he could scarcely stay at an inn without scratching something humorous on the window pane. at the four crosses in the wading street road, warwickshire, he wrote-- "fool to put up four crosses at your door put up your wife--she's crosser than all four." on another, he deprecated this scribbling on windows, which, it seems, was becoming too general-- "the sage, who said he should be proud of windows in his breast because he ne'er a thought allowed that might not be confessed; his window scrawled, by every rake, his breast again would cover and fairly bid the devil take the diamond and the lover." the members of the kit kat club used to write epigrams in honour of their "toasts" on their wine glasses.[ ] he sometimes amused himself with writing ingenious riddles. additional grace was added to them by giving them a poetic form. they differ from modern riddles, which are nearly all prose, and turn upon puns. they more resemble the old greek and roman enigmas, but have not their obscurity or simplicity. most of them are long, but the following will serve as a specimen-- "we are little airy creatures all of different voice and features; one of us in glass is set, one of us you'll find in jet t'other you may see in tin, and the fourth a box within if the fifth you should pursue, it can never fly from you." this may have suggested to miss c. fanshawe her celebrated enigma on the letter h. the humorous talent possessed by the dean made him a great acquisition in society, and, as it appears, somewhat too fascinating to the fair sex. ladies have never been able to decide satisfactorily why he did not marry. it may have been that having lived in grand houses, he did not think he had a competent income. in his thoughts on various subjects, he says, "matrimony has many children, repentance, discord, poverty, jealousy, sickness, spleen, &c." his sentimental and platonic friendship with young ladies, to whom he gave poetical names, made them historical, but not happy. "stella," to whom he is supposed to have been privately married before her death, charmed him with her loveliness and wit. some of his prettiest pieces, in which poetry is intermingled with humour, were written to her. in an address to her in , on her attaining thirty-five years of age, after speaking of the affection travellers have for the old "angel inn," he says-- "now this is stella's case in fact an angel's face a little cracked, (could poets or could painters fix how angels look at thirty-six) this drew us in at first to find in such a form an angel's mind; and every virtue now supplies the fainting rays of stella's eyes see at her levée crowding swains whom stella greatly entertains with breeding humour, wit, and sense and puts them out to small expense, their mind so plentifully fills and makes such reasonable bills, so little gets, for what she gives we really wonder how she lives, and had her stock been less, no doubt, she must have long ago run out." swift says that stella "always said the best thing in the company," but to judge by the specimens he has preserved, this must have been the opinion of a lover, unless the society she moved in was extremely dull. at the same time those who assert that her allusions were coarse, have no good foundation for such a calumny. her humour contrasted with that of the dean, both in its weakness and its delicacy. swift was too fond of bringing forward into the light what should be concealed, but saw the fault in others, and imputed it to an absence of inventive power. he writes-- "you do not treat nature wisely by always striving to get beneath the surface. what to show and to conceal she knows, it is one of her eternal laws to put her best furniture forward." the last of his writings before his mind gave way was his "directions to servants." it was compiled apparently from jottings set down in hours of idleness, and shows that his love of humour survived as long as any of his faculties. he was blamed by lord orrery for turning his mind to such trifling concerns, and the stricture might have had some weight had not his primary object been to amuse. that this was his aim rather than mere correction, is evident from the specious reasons he gives for every one of his precepts, and he would have found it difficult to choose a subject which would meet with a more general response. the following few extracts will give an idea of the work-- "rules that concern all servants in general--when your master or lady calls a servant by name, if that servant be not in the way, none of you are to answer, for then there will be no end of drudgery; and masters themselves allow that if a servant comes, when he is called, it is sufficient. "when you have done a fault, be always pert and insolent, and behave yourself as if you were the injured person; this will immediately put your master or lady off their mettle. "the cook, the butler, the groom, the market-man, and every other servant, who is concerned in the expenses of the family, should act as if his whole master's estate ought to be applied to that peculiar business. for instance, if the cook computes his master's estate to be a thousand pounds a year, he reasonably concludes that a thousand pounds a year will afford meat enough, and therefore he need not be sparing; the butler makes the same judgment; so may the groom and the coachman, and thus every branch of expense will be filled to your master's honour. "take all tradesmen's parts against your master, and when you are sent to buy anything, never offer to cheapen it, but generously pay the full demand. this is highly to your master's honour, and may be some shillings in your pocket, and you are to consider, if your master has paid too much, he can better afford the loss than a poor tradesman. "write your own name and your sweetheart's with the smoke of a candle on the roof of the kitchen, or the servant's hall to show your learning. "lay all faults upon a lap dog or favourite cat, a monkey, a parrot, or a child; or on the servant, who was last turned off; by this rule you will excuse yourself, do no hurt to anybody else, and save your master or lady the trouble and vexation of chiding. "when you cut bread for a toast, do not stand idly watching it, but lay it on the coals, and mind your other business; then come back, and if you find it toasted quite through, scrape off the burnt side and serve it up. "when a message is sent to your master, be kind to your brother servant who brings it; give him the best liquor in your keeping, for your master's honour; and, at the first opportunity he will do the same to you. "when you are to get water for tea, to save firing, and to make more haste, pour it into the tea-kettle from the pot where cabbage or fish have been boiling, which will make it much wholesomer by curing the acid and corroding quality of the tea. "directions to cooks.--never send up the leg of a fowl at supper, while there is a cat or dog in the house that can be accused of running away with it, but if there happen to be neither, you must lay it upon the rats, or a stray greyhound. "when you roast a long joint of meat, be careful only about the middle, and leave the two extreme parts raw, which will serve another time and also save firing. "let a red-hot coal, now and then fall into the dripping pan that the smoke of the dripping may ascend and give the roast meat a high taste. "if your dinner miscarries in almost every dish, how could you help it? you were teased by the footman coming into the kitchen; and to prove it, take occasion to be angry, and throw a ladleful of broth on one or two of their liveries. "to footmen.--in order to learn the secrets of other families, tell them those of your masters; thus you will grow a favourite both at home and abroad, and be regarded as a person of importance. "never be seen in the streets with a basket or bundle in your hands, and carry nothing but what you can hide in your pockets, otherwise you will disgrace your calling; to prevent which, always retain a blackguard boy to carry your loads, and if you want farthings, pay him with a good slice of bread or scrap of meat. "let a shoe-boy clean your own boots first, then let him clean your master's. keep him on purpose for that use, and pay him with scraps. when you are sent on an errand, be sure to edge in some business of your own, either to see your sweetheart, or drink a pot of ale with some brother servants, which is so much time clear gained. take off the largest dishes and set them on with one hand, to show the ladies your strength and vigour, but always do it between two ladies that if the dish happens to slip, the soup or sauce may fall on their clothes, and not daub the floor." we think that he might have written "directions" for the masters of his day, as by incidental allusions he makes, we find they were not unaccustomed to beat their servants. sarcasm was swift's foible. but we must remember that the age in which he lived was that of satire. humour then took that form as in the latter days of rome. critical acumen had attained a considerable height, but the state of affairs was not sufficiently settled and tranquil to foster mutual forbearance and amity. swift, it must be granted, was not so personal as most of his contemporaries, seeking in his wit rather to amuse his friends than to wound his rivals. but his scoffing spirit made him enemies--some of whom taking advantage of certain expressions on church matters in "the tale of a tub" prejudiced queen anne, and placed an insuperable obstacle in the way of his ambition. he writes of himself. "had he but spared his tongue and pen he might have rose like other men; but power was never in his thought and wealth he valued not a groat." in his poem on his own death, written in , he concludes with the following general survey-- "perhaps i may allow the dean had too much satire in his vein; and seemed determined not to starve it, because no age could more deserve it. yet malice never was his aim he lashed the vice, but spared the name: no individual could repent where thousands equally meant; his satire points out no defect but what all mortals may correct: for he abhorred that senseless tribe who call it humour, when they gibe: he spared a hump or crooked nose whose owners set not up for beaux. some genuine dulness moved his pity unless it offered to be witty. those who their ignorance confessed he ne'er offended with a jest; but laughed to hear an idiot quote a verse of horace, learned by drote. he knew a hundred pleasing stories with all the turns of whigs and tories; was cheerful to his dying day, and friends would let him have his way. he gave the little wealth he had to build a house for fools and mad; and showed by one satiric touch, no nation wanted it so much, that kingdom he has left his debtor, i wish it soon may have a better." we may here mention a minor luminary, which shone in the constellation in queen anne's classic reign. pope said that of all the men that he had met arbuthnot had the most prolific wit, allowing swift only the second place. robinson crusoe--at first thought to be a true narrative--was attributed to him, and in the company who formed themselves into the scriblerus club to write critiques or rather satires on the literature, science and politics of the day, we have the names of oxford, bolingbroke, swift, pope, gay, and arbuthnot. of the last, who seems to have written mostly in prose, a few works survive devoid of all the coarseness which stains most contemporary productions and also deficient in point of wit. it is noteworthy that the two authors who endeavoured to introduce a greater delicacy into the literature of the day, were both court physicians to queen anne. the death of this sovereign caused the scriblerus project to be abandoned, but gulliver's travels, which had formed part of it, were afterwards continued, and some of the introductory papers remain, especially one called "martinus scriblerus," supposed to have been the work of arbuthnot. it contains a violent onslaught principally upon sir richard blackmore's poetry, such as we should more easily attribute to pope, or at least to his suggestions. it resembles "the dunciad" in containing more bitterness than humour. examples are given of the "pert style," the "alamode" style, the "finical style." the exceptions taken to such hyperbole as the following, seem to be the best founded-- of a lion. "he roared so loud and looked so wondrous grim his very shadow durst not follow him." of a lady at dinner. "the silver whiteness that adorns thy neck sullies the plate, and makes the napkins black." of the same. "the obscureness of her birth cannot eclipse the lustre of her eyes which make her all one light." of a bull baiting. "up to the stars the sprawling mastiffs fly and add new monsters to the frighted sky." there is a certain amount of humour in arbuthnot's "history of john bull," and in his "harmony in an uproar." a letter to frederick handel, esquire, master of the opera house in the haymarket, from hurlothrumbo johnson, esquire, composer extraordinary to all the theatres in great britain, excepting that of the haymarket, commences-- "wonderful sir!--the mounting flames of my ambition have long aspired to the honour of holding a small conversation with you; but being sensible of the almost insuperable difficulty of getting at you, i bethought me a paper kite might best reach you, and soar to your apartment, though seated in the highest clouds, for all the world knows i can top you, fly as high as you will." but we may consider his best piece to be "a learned dissertation on dumpling." "the romans, tho' our conquerors, found themselves much outdone in dumplings by our forefathers; the roman dumplings being no more to compare to those made by the britons, than a stone dumpling is to a marrow pudding; though indeed the british dumpling at that time was little better than what we call a stone dumpling, nothing else but flour and water. but every generation growing wiser and wiser the project was improved, and dumpling grew to be pudding. one projector found milk better than water; another introduced butter; some added marrow, others plums; and some found out the use of sugar; so that to speak truth, we know not where to fix the genealogy or chronology of any of these pudding projectors to the reproach of our historians, who eat so much pudding, yet have been so ungrateful to the first professor of the noble science as not to find them a place in history. "the invention of eggs was merely accidental. two or three having casually rolled from off a shelf into a pudding, which a good wife was making, she found herself under the necessity either of throwing away her pudding or letting the eggs remain; but concluding that the innocent quality of the eggs would do no hurt, if they did no good, she merely jumbled them all together after having carefully picked out the shells; the consequence is easily imagined, the pudding became a pudding of puddings, and the use of eggs from thence took its date. the woman was sent for to court to make puddings for king john, who then swayed the sceptre; and gained such favour that she was the making of the whole family. "from this time the english became so famous for puddings, that they are called pudding-eaters all over the world to this day. "at her demise her son was taken into favour, and made the king's chief cook; and so great was his fame for puddings, that he was called jack pudding all over the kingdom, though in truth his real name was john brand. this jack pudding, i say, became yet a greater favourite than his mother, insomuch that he had the king's ear as well as his mouth at command, for the king you must know was a mighty lover of pudding; and jack fitted him to a hair. but what raised our hero in the esteem of this pudding-eating monarch was his second edition of pudding, he being the first that ever invented the art of broiling puddings, which he did to such perfection and so much to the king's liking (who had a mortal aversion to cold pudding) that he thereupon instituted him knight of the gridiron, and gave him a gridiron of gold, the ensign of that order, which he always wore as a mark of his sovereign's favour." chapter iv. steele--the funeral--the tatler--contributions of swift--of addison--expansive dresses--"bodily wit"--rustic obtuseness--crosses in love--snuff-taking. a new description of periodical was published in , and met with deserved success. it was little more or less than the first lady's newspaper, consisting of a small half sheet printed on both sides, and sold three times a week. the price was a penny, and the form was so unpretentious that deprecators spoke of its "tobacco-paper" and "scurvy letter." like defoe's review, it was strong in foreign war intelligence, but beyond this the aim was to attract readers, not by political sarcasm or coarse jesting, but by sparkling satire on the foibles of the fashionable world. addison says that the design was to bring philosophy to tea-tables, and to check improprieties "too trivial for the chastisement of the law, and too fantastical for the cognizance of the pulpit," and that these papers had a "perceptible influence upon the conversation of the time, and taught the frolic and gay to unite merriment with decency." johnson says that previously, with the exception of the writers for the theatre, "england had no masters of common life," and considers the italian and the french to have introduced this kind of literature. from its social character, this publication gives us a great amount of interesting information as to the manners and customs of the time, and the name "tatler" was selected "in honour of the fair." the originator of this enterprise, richard steele, was english on his father's side, irish on his mother's. he was educated at charterhouse, and followed much the same course as his countryman, farquhar. he tells us gaily, "at fifteen i was sent to the university, and stayed there for some time; but a drum passing by, being a lover of music, i enlisted myself as a soldier." he seems to have been at this time ambitious of being one of those "topping fellows," of whom he afterwards spoke with so much contempt. among the various appointments he successively obtained, was that of gentleman usher to prince george, and that of gazetteer, an office which gave him unusual facilities for affording his readers foreign intelligence. he was also governor of the royal company of comedians, and wrote plays, his best being "the conscious lovers" and "the funeral." the latter was much liked by king william. notwithstanding its melancholy title, it contained some good comic passages, as where the undertaker marshalls his men and puts them through a kind of rehearsal:-- _sable._ well, come, you that are to be mourners in this house, put on your sad looks, and walk by me that i may sort you. ha, you! a little more upon the dismal--(_forming their countenances_)--this fellow has a good mortal look--place him near the corpse; that wainscot face must be o' top of the stairs; that fellow's almost in a fright (that looks as if he were full of some strange misery) at the entrance of the hall--so--but i'll fix you all myself. let's have no laughing now on any provocation, (_makes faces_.) look yonder, that hale, well-looking puppy! you ungrateful scoundrel, did not i pity you, take you out of a great man's service, and show you the pleasure of receiving wages? did not i give you ten, then fifteen, now twenty shillings a week to be sorrowful? and the more i give you, i think the gladder you are. at the first commencement of the "tatler," steele seems to have intended, as was usual at the time, to write almost the whole newspaper himself, and he always continued nominally to do so under the name of isaac bickerstaff. the only assistance he could have at all counted upon was that of addison--his old schoolfellow at charterhouse--whose contributions proved to be very scanty. we soon find him falling short of material and calling upon the the public for contributions. thus he makes at the ends of some of the early numbers such suggestions as "mr. bickerstaff thanks mr. quarterstaff for his kind and instructive letter," and "any ladies, who have any particular stories of their acquaintance, which they are willing privately to make public, may send them to isaac bickerstaff." this application seems to have met with some response, for although we have only before us the perpetual isaac bickerstaff, he soon tells us that "he shall have little to do but to publish what is sent him," and finally that some of the best pieces were not written by himself. two or three were from the hand of swift, who does not seem to have much appreciated the gentle periodical--says that as far as he is concerned, the editor may "fair-sex it to the world's end," and asserts with equal ill-nature and falsity that the publication was finally given up for want of materials. probably it was to the solicitude of addison, who was at that time employed in ireland, that we are indebted for the few productions of swift's bold genius which adorn this work. one of these is upon the peculiar weakness then prevalent among ladies for studding their faces with little bits of black plaster. "madam.--let me beg of you to take off the patches at the lower end of your left cheek, and i will allow two more under your left eye, which will contribute more to the symmetry of your face; except you would please to remove the ten black atoms from your ladyship's chin, and wear one large patch instead of them. if so, you may properly enough retain the three patches above mentioned. "i am, &c." the next describes a downfall of rain in the city. "careful observers may foretell the hour, (by sure prognostics) when to dread a shower; while rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er her frolics, and pursues her tail no more; returning home at night you'll find the sink strike your offended nose with double stink; if you be wise, then go not far to dine, you'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine, a coming shower your shooting corns presage, old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage; sauntering in coffee-house is dulman seen, he damns the climate and complains of spleen.... now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, threatening with deluge this devoted town, to shops in crowds the draggled females fly, pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy, the templar spruce, while ev'ry spout's abroach, stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach, the tuck'd up sempstress walks with hasty strides, while streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides; here various kinds, by various fortunes led, commence acquaintance underneath a shed, triumphant tories and desponding whigs, forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs." the contributions of addison were more numerous. he is more precise and old-fashioned than steele, being particularly fond of giving a classical and mythological air to his writings, and thus we have such subjects as "the goddess of justice distributing rewards," and "juno's method of retaining the affections of jupiter." allegories were his delight, and he tells us how artistically the probable can be intermingled with the marvellous. such conceits were then still in fashion, and the numbers of the "tatler" which contained them had the largest sale. they remind us of the "old moralities," and at this time succeeded to the prodigies, whales, plagues, and famines to which the news-writers had recourse when the exciting events of the civil war came to an end. in general, the subjects chosen by addison were more important than those chosen by steele, and no doubt the earnest bent of his mind would have led him to write lofty and learned essays on morals and literature quite unsuitable to a popular periodical. but being kept down in a humbler sphere by the exigency of the case, he produced what was far more telling, and, perhaps, more practically useful. in one place he uses his humorous talent to protest, in the cause of good feeling, against the indignities put upon chaplains--a subject on which swift could have spoken with more personal experience, but not with such good taste and light pleasantry. the article begins with a letter from a chaplain, complaining that he was not allowed to sit at table to the end of dinner, and was rebuked by the lady of the house for helping himself to a jelly. addison remarks:-- "the case of this gentleman deserves pity, especially if he loves sweetmeats, to which, if i may guess from his letter, he is no enemy. in the meantime, i have often wondered at the indecency of discharging the holiest men from the table as soon as the most delicious parts of the entertainments are served up, and could never conceive a reason for so absurd a custom. is it because a liquorish palate, or a sweet-tooth, as they call it, is not consistent with the sanctity of his character? this is but a trifling pretence. no man of the most rigid virtue gives offence in any excesses of plum-pudding or plum-porridge, and that because they are the first parts of the dinner. is there anything that tends to incitation in sweetmeats more than in ordinary dishes? certainly not. sugar-plums are a very innocent diet, and conserves of a much colder nature than your common pickles." in another place speaking of the dinner table, addison ridicules the "false delicacies" of the time. he tells us how at a great party he could find nothing eatable, and how horrified he was at being asked to partake of a young pig that had been whipped to death. eventually, he had to finish his dinner at home, and is led to inculcate his maxim that "he keeps the greatest table who has the most valuable company at it." in another place he complains of the lateness of the dinner-hour, and asks what it will come to eventually, as it is already three o'clock! of the evil courses of the "wine-brewers" addison, who lived in the world of the rich, no doubt heard frequent complaints-- "there is in this city a certain fraternity of chemical operators, who work underground in holes, caverns, and dark retirements, to conceal their mysteries from the eyes and observation of mankind. these subterraneous philosophers are daily employed in the transmutation of liquors, and, by the power of magical drugs and incantations, raising under the streets of london the choicest products of the hills and valleys of france. they can squeeze bordeaux out of the sloe, and draw champagne from an apple. virgil in that remarkable prophecy, 'incultisque rubens pendebit sentibus uva,' the ripening grape shall hang on every thorn, seems to have hinted at this art, which can turn a plantation of northern hedges in a vineyard. these adepts are known among one another by the name of _wine-brewers_; and i am afraid do great injury not only to her majesty's customs, but to the bodies of many of her good subjects." after what we have seen in our own times we need not be surprised that the ladies of addison's day revived the old "fardingales," an expansion of dress which has always been a subject of ridicule, and probably will continue to be upon all its future appearances. the matter is first here brought forward as follows: "the humble petition of william jingle, coachmaker and chairmaker to the liberty of westminster. "to isaac bickerstaff, esquire, censor of great britain. "showeth,--that upon the late invention of mrs. catherine cross-stitch, mantua-maker, the petticoats of ladies were too wide for entering into any coach or chair, which was in use before the said invention. "that, for the service of the said ladies, your petitioner has built a round chair, in the form of a lantern, six yards and a half in circumference, with a stool in the centre of it; the said vehicle being so contrived, as to receive the passenger by opening in two in the middle, and closing mathematically when she is seated. "that your petitioner has also invented a coach for the reception of one lady only, who is to be let in at the top. "that the said coach has been tried by a lady's woman in one of these full petticoats, who was let down from a balcony and drawn up again by pullies to the great satisfaction of her lady, and all who beheld her. "your petitioner therefore most humbly prays, that for the encouragement of ingenuity and useful inventions, he may be heard before you pass sentence upon the petticoats aforesaid. and your petitioner, &c.," addison, in no. , proceeds to try the question:-- "the court being prepared for proceeding on the cause of the petticoat, i gave orders to bring in a criminal, who was taken up as she went out of the puppet-show about three nights ago, and was now standing in the street with a great concourse of people about her. word was brought me that she had endeavoured twice or thrice to come in, but could not do it by reason of her petticoat, which was too large for the entrance of my house, though i had ordered both the folding doors to be thrown open for its reception. the garment having been taken off, the accused, by a committee of matrons, was at length brought in, and 'dilated' so as to show it in its utmost circumference, but my great hall was too narrow for the experiment; for before it was half unfolded it described so immoderate a circle, that the lower part of it brushed upon my face as i sat in the chair of judicature. i finally ordered the vest, which stood before us, to be drawn up by a pulley to the top of my great hall, and afterwards to be spread open, in such a manner that it formed a very splendid and ample canopy over our heads, and covered the whole court of judicature with a kind of silken rotunda, in its form not unlike the cupola of st. paul's." a considerable part of "the tatler" is occupied with gay attacks upon the foppery of the beaux, whom it calls "pretty fellows," or "smart fellows." the red-heeled shoes and the cane hung by its blue ribbon on the last button of the coat, came in for an especial share of ridicule. a letter purporting to be from oxford, and reporting some improvement effected in the conversation of the university, also says:-- "i am sorry though not surprised to find that you have rallied the men of dress in vain: that the amber-headed cane still maintains its unstable post," (on the button) "that pockets are but a few inches shortened, and a beau is still a beau, from the crown of his night-cap to the heels of his shoes. for your comfort, i can assure you that your endeavours succeed better in this famous seat of learning. by them the manners of our young gentlemen are in a fair way of amendment." ... the ladies also did not escape censure for their love of finery. "a matron of my acquaintance, complaining of her daughter's vanity, was observing that she had all of a sudden held up her head higher than ordinary, and taken an air that showed a secret satisfaction in herself, mixed with a scorn of others. 'i did not know,' says my friend, 'what to make of the carriage of this fantastical girl, until i was informed by her elder sister, that she had a pair of striped garters on.'" again:-- "many a lady has fetched a sigh at the loss of a wig, and been ruined by the tapping of a snuff box. it is impossible to describe all the execution that was done by the shoulder knot, while that fashion prevailed, or to reckon up all the maidens that have fallen a sacrifice to a pair of fringed gloves. a sincere heart has not made half so many conquests as an open waistcoat: and i should be glad to see an able head make so good a figure in a woman's company as a pair of red heels. a grecian hero, when he was asked whether he could play upon the lute, thought he had made a very good reply when he had answered 'no, but i can make a great city of a little one.' notwithstanding his boasted wisdom, i appeal to the heart of any toast in town whether she would not think the lutenist preferable to the statesman." the general tone of "the tatler," is that of a fashionable london paper, and it often notices the difference of thought in town and country. this distinction is much less now than in his day, before the time of railways, and when the country gentlemen, instead of having houses in london, betook themselves for the gay season to their county towns. "i was this evening representing a complaint sent me out of the country by emilia. she says, her neighbours there have so little sense of what a refined lady of the town is, that she who was a celebrated wit in london, is in that dull part of the world in so little esteem that they call her in their base style a tongue-pad. old truepenny bid me advise her to keep her wit until she comes to town again, and admonish her that both wit and breeding are local; for a fine court lady is as awkward among country wives, as one of them would appear in a drawing-room." again:-- "i must beg pardon of my readers that, for this time i have, i fear, huddled up my discourse, having been very busy in helping an old friend out of town. he has a very good estate and is a man of wit; but he has been three years absent from town, and cannot bear a jest; for which i have with some pains convinced him that he can no more live here than if he were a downright bankrupt. he was so fond of dear london that he began to fret, only inwardly; but being unable to laugh and be laughed at, i took a place in the northern coach for him and his family; and hope he has got to-night safe from all sneerers in his own parlour. "to know what a toast is in the country gives as much perplexity as she herself does in town; and indeed the learned differ very much upon the original of this word, and the acceptation of it among the moderns; however, it is agreed to have a cheerful and joyous import. a toast in a cold morning, heightened by nutmeg, and sweetened with sugar, has for many ages been given to our rural dispensers of justice before they entered upon causes, and has been of great politic use to take off the severity of their sentences; but has indeed been remarkable for one ill effect, that it inclines those who use it immoderately to speak latin; to the admiration rather than information of an audience. this application of a toast makes it very obvious that the word may, without a metaphor, be understood as an apt name for a thing which raises us in the most sovereign degree; but many of the wits of the last age will assert that the word in its present sense was known among them in their youth, and had its rise from an accident in the town of bath in the reign of king charles the second. it happened that on a public day, a celebrated beauty of those times was in the cross bath, and one of the crowd of her admirers took a glass of water in which the fair one stood, and drank her health to the company. there was in the place a gay fellow half fuddled, who swore that though he liked not the liquor, he would take the toast. he was opposed in his resolution, yet this whim gave foundation to the present honor which is due to the lady we mention in our liquors, who has ever since been called a toast."[ ] courtships, and the hopes and fears of shepherds and shepherdesses, form many tender and classic episodes throughout this periodical-- "though cynthio has wit, good sense, fortune, and his very being depends upon her, the termagant for whom he sighs is in love with a fellow who stares in the glass all the time he is with her, and lets her plainly see she may possibly be his rival, but never his mistress. yet cynthio, the same unhappy man whom i mentioned in my first narrative, pleases himself with a vain imagination that, with the language of his eyes he shall conquer her, though her eyes are intent upon one who looks from her; which is ordinary with the sex. it is certainly a mistake in the ancients to draw the little gentleman love as a blind boy, for his real character is a little thief that squints; for ask mrs. meddle, who is a confidant or spy upon all the passions in the town, and she will tell you that the whole is a game of cross purposes. the lover is generally pursuing one who is in pursuit of another, and running from one that desires to meet him. nay, the nature of this passion is so justly represented in a squinting little thief (who is always in a double action) that do but observe clarissa next time you see her, and you will find when her eyes have made the soft tour round the company, they make no stay on him they say she is to marry, but rest two seconds of a minute on wildair, who neither looks nor thinks of her, or any woman else. however, cynthio had a bow from her the other day, upon which he is very much come to himself; and i heard him send his man of an errand yesterday without any manner of hesitation; a quarter of an hour after which he reckoned twenty, remembered he was to sup with a friend, and went exactly to his appointment." all the love-making in "the tatler" is of a very correct description. marriage is nowhere despised or ridiculed, though suggestions are made for composing the troubles which sometimes accompany it:-- "a young gentleman of great estate fell desperately in love with a great beauty of very high quality, but as ill-natured as long flattery and an habitual self-will could make her. however, my young spark ventures upon her like a man of quality, without being acquainted with her, or having ever saluted her, until it was a crime to kiss any woman else. beauty is a thing which palls with possession, and the charms of this lady soon wanted the support of good humour and complacency of manners; upon this, my spark flies to the bottle for relief from satiety; she disdains him for being tired of that for which all men envied him; and he never came home but it was, 'was there no sot that would stay longer?' 'would any man living but you?' 'did i leave all the world for this usage?' to which he, 'madam, split me, you're very impertinent!' in a word, this match was wedlock in its most terrible appearances. she, at last weary of railing to no purpose, applies to a good uncle, who gives her a bottle he pretended he had bought of mr. partridge, the conjurer. 'this,' said he, 'i gave ten guineas for. the virtue of the enchanted liquor (said he that sold it) is such, that if the woman you marry proves a scold (which it seems, my dear niece is your misfortune, as it was your good mother's before you) let her hold three spoonfuls of it in her mouth for a full half hour after you come home.'" but steele says that his principal object was "to stem the torrent of prejudice and vice." he did not limit himself to making amusement out of the affectation of the day; he often directed his humour to higher ends. he deprecated inconstancy, observing that a gentleman who presumed to pay attention to a lady, should bring with him a character from the one he had lately left. he must be especially commended for having been one of the first to advocate consideration for the lower animals, and to condemn swearing and duelling. the latter, as he said, owed its continuance to the force of custom, and he supposes that if a duellist "wrote the truth of his heart," he would express himself to his lady-love in the following manner:-- "madam,--i have so tender a regard for you and your interests that i will knock any man on the head that i observe to be of my mind, and to like you. mr. truman, the other day, looked at you in so languishing a manner that i am resolved to run him through to-morrow morning. this, i think, he deserves for his guilt in adoring you, than which i cannot have a greater reason for murdering him, except it be that, you also approve him. whoever says he dies for you, i will make his words good, for i will kill him, "i am, madam, "your most obedient humble servant." among other offensive habits, "the tatler" discountenances the custom of taking snuff, then common among ladies. "i have been these three years persuading sagissa[ ] to leave it off; but she talks so much, and is so learned, that she is above contradiction. however, an accident brought that about, which all my eloquence could never accomplish. she had a very pretty fellow in her closet, who ran thither to avoid some company that came to visit her; she made an excuse to go to him for some implement they were talking of. her eager gallant snatched a kiss; but being unused to snuff, some grains from off her upper lip made him sneeze aloud, which alarmed her visitors, and has made a discovery." [it is impossible to say what effect this ridicule produced upon the snuff-taking public, but the custom gradually declined. a hundred years later, james beresford, a fellow of merton, places among the "miseries of human life," the "leaving off snuff at the request of your angel," and writes the following touching farewell.] "box thou art closed, and snuff is but a name! it is decreed my nose shall feast no more! to me no more shall come--whence dost it come?-- the precious pulvil from hibernia's shore! "virginia, barren be thy teeming soil, or may the swallowing earthquake gulf thy fields! fribourg and pontet! cease your trading toil, or bankruptcy be all the fruit it yields! "and artists! frame no more in tin or gold, horn, paper, silver, coal or skin, the chest, foredoomed in small circumference to hold the titillating treasures of the west!" the fellows of merton seem to have discovered some hidden efficacy in snuff. "who doth not know what logic lies concealed, where diving finger meets with diving thumb? who hath not seen the opponent fly the field, unhurt by argument, by snuff struck dumb? "the box drawn forth from its profoundest bed, the slow-repeated tap, with frowning brows. the brandished pinch, the fingers widely spread, the arm tossed round, returning to the nose. "who can withstand a battery so strong? wit, reason, learning, what are ye to these? or who would toil through folios thick and long, when wisdom may be purchased with a sneeze? "shall i, then, climb where alps on alps arise? no; snuff and science are to me a dream, but hold my soul! for that way madness lies, love's in the scale, tobacco kicks the beam." chapter v. spectator--the rebus--injurious wit--the everlasting club--the lovers' club--castles in the air--the guardian--contributions by pope--"the agreeable companion"--the wonderful magazine--joe miller--pivot humour. when "the tatler" had completed two hundred and seventy-one numbers, it occurred to the fertile mind of steele that it might be modified with advantage. for the future it should be a daily paper, and only contain an essay upon one subject. in making this alteration he thought it would be better to give the periodical a title of more important signification, and accordingly called it the "spectator." but the most important difference was that addison was to contribute a much larger portion of the material. this gave more solidity to the work. addison never obtained a questionable success by descending too low in coarse language. his style has been recommended as a model, for he is lively and interesting without approaching dangerous ground. as we read his pleasant pages we can almost agree with lord chesterfield that:--"true wit never raised a laugh since the world was," but here and there we find a passage that shows us the grave censor was mistaken. speaking of the "absurdities of the modern opera" addison says, "as i was walking in the streets about a fortnight ago, i saw an ordinary fellow carrying a cage full of little birds upon his shoulder; and as i was wondering with myself what use he would put them to, he was met very luckily by an acquaintance, who had the same curiosity. upon his asking what he had upon his shoulder, he told him that he had been buying sparrows for the opera. 'sparrows for the opera,' says his friend, licking his lips, 'what! are they to be roasted?' 'no, no,' says the other, 'they are to enter towards the end of the first act, and to fly about the stage.' "there have been so many flights of sparrows let loose in this opera, that it is feared the house will never get rid of them, and that in other plays they may make their entrance in very wrong and improper scenes, so as to be seen flying in a lady's bedchamber, or perching upon a king's throne; besides the inconvenience which the heads of the audience may sometimes suffer for them. i am credibly informed that there was once a design of casting into an opera the story of whittington and his cat, and that in order to it there had been got together a great quantity of mice; but mr. rich, the proprietor of the play-house, very prudently considered that it would be impossible for the cat to kill them all, and that consequently the princes of the stage might be as much infested with mice as the prince of the island was before the cat's arrival upon it." to a letter narrating country sports, and a whistling match won by a footman, he adds as a postscript, "after having despatched these two important points of grinning and whistling, i hope you will oblige the world with some reflections upon yawning, as i have seen it practised on a twelfth night among other christmas gambols at the house of a very worthy gentleman who entertains his tenants at that time of the year. they yawn for a cheshire cheese, and begin about midnight, when the whole company is supposed to be drowsy. he that yawns widest, and at the same time so naturally as to produce the most yawns among the spectators, carries home the cheese. if you handle this subject as you ought, i question not but your paper will set half the kingdom a-yawning, though i dare promise you it will never make anybody fall asleep." johnson observes that addison never out-steps the modesty of nature, nor raises merriment or wonder by the violation of truth. he wrote several essays in the "spectator" on wit, and condemns much that commonly passes under the name. together with verbal humour and many absurd devices connected with it, he especially repudiates the rebus. in the first part of the following extract he refers to this device being used for other objects than those of amusement, and he might have reminded us of the alphabets of primitive times, when the picture of an animal signified the sound with which its name commenced; but the rebus proper is merely a bad attempt at humour--a sort of pictorial pun-- "i find likewise among the ancients that ingenious kind of conceit which the moderns distinguish by the name of a rebus, that does not sink a letter, but a whole word, by substituting a picture in its place. when cæsar was one of the masters of the roman mint, he placed the figure of an elephant upon the reverse of the public money; the word cæsar signifying an elephant in the punic language. this was artificially contrived by cæsar, because it was not lawful for a private man to stamp his own figure upon the coin of the commonwealth. cicero, so called from the founder of his family, who was marked on the nose with a little wen like a vetch, (which is cicer in latin,) instead of marcus tullius cicero, ordered the words marcus tullius with the figure of a vetch at the end of them, to be inscribed on a public monument. this was done probably to show that he was neither ashamed of his name or family, notwithstanding the envy of his competitors had often reproached him with both. in the same manner we read of a famous building that was marked in several parts of it with the figures of a frog and a lizard; these words in greek having been the names of the architects, who by the laws of their country were never permitted to inscribe their own names upon their works. for the same reason, it is thought that the forelock of the horse in the antique equestrian statute of marcus aurelius, represents at a distance the shape of an owl, to intimate the country of the statuary, who in all probability was an athenian. this kind of wit was very much in vogue among our own countrymen about an age or two ago, who did not practise it for any oblique reason, as the ancients above mentioned, but purely for the sake of being witty. among innumerable instances that may be given of this nature, i shall produce the device of one, mr. newberry, as i find it mentioned by our learned camden, in his remains. mr. newberry, to represent his name by a picture, hung up at his door the sign of a yew-tree that had several berries upon it, and in the midst of them a great golden n hung upon the bough of the tree, which by the help of a little false spelling made up the word n-ew-berry." addison disproved of that severity and malice which was too common among the writers of his age. he refers to it in his essays on wit, in allusion, as it is thought, to swift. "there is nothing that more betrays a base ungenerous spirit than the giving of secret stabs to a man's reputation; lampoons and satires, that are written with wit and spirit, are like poisoned darts, which not only inflict a wound, but make it incurable. for this reason i am very much troubled when i see the talents of humour and ridicule in the possession of an ill-natured man.... it must indeed be confessed, that a lampoon or a satire does not carry in it robbery or murder; but at the same time, how many are there that would rather lose a considerable sum of money, or even life itself, than be set up as a mark of infamy and derision." he goes on to notice how various persons behaved under the ordeal-- "when julius cæsar was lampooned by catullus he invited him to supper, and treated him with such a generous civility that he made the poet his friend ever after. cardinal mazarin gave the same kind of treatment to the learned guillet, who had reflected upon his eminence in a famous latin poem. the cardinal sent for him, and after some kind expostulation upon what he had written, assured him of his esteem, and dismissed him with a promise of the next good abbey that should fall, which he accordingly conferred upon him a few months after. this had so good an effect upon the author that he dedicated the second edition of his book to the cardinal, after having expunged the passages, which had given him offence. sextus quintus was not of so generous and forgiving a temper. upon his being made pope, the statue of pasquin was dressed in a very dirty shirt, with an excuse written under it, that he was forced to wear foul linen because his laundress was made a princess. this was a reflection upon the pope's sister, who, before the promotion of her brother, was in those mean circumstances that pasquin represented her. as this pasquinade made a great noise in rome, the pope offered a considerable sum of money to any person that should discover the author of it. the author relying on his holiness' generosity, as also upon some private overtures he had received from him, made the discovery himself; upon which the pope gave him the reward he had promised, but at the same time to disable the satirist for the future, ordered his tongue to be cut out, and both his hands to be chopped off." when addison treats of the ladies' "commode," a lofty head-dress which had been in fashion in his time, he adds reflections which may moderate all such vanities-- "there is not so variable a thing in nature as a lady's head-dress. within my own memory i have known it rise and fall above thirty degrees. about ten years ago it shot up to a very great height, inasmuch as the female part of our species were much taller than the men. the women were of such an enormous stature that 'we appeared as grasshoppers before them.' at present, the whole sex is in a manner dwarfed and shrunk into a race of beauties that seems almost another species. i remember several ladies who were once very near seven feet high, that at present want some inches of five.... i would desire the fair sex to consider how impossible it is for them to add anything that can be ornamental to what is already the master-piece of nature. the head has the most beautiful appearance, as well as the highest station in a human figure. nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the face; she has touched it with vermillion, planted in it a double row of ivory, made it the seat of smiles and blushes, lighted it up, and enlivened it with the brightness of the eyes, hung it on each side with curious organs of sense, given it airs and graces that cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a flowing shade of hair as sets all its beauties in the most agreeable light. in short, she seems to have designed the head as the cupola to the most glorious of her works; and when we load it with such a pile of supernumerary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the human figure, and foolishly contrive to call off the eye from great and real beauties, to childish gewgaws, ribbands, and bone-lace." but the popularity of "the spectator" was not a little due to the stronger and more daring genius of steele. his writing, though not so didactic, or so ripe in style, as that of addison, was antithetical, sparkling, and more calculated to "raise a horse." the continuation of the periodical, which was carried on by others, was not equally successful. in the earlier volumes we recognise steele's hand in the essays on "clubs." he gives us an amusing account of the "ugly club," for which no one was eligible who had not "a visible quearity in his aspect, or peculiar cast of countenance;" and of the "everlasting club," which was to sit day and night from one end of the year to another; no party presuming to rise till they were relieved by those who were in course to succeed them. "this club was instituted towards the end of the civil wars, and continued without interruption till the time of the great fire, which burnt them out and dispersed them for several weeks. the steward at this time maintained his post till he had been like to have been blown up with a neighbouring house (which was demolished in order to stop the fire) and would not leave the chair at last, till he had emptied all the bottles upon the table, and received repeated directions from the club to withdraw himself." the following on "castles in the air" is interesting, as steele himself seems to have been addicted to raising such structures,-- "a castle-builder is even just what he pleases, and as such i have grasped imaginary sceptres, and delivered uncontrollable edicts from a throne to which conquered nations yielded obeisance. i have made i know not how many inroads into france, and ravaged the very heart of that kingdom; i have dined in the louvre, and drunk champagne at versailles; and i would have you take notice i am not only able to vanquish a people already 'cowed' and accustomed to flight, but i could almanzor-like, drive the british general from the field, were i less a protestant, or had ever been affronted by the confederates. there is no art or profession whose most celebrated masters i have not eclipsed. wherever i have afforded my salutary presence, fevers have ceased to burn and agues to shake the human fabric. when an eloquent fit has been upon me, an apt gesture and a proper cadence has animated each sentence, and gazing crowds have found their passions worked up into rage, or soothed into a calm. i am short, and not very well made; yet upon sight of a fine woman, i have stretched into proper stature, and killed with a good air and mien. these are the gay phantoms that dance before my waking eyes and compose my day-dreams. i should be the most contented happy man alive, were the chimerical happiness which springs from the paintings of fancy less fleeting and transitory. but alas! it is with grief of mind i tell you, the least breath of wind has often demolished my magnificent edifices, swept away my groves, and left me no more trace of them than if they had never been. my exchequer has sunk and vanished by a rap on my door; the salutation of a friend has cost me a whole continent, and in the same moment i have been pulled by the sleeve, my crown has fallen from my head. the ill consequences of these reveries is inconceivably great, seeing the loss of imaginary possessions makes impressions of real woe. besides bad economy is visible and apparent in the builders of imaginary mansions. my tenants' advertisements of ruins and dilapidations often cast a damp over my spirits, even in the instant when the sun, in all his splendour, gilds my eastern palaces." in marking the differences between the humour at the time of "the spectator" and that of the present day, we feel happy that the tone of society has so altered that such jests as the following would be quite inadmissible. "mr. spectator,--as you are spectator general, i apply myself to you in the following case, viz.: i do not wear a sword, but i often divert myself at the theatre, when i frequently see a set of fellows pull plain people, by way of humour and frolic, by the nose, upon frivolous or no occasion. a friend of mine the other night applauding what a graceful exit mr. wilks made, one of those wringers overhearing him, pinched him by the nose. i was in the pit the other night (when it was very much crowded); a gentleman leaning upon me, and very heavily, i very civilly requested him to remove his hand, for which he pulled me by the nose. i would not resent it in so public a place, because i was unwilling to create a disturbance: but have since reflected upon it as a thing that is unmanly and disingenuous, renders the nose-puller odious, and makes the person pulled by the nose look little and contemptible. this grievance i humbly request you will endeavour to redress. i am, &c., james easy. "i have heard of some very merry fellows among whom the frolic was started, and passed by a great majority, that every man should immediately draw a tooth: after which they have gone in a body and smoked a cobler. the same company at another night has each man burned his cravat, and one, perhaps, whose estate would bear it, has thrown a long wig and laced hat into the fire. thus they have jested themselves stark naked, and run into the streets and frighted the people very successfully. there is no inhabitant of any standing in covent garden, but can tell you a hundred good humours where people have come off with a little bloodshed, and yet scoured all the witty hours of the night. i know a gentleman that has several wounds in the head by watch-poles, and has been twice run through the body to carry on a good jest. he is very old for a man of so much good humour; but to this day he is seldom merry, but he has occasion to be valiant at the same time. but, by the favour of these gentlemen, i am humbly of opinion that a man may be a very witty man, and never offend one statute of this kingdom." more harmless was the joking of villiers, the last duke of buckingham, (father of lady mary wortley montague), who seems to have inherited some of the family humour. addison tells us, "one of the wits of the last age, who was a man of a good estate, thought he never laid out his money better than on a jest. as he was one year at bath, observing that in the great confluence of fine people there were several among them with long chins, a part of the visage by which he himself was very much distinguished, he invited to dinner half a score of these remarkable persons, who had their mouths in the middle of their faces. they had no sooner placed themselves about the table, but they began to stare upon one another, not being able to imagine what had brought them together. our english proverb says: ''tis merry in the hall when beards wag all.' "it proved so in the assembly i am now speaking of, who seeing so many peaks of faces agitated with eating, drinking and discourse, and observing all the chins that were present meeting together very often over the centre of the table, every one grew sensible of the jest, and came into it with so much good humour that they lived in strict friendship and alliance from that day forward." in august, , a tax of a halfpenny was placed upon newspapers, and led to several leading journals being discontinued, a failure facetiously termed "the fall of the leaf." "the spectator" survived the loss, but not unshaken, and the price was raised to twopence. it seems strange that such an addition should affect a periodical of this character, but a penny was a larger sum then than it is now. steele says, "the ingenious j. w. (dr. walker, head-master of the charterhouse) tells me that i have deprived him of the best part of his breakfast, for that since the rise of my paper, he is forced every morning to drink his dish of coffee by itself, without the addition of 'the spectator,' that used to be better than lace (_i.e._, brandy) to it." after "the spectator" had run through six hundred and thirty-five numbers, steele, with his usual restlessness, discontinued it, or rather, changed its name, and called it "the guardian." he commenced writing this new periodical by himself, but soon obtained the assistance of addison. the only feature worth notice in which it differed from its predecessor, was the prominent appearance of pope as an essayist, although from political reasons he would have preferred to have been an anonymous contributor. among his articles we may notice a powerful one against cruelty to animals and field sports in general. another was an ironical attack upon the pastorals of ambrose philips comparing them with his own, and affords an illustration of what we observed in another place, that such modes of warfare are easily misunderstood--for the essay having been sent to steele anonymously, he hesitated to publish it lest pope should be offended! but his best article in this periodical is directed against poetasters in general--whom he never treated with much mercy. he says that poetry is now composed upon mechanical principles, in the same way that house-wives make plum-puddings-- "what molière observes of making a dinner, that any man can do it with money, and if a professed cook cannot without, he has his art for nothing; the same may be said of making a poem, it is easier brought about by him that has a genius, but the skill lies in doing it without one. in pursuance of this end, i shall present the reader with a plain and certain recipe, by which even sonneteers and ladies may be qualified for this grand performance." he then proceeds to give a "receipt to make an epic poem," and after giving directions for the "fable," the "manners," and the "machines," he comes to the "descriptions." "_for a tempest._--take eurus, zephyr, auster, and boreas, and cast them together in one verse. add to these of rain, lightning, and of thunder (the loudest you can,) _quantum sufficit_. mix your clouds and billows well together until they foam, and thicken your description here and there with a quicksand. brew your tempest well in your head before you set it a blowing. "_for a battle._--pick a large quantity of images and descriptions from homer's 'iliad,' with a spice or two of virgil, and if there remain any overplus, you may lay them by for a skirmish. season it well with simiters, and it will make an excellent battle. "_for the language_--(i mean the diction.) here it will do well to be an imitator of milton, for you will find it easier to imitate him in this, than in anything else. hebraisms and grecisms are to be found in him without the trouble of learning the languages. i knew a painter who (like our poet) had no genius, make his daubings to be thought originals by setting them in the smoke. you may in the same manner give the venerable air of antiquity to your piece, by darkening it up and down with old english. with this you may be easily furnished upon any occasion by the dictionary commonly printed at the end of chaucer. "i must not conclude without cautioning all writers without genius in one material point, which is, never to be afraid of having too much fire in their works. i should advise rather to take their warmest thoughts, and spread them abroad upon paper; for they are observed to cool before they are read." in an article on laughter by dr. birch, prebendary of worcester, we have the following fanciful list of those who indulge in it:-- "the dimplers, the smilers, the laughers, the grimacers, the horse-laughers. "the dimple is practised to give a grace to the features, and is frequently made a bait to entangle a gazing lover; this was called by the ancients the chin laugh. "the smile is for the most part confined to the fair sex and their male retinue. it expresses our satisfaction in a silent sort of approbation, doth not too much disorder the features, and is practised by lovers of the most delicate address. this tender motion of the physignomy the ancients called the ionic laugh. "the laugh among us is the common risus of the ancients. the grin by writers of antiquity is called the syncrusian, and it was then, as it is at this time, made use of to display a beautiful set of teeth. "the horse-laugh, or the sardonic, is made use of with great success in all kinds of disputation. the proficients in this kind, by a well-timed laugh, will baffle the most solid argument. this upon all occasions supplies the want of reason, is always received with great applause in coffee-house disputes, and that side the laugh joins with is generally observed to gain the better of his antagonist." in an amusing article upon punning, he gives the following instance of its beneficial effects:-- "a friend of mine who had the ague this spring was, after the failing of several medicines and charms, advised by me to enter into a course of quibbling. he threw his electuaries out of his window, and took abracadabra off from his neck, and by the mere force of punning upon that long magical word, threw himself into a fine breathing sweat, and a quiet sleep. he is now in a fair way of recovery, and says pleasantly, he is less obliged to the jesuits for their powder, than for their equivocation." several periodicals of a similar character were afterwards published by steele and others, but they wanted the old "salt," and were not equally successful. thus, in , a humorous periodical of a somewhat different character was attempted, which went through eight weekly numbers. it was called "the agreeable companion; or an universal medley of wit and good humour." there was little original matter in it, but the proprietor recognized the desirability of having pieces by various hands, and so made long extracts from prior, gay, and fenton. although there was a considerable number of epitaphs, riddles, and fables, nearly all the jests were well known and trite. but the subjoined have a certain amount of neatness. to dorcas. "oh! what bosom must but yield, when like pallas you advance, with a thimble for your shield, and a needle for your lance; fairest of the stitching train, ease my passion by your art, and in pity to my pain, mend the hole that's in my heart." to sally, at the chop-house. "dear sally, emblem of thy chop-house ware, as broth reviving, and as white bread fair; as small beer grateful, and as pepper strong, as beef-steak tender, as fresh pot-herbs young; sharp as a knife, and piercing as a fork, soft as new butter, white as fairest pork; sweet as young mutton, brisk as bottled beer, smooth as is oil, juicy as cucumber, and bright as cruet void of vinegar. o, sally! could i turn and shift my love with the same skill that you your steaks can move, my heart, thus cooked, might prove a chop-house feast, and you alone should be the welcome guest. but, dearest sal! the flames that you impart, like chop on gridiron, broil my tender heart! which if thy kindly helping hand be n't nigh, must like an up-turned chop, hiss, brown, and fry; and must at least, thou scorcher of my soul, shrink, and become an undistinguished coal." as the idea gradually gained ground that it would be necessary that the public, or a considerable number of writers, should take part in the literary work of a periodical, we now find a more important and promising publication called a magazine, and having the grand title of "the wonderful magazine!" it went through three monthly numbers in . even this was not intended to be exclusively humorous, but was to contain light stories as well as paradoxes and inquiries; the editor observing in the introduction that "a tailor's pattern-book must consist of various colours and various cloths; and what one thinks fashionable, another deems ridiculous." to help the new enterprise, an incentive to emulation was proposed by the offer of two silver medals, one for the most humorous tale, and the other for the best answer to a prize enigma. the magazine contained a long story of enchantments, a dramatic scene full of conflicts and violence, some old _bons mots_, and pieces of indifferent poetry. the editor had evidently no good source to draw from, and the best pieces in the work are the following:-- "belinda has such wondrous charms, 'tis heaven to be within her arms; and she's so charitably given, she wishes all mankind in heaven." and _a copy of verses on mr. day, who from his landlord ran away._ "here day and night conspired a sudden flight, for day, they say, is run away by night, day's past and gone. why, landlord, where's your rent? did you not see that day was almost spent? day pawned and sold, and put off what we might, though it be ne'er so dark, day will be light; you had one day a tenant, and would fain your eyes could see that day but once again. no, landlord, no; now you may truly say (and to your cost, too,) you have lost the day. day is departed in a mist; i fear, for day is broke, and yet does not appear. * * * * * "but how, now, landlord, what's the matter, pray? what! you can't sleep, you long so much for day? cheer up then, man; what though you've lost a sum, do you not know that pay-day yet will come? i will engage, do you but leave your sorrow, my life for yours, day comes again to-morrow; and for your rent--never torment your soul, you'll quickly see day peeping through a hole." births, deaths, and marriages are recorded in this magazine, under such headings as "the merry gossips," "the kissing chronicle," and "the undertaker's harvest-home," or "the squallers--a tragi-comedy," "all for love," and "act v. scene the last." it seems to have been more easy at that time to collect wonders than witticisms--perhaps also the former were more appreciated, for the "wonderful magazine" was re-commenced in , and went through sixty weekly numbers. it was intended to be humorous as well as marvellous, but the latter element predominated. here we have accounts and engravings of witches, and of men remarkable for height and corpulence, for mental gifts or strange habits--a man is noticed who never took off his clothes for forty years. one of the most interesting biographies is that of thomas britton, known as "the musical small-coal man," who started the first musical society, and, notwithstanding his lowly calling, had great wit and literary attainments, and was intimate with handel, and many noblemen. probably he would not have obtained a place in this magazine but for the circumstances of his death. there was, it seems, one honeyman, a blacksmith, who was a ventriloquist, and could speak with his mouth closed. he was introduced to britton, and, by way of a joke, told him in a sepulchral voice that he should die in a few hours. britton never recovered the shock, but died a few days afterwards in . among the humorous pieces in this magazine, we have:-- a dreadful sight. i saw a peacock with a fiery tail i saw a comet drop down hail i saw a cloud begirt with ivy round i saw a sturdy oak creep on the ground i saw a pismire swallow up a whale i saw the sea brimful of ale i saw a venice glass full six feet deep i saw a well filled with men's tears that weep i saw men's eyes all in a flame of fire i saw a house high as the moon and higher i saw the sun even at midnight i saw the man who saw this dreadful sight. there are a few amusing anecdotes in it, such as that about alphonso, king of naples. it says that he had a fool who recorded in a book the follies of the great men of the court. the king sent a moor in his household to the levant to buy horses, for which he gave him ten thousand ducats, and the fool marked this as a piece of folly. some time afterwards the king asked for the book to look over it, was surprised to find his own name, and asked why it was there. "because," said the jester, "you have entrusted your money to one you are never likely to see again." "but if he does come again," demanded the king, "and brings me the horses, what folly have i committed?" "well, if he does return," replied the fool, "i'll blot out your name and put in his." we also find some puns remarkable for an absurdity so extravagant as to be noteworthy. there is a string of derivations of names of places constructed in the following manner:-- "when the seamen on board the ship of christopher columbus came in sight of san salvador, they burst out into exuberant mirth and jollity. 'the lads are in a merry key,' cried the commodore. america is now the name of half the globe. "the city of albany was originally settled by scotch people. when strangers on their arrival there asked how the new comers did, the answer was 'all bonny.' the spelling is now a little altered but the sound is the same. "when the french first settled on the banks of the river st. lawrence, they were stinted by the intendant, monsieur picard, to a can of spruce beer a day. the people thought this measure very scant, and were constantly exclaiming, 'can-a-day!' it would be ungenerous of any reader to require a more rational derivation of the word canada." no name is more familiar to us in connection with humour than that of "joe" (josias) miller. he was well known as a comedian, between and , and had considerable natural talent, but was unable to read. he owes his celebrity to popular jest books having been put forward in his name soon after his death.[ ] it was common at that time, as we have seen in the case of scogan, for compilers to seek to give currency to their humorous collections by attributing them to some celebrated wit of the day. to jo miller was attributed the humour most effective at the period in which he lived, and it has since passed as a byword for that which is broad and pointless. sometimes it merely suggests staleness, and i have heard it said that he must have been the cleverest man in the world, for nobody ever heard a good story related that someone did not afterwards say that it was "a jo miller." a question may here be raised whether these humorous sayings, which are similar in all ages, have been handed down or re-invented over and over again. it must be admitted that the minds of men have a tendency to move in the same direction, and may have struck upon the same points in ages widely separated. in reading general literature, we constantly find the same thought suggesting itself to different writers, and i have known two people, who had no acquaintance with each other, make precisely the same joke--original in both cases. on the other hand, the rarity of genuine humour has given a permanent character to many clever sayings, and there has always been a demand for them to enliven the convivial and social intercourse of mankind. their subtlety--the small points on which they turn--makes it difficult to remember them, but there will be always some men, who will treasure them for the delectation of their friends. it is remarkable that people are never tired of repeating humorous sayings, though they are soon wearied of hearing a repetition of them by others. a man who cannot endure to hear a joke three times, will keep telling the same one over and over all his life, and but for this, fewer good stories would survive. the pleasure derived from humour, while it lasts, is greater than that from sentiment or wisdom; hence we repeat it more in daily converse than poetry or proverbs, and the constant reproduction of it until it is reduced to a mere phantom, causes its influence to appear more transient than it is. and hence, although humour is generally "fleeting as the flowers," some of the jests, which pass with us as new, are more than two thousand years old. porson said that he could trace back all the "joe millers" to a greek origin. the domestic cat--the cause of many of our household calamities--was in full activity in the days of aristophanes. then, as now, mourners had recourse to the friendly onion; and if pythagoreans had never dreamed of a donkey becoming a man, they had often known a man to become a donkey. if they were not able to skin a flint, they knew well what was meant by "skinning a flayed dog," and "shearing an ass." these and similar sayings, being of a simple character, may have been due to the same thought occurring to different minds, and this may be the case even where there is more point; thus, "an ass laden with gold will get into the strongest fortress," has been attributed to frederick the great and to napoleon, and may have been due to both. the saying "treat a friend as though he would one day become an enemy," has been attributed to lord chesterfield, to publius syrus, and even to bias, one of the seven wise men of greece. many may exclaim, "perish those who have said our good things before us!" but where the saying is very remarkable, or depends on some peculiar circumstances, we may conclude that there is one original, and that upon this pivot a number of different names and characters have been made to revolve. it has been ascribed to or appropriated by many. we have read of two eminent comic writers in classical times dying of laughter at seeing an ass eat figs. here it is most probable that there was some standing joke upon this subject, or that some instance of the kind occurred, and so this strange death came to be attributed to several individuals. the saying, "on two days is a wife enjoyable, that of her bridal and her burial," attributed to palladas in the fifth century a.d., was really due to hipponax in the fifth century b.c. there is a story that lord stair was so like louis xiv. that, when he went to the french court, the king asked him whether his mother was ever in france, and that he replied "no, your majesty, but my father was." this is in reality a roman story, and the answer was made to augustus by a young man from the country. sydney smith's reply when it was proposed to pave the approach to st. paul's with blocks of wood, "the canons have only to put their heads together and it will be done," was not original; rochester had made a similar remark to charles ii. when he noticed a construction near shoreditch: and the story of the man who complained that the chicken brought up for his dinner had only one leg, and was told to go and look into the roost-house, is to be found in an old turkish jest-book of the fifteenth century. when byron said of southey's poems that "they would be read when homer and virgil were forgotten--but not till then," he was no doubt repeating what porson said of sir richard blackmore's. "most literary stories," observes mr. willmott, "seem to be shadows, brighter or fainter, of others told before." chapter vi. sterne--his versatility--dramatic form--indelicacy--sentiment and geniality--letters to his wife--extracts from his sermons--dr. johnson. sterne exceeded smollett[ ] in indelicacy as much as in humorous talent. he calls him smelfungus, because he had written a fastidious book of travels. but he profited by his works, and the character of uncle toby reminds us considerably of commodore trunnion. but sterne is more immediately associated in our minds with swift, for both were clergymen, and both irishmen by birth, though neither by parentage. sterne's great-grandfather had been archbishop of york, and his mother heiress of sir roger jacques, of elvington in yorkshire. through family interest sterne became a prebendary of york, and obtained two livings; at one of which he spent his time in quiet obscurity until his forty-seventh year, when the production of "tristram shandy" made him famous. he did not long enjoy his laurels, dying nine years afterwards in . in both sterne and swift, as well as congreve, we see the fertile erratic fancy of ireland improved by the labour and reflection of england. sterne's humour was inferior to swift's, narrower and smaller; it was a sparkling wine, but light-bodied, and often bad in colour. his pleasantry had no depth or general bearing. he appealed to the senses, referred entirely to some particular and trivial coincidence, and often put amatory weaknesses under contribution to give it force. the current of his thoughts glided naturally and imperceptibly into poetry and humour, but his subject matter was not intellectual, though he sometimes showed fine emotional feeling. under the head of acoustic humour we may place that abruptness of style which he managed so adroitly, and that dramatic punctuation, which he may be said to have invented, and of which no one ever else made so much use. no doubt he was an accomplished speaker; and we know that he had a good ear for music. there is something in sterne which reminds us of a conjurer exhibiting tricks on the stage; in one place indeed, he speaks of his cap and bells, and no doubt many would have thought them more suitable to him than a cap and gown. he was a versatile man; fond of light and artistic pursuits, occupying, as he tells us, his leisure time with books, painting, fiddling, and shooting. in his nature there was much emotion and exuberance of mind, being that of an accomplished rather than of a thoughtful man; and we can believe when he avers that he "said a thousand things he never dreamed of." he had not sufficient foundation for humour of the highest kind; but in form and diction he was unrivalled. perhaps this was why thackeray said "he was a great jester, not a great humorist." but he had a dashing style, and the quick succession of ideas necessary for a successful author. not only was he master of writing, but of the kindred art of rhetoric. he makes a correction in the accentuation of corporal trim, who begins to read a sermon with the text,-- "_for we trust we have a good conscience._ heb. xiii., . 'trust! trust we have a good conscience!!' 'certainly,' trim, quoth my father, interrupting him, 'you give that sentence a very improper accent, for you curl up your nose, man, and read it with such a sneering tone, as if the parson was going to abuse the apostle.'" the same kind of discrimination is shown in the following-- "'and how did garrick speak the soliloquy last night?' 'oh, against all rule, my lord--most ungrammatically. betwixt the substantive and the adjective, which should agree together in number, case, and gender, he made a breach thus, stopping, as if the point wanted settling; and betwixt the nominative case, which your lordship knows should govern the verb, he suspended his voice in the epilogue a dozen times, three seconds and three-fifths by a stop watch, my lord, each time.' 'admirable grammarism!' 'but in suspending his voice, was the sense suspended likewise? did no expression of attitude or countenance fill up the chasm? was the eye silent? did you narrowly look?' 'i looked only at the stop watch, my lord.' 'excellent observer!'" his sensibility and taste in this direction was probably one of the bonds of the close intimacy, which existed between himself and david garrick. we find among his works, numerous instances of his peculiar and artistic punctuation. sometimes he continues an exclamation by means of dashes for three lines. sometimes, by way of pause, he leaves out a whole page, and the first time he does this he humorously adds:--"thrice happy book! thou wilt have one page which malice cannot blacken." one of the chapters of tristram begins-- "and a chapter it shall have." "a sermon commences--judges xix. . . . "'and it came to pass in those days, when there was no king in israel, that there was a certain levite sojourning on the side of mount ephraim, who took unto himself a concubine.' "'a concubine! but the text accounts for it, for in those days 'there was no king in israel!' then the levite, you will say, like every other man in it, did what was right in his own eyes; and so, you may add, did his concubine too, for she went away.'" another from ecclesiastes-- "'it is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting.'--eccl. vii. . "that i deny--but let us hear the wise man's reasoning for it:--'for that is the end of all men, and the living will lay it to his heart; sorrow is better than laughter, for a crack-brained order of enthusiastic monks, i grant, but not for men of the world.'" of course, he introduces this cavil to combat it, but still maintains that travellers may be allowed to amuse themselves with the beauties of the country they are passing through. the following represents his arrival in the paris of his day-- "crack, crack! crack, crack! crack, crack!--so this is paris! quoth i,--and this is paris!--humph!--paris! cried i, repeating the name the third time." "the first, the finest, the most brilliant! "the streets, however, are nasty. "but it looks, i suppose, better than it smells. crack, crack! crack, crack! what a fuss thou makest! as if it concerned the good people to be informed that a man with a pale face, and clad in black had the honour to be driven into paris at nine o'clock at night, by a postillion in a tawny yellow jerkin, turned up with a red calamanco! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! i wish thy whip----but it is the spirit of the nation; so crack, crack on." here is another instance;-- "ptr--r--r--ing--twing--twang--prut--trut;--'tis a cursed bad fiddle. do you know whether my fiddle's in tune or no?--trut--prut. they should be fifths. 'tis wickedly strung--tr--a, e, i, o, u, twang. the bridge is a mile too high, and the sound post absolutely down,--else,--trut--prut. "hark! 'tis not so bad in tone. diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle, dum. there is nothing in playing before good judges; but there's a man there--no, not him with the bundle under his arm--the grave man in black,--'sdeath! not the man with the sword on. sir, i had rather play a capriccio to calliope herself than draw my bow across my fiddle before that very man; and yet i'll stake my cremona to a jew's trump, which is the greatest odds that ever were laid, that i will this moment stop three hundred and fifty leagues out of time upon my fiddle without punishing one single nerve that belongs to him. twiddle diddle,--tweddle diddle,--twiddle diddle,--twoddle diddle,--twiddle diddle;--prut-trut--krish--krash--krush,--i've outdone you, sir, but you see he's no worse; and was apollo to take his fiddle after me, he can make him no better. diddle diddle; diddle diddle, diddle diddle,--hum--dum--drum. "your worships and your reverences love music, and god has made you all with good ears, and some of you play delightfully yourselves; trut-prut--prut-trut." in the following passages we may also observe that peculiar neat and dramatic form of expression for which sterne was remarkable. "'are we not,' continued corporal trim, looking still at susanah--'are we not like a flower of the field?' a tear of pride stole in betwixt every two tears of humiliation--else no tongue could have described susanah's affliction--'is not all flesh grass?--'tis clay--'tis dirt.' they all looked directly at the scullion;--the scullion had been just scouring a fish kettle--it was not fair. "'what is the finest face man ever looked at?' 'i could hear trim talk so for ever,' cried susanah, 'what is it?' susanah laid her head on trim's shoulder--'but corruption!'--susanah took it off. "now i love you for this;--and 'tis this delicious mixture within you, which makes you dear creatures what you are;--and he, who hates you for it--all i can say of the matter is--that he has either a pumpkin for his head, or a pippin for his heart...." "wanting the remainder of a fragment of paper on which he found an amusing story, he asked his french servant for it; la fleur said he had wrapped it round the stalks of a bouquet, which he had given to his _demoiselle_ upon the boulevards. 'then, prithee, la fleur,' said i 'step back to her, and see if thou canst get it.' 'there is no doubt of it,' said la fleur, and away he flew. "in a very little time the poor fellow came back quite out of breath, with deeper marks of disappointment in his looks than would arise from the simple irreparability of the payment. _juste ciel!_ in less than two minutes that the poor fellow had taken his last farewell of her--his faithless mistress had given his _gage d'amour_ to one of the count's footmen--the footman to a young semptress--and the semptress to a fiddler, with my fragment at the end of it. our misfortunes were involved together--i gave a sigh, and la fleur echoed it back to my ear. 'how perfidious!' cried la fleur, 'how unlucky,' said i. "'i should not have been mortified, monsieur,' quoth la fleur, 'if she had lost it.' "'nor i, la fleur,' said i, 'had i found it.'" we very commonly form our opinion of an author's character from his writings, and there is no doubt that his tendencies can scarcely fail to betray themselves to a careful observer. but experience has generally taught him to curb or quicken his feelings according to the notions of the public taste, so that he often expresses the sentiments of others rather than his own. hence a literary friend once observed to me that a man is very different from what his writings would lead you to suppose. i think there are certain indications in sterne's writings that he introduced those passages to which objection was justly taken for the purpose of catching the favour of the public. he had already published some sermons, which, he says, "found neither purchasers nor readers." conscious of his talent, and being no doubt reminded of it by his friends, he wished to obtain a field for it, and determined now to try a different course. he wrote "tristram shandy" as he says "not to be fed, but to be famous," and so just was the opinion of what would please the age in which he lived that we find the quiet country rector suddenly transformed into the most popular literary man of the day,--going up to london and receiving more invitations than he could accept. he had made his gold current by a considerable admixture of alloy; and endeavoured to excuse his offences of this kind by a variety of subterfuges. upon one occasion, he compared them to the antics of children which although unseemly, are performed with perfect innocence. of course this was a jest. sterne was not living in a paradisaical age, and he intentionally overstept the boundaries of decorum. but granting he had an object in view, was he justified in adopting such means to obtain it? certainly not; but he had some right to laugh, as he does, at the inconsistency of the public, who, while they blamed his books, bought up the editions of them as fast as they could be issued. if sterne's humour was often offensive, we must in justice admit it was never cynical. had it possessed more satire it would have, perhaps, been more instructive, but there was a bright trait in sterne's character, that he never accused others. on the contrary, he censures men who, "wishing to be thought witty, and despairing of coming honestly by the title, try to affect it by shrewd and sarcastic reflections upon whatever is done in the world. this is setting up trade with the broken stock of other people's failings--perhaps their misfortunes--so, much good may it do them with what honour they can get--the farthest extent of which, i think, is to be praised, as we do some sauces--with tears in our eyes. it has helped to give a bad name to wit, as if the main essence of it was satire." sterne had no personal enmities; his faults were all on the amiable side, nor can we imagine a selfish cold-hearted sensualist writing "dear sensibility, source inexhausted by all that is precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows." his letters to his wife before their marriage exhibit the most tender and beautiful sentiments;-- "my l---- talks of leaving the country; may a kind angel guide thy steps hither--thou sayest thou will quit the place with regret;--i think i see you looking twenty times a day at the house--almost counting every brick and pane of glass, and telling them at the same time with a sigh, you are going to leave them--oh, happy modification of matter! they will remain insensible to thy loss. but how wilt thou be able to part with thy garden? the recollection of so many pleasant walks must have endeared it to you. the trees, the shrubs, the flowers, which thou reared with thy own hands, will they not droop, and fade away sooner upon thy departure? who will be thy successor to raise them in thy absence? thou wilt leave thy name upon the myrtle tree--if trees, shrubs, and flowers could compose an elegy, i should expect a very plaintive one on this subject." in the course of one of his sermons he writes very characteristically-- "let the torpid monk seek heaven comfortless and alone, god speed him! for my own part, i fear i should never so find the way; let me be wise and religious, but let me be man; wherever thy providence places me, or whatever be the road i take to get to thee, give me some companion in my journey, be it only to remark to. 'how our shadows lengthen as the sun goes down,' to whom i may say, 'how fresh is the face of nature! how sweet the flowers of the field! how delicious are these fruits!'" we believe these to have been sincere expressions--inside his motley garb he had a heart of tenderness. it went forth to all, even to the animal world--to the caged starling. some may attribute the ebullitions of feeling in his works to affectation, but those who have read them attentively will observe the same impulses too generally predominant to be the work of design. the story of the prisoner le fevre and of maria bear the brightest testimony to his character in this respect. what sentiments can surpass in poetic beauty or religious feeling that in which he commends the distraught girl to the beneficence of the almighty who "tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." we have no proof that sterne was a dissipated man. he expressly denies it in a letter written shortly before his death, and in another, he says, "the world has imagined because i wrote 'tristram shandy,' that i myself was more shandean than i really was." in his day many, not only of the laity, but of the clergy, thought little of indulging in coarse jests, and of writing poetry which contained much more wit than decency. sterne having lived in retirement until , must have had a feeble constitution, for in the spring of he broke a blood vessel, and again in the same autumn he "bled the bed full," owing, as he says, to the temperature of paris, which was "as hot as nebuchadnezzar's oven." he complains of the fatigue of writing and preaching, and these dangerous attacks were constantly recurring, until the time of his death. sterne's sermons went through seven editions. they are not doctrinal, but enjoin benevolence and charity. there is not so much humour in them as in some of the present day, but he sometimes gives point to his reflections. on the subject of religious fanaticism he says:-- "when a poor disconsolate drooping creature is terrified from all enjoyments--prays without ceasing till his imagination is heated--fasts and mortifies and mopes till his body is in as bad a plight as his mind, is it a wonder that the mechanical disturbances and conflicts of an empty belly, interpreted by an empty head, should be mistaken for the workings of a different kind to what they are? or that in such a situation every commotion should help to fix him in this malady, and make him a fitter subject for the treatment of a physician than of a divine. "the insolence of base minds in success is boundless--not unlike some little particles of matter struck off from the surface of the dial by the sunshine, they dance and sport there while it lasts, but the moment it is withdrawn they fall down--for dust they are, and unto dust they will return. "when absalom is cast down, shimei is the first man who hastens to meet david; and had the wheel turned round a hundred times. shimei, i dare say, at every period of its rotation, would have been uppermost. oh, shimei! would to heaven when thou wast slain, that all thy family had been slain with thee, and not one of thy resemblance left! but ye have multiplied exceedingly and replenished the earth; and if i prophecy rightly, ye will in the end subdue it." dr. johnson speaks of "the man sterne," and was jealous of his receiving so many more invitations than himself. but the good doctor with all his learning and intellectual endowments was not so pleasant a companion as sterne, and, although sometimes sarcastic, had none of his talent for humour. johnson wrote some pretty anacreontics, but his turn of mind was rather grave than gay. he was generally pompous, which together with his self-sufficiency led cowper, somewhat irreverently, to call him a "prig." among his few light and humorous snatches, we have lines written in ridicule of certain poems published in -- "wheresoe'er i turn my view, all is strange, yet nothing new; endless labour all along, endless labour to be wrong: "phrase that time has flung away uncouth words in disarray, tricked in antique ruff and bonnet ode, and elegy, and sonnet." an imitation-- "hermit poor in solemn cell wearing out life's evening grey, strike thy bosom sage and tell which is bliss, and which the way. "thus i spoke, and speaking sighed scarce repressed the starting tear when the hoary sage replyed 'come my lad, and drink some beer.'" the following is an impromptu conceit. "to mrs. thrale, on her completing her thirty-fifth year." "oft in danger, yet alive, we are come to thirty-five; long may better years arrive better years than thirty-five, could philosophers contrive life to stop at thirty-five, time his hours should never drive o'er the bounds of thirty-five. high to soar, and deep to dive, nature gives at thirty-five, ladies stock and tend your hive, trifle not at thirty-five, for howe'er we boast and strive life declines from thirty-five. he that ever hopes to thrive must begin by thirty-five, and all who wisely wish to wive must look on thrale at thirty-five." there is a pleasing mixture of wisdom and humour in the following stanza written to miss thrale on hearing her consulting a friend as to a dress and hat she was inclined to wear-- "wear the gown and wear the hat snatch thy pleasures while they last, had'st thou nine lives like a cat soon those nine lives would be past." johnson's friends garrick and foote, although so great in the mimetic art, do not deserve any particular mention as writers of comedy. it is said that garrick went to a school in tichfield at which johnson was an usher, and that master and pupil came up to london together to seek their fortunes. but although garrick became the first of comic actors, he produced nothing literary but a few indifferent farces. the same may be said of foote, who was also a celebrated wit in conversation. johnson said, "for loud, obstreperous, broad-faced mirth, i know not his equal." one of dr. johnson's friends was mrs. charlotte lennox to whom he gives the palm among literary ladies. up to this time there were few lady humorists, and none of an altogether respectable description. but mrs. lennox appeared as a harbinger of that refined and harmless pleasantry which has since sparkled through the pages of our best authoresses. she wrote a comedy, poems, and novels, her most remarkable production being the female quixote. here a young lady who had been reading romances, enacts the heroine with very amusing results. in plan the work is a close imitation of don quixote but the character is not so natural as that drawn by cervantes. chapter vii. dodsley--"a muse in livery"--"the devil's a dunce"--"the toy shop"--fielding--smollett. robert dodsley was born in . he was the son of a schoolmaster in mansfield, but went into domestic service as a footman, and held several respectable situations. while in this capacity, he employed his leisure time in composing poetry, and he appropriately named his first production "a muse in livery." the most pleasant and interesting of these early poems is that in which he gives an account of his daily life, showing how observant a footman may be. it is in the form of an epistle:-- "dear friend, since i am now at leisure, and in the country taking pleasure, it may be worth your while to hear a silly footman's business there; i'll try to tell in easy rhyme how i in london spent my time. and first, as soon as laziness would let me i rise from bed, and down i sit me to cleaning glasses, knives, and plate, and such like dirty work as that, which (by the bye) is what i hate! this done, with expeditious care to dress myself i straight prepare, i clean my buckles, black my shoes, powder my wig and brush my clothes, take off my beard and wash my face, and then i'm ready for the chase. down comes my lady's woman straight, 'where's robin?' 'here!' 'pray take your hat and go--and go--and go--and go-- and this and that desire to know.' the charge received, away run i and here and there, and yonder fly, with services and 'how d'ye does,' then home return well fraught with news. here some short time does interpose till warm effluvias greet my nose, which from the spits and kettles fly, declaring dinner time is nigh. to lay the cloth i now prepare with uniformity and care; in order knives and forks are laid, with folded napkins, salt, and bread: the sideboards glittering too appear with plate and glass and china-ware. then ale and beer and wine decanted, and all things ready which are wanted. the smoking dishes enter in, to stomachs sharp a grateful scene; which on the table being placed, and some few ceremonies past, they all sit down and fall to eating, whilst i behind stand silent waiting. this is the only pleasant hour which i have in the twenty-four. for whilst i unregarded stand, with ready salver in my hand, and seem to understand no more than just what's called for out to pour, i hear and mark the courtly phrases, and all the elegance that passes; disputes maintained without digression, with ready wit and fine expression; the laws of true politeness stated, and what good breeding is, debated. this happy hour elapsed and gone, the time for drinking tea comes on, the kettle filled, the water boiled, the cream provided, biscuits piled, and lamp prepared, i straight engage the lilliputian equipage, of dishes, saucers, spoons and tongs, and all the et cetera which thereto belongs; which ranged in order and decorum i carry in and set before 'em, then pour the green or bohea out, and as commanded hand about." after the early dinner and "dish" of tea, his mistress goes out visiting in the evening, and dodsley precedes her with a flambeau. another fancy was entitled "the devil's a dunce," was directed against the pope.[ ] two friends apply to him for absolution, one rich and the other poor. the rich man obtained the pardon, but the poor sued in vain, the pope replying:-- "i cannot save you if i would, nor would i do it if i could." "home goes the man in deep despair, and died soon after he came there, and went 'tis said to hell: but sure he was not there for being poor! but long he had not been below before he saw his friend come too. at this he was in great surprise and scarcely could believe his eyes, 'what! friend,' said he, 'are you come too? i thought the pope had pardoned you.' 'yes,' quoth the man, 'i thought so too, but i was by the pope trepanned, _the devil couldn't read his hand_.'" the footman's next literary attempt was in a dramatic poem named "the toy-shop," and he had the courage to send it to pope. why he selected this poet does not plainly appear; by some it is said that his then mistress introduced her servant's poems to pope's notice, but it is not improbable that dodsley had heard of him from his brother, who was gardener to mr. allen of prior park, bath, where pope was often on a visit. however this may have been, he received a very kind letter from the poet, and an introduction to mr. rich, whose approval of the piece led to its being performed at covent garden.[ ] this play was the foundation of dodsley's fortune. by means of the money thus obtained, he set himself up as a bookseller in pall mall, and became known to the world of rank and genius. he produced successively "the king and the miller of mansfield," and "the blind beggar of bethnal green." he published for pope, and in , samuel johnson sold his first original publication to him for ten guineas. he suggested to dr. johnson the scheme of writing an english dictionary, and also, in conjunction with edmund burke, commenced the "annual register." dodsley's principal work was the "economy of human life," written in an aphoristic style, and ascribed to lord chesterfield. he also made a collection of six volumes of contemporary poems, and they show how much rarer humour was than sentiment, for dodsley was not a man to omit anything sparkling. the following imitation of ambrose philips--a general butt--has merit: a pipe of tobacco. little tube of mighty power, charmer of an idle hour, object of my warm desire lip of wax, and eye of fire, and thy snowy taper waist with my finger gently braced, and thy pretty smiling crest with my little stopper pressed, and the sweetest bliss of blisses breathing from thy balmy kisses, happy thrice and thrice again happiest he of happy men, who, when again the night returns, when again the taper burns, when again the cricket's gay, (little cricket full of play), can afford his tube to feed with the fragrant indian weed. pleasures for a nose divine incense of the god of wine, happy thrice and thrice again, happiest he of happy men. few humorous writers have attained to a greater celebrity than fielding. he was born in , was a son of general fielding, and a relative of lord denbigh. in his early life, his works, which were comedies, were remarkable for severe satire, and some of them so political as to be instrumental in leading to the chamberlain's supervision of the stage. his turn of mind was decidedly cynical. in the "pleasures of the town," we have many songs, of which the following is a specimen:-- "the stone that always turns at will to gold, the chemist craves; but gold, without the chemist's skill, turns all men into knaves. "the merchant would the courtier cheat, when on his goods he lays too high a price--but faith he's bit-- for a courtier never pays. "the lawyer with a face demure, hangs him who steals your pelf, because the good man can endure no robber but himself. "betwixt the quack and highwayman, what difference can there be? tho' this with pistol, that with pen, both kill you for a fee." his plays were not very successful. they abounded in witty sallies and repartee, but the general plot was not humorous. the jollity was of a rough farcical character. it was said he left off writing for the stage when he should have begun. he took little care with his plays, and would go home late from a tavern, and bring a dramatic scene in the morning, written on the paper in which he had wrapped his tobacco. in many of his works he shows a mind approaching that of the roman satirists. speaking of "jonathan wild," he says:-- "i think we may be excused for suspecting that the splendid palaces of the great are often no other than newgate with the mask on; nor do i know anything which can raise an honest man's indignation higher than that the same morals should be in one place attended with all imaginary misery and infamy, and in the other with the highest luxury and honour. let any impartial man in his senses be asked, for which of these two places a composition of cruelty, lust, avarice, rapine, insolence, hypocrisy, fraud, and treachery is best fitted? surely his answer will be certain and immediate; and yet i am afraid all these ingredients glossed over with wealth and a title have been treated with the highest respect and veneration in the one, while one or two of them have been condemned to the gallows in the other. if there are, then, any men of such morals, who dare call themselves great, and are so reputed, or called at least, by the deceived multitude, surely a little private censure by the few is a very moderate tax for them to pay." there is a considerable amount of humour in fielding's "journey from this world to the next." he represents the spirits as drawing lots before they enter this life as to what their destinies are to be, and he introduces a sort of migration of souls, in which julian becomes a king, fool, tailor, beggar, &c. as a tailor, he speaks of the dignity of his calling, "the prince gives the title, but the tailor makes the man." of course his reflections turn very much upon his bills. "courtiers," he says, "may be divided into two sorts, very essentially different from each other; into those who never intend to pay for their clothes, and those who do intend to pay for them, but are never able. of the latter sort are many of those young gentlemen whom we equip out for the army, and who are, unhappily for us, cast off before they arrive at preferment. this is the reason why tailors in time of war are mistaken for politicians by their inquisitiveness into the event of battles, one campaign very often proving the ruin of half-a-dozen of us." julian also gives his experience during his life as a beggar, showing that his life was not so very miserable. "i married a charming young woman for love; she was the daughter of a neighbouring beggar, who with an improvidence too often seen, spent a very large income, which he procured from his profession, so that he was able to give her no fortune down. however, at his death he left her a very well-accustomed begging hut situated on the side of a steep hill, where travellers could not immediately escape from us; and a garden adjoining, being the twenty-eighth part of an acre well-planted. she made the best of wives, bore me nineteen children, and never failed to get my supper ready against my return home--this being my favourite meal, and at which i, as well as my whole family, greatly enjoyed ourselves." "no profession," he observes, "requires a deeper insight into human nature than a beggar's. their knowledge of the passions of men is so extensive, that i have often thought it would be of no little service to a politician to have his education among them. nay, there is a much greater analogy between these two characters than is imagined: for both concur in their first and grand principle, it being equally their business to delude and impose on mankind. it must be admitted that they differ widely in the degree of advantage, which they make of their deceit; for whereas the beggar is contented with a little, the politician leaves but a little behind." there is a considerable amount of indelicacy in the episodes in "tom jones," and also of hostility, which is exhibited in the rough form of pugilistic encounters, so as almost to remind us of the old comic stage. he seems especially fond of settling quarrels in this way, and wishes that no other was ever used, and that "iron should dig no bowels but those of the earth." the character of deborah wilkins, the old maid who is shocked at the frivolity of jenny jones; of thwackum, the schoolmaster, whose "meditations were full of birch;" and of the barber, whose jests, although they brought him so many slaps and kicks "would come," are excellent. there is a vast fertility of humour in his pages, which depending upon the general circumstances and peculiar characters of the persons introduced, cannot be easily appreciated in extracts. the following, however, can be understood easily:-- "'i thought there must be a devil,' the sergeant says to the innkeeper, 'notwithstanding what the officers said, though one of them was a captain, for methought, thinks i to myself, if there be no devil how can wicked people be sent to him? and i have read all that upon a book.' 'some of your officers,' quoth the landlord, 'will find there is a devil to their shame, i believe. i don't question but he'll pay off some old scores upon my account. here was one quartered upon me half-a-year, who had the conscience to take up one of my best beds, though he hardly spent a shilling a day in the house, and his man went to roast cabbages at the kitchen fire, because i would not give them a dinner on sunday. every good christian must desire that there should be a devil for the punishment of such wretches....'" the man of the hill gives his travelling experiences:-- "'in italy the landlords are very silent. in france they are more talkative, but yet civil. in germany and holland they are generally very impertinent. and as for their honesty i believe it is pretty equal in all those countries.... as for my own part, i past through all these nations, as you perhaps may have through a crowd at a show, jostling to get by them, holding my nose with one hand, and defending my pockets with the other, without speaking a word to any of them while i was pressing on to see what i wanted to see.' "'did you not find some of the nations less troublesome to you than the others?' said jones. "'oh, yes,' replied the old man, 'the turks were much more tolerable to me than the christians, for they are men of profound taciturnity, and never disturb a stranger with questions. now and then, indeed, they bestow a short curse upon him, or spit in his face as he walks in the streets, but then they have done with him.'" from another passage, we find that ladies are armed with very deadly weapons. he had said that love was no more capable of allaying hunger than a rose is capable of delighting the ear, or a violin of gratifying the smell, and he gives an instance:-- "say then, ye graces, you that inhabit the heavenly mansions of seraphina's countenance, what were the weapons used to captivate the heart of mr. jones. first, from two lovely blue eyes, whose bright orbs flashed lightning at their discharge, flew off two pointed ogles; but, happily for our hero, hit only a vast piece of beef, which he was then conveying into his plate. the fair warrior perceived their miscarriage, and immediately from her fair bosom drew forth a deadly sigh; a sigh, which none could have heard unmoved, and which was sufficient at once to have swept off a dozen beaux--so soft, so sweet, so tender, that the insinuating air must have found its subtle way to the heart of our hero, had it not luckily been driven from his ears by the coarse bubbling of some bottled ale which at that time he was pouring forth. many other weapons did she essay; but the god of eating (if there be any such deity) preserved his votary; or, perhaps, the security of jones may be accounted for by natural means, for, as love frequently preserves from the attacks of hunger, so may hunger possibly, in some cases, defend us against love. no sooner was the cloth removed, than she again began her operations. first, having planted her right eye sideways against mr. jones, she shot from its corner a most penetrating glance, which, though great part of its force was spent before it reached our hero, did not vent itself without effect. this, the fair one perceiving, hastily withdrew her eyes, and levelled them downwards as if she was concerned only for what she had done, though by this means she designed only to draw him from his guard, and indeed to open his eyes, through which she intended to surprise his heart. and now gently lifting those two bright orbs, which had already begun to make an impression on poor jones, she discharged a volley of small charms from her whole countenance in a smile. not a smile of mirth or of joy, but a smile of affection, which most ladies have always ready at their command, and which serves them to show at once their good-humour, their pretty dimples, and their white teeth. "this smile our hero received full in his eyes, and was immediately staggered with its force. he then began to see the designs of the enemy, and indeed to feel their success. a parley now was set on foot between the parties, during which the artful fair so slily and imperceptibly carried on her attack, that she had almost subdued the heart of our hero before she again repaired to acts of hostility. to confess the truth, i am afraid mr. jones maintained a kind of dutch defence, and treacherously delivered up the garrison without duly weighing his allegiance to the fair sophia." it has generally been the custom to couple the name of smollett with that of fielding, but the former has scarcely any claim to be regarded as a humorist, except such as is largely due to the use of gross indelicacy and coarse caricature. he first attempted poetry, and wrote two dull satires "advice" and "reproof." his "ode to mirth," is somewhat sprightly, but of his songs the following is a favourable specimen:-- "from the man whom i love, though my heart i disguise, i will freely describe the wretch i despise, and if he has sense but to balance a straw he will sure take the hint from the picture i draw. "a wit without sense, without fancy, a beau, like a parrot he chatters, and struts like a crow; a peacock in pride, in grimace a baboon, in courage a hind, in conceit a gascon. "as a vulture rapacious, in falsehood a fox, inconstant as waves, and unfeeling as rocks, as a tiger ferocious, perverse as a hog, in mischief an ape, and in fawning a dog. "in a word, to sum up all his talents together, his heart is of lead, and his brain is of feather, yet if he has sense to balance a straw he will sure take the hint from the picture i draw." although smollett indulged in great coarseness, i doubt whether he has anything more humorous in his writings than the above lines. sir walter scott formed a more just opinion of him than some later critics. he says:-- "smollett's humour arises from the situation of the persons, or the peculiarity of their external appearance, as roderick random's carroty locks, which hung down over his shoulders like a pound of candles; or strap's ignorance of london, and the blunders that follow it. there is a tone of vulgarity about all his productions." smollett was born in dumbartonshire in . he became a surgeon, and for six or seven years was employed in the navy in that capacity. this may account for the strong flavour of brine and tar in the best of his works--his sea sketches have a considerable amount of character in them--sometimes rather too much. his liberal use of nautical language is exhibited when lieutenant hatchway is going away, "trunnion, not a little affected, turned his eye ruefully upon the lieutenant saying in piteous tone, 'what! leave me at last, jack, after we have weathered so many hard gales together? damn my limbs! i thought you had been more of an honest heart: i looked upon you as my foremast and tom pipes as my mizen; now he is carried away; if so be as you go too, my standing rigging being decayed d'ye see, the first squall will bring me by the board. damn ye, if in case i have given offence, can't you speak above board, and i shall make you amends." some idea of his best comic scenes, which have a certain kind of humorous merit, may be obtained from the following description of the progress of commodore trunnion and his party to the wedding. wishing to go in state, they advance on horseback, and are seen crossing the road obliquely so as to avoid the eye of the wind. the cries of a pack of hounds unfortunately reach the horses' ears, who being hunters, immediately start off after them in full gallop. "the lieutenant, whose steed had got the heels of the others, finding it would be great folly and presumption in him to pretend to keep the saddle with his wooden leg, very wisely took the opportunity of throwing himself off in his passage through a field of rich clover, among which he lay at his ease; and seeing his captain advancing at full gallop, hailed him with the salutation of 'what cheer? ho!' the commodore, who was in infinite distress, eyeing him askance, as he passed replied with a faltering voice, 'o damn ye! you are safe at an anchor, i wish to god i were as fast moored.' nevertheless, conscious of his disabled heel, he would not venture to try the experiment that had succeeded so well with hatchway, but resolved to stick as close as possible to his horse's back, until providence should interpose in his behalf. with this view he dropped his whip, and with his right hand laid fast hold of the pommel, contracting every muscle of his body to secure himself in the seat, and grinning most formidably in consequence of this exertion. in this attitude he was hurried on a considerable way, when all of a sudden his view was comforted by a five-bar gate that appeared before him, as he never doubted that there the career of his hunter must necessarily end. but alas! he reckoned without his host. far from halting at this obstruction, the horse sprang over with amazing agility, to the utter confusion and disorder of his owner, who lost his hat and periwig in the leap, and now began to think in good earnest that he was actually mounted on the back of the devil. he recommended himself to god, his reflection forsook him, his eyesight and all his other senses failed, he quitted the reins, and fastening by instinct on the main, was in this condition conveyed into the midst of the sportsmen, who were astonished at the sight of such an apparition. neither was their surprise to be wondered at, if we reflect on the figure that presented itself to their view." smollett delights in practical jokes, fighting, and violent language. sometimes we are almost in danger of the dagger. he rejoices in fun, in such scenes as that of random fighting captain weasel with the roasting-spit, and what he says in "humphrey clinker" of the ladies, at a party in bath, might better apply to his own dialogues. "some cried, some swore, and the tropes and figures of billingsgate were used without reserve in all their native rest and flavour." chapter viii. cowper--lady austen's influence--"john gilpin"--"the task"--goldsmith--"the citizen of the world"--humorous poems--quacks--baron münchausen. humour seems to have an especial claim upon us in connection with the name of cowper, inasmuch as but for it we should never have become acquainted with his writings. many as are the charms of his works, they would never have become popularly known without this addition. in he published his collection of poems, but it only had an indifferent sale. although friends spoke well of them, reviews gave forth various and uncertain opinions, and there was no sufficient inducement to lead the public to buy or read. cowper was upon the verge of sinking into the abyss of unsuccessful authors, when a bright vision crossed his path. lady austen paid a visit to olney. she had lived much in france, and was overflowing with good humour and vivacity. she came to reside at the vicarage at the back of his house, and they became so intimate that they passed the days alternately with each other. "lady austen's conversation had," writes southey, "as happy an effect on the melancholy spirit of cowper, as the harp of david had upon saul." it is refreshing to turn from cynicism and prurience, to gentle and more harmless pleasantry. cowper was very sympathetic, and easily took the impression of those with whom he consorted. most of his pieces were written at the suggestion of others. mrs. unwin was of a melancholy and serious turn of mind, and tended to repress his lighter fancies, but his letters show that playfulness was natural to him; and in his first volume of poems we find two pieces of a decidedly humorous cast. we have "the report of an adjudged case not to be found in any of the books." "between nose and eyes a strange contest arose, the spectacles set them unhappily wrong, the point in dispute was, as all the world knows, to which the said spectacles ought to belong." we know the chief baron ear, finally gave his decision-- "that whenever the nose put his spectacles on by daylight or candlelight, eyes should be shut." the other piece is called "hypocristy detected." "thus says the prophet of the turk, good mussulman, abstain from pork, there is a part in every swine no friend or follower of mine may taste, whate'er his inclination on pain of excommunication. such mahomet's mysterious charge, and thus he left the point at large. had he the sinful part expressed they might with safety eat the rest; but for one piece they thought it hard from the whole hog to be debarred, and set their wit at work to find what joint the prophet had in mind. much controversy straight arose these choose the back, the belly those; by some 'tis confidently said he meant not to forbid the head; while others at that doctrine rail, and piously prefer the tail. thus conscience freed from every clog, mahometans eat up the hog." the moral follows, pointing out that each one makes an exception in favour of his own besetting sin. these touches of humour which had hitherto appeared timidly in his writings were encouraged by lady austen. "a new scene is opening," he writes, "which will add fresh plumes to the wings of time." she was his bright and better genius. trying in every way to cheer his spirits, she told him one day an old nursery story she had heard in her childhood--the "history of john gilpin." cowper was much taken with it, and next morning he came down to breakfast with a ballad composed upon it, which made them laugh till they cried. he sent it to mr. unwin, who had it inserted in a newspaper. but little was thought of it, until henderson, a well-known actor introduced it into his readings.[ ] from that moment cowper's fame was secured, and his next work "the task," also suggested by lady austen, had a wide circulation. after this success, lady austen set cowper a "task," which he performed excellently and secured his fame. he was at first at a loss how to begin it--"write on anything," she said, "on this sofa." he took her at her word, and proceeded-- "the nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, whom snoring she disturbs. as sweetly he who quits the coachbox at the midnight hour to sleep within the carriage more secure, his legs depending at the open door. sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk, the tedious rector drawling o'er his head, and sweet the clerk below: but neither sleep of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead, nor his, who quits the box at midnight hour to slumber in the carriage more secure, nor sleep enjoyed by curate in his desk, nor yet the dozings of the clerk are sweet compared with the repose the sofa yields." cowper lived in the country, and wrote many poems on birds and flowers. in his first volume there are "the doves," "the raven's nest," "the lily and the rose," "the nightingale and the glowworm," "the pine-apple and the bee," "the goldfinch starved to death in a cage," and some others. they are pretty conceits, but at the present day remind us a little of the nursery. goldsmith's humour deserves equal praise for affording amusement without animosity or indelicacy. with regard to the former, his satire is so general that it cannot inflict any wound; and although he may have slightly erred in one or two passages on the latter score, he condemns all such seasoning of humour, which is used, as he says, to compensate for want of invention. in his plays, there is much good broad-humoured fun without anything offensive. simple devices such as tony lumpkin's causing a manor-house to be mistaken for an inn, produces much harmless amusement. it is noteworthy that the first successful work of goldsmith was his "citizen of the world." here the correspondence of a chinaman in england with one of his friends in his own country, affords great scope for humour, the manners and customs of each nation being regarded according to the views of the other. the intention is to show absurdities on the same plan which led afterwards to the popularity of "hadji baba in england." sometimes the faults pointed out seem real, sometimes the criticism is meant to be oriental and ridiculous. thus going to an english theatre he observes-- "the richest, in general, were placed in the lowest seats, and the poor rose above them in degrees proportionate to their poverty. the order of precedence seemed here inverted; those who were undermost all the day, enjoyed a temporary eminence and became masters of the ceremonies. it was they who called for the music, indulging every noisy freedom, and testifying all the insolence of beggary in exaltation." real censure is intended in the following, which shows the change in ladies dress within the last few years-- "what chiefly distinguishes the sex at present is the train. as a lady's quality or fashion was once determined here by the circumference of her hoop, both are now measured by the length of her tail. women of moderate fortunes are contented with tails moderately long, but ladies of tone, taste, and distinction set no bounds to their ambition in this particular. i am told the lady mayoress on days of ceremony carries one longer than a bell-wether of bantam, whose tail, you know, is trundled along in a wheelbarrow." a "little beau" discoursing with the chinaman, observes-- "i am told your asiatic beauties are the most convenient women alive, for they have no souls; positively there is nothing in nature i should like so much as women without souls; soul here is the utter ruin of half the sex. a girl of eighteen shall have soul enough to spend a hundred pounds in the turning of a tramp. her mother shall have soul enough to ride a sweepstake snatch at a horse-race; her maiden aunt shall have soul enough to purchase the furniture of a whole toy-shop, and others shall have soul enough to behave as if they had no souls at all." the "citizen of the world" cannot understand why there are so many old maids and bachelors in england. he regards the latter as most contemptible, and says the mob should be permitted to halloo after them; boys might play tricks on them with impunity; every well-bred company should laugh at them, and if one of them, when turned sixty, offered to make love, his mistress might spit in his face, or what would be a greater punishment should fairly accept him. old maids he would not treat with such severity, because he supposes they are not so by their own fault; but he hears that many have received offers, and refused them. miss squeeze, the pawnbroker's daughter, had heard so much about money, that she resolved never to marry a man whose fortune was not equal to her own, without ever considering that some abatement should be made as her face was pale and marked with the small-pox. sophronia loved greek, and hated men. she rejected fine gentlemen because they were not pedants, and pedants because they were not fine gentlemen. she found a fault in every lover, until the wrinkles of old age overtook her, and now she talks incessantly of the beauties of the mind. the character of the information contained in the daily newspapers is thus described-- "the universal passion for politics is gratified with daily papers, as with us in china. but, as in ours, the emperor endeavours to instruct his people; in theirs the people endeavour to instruct the administration. you must not, however, imagine that they who compile these papers have any actual knowledge of politics or the government of a state; they only collect their materials from the oracle of some coffee-house, which oracle has himself gathered them the night before from a beau at a gaming-table, who has pillaged his knowledge from the great man's porter, who has had his information from the great man's gentleman, who has invented the whole story for his own amusement the night preceding." he gives the following specimens of contradictory newspaper intelligence from abroad. "_vienna._--we have received certain advices that a party of twenty-thousand austrians, having attacked a much superior body of prussians, put them all to flight, and took the rest prisoners of war. "_berlin._--we have received certain advices that a party of twenty-thousand prussians, having attacked a much superior body of austrians, put them to flight, and took a great number of prisoners with their military chest, cannon, and baggage." the chinaman observing the laudatory character of epitaphs, suggests a plan by which flattery might be indulged, without sacrificing truth. the device is that anciently called "contrary to expectation," but apparently borrowed by goldsmith from some french poem. here is a specimen. "ye muses, pour the pitying tear, for pollio snatched away; o, had he lived another year he had not died to-day."... he gives another on madam blaize-- "good people all with one accord lament for madam blaize, who never wanted a good word from those who spoke her praise." the elegy on the death of a mad dog terminates in a stroke taken from the old epigram of demodocus-- "good people all, of everysort, give ear unto my song, and if you find it wondrous short, it cannot hold you long. "in islington there was a man, of whom the world might say, that still a godly race he ran, whene'er he went to pray. "a kind and gentle heart he had, to comfort friends and foes, the naked every day he clad, when he put on his clothes. "and in this town a dog was found, as many dogs there be, both mongrel, puppy, whelps, and hound, and curs of low degree. "this dog and man at first were friends, but when a pique began, the dog to gain some private ends, went mad, and bit the man. "around from all the neighbouring streets the wondering neighbours ran, and swore the dog had lost his wits, to bite so good a man. "the wound, it seemed both sore and sad to every christian eye; and, while they swore the dog was mad, they swore the man would die. "but soon a wonder came to light that showed the rogues they lied, the man recovered of the bite, the dog it was that died." the fine and elegant humour in "the vicar of wakefield" and "the deserted village," has greatly contributed to give those works a lasting place in the literature of this country. goldsmith attacked, among other imposters, the quacks of his day, who promised to cure every disease. reading their advertisements, he is astonished that the english patient should be so obstinate as to refuse health on such easy terms. we find from swift that astrologers and fortune-tellers were very plentiful in these times. the following lament was written towards the end of the last century upon the death of one of them--dr. safford, a quack and fortune-teller. "lament, ye damsels of our london city, poor unprovided girls, though fair and witty, who masked would to his house in couples come, to understand your matrimonial doom; to know what kind of man you were to marry, and how long time, poor things, you were to tarry; your oracle is silent; none can tell on whom his astrologic mantle fell; for he, when sick, refused the doctor's aid, and only to his pills devotion paid, yet it was surely a most sad disaster, the saucy pills at last should kill their master." the travels of baron münchausen were first published in , and the esteem in which they were held, and we may conclude their merit, was shown by the numbers of editions rapidly succeeding each other, and by the translations which were made into foreign languages. it is somewhat strange that there should be a doubt with regard to the authorship of so popular a work, but it is generally attributed to one raspi, a german who fled from the officers of justice to england. as, however, there is little originality in the stories, we feel the less concerned at being unable satisfactorily to trace their authorship--they were probably a collection of the tales with which some old german baron was wont to amuse his guests. a satire was evidently intended upon the marvellous tales in which travellers and sportsmen indulged, and the first edition is humbly dedicated to mr. bruce, whose accounts of abyssinia were then generally discredited. with the exception of this attack upon travellers' tales there is nothing severe in the work--there is no indelicacy or profanity--considerable falsity was, of course, necessary, otherwise the accounts would have been merely fanciful. we have nothing here to mar our amusement, except infinite extravagance. the author does not claim much originality, and he admits an imitation of gulliver's travels. but, no doubt, something is due to his insight in selection, and to his ingenuity in telling the stories well and circumstantially; otherwise this book would never have become historical, when so many similar productions have perished. the stories in the first six chapters, which formed the original book, are superior to those in the continuation; there is always something specious, some ground work for the gross improbabilities, which gives force to them. thus, for instance, travelling in poland over the deep snow he fastens his horse to something he takes to be a post, and which turns out to be the top of a steeple. by the morning the snow has disappeared--he sees his mistake, and his horse is hanging on the top of the church by its bridle. when on his road to st. petersburgh, a wolf made after him and overtook him. escape was impossible. "i laid myself down flat in the sledge, and let my horse run for safety. the wolf did not mind me, but took a leap over me, and falling on the horse began to tear and devour the hinder part of the poor animal, which ran all the faster for its pain and terror. i lifted up my head slily, and beheld with horror that the wolf had ate his way into the horse's body. it was not long before he had fairly forced himself into it, when i took my advantage and fell upon him with the end of my whip. this unexpected attack frightened him so much that he leaped forward, the horse's carcase dropped to the ground, but in his place the wolf was in harness, and i on my part whipping him continually, arrived in full career at st. petersburgh much to the astonishment of the spectators." speaking of stags, he mentions st. hubert's stag, which appeared with a cross between its horns. "they always have been," he observes, "and still are famous for plantations and antlers." this furnishes him with the ground-work of his story. "having one day spent all my shot, i found myself unexpectedly in presence of a stately stag looking at me as unconcernedly as if it had really known of my empty pouches. i charged immediately with powder and upon it a good handful of cherry stones. thus i let fly and hit him just in the middle of the forehead between the antlers; he staggered, but made off. a year or two afterwards, being with a party in the same forest, i beheld a noble stag with a fine full-grown cherry tree above ten feet high between its antlers. i brought him down at one shot, and he gave me haunch and cherry sauce, for the tree was covered with fruit." in his ride across to holland from harwich under the sea, he finds great mountains "and upon their sides a variety of tall noble trees loaded with marine fruit, such as lobsters, crabs, oysters, scollops, mussels, cockles, &c.," the periwinkle, he observes, is a kind of shrub, it grows at the foot of the oyster tree, and twines round it as the ivy does round the oak. in the following, we have a manifest imitation of lucian--having passed down mount etna through the earth, and come out at the other side, he finds himself in the southern seas, and soon comes to land. they sail up a river flowing with rich milk, and find that they are in an island consisting of one large cheese-- "we discovered this by one of the company fainting away as soon as he landed; this man always had an aversion to cheese--when he recovered he desired the cheese to be taken from under his feet. upon examination we found him to be perfectly right--the whole island was nothing but a cheese of immense magnitude. here were plenty of vines with bunches of grapes, which yielded nothing but milk." in all these cases he has contrived where there was an opening to introduce some probable details. but as he proceeds further in his work, his talent becoming duller--his extravagancies are worse sustained and scarcely ever original. sometimes he writes mere mawkish nonsense, and at others he simply copies lucian, as in the case of his making a voyage to the moon, and then sailing into a sea-monster's stomach. chapter ix. the anti-jacobin--its objects and violence--"the friends of freedom"--imitation of latin lyrics--the "knife grinder"--the "progress of man." the "anti-jacobin" was commenced in , with a view of counteracting the baneful influences of those revolutionary principles which were already rampant in france. the periodical, supported by the combined talent of such men as gifford, ellis, hookham frere, jenkinson (lord liverpool), lord clare, dr. whitaker, and lord mornington, would no doubt have had a long and successful career, had not politics led it into a vituperative channel, through which it came to an untimely end in eight months. the following address to jacobinism will give some idea of its spirit:-- "daughter of hell, insatiate power, destroyer of the human race, whose iron scourge and maddening hour exalt the bad, the good debase: thy mystic force, despotic sway, courage and innocence dismay, and patriot monarchs vainly groan with pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone." there were pictorial illustrations consisting of political caricatures of a very gross character, representing men grotesquely deformed, and sometimes intermixed with monsters, demons, frogs, toads, and other animals. one part of the paper was headed "lies," and another was devoted to correcting less culpable mis-statements. some prose satirical pieces were introduced, such as "fox's birthday," in which a mock description of a grand dinner is given, at which all the company had their pockets picked. after the delivery of revolutionary orations, and some attempts at singing "paddy whack," and "all the books of moses," the festival terminates in a disgusting scene of uproar. several similar reports are given of "the meeting of the friends of freedom," upon which occasions absurd speeches are made, such as that by mr. macfurgus, who declaims in the following grandiloquent style:-- "before the temple of freedom can be erected the surface must be smoothed and levelled, it must be cleared by repeated revolutionary explosions, from all the lumber and rubbish with which aristocracy and fanaticism will endeavour to encumber it, and to impede the progress of the holy work. the completion of the edifice will indeed be the more tardy, but it will not be the less durable for having been longer delayed. cemented with the blood of tyrants and the tears of the aristocracy, it will rise a monument for the astonishment and veneration of future ages. the remotest posterity with our children yet unborn, and the most distant portions of the globe will crowd round its gates, and demand admission into its sanctuary. 'the tree of liberty' will be planted in the midst, and its branches will extend to the ends of the earth, while the friends of freedom meet and fraternize and amalgamate under its consolatory shade. there our infants shall be taught to lisp in tender accents the revolutionary hymn, there with wreaths of myrtle, and oak, and poplar, and vine, and olive and cypress, and ivy, with violets and roses and daffodils and dandelions in our hands, we will swear respect to childhood and manhood, and old age, and virginity, and womanhood, and widowhood; but above all to the supreme being. there we will decree and sanction the immortality of the soul, there pillars and obelisks, and arches, and pyramids will awaken the love of glory and of our country. there painters and statuaries with their chisels and colours, and engravers with their engraving tools will perpetuate the interesting features of our revolutionary heroes." the next extract is called "the army of england," written by the ci-devant bishop of autun, and represents a french invasion as imminent:-- "good republicans all the directory's call invites you to visit john bull; oppressed by the rod of a king and a god the cup of his misery's full; "old johnny shall see what makes a man free, not parchments, or statutes, or paper; and stripped of his riches, great charter and breeches, shall cut a free citizen's caper. "then away, let us over to deal or to dover, we laugh at his talking so big; he's pampered with feeding, and wants a sound bleeding, _par dieu_! he shall bleed like a pig. "john tied to a stake a grand baiting will make when worried by mastiffs of france, what republican fun to see his blood run as at lyons, la vendée and nantes. "with grape-shot discharges, and plugs in his barges, with national razors good store, we'll pepper and shave him and in the thames lave him-- how sweetly he'll bellow and roar! "what the villain likes worse we'll vomit his purse and make it the guineas disgorge, for your raphaels and rubens we would not give twopence; stick, stick to the pictures of george." the following is on "the new coalition" between fox and horne tooke. _fox._ when erst i coalesced with north and brought my indian bantling forth in place--i smiled at faction's storm, nor dreamt of radical reform. _tooke._ while yet no patriot project pushing content i thumped old brentford's cushion, i passed my life so free and gaily, not dreaming of that d--d old bailey. _fox._ well, now my favourite preacher's nickle, he keeps for pitt a rod in pickle; his gestures fright the astonished gazers, his sarcasms cut like packwood's razors. _tooke._ thelwall's my name for state alarm; i love the rebels of chalk farm; rogues that no statutes can subdue, who'd bring the french, and head them too. _fox._ a whisper in your ear john horne, for one great end we both were born, alike we roar, and rant and bellow-- give us your hand my honest fellow. _tooke._ charles, for a shuffler long i've known thee, but come--for once i'll not disown thee, and since with patriot zeal thou burnest, with thee i'll live--or hang in earnest. but the most celebrated of these poems is "the friend of humanity, and the knife-grinder"-- _friend of humanity._ needy knife-grinder! whither are you going? rough is the road, your wheel is out of order, bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't, so have your breeches! weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, "knives and scissors to grind, o!" tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives? did some rich man tyranically use you? was it the squire? or parson of the parish? or the attorney? was it the squire for killing of his game? or covetous parson for his tithes distraining? or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little all in a lawsuit? (have you not read the "rights of man" by tom paine?) drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, ready to fall as soon as you have told your pitiful story. _knife-grinder._ story! god bless you! i have none to tell, sir; only last night a-drinking at the 'chequers,' this poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were torn in a scuffle. constables came up for to take me into custody; they took me before the justice, justice oldmixon put me in the parish- stocks for a vagrant. i should be glad to drink your honour's health in a pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence, but for my part i never love to meddle with politics, sir. _friend of humanity._ i give thee sixpence! i will see thee d----d first! wretch! whom no sense of wrong can rouse to vengeance! sordid! unfeeling! reprobate! degraded! spiritless outcast! (_kicks the knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy._) this poem, written as a parody of "the widow" of southey, is said to have annihilated english sapphics. various attempts were formerly made to adapt classic metres to english; not only gabriel harvey but sir philip sydney tried to bring in hexameters. beattie says the attempt was ridiculous, but since longfellow's "evangeline" we look upon them with more favour, though they are not popular. dr. watts wrote a sapphic ode on the "last judgment," which notwithstanding the solemnity of the subject, almost provokes a smile. frere was a man of great taste and humour. he wrote many amusing poems. among his contributions, jointly with canning and ellis, to the "anti-jacobin," is the "loves of the triangles," and the scheme of a play called the "double arrangement," a satire upon the immorality of the german plays then in vogue. here a gentleman living with his wife and another lady, matilda, and getting tired of the latter, releases her early lover, rogero, who is imprisoned in an abbey. this unfortunate man, who has been eleven years a captive on account of his attachment to matilda, is found in a living sepulchre. the scene shows a subterranean vault in the abbey of quedlinburgh, with coffins, scutcheons, death's heads and cross-bones; while toads and other loathsome reptiles are seen traversing the obscurer parts of the stage. rogero appears in chains, in a suit of rusty armour, with his beard grown, and a cap of grotesque form upon his head. he sings the following plaintive ditty:-- "whene'er with haggard eyes i view this dungeon that i'm rotting in, i think of those companions true who studied with me at the u- -niversity of gottingen, -niversity of gottingen. (_weeps and pulls out a blue kerchief with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it he proceeds:_) "sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, which once my love sat knotting in! alas! matilda then was true! at least, i thought so at the u- -niversity of gottingen, -niversity of gottingen. (_clanks his chains._) "barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew, her neat post waggon trotting in, ye bore matilda from my view; forlorn i languished in the u- -niversity of gottingen, -niversity of gottingen. "this faded form! this pallid hue! this blood my veins is clotting in, my years are many--they were few, when first i entered at the u- -niversity of gottingen, -niversity of gottingen. "there first for thee my passion grew, sweet! sweet matilda pottingen! thou wast the daughter of my tu- -tor, law professor at the u- -niversity of gottingen, -niversity of gottingen. "sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu, that kings and priests are plotting in; here doomed to starve on water gru- -el, never shall i see the u- -niversity of gottingen, -niversity of gottingen." the idea of making humour by the division of words may have been original in this case, but it was conceived and adopted by lucilius, the first roman satirist. the "progress of man," by canning and hammond, is an ironical poem, deducing our origin and development according to the natural, and in opposition to the religious system. the argument proceeds in the following vein:-- "let us a plainer, steadier theme pursue, mark the grim savage scoop his light canoe, mark the fell leopard through the forest prowl, fish prey on fish, and fowl regale on fowl; how lybian tigers' chawdrons love assails, and warms, midst seas of ice, the melting whales; cools the crimpt cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts, shrinks shrivelled shrimps, but opens oysters' hearts; then say, how all these things together tend to one great truth, prime object, and good end? "first--to each living thing, whate'er its kind, some lot, some part, some station is assigned the feathered race with pinions skim the air; not so the mackerel, and still less the bear.... ah! who has seen the mailed lobster rise, clap her broad wings, and soaring claim the skies? when did the owl, descending from her bower, crop, midst the fleecy flocks the tender flower; or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb, in the salt wave, and fish-like strive to swim? the same with plants--potatoes 'tatoes breed-- uncostly cabbage springs from cabbage seed, lettuce from lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed, nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume to flower like myrtle, or like violets bloom; man, only--rash, refined, presumptuous man, starts from his rank, and mars creation's plan; born the free heir of nature's wide domain, to art's strict limits bounds his narrowed reign, resigns his native rights for meaner things, for faith and fetters, laws, and priests, and kings." the "anti-jacobin" was continued under the name of the "anti-jacobin review," and in this modified form lasted for upwards of twenty years. it was mostly a journal of passing events, but there were a few attempts at humour in its pages. chapter x. wolcott--writes against the academicians--tales of a hoy--"new old ballads"--"the sorrows of sunday"--ode to a pretty barmaid--sheridan--comic situations--"the duenna"--wits. wolcott, a native of devonshire, was educated at kingsbridge, and apprenticed to an apothecary. he soon discovered a genius for painting and poetry, and commenced to write about the middle of the last century as peter pindar. he composed many odes on a variety of humorous subjects, such as "the lousiad," "ode to ugliness," "the young fly and the old spider," "ode to a handsome widow," whom he apostrophises as "daughter of grief," "solomon and the mouse-trap," "sir joseph banks and the boiled fleas," "ode to my ass," "to my candle," "an ode to eight cats kept by a jew," whom he styles, "singers of israel." lord nelson's night-cap took fire as the poet was wearing it reading in bed, and he returned it to him with the words, "take your night-cap again, my good lord, i desire, for i wish not to keep it a minute, what belongs to a nelson, where'er there's a fire, is sure to be instantly in it." in "bozzi and piozzi" the former says:-- "did any one, that he was happy cry, johnson would tell him plumply 'twas a lie; a lady told him she was really so, on which he sternly answered, 'madam, no! sickly you are, and ugly, foolish, poor, and therefore can't be happy, i am sure.'" upon pope. "'grant me an honest fame, or grant me none,' says pope, (i don't know where,) a little liar, who, if he praised a man, 'twas in a tone that made his praise like bunches of sweet-briar, which, while a pleasing fragrance it bestows, pops out a pretty prickle on your nose." he seems to have gained little by his early poems, many of which were directed against the royal academicians. one commences:-- "sons of the brush, i'm here again! at times a pindar and fontaine, casting poetic pearl (i fear) to swine! for, hang me, if my last years odes paid rent for lodgings near the gods, or put one sprat into this mouth divine." sometimes he calls the academicians, "sons of canvas;" sometimes "tagrags and bobtails of the sacred brush." he afterwards wrote a doleful elergy, "the sorrows of peter," and seems not to have thought himself sufficiently patronized, alluding to which he says-- "much did king charles our butler's works admire, read them and quoted them from morn to night, yet saw the bard in penury expire, whose wit had yielded him so much delight." wolcott was a little restricted by a due regard for religion or social decorum. he reminds us of sterne, often atoning for a transgression by a tender and elevated sentiment. the following from the "tales of a hoy," supposed to be told on a voyage from margate gives a good specimen of his style-- _captain noah._ oh, i recollect her. poor corinna![ ] i could cry for her, mistress bliss--a sweet creature! so kind! so lovely! and so good-natured! she would not hurt a fly! lord! lord! tried to make every body happy. gone! ha! mistress bliss, gone! poor soul. oh! she is in heaven, depend on it--nothing can hinder it. oh, lord, no, nothing--an angel!--an angel by this time--for it must give god very little trouble to make _her_ an angel--she was so charming! such terrible figures as my lord c. and my lady mary, to be sure, it would take at least a month to make such ones anything like angels--but poor corinna wanted very few repairs. perhaps the sweet little soul is now seeing what is going on in our cabin--who knows? charming little corinna! lord! how funny it was, for all the world like a rabbit or a squirrel or a kitten at play. gone! as you say, gone! well now for her epitaph. corinna's epitaph. "here sleeps what was innocence once, but its snows were sullied and trod with disdain; here lies what was beauty, but plucked was its rose and flung like a weed to the plain. "o pilgrim! look down on her grave with a sigh who fell the sad victim of art, even cruelty's self must bid her hard eye a pearl of compassion impart. "ah! think not ye prudes that a sigh or a tear can offend of all nature the god! lo! virtue already has mourned at her bier and the lily will bloom on her sod." he wrote some pretty "new-old" ballads--purporting to have been written by queen elizabeth, sir t. wyatt, &c., on light and generally amorous subjects. much of his satire was political, and necessarily fleeting. in "orson and ellen" he gives a good description of the landlord of a village inn and his daughter, "the landlord had a red round face which some folks said in fun resembled the red lion's phiz, and some, the rising sun. "large slices from his cheeks and chin like beef-steaks one might cut; and then his paunch, for goodly size beat any brewer's butt. "the landlord was a boozer stout a snufftaker and smoker; and 'twixt his eyes a nose did shine bright as a red-hot poker. * * * * * "sweet ellen gave the pot with hands that might with thousands vie: her face like veal, was white and red and sparkling was her eye. "her shape, the poplar's easy form her neck the lily's white soft heaving, like the summer wave and lifting rich delight. "and o'er this neck of globe-like mould in ringlets waved her hair; ah, what sweet contrast for the eye the jetty and the fair. "her lips, like cherries moist with dew so pretty, plump, and pleasing, and like the juicy cherry too did seem to ask for squeezing. "yet what is beauty's use alack! to market can it go? say--will it buy a loin of veal, or round of beef? no--no. "will butchers say 'choose what you please miss nancy or miss betty?' or gardeners, 'take my beans and peas because you are so pretty?'" he wrote a pleasant satire on the tax upon hair-powder introduced by pitt, and the shifts to which poor people would be put to hide their hair. he seems to have been as inimical as most people to taxation. he parodies dryden's "alexander's feast:" "of taxes now the sweet musician sung the court and chorus joined and filled the wondering wind, and taxes, taxes, through the garden rung. "monarch's first of taxes think taxes are a monarch's treasure sweet the pleasure rich the treasure monarchs love a guinea clink...." he was, as we may suppose, averse to making sunday a severe day. he wrote a poem against those who wished to introduce a more strict observance of sunday, and called it, "the sorrows of sunday." he says: "heaven glorieth not in phizzes of dismay heaven takes no pleasure in perpetual sobbing, consenting freely that my favourite day, may have her tea and rolls, and hob-and-nobbing; life with the down of cygnets may be clad ah! why not make her path a pleasant track-- no! cries the pulpit terrorist (how mad) no! let the world be one huge hedge-hog's back." he wrote a great variety of gay little sonnets, such as "the ode to a pretty barmaid:" "sweet nymph with teeth of pearl and dimpled chin, and roses, that would tempt a saint to sin, daily to thee so constant i return, whose smile improves the coffee's every drop gives tenderness to every steak and chop and bids our pockets at expenses spurn. "what youth well-powdered, of pomatum smelling shall on that lovely bosom fix his dwelling? perhaps the waiter, of himself so full! with thee he means the coffee-house to quit open a tavern and become a wit and proudly keep the head of the black bull. "'twas here the wits of anna's attic age together mingled their poetic rage, here prior, pope, and addison and steele, here parnel, swift, and bolingbroke and gay poured their keen prose, and turned the merry lay gave the fair toast, and made a hearty meal. "nymph of the roguish smile, which thousands seek give me another, and another steak, a kingdom for another steak, but given by thy fair hands, that shame the snow of heaven...." he seems to have some misgivings about conjugal felicity:-- "an owl fell desperately in love, poor soul, sighing and hooting in his lonely hole-- a parrot, the dear object of his wishes who in her cage enjoyed the loaves and fishes in short had all she wanted, meat and drink washing and lodging full enough i think." poll takes compassion on him and they are duly married-- "a day or two passed amorously sweet love, kissing, cooing, billing, all their meat, at length they both felt hungry--'what's for dinner? pray, what have we to eat my dear,' quoth poll. 'nothing,' by all my wisdom, answered owl. 'i never thought of that, as i'm a sinner but poll on something i shall put my pats what sayst thou, deary, to a dish of rats?' '_rats_--mister owl, d'ye think that i'll eat rats, eat them yourself or give them to the cats,' whines the poor bride, now bursting into tears: 'well, polly, would you rather dine on mouse i'll catch a few if any in the house;' 'i won't eat rats, i won't eat mice--i won't don't tell me of such dirty vermin--don't o, that within my cage i had but tarried.' 'polly,' quoth owl, 'i'm sorry i declare so delicate you relish not our fare you should have thought of that before you married.'" "the ode to the devil," is in reality a severe satire upon human nature under an unpleasant form. he says that men accuse the devil of being the cause of all the misdoings with which they are themselves solely chargeable, moreover that in truth they are very fond of him, and guilty of gross ingratitude in calling him bad names:-- "o satan! whatsoever gear thy proteus form shall choose to wear black, red, or blue, or yellow whatever hypocrites may say they think thee (trust my honest lay) a most bewitching fellow. * * * * * "'tis now full time my ode should end and now i tell thee like a friend, howe'er the world may scout thee thy ways are all so wondrous winning and folks so very fond of sinning they cannot do without thee." sheridan was one of those writers to whose pecuniary distresses we owe the rich treasure he has bequeathed. his brother and his best friend confided to him that they were both in love with miss linley, a public singer, and his romantic or comic nature suggested to him that while they were competing for the prize, he might clandestinely carry it off. succeeding in his attempt, he withdrew his wife from her profession, and was ever afterwards in difficulties. he seems in his comedies to have a love of sudden strokes and surprises, approaching almost to practical jokes, and very successful when upon the stage. a screen is thrown down and lady teazle discovered behind it--a sword instead of a trinket drops out of captain absolute's coat--the old duenna puts on her mistress' dress--all these produce an excellent effect without showing any very great power of humour. but he was celebrated as a wit in society--was full of repartee and pleasantry, and we are surprised to find that his plays only contain a few brilliant passages, and that their tissue is not more generally shot through with threads of gold. in comparison with the other dramatists of whom we have spoken, we observe in sheridan the work of a more modern age. we have here no indelicacy or profanity, excepting the occasional oath, then fashionable; but we meet that satirical play on the manners and sentiments of men, which distinguishes later humour. in mrs. malaprop, we have some of that confusion of words, which seems to have been traditional upon the stage. thus, she says that captain absolute is the very "pine-apple of perfection," and that to think of her daughter's marrying a penniless man, gives her the "hydrostatics." she does not wish her to be a "progeny of learning," but she should have a "supercilious knowledge" of accounts, and be acquainted with the "contagious countries." there is a satire, which will come home to most of us in malaprop, notwithstanding her ignorance and stupidity, giving her opinion authoritatively on education. she says that lydia languish has been spoiled by reading novels, in which sir anthony agrees. "madam, a circulating library in a town is an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge! it blossoms through the year, and depend on it, mrs. malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last." not only mrs. malaprop, but also sir anthony, form an entirely wrong estimate of themselves. the latter tells his son that he must marry the woman he selects for him, although she have the "skin of a mummy, and beard of a jew." on his son objecting, he tells him not to be angry. "so you will fly out! can't you be cool like me? what the devil good can a passion do? passion is of no service, you impudent, violent, over-bearing reprobate. there, you sneer again! don't provoke me!--but you rely on the mildness of my temper, you do, you dog!" sheridan's humour is generally of this strong kind--very suitable for stage effect, but not exquisite as wit. hazlitt admits this in very complimentary terms:-- "his comic muse does not go about prying into obscure corners, or collecting idle curiosities, but shows her laughing face, and points to her rich treasure--the follies of mankind. she is garlanded and crowned with roses and vine leaves. her eyes sparkle with delight, and her heart runs over with good-natured malice." sheridan often aims at painting his scenes so as to be in antithesis to ordinary life. in faulkland we have a lover so morbidly sensitive, that even every kindness his mistress shows him, gives him the most exquisite pain. don ferdinand is much in the same state. lydia languish is so romantic, that she is about to discard her lover--with whom she intended to elope--as soon as she hears he is a man of fortune. in isaac the jew, we have a man who thinks he is cheating others, while he is really being cheated. sir peter teazle's bickering with his wife is well known and appreciated. the subject is the oldest which has tempted the comic muse, and still is, unhappily, always fresh. the following extracts are from "the duenna"-- isaac says to father paul that "he looks the very priest of hymen!" _paul._ in short i may be called so, for i deal in repentance and mortification. _don antonio._ but thou hast a good fresh colour in thy face, father, i' faith! _paul._ yes. i have blushed for mankind till the hue of my shame is as fixed as their vices. _isaac._ good man! _paul._ and i have laboured too, but to what purpose? they continue to sin under my very nose. _isaac._ efecks, fasher, i should have guessed as much for your nose seems to be put to the blush more than any other part of your face. don jerome's song is worthy of gay:-- "if a daughter you have she's the plague of your life no peace shall you know though you've buried your wife, at twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her, oh! what a plague is an obstinate daughter! sighing and whining, dying and pining, oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter! "when scarce in their teens they have wit to perplex us, with letters and lovers for ever they vex us: while each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought her; o! what a plague is an obstinate daughter! wrangling and jangling, flouting and pouting, oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter." one of sheridan's strong situations is produced in this play. don jerome gives isaac a glowing description of his daughter's charms; but when the latter goes to see her, the duenna personates her. _isaac._ madam, the greatness of your goodness overpowers me, that a lady so lovely should deign to turn her beauteous eyes on me, so. (_he turns and sees her._) _duenna._ you seem surprised at my condescension. _isaac._ why yes, madam, i am a little surprised at it. (_aside_) this can never be louisa--she's as old as my mother!... _duenna._ signor, won't you sit? _isaac._ pardon me, madam, i have scarcely recovered my astonishment at--your condescension, madam. (_aside_) she has the devil's own dimples to be sure. _duenna._ i do not wonder, sir, that you are surprised at my affability. i own, signor, that i was vastly prepossessed against you, and being teazed by my father, did give some encouragement to antonio; but then, sir, you were described to me as a quite different person. _isaac._ ay, and so you were to me upon my soul, madam. _duenna._ but when i saw you, i was never more struck in my life. _isaac._ that was just my case too, madam; i was struck all in a heap for my part. _duenna._ well, sir, i see our misapprehension has been mutual--you have expected to find me haughty and averse, and i was taught to believe you a little black, snub-nosed fellow, without person, manner, or address. _isaac._ egad, i wish she had answered her picture as well. after this interview, don jerome asks him what he thinks of his daughter. _don jerome._ well, my good friend, have you softened her? _isaac._ oh, yes, i have softened her. _don j._ well, and you were astonished at her beauty, hey? _isaac._ i was astonished, indeed. pray how old is miss? _don j._ how old? let me see--twenty. _isaac._ then upon my soul she is the oldest looking girl of her age in christendom. _don j._ do you think so? but i believe you will not see a prettier girl. _isaac._ here and there one. _don j._ louisa has the family face. _isaac._ yes, egad, i should have taken it for a family face, and one that has been in the family some time too. _don j._ she has her father's eyes. _isaac._ truly i should have guessed them to be so. if she had her mother's spectacles i believe she would not see the worse. _don j._ her aunt ursula's nose, and her grandmother's forehead to a hair. _isaac._ ay, faith, and her grandmother's chin to a hair. sheridan, as we have observed, was not more remarkable as a dramatist than as a man of society, and passed for what was called a "wit." the name had been applied two centuries before to men of talent generally, especially to writers, but now it referred exclusively to such as were humorous in conversation. these men, though to a certain extent the successors of the parasites of greece, and the fools of the middle ages, were men of education and independence, if not of good family, and rather sought popularity than any mercenary remuneration. the majority of them, however, were gainers by their pleasantry, they rose into a higher grade of society, were welcome at the tables of the great, and derived many advantages, not unacceptable to men generally poor and improvident. as swift well observed, though not unequal to business, they were above it. moreover, the age was one in which society was less varied than it is now in its elements and interests; when men of talent were more prominent, and it was easier to command an audience. it was known to all that mr. ---- was coming, and guests repaired to the feast, not to talk, but to listen, as we should now to a public reading. the greatest joke and treat was to get two of such men, and set them against each other, when they had to bring out their best steel; although it sometimes happened, that both refused to fight. we need scarcely say that the humour which was produced in such quantities to supply immediate demand was not of the best kind, and that a large part of it would not have been relished by the fastidious critics of our own day. but some of these "wits" were highly gifted, they were generally literary men, and many of their good sayings have survived. the two who obtained the greatest celebrity in this field, seem to have been theodore hook and sydney smith. selwyn, a precursor of these men, was so full of banter and impudence that george ii. called him "that rascal george." "what does that mean," said the wit one day, musingly--"'rascal'? oh, i forgot, it was an hereditary title of all the georges." perhaps selwyn might have been called a "wag"--a name given to men who were more enterprising than successful in their humour, and which referred originally to mere ludicrous motion. chapter xi. southey--drolls of bartholomew fair--the "doves"--typographical devices--puns--poems of abel shufflebottom. we have already mentioned the name of southey. by far the greater part of his works are poetical and sentimental, and hence some doubt has been thrown upon the authorship of his work called "the doctor." but in his minor poems we find him verging into humour, as where he pleads the cause of the pig and dancing bear, and even of the maggot. the last named is under the head of "the filbert," and commences-- "nay gather not that filbert, nicholas, there is a maggot there; it is his house-- his castle--oh! commit not burglary! strip him not naked; 'tis his clothes, his shell; his bones, the case and armour of his life, and thou shalt do no murder, nicholas. it were an easy thing to crack that nut, or with thy crackers or thy double teeth; so easily may all things be destroyed! but 'tis not in the power of mortal man to mend the fracture of a filbert shell. there were two great men once amused themselves watching two maggots run their wriggling race, and wagering on their speed; but, nick, to us it were no sport to see the pampered worm roll out and then draw in his folds of fat like to some barber's leathern powder bag wherewith he feathers, frosts or cauliflowers, spruce beau, or lady fair, or doctor grave." also his commonplace book proves that, like many other hardworking men, he amused his leisure hours with what was light and fantastic. moreover, he speaks in some places of the advantage of intermingling amusement and instruction-- "even in literature a leafy style, if there be any fruit under the foliage, is preferable to a knotty one however fine the grain. whipt cream is a good thing, and better still when it covers and adorns that amiable compound of sweetmeats and ratafia cakes soaked in wine, to which cowper likened his delightful poem, when he thus described 'the task'-- "'it is a medley of many things, some that may be useful, and some that, for aught i know, may be very diverting. i am merry that i may decoy people into my company, and grave that they may be the better for it. now and then i put on the garb of a philosopher, and take the opportunity that disguise procures me to drop a word in favour of religion. in short there is some froth, and here and there some sweetmeat which seems to entitle it justly to the name of a certain dish the ladies call a 'trifle.' but in 'task' or 'trifle' unless the ingredients were good the whole were nought. they who should present to their deceived guests whipt white of egg would deserve to be whipt themselves." but southey by no means follows the profitable rule he here lays down. on the contrary, he sometimes betrays such a love of the marvellous as would seem unaccountable, had we not read bygone literature, and observed how strong the feeling was even as late as the days of the "wonderful magazine." among his strange fancies we find in the "chapter on kings:" "there are other monarchies in the inferior world beside that of the bees, though they have not been registered by naturalists nor studied by them. for example, the king of the fleas keeps his court at tiberias, as dr. clark discovered to his cost, and as mr. cripps will testify for him." he proceeds to give humorous descriptions of the king of monkeys, bears, codfish, oysters, &c. again-- "would not john dory's name have died with him, and so been long ago dead as a door-nail, if a grotesque likeness for him had not been found in the fish, which being called after him, has immortalized him and his ugliness? but if john dory could have anticipated this sort of immortality when he saw his own face in the glass, he might very well have 'blushed to find it fame.'" he is fond of introducing quaint old legends-- "there are certain rabbis who affirm that eve was not taken out of adam's side, but that adam had originally been created with a tail, and that among the various experiments and improvements which were made in form and organization before he was finished, the tail was removed as an inconvenient appendage, and of the excrescence or superfluous part, which was then lopped off, the woman was formed." while on this subject he says that lady jekyll once asked william wiston "why woman was formed out of man's rib rather than out of any other part of his body?" wiston scratched his head and replied, "indeed, madam, i do not know, unless it be that the rib is the most crooked part of the body." southey gives a playbill of the drolls of bartholomew fair in the time of queen anne-- "at crawley's booth over against the crown tavern in smithfield, during the time of the bartholomew fair, will be presented a little opera, called the 'old creation of the world,' yet newly revived, with the addition of 'noah's flood.' also several fountains playing water during the time of the play. the last scene does represent noah and his family coming out of the ark, with all the beasts two and two, and all the fowls of the air seen in a prospect sitting upon trees. likewise over the ark is seen the sun rising in a most glorious manner. moreover, a multitude of angels will be seen in a double rank, which represents a double prospect, one for the sun, the other for a palace, where will be seen six angels ringing of bells. likewise machines descend from above, double and treble, with dives rising out of hell, and lazarus seen in abraham's bosom; besides several figures, dancing jigs, sarabands, and country dances to the admiration of the spectators, with the merry conceits of squire punch and sir john spendall." "so recently as the year the sacrifice of isaac was represented on the stage at paris. samson was the subject of the ballet; the unshorn son of manoah delighted the spectators by dancing a solo with the gates of gaza on his back; delilah clipt him during the intervals of a jig, and the philistines surrounded and captured him in a country-dance." sometimes southey indulges his fancy on very trifling subjects as, "the doves, father as well as son, were blest with a hearty intellectual appetite, and a strong digestion, but the son had the more catholic taste. he would have relished caviare, would have ventured on laver, undeterred by its appearance, and would have liked it. he would have eaten sausages for breakfast at norwich, sally-luns at bath, sweet butter in cumberland, orange marmalade at edinburgh, findon haddocks at aberdeen, and drunk punch with beef-steaks to oblige the french, if they insisted upon obliging him with a _déjeuner à l'anglaise_." 'a good digestion turneth all to health.' "he would have eaten squab pie in devonshire, and the pie which is squabber than squab in cornwall; sheep's-head with the hair on in scotland, and potatoes roasted on the hearth in ireland, frogs with the french, pickled-herrings with the dutch, sour-krout with the germans, maccaroni with the italians, aniseed with the spaniards, garlic with anybody, horse-flesh with the tartars, ass-flesh with the persians, dogs with the north-western american indians, curry with the asiatic east indians, bird's-nests with the chinese, mutton roasted with honey with the turks, pismire cakes on the orinoco, and turtle and venison with the lord mayor, and the turtle and venison he would have preferred to all the other dishes, because his taste, though catholic, was not undiscriminating." ... "at the time of which i am now speaking, miss trewbody was a maiden lady of forty-seven in the highest state of preservation. the whole business of her life had been to take care of a fine person, and in this she had succeeded admirably. her library consisted of two books; 'nelson's festivals and fasts' was one, the other was the 'queen's cabinet unlocked;' and there was not a cosmetic in the latter which she had not faithfully prepared. thus by means, as she believed, of distilled waters of various kinds, maydew and buttermilk, her skin retained its beautiful texture still and much of its smoothness, and she knew at times how to give it the appearance of that brilliancy which it had lost. but that was a profound secret. miss trewbody, remembering the example of jezebel, always felt conscious that she had committed a sin when she took the rouge-box in her hand, and generally ejaculated in a low voice 'the lord forgive me!' when she laid it down; but looking in the glass at the same time she indulged a hope that the nature of the temptation might be considered an excuse for the transgression. her other great business was to observe with the utmost precision all the punctilios of her situation in life, and the time which was not devoted to one or other of these worthy occupations was employed in scolding her servants and tormenting her niece. this kept the lungs in vigorous health; nay it even seemed to supply the place of wholesome exercise, and to stimulate the system like a perpetual blister, with this peculiar advantage, that instead of an inconvenience it was a pleasure to herself, and all the annoyance was to her dependents. "miss trewbody lies buried in the cathedral at salisbury, where a monument was erected to her memory, worthy of remembrance itself for its appropriate inscription and accompaniments. the epitaph recorded her as a woman eminently pious, virtuous and charitable, who lived universally respected, and died sincerely lamented by all who had the happiness of knowing her. this inscription was upon a marble shield supported by two cupids, who bent their heads over the edge with marble tears larger than gray peas, and something of the same colour, upon their cheeks. these were the only tears that her death occasioned, and the only cupids with whom she had ever any concern." southey introduces into this work a variety of extracts from rare and curious books--stories about job beating his wife, about surgical experiments tried upon criminals, about women with horns, and a man who swallowed a poker, and "looked melancholy afterwards." well might he suppose that people would think this farrago a composite production of many authors, and he says that if it were so he might have given it instead of the "doctor" a name to correspond with its heterogeneous origin, such as--isdis roso heta harco samro grobe thebo heneco thojamma &c., the words continuing gradually to increase in length till we come to salacoharcojotacoherecosaheco. after reading such flights as the above, we are surprised to find him despising the jester's bauble-- "now then to the gentle reader. the reason why i do not wear cap and bells is this. "there are male caps of five kinds, which are worn at present in this kingdom, to wit, the military cap, the collegiate cap, and the night-cap. observe, reader, i said _kinds_, that is to say in scientific language _genera_--for the _species_ and varieties are numerous, especially in the former genus. "i am not a soldier, and having long been weaned from alma mater, of course have left off my college cap. the gentlemen of the hunt would object to my going out with bells on; it would be likely to frighten their horses; and were i to attempt it, it might involve me in unpleasant disputes. to my travelling cap the bells would be an inconvenient appendage; nor would they be a whit more comfortable upon my night cap. besides, my wife might object to them. it follows that if i would wear a cap and bells, i must have a cap made on purpose. but this would be rendering myself singular; and of all things, a wise man will avoid ostentatious appearance of singularity. now i am certainly not singular in playing the fool without one." there is much in the style of the "doctor," which reminds us of sterne. he was evidently a favourite author with southey, who speaking of his sermons says, "you often see him tottering on the verge of laughter, and ready to throw his periwig in the face of the audience." perhaps from him he acquired his love for tricks of form and typographical surprises. he introduces what he calls interchapters. "leap chapters they cannot properly be called, and if we were to call them 'ha-has' as being chapters, which the reader may skip if he likes, the name would appear rather strange than significant." he sometimes introduces a chapter without any heading in the following way-- "sir," says the compositor to the corrector of the press "there is no heading for the copy for this chapter. what must i do?" "leave a space for it," the corrector replies. "it is a strange sort of book, but i dare say the author has a reason for everything he says or does, and most likely you will find out his meaning as you set up." chapter lxxxviii begins--"while i was writing that last chapter a flea appeared upon the page before me, as there once did to st. dominic." he proceeds to say that his flea was a flea of flea-flesh, but that st. dominic's was the devil. southey was particularly fond of acoustic humour. he represents wilberforce as saying of the unknown author of the doctor--pooo-oo-oo-oo-r cr[=e][=e][=e]a-ture. perhaps his familiarity with the works of nash, decker, and rabelais suggested his word coming. one of the interchapters begins with the word _aballiboozobanganorribo_. he questions in the "poultry yard" the assertion of aristotle that it is an advantage for animals to be domesticated. the statement is regarded unsatisfactory by the fowl--replies to it being made by chick-pick, hen-pen, cock-lock, duck-luck, turkey-lurkey, and goosey-loosey. he occasionally coins words such as potamology for the study of rivers, and chapter cxxxiv is headed-- "a transition, an anecdote, an apostrophe, and a pun, punnet, or pundigrion." he proposes in another chapter to make a distinction between masculine and feminine in several words. "the troublesome affection of the diaphragm which every person has experienced is to be called according to the sex of the patient--he-cups or she-cups--which upon the principle of making our language truly british is better than the more classical form of hiccup and hoeccups. in the objective use, the word becomes hiscups or hercups and in like manner histerrics should be altered into herterics--the complaint never being masculine." the doctor is rich in variety of verbal humour-- "when a girl is called a lass, who does not perceive how that common word must have arisen? who does not see that it may be directly traced to a mournful interjection _alas!_ breathed sorrowfully forth at the thought that the girl, the lovely innocent creature upon whom the beholder has fixed his meditative eye, would in time become a woman--a woe to man." our doctor flourished in an age when the pages of magazines, were filled with voluntary contributions from men who had never aimed at dazzling the public, but came each with his scrap of information, or his humble question, or his hard problem, or his attempt in verse-- "a was an antiquary, and wrote articles upon altars and abbeys and architecture. b made a blunder which c corrected. d demonstrated that e was in error, and that f was wrong in philology, and neither philosopher nor physician though he affected to be both. g was a genealogist. h was a herald who helped him. i was an inquisitive inquirer, who found reason for suspecting j to be a jesuit. m was a mathematician. n noted the weather. o observed the stars. p was a poet, who produced pastorals, and prayed mr. urban to print them. q came in the corner of the page with a query. r arrogated to himself the right of reprehending every one, who differed from him. s sighed and sued in song. t told an old tale, and when he was wrong u used to set him right; v was a virtuoso. w warred against warburton. x excelled in algebra. y yearned for immortality in rhyme, and z in his zeal was always in a puzzle." we have already observed that the pictorial representations of demons, which were originally intended to terrify, gradually came to be regarded as ludicrous. there was something decidedly grotesque in the stories about witches and imps, and southey, deep in early lore, was remarkable for developing a branch of humour out of them. in one place he had a catalogue of devils, whose extraordinary names he wisely recommends his readers not to attempt to pronounce, "lest they should loosen their teeth or fracture them in the operation." comic demonology may be said to have been out of date soon after time. southey is not generally amatory in his humour, and therefore we appreciate the more the following effusions, which he facetiously attributes to abel shufflebottom. the gentleman obtained delia's pocket-handkerchief, and celebrates the acquisition in the following strain-- "'tis mine! what accents can my joy declare? blest be the pressure of the thronging rout, blest be the hand, so hasty, of my fair, and left the tempting corner hanging out! "i envy not the joy the pilgrim feels, after long travel to some distant shrine, when at the relic of his saint he kneels, for delia's pocket-handkerchief is mine. "when first with filching fingers i drew near, keen hope shot tremulous through every vein, and when the finished deed removed my fear, scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain. "what though the eighth commandment rose to mind, it only served a moment's qualm to move; for thefts like this it could not be designed, the eighth commandment was not made for love. "here when she took the macaroons from me, she wiped her mouth to clear the crumbs so sweet, dear napkin! yes! she wiped her lips in thee, lips sweeter than the macaroons she eat. "and when she took that pinch of mocabau, that made my love so delicately sneeze, thee to her roman nose applied i saw, and thou art doubly dear for things like these. "no washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er, sweet pocket-handkerchef, thy worth profane, for thou hast touched the rubies of my fair, and i will kiss thee o'er and o'er again." in another elegy he expatiates on the beauty of delia's locks;-- "happy the _friseur_ who in delia's hair, with licensed fingers uncontrolled may rove; and happy in his death the dancing bear, who died to make pomatum for my love. "fine are my delia's tresses as the threads that from the silk-worm, self-interred, proceed, fine as the gleamy gossamer that spreads its filmy web-work over the tangled mead. "yet with these tresses cupid's power elate my captive heart hath handcuffed in a chain, strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, that bears britannia's thunders o'er the main. "the sylphs that round her radiant locks repair, in flowing lustre bathe their brightened wings, and elfin minstrels with assiduous care, the ringlets rob for fairy fiddlestrings." of course shufflebottom is tempted to another theft--a rape of the lock--for which he incurs the fair delia's condign displeasure-- "she heard the scissors that fair lock divide, and while my heart with transport panted big, she cast a fiery frown on me, and cried, 'you stupid puppy--you have spoilt my wig.'" chapter xii. lamb--his farewell to tobacco--pink hose--on the melancholy of tailors--roast pig. no one ever so finely commingled poetry and humour as charles lamb. in his transparent crystal you are always seeing one colour through another, and he was conscious of the charm of such combinations, for he commends andrew marvell for such refinement. his early poems printed with those of coleridge, his schoolfellow at christ's hospital, abounded with pure and tender sentiment, but never arrested the attention of the public. we can find in them no promise of the brilliancy for which he was afterwards so distinguished, except perhaps in his "farewell to tobacco," where for a moment he allowed his pegasus to take a more fantastic flight. "scent, to match thy rich perfume, chemic art did ne'er presume, through her quaint alembic strain, none so sovereign to the brain; nature that did in thee excel, framed again no second smell, roses, violets, but toys for the smaller sort of boys, or for greener damsels meant, thou art the only manly scent." but although forbidden to smoke, he still hopes he may be allowed to enjoy a little of the delicious fragrance at a respectful distance-- "and a seat too 'mongst the joys of the blest tobacco boys; where though i, by sour physician, am debarred the full fruition of thy favours, i may catch some collateral sweets, and snatch sidelong odours that give life- like glances from a neighbour's wife, and still live in thee by places and the suburbs of thy graces; and in thy borders take delight, an unconquered canaanite." his early years brought forth another kind of humour which led to his being appointed jester to the "morning post." he was paid at the rate of sixpence a joke, furnished six a day, and depended upon this remuneration for his supplementary livelihood--everything beyond mere bread and cheese. as humour, like wisdom, is found of those who seek her not, we may suppose the quality of these productions was not very good. he thus bemoans his irksome task, which he performed generally before breakfast-- "no egyptian task-master ever devised a slavery like to that, our slavery. no fractious operants ever turned out for half the tyranny, which this necessity exercised upon us. half-a-dozen jests in a day, (bating sundays too,) why, it seems nothing! we make twice the number every day in our lives as a matter of course, and claim no sabbatical exemptions. but then they come into our head. but when the head has to go out to them--when the mountain must go to mahomet. readers, try it for once, only for some short twelvemonth." lamb, however, only obtained this undesirable appointment by a coincidence he thus relates,-- "a fashion of flesh--or rather pink-coloured hose for the ladies luckily coming up when we were on our probation for the place of chief jester to stuart's paper, established our reputation. we were pronounced a 'capital hand.' o! the conceits that we varied upon _red_ in all its prismatic differences!... then there was the collateral topic of ankles, what an occasion to a truly chaste writer like ourself of touching that nice brink and yet never tumbling over it, of a seemingly ever approximating something 'not quite proper,' while like a skilful posture master, balancing between decorums and their opposites, he keeps the line from which a hair's breadth deviation is destruction.... that conceit arrided us most at that time, and still tickles our midriff to remember where allusively to the flight of astroea we pronounced--in reference to the stockings still--that 'modesty, taking her final leave of mortals, her last blush was visible in her ascent to the heavens by the track of the glowing instep.'" references of a somewhat amatory character often make sayings acceptable, which for their intrinsic merit would scarcely raise a smile, and lamb soon seriously deplored the loss of this serviceable assistance. he continues:-- "the fashion of jokes, with all other things, passes away as did the transient mode which had so favoured us. the ankles of our fair friends in a few weeks began to reassume their whiteness, and left us scarce a leg to stand upon. other female whims followed, but none methought so pregnant, so invitatory of shrewd conceits, and more than single meanings." he tells us that parson este and topham brought up the custom of witty paragraphs first in the "world," a doubtful statement--and that even in his day the leading papers began to give up employing permanent wits. many of our provincial papers still regale us with a column of facetiæ, but machine-made humour is not now much appreciated. we require something more natural, and the jests in these papers now consist mostly of extracts from the works, or anecdotes from the lives of celebrated men. the pressure thus brought to bear upon lamb for the production of jests in a given time led him to indulge in very bad puns, and to try to justify them as pleasant eccentricities. what can be expected from a man who tells us that "the worst puns are the best," or who can applaud swift for having asked, on accidentally meeting a young student carrying a hare; "prithee, friend, is that your own hair or a wig?" he finds the charm in such hazards in their utter irrelevancy, and truly they can only be excused as flowing from a wild and unchastened fancy. it must require great joviality or eccentricity to find any humour in caricaturing a pun. speaking of the prospectus of a certain burial society, who promised a handsome plate with an angel above and a flower below, lamb ventures--"many a poor fellow, i dare swear, has that angel and flower kept from the angel and punchbowl, while to provide himself a bier he has curtailed himself of beer." but to record all lamb's bad puns would be a dull and thankless task. we will finish the review of his verbal humour by quoting a passage out of an indifferent farce he wrote entitled, "mr. h----." (_the hero cannot on account of his patronymic get any girl to marry him._) "my plaguy ancestors, if they had left me but a van, or a mac, or an irish o', it had been something to qualify it--mynheer van hogsflesh, or sawney mac hogsflesh, or sir phelim o'hogsflesh, but downright blunt---- if it had been any other name in the world i could have borne it. if it had been the name of a beast, as bull, fox, kid, lamb, wolf, lion; or of a bird, as sparrow, hawk, buzzard, daw, finch, nightingale; or of a fish, as sprat, herring, salmon; or the name of a thing, as ginger, hay, wood; or of a colour, as black, gray, white, green; or of a sound, as bray; or the name of a month, as march, may; or of a place, as barnet, baldock, hitchen; or the name of a coin, as farthing, penny, twopenny; or of a profession, as butcher, baker, carpenter, piper, fisher, fletcher, fowler, glover; or a jew's name, as solomons, isaacs, jacobs; or a personal name, as foot, leg, crookshanks, heaviside, sidebottom, ramsbottom, winterbottom; or a long name, as blanchenhagen or blanchhausen; or a short name as crib, crisp, crips, tag, trot, tub, phips, padge, papps, or prig, or wig, or pip, or trip; trip had been something, but ho--!" (_walks about in great agitation; recovering his coolness a little, sits down._) these were weaker points in lamb, but we must also look at the other side. those who have read his celebrated essay on hogarth will find that he possesses no great appreciation for that humour which is only intended to raise a laugh, and might conclude that he was more of a moralist than a humorist. he admires the great artist as an instructor, but admits that "he owes his immortality to his touches of humour, to his mingling the comic with the terrible." those, he continues, are to be blamed who overlook the moral in his pictures, and are merely taken with the humour or disgusted by the vulgarity. moreover, there is a propriety in the details; he notices the meaning in the tumbledown houses "the dumb rhetoric," in which "tables, chairs, and joint stools are living, and significant things." in these passages lamb seems to regard the comic merely as a means to an end;--"who sees not," he asks, "that the grave-digger in hamlet, the fool in lear have a kind of correspondency to, and fall in with, the subjects which they seem to interrupt; while the comic stuff in 'venice preserved,' and the doggrel nonsense of the cook and his poisoning associates in the rollo of beaumont and fletcher are pure irrelevant, impertinent discords--as bad as the quarreling dog and cat under the table of our lord and the disciples at emmaus, of titian." lamb's interpretation of hogarth's works is that of a superior and thoughtful mind: but we cannot help thinking that the humour in them was not so entirely subordinate to the moral. one conclusion we may incidentally deduce from his remarks--that the meaning in pictorial illustrations, either as regards humour or sentiment, is not so appreciable as it would be in words, and consequently that caricatures labour under considerable disadvantages. "much," he says, "depends upon the habits of mind we bring with us." and he continues--"it is peculiar to the confidence of high genius alone to trust much to spectators or readers," he might have added that in painting, this confidence is often misplaced, especially as regards the less imaginative part of the public. we owe him a debt, however, for a true observation with regard to the general uses of caricatures, that "it prevents that disgust at common life which an unrestricted passion for ideal forms and beauties is in danger of producing." but leaving passages in which lamb approves of absurd jesting, and those in which he commends humour for pointing a moral, we come to consider the largest and most characteristic part of his writings, his pleasant essays, in which he has neither shown himself a moralist or a mountebank. the following is from an essay "on the melancholy of tailors." "observe the suspicious gravity of their gait. the peacock is not more tender, from a consciousness of his peculiar infirmity, than a gentleman of this profession is of being known by the same infallible testimonies of his occupation, 'walk that i may know thee.' "whoever saw the wedding of a tailor announced in the newspapers, or the birth of his eldest son? "when was a tailor known to give a dance, or to be himself a good dancer, or to perform exquisitely upon the tight rope, or to shine in any such light or airy pastimes? to sing, or play on the violin? do they much care for public rejoicings, lightings up, ringing of bells, firing of cannons, &c. "valiant i know they be, but i appeal to those who were witnesses to the exploits of eliot's famous troop whether in their fiercest charges they betrayed anything of that thoughtless oblivion to death with which a frenchman jigs into battle, or, whether they did not show more of the melancholy valour of the spaniard upon whom they charged that deliberate courage which contemplation and sedentary habits breathe." lamb accounts for this melancholy of tailors in several ingenious ways. "may it not be that the custom of wearing apparel, being derived to us from the fall, and one of the most mortifying products of that unhappy event, a certain seriousness (to say no more of it) may in the order of things have been intended to have been impressed upon the minds of that race of men to whom in all ages the care of contriving the human apparel has been entrusted." he makes further comments upon their habits and diet, observing that both burton and galen especially disapprove of cabbage. in "roast pig" we have one of those homely subjects which were congenial to lamb. "there is no flavour comparable, i will contend, to that of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over roasted crackling--as it is well called--the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance--with the adhesive oleaginous--o call it not fat--but an indefinable sweetness growing up to it--the tender blossoming of fat--fat cropped in the bud--taken in the shoot in the first innocence--the cream and quintessence of the child pig's yet pure food--the lean--no lean, but a kind of animal manna--or rather fat and lean (if it must be so) so blended and running into each other, that both together make but one ambrosian result, or common substance. "behold him, while he is doing--it seemeth rather a refreshing warmth than a scorching heat, that he is passive to. how equably he twirleth round the string! now he is just done. to see the extreme sensibility of that tender age; he hath wept out his pretty eyes--radiant jellies--shooting stars.... "his sauce should be considered. decidedly a few bread crumbs done up with his liver and brains, and a dish of mild sage. but banish, dear mrs. cook, i beseech you the whole onion tribe. barbecue your whole hogs to your palate, steep them in shalots, stuff them out with plantations of the rank and guilty garlic, you cannot poison them or make them sharper than they are--but consider he is a weakling--a flower." lamb gives his opinion that you can no more improve sucking pig than you can refine a violet. thus he proceeds along his sparkling road--his humour and poetry gleaming one through the other, and often leaving us in pleasant uncertainty whether he is in jest or earnest. though not gifted with the strength and suppleness of a great humorist, he had an intermingled sweetness and brightness beyond even the alchemy of addison. we regret to see his old-fashioned figure receding from our view--but he will ever live in remembrance as the most joyous and affectionate of friends. chapter viii. byron--vision of judgment--lines to hodgson--beppo--humorous rhyming--profanity of the age. moore considered that the original genius of byron was for satire, and he certainly first became known by his "english bards and scotch reviewers." nevertheless, his humorous productions are very small compared with his sentimental. it might perhaps have been expected that his mind would assume a gloomy and cynical complexion. his personal infirmity, with which, in his childhood, even his mother was wont to taunt him, might well have begotten a severity similar to that of pope. the pressure of friends and creditors led him, while a mere stripling, to form an uncongenial alliance with a stern puritan, who, while enjoying his renown, sought to force his soaring genius into the trammels of commonplace conventionalities. on his refusing, a clamour was raised against him, and those who were too dull to criticise his writings were fully equal to the task of finding fault with his morals. it may be said that he might have smiled at these attacks, and conscious of his power, have replied to his social as well as literary critics "better to err with pope than shine with pye," and so he might, had he possessed an imperturbable temper, and been able to forecast his future fame. but a man's career is not secure until it is ended, and the throne of the author is often his tomb. moreover, the same hot blood which laid him open to his enemies, also rendered him impatient of rebuke. coercion roused his spirit of opposition; he fell to replies and retorts, and to "making sport for the philistines." he would show his contempt for his foes by admitting their charges, and even by making himself more worthy of their vituperation. and so a great name and genius were tarnished and spotted, and a dark shadow fell upon his glory. but let us say he never drew the sword without provocation. in condemning the wholesale onslaught he made in the "bards and reviewers," we must remember that it was a reply to a most unwarrantable and offensive attack made upon him by the "edinburgh review," written as though the fact of the author being a nobleman had increased the spleen of the critic. it says:-- "the poesy of this young lord belongs to the class which neither gods nor men are said to permit. indeed we do not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse with so few deviations in either direction for that exact standard. his effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get above or below the level than if they were so much stagnant water.... we desire to counsel him that he forthwith abandon poetry and turn his talents, which are considerable, and his opportunities, which are great, to better account."[ ] so his profanity in the "vision of judgment," was in answer to southey's poem of that name, the introduction of which contained strictures against him. accused of being satanic, he replies with some profanity, and with that humour which he principally shows in such retorts-- "saint peter sat by the celestial gate, his keys wore rusty, and the lock was dull, so little trouble had been given of late-- not that the place by any means was full; but since the gallic era 'eighty-eight' the devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull, and 'a pull together,' as they say at sea--which drew most souls another way. "the angels all were singing out of tune, and hoarse with having little else to do, excepting to wind up the sun and moon, or curb a runaway young star or two, or wild colt of a comet, which too soon broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue, splitting some planet with its playful tail as boats are sometimes by a wanton whale." the effect of southey reading _his_ "vision of judgment" is thus given:-- "those grand heroics acted as a spell, the angels stopped their ears, and plied their pinions, the devils ran howling deafened down to hell, the ghosts fled gibbering, for their own dominions." his poem on a lady who maligned him to his wife, seems to show that he did not well distinguish where the humorous ends and the ludicrous begins. he represents her-- "with a vile mask the gorgon would disown a cheek of parchment and an eye of stone, mark how the channels of her yellow blood ooze at her skin, and stagnate there to mud, cased like the centipede in saffron mail, a darker greenness of the scorpion's scale, look on her features! and behold her mind as in a mirror of itself defined." no one suffered more than byron from his humour being misapprehended. his letters abound with jests and _jeux d'esprit_, which were often taken seriously as admissions of an immoral character. we gladly turn to something pleasanter--to some of the few humorous pieces he wrote in a genial tone-- epigram. the world is a bundle of hay mankind are the asses who pull each tugs in a different way, the greatest of all is john bull. lines to mr. hodgson (afterwards provost of eton) written on board the packet for lisbon, huzza! hodgson, we are going, our embargo's off at last, favourable breezes blowing bend the canvas o'er the mast, from aloft the signal's streaming hark! the farewell gun is fired, women screeching, tars blaspheming, tell us that our time's expired. here's a rascal come to task all, prying from the custom house; trunks unpacking, cases cracking, not a corner for a mouse, 'scapes unsearched amid the racket ere we sail on board the packet.... now our boatmen quit the mooring, and all hands must ply the oar: baggage from the quay is lowering, we're impatient, push from shore. "have a care that case holds liquor-- stop the boat--i'm sick--oh lord!" "sick, ma'am, d--me, you'll be sicker, ere you've been an hour on board." thus are screaming men and women, gemmen, ladies, servants, tacks; here entangling, all are wrangling, stuck together close as wax, such the general noise and racket ere we reach the lisbon packet. fletcher! murray! bob! where are you? stretched along the deck like logs-- bear a hand, you jolly tar, you! here's a rope's end for the dogs. hobhouse muttering fearful curses as the hatchway down he rolls, now his breakfast, now his verses, vomits forth and d--ns our souls. in beppo there is much gay carnival merriment and some humour--a style well suited to italian revelry. when laura's husband, beppo, returns, and is seen in a new guise at a ball, we read-- "he was a turk the colour of mahogany and laura saw him, and at first was glad, because the turks so much admire philogyny, although the usage of their wives is sad, 'tis said they use no better than a dog any poor woman, whom they purchase like a pad; they have a number though they ne'er exhibits 'em, four wives by law and concubines 'ad libitum." on being assured that he is her husband, she exclaims-- "_beppo._ and are you really truly, now a turk? with any other women did you wive? is't true they use their fingers for a fork? well, that's the prettiest shawl--as i'm alive! you'll give it me? they say you eat no pork. and how so many years did you contrive to--bless me! did i ever? no, i never saw a man grown so yellow! how's your liver?" more than half the poem is taken up with digressions, more or less amusing, such as-- "oh, mirth and innocence! oh milk and water! ye happy mixtures of more happy days! in these sad centuries of sin and slaughter abominable man no more allays his thirst with such pure beverage. no matter, i love you both, and both shall have my praise! oh, for old saturn's reign of sugar-candy! meantime i drink to your return in brandy." we may observe that there is humour in the rhymes in the above stanzas. he often used absurd terminations to his lines as-- "for bating covent garden, i can hit on no place that's called piazza in great britain." people going to italy, are to take with them-- "ketchup, soy, chili-vinegar and harvey, or, by the lord! a lent will well nigh starve ye." we are here reminded of the endings of some of butler's lines. such rhymes were then regarded as poetical, but in our improved taste we only use them for humour. lamb considered them to be a kind of punning, but in one case the same position, in the other the same signification is given to words of the same sound. the following couplet was written humorously by swift for a dog's collar-- "pray steal me not: i'm mrs. dingley's whose heart in this four-footed thing lies." pope has the well known lines, "worth makes the man and want of it the fellow, and all the rest is leather and prunella." miss sinclair also, in her description of the queen's visit to scotland, has adopted these irregular terminations with good effect-- "our queen looks far better in scotland than england no sight's been like this since i once saw the king land. edina! long thought by her neighbours in london a poor country cousin by poverty undone; the tailors with frantic speed, day and night cut on, while scolded to death if they misplace a button. and patties and truffles are better for verrey's aid, and cream tarts like those which once almost killed scherezade." the parallelism of poetry has undergone very many changes, but there has generally been an inclination to assimilate it to the style of chants or ballad music. the forms adopted may be regarded as arbitrary--the rythmical tendency of the mind being largely influenced by established use and surrounding circumstances. we cannot see any reason why rhymes should be terminal--they might be at one end of the line as well as at the other. we might have-- "early rose of springs first dawn, pearly dewdrops gem thy breast, sweetest emblem of our hopes, meetest flower for paradise." but there are signs that all this pedantry, graceful as it is, will gradually disappear. blank verse is beginning to assert its sway, and the sentiment in poetry is less under the domination of measure. no doubt the advance to this freer atmosphere will be slow, music has already adopted a wider harmony. ballads are being superseded by part singing, and airs by sonatas. the time will come when to produce a jingle at the end of lines will seem as absurd as the rude harmonies of dryden and butler now appear to us. it would not be just to judge of the profanity of byron by the standard of the present day. we have seen that two centuries since parodies which to us would seem distasteful, if not profane, were written and enjoyed by eminent men. probably byron, a man of wide reading had seen them, and thought that he too might tread on unforbidden ground and still lay claim to innocence. the periodicals and collections of the time frequently published objectionable imitations of the language of scripture and of the liturgy, evidently ridiculing the peculiarities inseparable from an old-fashioned style and translation. in the "wonderful magazine" there was "the matrimonial creed," which sets forth that the wife is to bear rule over the husband, a law which is to be kept whole on pain of being "scolded everlastingly." a litany supposed to have been written by a nobleman against tom paine, was in the following style. the poor man's litany. "from four pounds of bread at sixteen-pence price, and butter at eighteen, though not very nice, and cheese at a shilling, though gnawed by the mice, good lord deliver us!" the "chronicles of the kings of england," by nathan ben sadi were also of this kind, parodies on scripture were used at elections on both sides, and one on the te deum against napoleon had been translated into all the european languages. but a most remarkable trial took place in the year , that of william hone for publishing profane parodies against the government. from this we might have hoped that a better taste was at length growing up, but hone maintained that the prosecution was undertaken on political grounds, and that had the satires been in favour of the government nothing would have been said against them. he also complained of the profanity of his accuser, the attorney-general, who was perpetually "taking the lord's name in vain" during his speech. some parts of hone's publications seem to have debased the church services by connecting them with what was coarse and low, but the main object was evidently to ridicule the regent and his ministers, and this view led the jury to acquit him. still there was no doubt that his satire reflected in both ways. his catechism of a ministerial member commenced-- _question._ what is your name? _answer._ lick-spittle. _ques._ who gave you this name? _ans._ my sureties to the ministry in my political charge, wherein i was made a member of the majority, the child of corruption, and a locust to devour the good things of this kingdom. the supplications in his litany were of the following kind-- "o prince! ruler of thy people, have mercy upon us thy miserable subjects." some of gillray's caricatures would not now be tolerated, such as that representing hoche ascending to heaven surrounded by seraphim and cherubim--grotesque figures with red nightcaps and tri-coloured cockades having books before them containing the marseillaise hymn. in another pitt was going to heaven in the form of elijah, and letting his mantle drop on the king's ministers. it must be admitted that there is often a great difficulty in deciding whether the intention was to ridicule the original writing or the subject treated in the parody. a variety of circumstances may tend to determine the question on one side or the other, but regard should especially be had as to whether any imperfection in the original is pointed out. the fault may be only in form, but in the best travesties the sense and subject are also ridiculed, and with justice. such was the aim in the celebrated "rejected addresses," and it was well carried out. this work now exhibits the ephemeral character of humour, for, the originals having fallen into obscurity, the imitations afford no amusement. but we can still appreciate a few, especially the two respectively commencing:-- "my brother jack was nine in may, and i was eight on new year's day; so in kate wilson's shop, papa, (he's my papa and jack's,) bought me, last week, a doll of wax, and brother jack a top."... and-- "o why should our dull retrospective addresses, fall damp as wet blankets on drury lane fire? away with blue devils, away with distresses, and give the gay spirit to sparkling desire. "let artists decide on the beauties of drury, the richest to me is when woman is there; the question of houses i leave to the jury; the fairest to me is the house of the fair." the point in these will be recognised at once, as wordsworth and moore are still well known. chapter xiv. theodore hook--improvisatore talent--poetry--sydney smith--the "dun cow"--thomas hood--gin--tylney hall--john trot--barbara's legends. theodore hook was at harrow with lord byron, and characteristically commenced his career there by breaking one of mrs. drury's windows at the suggestion of that nobleman. his father was a popular composer of music, and young theodore's first employment was that of writing songs for him. this, no doubt, gave the boy a facility, and led to the great celebrity he acquired for his improvisatore talent. he was soon much sought for in society, and a friend has told me that he has heard him, on sitting down to the piano, extemporize two or three hundred lines, containing humorous remarks upon all the company. on one occasion, sir roderick murchison was present, and some would have been a little puzzled how to bring such a name into rhyme, but he did not hesitate a moment running on:-- "and now i'll get the purchase on, to sing of roderick murchison." cowden clark relates that when at a party and playing his symphony, theodore asked his neighbour what was the name of the next guest, and then sang:-- "next comes mr. winter, collector of taxes, and you must all pay him whatever he axes; and down on the nail, without any flummery; for though he's called winter, his acts are all summary." horace twiss tried to imitate him in this way, but failed. hook's humour was not of very high class. he was fond of practical jokes, such as that of writing a hundred letters to tradesmen desiring them all to send goods to a house on a given day. sometimes he would surprise strangers by addressing some strange question to them in the street. he started the "john bull" newspaper, in which he wrote many humorous papers, and amused people by expressing his great surprise, on crossing the channel, to find that every little boy and girl could speak french. he wrote cautionary verses against punning:-- "my little dears, who learn to read, pray early learn to shun that very silly thing, indeed, which people call a pun; read entick's rules, and 'twill be found how simple an offence it is to make the self-same sound afford a double sense. for instance, _ale_ may make you _ail_, your _aunt_ an _ant_ may kill, you in a _vale_ may buy a _veil_, and _bill_ may pay the _bill_; or if to france your bark you steer, at dover it may be, a _peer_ appears upon the _pier_, who blind still goes to _sea_." but he was much given to the practice he condemns--here is an epigram-- "it seems as if nature had cunningly planned that men's names with their trades should agree, there's twining the tea-man, who lives in the strand, would be _whining_ if robbed of his t." mistakes of words by the uneducated are a very ordinary resource of humorists, but, of course, there is a great difference in the quality of such jests. mrs. ramsbottom in paris, eats a _voulez-vous_ of fowl, and some pieces of _crape_, and goes to the _symetery_ of the _chaise and pair_. afterwards she goes to the _hotel de veal_, and buys some _sieve_ jars to keep _popery_ in. hook was a strong tory, and some of his best humour was political. one of his squibs has been sometimes attributed to lord palmerston. "fair reform, celestial maid! hope of britons! hope of britons! calls her followers to aid; she has fit ones, she has fit ones! they would brave in danger's day, death to win her! death to win her; if they met not by the way, michael's dinner! michael's dinner!" alluding to a dinner-party which kept several members from the house on the occasion of an important division. among his political songs may be reckoned "the invitation" (from one of the whig patronesses of the lady's fancy dress ball,) "come, ladies, come, 'tis now the time for capering, freedom's flag at willis's is just unfurled, we, with french dances, will overcome french vapouring, and with ice and roman punch amaze the world; there's i myself, and lady l----, you'll seldom meet a rummer set, with lady grosvenor, lady foley, and her grace of somerset, while lady jersey fags herself, regardless of the bustle, ma'am, with lady cowper, lady anne, and lady william russell, ma'am. come, ladies, come, &c." there is a sort of polite social satire running through theodore hook's works, but it does not exhibit any great inventive powers. in "byroniana," he ridicules the gossiping books written after byron's death, pretending to give the minutest accounts of his habits and occasional observations--and generally omitting the names of their authority. thus hook tells us in a serio-comic tone:-- "he had a strong antipathy to pork when underdone or stale, and nothing could induce him to partake of fish which had been caught more than ten days--indeed, he had a singular dislike even to the smell of it. he told me one night that ---- told ---- that if ---- would only ---- him ---- she would ---- without any compunction: for her ----, who though an excellent man, was no ----, but that she never ----, and this she told ---- and ---- as well as lady ---- herself. byron told me this in confidence, and i may be blamed for repeating it; but ---- can corroborate it; if it happens not to be gone to ----" the following written against an old-fashioned gentleman, mr. brown, who objects to the improvements of the age, is interesting. it is amusing now to read an ironical defence of steam, intended to ridicule the pretensions of its advocates. "mr. brown sneers at steam and growls at gas. i contend that the utility of constructing a coach which shall go by hot water, nearly as fast as two horses can draw it at a trifling additional expense, promises to be wonderfully useful. we go too fast, sir, with horses; besides, horses eat oats, and farmers live by selling oats; if, therefore, by inconveniencing ourselves, and occasionally risking our lives, we can, however imperfectly, accomplish by steam what is now done by horses, we get rid of the whole race of oat-sowers, oat-sellers, oat-eaters, and oat-stealers, vulgarly called ostlers." sydney smith especially aimed at pleasantry in his humour, there was no animosity in it, and generally no instruction. mirth, pure and simple, was his object. rogers observes "after luttrell, you remembered what good things he said--after smith how much you laughed." in moore's diary we read "at a breakfast at roger's, smith, full of comicality and fancy, kept us all in roars of laughter." his wit was so turned, that it never wounded. when he took leave of lord dudley, the latter said, "you have been laughing at me constantly, sydney, for the last seven years, and yet in all that time, you never said a thing to me that i wished unsaid." it would be superfluous to give a collection of smith's good sayings, but the following is characteristic of his style. when he heard of a small scotchman going to marry a lady of large dimensions, he exclaimed, "going to marry her? you mean a part of her, he could not marry her all. it would be not bigamy but trigamy. there is enough of her to furnish wives for a whole parish. you might people a colony with her, or give an assembly with her, or perhaps take your morning's walk round her, always providing there were frequent resting-places and you were in rude health. i was once rash enough to try walking round her before breakfast, but only got halfway, and gave up exhausted." smith's humour was nearly always of this continuous kind, "changing its shape and colour to many forms and hues." he wished to continue the merriment to the last, but such repetition weakened its force. his humour is better when he has some definite aim in view, as in his letters about america, where he lost his money. but we have not many specimens of it in his writings, the following is from "the dun cow:"-- "the immense importance of a pint of ale to a common man should never be overlooked, nor should a good-natured justice forget that he is acting for lilliputians, whose pains and pleasures lie in very narrow compass, and are but too apt to be treated with neglect and contempt by their superiors. about ten or eleven o'clock in the morning, perhaps, the first faint shadowy vision of a future pint of beer dawns on the fancy of the ploughman. far, very far is it from being fully developed. sometimes the idea is rejected; sometimes it is fostered. at one time he is almost fixed on the 'red horse,' but the blazing fire and sedulous kindness of the landlady of the 'dun cow' shake him, and his soul labours! heavy is the ploughed land, dark, dreary, and wet the day. his purpose is at last fixed for beer! threepence is put down for the vigour of the ale, and one penny for the stupefaction of tobacco, and these are the joys and holidays of millions, the greatest pleasure and relaxation which it is in the power of fortune to bestow." such kindly feelings as animated sydney smith were found more fully developed in thomas hood. he made his humour minister to philanthropy. the man who wrote the "song of the shirt" felt keenly for all the sufferings of the poor--he even favoured some of their unreasonable complaints. thus he writes the "address of the laundresses to the steam washing company," to show how much they are injured by such an institution. in a "drop of gin," he inveighs against this destructive stimulant. "gin! gin! a drop of gin! what magnified monsters circle therein, bagged and stained with filth and mud, some plague-spotted, and some with blood." he seems not to be well pleased with mr. bodkin, the secretary for the society for the suppression of mendicity-- "hail! king of shreds and patches, hail! dispenser of the poor! thou dog in office set to bark all beggars from the door! * * * * * "of course thou art what hamlet meant to wretches, the last friend; what ills can mortals have that can't with a bare _bodkin_ end." mr. m'adam is apostrophized-- "hail roadian, hail colossus, who dost stand, striding ten thousand turnpikes on the land? oh, universal leveller! all hail!" in a sporting dialogue in "tylney hall," we have-- "'a clever little nag, that,' said the squire, after a long one-eyed look at the brown mare, 'knows how to go, capital action.' "'a picture, isn't she?' said the baronet. 'i bought her last week by way of a surprise to ringwood. she was bred by old toby sparks at hollington, by tiggumbob out of tolderol, by diddledumkins, cockalorum, and so forth.' "'an odd fish, old toby;' said the squire, 'always give 'em queer names: can jump a bit, no doubt?' "'she jumps like a flea,' said dick, 'and as for galloping, she can go from anywhere to everywhere in forty minutes--and back again.'" we may also mention his description of an old-fashioned doctor. "at first sight we were in doubt whether to set him down as a doctor or a pedagogue, for his dress presented one very characteristic appendage of the latter, namely a square cut black coat, which never was, never would be, and probably never had been, in fashion. a profusion of cambric frills, huge silver shoe-buckles, a snuff-box of the same metal, and a gold-headed cane belonging rather to the costume of the physician of the period. he wore a very precise wig of a very decided brown, regularly crisped at the top like a bunch of endive, and in front, following the exact curves of the arches of two bushy eyebrows. he had dark eyes, a prominent nose, and a wide mouth--the corners of which in smiling were drawn towards his double chin. a florid colour on his face hinted a plethoric habit, while a portly body and a very short thick neck bespoke an apoplectic tendency. warned by these indications, prudence had made him a strict water-drinker, and abstemious in his diet--a mode of treatment which he applied to all his patients short or tall, stout or thin, with whom whatever their disease, he invariably began by reducing them, as an arithmetician would say, to their lowest terms. this mode of treatment raised him much in the estimation of the parish authorities." the humour in the following is of a lighter and more tricksy kind-- written in a young lady's album. "upon your cheek i may not speak, nor on your lip be warm, i must be wise about your eyes, and formal with your form; of all that sort of thing, in short, on t. h. bayly's plan, i must not twine a single line, i'm not a single man." on hearing that grimaldi had left the stage, he enumerates his funny performances-- "oh, who like thee could ever drink, or eat--smile--swallow--bolt--and choke, nod, weep, and hiccup--sneeze and wink? thy very gown was quite a joke! though joseph junior acts not ill, 'there's no fool like the old fool still.'" his felicity in playing with words is well exhibited in the stanzas on "john trot." "john trot he was as tall a lad as york did ever rear, as his dear granny used to say, he'd make a grenadier. "a serjeant soon came down to york with ribbons and a frill; my lad, said he, let broadcast be, and come away to drill. "but when he wanted john to 'list, in war he saw no fun, where what is call'd a raw recruit, gets often over-done. "let others carry guns, said he, and go to war's alarms, but i have got a shoulder-knot imposed upon my arms. "for john he had a footman's place, to wait on lady wye, she was a dumpy woman, tho' her family was high. "now when two years had passed away her lord took very ill, and left her to her widowhood, of course, more dumpy still. "said john, i am a proper man, and very tall to see, who knows, but now her lord is low she may look up to me? "'a cunning woman told me once such fortune would turn up, she was a kind of sorceress, but studied in a cup.' "so he walked up to lady wye, and took her quite amazed, she thought though john was tall enough he wanted to be raised. "but john--for why? she was a dame of such a dwarfish sort-- had only come to bid her make her mourning very short. "said he, 'your lord is dead and cold, you only cry in vain, not all the cries of london now, could call him back again. "'you'll soon have many a noble beau, to dry your noble tears, but just consider this that i have followed you for years. "'and tho' you are above me far, what matters high degree, when you are only four foot nine, and i am six foot three? "'for though you are of lofty race, and i'm a low-born elf, yet none among your friends could say, you matched beneath yourself.' "said she, 'such insolence as this can be no common case; though you are in my service, sir, your love is out of place.' "'o lady wye! o lady wye! consider what you do; how can you be so short with me, i am not so with you!' "then ringing for her serving-men, they show'd him to the door; said they, 'you turn out better now, why didn't you before?' "they stripp'd his coat, and gave him kicks for all his wages due, and off instead of green and gold he went in black and blue. "no family would take him in because of this discharge, so he made up his mind to serve the country all at large. "'huzza!' the serjeant cried, and put the money in his hand, and with a shilling cut him off from his paternal land. "for when his regiment went to fight at saragossa town, a frenchman thought he look'd too tall, and so he cut him down." barham's humour, as seen in his "ingoldsby legends," is of a lower character, but shows that the author possessed a great natural facility. he had keen observation, but his taste did not prevent his employing it on what was coarse and puerile. common slang abounds, as in "the vulgar little boy;" he talks of "the devil's cow's tail," and is little afraid of extravagances. his metre often assists him, and we have often comic rhyming as where "mephistopheles" answers to "coffee lees," and he says:-- "to gain your sweet smiles, were i sardanapalus, i'd descend from my throne, and be boots at an alehouse," but in raising a laugh and affording a pleasant distraction by fantastic humour on common subjects, the "ingoldsby legends" have been highly successful, and they are recommended by an occasional historical allusion, especially at the expense of the old monks. being written by a man of knowledge and cultivation, they rise considerably above the standard of the contributions to lower class comic papers, which in some respects they resemble. chapter xvi. douglas jerrold--liberal politics--advantages of ugliness--button conspiracy--advocacy of dirt--the "genteel pigeons." there is an earnestness and a political complexion in the humour of douglas jerrold, such as might be expected from a man who had been educated in the school of adversity. he was born in a garret at sheerness, where his father was manager of the theatre; and as he grew up in the seaport among ships, sailors and naval preparations, his ambition was fired, and he entered the service as a midshipman. on his return, after a short period, he found his father immersed in difficulties, due probably to the inactivity at the seaport in time of peace. many a man has owed his success in life partly to his following his father's profession, and here fortune favoured jerrold, as his maritime experiences assisted him as a writer for the stage. we can easily understand how "black-eyed susan" would move the hearts of sailors returning after a long voyage. meanwhile the inner power and energy of the man developed itself in many directions; he perfected himself in latin, french and italian literature, wrote "leaders" for the "morning herald," and articles for magazines. all his works were short, and those which were most approved never assumed an important character. the most successful enterprise in his career was his starting "punch," in conjunction with gilbert' a-beckett and mark lemon. jerrold was a staunch and sturdy liberal, and his original idea was that of a periodical to expose every kind of hypocrisy, and fraud, and especially to attack the strongholds of toryism. "punch" owed much at its commencement to the pen of jerrold, and has well retained its character for fun, although it scarcely now represents its projector's political ardour. his conversation overflowed with pleasantry, and in conversation he sometimes hazarded a pun, as when he asked talfourd whether he had any more "ions" in the fire. but the critic, who says that "every jest of his was a gross incivility made palatable by a pun," is singularly infelicitous, for as a humorous writer he is almost unique in his freedom from verbal humour. his style is often adagial or exaggerated, and we are constantly meeting such sentences as; "music was only invented to gammon human nature, and that is the reason that women are so fond of it." "a fellow from a horsepond will know anybody who's a supper and a bed to give him." "to whip a rascal for his rags is to pay flattering homage to cloth of gold." "a suspicious man would search a pincushion for treason, and see daggers in a needle case." "wits, like drunken men with swords, are apt to draw their steel upon their best acquaintance." "what was talked of as the golden chain of love, was nothing but a succession of laughs, a chromatic scale of merriment reaching from earth to olympus." st. giles' and st. james' is written to show that "st. james in his brocade may probably learn of st. giles in his tatters." it abounds in quaint and humorous moralizing. here is a specimen-- "we cannot say if there really be not a comfort in substantial ugliness: ugliness that unchanged will last a man his life, a good granite face in which there shall be no wear or tear. a man so appointed is saved many alarms, many spasms of pride. time cannot wound his vanity through his features; he eats, drinks, and is merry in spite of mirrors. no acquaintance starts at sudden alteration, hinting in such surprise, decay and the final tomb. he grows old with no former intimates--churchyard voices--crying 'how you're altered.' how many a man might have been a truer husband, a better father, firmer friend, more valuable citizen, had he, when arrived at legal maturity, cut off, say--an inch of his nose. this inch--only an inch!--would have destroyed the vanity of the very handsomest face, and so driven the thought of a man from a vulgar looking-glass, a piece of shop crystal--and more, from the fatal mirrors carried in the heads of women, to reflect heaven knows how many coxcombs who choose to stare into them--driven the man to the glass of his own mind. with such small sacrifice he might have been a philosopher. thus considered, how many a coxcomb may be within an inch of a sage!" in another passage of the same book we read-- "was there not whitlow, beadle of the parish of st. scraggs? what a man-beast was whitlow! how would he, like an avenging ogre, scatter apple-women! how would he foot little boys guilty of peg-tops and marbles! how would he puff at a beggar--puff like the picture of the north wind in a spelling book! what a huge heavy purple face he had, as though all the blood of his body were stagnant in his cheeks! and then when he spoke, would he not growl and snuffle like a dog? how the parish would have hated him, but that the parish heard there was a mrs. whitlow; a small fragile woman, with a face sharp as a penknife, and lips that cut her words like scissors! and what a forlorn wretch was whitlow with his head brought once a night to the pillow! poor creature! helpless, confused; a huge imbecility, a stranded whale! mrs. whitlow talked and talked; and there was not an apple-woman that in whitlow's sufferings was not avenged: not a beggar that, thinking of the beadle at midnight, might not in his compassion have forgiven the beadle of the day. and in this punishment we acknowledge a grand, a beautiful retribution. a judge jeffreys in his wig is an abominable tyrant; yet may his victims sometimes smile to think what judge jeffreys suffers in his night cap!" it is almost unnecessary to observe that the writer of mrs. caudle's curtain lectures was somewhat severe upon the fair sex. his idea of a perfect woman is that of one who is beautiful, "and can do everything but speak." in the "chronicles of clovernook"--_i.e._ of his little retreat near herne bay--he gives an account of the hermit of bellyfulle, who lives in "the cell of the corkscrew," and among many amusing paradoxes, maintains the following, "ay, sir, the old story--the old grievance, sir, twixt man and woman," said the hermit. "and what is that, sir?" we asked. the hermit shaking his head, and groaning cried, "buttons." "buttons!" said we. our hermit drew himself closer to the table, and spreading his arms upon it, leaned forward with the serious air of a man prepared to discuss a grave thing. "buttons," he repeated. then clearing his throat he began, "in the course of your long and, i hope, well spent life, has it never come with thunderbolt conviction on you that all washerwomen, clear-starchers, getters up of fine linen, or under whatever name eve's daughters--for as eve brought upon us the stern necessity of a shirt, it is but just that her girls should wash it--under whatever name they cleanse and beautify flax and cotton, that they are all under some compact, implied or solemnly entered upon amongst themselves and their non-washing, non-starching, non-getting up sisterhood, that by means subtle and more mortally certain, they shall worry, coax, and drive all bachelors and widowers soever into the pound of irredeemable wedlock? has this tremendous truth, sir, never struck you?' "'how?--by what means?' we asked. "'simply by buttons.' answered the hermit, bringing down his clenched fist upon the table. "we knew it--we looked incredulous. "'see here, sir,' said the hermit, leaning still farther across the table, 'i will take a man, who on his outstart in life, set his hat a-cock at matrimony--a man who defies hymen and all his wicked wiles. nevertheless, sir, the man must have a shirt, the man must have a washerwoman, think you that that shirt returning from the tub, never wants one, two--three buttons? always, sir, always. sir, though i am now an anchorite i have lived in your bustling world, and seen--ay, quite as much as anyone of its manifold wickedness. well, the man--the buttonless man--at first calmly remonstrates with his laundress. he pathetically wrings his wrists at her, and shows his condition. the woman turns upon him her wainscot face and promises amendment. the thing shall never happen again. think you the next shirt has its just and lawful number of buttons? devil a bit!'" in "the bright poker," he seems to pay a compliment under a guise of sarcasm:-- "and here my dear child, let me advise you to avoid by all means what is called a clean wife. you will be made to endure the extreme of misery under the base, the inviduous pretext of being rendered comfortable. your house will be an ark tossed by continual floods. you will never know what it is to properly accommodate your shoulders to a shirt, so brief will be its visit to your back ere it again go to the washtub. and then for spiders, fleas, and other household insects, sent especially into our homesteads to awaken the enquiring spirit of man, to at once humble his individual pride by the contemplation of their sagacity, and to elevate him by the frequent evidence of the marvels of animal life--all these calls upon our higher faculties will be wanting, and lacking them your immortal part will be dizzied, stunned by the monotony of the scrubbing-brush, and poisoned past the remedy of perfume by yellow soap. your wife and children, too, will have their faces continually shining like the holiday saucers on the mantel-piece. now consider the conceit, the worse than arrogance of this; the studied callous forgetfulness of the beginning of man. did he not spring from the earth?--from clay--dirt--mould--mud--garden soil, or composition of some sort, for theological geology (you must look in the dictionary for these words) has not precisely defined what; and is it not the basest impudence of pride to seek to wash and scrub and rub away the original spot? is he not the most natural man who in vulgar meaning is the dirtiest? depend upon it, there is a fine natural religion in dirt; and yet we see men and women strive to appear as if they were compounded of the roses and lilies in paradise instead of the fine rich loam, that feeds their roots. be assured of it, there is great piety in what the ignorant foolishly call filth. take some of the saints for an example--off with their coats, and away with their hair shirts; and even then, my son, so intently have they considered and been influenced by the lowly origin of man, that with the most curious eye, and most delicate finger, you shall not be able to tell where either saint or dirt begins or ends." in a "man made of money," we have something original--a dialogue between two fleas, as they stand on the brow of mr. jericho-- "'my son,' says the elder, 'true it is, man feeds for us. man is the labouring chemist for the fleas; for them he turns the richest meats and spiciest drinks to flea wine. nevertheless, and i say it with much pain, man is not what he was. he adulterates our tipple most wickedly.' "'i felt it with the last lodgers,' says the younger flea. 'they drank vile spirits, their blood was turpentine with, i fear, a dash of vitriol. how they lived at all, i know not. i always had the headache in the morning. here however,' and the juvenile looked steadfastly down upon the plain of flesh, the wide champaign beneath him--'here we have promise of better fare.'" but douglas jerrold's best humour is usually rather in the narrative and general issue than in any sudden hits or surprises. his "sketches of the english" are humorous and admirably drawn, but it would be difficult to produce a single striking passage out of them. one of the most amusing stories in his collection of "cakes and ale" is called "the genteel pigeons."--a newly married couple return home before the end of the honeymoon, but wish to keep their arrival secret. george tomata, a connection of the family, but unknown to pigeon, calls at the house, and is denied admittance by the servant, but pigeon, happening to come down asks if he has any message of importance to transact-- "'not in the least, no--not at all,' answered tomata leisurely ascending the stairs, and with mr pigeon entering the drawing-room, 'so, the pigeons are not at home yet eh?' "'mr. and mrs. pigeon the day of their marriage,' answered pigeon softly, 'went to brighton.' "'ha! well, that's not three weeks yet. of course, sir, you are intimate with mr. pigeon?' "'i have the pleasure, sir,' said samuel. "'you lodge here, no doubt? excuse me, although i have not with you the pleasure--and doubtless it is a very great one--of knowing pigeon, still i am very intimate with his little wife.' "'indeed, sir. i never heard her name--' "'i dare say not, sir; i dare say not. oh very intimate; we wore petticoats together. baby companions, sir--baby companions--used to bite the same pear.' "'really sir,'--and pigeon shifted in his seat--'i was not aware of so early and delicate a connection between yourself and mrs. pigeon.' "'we were to have been married, yes, i may say, the wedding-ring was over the first joint of her finger.' "'and pray, sir,' asked pigeon, with a face of crimson, 'pray, sir, what accident may have drawn the ring off again?' "'you see, sir,' said george tomata, arranging his hair by an opposite mirror, 'my prospects lay in india--in india, sir. now lotty--' "'who, sir?' exclaimed pigeon, wrathfully. "'charlotte,' answered tomata. 'i used to call her lotty, and she--he! he!--she used to call me 'love-apple.' you may judge how far we were both gone. for when a woman begins to play tricks with a man's name you may be sure she begins to look upon it as her future property.' "'you are always right, sir, no doubt,' observed pigeon, 'but you were about to state the particular hindrance to your marriage with'---- "'to be sure, lotty--as i was going to observe, was a nice little sugar-plum, a very nice little sugar-plum--as you will doubtless allow.' "it was with much difficulty that pigeon possessed himself of sufficient coolness to admit the familiar truth of the simile; he however admitted the wife of his bosom to be a nice little sugar-plum. "'very nice indeed, but i saw it--i felt convinced of it, and the truth went like twenty daggers to my soul--but i discovered--' "'good heavens,' exclaimed pigeon, 'discovered what?' "'that her complexion,' replied tomata, 'beautiful as it was would not stand trincomalee.' "'and was that your sole objection to the match?' inquired pigeon solemnly. "'i give you my honour as a gentleman that i had no other motive for breaking off the marriage. sir, i should have despised myself, if i had; for, as i observed, we were both gone--very far gone indeed.' "'no doubt, sir,' answered pigeon, burning to avow himself. 'but as a friend of mr. pigeon, allow me to assure you that the lady was not found too far gone to admit of a perfect recovery.' "'i'm glad of it; hope it is so. by the way what sort of a fellow is pigeon? had i been in london--i only came up yesterday--i should have looked into the match before it took place. lotty could expect no less of me. what kind of an animal is this pigeon?' "'kind of an animal, sir?' stammered pigeon. 'why, sir, he----' "'ha! that will do,' said the abrupt tomata, 'as you're his friend i'll not press you on that point. poor lotty--sacrificed i see!'" after more amusing dialogue he throws his card on the table and says he shall call, adding, "'if pigeon makes my lotty a good husband, i'll take him by the hand; if, however, i find him no gentleman--find that he shall use the girl of my heart with harshness, or even with the least unkindness--' "'well, sir!'--pigeon thrusting his hands into his pockets swaggered to tomata--'what will you do then, sir?' "'then, sir. i shall again think the happiness of the lady placed in my hands and thrash him--thrash him severely.'" chapter xvii. thackeray--his acerbity--the baronet--the parson--medical ladies--glorvina--"a serious paradise." thackeray resembled lamb in the all-pervading character of his humour. he adorned with it almost everything he touched, but did not enter into it heart and soul, like a man of really joyous mirth-loving disposition. his pages teem with sly hits and insinuations, but he never developes a comic scene, and we can scarcely find a single really laughable episode in the whole course of his works. so little did he grasp or finish such pictures that we rarely select a passage from thackeray for recitation. he thought more of plot and stratagem than of humour, and used the latter, not for its own sake, but mostly to give brilliance to his narrative, to make his figures prominent, and his remarks salient. he thus silvers unpalatable truths, and although he disowns being a moralist, we generally see some substratum of earnestness peeping through the eddies of his fancy. with him, humour is subservient. and he speaks from his inner self, when he exclaims, "oh, brother wearers of motley! are there not moments when one grows sick of grinning and tumbling, and the jingling of the cap and bells." we may say that much of thackeray's humour is more inclined to produce a grin than a smile--merely to cause a grimace, owing to the bitterness from which it springs. it must be remembered, however, that the greater part of modern wit consists of sarcastic criticism, though it is not generally severe. in thackeray we do not find any of that consciousness of the imbecility of man, which made some french writers call the humour of democritus "melancholy." the "vanity" of which he speaks is not that universal emptiness alluded to by the surfeited author of ecclesiastes, nor has it even the ordinary signification of personal conceit. no; he implies something more culpable, such immorality as covetousness, deception, vindictiveness, and hypocrisy. he approaches the roman satirists in the relentless hand with which he exposes vice. some of his characters are monstrous, and almost grotesque in selfishness, as that of becky sharp, to whom he does not allow one good quality. cunning and unworthy motives add considerably to the zest of his humour. he says-- "this history has vanity fair for a title, and vanity fair is a very vain foolish place, full of all sorts of humbugs and falseness and pretentions. one is bound to speak the truth, as one knows it, whether one mounts a cap and bells, or a shovel hat; and a deal of disagreeable matter must come out in the course of such an undertaking." here is his description of a baronet, sir pitt crawley;-- "the door was opened by a man in dark breeches and gaiters with a dirty coat, a foul old neck cloth lashed round his bristly neck, a shining bald head, a leering red face, a pair of twinkling grey eyes, and a mouth perpetually on the grin. "'this sir john pitt crawley's?' says john, from the box. "'ees,' says the man at the door, with a nod. "'hand down these ere trunks then,' said john. "'hand 'n down yourself,' said the porter. "'don't you see i can't leave my horses? come bear a hand, my fine feller, and miss will give you some beer,' said john, with a hoarse laugh. "the bald-headed man, taking his hands out of his breeches pockets, advanced on this summons, and throwing miss sharp's trunk over his shoulder, carried it into the house. "on entering the dining room by the orders of the individual in gaiters, rebecca found that apartment not more cheerful than such rooms usually are when genteel families are out of town.... two kitchen chairs and a round table and an attenuated old poker and tongs were however gathered round the fire place, as was a saucepan over a feeble sputtering fire. there was a bit of cheese and bread, and a tin candlestick on the table, and a little black porter in a pint pot. "'had your dinner, i suppose? it is too warm for you? like a drop of beer?' "'where is sir pitt crawley?' said miss sharp majestically. "'he, he! i'm sir pitt crawley. reclect you owe me a pint for bringing down your luggage. he, he! ask tinker if i ayn't. mrs. tinker, miss sharp, miss governess, mrs. charwoman, ho ho!' "the lady addressed as mrs. tinker, at this moment made her appearance with a pipe and paper of tobacco, for which she had been dispatched a minute before miss sharp's arrival; and she handed the articles over to sir pitt, who had taken his seat by the fire. "'where's the farden?' says he, 'i gave you three halfpence. where's the change, old tinker?' "'there,' replied mrs. tinker, flinging down the coin, 'it's only baronets as cares about farthings.' "'a farthing a day is seven shillings a year,' answered the m.p., 'seven shillings a year is the interest of seven guineas. take care of your farthings, old tinker, and your guineas will come quite nat'ral.' ... "and so with injunctions to miss sharp to be ready at five in the morning, he bade her good night, 'you'll sleep with tinker to-night,' he said, 'it's a big bed, and there's room for two. lady crawley died in it. good night.'" he sums up sir pitt's character by saying. "he never had a taste, emotion or enjoyment, but what was sordid and foul." sir pitt's brother, the rector of the parish, is represented as being almost as abominable as himself, though in a different way-- "the reverend bute crawley was a tall, stately, shovel-hatted man, far more popular in the county than the baronet. at college he pulled stroke oar in the christchurch boat, and had thrashed all the best bruisers of the 'town.' he carried his taste for boxing and athletic exercises into private life, there was not a fight within twenty miles at which he was not present, nor a race, nor a coursing match, nor a regatta, nor a ball, nor an election, nor a visitation dinner, nor indeed a good dinner in the whole county, but he found means to attend it. he had a fine voice, sung 'a southerly wind and a cloudy sky,' and gave the 'whoop' in chorus with general applause. he rode to hounds in a pepper and salt frock, and was one of the best fishermen in the county." the following is a sample of the conversation he holds with his wife, who, we are told "wrote this worthy divine's sermons"-- "'pitt can't be such an infernal villain as to sell the reversion of the living, and that methodist milksop of an eldest son looks to parliament,' continued mr. crawley, after a pause. "'sir pitt will do anything,' said the rector's wife, 'we must get miss crawley to make him promise it, james.' "'pitt will promise anything,' replied the brother, 'he promised he'd pay my college bills, when my father died; he promised he'd build the new wing to the rectory. and it is to this man's son--this scoundrel, gambler, swindler, murderer, of a rawdon crawley, that matilda leaves the bulk of her money. i say it's unchristian. by jove it is. the infamous dog has got every vice except hypocrisy, and that belongs to his brother." "'hush, my dearest love! we're in sir pitt's grounds,' interposed his wife. "'i say he has got every vice, mrs. crawley. don't bully me. didn't he shoot captain marker? didn't he rob young lord dovedale at the cocoa tree? didn't he cross the fight between bill soames and the cheshire trump by which i lost forty pound? you know he did; and as for women, why you heard that before me, in my own magistrates room--' "'for heaven's sake, mr. crawley,' said the lady, 'spare me the details.'" it was in a great measure to this severe sarcasm that thackeray owed his popularity. he justly observes:-- "my rascals are no milk-and-water rascals, i promise you ... such people there are living in the world, faithless, hopeless, charityless; let us have at them, dear friends, with might and main. some there are, and very successful too, mere quacks and fools; and it was to combat and expose such as those no doubt, that laughter was made." but he does not always seem to attribute merriment to this humble and unpleasant origin; he produces some passages really meant for enjoyment, and doing justice to his gift, attacks frivolities and failings, which are not of an important kind. thus, he speaks in a jocund strain of the vanity of "fashionable fiddle-daddle and feeble court slip-slop," and exclaims, "ah, ladies! ask the reverend mr. thurifer if belgravia is not a sounding brass, and tyburnia a tinkling cymbal!" he tells us that "the affection of young ladies is of as rapid a growth as jack's beanstalk, and reaches up to the sky in a night," and in the following passage he exhibits the conduct of an amiable and estimable girl, when under this fascinating spell-- "were miss sedley's letters to mr. osborn to be published, we should have to extend this novel to such a multiplicity of volumes, as not the most sentimental reader could support; she not only filled large sheets of paper, but crossed them with the most astonishing perverseness, she wrote whole pages out of poetry books without the least pity, the underlined words and passages with quite a frantic emphasis; and in fine gave the usual tokens of her condition. her letters were full of repetition, she wrote rather doubtful grammar sometimes, and in her verses took all sorts of liberties with the metre." speaking of a very religious and medical lady-- "pitt had been made to accept saunders mcnitre, luke waters, giles jowles, podger's pills, rodger's pills, pokey's elixir--every one of her ladyship's remedies, spiritual and temporal. he never left her house without carrying respectfully away with him piles of her quack theology and medicine. o, my dear brethren and fellow-sojourners in vanity fair, which among you does not know and suffer under such benevolent despots? it is in vain you say to them, 'dear madam, i took podger's specific at your orders last year, and believe in it. why am i to recant, and accept the rodger's articles now?' there is no help for it; the faithful proselytizer, if she cannot convince by argument, bursts into tears, and the recusant finds himself taking down the bolus, and saying 'well, well, rodger's be it.'" a still more alarming attack is thus represented:-- "glorvina had flirted with all the marriageable officers, whom the depôts of her country afforded, and all the bachelor squires who seemed eligible. she had been engaged to be married a half-score of times in ireland, besides the clergyman at bath, who had used her so ill. she had flirted all the way to madras with the captain and chief-mate of the ramchunder east indiaman, and had a season at the presidency. everybody admired her; everybody danced with her; but no one proposed that was worth marrying.... undismayed by forty or fifty previous defeats, glorvina laid siege to major dobbin. she sang irish melodies at him unceasingly. she asked him so frequently and so pathetically 'will you come to the bower,' that it is a wonder how any man of feeling could have resisted the invitation. she was never tired of inquiring if 'sorrow had his young days faded,' and was ready to listen and weep like desdemona at the stories of his dangers and campaigns. she was constantly writing notes over to him at his house, borrowing his books, and scoring with her great pencil marks such passages of sentiment or humour, as awakened her sympathy. no wonder that public rumour assigned her to him." in the following, thackeray is more severe-- "his wife never cared about being called lady newcome. to manage the great house of hobson brothers and newcome, to attend to the interests of the enslaved negro: to awaken the benighted hottentot to a sense of the truth; to convert jews, turks, infidels, and papists; to arouse the indifferent and often blasphemous mariner; to guide the washerwoman in the right way; to head all the public charities of her sect, and do a thousand secret kindnesses that none knew of; to answer myriads of letters, pension, endless ministers, and supply their teeming wives with continuous baby-linen, to hear preachers daily bawling for hours, and listen untired on her knees, after a long day's labour, while florid rhapsodists belaboured cushions above her with wearisome benedictions; all these things had this woman to do, and for nearly fourscore years she fought her fight womanfully." this pious lady's residence was a "serious paradise;" "as you entered at the gate gravity fell on you; and decorum wrapped you in a garment of starch. the butcher boy who galloped his horse and cart madly about the adjoining lanes and commons, whistled wild melodies (caught up in abominable play-house galleries) and joked with a hundred cook-maids,--on passing that lodge fell into an undertaker's pace, and delivered his joints and sweetbreads silently at the servant's entrance. the rooks in the elms cawed sermons at morning and evening: the peacocks walked demurely on the terraces; and the guinea-fowls looked more quaker-like than those savoury birds usually do. the lodge-keeper was serious, and a clerk at a neighbouring chapel. the pastors who entered at that gate, and greeted his comely wife and children, fed the little lambkins with tracts. the head-gardener was a scotch calvinist, after the strictest order, only occupying himself with the melons and pines provisionally, and until the end of the world, which event, he could prove by infallible calculations was to come off in two or three years at farthest." in one place, a collision is represented between the old and young schools of criticism: "the colonel heard opinions that amazed and bewildered him; he heard that byron was no great poet, though a very clever man; he heard that there had been a wicked persecution against mr. pope's memory and fame, and that it was time to reinstate him; that his favourite, dr. johnson, talked admirably, but did not write english; that young keats was a genius to be estimated in future days with young raphael; and that a young gentleman of cambridge, who had lately published two volumes of verses, might take rank with the greatest poets of all. dr. johnson not write english! lord byron not one of the greatest poets of the world! sir walter a poet of the second order! mr. pope attacked for inferiority and want of imagination; mr. keats, and this young mr. tennyson of cambridge, the chiefs of modern poetic literature? what were these new dicta which mr. warrington delivered with a puff of tobacco smoke, to which mr. honeyman blandly assented, and clive listened with pleasure?... with newcome, the admiration for the literature of the last century was an article of belief, and the incredulity of the young men seemed rank blasphemy. 'you will be sneering at shakespeare next,' he said, and was silenced, though not better pleased, when his youthful guests told him that dr. goldsmith sneered at him too; that dr. johnson did not understand him, and that congreve in his own day, and afterwards, was considered to be, in some points, shakespeare's superior." in the next he relapses into his stronger sarcasm-- "there are no better satires than letters. take a bundle of your dear friends' letters of ten years back--your dear friend, whom you hate now. look at a file of your sister's! how you clung to each other until you quarrelled about the twenty pound legacy.... vows, love promises, confidence, gratitude! how queerly they read after a while.... the best ink for vanity fair use would be one that faded utterly in a couple of days, and left the paper clean and blank, so that you might write on it to somebody else." again:-- "many persons who let lodgings in brighton have been servants themselves, are retired housekeepers, tradesfolk, and the like. with these surrounding individuals hannah, treated on a footing of equality, bringing to her mistress accounts of their various goings on; 'how no. was let; how no. had not paid his rent again; how the first floor at had game almost every day, and made-dishes from mutton's; how the family who had taken mrs. bugsby's had left, as usual, after the very first night, the poor little infant blistered all over with bites on its dear little face; how the miss leary's were going on shameful with the two young men, actually in their sitting-room, mum, where one of them offered miss laura leary a cigar; how mrs. cribb _still_ went cuttin' pounds and pounds of meat off the lodgers' jints, emptying their tea-caddies, actually reading their letters. sally had been told so by polly, the cribb's maid, who was kep', how that poor child was kep,' hearing language perfectly hawful!'" thus in all thackeray's descriptions there is more or less satire. he was always making pincushions, into which he was plunging his little points of sarcasm, and owing to his confining himself to this kind of humour he avoids the common danger of missing his mark. he is occasionally liberal of oaths and imprecations, and when any one of his characters is offended, he generally relieves his feelings by uttering "horrid curses." barnes newcome sends up "a perfect _feu d'artifice_ of oaths." but he is entirely free from indelicacy, and merely elegantly shadows forth the eton form of punishment, as that "which none but a cherub can escape." in this respect he seems to have set before him the example of mr. honeyman, of whom he says he had "a thousand anecdotes, laughable riddles and droll stories (of the utmost correctness, you understand.)" perhaps one of his least successful attempts at humour is a collection of fables at the commencement of the newcomes in which we have conversations between a fox, an owl, a wolf in sheep's clothing, and a donkey in a lion's skin, and such incongruities as would have shocked aristophanes. his christmas books depend mostly on the broad caricatures with which they are embellished, and upon a large supply of rough joking. thackeray wrote a work named the "english humorists," but he omits in it all mention of the humour by which his authors were immortalized. certainly the ordinary habits and little foibles of great men are more entertaining to the general public than inquiries into the nature of their talent, which would only interest those fond of study and investigation. chapter xviii. dickens--sympathy with the poor--vulgarity--geniality--mrs. gamp--mixture of pathos and humour--lever and dickens compared--dickens' power of description--general remarks. we shall be paying hood no undue compliment if we couple his name with that of dickens as betokening the approach of milder and gentler sentiments. they were themselves the chief pioneers of the better way. hitherto the poor and uneducated had been regarded with a certain amount of contempt; their language and stupidity had formed fertile subjects for the coarse ridicule of the humorist. but now a change was in progress; broader views were gaining ground, and a time was coming when men, notwithstanding the accidents of birth and fortune, should feel mutual sympathy, and "brothers be for a' that." with dickens the poor man was not a mere clown or blockhead; but beneath his "hodden gray" often carried good feeling, intelligence, and wit. he was rather humorous than ludicrous, and had some dignity of character. since his time, consideration for the poor has greatly increased; we see it in the large charitable gifts, which are always increasing--in the interest taken in schools and hospitals. probably the respectable and quiet character of the labouring classes has contributed to raise them in the estimation of the richer part of the community. a large portion of english humour is now employed upon so-called vulgarity. the modification of feeling with regard to the humbler classes has caused changes in the signification of this word. originally derived from "vulgus," the crowd, it meant that roughness of language and manner which is found among the less educated. it did not properly imply anything culpable, but had a bad sense given it by those who considered "gentlemanly" to imply some moral superiority. the worship of wealth so caused the signification of this latter word to exceed its original reference to high birth, that we now hear people say that there are real gentlemen among the poorer classes; and, conversely, we at times speak of the vulgarity of the rich, as of their pride, impertinence, or affectation--just as fielding used the word "mob" to signify contemptible people of any class. it is evident that some moral superiority or deficiency is thus implied. there may be, on the whole, some foundation for such distinctions, but they are not so much recognised as they were, scarcely at all in the cases of individuals, and the provincial accents and false grammar of the poor are more amusing than formerly, because we take a kindlier interest in that class. m. taine does not seem to have exercised his usual penetration when he says that english humour "far from agreeable, and bitter in taste, like their own beverages, abounds in dickens. french sprightliness, joy, and gaiety is a kind of good wine only grown in the lands of the sun. in its insular state it leaves an aftertaste of vinegar. the man who jests here is seldom kindly and never happy; he feels and censures the inequalities of life." on the contrary, we are inclined to think that french humour is fully as severe as english--they have such sayings as that "a man without money is a body without blood," and their great wits were not generally free from bitterness. there is little that is personal or offensive in dickens. it is said that he was threatened with a prosecution for producing the character of squeers, but in general his puppets are too artificial to excite any personal resentment. there are evidently set up merely to be knocked down. few would identify themselves with heap or scrooge, and although the moral taught is appreciated by all, no class is hit, but only men who seem to be preeminent in churlishness or villainy. dickens is remarkable for his gentleness whenever his humour touches the poor, and while he makes amusement out of their simplicity and ignorance, he throws in some sterling qualities. they often form the principal characters in his books, and there is nearly always in them something good-natured and sympathetic. sam weller is a pleasant fellow, so is boots at the holly tree inn. mrs. jarley, who travels about to fairs with wax-works, is a kindly and hospitable old party. she asks nell and her grandfather to take some refreshment-- "the grandfather humbly pulled off his hat and thanked her. the lady of the caravan then bade him come up the stairs, but the drum proving an inconvenient table for two, they descended again and sat upon the grass, where she handed down to them the tea-tray, the bread and butter, the knuckle of ham, and in short everything of which she had partaken herself, except the bottle which she had already embraced an opportunity of slipping into her pocket. "'set 'em out near the hind wheels, child, that's the best place,' said their friend superintending the arrangements from above. 'now hand up the tea-pot for a little more hot water, and a pinch of fresh tea, and then both of you eat and drink as much as you can, and don't spare anything; that's all i ask you.' "while they were thus engaged the lady of the caravan alighted on the earth, and with her hands clasped behind her, and her large bonnet trembling excessively, walked up and down in a measured tread and very stately manner surveying the caravan from time to time with an air of calm delight and deriving particular gratification from the red panels and brass knocker. when she had taken this gentle exercise for some time, she sat down upon the steps and called 'george,' whereupon a man in a carter's frock, who had been so shrouded in a hedge up to this time as to see everything that passed without being seen himself, parted the twigs that concealed him and appeared in a sitting attitude supporting on his legs a baking dish, and a half gallon stone bottle, and bearing in his right hand a knife, and in his left a fork. "'yes, missus,' said george. "'how did you find the cold pie, george?' "'it worn't amiss, mum.' "'and the beer?' said the lady of the caravan with an appearance of being more interested in this question than the last, 'is it passable, george?' "'it's more flatterer than it might be,' george returned, 'but it a'nt so bad for all that.' "to set the mind of his mistress at rest, he took a sip (amounting in quantity to a pint or thereabouts) from the stone bottle, and then smacked his lips, winked his eye, and nodded his head. no doubt with the same amiable desire he immediately resumed his knife and fork as a practical assurance that the beer had wrought no bad effect upon his appetite. "the lady of the caravan looked on approvingly for some time and then said, "'have you nearly finished?' "wery nigh, mum,' and indeed after scraping the dish all round with his knife and carrying the choice brown morsels to his mouth, and after taking such a scientific pull at the stone bottle that, by degrees almost imperceptible to the sight, his head went farther and farther back until he lay nearly at his full length upon the ground, this gentleman declared himself quite disengaged, and came forth from his retreat. "'i hope i haven't hurried you, george,' said his mistress, who appeared to have a great sympathy with his late pursuit. "'if you have,' returned the fellow, wisely reserving himself for any favourable contingency, 'we must make it up next time, that's all.'" mrs. gamp has a touch of sympathy in her exuberance. contemplating going down to the country with the dickens' company of actors, she tells us-- "which mrs. harris's own words to me was these, 'sairey gamp,' she says, 'why not go to margate? srimps,' says that dear creetur, 'is to your liking. sairey, why not go to margate for a week, bring your constitution up with srimps, and come back to them loving arts as knows and wallies you, blooming? sairey,' mrs. harris says, 'you are but poorly. don't denige it, mrs. gamp, for books is in your looks. you must have rest. your mind,' she says, 'is too strong for you; it gets you down and treads upon you, sairey. it is useless to disguige the fact--the blade is a wearing out the sheets.' 'mrs. harris,' i says to her, 'i could not undertake to say, and i will not deceive you ma'am, that i am not the woman i could wish to be. the time of worrit as i had with mrs. colliber, the baker's lady, which was so bad in her mind with her first, that she would not so much as look at bottled stout, and kept to gruel through the month, has agued me, mrs. harris. but, ma'am,' i says to her, 'talk not of margate, for if i do go anywhere it is elsewheres, and not there.' 'sairey,' says mrs. harris solemn, 'whence this mystery? if i have ever deceived the hardest-working, soberest, and best of women, mention it.' ... 'mrs. harris, then,' i says, 'i have heard as there is an expedition going down to manjester and liverpool a playacting, if i goes anywhere for change it is along with that.' mrs. harris clasps her hands, and drops into a chair, 'and have i lived to hear,' she says, 'of sairey gamp, as always kept herself respectable, in company with play-actors.' 'mrs. harris,' i says to her, 'be not alarmed, not reg'lar play-actors--hammertoors.' 'thank evans!' says mrs. harris, and bustizes into a flood of tears," dickens saw with hood the power to be obtained by uniting pathos with humour. such an intermixture at first appears inharmonious, but in reality produces sweet music. there is something corresponding to the course of external nature with its light and shade its sunshine and showers, in this melancholy chased away by mirth, and joy merging into sadness. here, dickens has held up the mirror, and shown a bright reflection of the outer world. out of many choice specimens, we may select the following from the speech of the cheap jack-- "'now, you country boobies,' says i, feeling as if my heart was a heavy weight at the end of a broken sash-line, 'i give you notice that i am going to charm the money out of your pockets, and to give you so much more than your money's worth that you'll only persuade yourselves to draw your saturday-night's wages ever again afterwards, by the hopes of meeting me to lay 'em out with, which you never will; and why not? because i've made my fortune by selling my goods on a large scale for seventy-five per cent less than i give for them, and i am consequently to be elevated to the house of peers next week by the title of the duke of cheap, and markis jack-a-looral." he puts up a lot and after recommending it with all his eloquence pretends to knock it down-- "as there had been no bid at all, everybody looked about and grinned at everybody, while i touched little sophy's face (he was holding her in his arms) and asked her if she felt faint or giddy. 'not very, father; it will soon be over.' then turning from the pretty patient eyes, which were opened now, and seeing nothing but grins across my lighted greasepot. i went on again in my cheap jack style. 'where's the butcher?' (my mournful eye had just caught sight of a fat young butcher on the outside of the crowd) 'she says the good luck is the butcher's, where is he?' everybody handed over the blushing butcher to the front, and there was a roar, and the butcher felt himself obliged to put his hand in his pocket and take the lot. the party so picked out in general does feel obliged to take the lot--good four times out of six. then we had another lot the counterpart of that one and sold it sixpence cheaper, which is always very much enjoyed. then we had the spectacles. it ain't a special profitable lot, but i put 'em on, and i see what the chancellor of the exchequer is going to take off the taxes, and i see what the sweetheart of the young woman in the shawl is doing at home, and i see what the bishops has got for dinner, and a deal more that seldom fails to fetch up their spirits, and the better their spirits the better they bids. then we had the ladies' lot--the tea-pots, tea-caddy, glass sugar-basin, half-a-dozen spoons, and caudle cup--and all the time i was making similar excuses to give a look or two, and say a word or two to my poor child. it was while the second ladies' lot was holding 'em enchained that i felt her lift herself a little on my shoulder to look across the dark street. 'what troubles you darling?' 'nothing troubles me, father, i am not at all troubled. but don't i see a pretty churchyard over there?' 'yes, my dear.' 'kiss me twice, dear father, and lay me down to rest upon that churchyard grass, so soft and green.' i staggered back into the cart with her head dropped on my shoulder, and i says to her mother, 'quick, shut the door! don't let those laughing people see.' 'what's the matter?' she cries, 'o woman, woman,' i tells her, 'you'll never catch my little sophy by her hair again, for she has flown away from you.'" dickens' strongest characters, and those he loved most to paint, are such as contain foibles and eccentricities, or much dulness and ignorance in conjunction with the best feelings and intentions, so that his teaching seems rather to be that we should look beyond mere external trifles. those he attacks are mostly middle-class people, or those slightly below them--the dogs in office, and the dogs in the manger. the artifice and cunning of the waiter of the hotel at yarmouth, where little copperfield awaits the coach, is excellently represented. "the waiter brought me some chops and vegetables, and took the covers off in such a bouncing manner, that i was afraid i must have given him some offence. but he greatly relieved my mind by putting a chair for me at the table, and saying very affably 'now sixfoot come on!' "i thanked him and took my seat at the board; but found it extremely difficult to handle my knife and fork with anything like dexterity, or to avoid splashing myself with the gravy, while he was standing opposite, staring so hard, and making me blush in the most dreadful manner every time i caught his eye. after watching me into the second chop, he said: "there's half a pint of ale for you, will you have it now?' "i thanked him and said 'yes'--upon which he poured it out of a jug into a large tumbler, and held it up against the light and made it look beautiful. "'my eye!' he said 'it seems a good deal, don't it.' "'it does seem a good deal,' i answered with a smile, for it was quite delightful to me to find him so pleasant. he was a twinkling-eyed, purple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head; and as he stood with one arm akimbo, holding up the glass to the light, with one hand he looked quite friendly. "'there was a gentleman here yesterday,' he said, 'a stout gentleman by the name of topsawyer, perhaps you know him?' "'no,' i said, i don't think-- "'in breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, grey coat, speckled choker,' said the waiter. "'no,' i said bashfully, 'i hav'n't the pleasure--' "'he came here,' said the waiter, looking at the light through the tumbler, 'ordered a glass of this ale, _would_ order it, i told him not--drank it, and fell dead. it was too old for him. it oughtn't to be drawn, that's the fact.' "i was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said i thought i had better have some water. 'why, you see,' said the waiter, looking at the light through the tumbler with one of his eyes shut, 'our people don't like things being ordered and left. it offends them. but i'll drink it, if you like. i'm used to it, and use is everything. i don't think it will hurt me if i throw my head back and take it off quick; shall i?' "i replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if he thought he could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. when he did throw his head back and take it off quick, i had a horrible fear, i confess, of seeing him meet the fate of the lamented topsawyer, and fall lifeless on the carpet. but it did not hurt him. on the contrary. i thought he seemed the fresher for it. 'what have we got here?' he said, putting a fork into my dish. 'not chops?' "'chops.' i said. "'lord bless my soul,' he exclaimed, 'i didn't know they were chops. why, a chop's the very thing to take off the bad effect of that beer. ain't it lucky?' "so he took a chop by the bone in one hand and a potato in the other, and ate away with a very good appetite to my extreme satisfaction. he afterwards took another chop and another potato, and after that another chop and another potato. when we had done he brought me a pudding, and having set it before me seemed to ruminate, and to be absent in his mind for some moments. "'how's the pie?' he said, rousing himself. "'it's a pudding,' i made answer. "'pudding,' he exclaimed, 'why, bless me, so it is. what?' looking nearer at it, 'you don't mean to say it's a batter pudding!' "'yes, it is indeed.' "'why, a batter pudding,' he said, taking up a tablespoon, 'is my favourite pudding! aint it lucky? come on, pitch in, and let's see who'll get most.' "the waiter certainly got most. he entreated me more than once to come in and win, but what with his tablespoon to my teaspoon, his dispatch to my dispatch, and his appetite to my appetite i was left far behind at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him." we are all sufficiently familiar with the vast amount and variety of humour with which dickens enriched his writings. it is not aphoristic, but flows along in a light sparkling stream. this is what we should expect from a man who wrote so much and so rapidly. his thoughts did not concentrate and crystallize into a few sharply cut expressions, and he has left us scarcely any sayings which will live as "household words." moreover, in his bold style of writing he sought to produce effects by broad strokes and dashes--not afraid of an excess of caricature, from which he left his readers to deduct the discount. taine says he was "too mad." but he was daring, and cared little for the risk of being ludicrous, providing he escaped the certainty of being dull. he was not afraid of improbabilities, any more than his contemporary lever was, and owing to this they both now seem somewhat old-fashioned. lever here exceeded dickens, and his course was different; his plan was to sow a few seeds of extravagant falsehood, whence he would raise a wonderful efflorescence of ludicrous circumstances. for instance, he makes a general count de vanderdelft pay a visit to the dodd family, and bring them an invitation from the king of belgium. great preparations are of course made by the ladies for so grand an occasion. the day arrives, and they have to travel in their full dress in second and third class carriages. they arrive a little late, but make their way to the royal pavilion. here, while in great suspense, they meet the general, who says he was afraid he should have missed them. "'we've not a minute to lose,' cried he, drawing mary ann's arm within his own. 'if leopold sits down to table, i can't present you.' "the general made his way through the crowd until he reached a barrier, where two men were standing taking tickets. he demanded admission, and on being refused, exclaimed, 'these scullions don't know me--this canaille never heard my name.' with these words the general kicked up the bar with his foot, and passed in with mary ann, flourishing his drawn sword in the air, and crying out, 'take them in flank--sabre them--every man--no prisoners--no quarter.' at this juncture two big men in grey coats burst through the crowd and laid hands on the general, who, it seems, had escaped a week before from a mad-house in ghent." the basis of all this is far too improbable, but there was a temptation to construct a very good story upon it. but dickens builds upon much firmer ground, and is only fantastic in the superstructure. this is certainly an improvement, and we admire his genius most when he controls its flight, and when his caricatures are less grotesque. i take the following from "nicholas niekleby," chapter ii. "although a few members of the graver professions live about golden square, it is not exactly in anybody's way to or from anywhere.... it is a great resort of foreigners. the dark complexioned men, who wear large rings, and heavy watchguards, and bushy whiskers, and who congregate under the opera colonnade, and about the box-office in the season, between four and five in the afternoon, when they give orders--all live in golden square, or within a street of it. two or three violins and a wind instrument from the opera band reside within its precincts. its boarding-houses are musical, and the notes of pianos and harps float in the evening-time round the head of the mournful statue, the guardian genius of a little wilderness of shrubs, in the centre of the square.... street bands are on their mettle in golden square; and itinerant glee-singers quaver involuntarily as they raise their voices within its boundaries.... "some london houses have a melancholy little plot of ground behind them, usually fenced in by four white-washed walls, and frowned upon by stacks of chimneys, in which there withers on from year to year a crippled tree, that makes a show of putting forth a few leaves late in autumn, when other trees shed theirs, and drooping in the effort, lingers on all crackled and smoke-dried till the following season, when it repeats the same process; and perhaps, if the weather be particularly genial, even tempts some rheumatic sparrow to chirp in its branches." in the next chapter there is a description of the house of a humble votary of the arts. "a miniature painter lived there, for there was a large gilt frame screwed upon the street-door, in which were displayed, upon a black velvet ground, two portraits of naval dress, coats with faces looking out of them, and telescopes attached; one of a young gentleman in a very vermilion uniform flourishing a sabre; and one of a literary character with a high forehead, a pen and ink, six books, and a curtain. there was, moreover, a touching representation of a young lady reading a manuscript in an unfathomable forest, and a charming whole length of a large-headed little boy, sitting on a stool with his legs foreshortened to the size of salt-spoons. besides these works of art, there were a great many heads of old ladies and gentlemen smirking at each other out of blue and brown skies, and an elegantly written card of terms with an embossed border." when mr. crummles, the stage-manager, urges his old pony along the road, the following conversation takes place:-- "'he's a good pony at bottom,' said mr. crummles, turning to nicholas. he might have been at bottom, but he certainly was not at top, seeing that his coat was of the roughest, and most ill-favoured kind. so nicholas merely observed that he shouldn't wonder if he was. 'many and many is the circuit this pony has gone,' said mr. crummles, flicking him skilfully on the eyelid, for old acquaintance sake. 'he is quite one of us. his mother was on the stage.' "'was she?' rejoined nicholas. "'she ate apple-pie at circus for upwards of fourteen years,' said the manager, 'fired pistols, and went to bed in a night-cap; and in short, took the low comedy entirely. his father was an actor.' "'was he at all distinguished?' "'not very,' said the manager. 'he was rather a low sort of pony. the fact is, he had been originally jobbed out by the day, and he never quite got over his old habits. he was clever in melodrama, too, but too broad, too broad. when the mother died he took the port wine business.' "'the port wine business?' cried nicholas. "'drinking port wine with the clown,' said the manager; 'but he was greedy and one night bit off the bowl of the glass and choked himself, so his vulgarity was the death of him at last.'" it is greatly to the credit of dickens that although he wrote so much and salted so freely, he never approached any kind of impropriety. the only weak point in his humour is that he borrows too much from his imagination, and too little from reality. i trust that those who have accompanied me through the chapters of this work, will have been able to trace a gradual amelioration in humour. we have seen it from age to age running parallel with the history, and varying with the mental development of the times, rising and falling in fables, demonology, word-coining and coarseness, and i hope we may add in practical joking and coxcombry. the remaining chapters will draw conclusions from our general survey. there can be little doubt that humour cannot be studied in any country better than in our own. the commercial character of england, and its connection with many nations whose feelings are intermingled in our minds as their blood is in our veins, are favourable for the development of fancy and of the finest kinds of wit, while the moderate government under which we live, tends in the same direction. humour may have germinated in the darkness of despotism, among the discontented subjects of dionysius or under "the tyranny tempered by epigrams," of louis xiv., but it failed, under such conditions to obtain a full expression, and although it has revelled and run riot under republican governments, it has always tended in them to coarse and personal vituperation. the fairest blossoms of pleasantry thrive best where the sun is not strong enough to scorch, nor the soil rank enough to corrupt. chapter xix. variation--constancy--influence of temperament--of observation--bulls--want of knowledge--effects of emotion--unity of the sense of the ludicrous. as every face in the world is different, so no two minds are exactly similar, although there is great uniformity in the perceptions of the senses and still more in our primary innate ideas. the variety lies in the one case, in the finer lines and expressions of the countenance, and in the other in those delicate shades and combinations of feeling which are influenced more or less by memory, reflection, imagination, by experience, education and temperament, by taste, morality, and religion. it was no doubt the view of this great diversity of thought that led quintilian to say that "the topics from which jests may be elicited are not less numerous than those from which thoughts may be derived!" herbert writes to the same purpose-- "all things are full of jest; nothing that's plain but may be witty, if thou hast the vein." but we are not in the vein except sometimes, and under peculiar circumstances, so that, practically, few sayings are humorous. it is more difficult to assert that there are any jests which would be appreciated by all. the statement that "some phases of life must stir humour in any man of sanity," is probably too wide. there is little of this universality in the ludicrous, but we shall have some reason for thinking that there is a certain constancy in the mental feeling which awakens it. it is also fixed with regard to each individual. if we had sufficient knowledge, we could predict exactly whether a man would be amused at a certain story, and we sometimes say "tell that to mr. ---- it will amuse him." but if his nature were not so disposed, no exertions on his part or ours could make him enjoy it. the ludicrous is dependent upon feelings or circumstances, but not upon the will. it is peculiarly involuntary as those know who have tried to smother a laugh. the utmost advance we can make towards making ourselves mirthful is by changing our circumstances. it is said that if a man were to look at people dancing with his ears stopped, the figures moving without accompaniment would seem ludicrous to him, but his merriment would not be great because he would know the strangeness he observed was not real but caused by his own intentional act. we may say that for a thing to appear ludicrous to a man which does not seem so at present, he must change the character of his mind. there is another kind of constancy which should here be noticed. some humorous sayings survive for long periods, and occasionally are adopted in foreign countries. in some cases they have immortalized a name, in others we know not who originated them, or to whom they first referred. they seem to be the production, as they are the heritage, not of man but of humanity. it is essential to the permanence of humour that it should refer to large classes, and awaken emotions common to many. if socrates and xantippe, the philosopher and the shrew, had not represented classes, and an ordinary connection in life, we should have been little amused at their differences.[ ] having mentioned these few first aspects in which humour is constant, we now come to the wider field of its variation. it may be said to vary with the age, with the century, with classes of society, with the time of life, nay, it has been asserted, with the very hours of the day! the simplest mode in which we can demonstrate this character of humour is to consider some of those things which although amusing to others are not so to us, and those which amuse us, but not others; we sometimes regard as ludicrous what is intended to be humorous, sometimes on the other hand we view as humorous what is seriously meant, and sometimes we take gravely what is intended to be amusing. a man may make what he thinks to be a jest, and be neither humorous nor ludicrous, and a man may cause others to laugh without being one or the other; for what he says may be amusing, although he does not intend it to be so, or he may be merely relating some actual occurrence. occasionally, there is some doubt as to whether we regard things as ludicrous or humorous. this is seen in some proverbs. but the most common and strongly marked instances of variation are where what is seriously taken by one person is regarded as ludicrous by another. thus the conception of the qualities desirable in public speaking are very different on this side to the atlantic from what they are on the other, and what appears to us to partake of the ludicrous, seems to them to be only grand, effective, and appropriate. "in patriotic eloquence," says a u.s. journal, "our american stump-speakers beat the world. they don't stand up and prose away so as to put an audience to sleep, after the lazy genteel aristocratic style of british parliamentary speech-making." this boast is certainly just. there is a vigour about the popular style of american oratory that we are sure has never been equalled in the british parliament. a paper of the interior in paying a glowing tribute to the eloquence of the fourth of july orator who officiated in the town where the journal is published, says--"although he had a platform ten feet square to orate upon, he got so fired up with patriotism that it wasn't half big enough to hold him: his fist collided three times with the president of the day, besides bunging the eye of the reader of the declaration, and every person on the stage left it limping." such a style of oratory would leave durable impressions, and be felt as well as heard. it cannot be doubted that our mental state, whether temporary or habitual, exercises a great influence over us in regard to humour. temperament must modify all our emotional feelings, some are naturally gay and hilarious, some grave and austere, children laugh from little more than exuberance of spirits, and joyousness causes us to seek pleasure, to notice ludicrous combinations which would otherwise escape us, and renders us sensitive of all humorous impressions. but the cares of life have generally the effect of making men grave even where there is no lack of imagination. some have been so serious in mood that it has been recorded that they were never known to laugh, as it is said of philip the third of spain that he only did so once--on reading don quixote. how little attempt at humour is there in most of our literary works! true, humour is rather the language of conversation, and we may expect it as little in writing, as we do sentiment in society. but even in its own special province it is lacking, there is generally in our festive gatherings more of what is dull than of what is playful and pleasant. perhaps our cloudy skies may have some influence--it is impossible to doubt that climate affects the mental disposition of nations. the natives of tahiti in their soft southern isle are gay and laughter-loving; the arab of the desert is fierce and warlike, and seldom condescends to smile. sydney smith said "it would require a surgical operation to get a joke into the understanding of a scotchman;" but the irishman in his mild variable climate is ready to be witty under all circumstances. flögel, writing in germany, observes that "humour is not a fruit to be gathered from every bough; you can find a hundred men able to draw tears for every one that can raise a laugh." there is also a great difference between individuals in this respect. some are naturally bright and jocund, and others are misanthropic and manufacture out of very trite materials a sort of snap-dragon wit, which flares up in an instant, is as soon out, and generally burns somebody's fingers. it may be urged on the contrary that many celebrated wits as mathews, leech, and others, have been melancholy men. but despondency is often found in an excitable temperament which is not unfavourable to humour, for the man who is unduly depressed at one moment is likely to be immoderately elated at another. old hobbes was of opinion that laughter arose from pride, upon which addison remarked that according to that theory, if we heard a man laugh, instead of saying that he was very merry, we should say that he was very proud. we have already observed that some men are disinclined to laugh because they are of an earnest turn of mind, constantly pondering upon their affairs and the possibility of transforming a shilling into a pound. such are those to whom carlyle referred when he said that "the man who cannot laugh is only fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils." but there are a few persons who follow lord chesterfield in systematically suppressing this kind of demonstration. they think it derogatory, and in them pride is antagonistic to humour. a man who is free and easy and talkative, gains in one direction what he loses in another. we love him as a frank, genial fellow, but can never regard him with any great reverence. laughter seems to bespeak a simple docile nature, such as those who assume to rule the world are not willing to have the credit of possessing. it belongs more to the fool than to the rogue, to those who follow than to those who lead. eminent men do not intentionally avoid laughter; they are not inclined to it; and there are some, who, from being generally of a profound and calculating turn of mind are not given to any exhibition of emotion. it has been said that diogenes never laughed, and the same has been asserted of swift. and although we may safely conclude that these statements were not literally true, there was probably some foundation for them. no doubt they appreciated humour, but their minds were earnest and ambitious. moreover, great wits are accustomed to the character of their own humour, and are often merely repeating what they have heard or said frequently. nature has endowed few men with two gifts, and emotional joyousness and high intellectual culture form a rare combination, such as was found in goldsmith with his hearty laughter, and in macaulay, who tells us that he laughed at mathews' comic performance "until his sides were sore." bishop warburton said that humorists were generally men of learning, but although those who were so would have been most prominent, we scarcely find the name of one of them in the course of these volumes; many of those mentioned sprang from the humbler paths of life, but all were men of study. still those who are altogether unable to enjoy a joke are men of imperfect sympathies. charles lamb observes that in a certain way the character, even of a ludicrous man, is attractive--"the more laughable blunders a man shall commit in your company, the more tests he gives you that he will not betray or over-reach you. and take my word for this, reader, and say a fool told it you, if you please, that he who hath not a dram of folly in his mixture, hath pounds of much worse matter in his composition. what are commonly the world's received fools, but such whereof the world is not worthy?" we have intimated that our sense of the ludicrous varies in accordance with memory, imagination, observation, and association. the minds of some are so versatile, and so richly endowed with intellectual gifts, that their ideas sparkle and coruscate, they splinter every ray of light into a thousand colours, and produce all kinds of strange juxtapositions and combinations. (this exuberance has probably led to the seemingly contradictory saying that men of sentiment are generally men of humour.) no doubt their sallies would be poor and appreciated by themselves alone were they without a certain foundation, but a vast number of things are capable of affording amusement. pleasantries often turn upon something much more difficult to define than to feel--upon some nicety of regard, or neatness of proportion. no interchange of ideas can take place without much beyond the letter being understood, and very much depends upon variety of delicate significations. words are as variable and relative as thought, differing with time and place--a few constantly dropping out of use, some understood in one age, but conveying no distinct idea in another, and not calling up exactly the same associations in different individuals. we cannot, therefore, agree with addison that translation may be considered a sure test for distinguishing between genuine and spurious humour--although it would detect mere puns. voltaire says of hudibras, "i have never met with so much wit in one book as in this--who would believe that a work which paints in such lively and natural colours the several foibles and frolics of mankind, and where we meet with more sentiment than words, should baffle the endeavours of the ablest translator?" but any alteration of words would generally destroy humour. "to go to the crows," was a good and witty expression in ancient greece, but it does not signify anything to us, except, perhaps, climbing trees. when we wish a man to be devoured, we tell him to "go to the dogs." even the flow and sound of words sometimes has great influence in humour. association has also considerable effect. owing to this little boys at school are rarely able to laugh at a greek joke. we consider that to call a man an ass is a reproach, but in the east in bewailing a lost friend they frequently exclaim, "alas, my jackass!" for they do not associate the animal with stupidity, but with patience and usefulness. these differences show that the essence of some humour is so fugitive that the smallest change will destroy it. we may well suppose, therefore, that it escapes many who have not quick perceptions, while we find that everyone more keenly appreciates that which relates to some subject with which he is specially conversant--a lawyer enjoys a legal, a broker a commercial joke. hence women, taking more interest than men in the general concerns of life and in a great variety of things, are more given to mirth--their mind reflects the world, that of men only one line in it. we see in society how much more quickly some persons understand an obscure allusion than others--some from natural penetration, some from familiarity with the subject. there are those who cannot enjoy any joke which they do not make themselves. some cannot guess the simplest riddle, while others could soon detect the real nature of a cherry coloured cat with rose-coloured feet. observation is necessary for all criticism, especially of that kind often found in humour. as an instance of humour being unappreciated for lack of it, i may mention that beattie considers the well known passage of gray to be parodied poetically, but not humorously, in the following lines upon a country curate-- "bread was his only food; his drink the brook; so small a salary did his rector send, he left his laundress all he had--a book, he found in death, 'twas all he wished--a friend." most people would think that this was intended to be humorous. it struck me so--the "book" was evidently his washing book--and on turning to the original poem i found that the other stanzas were not at all of a serious complexion. the assistance given by imagination to humour is clearly seen, when after some good saying laughter recurs several times, as new aspects of the situation suggested present themselves. circumstances of time and country greatly modify our modes of thought, and a vast amount of humour has thus become obscure, not only for want of information, but because things are not viewed in the same light. beattie observes that shakespeare's humour will never be adequately relished in france nor molière's in england.[ ] the inquiry in the present chapter is not as to what creates the ludicrous, but as to what tends to vivify or obscure it. we shall not here attempt any surmises as to its essential nature, although we trace the conditions necessary to its due appreciation. a great number of things pass unnoticed every day both in circumstances and conversation, in which the ludicrous might be detected by a keen observer. the following is not a bad instance of an absurd statement being unconsciously made-- "one day when walking in the black country the bishop of lichfield saw a number of miners seated on the ground, and went to speak to them. on asking them what they were doing, he was told they had been 'loyin.' the bishop, much dismayed, asked for an explanation. 'why, you see,' said one of the men, 'one of us fun' a kettle, and we have been trying who can tell the biggest lie to ha' it.' his lordship, being greatly shocked, began to lecture them and to tell them that lying was a great offence, and that he had always felt this so strongly that he had never told a lie in the whole course of his life. he had scarcely finished, when one of the hearers exclaimed, 'gie the governor the kettle; gie the governor the kettle!'" under the head of unconscious absurdities may be classed what are commonly called "bulls," implying like the french "_bêtise_" so great a deficiency of observation as to approach a kind of brutish stupidity only worthy of the lower animals. a man could not be charged with such obtuseness if he were only ignorant of some philosophical truth, or even of a fact commonly known, or if his mistake were clearly from inadvertence. i have heard the question asked "which is it more correct to say. seven and five _is_ eleven, or seven and five _are_ eleven?" and if a man reply hastily "_are_ is the more correct," he could not be charged with having made a "bull," any more than if a boy had made a mistake in a sum of addition or subtraction. if a foreigner says "i have got to-morrow's times," we do not consider it a bull because he is ignorant that he should have said "yesterday's," and a person who does not understand latin may be excused for saying "under existing circumstances," perhaps long usage justifies the expression. for this reason, and also because no dulness is implied, we may safely say "the sun sets," or "the sun has gone in." to constitute a bull, there must be something glaringly self-contradictory in the statement. but every observation containing a contradiction does not show dulness of apprehension, but often talent and ingenuity. poetry and humour are much indebted to such expressions--thus the old greek writers often call offerings made to the dead "a kindness which is no kindness," and horace speaks of "discordant harmony" and "active idleness." some other contradictions are humorous, and most bulls would be so were they made purposely.[ ] a genuine bull is never intentional. but few people would plead guilty to having shown bovine stupidity. they would shelter themselves under some of the various exceptions--perhaps explain that they attach a different meaning to the words, and that so the expressions are not so very incorrect, and all that could generally be proved against a man would be that he had used words in unaccustomed senses. thus what appears to one person to be a "bull" seems a correct expression to another. i remember an irishman telling me that in his country they had the finest climate in the world, and on my replying "yes, i believe you have very little frost or snow," he rejoined "oh, plinty, sir, plinty of frost and snow--but frost and snow is not cold in ireland." he was quite serious--intended no joke. he evidently used the term "cold," not only in reference to temperature, but also to the amount of discomfort usually suffered from it. and that it may sometimes be used in a metaphorical sense is evident from our expressions "a cold heart," "a freezing manner." sometimes people would attribute their mistake to inadvertence, and so escape from the charge of stupidity implied in a "bull." a friend who told me that a mr. carter was "a seller of everything, and other things besides," would probably have urged this excuse. the writer of the following in the "agony" column of a daily paper, "dear tom. come immediately if you see this. if not come on saturday," would contend that there was only a slight omission, and that the meaning was evidently "if you see this _to-day_." from inadvertence i have heard it said in commendation of a celebrated artist, that "he painted dead game--to the life." sir boyle roche is said to have exclaimed in a fit of enthusiasm "that admiral howe would sweep the french fleet off the face of the earth." but it may be urged that there are some observations which no man can excuse or account for, and of such a nature that even the person who makes them must admit that they are "bulls." such, for instance, as that of the irishman, who being shown an alarum said, "oh, sure, i see. i've only to pull the string when i want to awake myself." but such sayings are not "bulls," only humorous inventions. they represent a greater amount of density than any one ever possessed. that the above saying is invented, is proved by the simple fact that alarums have no strings to pull. in the same way the lines quoted by lever-- "success to the moon, she's a dear noble creature and gives us the daylight all night in the dark," did not emanate from a dull, but a clever man. a "bull" is an imputation of stupidity made by the hearer through the inadvertence of the speaker in whose mind there is no contradiction, but a want of precision in thought or expression. it is a common error where the imagination is stronger than the critical faculty. the use of cant words renders jests imperfectly intelligible. greek humour was clearer in this respect than that of the present day, especially since our vocabulary has been so much enriched from america. puns also restrict the pleasantries dependent on them to one country, no great loss perhaps, though the greater part of german humour is thus rendered obscure. "remember," writes lord chesterfield, "that the wit, humour, and jokes of most companies are local. they thrive in that particular soil, but will not often bear transplanting. every company is differently circumstanced, has its peculiar cant and jargon, which may give occasion to wit and mirth within the circle, but would seem flat and insipid in any other, and therefore will not bear repeating. nothing makes a man look sillier than a pleasantry not relished, or not understood, and if he meets with a profound silence when he expected a general applause, or what is worse if he is desired to explain the _bon mot_, his awkward and embarrassed situation is easier imagined than described." but ignorance of the meaning of words, while it destroys one kind of amusement sometimes creates another. the mistakes of the deaf and of foreigners are often ludicrous. a french gentleman told me that on the morning after his arrival in italy he rang his bell and called "_de l'eau chaude_." as he did not seem to be understood he made signs to his face, and the waiter nodded and withdrew. it was a long time before he reappeared, but when he entered the delay was accounted for, as he had been out to purchase a pot of _rouge_! but mistakes with regard to the meanings of words are not so common as with regard to their references. we are often ignorant of the state of society, or the manners and customs to which allusion is made. this is the reason why so much of the humour of bygone ages escapes us. in ancient greece to call a man a frequenter of baths was an insult, not a commendation as it would be at present. with them the class who are "so very clean and so very silly" was large, and the golden youth of the period, under the pretence of ablution, spent their time in idleness and luxury in these "baths"--which corresponded in some respects to our clubs. to give an example in modern literature--when charles lamb in his life of liston records that his hero was descended from a johan d'elistone, who came over with the conqueror, and was rewarded for his prowess with a grant of land at lupton magna, many people had so little knowledge or insight as to take this humorous invention to be an historical fact. laughter for want of knowledge is especially manifested among savages, when they first come into contact with civilization. a missionary relating his experiences among the south sea islanders observes how much he was astonished at their laughing at what seemed to him the most ordinary occurrences. this was owing to their utter ignorance of matters commonly known to us. he tells us one day when the sailors were boring a hole to put a vent peg into a cask, the fermentation caused the porter to spirt out upon them. one of them tried in vain to stop it with his hand, but it flew through his fingers. meanwhile a native who stood by burst into a fit of immoderate laughter. the sailor, thinking it a serious matter to lose so much good liquor, asked him rather angrily why he was laughing at the porter running out. "oh," replied the native, "i'm not laughing at its coming out, but at thinking what trouble it must have cost you to put it in." but ignorance has often produced opposite results to these, and caused very ludicrous statements to be made seriously. thus a french gazette reports that "lord selkirk arrived in paris this morning. he is a descendant of the famous selkirk whose adventures suggested to defoe his robinson crusoe." among the various curious and useful items of knowledge contained in the "almanach de gotha,"--the first number of which was published years ago--we find it gravely stated that the manghians of the island of mindoro are furnished with tails exactly five inches in length, and the women of formosa with beards half a foot long. i remember having, upon one occasion, visited the mammertine prison at rome with a young friend preparing for the army, and his asking me "what had st. peter and st. paul done to be confined here?" "they were here for being christians," i replied, "oh, were st. peter and st. paul christians? i suppose they were put in prison by these horrid roman catholics." we may say generally that any fresh acquisition of knowledge destroys one source of amusement and opens another. but if our mental powers were to become perfect, which they never will, we should cease to laugh at all. wisdom or knowledge--the study of our own thoughts or of those of others--has a tendency to alter our general views, and affects our appreciation of humour, even where it affords no special information on the subject before us. upon given premises the conclusions of the highly cultivated are different from those of others; and intellectual humour is that which generally they enjoy most--finding more pleasure in thought than in emotion. no doubt they sometimes appreciate what is lighter, especially when a reaction taking place after severe study, they feel like children let out to play. but ordinarily they certainly appreciate most that rare and subtle humour which inferior minds cannot understand. herbert spencer is probably correct that "we enjoy that humour most at which we laugh least." but we must not conclude from this rule that we can at will by repressing our laughter increase our pleasure. the statement refers to the cases of different persons or of the same person under different circumstances. rude and uneducated people would little feel the humour at which they could not laugh, and some grave people entirely miss much that is amusing. "the nervous energy," he says, "which would have caused muscular action, is discharged in thought," but this presupposes a very sensitive mental organization into which the discharge can be made. where this does not exist, laughter accompanies the appreciation of humour, and in silence there would be little pleasure. the cause of mirth also differs as the persons affected, and the farce which creates a roar in the pit will often not raise a smile in the boxes. swift writes--"bombast and buffoonery, by nature lofty and light, soar highest of all in the theatre, and would be lost in the roof, if the prudent architect had not contrived for them a fourth place called the twelvepenny gallery and there planted a suitable colony." that emotionable ebullition affords a lower class less enjoyment than intellectual action gives a higher order of mind, must be somewhat uncertain. a thoughtful nature is probably happier than an emotional, but it is difficult to compare the pleasure derived from intellectual, moral, and sensuous feelings. it is a common saying that "there is no disputing taste," and in this respect we allow every man a certain range. but when he transgresses this limit he often becomes ludicrous, especially to those whose tastes rather tend in the opposite direction. the strange figure and accoutrements of don quixote raised great laughter among the gay ladies at the inn, and induced the puissant knight-errant to administer to them the rebuke "excessive laughter without cause denotes folly." a friend of mine, desirous of giving an intellectual treat to the rustics in the neighbourhood, announced that a reading of shakespeare would be given in the village schoolroom by a celebrated elocutionist. the villagers, attracted by the name, came in large numbers, and laughed vociferously at all the pathetic parts, but looked grave at the humour. this was, no doubt, partly owing to their habits of life, as well as to a want of taste and information. taste for music, and familiarity with the traditional style of the opera, enable us to enjoy dialogues in recitative, but were a man in ordinary conversation to deliver himself in musical cadences, or even in rhyme, we should consider him supremely ridiculous. translations have often exhibited very strange vagaries of taste. thus, castalio's rendering of "the song of solomon" is ludicrous from the use of diminutives. "mea columbula, ostende mihi tuum vulticulum. cerviculam habes davidicæ turris similem--cervicula quasi eburnea turricula, &c." beattie is severe upon dryden's obtuseness in his translation of the "iliad." "homer," he says, "has been blamed for degrading his gods into mortals, but dryden has made them blackguards.... if we were to judge of the poet by the translator, we should imagine the iliad to have been partly designed for a satire upon the clergy." addison observes that the ancients were not particular about the bearing of their similes. "homer likens one of his heroes, tossing to and fro in his bed and burning with resentment, to a piece of flesh broiled on the coals." "the present emperor of persia," he continues, "conformable to the eastern way of thinking, amidst a great many pompous titles, denominates himself the 'son of glory,' and 'nutmeg of delight.'" eastern nations indulge in this kind of hyperbole, which seems to us rather to overstep the sublime, but we cannot be astonished when we read in the zgand-savai (golden tulip) of china, that "no one can be a great poet, unless he have the majestic carriage of the elephant, the bright eyes of the partridge, the agility of the antelope, and a face rivalling the radiance of the full moon." reflection is generally antagonistic to humour, just as abstraction of mind will prevent our feeling our hands being tickled. often what was intended to amuse, merely produces thought on some social or physical question. but the variability of our appreciation of humour, is most commonly recognised in the differences of moral feeling. we have often heard people say that it is wrong for people to jest on this or that subject, or that they will not laugh at such ribaldry. the excitement necessary for the enjoyment of humour is then neutralized by deeper feelings, and they are perhaps more inclined to sigh than to laugh, or the nervous action being entirely dormant, they remain unaffected. but not only do people's feelings on various subjects differ in kind and in amount, but also in result. the same idea produces different emotions in different men, and the same emotion different effects. one man will regard an event as insignificant, and will not laugh at it; another will consider it important, but still will be unable to keep his countenance, where most men would be grave. the experience of daily life teaches us that different men act very differently under the same kind of emotion. the ancients laughed at calamities, which would call forth our commiseration, their consideration for others not being so great, nor their appreciation of suffering so acute. but in the cases of some few individuals, and of barbarous nations, we sometimes find at the present day instances of the ludicrous seasoned with considerable hostility. flögel tells us that he knew a man in germany who took especial delight in witnessing tortures and executions, and related the circumstances attending them with the greatest enjoyment and laughter. in "two years in fiji," we read, "among the appliances which i had brought with me to fiji, from sydney, were a stethoscope and a scarifier. nothing was considered more witty by those in the secret than to place this apparently harmless instrument on the back of some unsuspecting native, and touch the spring. in an instant twelve lancets would plunge into the swarthy flesh. then would follow a long-drawn cry, scarcely audible amidst peals of laughter from the bystanders." it has been said that our non-appreciation of hostile humour is much owing to the suppression of feeling in conventional society, but i think that there is also an influence in civilization, which subdues and directs our emotions. a certain difference in this respect can be traced in the higher and lower classes of the population. this, and the difference in reasoning power, have led to the observation that "the last thing in which a cultivated man can have community with the vulgar is in jocularity." jesting on religious subjects, has generally arisen from scepticism, deficiency in taste, or disbelief in the injurious consequences of the practice. some consider that levity is likely to bring any subject it touches into contempt, or is only fitly used in connection with light subjects; while others regard it as merely a source of harmless pleasure, and can even laugh at a joke against themselves. in like manner some consider it inconsistent with the profession of religion to attend balls, races, or theatres, or even to wear gay-coloured clothes. congreve has been blamed even for calling a coachman a "jehu." on the other hand, at the beginning of this century, "a man of quality" could scarcely get through a sentence without some profane expletive. sir walter scott makes a highwayman lament that, although he could "swear as round an oath as any man," he could never do it "like a gentleman." lord melbourne was so accustomed to garnish his conversation in this way that sydney smith once said to him, "we will take it for granted that everybody is damned, and now proceed with the subject." in former times, and even sometimes in our own day, the most eminent christians have occasionally indulged in jest. at the time of the reformation, a martyr comforted a fellow-sufferer, philpot, by telling him he was a "pot filled with the most precious liquor;" and latimer called bad passions "turks," and bade his hearers play at "christian cards." "now turn up your trump--hearts are trumps." robert hall, a most pious christian, was constantly transgressing in this direction, and i have heard mr. moody raise a roar of laughter while preaching. now it is quite impossible to say that in any of the above cases there was a want of faith, although we are equally unable to agree with those who maintain that profane jests are most common when it is the strongest. what they show is a want of control of feeling, or a deficiency in taste, so that people do not regard such things as either injurious or important. a sceptic at the present day is generally less profane than a religious man was in the last century. such is the result of civilization, although unbelief in itself inclines to profanity, and faith to reverence. it is self-evident that peculiar feelings and convictions will prevent our regarding things as ludicrous, at which we should otherwise be highly amused. religious veneration, or the want of it, often causes that to appear sacred to one person which seems absurd to another. many jewish stories seem strange to gentile comprehensions. elias levi states that he had been told by many old and pious rabbis that at the costly entertainment at which the messiah should be welcomed among the jews, an enormous bird should be killed and roasted, of which the talmud says that it once threw an egg out of its nest which crushed three hundred lofty cedars, and when broken, swept away sixty villages. the following petition was signed by sixteen girls of charleston, s.c., and presented to governor johnson in , and was no doubt thought to set forth a serious evil. "the humble petition of all the maids whose names are under written. whereas we, the humble petitioners are at present in a very melancholy disposition of mind, considering how all the bachelors are blindly captivated by widows, the consequence is this our request that your excellency will for the future order that no widow presume to marry any young man until the maids are provided for, or else to pay each of them a fine. the great disadvantage it is to us maids, is that the widows by their forward carriages do snap up the young men, and have the vanity to think their merit beyond ours which is a just imposition on us who ought to have the preference. this is humbly recommended to your excellency's consideration, and we hope you will permit no further insults. and we poor maids in duty bound will ever pray," &c. it is almost impossible to limit the number of influences, which affect our appreciation of the ludicrous. "nothing," writes goethe, "is more significant of a man's character than what he finds laughable." we find highly intellectual men very different in this respect. quintilian notices the different kind of humour of aulus galba, junius bassus, cassius severus, and domitius afer. in modern times pitt was grave; fox, melbourne, and canning were witty. sir henry holland enumerates as the wits of his day, canning, sydney smith, jekyll, lord alvanley, lord dudley, hookham frere, luttrell, rogers, and theodore hook, and he adds-- "scarcely two of the men just named were witty exactly in the same vein. in jekyll and hook the talent of the simple punster predominated, but in great perfection of the art, while bishop blomfield and baron alderson, whom i have often seen in friendly conflict, enriched this art by the high classical accompaniments they brought to it. the wit of lord dudley, lord alvanley, and rogers was poignant, personal sarcasm; in luttrell it was perpetual fun of lighter and more various kind, and whimsically expressed in his features, as well as in his words.[ ] 'natio comæda est' was the maxim of his mind and denoted the wide field of his humour. the wit of mr. canning was of rarer and more refined workmanship, and drew large ornament from classical sources. the 'anti-jacobin' shows mr. canning's power in his youthful exuberance. when i knew him it had been sobered, perhaps saddened, by the political contrarities and other incidents of more advanced life, but had lost none of its refinement of irony. less obvious than the common wit of the world, it excited thought and refined it--one of the highest characteristics of this faculty. "lady morley bore off the palm among the 'witty women' of the day. she was never 'willing to wound.' her printed pieces, though short and scattered, attest the rare merits of her humour. the 'petition of the hens of great britain to the house of commons against the importation of french eggs,' is an excellent specimen of them." in corroboration of this view of the different complexion of men's humour i may mention that in the course of this work i have often had the sayings of various wits intermixed and have always been able easily to assign each to its author. considering the great diversity in the appreciation of the ludicrous, the question arises is it merely a name for many different emotions, or has it always some invariable character. to decide this we may ask the question, is one kind of humour better than another? practically the answer is given every day, one saying being pronounced "good" if not "capital," and another "very poor," or a "mild" joke; and when we see humour varying with education, and with the ages of men and nations, we cannot but suppose that there are gradations of excellence in it. now, if we allow generally this ascending scale in the ludicrous, we admit a basis of comparison, and consequently a link between the various circumstances in which it is found. it may be objected that in the somewhat similar case of beauty, there is no connection between the different kinds. but the ludicrous stands alone among the emotions, and is especially in contrast with that of beauty in this--that it is peculiarly dependent on the judgment, as beauty is on the senses. that we understand more about the ludicrous than about beauty is evident from its being far easier to make what is beautiful appear ludicrous than what is ludicrous appear beautiful. there is something unique in the perception of the ludicrous. it seems to strike and pass away too quickly for an emotion. the lightness of the impression produced by laughter is the reason why, although we often remember to have felt alarmed or pleased in dreams, we never remember to have been amused. the imperfect circulation of the blood in the head during sleep causes the reason to be partially dormant, and leads to strange fantasies being brought before us. but that our judgment is not entirely inactive is evident from the emotions we feel, and among them is the ludicrous, for many people laugh in their sleep, and when they are awakened think over the strange visions. they then laugh, but never remember having done so before. memory is much affected by sleep, the greater number of our dreams are entirely forgotten, and the emotions and circumstances of the ludicrous easily pass from our remembrance. bacon considered the ludicrous too intellectual to be called a "passio" or emotion. it has commonly been regarded as almost an intuitive faculty. we speak of "seeing" humour, and of having a "sense" of the ludicrous. we think that we have a sense in other matters, where reflection is not immediately perceptible, as when in music or painting we at once observe that a certain style produces a certain effect, and that a certain means conduces to a certain end. this recognition seems to be made intuitively, and from long habit and constant observation we come to acquire what appears like a sense, by which without going through any reasoning process we give opinions upon works of art. the judgment acts from habit so imperceptibly that it is altogether overlooked, and we seem almost to have a natural instinct. we are often as unconscious of its exercise as of the changes going on in our bodily constitution. the compositor sets his types without looking at them; the mathematician solves problems "by inspection," and a well-known physiologist told me he had seen a man read a book while he kept three balls in the air. at times we seem to be more correct when acting involuntarily than when from design. we have heard it said that, if you think of the spelling of a word, you will make a mistake in it, and many can form a good judgment on a subject who utterly fail when they begin to specify the grounds on which it is founded. in many such cases we seem almost to acquire a sense, and, perhaps, for a similar reason we speak of a sense of the ludicrous. we are also, perhaps, influenced by a logical error--the ludicrous seems to us a simple feeling, and as every sense is so, we conclude that all simple feelings are senses. the ludicrous is not analogous to our bodily senses, in that it is not affected in so constant and uniform a manner. the sky appears blue to every man, unless he have some visual defect, but an absurd situation is not "taken" by all. in the senses no ratiocination is required, whereas the ludicrous does not come to us directly, but through judgment--a moment, though brief and unnoticed, always elapses in which we grasp the nature of the circumstances before us. if it be asserted that our decision is in this case pronounced automatically, without any exercise of reason, we must still admit that it comes from practice and experience, and not naturally and immediately, like a sense. the arguments taken from profit and expediency, which have led to a belief in moral sense, would, of course, have no weight in the case of the ludicrous. chapter xx. definition--difficulties of forming one of humour. some of the considerations towards the end of the last chapter may have led us to conclude that our sense[ ] of the ludicrous is not a variety of emotions, but only one; and the possibility of our forming a definition of it depends, not only upon its unity, but upon our being able to trace some common attributes in the circumstances which awaken it. but in one of the leading periodicals of the day, i lately read the observation--made by a writer whose views should not be lightly regarded--that "all the most profound philosophers have pronounced a definition of humour to be hopelessly impracticable." i think that such an important and fundamental statement as this may be suitably taken into consideration in commencing our examination of the question. as a matter of history, we shall find that it is erroneous, for several great philosophers have given us definitions of the sense of the ludicrous, and few have thought it indefinable. but those who took the former course might be charged with wandering into the province of literature; while the views of those who adopted the latter might be thought incorrect with regard to definition, or unwarranted with regard to humour. to suppose that a definition of humour would be of any great value, would be to think that it would unfold the nature of things, instead of merely giving the meaning of a term; nor is it correct to conclude that by employing a string of words we can reach the precise signification of one, any more than we can hit the mark by striking at each side of it. if the number and variety of our words and thoughts were increased, we could approximate more nearly; but as we know neither the boundaries of our conceptions, nor the natural limits of things, definition can never be perfect or final. various standards have been sought for it--the common usage of society being generally adopted--but it must always to a certain extent vary, according to the knowledge and approval of the definer. scientific definitions are not intended to be complete, except for the study immediately in view. who ever saw that ghostly line which is length without breadth--and how absurd it is to require of us to draw it! and would not a country-bumpkin feel as much insulted, if we told him he was a "carnivorous ape," or a "mammiferous two-handed animal," as the french soldier did when his officer called him a biped? if we give man his old prerogative, a "rational animal," how many would refuse the title to pretty women and spendthrift sons, while others would most willingly bestow it upon their poodles? definition cannot be formed without analysis and comparison, and as few people indulge much in either, they accomplish it very roughly, but it answers their purpose, and they are contented until they find themselves wrong. hence we commonly consider that nearly everything can be defined. we may then call the ludicrous "an element in things which tends to create laughter." this may be considered a fair definition, and although it is quite untrue, and founded on a superficial view of the ludicrous, it may give us the characteristics which men had in view in originally giving the name at a time when they had little consideration or experience. but if we require more, and ask for a definition which will stand the test of philosophical examination, we must reply that such only can be given as is dependent upon the satisfaction of the inquirer. progressive minds will find it difficult to circumscribe the meaning of words, especially on matters with which they are well acquainted. brown, in his "lectures on the philosophy of the human mind," observes that the ludicrous is a compound feeling of gladness and astonishment; not a very comprehensive view, for according to it, if a man were informed that he had been left a sum of money, he would regard his good fortune as highly absurd. beattie maintains, on the contrary, that the ludicrous is a simple feeling, and therefore indefinable, a statement in which the premise seems more correct than the conclusion. the opinion that it is simple and primary, although not admitting of proof, has some probability in its favour. it arose from a conviction that we had no means of reaching it, of taking it to pieces, and was derived from the unsatisfactory character of such attempts as that of brown, or from analogy with some other emotions, or with physical substances whose essence we cannot ascertain. if we can connect the ludicrous with certain acts of judgment, we cannot tell how far the emotion is modified by them, and even if we seem to have detected some elements in it, we were not conscious of them at the moment of our being amused. if they exist, they are then undiscernible. as when we regard a work of art, we are not sensible of pleasure until all the several elements of beauty are blended together, so if the ludicrous be a compound, there is some power within us that fuses the several emotions into one, and evolves out of them a completely new and distinct feeling. the product has a different nature from its component parts, just as the union of the blue, yellow and red give the simple sensation of whiteness. regard the elements as separate and the feeling vanishes. it has probably been owing to reflections of the above kind that some philosophers have stated that the ludicrous is a simple feeling, awakened by certain means, and not a compound or acquired feeling formed of certain elements. but although it is more comfortable to have questions settled and at rest, it is often safer to leave them open, especially where we have neither sufficient knowledge nor power of investigation to bring our inquiries to an issue. it is not, however, correct to say that because feelings are primary or single they cannot be defined. as we cannot take them to pieces or analyse them, we are ignorant with regard to their real nature, and of some we cannot form any definition whatever, the only account we can give of them being to enumerate every object in which they appear; but in the case of others, we are enabled to form a definition by means of attributes observed in the objects or circumstances which awaken them. we cannot trace any common elements in sugar and scent, or in leaves and emeralds, by which to define sweetness and viridity; but we think we can discern some in the ludicrous. the mere grouping of certain things under one head seems to show that mankind notices some similarity between them. but definition requires more than this; attributes must be observed, and such as are common to all the instances, and where it has been attempted there has been a conviction that such would be found, for without them it would be impossible. when this belief is entertained, a definition is practicable, regarding it not as a perfect or final, but as a possible and approximate limitation. to define accurately, we should summon before us every real circumstance which does, or imaginary one which could, awaken the feeling, and every real and imaginary circumstance which, though very similar, has not this effect. the greater the variety of these instances which have the power, the fewer are the qualities which appear to possess it; and the greater the variety of instances which have it not, the greater the number of the qualities we attribute to it. it follows that the more numerous are the particulars to be considered, the more difficult it is to form a definition, and this may have led some to say that the ludicrous, which covers such a vast and varied field, lies entirely beyond it. we might think that we could add and subtract attributes until words and faculties failed us, until, in the one direction, we were reduced to a single point, in fact, to the ludicrous itself--while in the other we are lost in a boundless expanse. to be satisfied with our definition, we must form a narrower estimate of the number of instances, and a higher one of our powers of discrimination. but there is an alternative--although amusing objects and circumstances are almost innumerable, as we may have gathered from the last chapter, we may claim a license, frequently allowed in other cases, of drawing conclusions from a considerable number of promiscuous examples, and regarding them as a fair sample of the whole. such a view has no doubt been taken by many able men, who have attempted to define the ludicrous. an eminent german philosopher even said that he did not despair of discovering its real essence. it must be admitted that we have no actual proof that the provocatives of the ludicrous are innumerable or utterly heterogeneous, nor any greater presumption that they are so than in many cases of physical phenomena which we are accustomed to define. the difficulty is at the most only that of degree, but we are unusually conscious of it owing to the nature of the subject. every day, if not every hour, brings ludicrous objects of different kinds before us, whereas the number and variety of plants, animals, and minerals are only known to botanists and zoologists and other scientific men. as the members of a class are infinitely less numerous than the somewhat similar things which lie outside it, the course commonly adopted has been to examine a few members of it and try to find some of the properties a class possesses, without aspiring to ascertain them all. our conclusions will thus be coextensive with our knowledge, rather than with our wishes, incomplete and overwide rather than illogical. how far easier is it, with regard to our present subject, to decide that the circumstances which awaken the ludicrous possess certain elements, than that it requires nothing more! the chemist may analyse the bright water of a natural spring which he can never manufacture. we can sometimes form what is humorous by imitation, but not by following any rules or directions; we even seem to be led more to it by accident than by design. our safest plan, therefore, will be to search for some possible elements, and to endeavour to establish some probabilities on a subject which must always be somewhat surrounded with uncertainty. the constant tillage of the soil, the investigations made, and definitions attempted, have not been unproductive of fruit, and we may feel a tolerable degree of assurance on some points in question, while admitting that, however assiduously we labour, there will always be something beyond our reach. we will proceed then to examine and compare the stores of our predecessors, and if possible add a grain to the heap. knowledge is progressive, and although it is not the lot of man to be assured of absolute truth, still the acquisition of what is relative or approximate is not valueless. this consideration, which has cheered many on the road of physical philosophy, may afford some encouragement to those who follow the equally obscure indications of our mental phenomena. chapter xxi. charm of mystery--complication--poetry and humour compared--exaggeration. all who are accustomed to novel reading or writing, are aware of the fascinating power of mystery. they even consider it a principal test of a good story that the plot should be impenetrable, and the final result concealed up to the last page. tension and excitement are agreeable, even when the subject itself is somewhat painful. we observe this in a tragedy, and it is a common saying some people are never happy except when they are miserable. such is the constitution of the mind; and the fact that enjoyment can be obtained when we should expect the reverse, is noteworthy with reference to the ludicrous. all mystery causes a certain disquietude, but if the problem seems to us capable of being solved, it begets an agreeable curiosity. on its resolution the excitement ceases, and we only feel a kind of satisfaction, which, though more unalloyed, gives less enjoyment than mystery, inasmuch as it produces less mental and physical commotion. this tendency in the mind to find pleasure in complexity was observed even by aristotle. experience teaches us that no literary style is attractive without a certain interlacing of thoughts and feelings. the sentiments which are most treasured and survive longest, are those which are conveyed rather in a complex than simple form--emotion is thus most quickened, and memory impressed. the beauty and charm of form lie greatly in its bringing ideas closer together, and succinctness implies fulness of thought. thus a vast number of paradoxical expressions have been generated, which are far more agreeable than plain language. we speak of "blushing honours," "liquid music," "dry wine," "loud" or "tender colours," "round flavour," "cold hearts," "trembling stars," "storms in tea-cups," and a thousand similar combinations, putting the abstract for the concrete, transferring the perception of one sense to another, intermingling the nomenclature of arts, and using a great variety of metaphorical and even ungrammatical phrases. poets owe much of their power to such combinations, and we find that allusions, which are confessedly the reverse of true, are often the most beautiful, touch the heart deepest, and live longest in the memory. thus the lover delights to sing-- "why does azure deck the sky? 'tis to be like thine eyes of blue." poetry has been called "the conflict of the elements of our being," and it is a mark of genius to leave much to the imagination of the reader. the higher we soar in poetry and the nearer we approach the sublime, the more the distance between the intertwined ideas increases. but we are scarcely conscious of any contradiction or discordance, as there is always something to resolve and explain it. thus in "il penseroso," when we read of "the rugged brow of night," we think of emblematic representations of nox, and of the dark contraction of the brow in frowning. there is no breach of harmony, and we always find in poetry stepping stones which enable us to pass over difficulties. often, too, we are assisted in this direction by the intention or tone of the writer or speaker. athenæus exhibits well, in a story fictitious or traditional, the contradictory elements to be found in poetry, and shows how easily metaphorical language may become ludicrous when interpreted according to the letter rather than the spirit. he makes sophocles say to an erythræan schoolmaster who wanted to take poetical things literally, "then this of simonides does not please you, i suppose, though it seems to the greeks very well spoken-- "the maid sends her voice from out her purple mouth!" "nor the poet speaking of the golden-haired apollo, for if the painter had made the hair of the god golden and not black, the painting would be all the worse. nor the poet speaking of the rosy-fingered aurora, for if anyone were to dip his fingers into rose-coloured paint, he would make his hands like those of a purple dyer, not of a beautiful woman." the praise of women is so common, and we so often compare them to everything beautiful, that the harsh lines in the above similes are coloured over and almost disappear. such language seems as suitable in poetry, as commonplace information would be tedious, and being the scaffolding by which the ideal rises, the complexity is not prominent as in humour, though it adds to the pleasure afforded. but whenever the verge of harmony is not only reached, but transgressed, the connection of opposite ideas produces a different effect upon us, and we admit that from the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step. when we go beyond the natural we may, if, we heed not, enter the unnatural. in such cases we have an additional incentive to mirth--a double complication as it were, from the failure of the original intention. if there were nothing in the world but what is plain and self-evident, where would be the romance and wit which form the greatest charm of life. poetry recognises this; and in comic songs, especially of the ethiopian class lately so popular, there is rather too prominent an aim to obtain complexity of ideas--sometimes to the verge of nonsense. humorous sayings are largely manufactured on this plan. the ideas in humour, although in one respect distant, must be brought close together. protraction in relating a story will cause it to fail, and this is one reason why jokes in a foreign language seldom make us laugh. locke speaks of wit as the assemblage of ideas. most philosophers acknowledge the existence of some conflict in humour, and in many instances of the ludicrous it seems to lie between the real and ideal. external circumstances appear different from what we should expect them to be, and think they ought to be. thus we have seen a dignified man walking about quite unconscious that a wag has chalked his back, or fastened a "tail" on his coat behind. some have attempted to explain all humour on this basis, but the complication in it does not seem capable of being brought under this head. weiss and arnold ruge say it is "the ideal captive by the real"--an opinion similar to that of schopenhauer, who calls it "the triumph of intuition over reflection." of course, this cannot be taken as a definition, for in that case every mistake we make, such as thinking a mountain higher than it is, or a right action wrong, would be laughable. we contemplate acts of injustice or oppression, and failures in art and manufacture, and still feel no inclination to laugh. but we may accept the opinion as an admission of the principle of complication. the ideal and real often meet without any spark being struck, and in some cases the conflict in humour can scarcely be said to lie between them. it is often dependent upon a breach of association, or of some primary ideas or laws of nature. necessary principles of mind or matter are often violated where things, true under one condition, are represented as being so universally. our american cousins supply us with many illustrative instances. "a man is so tall that he has to go up a ladder to shave himself." generally we require to mount, to reach anything in a very high position, but if it were our own head, however lofty we carried it, we should not require a ladder. somewhat similar is the observation "that a young lady's head-dress is now so high, that she requires to stand on a stool to put it on." we have heard of a soldier surprising and surrounding a body of the enemy; and of a man coming downstairs in the morning, thinking himself someone else. "one man is as good as another," said thackeray to the irishman. "no, but much better," was the sharp reply. a somewhat similar breach takes place when something is spoken of under a metaphor, and then expressions applicable to that thing are transferred to that to which it is compared. passages in literature and oratory thus become unintentionally ludicrous. a dignitary, well known for his conversational and anecdotal powers, told me that he once heard a very flowery preacher exclaim, when alluding to the destruction of the assyrian host. "death, that mighty archer, mowed them all down with the besom of destruction." another clergyman, equally fond of metaphor, enforced the consideration of the shortness of life in the words, "remember, my brethren, we are fast sailing down the stream of life, and shall speedily be landed in the ocean of eternity." johnson says that wit is "a _discordia concors_, a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike." many have considered that humour consists of contrast or comparison, and it is true that a large portion of it owes much to attributes of relation. this kind of humorous complication is generally under the form of saying that a thing is _like_ something--from which it is essentially different--merely because of the existence of some accidental similitude. there are many kinds and degrees of this, and some points of resemblance may be found in all things. we say "one man is like another," "a man may make himself like a brute," &c. similitudes in minute detail may be pointed out in things widely different; and from this range of significations the word _like_ has been most prolific of humour. it properly means, a real and essential likeness, and to use it in any other sense, is to employ it falsely. but our amusement is greatly increased when associations are violated, and much amusement may by made by showing there is some considerable likeness between two objects we have been accustomed to regard as very far apart. the smaller the similarity pointed out the slighter is the chain which connects the distant objects, and the less we are inclined to laugh. but the more we draw the objects together, the greater is the complication and the humour. we are then inclined to associate the qualities of the one with the other, and a succession of grotesque images is suggested backwards and forwards, before the amusement ceases. one principal reason why the mention of a drunken man, a tailor, or a lover, inclines us to mirth, is that they are associated in our minds with absurd actions. laughter is generally greatest when we are intimately acquainted with the person against whom it is directed. we have often noticed the absurd effect produced in literature when words are used which, although suitable to the subject literally, are remote from it in association. the extreme subtlety of these feelings render it impossible sometimes to give any explanation of the ideas upon which a humorous saying is founded, and may be noticed in many words, the bearings of which we can feel, but not specify. a vast number of thoughts and emotions are always passing through the mind, many of them being so fine that we cannot detect them. the results of some of them can be traced as we have before observed in the proficiency which is acquired by practice but can never be imparted by mere verbal instruction. if things compared together are given too slight a connection, the associations will not be transferred from one to the other, and the wit fails, as in cowley's extravagant fancy work on the basis of his mistress' eyes, being like burning-glasses. the objects must also be far enough apart for contrast--the farther the better, provided the distance be not so great as to change humour into the ludicrous. referring to the desirability of a good literal translation of homer, beattie makes the following amusing comparisons. "something of this kind the world had reason to expect from madame dacier, but was disappointed. homer, as dressed out by that lady, has more of the frenchman in his appearance than of the old grecian. his beard is close shaved, his hair powdered, and there is even a little _rouge_ on his cheek. to speak more intelligibly, his simple and nervous diction is often wire-drawn into a flashy and feeble paraphrase, and his imagery as well as humour, sometimes annihilated by abbreviation. nay, to make him the more modish, the good lady is at pains to patch up his style with unnecessary phrases and flourishes in the french taste, which have just such an effect in a translation of homer, as a bag-wig, and snuff-box would have in a picture of achilles." in parody a slight likeness in form and expression brings together ideas with very different associations. several instances of this may be found in a preceding chapter. by increasing points of similarity between distant objects, poetry may be changed into humour. addison remarks that "if a lover declare that his mistress' breast is as white as snow, he makes a commonplace observation, but when he adds with a sigh, that it is as cold too, he approaches to wit." the former simile is only poetical, but the latter draws the comparison too close, the complication becomes too strong, and we feel inclined to laugh. addison merely notices the number of points of similitude, but the reason they produce or augment humour, is that they make the solution difficult. when it is easy to limit and disentangle the likeness and unlikeness, the pleasantry is small, as where butler says-- "the sun had long since, in the lap of thetis, taken out his nap, and, like a lobster boiled, the moon from black to red began to turn." here there is no element of truth--the things are too far apart. a humorous comparison should not be entirely fanciful, and without basis; otherwise we should have no complication. many humorous sayings, especially those found in comic papers, fail for want of foundation. that would-be wit which has no element of truth is always a failure, and may appear romantic, dull or ludicrous--or simply nonsensical. as in a novel, the more pure invention there is the duller we find it, so here the more like truth, the error appears the better. the finer the balance, the nearer doubt is approached, provided it be not reached, the more excellent and artistic the humour. gross exaggeration is not humorous. there is too much of this extravagant and spurious humour in the comic literature of the day. "many men," writes addison, "if they speak nonsense believe they are talking humour; and when they have drawn together a scheme of absurd inconsistant ideas are not able to read it over to themselves without laughing. these poor gentlemen endeavour to gain themselves the reputation of wits and humorists by such monstrous conceits as almost qualify them for bedlam, not considering that humour should be always under the check of reason." there is nothing pleasant in nonsense. in both humour and the ludicrous the imperfection must refer to some kind of right or truth, and revolve, as it were, round a fixed axis. "to laugh heartily we must have reality," writes marmontel, and it is remarkable that most good comic situations have been taken from the author's own experience. the best kind of humour is the most artistic embellishment of the ludicrous. the fact that humour is often found in comparisons, probably led léon dumont to consider that it arose from the meeting of two opposite ideas in the mind. but often there is no contrast. it does not always strike us that the state of things present before us is different from some other clearly defined condition. we do not necessarily see that a thing is wrong as differing from something else, but as opposing some standard in our minds which it is often difficult to determine. we sometimes laugh at another person's costume, though it does not occur to us that he should be dressed as ourselves, or according to some particular fashion, nor could we point out at what precise point it diverges from the code of propriety. but by reflecting we could probably mark the deviation. the ludicrous often suggests comparisons; when we see something absurd we often try to find a resemblance to something else, but this is after we have been amused, and we sometimes say of a very ridiculous man, that we "do not know what he is like." humorous complications appear under many forms and disguises. the americans have lately introduced an indifferent kind of it under the form of an ellipse--an omission of some important matter. thus, the editor of a western newspaper announces that if any more libels are published about him, there will be several first class funerals in his neighbourhood. again, "an old maine woman undertook to eat a gallon of oysters for one hundred dollars. she gained fifteen--the funeral costing eighty-five." another common form of humorous complication is taking an expression in a different sense from that it usually bears. "you cannot eat your cake, and have your cake;" "but how," asks the wilful child, "am i to eat my cake, if i don't have it?" thackeray speaks of a young man who possessed every qualification for success--except talent and industry. in many other common forms of speech there are openings for specious amendments, sometimes for real ones, especially in ironical expressions. but as in pronunciation we regard usage rather than etymology, so in sense the true meaning is not the literal or grammatical, but the conventional. much indifferent humour is made of question and answer;--the reply being given falsely, as if the interrogation were put in a different sense from that intended, an occasion for the quibble being given by some loose or perhaps literal meaning of the words. thus, "have you seen patti?" _a._ "yes." _q._ "what in?" _a._ "a brougham." indelicacy or irreverence is unpleasant in itself, and yet when complication is added to it few of us can avoid laughing, and i am afraid that some considerably enjoy objectionable allusions. to tell a man to go to h---, or that he deserves to go there, is merely coarse and profane abuse, but when a labourer is found by an irritable country gentleman piling up a heap of stones in front of his house, and being rated for causing such an obstruction, asks where else he is to take them, and is told "to h--- if you like," we are amused at the answer--"indeed, then, if i was to take them to heaven, they'd be more out of your way." thus, also, to call a man an ass would not win a smile from most of us, but we relax a little when the writers in a high church periodical, addicted to attacking mr. spurgeon, upon being accused of being actuated by envy, retort that they know the commandment--"thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's ass." if we examine carefully the circumstances which awaken the ludicrous, we shall probably come to conclude that they often contain something which puzzles our understanding. an act which seems ridiculous would not appear so if we could entirely account for it, for instance, if it were done to win a bet. there seems to be in the ludicrous not merely some error in the taste brought before us, but something which we can scarcely believe to be the case. this alone would account for some variation, for what seems unintelligible to the ignorant seems plain to the educated, and what puzzles the well-informed raises no question among the inexperienced. the ludicrous depends upon that kind of intellectual twilight which is the lot of man here below. were our knowledge perfect we should no more laugh than angelic beings,[ ] were it final we should be as grave as the lower animals. humour exists where the faculties are not fully developed, and our capacities are beyond our attainments, but fails where the mind has reached its limit, or feels no forward impulse. study and high education are adverse to mirth, because the mind becomes impressed with the universality of law and order, and when learned men are merry, they are so mostly from being of genial or sympathetic natures. density and dullness of intelligence are also unfavourable to humour from the absence of sensibility and generalization. we find that those whose experience is imperfect are most inclined to mirth. this is the reason why children, especially those of the prosperous classes, are so full of merriment. they are not only highly emotional, but have inquiring and progressive minds, while their experience being small, and generalization imperfect, they see much that appears strange and perplexing to them; but their laughter is never hearty as in the case of those whose views are more formed.[ ] exaggeration always contains either falsity, or complication, and when it is used for humour the deficiency is made up. it easily affords amusement, because it can bring together the most distant and discordant ideas. american wits have made great use of it. thus we read of a man driving his gig at such a pace along the high road that his companion, looking at the mile stones, asked what cemetery they were passing through? one of the same country described the extent of his native land in the following terms: "it is bounded on the north by the aurora borealis, on the south by the southern cross, on the east by the rising sun, and on the west by the day of judgment." the same may be said of diminution which is only humorous when connecting distant ideas. in "the man of taste," a poem, by the rev. t. bramstone in dodsley's collection, we read-- "my hair i'll powder in the women's way, and dress and talk of dressing more than they; i'll please the maids of honour if i can, without black velvet breeches--what is man?" longinus, says, "he was possessor of a field as small as a lacedæmonian letter." their letters often consisted only of two or three words. a gentleman i met on one occasion in a train, speaking of a lady friend, observed--"she's very small, but what there is of her is very, very good. why, she'd go into that box," pointing to one for sandwiches. "she's not bigger than that umbrella. 'pon my honour as a gentleman, she's not." humour, by means of the perplexity it produces, often gains the victory over strong emotions. this fact has been practically recognised by orators, who see that when a man is struck by a humorous allusion, powerful feelings which could not otherwise be swayed give way, and even firm resolutions seem for the moment shaken and changed. we are bribed by our desire for pleasure, and a man thus often seems to sympathise with those he really opposes and can even be made to laugh at himself--strong antagonistic sensations and emotions being conquered by complexity. to most persons nothing can be more solemn than the thought of death, except its actual presence; but theramenes was light-hearted when the hemlock bowl was presented to him, and drinking it off could not, as he threw out the dregs, resist exclaiming "to the health of the lovely critias."[ ] sir thomas more was jocose upon the scaffold. baron görz, when being led to death, said to his cook--"it's all over now, my friend, you will never cook me a good supper again." the poet kleist, who was killed in the battle of kunersdorf, was seized with a violent fit of laughter just before he expired, when he thought of the extraordinary faces a cossack, who had been plundering him, made over the prize he had found. in the same way a lady told me that a friend of hers, having had a severe fall from his horse, drew a caricature of the accident while the litter was being prepared for him. scarron was constantly in bodily suffering; and norman macleod wrote some humorous verses "on captain frazer's nose" when he was enduring such violent pain that he spent the night in his study, and had occasionally to bend over the back of a chair for relief. charles mathews retained his love of humour to the last. i have heard that, when dying at plymouth, he ordered himself to be laid out as if dead. the doctor on entering exclaimed, "poor fellow, he's gone! i knew he would not last long," and was just leaving the room with some sad reflections, when he heard the lamented man chuckling under the sheet. thus, also, a german general relates that after a skirmish a french hussar was brought in with a huge slash across his face. "have you received a sabre cut, my poor fellow?" asked the general. "pooh, i was shaved too closely this morning," was the reply. something may be attributed in such cases to nervous excitement, which seeks relief in some counteraction. mr. hardy observes that there appears to be always a superficial film of consciousness which is left disengaged and open to the notice of trifles. addison says that false humour differs from true, as a monkey does from a man. he goes on to say that false humour is given to little apish tricks, and buffooneries. now the reason why addison and cultivated men in general do not laugh at buffooneries and place them in the catalogue of false humour, is simply because they do not present to their minds any complication. when harlequin knocks the clown and pantaloon over on their backs, "the gods" burst with laughter, unable to understand the catastrophe, but those who have seen such things often, and consider that men make a living by such tricks, see nothing at all strange in it, remain grave and perhaps wearied. it was the want of complication that probably prevented uncle shallow from complying with the simple slender's request to "tell mistress anne the jest how my father stole two geese out of a pen." it may be almost unnecessary to observe that all errors in taste are not ludicrous. "tea-boardy" pictures do not make us laugh, we only attribute them to unskilful artists, of whom unfortunately there are too many. nor is the ludicrous to be classed under the head of taste; very often that which awakens it offers no violence to our æsthetic sensibilities. it is true that in art, that which appears ludicrous will always be distasteful, for it will offend the eye or ear, but it is something more, and we occasionally speak as though it were outside taste altogether. thus when we see some very evident failure in a sketch, we say "this is a most wretched work, and out of all drawing," and add as a climax of disapprobation "it is perfectly ridiculous." a violation of taste is never sufficient for the ludicrous, and the ludicrous is not always a violation of taste. there is something in humour beyond what is merely unexpected. i remember a physician telling me that a gentleman objected very much to some prescriptions given to his wife, and wanted some quack medicines tried. the doctor opposed him, and on the gentleman calling on him and telling him he was unfit for his profession, there was an open rupture between them, and they cut each other in the street. not long afterwards the gentleman died, and left him a legacy of £ . the doctor could not help being amused at the bequest under such circumstances, though, had it come equally unexpectedly from a mere stranger, he would have been merely surprised. in some humorous sayings we find several different complications, which increase the force. coincidences of this kind not only add to, but multiply humour in which when of a high class the complexity is very subtle. it has much increased since ancient times, there was a large preponderance of emotion. chapter xxii. imperfection--an impression of falsity implied--two views taken by philosophers--firstly that of voltaire, jean paul, brown, the german idealists, léon dumont, secondly that of descartes, marmontel and dugald stewart--whately on jests--nature of puns--effect of custom and habit--accessory emotion--disappointment and loss--practical jokes. although a distinction can be drawn in humour between the sense of wrong and the complication which accompanies it, still, as in any given case, the two flow out of the same circumstances, there seems to be some indissoluble link between them. it is not necessary to say that the sense of the ludicrous is a compound feeling, to maintain that it has the appearance of containing or being connected with something like a feeling of disapprobation. moreover, all the elements contained must be perfectly fused together before the ludicrous can be appreciated, just as sir t. macintosh observes of beauty, "until all the separate pleasures which create it be melted into one--as long as any of them are discerned and felt as distinct from each other--qualities which gratify are not called by the name of beauty," and when we say that the humour consists of an emotion awakened by an exercise of judgment, we do not pretend to determine how far the emotion has been modified by judgment, and judgment directed by emotion. we cannot properly suppose that there is anything really wrong in external objects brought before us, and did we recognise that everything moves in a regular pre-ordained course, we should be obliged to consider everything right, and conclude that the error we observe is imaginary, and flows from our own false standard. we do so with regard to the so-called works of nature, and, therefore, we never laugh at a rock or a tree--no matter how strange its form. but in the general circumstances brought before us the reign of law is not so clear, especially when they depend on the actions of men, which we feel able to pronounce judgment upon, and condemn when opposed to our ideal. in humorous representations we are actually beholding what is false; in ludicrous we think we are, though we cannot avoid at times detecting some infirmity in our own discernment. thus, in the case of a child's puzzle, a person unable to solve it sometimes exclaims, "how dull i am! i ought to be able to do it," and people occasionally find fault with their senses, as we sometimes see them laughing when dazzled by rapidly revolving colours. such instances may suggest to us that the fault we find really originates in our own obtuseness. but before proceeding, we must allow that philosophers and literary men are divided in opinion as to the existence of any feeling of wrong in the ludicrous. voltaire, tilting against the windmills which the old animosity school had set up, observes, "when i was eleven years old, i read all alone for the first time the 'amphitryon' of molière, and i laughed until i was on the point of falling down. was this from hostility?--one is not hostile when alone!" this will not seem to most of us more conclusive reasoning than that of his opponents. we seldom laugh when alone, although we often feel angry. dryden says "wit is a propriety of words and thoughts adapted to the subject," and pope gives us a similar opinion in the following words-- "true wit is nature to advantage dressed, what oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed, something whose truth convinced at sight we find. that gives us back the image to our mind." taking this view of the subject, we should be inclined to think the psalms of david especially witty, and to agree with the pretentious young lady who, being asked what she thought of euclid, replied at a hazard that "it was the wittiest book she had ever read." but it seems probable from other passages in pope's works that he did not here intend to give a full definition, but only some characteristics. moreover, in former times, wit was not properly distinguished from wisdom, and the above authors probably used the word in the old sense. young says, "well-judging wit is a flower of wisdom," to which we may reply in the words of an old proverb, "wit and wisdom, like the seven stars, are seldom found together." brown, in his lectures on "the human understanding," observes that in the ludicrous we do not condemn, but admire, and he cites as an illustration the case of some friends dining at an hotel. boniface smilingly inquires what wine they would like to drink. one says champagne, another claret, another burgundy, but the last one observes knowingly that he should like that best for which he should not have to pay. now in this there is certainly a fault, for the answer is not applicable to the question. brown's theory is that the ludicrous arises from the contemplation of incongruities, and he finds himself somewhat puzzled when he considers that the incongruities in science--in chemistry, for instance--do not make us laugh. he is at some trouble to explain that the importance of the subject renders us serious. but had he recognised the fact that the ludicrous implies condemnation, he would have seen that we could not be amused at incongruities in science, because we have a strong conviction that they are not real but only apparent. some very ignorant persons, as he observes, do occasionally laugh at philosophic truths. i knew a lady who laughed at being told of the great distance of the planets, and a gentleman assured me that a friend of his, a man who had such shrewdness that he rose from the lowest ranks and acquired £ , , would never believe that the earth was round! jean paul, taking the same admiration view, observes that "women laugh more than men, and the haughty turk not at all." but are not these facts referable to comparative excitability and apathy, and also to the multiplicity and variety of female ideas compared with the dulness of the moslem's apprehension. jean paul proceeds to say that the more people laugh at our joke, the better we are pleased, and that this does not seem as though the enjoyment came from a feeling of triumph. but what is really laughed at is the humour, and not the humorist, and as a man wishes the beauty of a poem he has written to be generally acknowledged, so he desires to see the point of his satire appreciated by as many as possible. a fruitful source of error in the investigation of humour arises from the difficulty in determining where it lies--of localizing it, if i may be allowed the expression. we hear a very amusing observation, and at once join heartily in the laugh, but cannot say whether we are laughing at a circumstance or a person, at a representation or a reality. we come now to the most important authority on this side of the question. the systems which the german philosophers have propounded are more serviceable to themselves than edifying to the ordinary reader. high abstractions afford but a very vague and indefinite idea to the mind, nor can their application be fully understood but by those who have ascended the successive stages by which each philosopher has himself mounted. on the present subject, their opinions seem to have been influenced by their views on other subjects. as we have already observed, kant and several of the leading german idealists are in favour of considering the ludicrous as a "resolution" or a "deliverance of the absolute, captive by the finite," an opinion which reminds us of hobbes' old theory of "glorying over others." the difference between their views and that of most authorities is not so great as it at first appears; they admit a "negation" of truth and beauty, but found the ludicrous, not upon this, but upon the rebirth which follows. this step in advance, taken in accordance with their general philosophy, may be correct, but it does not seem warranted by the mere examination of the subject itself. can we say that at the instant of laughter we regard not that something is wrong, but that the reverse of it is right? when humour is brought before us, do we feel in any way instructed? this rebirth from a negation must seem somewhat visionary. what, for instance, is the truth to be gathered from the following. "i wish," said a philanthropic orator, "to be a friend to the friendless, a father to the fatherless, and a widow to the widowless." probably, the philosopher who formed the rebirth theory had looked at ludicrous events rather than humorous stories--and it may be urged that we laugh at the former when we are set right, and are convinced of having been really mistaken. but at the moment what excites mirth is something that seems wrong. we meet a friend, for instance, in a place where we little expected to see him, and perhaps smile at the meeting. had we known all his movements we should not have been thus surprised, but we were ignorant of them. here we may say our views are corrected, and our amusement comes from a resolution or rebirth. but reflection will show that whatever our final conclusion may be, we laugh at what seems to us, at the moment, unaccountable and wrong; and as soon as we begin to correct ourselves, and to see how the event occurred, our merriment disappears. many instances will occur to us in which what is really right may appear wrong. most of us have heard the proverb "if the day is fine take an umbrella, if it rains do as you like." it may give good advice, but we should be much inclined to laugh at anyone who adopted it. léon dumont, the latest writer who has added considerably to our knowledge on this subject, does not admit the existence of imperfection in the ludicrous. but the arguments which he adduces do not seem to be conclusive. he says, for instance, that we laugh at love and amatory adventures because they abound in deceptions! but deception always implies ignorance or falsity, and the extravagant phraseology of love, the fanciful names, the griefs and ecstasies, are not only ridiculous in themselves, but lead us to regard lovers generally as bereft of reason. dumont observes, in support of his theory, that "when a small man bobs his head in passing under a door, we laugh." but if a puppet or a pantaloon were to do so we should scarcely be amused, for we could account for it, and see nothing wrong in his action. he goes on to ask how the other view is applicable in the case of ariosto's father, who rates his son at the very moment when the latter is wanting a model of an enraged parent to complete his comedy. it is our general idea that the anger of a father is something alarming and painful to endure, but here we see it regarded as a most fortunate occurrence. the man is producing the contrary effect to what he supposes, he is not effecting what he is intending; here is a strange kind of failure or ignorance. suppose we had known that the father was only simulating anger, we should probably not have laughed, or if we were amused, it would be at ariosto's expense, who was being deceived in his model of parental indignation. léon dumont defines the laughable to be that of which the mind is forced to affirm and to deny the same thing at the same time. he attributes it to two distant ideas being brought together. we might thus conclude that there was something droll in such expressions as "eyes of fire," "lips of dew." everyone is aware that humour is generally evanescent, the feeling goes almost as soon as it arrives; and the same spell, if repeated, has lost its charm. it may be said that all repetition is, in its nature, wearisome, because it is not in accordance with the progress of the human mind, but we must admit that it is less damaging to poetry in which there is a perpetual spring and rebirth, and to proverbs which have ever fresh and useful application. "nothing," writes amelot, "pleases less than a perpetual pleasantry," and we all know that a jest-book is dull reading. humour seems the more fugitive, because we do not know by what means to reproduce and continue it. we can, almost at will, call up emotions of love, hatred or sorrow, and when we feel them we can aggravate them to any extent, but humour is not thus under our command. we cannot invent or summon it. when we have heard a "good thing" said, we shall find that the mere repetition of the words originally uttered are more fully successful in reproducing and prolonging our mirth than all the attempts we usually make to develop it and come closer to the point. sydney smith was of opinion that much might be effected by perseverance, and this is the reason that he was often guilty of that bad and overstrained wit which led lord brougham to call him "too much of a jack pudding." we cannot by calculation and design produce anything worthy of the name of humour. it is generally true that any kind of reflection is inimical to it. but no doubt the great cause of its evanescence is that it leads to nothing, and adds nothing to our information. the most fleeting humour is that which is on unimportant subjects, as in comic poems and squibs, which may show considerable ingenuity, but have no interest. it is the nugatory and negative character of humour that makes it so short-lived. hence, also, it is best at intervals, and in small quantities. the fact that when any attempt is made to explain a jest and glean any information from it the humour vanishes, seems much opposed to its containing any principle of rebirth. many of the philosophers, who have discarded the idea of there being condemnation in the ludicrous, have been misled either by not distinguishing between the ludicrous and the gift of humour, or by regarding the grain of truth which is imbedded in all wit as the entire or principal cause of our amusement. to form the complication necessary for humorous sayings there must be, of course, some element of truth to oppose the falsity in them. the course in forming witty sayings is generally the following. we remark some real resemblance between things which has hitherto been unnoticed. we then, upon this foundation, make a false statement, deriving so much colour from the truth that we cannot easily disengage one from the other. the resemblance must be something striking and unusual, or it would not support a statement which opposes our ordinary experience. as in the ludicrous there is reality, so in humour there must be some element of truth, or we should regard the invention as simple falsehood. to this extent we are prepared to agree with boileau that "the basis of all wit is truth," but the result and general impression it gives is falsity. addison's genealogy of humour:-- truth good sense wit mirth humour at first seems to be erroneous, but he does not really mean to say that there is no falsehood in it, but that it does not approach nonsense, and often contains useful instruction. holms exhibits the nature of humour in a passage remarkable for philosophy and elegance: "there is a perfect consciousness in every kind of wit that its essence consists in a partial and incomplete view of whatever it touches. it throws a single ray separated from the rest, red, yellow, blue, or any intermediate shade upon an object, never white light. we get beautiful effects from wit, all the prismatic colours, but never the object is in fair daylight. poetry uses the rainbow tints for special effects, but always its essential object is the purest white light of truth." bacon went further, and considered that even the beauty of poetry and the pleasures of imagination were derived from falsehood. "this truth is a naked and open daylight, which doth not show the masques and mummeries and triumphs of the world half so stately and daintily as candle light. truth may perhaps come to the price of a pearl that showeth well by day, but it will not rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle that shineth best in varied lights. a mixture of a lie doth ever add pleasure. doth any man doubt that if there were taken out of men's minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imagination, and the like, but that it would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken things full of melancholy indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves." mr. dallas goes so far as to say that "it is impossible that laughter should be an unmixed pleasure, seeing it arises from some aspect of imperfection or discordance." the fact that many people would undergo almost any kind of suffering rather than be exposed to ridicule, indicates that it contains some very unpleasant reflection. we sometimes feel uncomfortable even when we hear laughter around us, the cause of which we do not know, fearing that we may be ourselves the object of it--even dogs dislike to be laughed at. our ordinary modes of speech seem to point to some imperfection or error in humour, as when we say "there is many a true word spoken in jest," or "life is a jest," signifying its unreality. sometimes we say that an observation "must be a joke," implying that it is false. i have even heard of a man who never laughed at humour because he hated falsehood, and we sometimes say of an untrue statement that it must be taken with a "grain of salt." it is so very common for men to flinch under ridicule, that it is said to be a good test of courage. an old english poet says, "for he who does not tremble at the sword, who quails not with his head upon the block, turn but a jest against him, loses heart. the shafts of wit slip through the stoutest mail; there is no man alive that can live down the unextinguishable laughter of mankind." aristotle defines the ludicrous to be "a certain error and turpitude unattended with pain, and not destructive," a statement which may refer to moral or physical defects. cicero and quintilian, looking probably at satire, consider it to be mostly directed against the shortcomings and offences of men. bacon in his "silva silvarum" says the objects of laughter are deformity, absurdity, and misfortune, in which we trace a certain severity, although he speaks of "jocular arts" as "deceptions of the senses," such as in masks, and other exhibitions, were much in fashion in his day. descartes says that we only laugh at those whom we deem worthy of reproach; but marmontel, the celebrated pupil of voltaire, takes a view which bespeaks greater cultivation and a progress in society. "a fault in manner," he says, "is laughable; a false pretension is ridiculous, a situation which exposes vice to detestation is comic, a _bon mot_ is pleasant." dugald stewart proceeds so far as almost to exclude vice, for he only specifies "slight imperfections in the character and manners, such as do not excite any moral indignation." he says that it is especially excited by affectation, hypocrisy, and vanity. we trace in these successive opinions of philosophers an improvement in humour, proportionate to the progress of mankind. as men of literature, they drew general conclusions, and from the higher and more cultivated classes, probably much from books. had they taken a wider range, their catalogues would have been more comprehensive. but the amelioration we have traced is as much in the general tone of feeling as in humour itself, if not more. bitter reflections upon the personal or moral defects of others are not so acceptable now as formerly; the "glorying" over the downfall of our neighbours is less common. thus we mark an improvement in the sentiments which accompany the ludicrous, and which many philosophers seem to have mistaken for the ludicrous itself. neither hostility, indelicacy, nor profanity can create the ludicrous, but where they do not disgust they vivify and make it more effective. it will be observed that in all of them there is something we condemn and disapprove. the joy of gain and advantage was in very early times sufficient to quicken humour in that childlike mirth which flowed chiefly from delight and exultation, but the "laughter of pleasure" has passed away, perhaps we require something more keen or subtle in the maturer age of the world. the accessory emotions are not at present either so joyous or so offensive as they were in bygone times. the "faults in manners" of marmontel, and the "slight imperfections" of dugald stewart, showed that the objectionable stimulants of the ludicrous were assuming a much milder form. from the views of archbishop whately set forth in his "logic," we might suppose that pleasantries, although not devoid of falsity, were usually of a truly innocuous character--"jests," he writes, "are mock fallacies, _i.e._ fallacies so palpable as not to be able to deceive anyone, but yet bearing just the resemblance of argument which is calculated to amuse by contrast." farther on we read again: "there are several different kind of jokes and raillery, which will be found to correspond with the different kinds of fallacy." on this we may observe that some jests, generally of the "manufactured" class, are founded on a false logical process, but in most cases the error arises more from the matter than from the form, and often from mistakes of the senses. although nearly every misconception may be represented under the form of false ratiocination, the imperfection almost always lies in one of the premises, and it is seldom that there is plainly a fault of argument in humour. if we claim everything as a fallacy of which there is no evidence, though there seems to be some, we shall embrace a large area--part of which is usually assigned to falsity, and if we consider every mistake to come from wrong deduction, we shall convict mankind of being so full of fallacies as not to be a rational, but a most illogical animal. whately says, "the pun is evidently in most instances a mock argument founded on a palpable equivocation of the middle term--and others in like manner will be found to correspond to the respective fallacies." a pun is the nearest approach to a mere mock fallacy of form, and we see what poor amusement it generally affords. to feign that because words have the same sound, they convey the same thoughts or meanings is a fiction as transparent as it is preposterous. a word is nothing but an arbitrary sign, and apart from the thought connected with it, it is an empty unmeaning sound. the link is too slight in puns, the disparity between the things they represent as similar, too great--there is too much falsity. the worst kind of them is where the words are unlike in spelling, and even somewhat so in sound, and where the same reference cannot be made to suit both. such are puns of the "atrocious" or "villainous" class--a fertile source of bad riddles. for instance, "why is an old shoe like ancient greece?" "because it had a sole on (solon)." here the words are very dissimilar and the allusion is imperfect--the description of an old shoe being wrong and forced. the founders of many of our great families have shown how much this kind of humour was once appreciated by using it in their mottoes. thus onslow has "_festina lente_" and vernon more happily "_ver non semper floret_." some puns are amusingly ingenious when the reference hinges well on both words, some additional verbal or other connection is shown, and the words are exactly alike. when there are not two words, but one is used in two senses, there is still greater improvement. thus the rev. r. s. hawker--a man of such mediæval tastes that he was claimed, falsely, i believe, as a roman catholic--made an apt reply to a nobleman who had told him in the heat of religious controversy that he would not be priest-ridden-- "priest-ridden thou! it cannot be by prophet or by priest, balaam is dead, and none but he would choose thee for his beast!" we also consider that the mendicant deserved a coin, who, knowing the love of wit in louis xiv., complained sadly to him, _ton image est partout--excepté dans ma poche_. in such cases the pun is sometimes transformed, for it only invariably exists where the words are equivocal and where the allusion is peculiarly applicable to the double meaning the falsity vanishes, and the verbal coincidence becomes an effective ornament of style. it has been so used by the most successful writers, and it is still under certain conditions approved; but more discrimination is required in such embellishments than was anciently necessary. and when the allusion becomes not only elegant but iridescent, reflecting beautiful and changing lights, it rises into poetical metaphor. falsity is necessary to constitute a pun; if no great identity is assumed between the two words, and they are not introduced in a somewhat strained manner, we do not consider the term applicable. if the use of merely similar words in sentences were to be so viewed, we should be constantly guilty of punning. wordsworth was not guilty of a pun on that hot day in germany when, his friends having given him some hock, a wine he detested, he exclaimed: "in spain, that land of priests and apes the thing called wine doth come from grapes, but where flows down the lordly rhine the thing called _gripes_ doth come from wine." no doubt he intended to show a coincidence in coupling together two words of nearly the same sound, but he represented the two things signified as cause and effect, not as identical, so as to form a pun. the difference between poetical and humorous comparisons may be generally stated to be that the former are upward towards something superior, the latter downwards towards something inferior. tennyson calls maud a "queen rose," and when we sing-- "happy fair, thine eyes are load stars, and thy tongue sweet air," the comparison is inspiring, but, when washington irving speaks of a "vinegar-faced woman," we feel inclined to laugh. there are, however, exceptions to this rule. socrates says that to compare a man to everything excellent is to insult him. sometimes also a dwarf is compared to a giant for the purpose of calling attention to his insignificance. this is often seen in irony. so also, we at times laugh at the sagacity shown by the lower animals, which seems not so much to raise them in our estimation as to lower them by occasioning a comparison with the superior powers of man. sometimes in comparisons between things very different, we cannot say one thing is not as good as another, but, with regard to a certain use, purpose, or design, there may be an evident inferiority. thus comparisons are so often odious, that wordsworth speaks of the blessing of being able to look at the world without making them. we may observe generally that when an idea is brought before us, which, instead of elevating and enlarging our previous conception, clashes and jangles with it, there is an approach towards the laughable. we cannot say that enthusiasm in art or science should not exist, and yet a manifestation of it seems absurd when we do not sympathise in it. the most amiable and beneficent of men, it has been remarked, "have always been a favourite subject of ridicule for the satirist and jester." personal deformities seem absurd to some, but those who have made them their study see nothing extraordinary in them. sometimes our laughter shows us that something seems wrong, which our highest ideal would approve. i remember seeing an aged man tottering along a rough road in france, with a heavy bag of geese on his back. one of his countrymen, who by the way have not too much reverence for age, came behind him and jovially exclaimed, "_courage, mon ami, vous êtes sur le chemin de paradis_." the old man ought to have been glad to have been on the road to heaven, but our laughter reminds us that most would prefer to stay on earth. it must be admitted that our feelings with regard to right and wrong are very shifting and changeable, and that we condemn others for doing what we should ourselves have done under the same circumstances. we have also an especial tendency to adopt the view that what we are accustomed to is right. we sometimes observe this in morals, where it causes a considerable amount of confusion, but it holds greater sway over such light matters as awaken the sense of the ludicrous. when anything is presented to us different from what we have been long accustomed to, unless it is evidently better, we are inclined to consider it worse. in the same way, things which at first we consider wrong, we finally come to think unobjectionable. in taste and our sense of the ludicrous, we find ourselves greatly under the influence of habit. what seems to be a logical error is often found to be merely something to which we are unaccustomed; thus the double negative, which sounds to us absurd and equivalent to an affirmation, is used in many languages merely to give emphasis. how ridiculous do the manners of our forefathers now seem, their pig-tails, powder, and patches, the large fardingales, and the stiff and pompous etiquette. i remember a gentleman, a staunch admirer of the old school, who, lamenting over the lounging and lolling of the present day, said that his grandmother, even when dying, refused to relax into a recumbent posture. she was sitting erect even to her very last hour, and when the doctor suggested to her that she would find herself easier in a reposing posture, she replied, "no, sir, i prefer to die as i am," and she breathed her last, sitting bolt upright in her high-backed chair. so great indeed is the power of custom that it almost leads us to view artificial things as natural productions--to commit as great an error as that of the african king who said that "england must be a fine country, where the rivers flow with rum." speaking theoretically, we may say that the opposition of either custom or morale is sufficient to extinguish the ludicrous, and that we do not laugh at what is wrong if we are used to it; or at what is unusual if we think it right. when there is a collision, we may regard the two as neutralizing each other. still, for this to hold good, neither must predominate, and it will practically be found from the constitution of our minds, a small amount of custom will overcome a considerable amount of morale. in illustration of the above remarks, we might appropriately refer to those strange articles of wearing apparel called hats, the shape of which might suggest to those unaccustomed to them, that we were carrying some culinary utensil upon our head; and yet, if we saw a gentleman walking about bare-headed, like the ancients, we should feel inclined to laugh.[ ] but we will rather consider the recent fashion of wearing expanded dresses--those extraordinary "evening bells" which, until lately, occupied so much public attention, and consumed so many tons of iron. an octogenarian who could remember the tight skirts at the end of queen charlotte's reign, and had formed his taste upon that model, might have laughed heartily, if not too much offended at the change. but by degrees, custom would have asserted its sway to such an extent that, although he did not approve of them, they would not provoke his mirth; and yet, when he saw some of the ladies re-introducing tight dresses, he might not be able to laugh at them, as he still retained his early notions with regard to their propriety. but most of us are so influenced by the fashion of the day in dress, that the rights of the case would not have prevented our laughing at the shrimp-like appearance of those who first tried to bring in the present reform, and perhaps some of the stanch supporters of the more natural style could not have quite maintained their gravity, had one of their antiquated ideals been suddenly introduced among the wide-spreading ladies of the late period. to take another illustration. it would perhaps be in accordance with our highest desires that instinct should approach to reason as nearly as possible, and that all animals should act in the most judicious and beneficial way. naturalists would be inclined to agree in this, and if this were the view we adopted, we should not laugh at dogs showing signs of intelligence; neither should we at their acting irrationally, because experience teaches us that they are not generally guided by reflection. but most of us are accustomed to consider reason the prerogative and peculiarity of man. and if we take the view that the lower animals have it not, we shall be inclined to smile when any of them show traces of it--any such exhibition seeming out of place, and leading us to compare them with men. but when we are accustomed to see a monkey taking off his hat, or playing a tambourine, or even smoking a pipe, we by degrees see nothing laughable in the performance. as our emotions are only excited with reference to human affairs, some have thought that all laughter must refer to them. pope says, "laughter implies censure, inanimate and irrational beings are not objects of censure, and may, therefore, be elevated as much as you please, and no ridicule follows." addison writes to the same purpose. his words are:--"i am afraid i shall appear too abstract in my speculations if i shew that when a man of wit makes us laugh, it is by betraying some address or infirmity in his own character, or in the representation he makes of others, and that when we laugh at a brute, or even at an inanimate thing, it is by some action or incident that bears a remote analogy to some blunder or absurdity in reasonable creatures." it may be questioned whether we always go so far as to institute this comparison. ludicrous events and circumstances seem often such as the individuals concerned have no control over whatever, and betray no infirmity. when we see a failure in a work of art, do we always think of the artist? a lady told me last autumn that when she was walking in a country town with her italian greyhound, which was dressed in a red coat to protect it from cold, the tradespeople and most others passed it without notice, or merely with a passing word of commendation; but, on meeting a country bumpkin, he pointed to it, burst out laughing, and said, "look at that daug, why, it's all the world like a littl' oss." beattie thinks that the derision is not necessarily aimed at human beings, and probably it is not directly, but indirectly there seems to be some reference to man. léon dumont tells us that he once laughed on hearing a clap of thunder; it was in winter, and it seemed out of place that it should occur in cold weather. there can be nothing legitimately ludicrous in such occurrences. but, perhaps, _lusus naturæ_ are not regarded as truly natural. of course, they are really so, but not to us, for we have an ideal variously obtained of how nature ought to act, and thus a man is able for the moment to imagine that something produced by nature is not natural--just as we sometimes speak of "unnatural weather." but we seldom or ever laugh at such phenomena. we all have a certain resemblance to the old athenians in wishing to hear something new. it generally pleases, and always impresses us. novelty is in proportion to our ignorance, and can scarcely be said to exist at all absolutely, for although there is some change always in progress, it advances too slowly and certainly to produce anything startling or exciting. novelty especially affects us with regard to the ludicrous, and some have, therefore, hastily concluded that it is sufficient to awaken this feeling. the strength and vividness of new emotions and impressions are especially traceable in their outward demonstrations. a very slight change occurring suddenly will often cause an ejaculation of alarm or admiration, especially among those of nervous temperament; but upon a repetition the excitement is less, and the nerves are scarcely affected. this peculiar law of the nervous system will account for the absence of laughter on the relation of any old or well-known story. both pleasure and facial action are absent; but when we no longer feel the emotion of humour, we still have some notion that certain ideas awakened it, and would still do so under favourable circumstances,--that is when persons first conceived them. here then we can recognise humour apart from novelty; but it is dead, its magic is no more. on the same principle, to laugh before telling a good story lessens its force, just as to break gradually melancholy tidings enables the recipient to bear them better. but nothing so effectually damps mirth as to premise that we are going to say something very laughable. bacon observes, "ipsa titillatio si præmoneas non magnopere in risum valet." novelty is necessary to produce what akenside felicitously calls "the gay surprise," but they are wrong who maintain that this is the essence of the ludicrous. an ingenious suggestion has been made that the reason why we cannot endure the repetition of a humorous story is that on a second relation the element of falsehood becomes too strong in proportion to that of truth. such an explanation can scarcely be correct, for in many instances people would not be able to show what was the falsity contained. a man may often form a correct judgment as to the general failure of an attempt, without being able to show how it could be corrected. probably after having heard a humorous story once we are prepared for something whimsical, and are therefore less affected on its repetition. we have already observed that certain emotions and states of mind are adverse to the ludicrous, and we now pass on to those which, like novelty, are favourable to it and have been at times considered elements of the ludicrous, but are really only concomitant and accessory. as we have observed, indelicacy, profanity, or a hostile joy at the downfall or folly of others is not in itself humorous. pleasantry without pungent seasoning may be seen in those "facetious" verbal conceits which our american cousins, and especially "yours trooly," artemus ward, have been fond of framing. but accessory emotions are necessary to render humour demonstrative. they are generally unamiable, censorious, or otherwise offensive, perhaps in keeping with the disapproval excited by falsity. in some cases the two feelings of wrong are almost inextricably connected, but in others we can separate them without much difficulty. in the following instances the presence of an accessory emotion can easily be traced:-- "'what have you brought me there?' asks a french publisher of a young author, who advances with a long roll under his arm. 'is it a manuscript?' 'no, sir,' replies the man of letters, pompously, 'a fortune!' 'oh, a fortune! take it to the publisher opposite, he is poorer than i am.'" (the disappointment of the author here adds considerably to our amusement at the ingenious answer of the publisher.) two men, attired as a bishop and chaplain, entered one of the great jewellery establishments in bond street and asked to be shown some diamond rings. the bishop selected one worth a hundred pounds, but said he had only a fifty-pound note with him, and that he wished to take the ring away. the foreman took the note, and the bishop gave his address; but he had scarcely left when a policeman rushed in and asked where the two swindlers had gone. the foreman stood aghast, but said he had at least secured a fifty-pound note. the policeman asked to see it, and saying it was a flash note and that he would have it tested, left the shop and never returned. the amusement afforded by practical jokes is also largely dependent upon the discomfort of the victims. this kind of humour, happily now little known in this country, has been much in favour with italian bandits, who occasionally unite whimsical fancy with great personal daring. a piedmontese gentleman told me an instance in which two counts, who were dining at an albergo, met a strange-looking man whom they took to be a sportsman like themselves. the conversation turned upon bandits, and the counts expressed a hope that they might meet some, as they were well armed and would teach them a lesson. their companion left before them, and walking along the road they were to take, ordered a labouring man whom he met to stand in an adjoining vineyard and hold up a vine-stake to his shoulder like a gun. as soon as the counts' carriage came to the place the bandit rushed out, seized the horses, and called upon the counts to deliver up their arms or he would order his men, whom they could see in the vineyard, to fire. the counts not only obeyed the summons, but began to accuse one another of keeping something back. shortly afterwards, on a doctor boasting in the same way, the bandit went out before him and stuck a bough in the road on which he hung a lantern. the doctor called out who's there? and was taking a deadly aim with his gun, when he was seized from behind and pinioned. the bandit said he should teach him a different lesson from that he deserved, and only deprived him of his gun. chapter xxiii. nomenclature--three classes of words--distinction between wit and humour--wit sometimes dangerous, generally innocuous. the subject of which we have been treating in these volumes will suggest to us the logical distinctions to be drawn between three classes of words. first, we have those which imply that we are regarding something external, awakening laughter as the _ludicrous_ from _ludus_, a game, especially pointing to antics and gambols; the _ridiculous_ from _rideo_ to laugh, referring to that which occasions a demonstrative movement in the muscles of the countenance--implying a strong emotion, often of contempt, and generally applied to persons, as the ludicrous is to circumstances; the _grotesque_ referring to strangeness in form, such as is seen in fantastic _grottoes_, or in the quaint figures of sylvan deities which the ancients placed in them, and the _absurd_, properly referring to acts of people who are defective in faculties. the ludicrous is often used in philosophical works to signify a feeling, and our second class will contain words which may refer either to something external or to the mind, such as _droll_, (from the german) _comical_, _amusing_, and _funny_. to say "i do not see any fun in it," is different from saying "i do not see any fun in him," and a man may be called funny, either in laudation or disparagement. in the third class we place such words as refer to the mind alone as the source of amusement, and under this head we may place humour as a general and generic term. raillery and sarcasm (from a greek word "to tear flesh") refer especially to the expression of the feeling in language, and irony from its covert nature generally requires assistance from the voice and manner. some words refer especially to literature, and never to any attacks made on present company. of these, satire aims at making a man odious or ridiculous; lampoon, contemptible. satire is the rapier; lampoon the broadsword, or even the cudgel--the former points to the heart and wounds sharply, the latter deals a dull and blundering blow, often falling wide of the mark. in general a different man selects a different weapon; the educated and refined preferring satire; the rude and more vulgar, lampoon--one adopting what is keen and precise, the other seeking rough and irrelevant accessories. but clever men, to gain others over to them by amusement, have sometimes taken the clumsier means, and while placing their victim nearer the level of the brutes than of humanity, have not struck so straight; for the improbability they have introduced has in it so much that is fantastic that their attack seems mostly playful, if not bordering on the ludicrous. lampoon was the earliest kind of humorous invective; we have an instance of it in homer's thersites. buffoonery differs from lampoon in being carried on in acting, instead of words. the latter is rather based upon some moral delinquency or imperfection; the former aims merely at amusement, and resembles burlesque in being generally optical, and containing little malice. both come under the category of broad humour, which is excessive in accessory emotion, and in most cases deficient in complication. caricature resembles them both in being often concerned with deformity. it appeals to the senses rather than to the emotions. the complication in it is never very good when it is confined to pictorial representation, as we may observe that without some explanation we should seldom know what a design was intended to portray; and when the word means description in writing it still retains some of its original reference to sight, and is concerned principally with form and optical similitudes. although wit and humour are often used as synonymous, the fact of two words being in use, and the attempts which have been made to discriminate between them, prove that there must be a distinction in signification.[ ] it is so fine that many able writers have failed to detect it. lord macaulay considered wit to refer to contrasts sought for, humour to those before our eyes--but such an explanation is not altogether satisfactory. humour originally meant moisture, or any limpid subtle fluid, and so came to signify the disposition or turn of the mind--just as spirit, originally breath or wind, came to signify the soul of man. in ben jonson's time it had this signification, as in one of his plays entitled "every man in his humour." dispositions being very different, it came to signify fancy--as where burton, author of the "anatomy of melancholy," is called humorous--and also the whimsical sir w. thornhill in the "vicar of wakefield"--and finally meant the feeling which appreciates the ludicrous, though we sometimes use the old sense in speaking of a good-humoured man. wit is a saxon word, and originally signified wisdom--a witte was a wise man, and the saxon parliament was called the wittenagemot. we may suppose that wisdom did not then so much imply learning as natural sagacity, and came to refer to such ingenious attempts as those in the exeter book. here would be a basis for the later meaning, especially if some of the old saws came to be regarded as ludicrous, but for a long time afterwards wit signified talent, whether humorous or otherwise, and as late as elizabeth the "wits" were often used as synonymous with judgment. steele, introducing pope's "messiah" in the spectator, says that it is written by a friend of his "who is not ashamed to employ his wit in the praise of of his maker." addison introduced the word genius, and the other was relegated to humorous conceits--a change no doubt facilitated by the short and monosyllabic form and sound. the word _facetus_ seems to have undergone the same transition in latin, for horace speaks of virgil having possessed the _facetum_ in poetry. humour may be dry--may consist of subtle inuendoes of a somewhat uncertain character not devoid of pleasantry, perhaps, but indistinctly felt, and not calculated to raise laughter. this has led some to observe that in contradistinction to it--"wit is sharply defined like a crystal." so mr. dallas writes, "wit is of the known and definite; humour is of the unknown and indefinable. wit is the unexpected exhibition of some clearly defined contrast or disproportion; humour the unexpected indication of a vague discordance, in which the sense or the perception of ignorance is prominent." "wit is the comedy of knowledge, humour of ignorance." but we must observe in opposition to this view that humour may be too clearly defined, as in puns or caricatures, it may be broad--but who ever heard of broad wit. the retort often made by those who have been severely hit, "you're very witty," or "you think you're very witty," could not be expressed by, "you're very humorous," which would have neither irony nor point, not implying any pretension. nothing that smells of the lamp, or refers much to particular experience, or second-hand information, deserves the name of wit, and although it may be recorded in writing, it generally implies impromptu speech. there seems to be a kind of inspiration in it, and we are inclined to regard it, like any other great advantage, as a natural gift. "if you have real wit," says lord chesterfield, "it will grow spontaneously, and you need not aim at it, for in that case the rule of the gospel is reversed and it will prove, 'seek, and ye shall not find.'" thus, we speak of a man's mother wit, _i.e._ innate, but we do not call a story witty, as much in it is due to circumstances, and does not necessarily flow from talent. to speak of a woman as "of great wit and beauty" is to pay a high compliment to her mental as well as personal charms. as wit must be always intellectual it must be in words, and hence as well as because it must imply impromptu talent, the comic situations of a farce or pantomime are not witty. when poole represents paul pry as peeping through a gimlet hole, as attacked with a red hot poker, or blown out of a closet full of fireworks, and where douglas jerrold on the bridge of ludgate makes the innkeeper tells charles ii., in his disguise, all the bad stories he has heard about his majesty, we merely see the humour, unless we are so far abstracted as to regard the scene as ludicrous. in the same way a conversation between foolish men on the stage may be amusing, but cannot be witty. an old stanza tells us-- "true wit is like the brilliant stone dug from the indian mine. which boasts two various powers in one to cut as well as shine." bacon observes that those who make others afraid of their wit had need be afraid of others' memory. and sterne says that there is as great a difference between the memory of jester and jestee as between the purse of the mortgager and mortgagee. humour is fully as unamiable as wit, but the latter has obtained the worse character simply because it is the more salient of the two. there is always a jealous and ill-natured side to human nature which gives a semblance of truth to rochefoucauld's saying that we are not altogether grieved at the misfortunes even of our friends; and wit often, from its point and the element of truth it possesses, has been used to add a sting and adhesiveness to malevolent attacks. writers therefore often remind us to be sparing and circumspect in the use of wit, as if it were necessarily, instead of accidentally offensive. as an instance of the danger of wit, i may mention a case in which two celebrated divines, one of the "high" church, and the other of the "broad" church school, had been attacking and confuting one another in rival reviews. they met accidentally at an evening party, and the high churchman, who was a well-known wit, could not forbear exclaiming, as he grasped the other's hand, "the augurs have met face to face"--an observation which, if it implied anything, must have meant that they were both hypocrites. those who consider humour objectionable, have no idea of the variety of circumstances under which our emotions may be excited. a man may smile at his own misfortunes after they are over--sometimes our laughter seems scarcely directed against anyone, and in the most profane and indelicate humour there is often nothing personal. occasionally it is too general to wound, being aimed at nations, as in my old friend's saying, "the french do not know what they want, and will never be satisfied until they get it," or it may strike at the great mass of mankind, as when one of the same dissatisfied nation calls marriage "a tiresome book with a very fine preface." there is nothing unamiable in goldsmith's reflection upon the rustic simplicity of the villagers, when he says of the schoolmaster-- "and still the wonder grew, how one small head could carry all he knew." again, we may ask, what person can be possibly injured by most of the humorous stories in which our transatlantic cousins delight, such as that an american, describing a severe winter said, "why i had a cow on my farm up the hudson river, and she got in among the ice, and was carried down three miles before we could get her out again. and what do you suppose has been the consequence? why, she has milked nothing but ice-cream ever since." how little of the humour, which is always floating around and makes life and society enjoyable, ever gives pain to anybody; how few men there really are who, as it is said, would rather lose a friend than a joke. most strokes are directed against imaginary persons, it is generally recognised that what seems wrong to one may seem right to another, and no man of common honesty can deny that he has often ridiculed others for faults which he would have committed himself. this confession might be well made by the most of our humorists. but although humour should not be offensive, it would be wrong to consider that its proper duty is to inculcate virtue. this is no more its office than it is that of a novel to give sage advice, or of a poem to teach science. herein addison's excellent feelings seem to have led him astray, for speaking of false humour he says that "it is all one to it whether it exposes vice and folly, luxury and avarice, or, on the contrary, virtue and wisdom, pain and poverty." from what he says, we might conclude that true humour was that which attacks vice, and false that which makes against virtue. but although it is good to have a worthy object, this has nothing to do with the quality of humour. we have less enjoyment of ridicule when it is directed against a virtuous man, but we also feel little when the principal element in it is moral instruction. there is no reason why we should view laughter at what is ludicrous as something objectionable. the more intelligent portion of the civilised world is not now amused at the real sufferings or misfortunes of others. if a man be run over in the street, and have his leg broken, we all sympathise with him. but some pains which have no serious result are still treated with levity, such as those of a gouty foot, of the extraction of a tooth, or of little boys birched at school. the actions of people in pain are strange and abnormal, and sometimes seem unaccountable; it is not the mere suffering at which any are amused. we can sometimes laugh at a person, although we feel for him, where the incentive to mirth is much stronger than the call for sympathy. still we confess that some of the old malice lingers among us, some skulking cruelty peeps out at intervals. fiendish laughter has departed with the middle ages, but what delights the schoolboy more than the red-hot poker in the pantomime? wit is chiefly to be recommended as a source of enjoyment; to many this will seem no great or legitimate object, for we cannot help drawing a very useful distinction between pleasure and profit. the lines, "there are whom heaven has blessed with store of wit yet want as much again to manage it; for wit and judgment ever are at strife, though meant, each others, and like man and wife," teach us that talent of this kind may be often turned into a fruitful channel. the politician can by humour influence his audience; the man of society can make himself popular, and perhaps without this recommendation would never have had an opportunity of gaining his knowledge of the world. when by some happy turn of thought we are successful in raising a laugh, we seem to receive a kind of ovation, the more valuable because sincere. we are allowed a superiority, we have achieved a victory, though it may be but momentary and unimportant. in daily life our sense of the ludicrous leads us to mark many small errors and blemishes, which we should have overlooked had it not given us pleasure to notice them, and thus from observing the failures of others we learn to correct our own. much that would be offensive, if not injurious, is thus avoided, and those little angles are removed which obstruct the onward course of society. a sensible man will gain more by being ridiculed than praised, just as adverse criticism, when judicious, ought to raise rather than depress. lever remarks, with regard to acquiring languages, that "as the foreigner is too polite to laugh, the stranger has little chance to learn." a compendium of humorous sayings would, if rightly read, give a valuable history of our shortcomings in the different relations of life. louis xii., when urged to punish some insolent comedian, replied, "no, no; in the course of their ribaldry they may sometimes tell us useful truths; let them amuse themselves, provided they respect the ladies." finally, what presage can we form of the future from the experience of the past? we may expect the augmenting emotion in humour to become less, and of a more æsthetical character, indelicacy, profanity, and hostility have been considerably modified even since the commencement of this century. humour will, by degrees, become more intellectual and more refined, less dependent upon the senses and passions. at some time far hence allusions will be greatly appreciated, the complexity of which our obtuser faculties would now be unable to understand. still, as keen and excellent wit is a rare gift, some even of the ancient sayings will doubtless survive. by some, humour has been called a "morbid secretion," and its extinction has been foretold, but history, the only unerring guide, teaches us that it will increase in amount and improve in quality. man cannot exist without emotion, and as we have seen various forms and subjects of humour successively arising, so we may be sure in future ages fresh fields for it will be constantly opening. when we consider how necessary amusement is to all, and how bounteously it has been supplied by providence, we shall feel certain that man will always have beside him this light, which although it cannot lead as a star, can still brighten his path and cheer his spirits upon the pilgrimage of life. footnotes [ ] properly centrones, from a greek word signifying patchwork. [ ] in which the various kinds of fish are introduced in mock heroic verse. it dates from the fifth century b.c. [ ] about this time addison and bishop attenbury first called attention to the beauties of milton. [ ] ale-houses at oxford. [ ] a game at cards. [ ] haynes writes, "i have known a gentleman of another turn of humour, who despises the name of author, never printed his works, but contracted his talent, and by the help of a very fine diamond which he wore on his little finger, was a considerable poet on glass." he had a very good epigrammatic wit; and there was not a parlour or tavern window where he visited or dined for some years, which did not receive some sketches or memorials of it. it was his misfortune at last to lose his genius and his ring to a sharper at play, and he has not attempted to make a verse since. [ ] this seems taken from a spanish story. [ ] supposed to be mrs. manley, against whom steele had a grudge. [ ] he was buried in portugal street graveyard, but was removed in on the erection of the new buildings of king's college hospital. [ ] smollett, of whom we shall speak in the next chapter, published before sterne, though a younger man. [ ] dodsley was never averse from having a hit at the church, as in the epigram: "cries sylvia to a reverend dean what reason can be given, since marriage is a holy thing, that there are none in heaven? "'there are no women,' he replied, she quick returns the jest, 'women there are, but i'm afraid they cannot find a priest.'" [ ] there was a considerable amount of humour in it. among the articles offered for sale in the toy-shop is, "the least box that ever was seen in england," in which nevertheless, "a courtier may deposit his sincerity, a lawyer may screw up his honesty, and a poet may hoard up his money." [ ] this introduction to popularity reminds us of the poet lover, who would never have been so well known had not madame vestris, when in want of a comic song, selected "rory o'more," which afterwards became so famous. the celebrated enigma on the letter h was also produced by a suggestion accidentally made overnight, and developed before morning by miss fanshawe into beautiful lines formerly ascribed to byron. [ ] a girl, who had been unfortunate in love. [ ] byron showed his love of humour even in some of these early effusions, speaking of his college he says: "our choir would scarcely be excused, even as a band of raw beginners: all mercy, now, must be refused to such a set of croaking sinners. if david, when his toils were ended had heard these blockheads sing before him, to us his psalms had ne'er descended; in furious mood, he would have tore 'em." [ ] the saying "he that fights and runs away, shall live to fight another day," is as old as the days of menander. [ ] beattie was unfortunate in selecting molière for his comparison, for his humour is especially that of situation and can be tolerably well understood by a foreigner. [ ] thus we speak of "fried ice" or "ice with the chill off." [ ] it may be observed that as men's perceptions of humour are different, so in the expression of them there is a character about laughter in accordance with its subject, and with the person from whom it comes. [ ] this term seems the nearest, though not quite accurate. [ ] ruskin observes that the smile on the lips of the apollo belvedere is inconsistent with divinity. [ ] the false generalisations of childhood are well represented by dickens when, in "great expectations," he makes pip discover a singular affinity between seeds and corduroys. "mr. pumblechook wore corduroys, and so did his shopman, and somehow there was a general air and flavour about the corduroys so much in the nature of seeds, and such a general air and flavour about the seeds in the nature of corduroys that i hardly knew which was which." [ ] critias was one of the thirty tyrants who condemned him. [ ] that the present style of men's dress is unbecoming strikes us forcibly when we see it reproduced in statues, where we are not used to it. [ ] cicero uses two corresponding words cavillatio and dicacitas, the former signifying continuous, the latter aphoristic humour. end. london: printed by a. schulze, poland street. [illustration: al. g. field, court and scott] watch yourself go by a book by al. g. field columbus, ohio copyrighted by al. g. field, illustrated by ben w. warden introductory watch yourself go by just stand aside and watch yourself go by; think of yourself as "he" instead of "i." note closely, as in other men you note, the bag-kneed trousers and the seedy coat. pick the flaws; find fault; forget the man is you, and strive to make your estimate ring true; confront yourself and look you in the eye-- just stand aside and watch yourself go by. interpret all your motives just as though you looked on one whose aims you did not know. let undisguised contempt surge through you when you see you shirk, o commonest of men! despise your cowardice; condemn whate'er you note of falseness in you anywhere. defend not one defect that shames your eye-- just stand aside and watch yourself go by. and then, with eyes unveiled to what you loathe-- to sins that with sweet charity you'd clothe-- back to your self-walled tenements you'll go with tolerance for all who dwell below. the faults of others then will dwarf and shrink, love's chain grow stronger by one mighty link-- when you, with "he" as substitute for "i," have stood aside and watched yourself go by. s. w. gilliland, in _penberthy engineer_. "to whom will you dedicate your book?" inquired george spahr. well, i hinted to my wife and pearl that i desired to bestow that honor upon them. they did not exactly demur, but both intimated that i had best dedicate it to some friend in the far distance who would probably never read it, or to some dear friend who had passed away and had no relatives living. several others approached did not seem to crave the honor, therefore i herewith dedicate this book to court; not that he is the best and truest friend i ever possessed, but for the reason that should the book not be received with favor he will respect me just the same. he will hunt for me, he will watch for me, he will love me all the more devotedly, serve me all the more faithfully, though the book were discredited. the more i see of dogs, the better i like dogs. it is claimed there is a kind of physiognomy in the title of a book by which a skilful observer will know as well what to expect from its contents as one does reading the lines. i flatter myself this claim will be disproved in this book. i am proud of the book, not that it contains much of literary merit, not that i ever hope it will be a "best seller," but for the reason it has afforded me days of enjoyment. in the writing of it i have communed with those whom i love. if those who peruse this book extract half the pleasure from reading its pages that has come to me while writing them, i will be satisfied. al. g. field. maple villa farm, july , . watch yourself go by an autobiography chapter one trust no prayer or promise, words are grains of sand; to keep your heart unbroken hold your child in hand. "al-f-u-r-d!" "al-f-u-r-d!!" "al-f-u-r-d!!!" the last syllable, drawn out the length of an expiring breath, was the first sound recorded on the memory of the first born. indeed, constant repetition of the word, day to day, so filled his brain cells with "al-f-u-r-d" that it was years after he realized his given patronymic was alfred. [illustration: the old well] "al-f-u-r-d!" "al-f-u-r-d!"--a woman's voice, strong and penetrating, strengthened by years of voice culture in calling cows, sheep, pigs, chickens and other farm-yard companions. the voice came in swelling waves, growing in menace, from around the corner of as quaint an old farm-house as ever sheltered a happy family. in the wake of the voice followed a round, rosy woman of blood and brawn, with muscular arms and sturdy limbs that carried her over grass and gravel at a pace that soon brought her within reach of the prey pursued--a boy of four years, in flapping pantalets and gingham frock. the "boy" was headed for the family well as fast as his toddling legs could carry him. forbidden, punished, guarded, the child lost no opportunity to climb to the top of the square enclosure and wonderingly peer down into the depths of the well. to prevent his falling headlong to his death--a calamity frequently predicted--was the principal concern of all the family. as the women folks were more often in the big kitchen than elsewhere, it became, as a matter of convenience, the daily prison of the first born. the board, across the open doorway, and the eternal vigilance of his guards, did not prevent his starting several times daily on a pilgrimage towards the old well. the turning of a head, the absence of the guards from the kitchen for a moment, were the looked-for opportunities--crawling under or over the wooden bar, and starting in childish glee for the old well. previous to the time of this narrative, the race invariably resulted in the capture of "young hopeful" ere the well was reached. the shrill cry: "al-f-u-r-d!" "al-f-u-r-d!" always closely followed by the young woman who did the scouting for the other guards, brought him to a halt. he was lifted bodily, thrown high into the air, caught in strong, loving arms as he came down, roughly hugged and good-naturedly spanked, and carried triumphantly back to his prison--the kitchen. here, seated upon the floor, he was roundly lectured by three women, who in turn charged one another with his escape. it was never _his_ fault. someone had turned a head to look at the clock, or the browning bread in the oven, turning to look at the cause of the controversy, not infrequently he was found astride the prison bar, or scampering down the path. that old well, or its counterpart, was surely the inspiration of "_the old oaken bucket_." however, their author was never imbued with fascination as alluring as that which influenced the first born in his desire to solve the, to him, mystery of the old well. the more his elders coaxed, bribed and threatened, the more vividly they depicted its dangers, the more determined he became to explore its darkened depths. the old well became a part of the child's life. he talked of it by day and dreamed of it by night. the big windlass, with its coil of seemingly never-ending chain, winding and unwinding, lowering and raising the old, oaken bucket green with age, full and flowing; the cooling water oozing between the age-warped staves, nurturing the green grasses growing about the box-like enclosure. how cooling the grass was to his feet as on tip-toes peeking over the top of the enclosure down into that which seemed to his childish imagination a fathomless abyss, so deep that ray of sun or glint of moon never penetrated to the surface of the water. the clanging of the chain, the grinding of the heavy bucket bumping against the walled circle as it descended, and the splash as it struck the water, were uncanny sounds to the boy's ears. the desire to look down, down into the old well's hidden secrets became to him almost a frenzy. the echoes coming up from its shadowy depths were as those of a haunted glen. he reasoned that all men and women were created to guard the well and that it was his only duty in life to thwart them. balmy spring, with its song birds, buzzing bees and sweet-smelling blossoms, coaxed every living thing out of doors; everything, except the first born and his guards. such was the situation when the bees swarmed. the guards "pricked up their ears," then, with eyes looking heavenward, and snatching up tin pans which they beat with spoons, sleigh-bells and other objects, they rushed from the kitchen to work the usual charm of the country folk in settling the swarming bees. thus unguarded, the little prisoner, carrying a three-legged stool that aided him in surmounting the bar across the kitchen door, trekked for the old well. planting the stool at one side of the square enclosure, he looked down into the cavernous depths; leaning far over, reached for the chain, with the intention of lowering the bucket, as he had often seen his elders do. "al-f-u-r-d!" "al-f-u-r-d!" and the sound of hurrying feet only urged the boy on. he had caught hold of the bucket and was leaning far over the dark opening when he felt a heavy hand upon his shoulders, and himself lifted from his high perch, only to be dropped sprawling on the ground with a shower of tin pans rattling about his devoted head. then the women, half fainting from fright, fell upon him, each in a desperate effort to first embrace him in thankfulness over his rescue from falling into the well. when the women recovered their "shock" the first born was lustily yelling for papa. mamma had him across her knee and was administering the first full-fledged, unalloyed spanking of his childish existence. he scarcely understood at first, then the full meaning of the threats the guards had used to cure him of his one absorbing mania began sifting into his brain through another part of his anatomy. he promised never, never again to peep into the old well. the guards believed him and for days thereafter he lived blissfully on their praises, while everyone, directly or indirectly interested, conceded that mamma's "spanks" had finally broken the charm of the old well for the boy. however, the little prisoner was removed to another cell--the big, front room upstairs--the door securely locked. a large, open window looked out upon the front yard and below the window near the house was the old well. one evening the men, returning from the field, halted to slake their thirst at the well, the up-coming of the old oaken bucket brought from its depths a half-knit woolen sock and a ball of yarn. a strand of yarn reaching to the window above told the story. later, a turkey wing, used as a fan in summer and to furnish wind for an obdurate wood fire in winter, was found limply swimming in the bucket. indeed, for days thereafter, divers articles, missed from the big, front room, accompanied the bucket on its return trips. when one of grandpap's well-worn sunday boots was brought to the surface, it was believed that the last of the missing articles from the big room had been recovered. however, the disappearance of grandma's little mantelpiece clock was never explained. uncle joe and aunt betsy stopped their old mare in front of the house and in chorus shouted "hello!" as was the custom of neighbors passing on their way to or from town. the whole family, including "al-f-u-r-d," betook themselves to the roadside to gossip. "al-f-u-r-d," busy as usual, clambered up over the muddy wheels into the vehicle. he was praised by uncle and aunt for his obedience, and promised candy when they returned from town. clambering down he missed his footing and narrowly escaped being trampled upon by the old mare who was vigorously stamping and swishing her tail to keep off the flies. dragged from under the buggy he was soon out of the minds of the gossiping group, curiosity drew him to the old well. circling it at a respectful distance, he said: "naughty ole well, don't thry to coax me 'caus i won't play with you, nor look down in you never no more. there!" passing to the side farthest from the unsuspecting guards, the handle of the windlass was within his reach. instinctively the desire seized him to lower the bucket, pulling out the ratchet that held it, the old oaken bucket began its unimpeded descent. slowly at first, gaining momentum with each revolution of the windlass, down it fell, bumping against the sides of the well, chain clanging and windlass whirring. it struck the bottom with a splash that re-echoed, followed by a woman's scream so piercing that the old mare started forward. it flashed on the minds of all that at last their predictions were verified. it was all up with "al-f-u-r-d." they pictured him falling, falling--down, down--his bruised, bleeding body sinking to the bottomless depths of the old well. [illustration: uncle joe and aunt betsy] uncle joe's feet caught in the handle of a market basket as he leaped from the buggy and the greater number of his dozens of fresh eggs reached the roadside a scrambled mass. the women guards gave vent to a series of screams that brought the men hurrying from the fields. "al-f-r-u-d" was found, limp and apparently lifeless, his head tucked under his body, clothes over his head, exposing the larger part of his anatomy--a pitiable lump, lying in the sandy path twenty feet from the well. the handle of the windlass had caught him across the shoulders, sending him flying through the air. for days thereafter "al-f-u-r-d" was swathed in bandages and bathed with liniments; for a time, at least, the family was free from the cares of guarding the old well. the old well has given way to a modern pump, the old house has been remodeled, but the impressions herein recorded are as clear to the memory of the man today as they were to the child of that long ago. chapter two trouble comes night and day, in this world unheedin', but there's light to find the way-- that is all we're needin'. "al-f-u-r-d-!" "al-f-u-r-d!" al-f-u-r-d!" town life had not diminished the volume of malinda linn's voice. it was far-reaching as ever. malinda was familiarly called "lin"--in print the name looks unnatural and chinese-like. lin linn was about the whole works in the family. her duties were calling, seeking and changing the apparel of "al-f-u-r-d", duties she discharged with a mixture of scoldings and caresses. when the family moved to town to live, lin became impressed with the propriety of bestowing the full baptismal name upon the first born, and to his open-eyed wonderment, he was addressed as "alfred griffith." but when lin called him from afar--and she usually had to call him, and then go after him--it was always "al-f-u-r-d!" a bunch of misery, pale and limp, was lying in the family garden between two rows of tomato vines, the earth about him disturbed from his intermittent spasms. a big, greenish, yellowish worm was crawling over his head, his tow-like hair whiter by contrast; upon his forehead great drops of perspiration. [illustration: the first cigar] he heard lin's calls but could not answer. he half opened his eyes as she approached him. berating him roundly for hiding from her, bending over him, the pallor of his face frightened her. her screams would have abashed a camanche indian. tenderly taking up the almost unconscious boy, she hastened toward the house, frightened members of the family and several nearby neighbors attracted by her screams. crowded around "al-f-u-r-d" all busied themselves in assisting in placing him in bed. his hands were rubbed, his brow bathed, the air about agitated with a big palm-leaf fan while the doctor was summoned. when the family doctor arrived "al-f-u-r-d's" shirt-waist was opened in front and a big, greenish, yellowish worm fell to the floor. this, and that sickening smell of green tomato vines, assisted the good doctor in his diagnosis. to know the disease is the beginning of the cure. hot water and mustard administered in copious draughts, the little rebellious stomach, made more so by this treatment, began sending up returns. thus was relieved "the worst case of tomato poisoning that had, up to that time, come under the doctor's observation." at that time the tomato had not long been an edible. indeed many persons refused to consider them as such, growing them for merely ornamental purposes, displaying them on mantels and window sills. tomatoes were commonly called "jerusalem" or "love apples." on this occasion the doctor dilated at length on its past bad reputation and the lurking poison contained in vine and fruit. the blinds were lowered and alfred slept. the nurses tiptoed from the room, to return, tip-toeing to the bed to see how he was resting, then returning to the kitchen to advise the anxious ones there that he was resting easy. poor lin was "near distracted" no sooner was it announced that "al-f-u-r-d" was out of danger than she began gathering the "green tomattisus" lying in irregular rows on various window sills to ripen in the sun, giving vent to her pent-up "feelings" thus: "huh! tomattisus! never was made to eat. they ain't no good, no-way. pap's right. they're called jerusalem apples 'caus they wuz first planted by the jews, who knowed their enemies would eat 'em an' git pizened an' die of cancers, an' lord knows what else." she carried the offending fruit to the family swill barrel, where the leavings of the table were deposited. as she raised one big tomato to drop it into the barrel, her hand paused, as she soliloquized: "no, if tomattisus will pizen pee-pul, they'll pizen hogs. they ain't fit for hogs nohow. they ain't fit fer nuthin' but heathens an' sich like, as oughter be pizened." turning to one of several neighbors, whose looks denoted disapproval of wilful waste, she benevolently emptied the tomatoes into the woman's upheld apron, remarking: "lordy. yer welcome to 'em if yer folks like 'em an' ain't carin' much when they die. take 'em. ye kin have 'em an' welcome." while the father was yanking the noxious tomato plants out by the roots and sprinkling the ground with lime, "al-f-u-r-d" began showing symptoms of returning life. after the nurses had tiptoed from the room, supposedly leaving him in deep slumber, he threw back the linen sheets and slid from the bed on the side farthest from the open door leading to the kitchen. cautiously creeping to where lay his trousers--inserting a hand in the deep pocket, which had been put in by lin by special request--he drew out two long, dark, worm-like objects, holding them at arm's length gagging anew at even the sight of them. staggering to the cupboard dropping them into a box half filled with similar worm-like objects, he staggered back to bed as quickly as his weakened condition would permit, suppressing another upheaval of his stomach with greatest effort. notwithstanding the objects mentioned were ed. hurd's best three-for-a-cent stogies, and "al-f-u-r-d" had smoked less than four of the six inches of one of the big, black cigars, the stub of which he had buried near the spot where lin found him, it was several days before he took kindly to food, or, as was generally supposed, had wholly thrown off the baneful effects of the tomato poisoning. while convalescing, afternoon walks were taken near home, circling the episcopal church, back through the old, green graveyard, or a little lower down the hill where the village boys could be seen and heard swimming and splashing in the river. to take part in this sport, to get to the river, to plunge into its cooling depths, "al-f-u-r-d" had a soul-yearning, even more powerful than that of the old well. but he had been sworn, bribed, placed upon his honor and threatened with dire tortures, should he even venture nearer the river than the top of the hill. the yearning would not down. it grew in intensity. he would stand on the front rail of his trundle bed, night and morning, with arms extended above him, palms together, to dive, to split the imaginary water, take a header into the soft, downy tick; then thresh his arms about in swimming fashion as he had seen the big boys cavort in the river. nearer and nearer to the river his newest allurement carried him, until one day he found himself on a strange path leading into a large yard in which stood a neat, white house, with green blinds. purling at his feet, bubbling from an invisible source, was a brook of clear, cold water. very cold it felt to his bare feet as he waded up and down over it's sandy, pebbly bed, the water reaching barely to his ankles. wading nearer to the fountain head, the depth gradually increased. here was young hopeful's long-sought-for opportunity to dive, swim and otherwise disport himself as did the big boys. off came pantalets, waist and undercoverings, through the pure, cold water he waded. with teeth chattering and flesh quivering, holding his hands above his head, under he went. he was having the time of his life, and so busy was he at it that his attention was not attracted by the opening of a door in the nearby white house and the sudden appearance of an elderly, grim-looking woman behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles; brandishing a long, swinging buggy whip, with broad, bright bands here and there along its length. rushing toward the boy, she angrily shouted: "you little scamp, i'll skin ye alive!" "al-f-u-r-d," with a cry, bounded from the water, grabbed for his clothes, missed them, and started on a race at a pace that left no doubt as to the winner. a big dog and another elderly woman--the counterpart of her-behind-the-spectacles--joined in the chase, the dog's deep bays greatly accelerating the already beat-all-record-time of the terrified "al-f-u-r-d." as he neared the parental roof, he let out a series of yells with "mother!" "lin!" "help!" "murder!" sandwiched between. the nearer he drew, the louder the yelps, for he knew he would need sympathy, even though the gold-rimmed glasses and the other elderly pursuer had been distanced by many lengths. lin said when she first heard the screams, she "thought it was only the old crazy woman under the hill havin' another spell. but when they come gittin' nearer an' nearer, she knew it was "al-f-u-r-d" an' somethin' turrible had happened." it was then lin, mother and several neighboring females rushed to the front door as "al-f-u-r-d" flew in at the gate, up the path and into his mother's outstretched arms, endeavoring to pull her apron about his nudity. "where's your clothes?" demanded the frightened mother. "where are they?" "who took them off you?" "she did! she did!" howled "al-f-u-r-d," jerking his head toward the gate, just as the elderly woman behind the spectacles entered. trembling with fear she began to explain and apologize to lin and the mother, frequently turning to "al-f-u-r-d" to entreat him to come to her, assuring him that he need not fear her. but the big buggy whip, with the silver bands, dangled above his head and the more she entreated the louder his yells and the further he forced himself into his mother's garments. [illustration: she did! she did!] lin grabbed his clothes from the spectacled lady berating both soundly, giving them but little opportunity to explain. others joined in the wordy attack, much to the elderly woman's confusion and shame. the fact that they were old maids, living alone and associating with but few of their neighbors, lent bitterness to the invectives hurled at them, the climax was reached with a parting shot from lin: "drat ye!" she exclaimed, "if ye had yungins of yer own--which is lucky for 'em that ye haven't--ye'd have some hearts in yer withered old frames." the spectacled maiden, apparently more frightened than the other, began to feel what a monster she was, what an awful crime she had committed, following an embarrassing pause, the effect of lin's final shot, mother again demanded the cause of "al-f-u-r-d's" nudity. "i s'pose i ought to have pulled down the blinds," she began apologetically, "and let him have his swim out. likely it wouldn't have hurt the spring much. still a body doesn't like to drink water out of a spring that a boy's been swimmin' in, no matter if his folks are clean about their house-keeping." she was certainly sorry and so anxious to caress "al-f-u-r-d" that she and the mother made it up, then and there, and many an afternoon thereafter did the two spend together bemoaning the evil spirit that had prompted the boy to make a swimming hole of the family spring. kindly invitations nor the promise of sponge cake ever induced "al-f-u-r-d" to again visit the grounds, or the white house with green blinds, a buggy whip with silver bands on it, a big dog and two old maids who, according to lin, "didn't know nuthin' 'bout children." chapter three in the heydey of youth he was awfully green, as verdant in truth as you have ever seen; but he soon learned to know beans so it seems. "there's shorely sumthin' 'bout water that bewitches that boy," often remarked lin. "i never seen the like of it. i'll bet anything he'll be a baptis' preacher some day, jes' like billy hickman." there never was a boy reared in brownsville whose heart does not beat a little faster, whose breath does not come a little quicker, whose cheeks do not turn a little redder when his mind goes back to the old swimming place near johnson's saw-mill, where the big rafts of lumber were moored seemingly for the pleasure and convenience of every boy in town. the big boys had their spring-boards for diving on the outside where the current was swifter, the water deeper, the little ones their mud slides and boards to paddle about and float on in the shallow, still water between the rafts and the bank. there may have been factions and social distinctions as between the inhabitants of the little town when garbed and groomed, but in the nudity of the old swimming place there was a common level, and all met on an equal footing. james g. blaine, philander c. knox, professor john brashear and many others, who have climbed the ladder of fame, were boys among boys in this old swimming hole. it was here they were given their first lessons in courage and self-reliance. a balmy afternoon in late june the boys of the town were in swimming; "al-f-u-r-d" could plainly hear their shouts of glee as he sat in the front yard at home. how he longed to participate in their sports. what wouldn't he give to be free like other boys? was there ever a boy who did not feel that he was imposed upon, who did not imagine he was abused above all others? such was the feeling of "al-f-u-r-d". he had been subjected to a scrubbing. lin had unmercifully bored into his ears with a towel shaped like a gimlet at one corner, assuring his mother he was "dirtier 'an the dirtiest coal digger in town." he was arrayed in a clean gingham suit, topped with an emaculate white shirt, flowing collar and straw hat. lin spent a long time in curling his hair despite protests. those curls were "al-f-u-r-d's" abomination. the more he abominated them the longer they grew. they reached down to the middle of his back. arranged in a semi-circle, extending from temple to temple, they made his head appear so abnormally large his slender body seemed scarcely able to support it. he seemed top-heavy with his long curls. [illustration] "al-f-u-r-d" was to go alone to grandfather's and escort him home to dinner. there was to be company, and lin was determined that "al-f-u-r-d" and his curls should appear at their best. the road of life starts the same for all of god's children. the innocent babe, fresh fallen from heaven to blossom on earth, sees nothing but the beautiful at the beginning of the journey. the road is strewn with flowers and it is only when the prick of the thorn is felt that one realizes one is on the wrong road. for just one short block "al-f-u-r-d," on the occasion referred to, traversed the right road. there the right road turned abruptly to the left. there was no road "straight ahead," but the river was there. the sound of boys' voices shouting in high glee came floating up from the old swimming place. school had let out and every boy in town was in swimming. "al-f-u-r-d" blazed a new trail to the river. climbing over the paling fence surrounding the burying ground, through back yards, descending the steep hill, he found himself standing on the bank of the river gazing at a spectacle that stirred his young blood--half a hundred nude boys diving, splashing, swimming and shouting were in the river below. [illustration: the new boy in town] his appearance was greeted with yells and laughter. he was a "new boy" in town. "al-f-u-r-d" was abashed by the reception accorded him. of all the howling horde in the water below there was but one familiar face, that of cousin charley. "take off your curls and come on in, sissy," shouted one of the swimmers. a dozen of them assured "al-f-u-r-d" the water was "jest bully." entreaties of "come on in," came from dozens of boys. advice of all kinds came from others. the reference to the curls made "al-f-u-r-d" wince. he had long felt that those curls were the one great impediment in his life--the one something that made him the butt of the jokes and gibes of other boys. he hated those curls. his first swimming experience doubly intensified his hatred for curls. evening was drawing near. the big yellow sun had dropped behind krepp's knob, the shadows of the hills almost reached across the ruffled surface of the river. the river bottoms at the base of the hills, with their waving grasses and tassled corn, extending beyond the bend in the river opposite albany, the old wooden bridge farther up the river, the high hills behind him, presented a scene of beauty all of which was lost upon "al-f-u-r-d." the boys in the river held him entranced. he was absorbed in the scene, and, for the moment, he even forgot his curls. writers frequently refer to the monongahela river as "murky"--but where's the boy who ever basked in its cooling waves who will not qualify the statement that its waters are the clearest, its depths the most delightful, its ripples the softest and its shores the smoothest? jimmy edmiston intimated to the writer that the monongahela was only clear during a "cheat river rise." (cheat is the name of a small stream of virginia emptying into the monongahela above brownsville. its waters are never muddy, no matter how heavy or protracted the rains along its course. when the cheat river pours its transparent flood into the monongahela the latter rises without riling. hence the expression: "cheat river rise.") jimmy has so long lived away from brownsville that his memory is defective. associated with the muddy missouri he labors under the delusion that all rivers are muddy--even the monongahela. [illustration: the old swimming hole] "al-f-u-r-d" was rudely caught from behind by several boys, undressed in less time than it took lin to hang the hat on his curls. nor had he barely been reduced to a state of nudity when some unregenerate in the river below let fly a lump of soft, mushy mud, large as a gourd. the mud landed squarely on the broader part of his slight anatomy. with a yelp he wiggled loose from his captors and bounded up the hill. his slender legs and body, topped with the large crop of atmospherically agitated curls, made him a figure so ludicrous that the boys yelled in ecstacy at the sight. "al-f-u-r-d" was recaptured by two stout-armed boys, one on either side. they carried him to the top of the "mudslide." "slick 'er up," came the cry from all sides. this had reference to the slide upon which fell a veritable cloudburst of water splashed up from the river by the hands of a dozen devilish youngsters. "al-f-u-r-d" was elevated to the height of the heads of his tormentors. in chorus from the mob at the words, "one, two, three," he was dropped to the slide, striking its soft, slick surface in an angular attitude, with feet and legs waving a strenuous protest above his head. the fall gave him a momentum that sent him over the slippery surface at a speed that rushed him into the river with eyes and mouth wide open. with a splash, under he went, forcing great gulps of water down his throat. strangling and choking, he came to the surface, spouting like a whale calf. [illustration: the slippery slide] what a shout of merriment went up from his tormentors. barely had he taken in a full breath than a bad boy--they were all bad, at least "al-f-u-r-d" so informed lin afterwards--again forced his head under water. "duck 'im agin!" someone shouted as his curls floated on the surface of the water above his hidden body. for the third time "al-f-u-r-d" ducked--or rather, was ducked, swallowing another quart or two of monongahela. coming up cork-like, he tried to make his escape. up the bank he ran choking and crying. unfortunately, he took the track of the slide. half way up his feet flew from under him, landing him upon his stomach. back he slid, feet first, his nose plowing up the soft mud, his mouth filling with the same substance. terrified beyond expression, under the water he went, choking, strangling, struggling. he felt that his time had come. popping to the surface, one of the older boys stood him upon his feet, washed the mud from his mouth and nose and, by sundry "shakes," partially emptied him. fearing they had gone too far with their hazing, some of the larger boys led him further into the stream, handling him as tenderly as they had roughly, assuring him of perfect safety. he was caused to lie on his stomach and, with cousin charley holding his broad, calloused palm against his chest, "al-f-u-r-d" was given his first lesson in swimming. one boy declared, even before "al-f-u-r-d" had moved a muscle, that he had already learned to swim. it was the consensus of opinion that the only thing that prevented his swimming was his curls. to overcome this handicap his hair was braided, tied and cross-tied and his top-heaviness reduced to a dozen scattered knobs and knots--knots pulled so tight they glaringly exposed the white scalp between, and the tying of which brought tears to his eyes. even this rearrangement did not prevent his sinking time and again as the lesson progressed and finally, the mischievousness of his instructors appeased, he was led, half-dead, out of the water, up the steep bank to where he had been disrobed. as he stooped to gather up his rumpled garments a most welcome sound came to his ears: "al-f-u-r-d!" "al-f-u-r-d!" contrary to his usual custom, the second syllable was not off the lips of lin until, in his loudest tone, he shouted: "yes,'m!" when he called for lin to "come and get me," all the boys took a header into the river, only their faces and hair-covered heads appearing above the surface; they treaded water, or swayed around on the bottom. as "al-f-u-r-d" looked back on them they seemed like so many decapitated heads floating in space, a sight that dwelt in his memory long afterwards. when "al-f-u-r-d" gathered his garments into his arms, endeavoring to hide his nudity, and started toward the voice, a laugh went up that made the valley echo. lin declared: "if the tarnel critters had been dressed, she'd have thrown every last devil of 'em off the raft into the river." owing to conditions she hid behind mrs. hubbard's house and not until "al-f-u-r-d," in his unrecognizable appearance rounded it, did he come face to face with his rescuer. crying and sobbing he fell into lin's arms. firing a volley of imprecations upon the horde that had wrought the wreck before her, lin kept up a continuous tirade against the boys in the river; and addressing herself to "al-f-u-r-d" between speeches, she said: "fur gracious, goodness sake, ef you don't look like granny gadd with yer hair braided over yer head like this; hyar ye air trapesin' through town agin, mos' naked like ye did las' week. the hull town'll be talkin' about ye. ye'll give us all a bad name. why didn't ye put on yer clothes?" "al-f-u-r-d" sobbingly informed lin of the cruelties heaped upon him in which cousin charley had taken part. lin's anger increased as the boy talked. when he told of them throwing him down in the water times without number, lin's indignation burst all bonds. shaking "al-f-u-r-d" violently she fairly yelled as she demanded to know what he was doing while they were throwing him down. "al-f-u-r-d" between sobs, answered: "i wasn't doin' nuthin'; i was gettin' up all the time." lin's answer was a jerk that lifted the boy off the earth. as she smacked her palms together, she defiantly hissed: "ef ye had my spunk, ye'd hev knocked hell's delight out of some of 'em." the defiance of lin, the thoughts of the cruelties practiced upon him, or some other force, changed the boy's manner instantly from sobbing and supplicating. he became screamingly aggressive. flying to the roadbed, which had a plentiful supply of loose stone on it, he began a fusillade on the enemy below that drove the whole horde from the raft into the river. "al-f-u-r-d" had practiced stone throwing since he wore clothes and, like all boys of that period, his aim was most accurate, as several of those in the old swimming hole on that eventful day will testify. a rain of stones fell on the raft; one boy, more venturesome than the others, started up the hill but "al-f-u-r-d's" fire repulsed him. lin, hidden behind the house, had changed her manner and was now pleading with "al-f-u-r-d" to desist. "ye might crack some of their skulls and then they'd git out a warrant and rease lynch (referring to the town constable), would be after ye." "al-f-u-r-d" left the line of battle only when exhausted. that first swimming lesson and the fusillade of rocks that followed engendered animosities that involved "al-f-u-r-d" in many rough and tumble encounters afterwards. lin, catching up the clothes the boy had dropped upon the ground, soon discovered why he had not put them on. the sleeves of the waist were dripping wet and tied in knots as tight as two big, strong boys could pull them. the pantalets were first unraveled, reversed, pulled over the sand-covered limbs of the boy, the waist wrapped about his shoulders, (the knots in the sleeves could not be untied), his hat pushed down on his head owing to the arrangement of his hair until it rested on his ears. the procession started homeward, up alleys, through back yards to prevent being seen by the neighbors, until lin hoisted the boy over the fence at the lower end of the garden. the whole family had congregated in the back yard, all greatly disturbed over "al-f-u-r-d's" absence. as he dropped into the garden from the top of the fence he began crying, as was his wont, to create sympathy. [illustration: lin and "al-f-u-r-d"] as he wended his way up the garden walk, the mother shouted: "lin, where on earth has he been?" "in the river over his head. it's a wonder he wern't drowned to death." the mother breathed a silent prayer that he had been preserved to them. father deftly slid his hand into his left side trouser's pocket and, pulling forth a keen-bladed knife, cut a slender, but tough, sprout from the black-heart cherry tree. tenderly taking the boy by the arm, he slowly led him to the cellar and introduced another innovation into the fast unfolding life of the first born. the pilgrimages of father and son to the recesses of that dark, damp cellar became frequent. the innovations of town life were so many, "al-f-u-r-d's" unknowing feet fell into so many pitfalls, the father, affectionate, even indulgent, felt he was in duty bound to use the rod. in fact, the old cellar, the rod, the boy and the father, were a cause of comment among those familiar with the family. uncle jake said: "john never asked what 'al-f-u-r-d' had done when he returned home, but simply asked, 'where is he?' escorting him to the cellar and chastizing him on general principles." lin said: "habits will grow on peepul, and even when 'al-f-u-r-d' does nothin', he jes' goes to the cellar and waits to be whipped." chapter four from the sweet-smelling maryland meadows it crawled, through the forest primeval, o'er hills granite-walled; on and up, up and on, till it conquered the crest of the mountains--and wound away into the west. 'twas the highway of hope! and the pilgrims who trod it were lords of the woodland and sons of the sod; and the hope of their hearts was to win an abode at the end--the far end of the national road. brownsville. do you not know where it is located? do not ask any human being who ever lived in brownsville as to its location on the map--that is, if you value his friendship. your ignorance of geography will be exposed and you will be plainly informed: "we do not want anything to do with a person who does not know where brownsville is located." [illustration: market street, brownsville] strange as it may seem, though many excellent histories have been written, there is none extant that has given any full and adequate description of brownsville's early days and people--quaint, curious, serious, humorous, wise and otherwise--good people all. brownsville was the most important town on that "modern appian way," the national road, or pike, extending from baltimore, maryland, to the ohio river, and lengthened beyond, in after years, to cincinnati and richmond, indiana. brownsville was founded soon after this country gained its independence, although it had been an established frontier post long before known as red stone old fort. it was the center of the whiskey insurrection, during which george washington gained his first military experience in the west, experience that would have saved braddock's defeat and death, had he taken washington's advice, and might have changed the entire history of this nation. but that england should control the american colonies is but repeating history. england is the only country in the world that has successfully colonized her foreign possessions. therefore, brownsville was founded, and mostly settled, by the english, and to this day her foremost citizens are englishmen. this statement of facts does not detract from the estimable qualities of the low dutch who have drifted in from bedford and somerset counties. brownsville outputs--"monongahela rye whiskey" and chattland's crackers are world-famous food essentials. brownsville was at the head of navigation on the monongahela river in the palmy days of the old "pike." unlike the appian way, of which there is no connected history but only glimpses of it in the bible, the old "pike" is embalmed in history, in poem and prose. it commemorates an epoch in history as fascinating as any recorded. a highway so important, so largely instrumental in the country's early greatness and development that it strengthened the ties between the states and their peoples. its legends so numerous, its incidents so exciting that their chronicles read like fiction. brownsville grew and prospered while the old "pike" was at the height of its greatness. it was here the travellers from the east or the west either embarked or disembarked from the river steamers or the overland stage coach. in the year the writer spent four days and parts of as many nights in a stage coach journey from wheeling, west virginia, to baltimore, maryland, over the national road. in august, , the same distance was covered in an automobile in a little over a day and a night, with many stops and visits to historical spots marked by recollections of the old days and nights of this king's highway. brownsville, in the halcyon days of the national pike, was of greater commercial importance than pittsburg, her banks ranking higher and her manufactories more numerous. this supremacy was maintained from to . when the baltimore & ohio railroad was opened to the west, the glories of the old "pike" began to fade. the mechanical establishments, especially the boat-building and marine engine shops, among the biggest interests of brownsville, kept in the lead until well into the days of the civil war. now, reader, will you not be a bit abashed to ask: "where is brownsville?" to henry clay belongs the credit of first urging congress to appropriate funds to build the national road, but to albert gallatin, who was from the brownsville section and achieved great distinction while treasurer of the united states, belongs the honor of its conception. he was the first to advocate the great benefits that would accrue to the country if such a road were constructed. washington, when a mere youth, sent to england a report urging the advisability of a military road from the coast to the ohio river. he suggested the indian trail across the allegheny mountains. this trail was afterwards named braddock's road. it should have been called washington's road, as he, at the head of a detachment of virginia troops, traversed it one year before braddock's disastrous invasion of the west. all roads led to brownsville in those days. did you ever hear of workman's hotel in brownsville? it stands today as it did one hundred years ago, at the head of market street. it has housed jackson, harrison, clay, sam houston, davy crockett, james k. polk, shelly, lafayette, winfield scott, pickens, john c. calhoun, and hundreds of others of less note. james workman, the landlord of this old house of entertainment, was noted for his hospitality and punctuality. when "old hickory" jackson, on his way to washington to be inaugurated president--for be it remembered the old "pike" was the only highway between the east and west--was workman's guest, the citizens of brownsville tendered the newly elected president a public reception. the presbyterian church was crowded, the exercises long drawn out. during their progress, jimmy workman stalked down the middle aisle. facing about, after passing the pew in which general jackson sat, he said, in a voice plainly heard all over the church: "general jackson, dinner is ready and if you do not come soon it won't be fit to eat." so great was workman's devotion to his guests that he imagined the dinner was more essential than speeches or prayers, and such was the respect for the famous landlord that the services were curtailed. brownsville and bridgeport were boroughs separated by dunlap's creek, spanned by the first iron bridge built in america. it is standing today as solid as the reputation of the old burgs it joins together. brownsville had the first bridge that spanned the monongahela river. in fact brownsville had a bridge long before pittsburgh. while bill brown and his progenitors were ferrying pittsburgh inhabitants across the river in a skiff, brownsville folks were crossing on a "kivered" bridge. and were it not for further humiliating bill brown, the discoverer of pittsburgh, still greater glories could be recalled for brownsville. james g. blaine was born on the west bank of the monongahela river. the land on which the blaine house stood was the property of an indian, peter by name. he sold the land to blaine's grandfather, neil gellispie, the price agreed upon being forty shillings an acre, payable in installments of money, iron and one negro man, a slave. ye gods! how did the "plumed knight's" detractors in the "rum-romanism-and-rebellion" campaign overlook the fact that the blaines once bought and sold slaves? [illustration: james g. blaine's home] philander c. knox was born on the hill on the east side of the river. professor john brashear was born on the western edge of the town. elisha gray, the original inventor of the telephone, was from brownsville; as were john herbertson, builder of the first iron bridge in the united states; john snowden, builder of two iron gunboats for the civil war, and bishop arnett, of ohio. brownsville first promulgated a word of slang that has greatly beautified the english language. but let it be recorded to the old town's credit, the evil was propagated without malice aforethought. brownsville's borough limits show its shape to be somewhat like that of a hot-air balloon--a big body with a neck; and the narrow strip of land between the river and dunlap's creek stretching toward bridgeport from time out of mind has been designated by the inhabitants of either side of the creek as the "neck." brownsville had a temperance revival. strict observance of the liquor laws was being enforced. jack beckley was haled to court on a dray, too oblivious of everything to answer any charge. the burgess, before committing him to the lock-up, questioned the watchman, jim bench, as to where jack got his liquor. "did he get it on the hill?" the officer truthfully answered: "no, he got it in the neck." the town took up the phrase and thereafter any person who met with any sort of mishap "got it in the neck." [illustration: a national pike freighter] chapter five no wonder cain went to the bad and left no cause to praise him; no neighbors, who had ever had boys of their own, came telling ad and eve how they should raise him. "al-f-u-r-d" learned with his first swimming lesson that kinship does not lend immunity; in fact, lin asserted that cousin charley's kinship was only a cloak of deception. however, the more cousin charley teased the younger boy the greater "al-f-u-r-d's" admiration and yearning for his companionship. lin cautioned "al-f-u-r-d" to shun cousin charley as he would a "wiper." lin could never pronounce her v's. when she went to the grocery and asked for "winegar," the young clerk laughed outright. the next visit lin simply said: "smell the jug and gin me a quart." when the mother admitted she feared cousin charley would ruin "al-f-u-r-d's" disposition, lin followed with the declaration that cousin charley "layed awake nights makin' up lies about "al-f-u-r-d" to git his pap to whup him." lin said: "why, he don't do a thing all the live-long day but git 'al-f-u-r-d' in scrapes and muss his curls." after the swimming hole experience "al-f-u-r-d's" parent forbade cousin charley the house. uncle bill, who was responsible for cousin charley's being, also ordered cousin charley to seek a home elsewhere, enforcing the order by advising cousin charley that he had done all that he intended to do for him. in forceful words cousin charley was told that he must "dig for himself," that "he could not stay anywhere no matter how good the job, that he always got into some kind of a scrape and his father was tired of it." "go out in the world and dig for yourself like i did. then you'll hold a job when you get one." cousin charley took genuine delight in being thus exiled. he endeavored to work on the sympathies of all with whom he conversed, reporting that uncle john and aunt mary had driven him from their house and that his father had driven him from home, advising him to dig for himself. charley dwelt so upon the phrase "dig for yourself" that it became a sort of cant saying. cousin charley called at "al-f-u-r-d's" home to gather his essential personal effects. his woe-begone looks so touched "al-f-u-r-d" that tears more than once filled his eyes as the elder boy continued his preparations to leave. "al-f-u-r-d's" sorrow so touched the mother that she began to relent. but cousin charley, like many other persons who have injured their family when taken to task, felt a sort of pride in doing something he imagined would cause them further pain. cousin charley was obdurate to any overtures towards a reconciliation, or at least pretended to be. go he would. he had poor "al-f-u-r-d" entirely miserable as he listened to the recitation of the many wrongs he declared he had suffered. "i've worked harder than any boy in brownsville. i never knowed anything but work. pap lets jim and george do as they durn please. if i crook my fingers i ketch the devil. i kin go out and dig fer myself and they'll be sorry for the way they have treated me." "al-f-u-r-d" clung to the bigger boy, begging him not to leave. the sight affected both lin and the mother, and the latter ventured the prediction that she might prevail upon pap to allow cousin charley to remain if he would solemnly promise to be a better boy. cousin charley was not to be mollified. he thanked the mother for her kindly interest in him but added that he could not remain under uncle johns' roof after the cruel manner in which he had been treated. (as a matter of fact his treatment had always been of the kindest). cousin charley knew this full well but he knew also that he had the sympathy of the two women excited and he chose to work it to his evil nature's content. continuing, he added insinuatingly: "you'll see. wait 'til 'al-f-u-r-d's' a little older. uncle will keep on whaling him in the cellar and some day you'll find him missing, curls and all." this reference to curls touched lin's sympathy. the reference to "al-f-u-r-d" leaving home also touched the mother as the tantalizer intended it should, and she further argued with the boy to remain at home with his family. "no i can't. i've made up my mind to dig fer myself. i'm goin' west. you've always treated me right and i'll write you often and let you know how i'm gettin' along and maybe if 'al-f-u-r-d' is driven from home like i've been i'll have a place fer him." the mother turned a trifle resentful as she said spiritedly: "charley, you have not been driven from home. your father has become tired of your conduct and it would be better if you apologize for your behavior and promise to become a better boy." cousin charley hinted at some deep and dark wrong that would ever prevent his approaching his father and he prepared to leave. both women entreated him to linger yet another day. but cousin charley began bidding them good-bye, the crocodile tears coursing down his cheeks as he sobbed: "i'll never fergit you two. you've always been good to me." (as a matter of fact, lin threatened to scald him that morning.) "i know i may be half starved to death before i git work but i'll stand it. and durn them all, i'll show them i'm somebody afore they see me agin." at the reference to starving, lin rushed to the big kitchen cupboard. the larger part of a roasted chicken, a dozen doughnuts, pickles, rusks, enough to feed an ordinary man several times, was done up in a neat package and handed to charley by lin as she pityingly remarked: "ef the bakin' was done i'd gin ye more fer i'll warrant it'll be a long time 'fore ye'll eat cooking like ye've hed here. fer vagrants never know what they're eatin'." charley's leave-taking was most affecting. "al-f-u-r-d" begged to be permitted to accompany him a little ways on his journey. five minutes the boys walked hand in hand. into sammy steele's deserted tannery, through a long, dark room with dust and rubbish covering the floor, into a smaller room, more dismal if imaginable than the larger room but much cleaner. [illustration: the exile] three boxes, the larger used as a table, the two smaller ones as seats, made up the furniture in the room. a small blaze of fire in the old-fashioned soft coal grate gave a faint light. cousin charley whistled a time or two, and lint dutton, the son of the leading dry goods merchant of the town; and tod livingston, the son of the dry goods man's head clerk, put in an appearance. it was not long until "al-f-u-r-d's" sympathetic heart was touched with the wrongs of the three exiles. it seemed the trio had all been driven from home and were going out into the world to dig for themselves. charley explained there were many things to adjust ere the exiles departed and the room in the old tannery would be their retreat until they left the town for good. to impress "al-f-u-r-d" with the fact that provisions were the one thing necessary, lin's contribution was spread out on the larger box and all proceeded to devour the viands. even "al-f-u-r-d" enjoyed the repast. "al-f-u-r-d" was sworn to secrecy as to the retreat of the exiles and adjured to bring all the eatables he could secure. the sight of cousin charley consuming a dried apple pie such as were made in those days, plenty of lemon peel and cider to juice the apples; charley holding the pie in his hands, the juice running down his cheeks as he expatiated on the wrongs that had been heaped upon him in general and by "al-f-u-r-d's" and his own father in particular, so worked on "al-f-u-r-d's" sympathy that nothing cooked or uncooked that was eatable, that he could smuggle to the exiles, was too good for them. for the first time since lin came into the family the mother suspected her of dishonest practices. a coldness sprang up between the women. this unpleasantness almost drove the boy to confession, but the fear of the exiles kept him from exposing them. [illustration: the exile's retreat] the father set a watch on "al-f-u-r-d." he was seen to fill his pockets and a small basket, hide the basket in the coal shed until the shadows of dusk. the father followed the smuggler to the exiles' camp. several other boys who had learned of the pies, pickles, preserves, doughnuts, and other good things that "al-f-u-r-d" carried to the old tannery, had gone into exile and were always conveniently near when "al-f-u-r-d" appeared with his food contributions. the father was close onto "al-f-u-r-d" when he entered the larger room of the old tan house. "al-f-u-r-d" set the basket with the coarser food in it on the box that served as a table while he began issuing the more dainty contributions from his pockets. handing cousin charley a doughnut from one pocket he was in the act of pulling a handful of pickles from another when the irate parent rushed into the little room. the exiles' camp was broken up, and the exiles driven out into the cold world. "al-f-u-r-d" was escorted home then to the cellar where the seance was a trifle more animated than usual, at least "al-f-u-r-d's" cries so denoted. lin's denunciations of those who had devastated her pantry of the coarse as well as her daintiest cooking, was of the strongest. lin was very proud of her skill as a cook. when the truth came out and she learned that "al-f-u-r-d" was the culprit, she immediately began making excuses for the boy, and when his screams from the cellar penetrated the kitchen, lin's sympathy was fully aroused. with the rolling pin in one hand, flour to her elbows on her bare, muscular arms, she rushed into the cellar, with flushed face and confronted the parent: [illustration: "lin"] "hold on yer, hold on! ye've whipped that boy enough and you're whippin' him fer nothin'. ef it hadn't bin fer them low, lazy skunks "al-f-u-r-d" a-never teched a thing in this house. they never had nothin' to eat at home. their folks is too lazy to fry a doughnut or put up pickles. "al-f-u-r-d" jes pitied 'em, that's why he took things to 'em to eat." this reasoning mollified the parent, besides lin had a gleam in her eyes that intimidated him. lin had threatened to skedaddle, as she put it, several times of late, and one like her was not often found. therefore lin's reasoning decided the father to wreak vengeance on those who, through "al-f-r-u-d's" generosity, had depleted the pickle barrel. grabbing his heaviest cane he stalked toward the door, vowing he would wear out every last one of the boys who had made him so far forget himself as to punish one whose age and inexperience made him their dupe. [illustration: hold on! hold on!] the mother and lin, thoroughly frightened at the anger displayed by the man, used their strength and arguments to prevent him doing something terrible. the mother pointed out the danger of the law and the disgrace attached to an arrest by the borough constable. lin reminded him that he might do something rash, that all the boys had papas and several men might jump on him if they caught him abusing their off-spring. the father swore he could lick the daddies of all the boys one at a time. meanwhile "al-f-u-r-d" made his escape to the garret to ruminate upon the unreasonableness of parents in general and his father in particular. uncle bill was even more obdurate than when he first declared charley must "dig for himself." cousin charley was looking for work, fearing he would find it, and secretly hoping his father, under pressure of the mother, would soon open the door of home to him. but cousin charley was compelled to look the world in the face in a serious manner for the first time in his life. captain lew abrams, a retired steamboat man, big of frame, kind of heart and fond of a joke, informed the exile that he would give him an opportunity to follow his father's advice literally, namely, to dig for himself. "i have a big potato patch, the crop is a heavy one and it don't seem my boys will ever get the potatoes dug. i will give you a job digging potatoes by the bushel or on shares." the captain did not care to hire by the day. cousin charley figured mentally that digging potatoes on shares, a custom prevalent in those days, would bring quicker returns. charley began to "dig for himself" the very next day. after a long, hard day's work, he presented himself at the back door of "al-f-u-r-d's" home, sunburnt and hands blistered, clothing torn, full of beggars-lice and spanish needles. he explained that the offer of captain abrams was temptingly profitable and that he would remain in the neighborhood for a few weeks longer digging potatoes on the shares. lin at first looked upon him with suspicion. but when she noted his sunburnt face and blistered hands and when charley carefully laid on the table a half dozen big brown-colored potatoes with that peculiar purple around the eyes, a color so highly prized by growers and consumers, lin, glancing sympathetically at charley through the kitchen door as he ate as only a hungry boy can, whispered to the mother: "his pap's too hard on him. he's not so ornery as he's cracked up to be. it's the devilish clique he runs with that's spiled him," and, with this, carried another helping of food to the boy. half in earnest, half in fun, lin said: "durn ye, ye can be good ef ye want to, but it jes' seems like ye don't want to. ef ye ever do another thing to 'al-f-u-r-d' i'll scald all the hair off yer freckled head." cousin charley laughed and chided lin into further good humor, confiding to her the interesting information that he was going to work from daylight to dark. this declaration captured lin. she highly regarded anyone who labored. cousin charley kept up a continual talk. among other statements he said that after he dug captain abram's potatoes, if he could effect as advantageous arrangements with other farmers, he would soon be wealthy. he even insinuated that he had over-reached the captain in his contract for digging potatoes but if the captain showed any tendency to "back out" he would hold him to it. "a bargain's a bargain," said charley and lin nodded approvingly. she never guessed that cousin charley possessed so much sense. charley picked up the largest of the potatoes he had deposited on the table and requested that lin roast it in wood ashes for breakfast. "it'll jes' bust open and is as dry as powder. sech taters you never et, they melt in yer mouth." it was then the mother was called in, lin explaining it was a good chance to buy potatoes cheap. cousin charley explained that his share of the crop he was digging would be so big he would have to sell as he went along even if he didn't get full price for them. he assured the women that the samples were not culled: "jes' took as they come." [illustration: cousin charley] the mother bought several bushels at much less than the retail price at murphy's store. at the low price at which cousin charley sold potatoes he had taken several orders before reaching "al-f-u-r-d's" home. when "al-f-u-r-d's" mother purchased he suddenly concluded he'd better begin delivering right away. when the mother reminded him that it was almost night cousin charley met her with the argument "ef a feller wants to git along in this world he's got to hump night and day. that's the way old jeffries got rich." jeffries was the business competitor of "al-f-u-r-d's" father. cousin charley finally prevailed on the mother to loan him the horse and wagon to deliver his potatoes. the father was out of town for the night, and the mother consented reluctantly. lin wanted the potatoes badly after charley's description. "al-f-u-r-d," as usual, cried to go with cousin charley. cousin charley's seeming industriousness had reinstated him in lin's good graces. after the boys had driven off, following lin's caution to the older boy to "be keerful of 'al-f-u-r-d'," she remarked to the mother, referring to charley: "he'll fool old bill yet. some peepul may want charley to dig fer 'em 'fore the winter's over. i'd thought more of old bill ef he'd lathered charley good an' plenty stid of turnun' him out to dig fer himself. i do hope he'll sell plenty pertaters." meanwhile, cousin charley, his delivery wagon, "al-f-u-r-d" and all, arrived at captain abram's house. the family were visiting a neighbor. cousin charley was evidently an adept at loading potatoes as well as digging. it was surprising the quantity he claimed for his share of the day's digging. "al-f-u-r-d," cousin charley, and a load of potatoes soon arrived at "al-f-u-r-d's" home. several large sacks were quickly carried into the cellar, lin assisting the boy. lin took this excuse to inspect the goods as her confidence in cousin charley was not entirely free from suspicion. as lin watched the boy carrying the heavy potato sacks she half hated herself for doubting him. this feeling prompted lin to accept the potatoes. "they're not zackly as big as the ones he fetched first but they're nice taters, better'n we git at the store an' besides a body feels better helpin' a poor devil that's workin' his head off to do right." jane mccune, tommy ryan and jim bench had bought potatoes while they were cheap. these deliveries were soon made and cousin charley had money to distribute. "al-f-u-r-d" and lin both came in for a nice piece of it. as lin remarked: "cousin charley was not close when he was doin' well." [illustration: the boys had a full load] the women invited charley to remain all night but, showing the old exile spirit, he declined, adding: "i like you and lin, but i'll never stay under uncle john's roof until he apologizes fer what he done to me. i'll dig fer myself. there's money in this potato business fer me, i'll show them who i am." the boy jingled the big coppers and little dimes in his pocket until "al-f-u-r-d's" eyes sparkled with admiration. the next morning captain abrams clanged the big, old fashioned iron knocker on the front door. the father started up stairs to answer the knock, and "al-f-u-r-d" and the other children whooped up the path beside the house to peep at the early caller. the door opened. "howdys" and hand shakes. the captain, puckering up his funny little mouth, not unlike that of a sucker fish, addressing himself to the father, inquired: "john, where's bill's charley?" the "i don't know" answer surprised the captain. looking at "al-f-u-r-d" in a quizzical manner, he said: "i thought he was staying with you all." the father replied spiritedly, and he seemed to be addressing himself to "al-f-u-r-d" as much as to the captain: "no, he ain't here any more. i wouldn't permit him to enter my house; he's so infernal ornery that his father had to drive him out. bill jes' told him to go out and dig fer himself. we've washed our hands of that boy. his end will be the house of refuge." "but john," and the captain looked serious, "who sent alfred and charley out on a foraging expedition last night with your old mare and wagon?" both men looked hard at "al-f-u-r-d." with a consciousness born of innocence, "al-f-u-r-d" pulled himself up to his full height, running his thumbs under his first pair of elastic suspenders, a present from cousin charley, who had remarked as he adjusted them: "none of my relations will run around here with one gallus when i've got money." "yes, sir," chirped "al-f-u-r-d," "we was out to your house but you weren't at home. cousin charley went after his pertaters. he wanted to bring mother hers and jane mccune and tommy ryan." the captain was nodding his head approvingly at "al-f-u-r-d," encouraging him to go on. the father was so confused he could not listen longer, and casting a look at "al-f-u-r-d" that boded him no good, the mother and lin were called into the room, and the captain, in a half apologetic manner explained: "charley came to me with a long story about his father driving him from home and telling him he would have to go out and dig for himself. he used the phrase, 'dig for himself' so often that i, in a half joking way, arranged with charley to dig potatoes on shares. he dug one day. i don't know how many potatoes he dug as me and my folks were visiting the lenhearts. afore we got home last night, charley came out there with your horse and wagon and hauled away all the potatoes he dug during the day and all my boys had dug and sacked the past week. i don't know how many he took but old man bedler at the toll gate said the boys had on a full load." then "al-f-u-r-d" counting on his fingers, said: "yes, mother got seven bushels, tommy ryan got eight bushels and he's to get two more bushels tomorrow night, and jim bench five bushels and will take all cousin charley kin bring him. and jane mccune got five bushels and she didn't have the money. but charley says if she don't pay him he'll steal her dog." the captain was laughing heartily but politely. the father and mother looked as if they had been convicted of larceny. lin jerked out: "well, ef that don't beat the bugs. a-stealin' pertaters. i'd as soon be ketched stealin' sheep. i tell ye now, that charley's headed fer the pinitentiary." this speech seemed to crush the father and mother. they felt somehow as if they were implicated. but captain abrams apologized in every way for annoying them. they all seated themselves, the blinds pulled down and a solemn compact entered into that the matter never be referred to again. the father paid for the potatoes, taking "al-f-u-r-d's" figures. "al-f-u-r-d" was warned if he ever mentioned the affair outside of home that he would be sent to the house of refuge. the family felt that they were everlastingly disgraced. the mother felt it most keenly. the father was half disposed to hold "al-f-u-r-d" partly responsible and a trip to the cellar was strongly threatened. but lin interfered by saying: "why, his mother and me is wus than 'al-f-u-r-d'. any grown body'd knowed charley couldn't dig that many pertaters in a week, let alone a day." time wore on and the potato episode was seemingly forgotten. the family felt that the disgrace had been lived down and all were thankful the matter had not become the talk of the town. uncle bill, charley's father, was a good talker, fond of argument and usually the center of a group, particularly when political or religious subjects were under discussion. a long bench in front of bill isler's tin shop, ranged close up to the building. the town pump stood across the ten feet wide sidewalk opposite. it was a pleasing sight to look upon this gathering of inequality of rank and property and equality of intellect discussing all questions, the affairs of their neighbors in particular. [illustration: uncle bill and the boys] there was a full bench: joe gibbons, barney barnhart, jase baker, billy graham, birney wilkins, and george muckle fee. fee was a peculiar character, with an unusual deformity, since his neck was bent like a huge bow, not unlike a limb with the knee bent, his face looking to the ground. to look to either side he must turn his entire body. the only human being he ever thought kindly of was his wife, susan. he always spoke of her respectfully. some people he hated more intensely than others. uncle bill was an especial mark of his vituperation. when they passed on the street george would turn his body half way around to mutter and curse him--however, not that uncle bill could hear. george's usual position at the gathering in the evening was back against the old pump facing those seated on the bench, with lowered face and upturned eyes, looking from one speaker to another, scowling or smiling as the remarks met with his approval or otherwise. the subject under discussion was "boys." a number of boys of the town, almost grown men, had been apprehended stealing scrap iron. uncle bill, as usual, had the center of the stage. he had about concluded a lengthy discourse as to the management of boys, bad boys in particular, and as usual concluded by relating for the hundredth time, how he managed his boys. "i just called 'em up and says: 'boys, i've raised you up to what you are and i've done for you all a parent could do. you're strong and able to do for yourselves and don't depend on me longer. go out in the world and dig for yourselves.'" fee, squirting a flood of tobacco juice with the words, said: "yes, and ef they'd all dig like charley did, you'd had purtaters to last you a life time." the roars of laughter that went up were convincing proof that there are no secrets sacred in a small town. chapter six. blessings on thee, little man, barefoot boy with cheek of tan; with thy turned-up pantaloons and thy merry, whistled tunes; with the sunshine on thy face through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; outward sunshine, inward joy, blessings on thee, barefoot boy. alfred's parents concluded it would be good for the boy to send him to the country for a time, freeing him from the influence of town boys. therefore they sent him to uncle joe's, a prosperous farmer, a little inclined to take too much hard cider or rye at sheep-washing or hog-killing time, fond of fox chasing and hunting and shooting at a mark. uncle joe went to town at least once a week when aunt betsy accompanied him. he observed the proprieties and respected his good wife's wishes. long had she labored to get him to join the church of which she was an exemplary pillar. thus far she had not succeeded. a neighboring farmer, the leading member of the church, was the barrier. uncle joe and this neighbor, "old bill colvin," as uncle joe designated him, had been at logger-heads for years over line fences and other trifles that farmers find excuses to quarrel over. [illustration: alfred at nine] uncle joe's prejudice was so strong that when questioned as to whether he did not want to go to heaven, he defiantly informed the minister, "not if old bill colvin is there." if a cow strayed, hog died or turkey was lost, it was attributed to old bill colvin. when the bees swarmed and uncle joe with the fiddle scraping out "big john, little john, big john, davy," aunt betsy beating a tin pan with a spoon, poor old granny, bent with age, following slowly jingling a string of sleigh bells, and in feeble, squeaky voice asked uncle joe if the bees were going off, although no swarm had ever left the place, uncle joe, vigorously scraping the fiddle, walking under the cloud of circling bees, not heeding granny's query, would say: "look at 'em, look at 'em, they're leaving; we can't get 'em to settle. there they go. look at 'em, look at 'em. dam 'em, headed for old bill colvin's." uncle joe was noted for his honey, watermelons, peaches, turkeys, maple-sugar and sweet potatoes and loud voice. he was the loudest voiced man in red stone township. every living creature on the farm stood in fear of uncle joe's voice. if the stock jumped the fence into another field, uncle joe's voice awed them into jumping back again. fence rails, hoes, rakes or anything that came handy had so often been wielded by his powerful arms on them that his voice was sufficient almost any time to frighten horse, cow or hog into seeking safety in flight when he shouted. the day for alfred's going to the country arrived. aunt betsy had the neuralgia and uncle joe came alone on horseback. meeting former friends, he tarried long at the tavern. when under the influence of stimulants he became even louder. john rathmell, the town watchman, endeavored to quiet him. finally, he ordered uncle joe to go home or he would arrest him. uncle joe was riding black fan, his fox-hunting mare. she was seventeen hands high, mostly legs, a natural pacer. she could jump over anything under the moon. her hind legs the longer,--they seemed to be the propelling power and appeared to move faster than her front legs. when at top speed she traveled sort of sideways. this seemed a wise provision of nature as it prevented her running over herself, or like a stern-wheel boat, with too much power going by the head. uncle joe obeyed the order of the officer of the law. tardily, leisurely and tantalizingly mounting black fan, taking alfred up behind him, he headed the mare in the opposite direction from home. alfred feared he was going down the hill into the "neck" to get more liquor and he almost decided to get off and go back home. [illustration: "you can all go to h--ll"] at a pace as respectable as ever a funeral cortege traveled, uncle joe rode until opposite the old market house, there turning the mare around heading her homeward. straightening her out in the middle of the road, rising in his stirrups to emphasize his contempt for the law in the person of the watchman, uncle joe gave vent to a yell that brought store-keepers to the doors, pedestrians to turn around and drivers to pull to the side of the street. he gave the mare her head. at the sound of the voice nearer and consequently louder than ever before, she shot forward at a speed never equalled on that street. at every revolution of her hind legs her body under alfred rose and fell like a toy boat on a ruffled bay. uncle joe rose and fell with the movement and at every rise he yelled even louder than before. [illustration: the end of the ride] the minion of the law and several idlers, always seeking an opportunity to meddle, rushed to the middle of the street, but as well might they have attempted to arrest the wind. the shoes of black fan struck the flinty limestones on the pike, the sparks flew, and her trail was a veritable streak of fire. as the mare rounded the turn at workman's hotel, uncle joe, as a parting shot, yelled: "you can all go to h--ll." how alfred maintained his hold he never knew nor did the mare slacken pace greatly until home was reached. alfred is of the opinion to this day that uncle joe forgot he carried a handicap. the corn-cob stopper in a large bottle which uncle joe, (as was the custom of farmers in those days), carried in his right hand overcoat pocket, came out, the contents splashed in alfred's face and saturated his clothing. alfred was almost stupefied with the fumes of the liquor and had the distance been further he surely would have fallen from his seat. as the mare halted, uncle joe vigorously threw his leg over her back to dismount, sweeping alfred from his seat as though he had been a rag-doll. down he fell head first and no doubt sustained bodily injury had not providence, or a kindly cow deposited a cushion as soft as velvet for his reception, and curls. his yells and calls brought the family to the rescue. alfred was not received as courteously as on former visits; however, after a bath in a tub of not overly warm water, the family were a trifle less distant. the wife was very much provoked over the husband's actions. reinforced by billy hickman, the preacher, and several church members, renewed her efforts to have uncle joe ally himself with the church. uncle joe assured one good brother that if sheep-washing time was over--it was then september and sheep are washed in may or june--he would join the church. he explained that he felt he must have a little "licker" sheep-washing time or he would "ketch the rheumatiz." the district fair was on, black fan was entered in the free-for-all pace. she was considered a joke by horsemen and the knowing ones. but alfred would have bet all he had that black fan was the fastest goer in the world. ike bailey's black bess, john krepps' billy, john patterson's morgan messenger, were the other entries, all under saddle except morgan messenger. patterson drove him to a sulky, the only sulky in the county, the wheels higher than the head of the driver. it was the idea of the builder the larger the wheels the greater the speed. black fan had much the worst of the get-away and it looked as if she would be left in the stretch. it was a half-mile track. twice around completed the heats. the crowd laughed themselves hoarse at uncle joe's entry and rider. [illustration: "git up, fan!"] the other riders leaning forward, holding their bridle reins close down to the bit, seemed to lift their horses as they sped away from black fan whose rider was leaning back holding the briddle reins at arm's length as if he feared she would go by the head. there was no grandstand, the populace standing thick along the track, separated from it by a rough board fence. as the horses neared the starting point on the first turn, black fan far in the rear, uncle joe was seen pushing through the crowd, towering above the multitude. he made his way to the side of the track, climbing up on the fence-board next to the top, he stood erect. the leaders flew by and, as black fan got opposite, he raised his arms as if to throw a stone or club at her, at the same time, in stentorian tones, yelling: "git up! git up! git! git out of that, you black b---- h! git up fan. gin her her head! don't hold her, dam her! let her go! scat!" [illustration: "give her head! don't hold her!"] as the last yell left his lips over he went onto the dusty track head-first. black fan surely imagined uncle joe was after her, she shot forward, her hind legs going so fast she looked in danger of running over herself, taking up nearly the width of the course. john patterson and his high-wheeled sulky were swept off the track. black bess jumped the fence, ran off with her rider and was disqualified. only john krepps kept his little horse on the track, but black fan had the race in hand. great confusion reigned. several fights started, uncle joe being in the midst of all of them. everybody surrounded the judges, and the other horse owners protested the race. as the judges were all farmers with the usual fairness pervading decisions as between town folks and country ones, black fan was given the race. [illustration: after the race] uncle joe led the mare all over the fair grounds with alfred mounted on her, and notwithstanding the boy was surfeited with ginger bread, cider and other district fair delicacies, he importuned the uncle for more. finally the uncle impatiently handed him two cents, "so there go eat ginger bread till you bust." uncle joe celebrated his victory all afternoon. when he advised alfred that they would soon start home and that he could ride behind him on black fan, alfred slid down and requested a neighboring farmer to permit him to ride home in his dead axe wagon. uncle joe did not get home until very late, claiming that he did not know that alfred had gone before and that he was searching the fair grounds for him. alfred's aunt gently chided him and advised that when he went anywhere with his uncle thereafter he must remain until his uncle came, but to urge his uncle to come early. uncle joe was very sick the next day. aunt betsy said it served him right. she hoped he'd "puke his innards out." alfred was busy carrying the afflicted man water by the gourdful from the spring. uncle joe would not permit him to bring it in a pail: he wanted it cold and fresh. "dip her deep, son," he would say as he emptied the gourd and sent the boy for more. the sufferer grew worse and finally aunt betsy's womanly sympathy impelled her to go to the sick man. she began by saying: "i oughtn't to lift a hand to help you. any man that will pour licker down his stomach until he throws it up is a hog and nothing else." catching a whiff of that which had come up, she turned up her nose and contemptuously continued: "i don't see how any one can put that stuff down them." she held her nose and turned her head in disgust. the sick man raised his head and feebly answered: "well, it don't taste that way going down. go away and let me die in peace. i deserve to die alone; i don't want any of ye to pity me. just bury me is all i ask." [illustration: she asked him if he were not afraid to die] the woman's sympathy entirely overcome her anger as the man well knew it would. she begged to be permitted to do something for him. he was obdurate. he was "not worthy of being saved"; all he desired was to "die alone and be forgotten." she asked him if he were not afraid to die. "no, no" he answered, "i'm not afraid to die but i'm ashamed to." feeling his heart was softening, she begged to do something to relieve him, a cold towel for his head or hot tea for his stomach. no, nothing could do him any good, so he declared. "if you don't have something done for you, you might die." "let me die, but if i ever get over this one, it's the last for joe. i hope every still house in fayette county will burn down afore night and all the whiskey ever made destroyed." the wife exulted greatly at these words and renewed her entreaties to do something for him. "well, if you insist on doing something for me", and he hesitated, "but i know it will do no good--go down to the kitchen, fill a big coffee cup half full of bilin' hot water, dissolve a lump of loaf sugar in it, drop in a little lump of butter 'bout as big as a robin's egg. then reach up in the old cupboard in the hall, top shelf and way back in the corner, you'll find a big, black bottle. pour quite a lot out of this bottle into the cup, fill it up. grate a little nutmeg into it and fetch it up yar." then holding his hands to his head as if suffering great pain, dropping his voice to a faint whisper as if he were about to collapse, he said: "bring it up here and if i don't want to take it you jes' make me." not long afterwards the whole neighborhood was talking of the conversion of uncle joe and the day of his baptism marked an epoch in that section. the lion and the lamb were roaming together. old bill colvin and uncle joe were making cider on the shares. many were the strange tales told of how the conversion of uncle joe came about. the day of baptism saw the largest gathering in the history of red stone meeting house. alfred, cousin charley and all the country folks round about were there and many from town. many were the conjectures made by the idle gossipers as to whether joe would hold out. tom porter prophesied that the first time joe got on a tear he would lick the preacher. billy hickman, the preacher, was a mite of a man, while uncle joe was a giant in comparison. [illustration: alfred's ride] uncle joe had never been ducked or put under water but once, that the writer knows of. it was sheep-washing time. the sheep in a pen on the bank of the creek. uncle joe and another man in the creek up to their middles washing the sheep. alfred and another boy in the pen catching the sheep dragging them to the bank as the workers called for another sheep. there was one old bell-wether that was too strong for the boys. after futile attempts to drag him to the creek alfred decided to ride him. jumping astride of the animal it made frantic efforts to free itself from the burden. round the pen, bleating and panting it ran. it started for the creek and from a height of several feet it plunged, hitting uncle joe square between the shoulders. [illustration: they all follow] its weight and alfred's sent the powerful man under the water. where one sheep leads another will follow. as he attempted to rise, sheep after sheep hit him on head or back. under he went again as often as he arose until the whole herd were out of the pen. this experience probably accounted for uncle joe's actions the day of the baptism. grouped on the banks of the creek, in fence corners, some lying on the grass under the red haw trees, were the rabble--all there out of curiosity. standing near the creek, chanting a familiar hymn as only an earnest congregation of good people can sing, were the church members. walking slowly from the church was the preacher and uncle joe, the disparity in their size all the more marked as they waded into the water. uncle joe seemed ill at ease and it appeared as though he was sort of holding back. by the time the minister was in up to his middle, the water only flowed about uncle joe's knees. the little preacher paused, folded uncle joe's hands across his breast. uncle joe looked behind him as much as to say: "it's a long ways down to the water." the minister began the solemn baptismal service. at the last word he attempted to lay uncle joe back, immersing him in the usual manner but uncle joe resisted. alfred said afterwards he "knowed uncle joe was skeered, that hickman couldn't rise him up after he got him under." alfred explained that it was hard to keep from strangling when you went down backwards. "that's the way i nearly drowned. they ought to baptize 'em forward," was his conclusion. the silence was oppressive. the minister sort of squirmed around and began the service over. at the last word he made another effort to immerse the sinner. again his strength was insufficient, both men jostled around. sam craft, who was watching the proceeding from a fence corner, at the failure of the second attempt to dip the penitent, drawled in a voice thick with hard cider: "trip--him--bill--dam--him--trip--him." uncle joe quickly took hold of his nose with thumb and finger; stooping, he put his face under water to his ears, left the preacher standing in the creek as he rushed out, not to the church members but to his old cronies, until led to his proper place among the congregation. the conversion of uncle joe made aunt betsy happy. alfred had liberties he never enjoyed previously. he rode billy, the pony, when and where he chose. he ran rabbits, chased through the woods until the scant wardrobe he brought from home was in rags and tatters. the great civil war had just begun. all the country was marching mad--soldiers passing and repassing along the pike. aunt betsy and lacy hare, the hired girl, decided that alfred should have a soldier's suit that would surprise the natives. neither had ever been blessed with children, neither had ever attempted to make a garment such as they fashioned in their minds for alfred. the original that alfred's suit was patterned after was a military uniform worn by john stevenson in the war of between mexico and the united states. as the faded garment was brought from the garret and alfred, with wood-ashes and vinegar brightened up the ornaments and medals, he thought john had been a mighty general, judging from the medals he wore. when he learned john was only a fifer his admiration for him greatly increased and often he coaxed john to play the old tunes that cheered the warriors on to victory in the many battles john graphically described not recorded in history. lacy with a pair of sheep shears cut out the coat, while aunt betsy held the pattern down on the heavy grey cloth. the goods were of the home-made quality, known as "linsey-woolsey," a material worn by farmers almost universally in those days. the household scissors were too dull to cut it, hence the sheep shears were pressed into service by lacy. the coat cut, alfred had to stand out in the entry while the women used his nether garments to pattern by. the door a little ajar, alfred impatiently watched the two women cut out the pants. lacy remarked, after he had asked for his pants twice: "land sakes! have a little patience. you climb trees, run through thickets, till you're rags and tatters, and i hope when we get these clothes done you'll settle down and save them to wear when you go anywhar." the women decided, or rather endeavored, to make the suit after the cut of the uniforms worn by the soldiers. lacy insisted that a blouse would not look well on alfred and it was decided to make him a jacket at the bottom "close fittin'" as lacy expressed it. nothing like this suit was ever seen before or after the war. angles and folds were, where should have been smoothness; too short at the bottom, too high at the top, too tight where they should have been loose and vice versa. the jacket was short in the waist and high in the neck. lacy remarked as they basted the thing that there seemed too much cloth in some parts but she thought it would take up in the sewing. the surplus cloth in the west side of the pants hung to the boy's calves, covering the limbs that far down. therefore, it was difficult to decide at a distance where the jacket ended and the pants began. in fact, the boy, from a backside view at a little distance, seemed to be wearing a long-tailed coat. going from you, alfred looked like a grown man; coming towards you he looked more natural. wherever there appeared a bunch or angle that seemed out of place, lacy endeavored to modify the over abundance by tacking on one of the ornaments taken from the old uniform of which a great number were used. the shoulders of the jacket seemed to fit to suit lacy, therefore she used the epaulets from the shoulders of the old soldier's uniform elsewhere. the seat of the pants hanging so low, lacy said looked too bare, whereupon she tacked the epaulets on that part of the pants, with the yellow and red fringe hanging down. there was a very large lump resembling "richard the third's" hump; on this lacy perched a brass eagle with wings spread as if about to fly off with the coat. red and yellow stripes ran up and down the outside seam of the pants. lacy said they "looked so purty it was a shame the folds of the cloth kivered so much of the stripe"; she "allowed it was too bad that more of the folds had not found their way into the seat of the pants cos it wa'n't noticed there, the epaulets hid it." lacy had such a great quantity of this yellow and red material, she insisted on running a double row around the cuffs of the coat and around the bottom of the pants. aunt betsy gently dissented but lacy seemed the moving spirit in the project and the elder woman deferred to her. the aunt said the only fear she had was that folks might think the suit too gaudy. aunt betsy said she feared they had not sewed the braid on straight or the pants wouldn't pucker so at the knees. all the ornaments, space could not be found for elsewhere, were tacked on the cap. the vizor or brim was the only disappointment to the women. no stiff leather procurable, they used cardboard and blackened it with shoe polish. this soon broke and crumpled. lacy remarked: "the blame rim spiles the whole outfit." it dangled in alfred's eyes all the time, hence he generally wore the vizor behind. the soldier clothes were to alfred a thing of beauty and joy until he went to town. alfred collected all the country boys he could enlist and called them the "red stone blues." he found an old, rusty sword, its scabbard a load, yet he carried it wherever he went. others of his company had corn cutters, old scythes and muskets. alfred attempted to drill the boys as he had seen the home guards and sam graham's zouaves do in town. two old stove pipes were mounted on wheels for cannon. it was alfred's ambition to ride at the head of his command as did the commander of the ringold cavalry, but lacy had attached the epaulets to the seat of alfred's trousers as they came from the shoulders of the old coat, and the tin shape frames prevented alfred assuming any attitude while in the uniform than that of standing. when alfred spoke to lacy as to the advisability of changing the location of the epaulets she explained that they had nothing suitable to replace them. when alfred complained he could not sit down, lacy said: "law sakes, you shouldn't think of it. them 'air things are too purty to kiver up." the battle of bull run had been fought. the country was ablaze with excitement, war and rumors of war, war stories, war talk. everybody was up in arms, soldiers moving everywhere, as the locality was not far from where battles were soon expected. uncle joe and aunt betsy went to town to hear the news. alfred, left alone, marshalled his hosts in battle array. in the romance of pierce forrest, a young knight being dubbed by king alexander, he was so elated he galloped into the woods, cut and slashed trees until he eased his effervescence and convinced the army he was a most courageous soldier. alfred at the head of his army, strode down the column as jupiter is said to have strode down the spheres as he hurled his thunderbolts at the titans. alfred and his army charged and recharged, uncle joe's hedge fence. on and on they charged, coming on the enemy standing ten deep in line, asking or giving no quarter; the enemy fell bruised and bleeding. every stalk of uncle joe's broom corn patch lay on the ground, not one stalk standing to tell the tale. how vain are the baubles of war. alfred standing in the midst of the field of slaughter--he could not sit down--heard a roar that froze his hot blood and scattered his army to the winds of anywhere and to the thickets. uncle joe, returning, had witnessed the slaughter of his broom corn from the top of the hill by the big shell-bark hickory nut trees. his yells not only struck terror to alfred's heart but black fan and other stock broke from the fields into the big road where they stood trembling. [illustration: alfred's redstone blues] lacy said she hadn't heard uncle joe chirp since he was baptized. when he hit his finger with a hammer she felt certain he would "break out," but he stuck to his religion. as he crossed the apex of the hill and saw the broom corn falling before alfred and his minions, the roar that floated across the flat sounded very much like: "whatinthehellanddamnationdoesthismean?" when alfred saw ajax drawing nearer, his sword fell from his hand and alfred fell on the broom corn, an object of abject fear. ajax grabbed him by the nape of the neck and seat of his uniform, nearly ruining one of the epaulets. never was warrior so ignobly driven or dragged from a field of victory. aunt betsy could find no excuse for alfred. broom corn was a necessity in the household work. every farmer made his own brooms. after a very short trial by court martial it was decided that the country was too quiet for alfred and that he should be transferred to town at once. although tried and found guilty, alfred, to his delight, was permitted to retain his side-arms and wear his uniform. the next day, standing between aunt betsy and uncle joe in the old buggy driving the old mare, he began the journey home. he was arrayed in full regimentals, the brim of the cap turned behind, his yellow hair hanging in strings, (it had never been curled since he went to the country). everyone they met cast admiring glances at alfred's uniform. the aunt was proud of the attention attracted. passing through sandy hollow, sid gaskill, the roughest girl in the neighborhood, motioned the buggy to stop. as sid inspected alfred she requested him to turn around. looking him over she asked: "who made 'em?" referring to the uniform. alfred promptly replied: "lacy hare helped aunt betsy make 'em." the aunt's face showed her satisfaction. not even when sid inquired if the clothes were made to wear in a show did the aunt's pride in alfred's suit diminish, although the inference is that it was the military character of the clothes rather than the cloth or fit, she was proud of, as aunt betsy was very patriotic. all the way to town she was picturing what a surprise the suit would be to mary and john, and it was. alfred was driving the old mare as she had not been driven in years. uncle joe made him slow down. uncle joe sometimes exceeded the speed limit leaving town but usually went in at a respectable gait. alfred's desire to see the loved ones at home was so strong that he jumped out of the buggy as they entered the town. running ahead of the buggy he passed uncle bill's: waving a welcome to martha and hester, who stood in the front yard, he regarded their laughter as evidence of their pleasure at seeing him back home again. when martha shouted, "what devilment are you up to now?" he never imagined it was his appearance that so amused the girls. over the fence, across lots to the rear of the house he scampered. lin was out mopping the floor of the back porch. perched on the top of the fence he caught sight of her. "hello, lin? how-dye?" lin heard the voice. she did not recognize the speaker at once. "hello, lin?" he shouted again. lin shaded her eyes, gazed hard at the boy, dropped the mop, and alfred heard her call: "my gawd, mary! come out here, quick!" the mother appeared as alfred neared the house. looking curiously at him, she covered her face with her apron and began to laugh. lin ran into the house screaming and laughing. the boy stood abashed. the mother motioned him to approach her, pushing him into the house. she obtained a view of the rear of the warrior's uniform and a fresh outburst of laughter prevented her even speaking to him. lin and the mother clasped each other in their arms as they swayed, weakened with laughter. lin was the first to recover her speech. the boy's feelings were hurt. "where's your regular clothes?" lin first asked, "you bin in a-swimmin' agin and lost 'em, i reckon." the children came romping home from school, sister lizzie rolled on the floor as she caught sight of the boy and asked lin, between screams: "who dressed brother al up like that?" the mother ordered him to remain in the room until they got other clothes for him. they did not want the neighbors to see him dressed as he was. the boy's spirit began to assert itself. "laugh, if you feel like it. lacy hare and aunt betsy made me these clothes, they're regular soldier clothes. i'll bet if you laugh at them when aunt betsy comes she will tell you something. i don't see nothin' to laugh at." "landsakes," spoke up lin, "step in the parlor and look at yerself. ef you don't laugh you're not the kind i took ye fer." alfred did laugh and he got out of the clothes mighty quickly. lin was delegated to explain to aunt betsy why they changed alfred's clothes so quickly. aunt betsy informed them: "the boy had jes' romped until he was most naked. they didn't want to send to town for clothes for him, so lacy and her jes' banded together and made him the suit. they had plenty of time and they concluded to make him a suit different from any other boy's. and it warn't much trouble to trim it up and make it nice rather than to make it plain. it took two days more to trim it than it did to make it." lin told the good, honest soul they could not think of alfred wearing the clothes every day in town. "we'll keep 'em off him 'til the next battle and when the peepul are all sad over their friends that's been killed, we'll dress him up and send him down the street." many years afterwards, the writer, rummaging through the garret of the old home, the odd garments fashioned by lacy hare and aunt betsy were discovered. recollections of the mirth they aroused when first brought to the notice of the family, prompted the carrying of the old musty outfit to the sitting room below. but somehow the odd looking suit failed to excite any merriment. it was rather regarded with reverence. the sight of it sent the thoughts of all traveling back to other and happier days. the mother thought of those whose kindly hands had fashioned the fantastic garments; of an elder sister who had filled a mother's place in the family. she remembered a happy home, its like unknown in all the country about, where hospitality was liberally dispensed, visitors always welcome. she thought of the first wife's passing, the coming of another to the big house. the lowering of the family name by the second marriage. the shunning of the old home by friends and relatives; of the rapid decline of the master; evil associates whom he preferred to those who had honored and loved him; the estrangement of family and friends. in her mind she could see in him a bent old man, prematurely old, leaving his home to seek shelter with strangers, lost to the sight of former friends, his whereabouts known only when the final summons came to him; his identity made known by his last request: "i have left money with george gallagher to bury me. bury me beside betsy." and in her mind she saw two graves side by side, one with a marker reading "my beloved wife," the other unmarked. the mother softly said as she folded the coat and nether garments: "put them away again." chapter seven backward, turn backward, oh, time in your flight, make me a child again, just for tonight. "help is mighty skeerse an' ye got to take what ye kin git," was lin's answer to the query of a neighbor as to why they had re-employed cousin charley after the confusion he had created in the family of alfred. cousin charley was sent to the country on an errand that was supposed to consume a couple of hours. it was circus day. the head of the family gave the boys sufficient money to pay their way from side-show to concert. that they might not miss any of the sights of circus day, charley arranged with lin to serve breakfast by a. m., to give him an early start, enabling him to return by o'clock and take alfred to the circus grounds to remain all day, the custom of the country folk in those days. many families brought their lunch with them and picnicked on the show grounds. among them was abner linn, a large man noted for his appetite and great strength. abner was making his way through the crowd on circus day, clearing a path, as it were, for his delicate little wife and more than half a dozen children. the frail little woman carried a large basket filled with eatables. the basket was more than a load and the little woman struggled to keep near her muscular husband. glancing back and noticing the wife faltering, he relieved her of the basket and started forward at a faster walk than before. gentle harry mason admiringly complimented him by saying: "abner, that was very kind and thoughtful of you to carry that heavy basket for your wife." ab, with a leer, said: "gosh, i was afeard she'd get lost." alfred cried to go to the country with charley. lin said: "ye'll be so tired ye can't enjoy the show ef ye walk out thar an' back so early in the mornin'." go alfred would. up town hill, through sandy hollow, through the old toll gate to thornton's lane where the boys were to turn off the old pike. but they did not turn off. they lingered under the big locust trees throwing stones at birds and against the high fence surrounding the fair grounds where black fan had won her famous race. the circus was coming in on the old pike from uniontown. all circus travel was overland in those days. cousin charley argued if they did not see the show come in they'd miss one of the big sights of the day: they had plenty of time. the show would pass that way soon and alfred was only too willing to linger. the dew, sparkling like diamonds as it lay on grass and plant, had disappeared; a summer's sun was pouring its direct rays on the old pike. cousin charley prevailed on the younger boy to continue the journey further eastward on the pike until they met the wagons. cousin charley explained that he was familiar with a short cut to their destination, and as they crossed the creek they would have a swim. this met with the hearty approval of alfred. the boys walked out the old highway, passing captain abram's fine farm where charley had dug potatoes on the shares, on beyond uncle jack's big stone house, nearly to redstone school-house ere the circus wagons were met. as the wagons rolled by, the boys conjectured as to what each contained. there were no animal vans as the menagerie had not combined with the circus in those days. the big, gold-mounted band wagon, followed by a dozen passenger wagons, buggies and hacks, a half dozen led ring horses and ponies, passed, and the cavalcade was lost in the dust. striking across the fields the boys were soon on the banks of dunlap's creek. instead of the gently flowing stream in which they expected to bathe their heated bodies, they found a raging, muddy torrent, fast flowing, spreading over bottom lands, water half way up the stalks of the growing corn. cousin charley declared the water too muddy for bathing purposes; but he would undress, construct a raft of the plentiful rails that had lodged along the banks of the creek, and seating alfred on the raft, he would swim, pushing the raft across the creek. cousin charley began constructing the raft near the creek bank proper, where the water was backed into the field. he dragged the rails through the water, sometimes lying down and swimming, at other times diving under the water. alfred could not resist the temptation to undress and assist with the raft. [illustration: the life raft] when completed, cousin charley seated alfred on the top of the raft, the clothing of both boys being piled on his lap that they might not get wet. the raft was pushed off, cousin charley insisting that he was a stern wheel tow boat, kicking his feet out of the water to imitate the splash of the wheel. the boat did not make great headway but backed and went ahead as the raft floated down the creek. the banks were steeper on either side, therefore, the tow boat decided to go down the stream a little further ere landing. in fact, the towboat was having such a good time he did not fully realize the current was carrying his tow rapidly towards the old mill dam. neither did the passenger on the raft realize this until he noticed a changed expression on the face of the tow boat. he further realized that the tow boat was laboring powerfully. in rounding a bend in the stream the tow actually swung around in the current, the tow boat not having power to prevent it. the younger boy for the first time noticed the roaring of the old dam, a fact the boy doing the towing had been aware of and terribly worried over for some time. in his excitement, the younger boy stood up on the raft. "set down! set down!" frantically yelled the boy in the water. another alarming fact presented itself at this juncture. several of the under rails had worked out and were only connected to the raft by one end. this caused the raft to settle on the port side and the younger boy could no longer keep his seat, fearing he would tumble off backwards into the stream. the boys became more and more excited, the roar of the old dam grew nearer and nearer. louder and louder came the noise of the waters tumbling over it. both boys pictured themselves being swept over the dam into the whirlpool below. no victim of niagara's treacherous tides ever neared his doom with greater terror. down, down, floated rails and cargo; cousin charley struggling as he never did before; alfred screaming as he never did before or since. when cousin charley began shouting for help, the younger boy became hysterical. the roar of the rushing water seemed to drown all other sounds and cousin charley's voice, though he shouted at the top of his lungs' strength, sounded to alfred's ears like a voice in the distance. "set down! set down! for god's sake, set down! you'll fall off. set down!" yelled cousin charley. instead of obeying, alfred clambered higher and higher on the rails, waving his shirt frantically and shouting for help. the shirt served as a signal of distress. morg gaskill was in the field above the young house. he saw the shirt waving. the roar of the waters drowned the boys' voices. gaskill, rushing to the saw-mill, grabbed a log hook and ran up the banks of the creek. the boys could see the break of the water as it rushed over the crest of the dam and the white, foamy splashes as it bounded up from where it fell below. cousin charley was barely holding on to the tow; alfred was sinking down on the almost disintegrated raft. gaskill, muscular and active, rushed into the water up to his middle, shot the pole out. the hook caught over the rails, but they pulled out. alfred fell on them as the raft drifted apart. down went all of charley's wearing apparel excepting his big straw hat and one shoe which alfred clutched unconsciously in one hand. as alfred fell forward on the rails he grabbed the hook or pole and held on for dear life as gaskill pulled him ashore, more dead than alive. the elder boy was floated off holding onto two rails. it was but a moment until the strong young man had both lads ashore. they dragged the hook along the bottom of the creek but not a vestige of the clothes of either could be found. charley had one shoe and a large straw hat. alfred had a shirt, rather long, and a hat. explanations were gone into. gaskill went into the house, returning with an old rubber boot, a calico shirt and a pair of corduroy pants. many patches made their original material a matter of doubt. he explained that was the best he could do for charley and said: "i don't know what we will do for the chap," scanning alfred, "unless he wears one of hannah's dresses," which cousin charley endeavored to persuade alfred to do. alfred declared he would sneak home as best he could with only the shirt. the boy realized that cousin charley would never cease teasing him if he wore the dress. alfred's body was covered with mud, cousin charley insisted that he go down to the water's brink and wash the mud from his body but alfred could not be prevailed upon to go near the creek. a large pail of very cold water was fetched from the well. with a mischievousness little short of cruelty, the water was poured on alfred's head, streaming down over his body, his teeth chattered, his lips turned blue. the women folks of the house were coming, so alfred ran into the high grass to hide; while cousin charley and gaskill renewed their search of the creek for the lost clothes. the house had been searched and nothing suitable to clothe alfred could be found. there were no boys in the family. there was a whispered consultation and one of the women hastened to the house. returning, she handed gaskill a white linen garment. he walked towards alfred, his face distorted, endeavoring to suppress his laughter. gaskill, unrolling the something made of muslin, commanded alfred to get into it. as he put one foot through the upheld opening, he caught sight of cousin charley's face and his attempted concealment of laughter. this so exasperated alfred that he did not notice the garment he was being encased in. he upbraided cousin charley for his unseemly levity: "yes, laugh, you durn big fool! laugh! you was skeered more than i was. dog-gone ye, it was all your fault. if we had drowned you would have been to blame, then i reckon you'd laughed tuther side of your mouth. you big fool, you." by this time gaskill had the muslin garment fastened on alfred. the waistband, which was too wide, gaskill doubled over and pinned it. the legs were the same size all the way down, extending only a little below the knees. the seat seemed to have a surplus similar to the uniform lacy hare had fashioned, although this part of the garment stood off from his person, not clinging like the heavy material of the military clothes. alfred, surveying himself as they walked towards the house where mr. young had invited them to have a bite of dinner, "after their skeer," began to realize that the linen garments he wore were similar to those that lin washed last and never hung on the line in the front yard where the men came in. this discovery did not prevent him laughing at himself. [illustration: "i won't go through town with them things on"] alfred hesitatingly entered the house. gaskill and cousin charley were tittering and laughing. gaskill inquired: "well, how are you going to git home?" charley replied: "i reckon i'll have to hide him out 'til after dark or send him on ahead for, by the eternal, i won't go through town with him with them things on." old mrs. young, gently leading the abashed boy to the table, spoke words of assurance, reproving the men for their levity. the youngs were of the dunkard faith, a religious sect numerous in the vicinity. on their way home alfred was the more hilarious of the two. in a spirit of bravado he declared he intended to walk right down the main street crowded as it would be on circus day. he further declared his intention to tell pap and mother the whole story--just how it happened. alfred seemed to have the better of the bigger and older boy. in fact, during the past year alfred had been gradually gaining the mastery of cousin charley insofar as mind was concerned. it has been said that each mind has its own method, no two reason and think alike. alfred seemed to think quicker than cousin charley and often turned the tables on the older boy in a mental contest. on this occasion cousin charley finally gained the mastery by his threats not to take the younger boy to the circus. it was agreed that cousin charley should tell the folks of the day's adventure. as they neared home their mirth diminished as their fears increased: how to run the gauntlet, as it were. so far they had avoided the highways, skulking through thicket and fields. as they neared the old smouse place, now occupied by mart massie as a dairy farm, the milkman was hitching up preparatory to making his usual rounds. cousin charley, perhaps feeling it would be a good rehearsal, recounted the story he had concocted to relate to alfred's parents. the milkman was greatly interested in the thrilling narrative and consented to store the boys in the back end of the milk wagon, delivering them when he delivered the milk to their folks. the boys thought it a very long milk route. alfred had cousin charley as nearly nervous as his nature would permit by more than once threatening to get out and walk home. when they neared home, passing through church street, alfred made a move to leave the wagon, crawling over the end gate backwards, his limbs dangling outside, his head and body hid by the closely drawn curtains. cousin charley, after struggling, pulled him into the wagon under cover. [illustration: "if ye ain't lyin' about this and i'm hopin' ye air"] several women had caught sight of the limbs and the unmentionable garments. while the driver was entirely ignorant of the cause, he was forever disgraced on this part of his route. an old scotch lady declared to several of her neighbors the "shameless hussy was bare to the kilt." arriving in front of alfred's home, cousin charley hustled him into the house the front way as lin came up the path from the back part of the house in answer to the bell of the milkman, who was of the gossiping kind, and managed to give lin the outlines of cousin charley's story as he drew the milk and cream from his large cans. lin could scarcely wait until he poured the milk into her pitcher. giving the milk vendor a withering look, she slammed the gate and hissed: "i'll bet a fippennybit that's another of charley's durn lies." hurrying into the kitchen she seized a rolling pin, her favorite weapon. two stairs at a time she bounded, reaching the room where cousin charley had related about half of the harassing details of the rescue of alfred. this was his story: "he had stopped to rest. alfred got out of his sight in some way. he heard screams from the creek. he saw alfred floating down the stream on a log which he had been paddling around in the shallow water. it was but the work of a moment to disrobe. plunging into the raging torrent he had to swim for dear life to overtake the fast floating boy on the log. he had just managed to land him before the dam was reached. a moment later and they would both have been carried over the dam to certain destruction." the mother was faint with nervousness and sadly shook her head as she said: "that boy will be the death of me yet. his disobedience is something i cannot understand. no wonder his father is out of patience with him." lin was watching charley closely, occasionally casting side glances at alfred. she had a gleam in her eyes that made charley falter more than once in his narration. charley was still in the details when lin interrupted him with: "durn yer pictur', ye nivir take this boy anywhar yer not back with a cock and bull story. next ye'll be fightin' injuns or gypsies to save alfurd and it all amounts to alfurd gittin' whupped an' somethin, fer ye to laff over." here she brandished the rolling pin over charley, raising herself higher as the boy shrank from her threatening motions. "ef ye ain't lyin' 'bout this, an' i'm hopin' ye air, we ought to be mighty thankful to ye. but i'm boun' to hev the truth. set down, or i'll knock ye down." "'al-f-u-r-d,' i want ye to stan' up like a little man. ye nivir tol' me a lie 'cept when ye stol' us hungry carryin' vittles to this houn'," as she pointed to the thoroughly frightened charley, who whined: "that's all the thanks i git for risking my life." "shet up," lin almost yelled, "ye'll not tell one word of this to mr. hatfield." "stan' up 'al-f-u-r-d' an' look this helgrimite in the face an' shame the devil. didn't he push ye in the creek?" "no, ma'am," falteringly. "i went in myself." charley began to look triumphant. "did he pull you out?" "no, ma'am, morg gaskill pulled us both out." lin fairly hissed: "i knowed ye was lyin'." thus encouraged, alfred graphically related the adventures of the day, not omitting any of the details save the dangling of his limbs out of the milk wagon. charley was taken aback and thereafter his credibility was destroyed in so far as the mother and lin were concerned. he pouted and endeavored to deny portions of the younger boy's recital but was met with such positive assertions from alfred that he retired entirely discomfited. lin's only comment was: "durn ye; i'd be afeard to put my head in a circus, much less a church." lin looked upon one with as much reverence as the other. the boys missed the afternoon performance but were there early for the night show. at the opening note of the hand organ in the side-show cousin charley and alfred were inside. the orator had eloquently described the curiosities pictured on the long line of banners in front of the side-show. but the most alluring object had not been mentioned, namely, a long show case filled with jewelry, symbolic numbers, bank notes of all denominations. a dice box on top of the glass-covered case was the means by which the yokels were assured they could extract the jewelry, bank notes, etc. the father had given charley ample funds to cover admission fees to all shows and a liberal allowance for refreshments. alfred was very much interested in the big snake and the lady whom the lecturer introduced as a snake charmer. the lecturer announced that the performance was over, but another would be given in fifteen minutes. all those wishing to remain for the next performance were privileged to do so. those congregated around the show case whereon the dice rattled were the only ones to remain. alfred heard the man behind the case saying: "try your luck again, young man. you were within one number of the capital prize. you can't win it every time. try again." charley did try again and again. he did not win the capital prize but in lieu of $ he had two brass rings, a pair of brass cuff buttons and a lead pencil with a sharpener on the end of it. the shades of night were falling. the lights in the big tent could be seen over the side wall. hundreds of candles on a pyramid-shaped candelabra made of boards. think of it, ye modern ringlings, candles the only lights! the band playing, alfred imagined the show going on: the horses going around. all the glories and beauties he had been anticipating for weeks would be lost to him. he implored cousin charley to hurry up and purchase their tickets. hundreds were buying tickets. the big red wagon was open, the ticket seller handling the pasteboards with lightning-like rapidity. it was ben lusbie. he was the lightning ticket seller of the circus world. such was his dexterity that forepaugh afterwards lithographed him as an attraction. alfred's urgent appeals to "hurry and get our tickets" were lost upon cousin charley. he was seemingly dazed. the man at the big door shouted: "everybody hold their own ticket; all must have tickets." the hustle and confusion made alfred still more impatient. he gave the older boy's arm a rough jerk as he urged him to get their tickets. cousin charley seemed to wake up and the awful truth was revealed--cousin charley had been robbed. alfred must stand right there until he took the jewelry back to the side show and recovered his money. alfred stood right there. hundreds passed him, laughing and crowding into the big show. the longer alfred waited the more miserable he became. despair came over him. he waited, cousin charley did not come. the crowd thinned out; deeper and deeper alfred's heart sank within him. anger began to take the place of disappointment. he would beat cousin charley black and blue with the first thing he could lay his hands on. he would expose all he had been concealing in a hundred mean things charley had been guilty of. the band played louder in the big tent. the feeling that he was missing all came back to him stronger than ever, bringing the hot tears to his eyes. they rolled down his cheeks until it seemed they would dampen the earth at his feet. alfred saw a large man pushing his way to the ticket wagon. it was doctor bob playford, the biggest whole-souled friend any boy ever had. when the circus came, it was the custom of bob playford to wait until the crowd got in, then, collecting all the boys on the lot who could not command the price of admission, make a contract with the door-keeper and put them all in the show. there are scores of men now, boys then, whose prayers have gone up that kind hearted bob playford found it as easy to enter the gates above as he made it for them to enter that heaven to a boy below--the circus. alfred knew full well that doctor playford would buy him a ticket but his pride would not permit him to ask this. accompanying the doctor were willie playford, his son, and bob kennedy, his nephew. the boys, recognizing alfred, asked if he were going in the show. endeavoring to swallow a big lump in his throat, his voice choked as he answered: "no." "were you there this afternoon?" again alfred answered: "no." no longer able to restrain himself he told of charley's folly. the doctor, approaching, alfred's story was repeated, as it progressed, alfred's sobbing and crying increased. the doctor, giving him a sympathetic look and a rough shake, said: "now stop crying, stop crying, you dam little fool. when the circus comes to town you always come to me and i'll see that you get in." the big doctor, alfred and the boys were seated long before the performance began, alfred forgetting cousin charley, the raft, the garments he had dangled out of the milk wagon; in fact all the trials and tribulations of life were as fleeting dreams. happiness lingered within his whole being. the sights and wonders, the clowns were all flitting before him. the evening was one of bewilderment and enchantment to the boy. the old clown was his especial delight. he fairly shouted at his quips and antics. when the mules were brought in and $ offered to the boy or man who could ride one of them, alfred was tempted to make the trial. he felt certain he could do better than those who were being cast off like babies by the agile animals. the show over, they started with the crowd toward the door. a whistle sounded, the walls of the tent fell as if by magic. the doctor and the boys stood a long time watching the tents lowered. as they passed up the narrow passage leading from the show lot to the street, cousin charley met them, his appearance evidencing his shame and disappointment. the doctor began chiding him. charley, in his illuminating way, explained that he went into the side show, and the man coaxed him to shake the dice. he shook and came within one every time he shook of winning the capital prize. he left the game, was induced to go back and shake again and the first dash out of the box he won the capital prize. they refused to give it to him, grabbed the money he had in his hand and put him out of the tent. he had been up on the hill to see squire wilkinson to swear out a warrant for their arrest but the squire was at prayer-meeting. (they always have prayer meeting when the circus comes to town). he ran back to find the man who took his money. "if i'd found him, i'd licked him or he'd licked me," concluded charley. the big doctor playfully straightened out his powerful arm, pushing charley backwards. gazing at him in a humorously contemptuous manner as he said: "look here, my boy, you lie. you were gambling? no one but a country jake would try to beat that game. i lost two dollars on that eight dice case myself. now let me give you a little advice: 'don't bet on another man's game unless you have money at home, for you are sure to lose all you have with you.'" alfred and cousin charley wended their way home alfred endeavored to express his sympathy in detailing the wondrous sights he had witnessed in the circus. alfred was sorry for cousin charley and while his intentions were commendable his descriptions of the circus only added to the disappointment and chagrin of the elder boy. that night alfred dreamed of heaven in his happiness. he dreamed that heaven was one big circus, with angels in pink tights and clowns capering on the golden streets. peanuts and candy were heaped in piles invitingly, free to all. he dreamed of a big, blue-eyed man who stood at the golden gates and passed all the boys in free and when they did not come of their own accord he beckoned to them. he seemed to enjoy the happiness of the boys more than the boys themselves. next morning at breakfast the wonders of the circus were gone over again. alfred did not breathe a word as to cousin charley's loss of the money at the gaming table. since the night of the circus alfred had busied himself preparing to give his first show. the costumes and a place to give the exhibition seemed to worry him more than the entertainment he was to offer. lin was his assistant. it might be more proper to state that lin was the prime mover, and the director of the proposed exhibition, although lin kept her activity concealed from the other members of the family. she explained her participation in the coming show thusly: "well, it's better fer a body to keep yer yungins to hum even ef it does clutter up the house to hev their fun. alfurd's mos' crazy 'bout bein' a circus clown an' ye'd die laffin' to see the little cuss cuttin' didoes. i'd rather see him doin' it than hev him trapesin' the streets like bill's charley." lin never lost an opportunity to cast a reflection on charley. alfred, lin and the mother were seated at the breakfast table, discussing alfred's show. ways and means were the subjects. the mother was an interested listener, although a quiet dissenter. she could not understand how alfred, even with lin's aid, could offer anything in the way of a show to entertain even children. the price of admission was to be two ten-penny nails. the boat building industry was thriving and the boys often went aboard a new boat picking up the nails the carpenters let fall in their work. the nail idea was lin's and we must accord her some degree of originality. "pins had always been the equivalent for cash for admission to amatoor shows." lin said "our show." she always said "our show" when talking to the neighbors. when the show was referred to at home it was "alfred's show." costumes were the perplexity of alfred. he desired "purty" clothes: it made the acting look better. lin added: "purty duds makes a lot in a show, or in meetin'," meanwhile looking mischievously at the mother. she said to alfred: "ye've got a tolerable good start fur as ye're concerned yerself, with the two suits ye fetched hum lately--the soldier suit lacy hare and aunt betsy made ye an' the one mrs. young lent ye." morg gaskill had requested the return of the latter mentioned garments but alfred's climbing of fences, running through briar patches and dangling out of milk wagons had pretty well used the garments up. the mother therefore in return sent similar garments. alfred insisted that the unmentionables mrs. young loaned him should be the basis of his clown suit. although alfred has worn many grotesque costumes since, none ever more strongly appealed to the risibilities of an audience than did those same garments. lin said they were "the funniest fit she ever seed an' she wondered to gawd who they ever wuz made fer. two meal sacks fastened together would fit jes' as well." the show passed off as amateur shows generally do, with a great many hitches, accidents and quarrels. the night was a stormy one, without and within. the audience all came early and stood around the kitchen stove while alfred and the other performers robed themselves, for there were no dressing rooms. lin commanded the audience to turn their faces and look toward the stove while the actors were dressing. the audience were compelled to go through the kitchen to gain entrance to the place of exhibition, the cellar. on lin would fall the labor of cleaning up next day; therefore, as each auditor appeared at the kitchen door, lin shouted: "wipe yer feet 'fore ye come in." that the show might go on without hindrance, or for some other reason, the father and mother visited a neighbor that night. this was a great relief to alfred and lin. lin said: "ef mary ever sees this kitchen afore i git at it in the mornin' she'll hev a fit of the conniptions." the show was very unsatisfactory to alfred. he was dissatisfied with his company and declared they "couldn't do nuthin'." one or two weakened at the last moment. when looked for to take their place in the ring they were found seated or standing among the audience and no persuasion from the manager or the audience could induce them to go on with their part of the performance. this was exasperating to alfred. he either enacted their roles or explained the part they were expected to perform. lin went wild over his impersonations of daniel boone, santa anna and davy crockett. lin said: "i tell ye what, lacy hare's soldier suit come in jes' right." young bill colvin, a nephew of uncle joe's neighbor, was seated near the ringside. he plucked at one of the epaulets while davy crockett was supposed to be holding the cabin door against the wolves. this ruffled the temper of davy to such an extent that he smote bill. bill smote back. over and over they rolled on the cellar floor. davy might have been a mighty man pitted against the wolves, but bill colvin was getting the better of him until lin rushed to the rescue. parting the combatants, young colvin was rushed to the door, flung half way across the street by lin and the door slammed in his face. lin was more loudly applauded than any other part of the show. she made a speech: "ef there's any other freckled faced willun here thet's goin' to do anythin' to bust up this show, now's the time fer 'em to wade in while i'm het up. huh, bill colvin thinks caus' his daddy's rich he kin do anythin' he wants to, but he'll find he's up agin a stump when he starts a fuss in this shanty." lin's sunny disposition was rarely crossed by shadows, but she was terribly angry and the best of order was maintained for the remainder of the evening. although there was no visible evidence of the mud and dirt tracked into the kitchen by the audience, the next morning the mother forever put the ban on future shows in so far as the cellar or kitchen were concerned. lin had constructed a rude candelabra after the style of the one in the circus. it was left hanging in the cellar. lin lit them up when aunt betsy came on saturday to show her how "purty" they were. afterwards, in the absence of lin, the mother confidentially imparted the information to aunt betsy that "lin was crazier over such things than alfred, and it was pretty much all her doings." * * * * * lin had been busy for weeks, in fact, ever since the show in the cellar, patching, sewing, and putting together old rag carpet, canvas, heavy with paint, that had been ripped from the hurricane deck of an old steamboat. alfred was to give another show, this time on jeffries' commons and under canvas, or rather, inside of canvas. since the night the side wall fell as dr. playford and he were leaving the tent, the boy had been revolving this plan in his mind. he felt certain he could collect, with the aid of the boys, sufficient material to encircle the ring which had been long constructed and used to practice in. a center pole with side poles planted in the ground like fence posts. a top for the tent was out of the question but nearly sufficient material had been collected to encircle the poles, making a sidewall nearly ten feet high. lin had announced the price of admission at one cent and had so extensively advertised the show by word of mouth that the children were already visiting alfred's home to buy tickets of admission. this aggravated the mother more greatly than even the cellar show. the mother feared the neighbors would think that she was interested in the show, financially. lin said: "let 'em think what they durn please. some of 'em's in a mighty big hurry to pay fur their tickets. ef they'd pay back the saleratus, salt, sugar, tea, coffee, an' sich they've borryed from us we'd be better off. but some peepul will spend money quicker fer fun than they will fer vittles or religion." it was the night before the show. a consultation was held in the tent between alfred and his aids. there was an opening of at least ten feet in length in the side of the tent and no canvas or other material to close it up. turkey evans had brought the last strip of an old rag carpet he had taken surreptitiously from an unused room of his home. the two old quilts tom white had stolen from betsy smart were in place with half moons, hearts, diamonds, and sunflowers worked on them in raised figures. they gave the tent the appearance of an indian tepee. win scott had contributed all the coffee, grain or salt sacks he could secure by rummaging every building on stable street. some of the boys had even appropriated the aprons worn by nimrod potts, the shoemaker. as mr. potts was of goodly size the two aprons from his shop went a long ways toward making a partition between the tent and the dressing room. spliced to the bed tick bindley livingston had thrown out of the third story window of his father's house, the aprons closed up the opening completely. but the big opening near the door was still a gaping void. after all had confessed to their inability to furnish another yard of material, alfred advised that in the garret of his grandfather's home there was a large cedar chest filled with whitest linen, three pieces of which would close up the opening but he knew grandpap would not let him take it "caus' he was a baptis' and agin shows." win scott argued that it would be no harm to take the linen. the fact that it had lain there unused was proof positive they would never miss it. just as soon as the show was over they would take it back and no one would ever know it but themselves. alfred being entirely familiar with grandfather's house it was planned he should creep upstairs, open a window and throw sufficient of the linen out of the garret into old man morehouse's back yard where the others would station themselves, carry the linen to the old school house and secrete it until the following morning. alfred's limbs trembled so he could scarcely stand as he opened the back door of the big stone house. up the long flight of stairs he crept, the creaking of a loose board startling him so he nearly fainted. although not a light burned in that part of the house, so familiar was he with its interior that he had no difficulty in finding his way. as he reached the top of the stairs leading to the garret, still on hands and knees, the old furniture, odds and ends piled around indiscriminately, took on the grotesqueness of imps, demons and other fantastic figures. so wrought up was his imagination that nothing but the fear of ridicule from his confederates forced him on. crawling along the dirty, sooty, begrimed floor, he soon located the old cedar chest. raising the lid, the aroma of camphor and rose leaves nearly overcame him. even in the dark he could discern the folds of whitest linen. counting out five pieces, he tiptoed to the window. with the signal--a soft whistle--down floated the first sheet, caught by one of the boys ere it touched the ground. the next sheet hit the brick pavement with a thud. partly unfolding the next two alfred followed their fluttering course to the earth with his gaze. he could see the white objects moving off like specters floating through space. they appeared so ghost-like the sight almost paralyzed him. shaking with nervousness, the last sheet left his hands accidently catching on the window fastening. it spread out like a great, white bird with flapping wings and slowly fluttered to the earth. a door opened below. alfred nearly collapsed. tip-toeing across the room he stumbled over an object on the floor causing a great racket. falling on the floor he crawled behind a number of old quilting frames and lay there ever so quiet expecting momentarily to hear some of the family ascending the stairs. crawling slowly to the stairs he softly descended, opened the door and shot out into the darkness of the night. the perspiration streaming down his face. wiping it away with his soot begrimed hands, so blackened his countenance his companions scarcely recognized him when he reached the rendezvous, the old school-house on the commons. when the last sheet fluttered down from the garret, win scott stepped under it. tommy morehouse's back door opened. with the sheet fluttering about him, scott ran down the garden path and out through the barn into stable street. nearly opposite the stable from which he had just emerged was the big stable of the marshall house, a tavern kept by isaac vance, the uncle of ike stribeg, the afterwards noted circus agent. baggy allison and hughey boggs, characters of the town, were seated on a bench outside the door of the big stable. scott, pulling the sheet more closely about him and waving his arms wildly, quickly crossed the street towards the two worthies, thinking to have some fun with them. both caught sight of him at the same instant. one corner of the sheet, fluttering high in the air, it certainly was a skittish looking object that floated down upon the two superstitious men. over went the bench, a chair or two, allison stepped in a tin pail as he arose, his foot entangled in it. the clattering of baggy's foot in the pail added ten fold to the terror of hughey. he swore afterwards he could feel the clutch of the long, bony fingers of the ghost on his neck. [illustration: he could feel the clutch of long, bony fingers on him] the hostlers flew, both trying to enter the narrow door of the tavern. wedged in the doorway, each thought the other holding him. fighting, cussing, scratching, they were pulled into the big tap room filled with guests. all imagined the two hostlers were fighting and endeavored to separate them. baggy allison was very slow of speech; hughey boggs stuttered painfully. after they were separated they kept up their clawing and waving. baggy, pointing toward the stable, blurted out: "ghost! ghost! ghost after us! ketch it! ketch it!" hughey stuttering more terribly, owing to his fright had, only got to "gh--gh--gh--gh," when baggy had finished explaining the cause of their fright. bud beckley, old johnny holmes and jim hubbs, the town constable, were the first to run towards the stable, but nothing was to be seen in any direction. baggy and hughey were unmercifully scored for their cowardice, and were ridiculed for days afterward. win scott was as badly frightened as the two hostlers. the flight of the men caused him to redouble his speed. on down stable street to playford's alley, out along the high stone wall enclosing nelson bowman's castle, on to jeffries' commons, formerly an old graveyard. here, according to report, the spook sank into a sunken grave. albert baker's mother saw the apparition as did sammy honesty, one of bowman's servants. * * * * * saturday morning, the day of the show, was one of those days that nature often bestows on brownsville: not the fleck of a floating cloud in the firmament above. even the winds slept that they might not ruffle the tranquility of the scene or alfred's tent. lin was greatly disturbed over the opening in the tent. she declared: "every dadratted, stingy critter in the neighborhood would jes' stan' outside and peek in fer nuthin'; and jes' to think, we got all the other places kivered only that plague-goned old hole right by the door." when win scott arrived with the white linen sheets, lin was greatly surprised. she feared they were not come by honestly. the boys assured her they had borrowed them, promising to return them as good as they came. lin was finally persuaded to tack and sew the sheets on the tent. when completed, she surveyed her work for a moment and said: "we're all hun-ki-dora now"--a slang phrase in those days signifying "all right." jeffries commons swarmed with children. so impatient was alfred to open the circus that he refused to eat dinner. lin fetched him a pie which he devoured as he worked. win scott was the door-keeper and treasurer. lin had a wordy war with the treasurer soon after the doors opened. willie shuman, who was lame, wanted to sit on the treasurer's seat, a soap box near the main entrance. win objected solely on the grounds that real shows did not permit patrons to sit where they pleased but made them stand around. lin secured another soap box and willie was given the kind of seat he desired "up high," as lin expressed it, "so nobody could stan' in front of him." lin insisted on counting the receipts several times while the audience was assembling and when they reached sixty-eight cents, she concluded it was too much money to entrust to any one connected with the show. emptying the pennies in her pocket, she pinned it up, remarking: "ef there's no trouble comes up about them there new linen sheets, we'll give another show tonight. i hev all the lights hangin' in the cellar ready." the ghost seen the night before had been the talk of the town and that it disappeared on the old commons near the tent was whispered about among those in attendance at alfred's show. lin heard whispers of the reports and somehow she could not entirely dispossess her mind of the idea that the new linen sheets were connected in some way with the ghosts. however, so deeply interested was she in the manifold duties she had imposed upon herself that ghosts and linen sheets were, for the time, forgotten. sitting on a soap box holding two children on her lap, so they could see it all, lin was calling on alfred to come back into the ring and repeat a twisting about trick he had just performed. lin said the children wanted to see him do it "agin." encores were numerous from lin, no matter whether the major portion of the audience desired them or not; if the children expressed a wish to see any feat repeated lin simply commanded that it be done and if the performer hesitated to take a recall, lin sat the children off her lap and marched the performer out and compelled him to comply with the children's wishes. although it was balmy spring, there was a tinge of chill in the air that touched one. many of the boys were compelled to undress to don their costumes, and joe sandford's costume especially was not conducive to comfort and warmth. alfred had strongly impressed it upon all who participated in the performance that they must have real show clothes. many and surprising were the costumes. tom white's father had been a member of the sons of malta. young white wore his father's regalia, a cross between the make-up of captain kidd and rip van winkle. joe sanford's costume made alfred slightly jealous. lin had trimmed the garments loaned alfred by mrs. young. she had made him a body dress from an old patch quilt, the figures worked in yellow and red. yet the colors were not as bright as those in the costume of joe. it was spring time, house-cleaning and wall-papering time. mrs. sanford, being of an inventive turn of mind, collected the wall paper scraps, particularly the red border paper. fashioning a suit out of the paper, she pasted it together. the costume was after the style of napoleon, as we have seen him in pictures. joe was without clothing of any kind except the pasty wall paper suit, stripes on the trousers running up and down and on the jacket encircling. as joe walked about the dressing room to keep warm the paper suit rustled and swished. he was the admiration of all the performers. although joe was not to appear until later he insisted that he be permitted to perform his feats at once, that he was almost frozen. lin was advised of this fact and said: "oh, well, let him do his showin'. ef he ketched cold he would hev the tisic, (phthysic)." joe was subject to this affliction. joe's part of the performance was hanging on a horizontal pole a little higher than his head, skinning the cat, then sitting upright on the bar, clasping his knees with his hands, revolve around the pole. joe had performed this feat a thousand times. but he had never attempted it in a show costume constructed of wall paper. [illustration: joe's wall paper duds] the wall-paper suit began to give along the pasted seams even while joe was skinning the cat. lin said afterwards: "he was so durned skeered and a wheezin' with the tisic he didn't know whether he was a-foot or a-horseback. i seed the rips openin' every time he stirred." joe was evidently uncertain as to the strength of his show clothes. despite a parting of seams he squirmed upon the horizontal bar, gripped his knees with his hands. thus doubled up the strain on the wall paper was greater than ever. joe ducked his head forward. the first revolution, the greater part of the wall paper suit was scattered over the saw-dust ring. joe started on the second revolution but when he got under the bar he hung there swinging backwards and forwards. lin said: "he jus' clung thar doubled up like a toy monkey on a stick, jus' swinging like the pendulum of a stoppin' clock." the red flowered belt and a sort of collar around the neck remained. joe had on very white stockings; however, they only reached below the knee. as he had lost his hat at the beginning of his stunt he was almost devoid of clothes. the vast audience giggled and shouted "accordin' to their raisin'" as lin expressed it afterwards. joe, through shame or stage fright, made no effort to release himself. the situation became embarrassing to the few grown ones present. mothers took occasion to look down at their children, smoothing their hair or straightening their clothing. the big girls looked another way but the greater part of the audience yelled with delight. lin "jus' couldn't stan' it any longer." dropping the children, she rushed to poor joe's rescue. she was compelled to unclasp joe's hands from the bar. in his fright and confusion he had a vise-like grasp on it. in the position in which he hung his face was hidden. lin said that "his old wall-paper duds was all off him" and she reckoned "long as his face was kivered he'd hung thar 'til he fainted or fell." when lin stood the poor fellow on his feet after relieving him from his perch, he was confused. instead of going into the dressing room where all the boys were yelling with laughter, poor joe ran out of the tent across the commons and crawled into jeffries' coal house. the door-keeper, win scott, hurried his regular clothes to him, but joe left for home and never thereafter did he essay to become an actor. every child carried home as a souvenir a remnant of joe's wall-paper show suit. meanwhile, alfred was changing the clown suit for lacy hare's military uniform in which he always appeared as davy crockett and daniel boone. someone called to him: "alf, here comes all yer grandpap's family." alfred peered through a hole in mrs. evans' rag carpet and his blood froze in his veins. heading the procession was grandpap, wide flowing, white collar, hat in hand. he appeared to alfred an avenging nemesis. following closely, came uncle ned, stern, and solemn aunt sarah. cousin charley and old tommy moorehouse brought up the rear of the advancing column. alfred felt the tent swaying as if in a gale. the tent swayed again. lin sat the children down quickly, "thinkin' it was some of the tarnel brats that had pestered the show tent ever since alfred started it." at the door she came face to face with the angry grandfather. "you're more to blame than the boy" was all alfred remained to hear. half naked, half dazed--for alfred feared his grandfather's wrath greatly--down the big hill the boy fairly flew, through the jimson weeds, their prickly pods stinging his bare breast and arms until the blood flowed. nor did he slacken his pace until the old coal road was reached. then along the dusty road to krepp's coal bank; into the dark tunnel penetrating the hill, nor did he stop until so far under ground that the opening to the coal mine, although large enough to admit a horse and cart, appeared to the sight as a ring of daylight no larger than an eye. realizing that the white and red clown paint lin had smeared on his face would be difficult to explain to the miners should he encounter them, alfred endeavored to remove it by washing it with the yellow sulphur water standing in the cart tracks where it had dropped from the damp sides of the old mine. he only spread it with the yellow water; his face presented a sight similar to an indian's in full war paint. his fears subsiding, he retraced his steps towards the entrance. the opening darkened and he could discern a figure standing out against the sky beyond. hastening on he whistled shrilly. the answering whistle he recognized as that of his treasurer, win scott. when they met, win gave alfred the particulars of the wrecking of the tent by uncle ned and imparted the information that all grandpap's family, with the linen sheets, had gone home excepting the grandmother, and he had a message requesting that alfred come to her at once, with the assurance that he would not be punished. the grandmother had frequently interceded in alfred's behalf and he was greatly pleased to receive her message. he felt so good over the turn of affairs that he could scarcely walk up the long hill so weak was he with laughter over joe's wall-paper circus clothes, nor did his good humor forsake him until they approached the spot where the tent, the work of many weeks, lay on the ground teetotally wrecked. win gave alfred a graphic description of uncle ned's wrecking of the tent, the escape of the audience, of lin's offering to pay for the sheets and her subsequent anger. lin endeavored to appease uncle ned's wrath. "but the more she talked the wuss he raved." when alfred entered the kitchen, lin's face was still red from anger and weeping. looking angrily at alfred, she began: "why did ye run? by golly, i'd stood my ground ef they'd all piled on me. ef it hadn't been fur grandmother, i'd licked ned myself." alfred explained that if he'd been dressed he'd stayed, but being "mos' naked he jus' knowed uncle ned would pull the tent down caus' he always wants to tear things up by the roots. i didn't want to be ketched naked like joe." at the thought of joe's mishap his laughter broke out again. lin's good nature began to assert itself. suppressing her smiles she placed her fingers on her lips which implied silence. jerking her head toward the sitting room door she informed the boy his grandmother was "thar waitin' fer ye," adding: "ye needn't be skeered, she's got more religion and more sense than the whole caboodle of 'em put together. go on in." softly approaching the door leading to the room he heard voices, his father's among them. he was half inclined to flee again. timidly rapping on the door he heard footsteps leaving the room. lin took him by the arm and led the boy into the large room. it was growing dark. his grandmother sat alone. they halted in front of the gentle lady, lin addressing alfred in an encouraging manner, said: "'al-f-u-r-d,' tell grandmother the truth. don't stan' up and lie like cousin charley does, caus' he allus gits ketched up in it." the boy looking into the kindly face of the quiet old lady felt no fear; however, his shame was most intense. drawing the abashed boy nearer to her, she put her arm about him, softly saying: "i greatly fear you have been led by those older than yourself to do things you would not have done had you had proper advisors. i fear you will get into serious trouble if you do not follow your father's and mother's advice. now, alfred, listen to every word grandmother says to you. you will not be punished for taking the sheets more than your conscience reproves you. you are a good boy and everyone loves you. it is only your father's love for you that influences him to be severe with you at times. your playful spirit, your mischievousness leads you into many actions that pain us all greatly but i am sure you do not intend to be bad. you are not vicious, only mischievous. now tell me, alfred, who prompted you to take the linen out of the chest?" "no one. i was all to blame. lin has sixty-eight cents and i have nearly three dollars uncle joe gave me and i'm going to give it all to uncle ned to pay for any tearing of the sheets and lin will wash and starch them. they'll be as good as new." with this speech the boy broke down completely. kneeling, he buried his face in the old lady's lap. she stroked his head gently, and in a tone more soft and quiet than heretofore, she asked the contrite boy if he was aware of the reverence in which the family held the linen contained in the old chest. the boy assured her that he supposed the old chest and its contents were cast off or unused articles the same as other goods stored away in the garret. when the grandmother informed the boy the family held the contents of the old chest as almost sacred, that the linen was the last winding sheets of those of his family who had gone to the great beyond, his shame brought a flood of tears that nothing the grandmother could say would stop. it was the custom that persons who died in those days were covered with whitest linen and this linen was ever afterwards preserved by the family as sacred. the grandmother in gentle tones reminded the boy of loved ones whom he held in sweetest remembrance, and when he fully realized that the linen in the old chest had been their last covering the tears of the boy and the aged woman mingled as he solemnly promised to so conduct himself in the future that his behavior would never wound her feelings more. thereafter the boy always found a loyal defender in the grandmother when troubles came to him. "i'll jes be durned ef ol' gran'muther ain't got more sense in a minute than her son ned will have ef he lives twict es old es jehu adams," said lin, referring to the oldest man in the neighborhood. "why, jes' see what she hes dun fer that boy. he's a perfec' little angel since she hauled him over the coals. bet he'd never teched them sheets ef he'd knowed they wus fer layin' out dead peepul in. he'd got others somehow, an' i'd been sort a lazy like 'bout sewin' 'em on the tent ef i'd knowed what they'd bin used fur. it's no wonder baggy allison and hughey boggs got skeered. durned ef they warn't purty near ghosts, enny how." "ef it had been left to gran'muther she'd let the show go on es long es we had the sheets hung up. they warn't hurtin' nobody. no, by golly, it's jes' like ned; he's jes' like his daddy an' the other baptusses. they don't hev any fun and they hate to hear a body laugh. huh, ef it had been a prayer meetin' or somethin' mournful for the baptusses' meetin' house to git money fur, ned ud never tore down the tent. durn him! his heart ain't bigger'n a rat pellet and it's twict es hard. he don't know nuthin' but to eat an' pray. let him kum yere fer another meal of vittles and i'll not cook it fur him; i'll jes' tell mary and john so. why, grandmother's talkin' to him done alfurd more good than all the whippin's he ever got in his born life." "it jes' worries ned to deth to see a boy, a boy. he gets a heap of pleasure out of not havin' any fun in life." chapter eight though the road be long and dreary, and the end be out of sight, foot it bravely, strong or weary, trust in god and do the right. the realities of life are continually changing. persons can retain a hobby or an illusion for a time or for all time. an illusion may live in our minds, even become a part of our lives. life is but thought. pleasant illusions are, as a rule, weapons against meanness and littleness. illusions, when based upon the sensible and material things of this life, are uplifting. it is said genius and common sense never dwell in the same mortal. the lives of all of those of genius of whom the world has been informed have been governed to a very great extent by illusions not fanatical fads, not an illusion that impels one to endeavor to solve improbable problems. the centralization of ideas on some particular project or profession that appeared impracticable at first, often leads to an inspiration, the enthusiasm created by the illusions leading to success. illusions have side-tracked many life-failures. you may endeavor to persuade yourself that you have no illusions. search your mind. is there not a recollection of something you have worked and hoped for? you may not have attained that which you aimed at, yet the illusion enriched your imagination. is there not something that you dreamed of in youth, forgotten for years, that has come to you later on? hug your illusions if they are pleasant. treasure them, they make you cheerful, they sun your soul. the father and mother of alfred had different ideas of the boy's future. the father was wedded to his calling and fondly hoped the boy would follow in his footsteps in mechanical pursuits. it was the mother's hope that the son would become a medical practitioner. the grandfather prayed that the boy would embrace the ministry as had two of his sons. consequently, when alfred seriously announced that he had determined to become a clown in the circus, the family were greatly shocked, but the boy's declaration was regarded as a harmless illusion. this idea had taken complete control of his boyish imagination. urged on by illusory hopes he was constantly practicing tricks and antics that led him into many heartbreaking escapades that made the cellar sessions more frequent. but nothing could suppress his good nature and innate love of fun. there was but one human being in the world thoroughly in sympathy with the boy's ambitions. she it was who bought the rouge and red that painted his face in his first attempts to become a clown. she it was who cut up one of her best red skirts to complete the costume of which mrs. young furnished the foundation in the garments alfred was sent home in the day of the rescue from the raft. and it is a fact that to this day the costumes of clowns and near-clowns have been patterned after those self-same garments and they are as strikingly funny to spectators today as they were in the days alfred first wore them, a tribute to lin's ingenuity. lin often remarked: "alfurd will come to town some day a real clown in a circus and the whole country will turn out to see him, and litt dawson (the congressman) won't be so much when alfurd gits a-goin'. why, he kin sing eny song and do ent cut-up antik eny of 'em kin. he's the cutest boy i ever seed. they'll never whup his devilishness out of him." lin was always an appreciative audience for alfred. when he learned to do head-sets, hand-springs and the like she urged him on to greater acrobatic achievements. when he attempted to walk on his hands she followed his zig-zag course, steadying him when he threatened to topple over. when bent wilgus, a bridgeport boy, came up to jeffries' commons and entered the ring that was once enclosed by alfred's tent, and performed a dozen feats that alfred had never even witnessed, thereby winning the applause of the crowd of boys, both lin and alfred remained silent. when he did a round off a flip-flap and a high back somersault, a row of head-sets across the ring, finishing by doing heels in the mud, alfred turned green with envy. he felt his reputation slipping away from him and realized he was deposed as the boys' and girls' idol, as an actor. lin felt like driving the usurper off the commons. later, she consoled alfred with the statement that bent wilgus had gum in his shoes that made him bounce so. "his daddy keeps a shoe store an' thet's where he gits bouncin' shoes from. i'll git ye a pair ef i hev to send to filadelphy fur 'em." the quaker city was the metropolis of the world to the good people of the town in those days. new york city was never considered in the same breath with old philly. brownsville had but one representative in the show profession so far as any one knew. he had left the town many years before and it was reported had become a great actor. alfred had never heard the word actor save in connection with a circus performer. he had never witnessed or even heard of a dramatic actor. he had gotten his idea for his impersonation from a rider, who, standing on a broad pad on a horse's back in the circus ring, impersonated noted characters such as richard iii, daniel boone, davy crockett and a shepherd boy. the reputation of tony bailles, the only actor brownsville ever produced, was folklore in his native place. tony had never appeared in his home town. and that which greatly enhanced the reputation of the great actor in the minds of the people in his home was the oft repeated stories of his prowess as a fighter. in those days every man and boy was judged by his personal courage. courage was the supreme test by which all males were gauged. the man or boy who did not have the bravery to uphold his dignity with his fists was not worthy. in the tales told of tony bailles' great prowess with his fists and feet, it was asserted that he more often used his feet than his fists and that his adversary rarely got near him. as they advanced upon him tony kicked them under the chin just once. one kick and all the fight was out of them. tony was one of alfred's illusions. he desired to imitate him, travel all over the land and become a great actor, a greater actor than even his heroic model, as alfred had never heard tony's great feats described. the kick under the chin was tony's only feat impressed strongly enough on alfred's mind to have him imitate. tommy white, lash hyatt and jim campbell were either housed up or walking about with stiff necks and swollen jaws ere it was discovered that alfred was imitating tony bailles. lash hyatt's folks, feeling sure the boy had the mumps, sent for the doctor. it was then revealed that alfred did not fight fair but "kicked you under the chin before you could raise a hand," as the boys described it. alfred tried the tony bailles' high kick on big, husky george herbertson. the kick started as it had with the other boys but instead of reaching the chin at which it was aimed, a big, husky blacksmith's helper checked it. alfred sat down so suddenly he imagined the earth had "flew" up and hit him. while the blacksmith helper held his leg aloft alfred, as he lay on his back, saw a big fist coming straight for his face. he has no distinct recollection of when it reached its landing place. uncle ned snowden assisted alfred home, where he remained in doors several days with two parti-hued eyes. while housed up, alfred promised lin he would always thereafter fight fair. consequently, he thereafter carried two big limestones, one in each coat pocket for george herbertson. somehow the blacksmith boy was always too quick for alfred and the next time they met, which was on the bridgeport wharf, the blacksmith boy trimmed alfred again. and thus it was that the old iron bridge, the first of its kind constructed in the united states and built by john herbertson, the father of george, became the dead line between the boys of the two towns. if a boy from one town was found in the other he was compelled to fight or flee. [illustration: the first iron bridge built in the u. s.] the word "actor" to the good people of those days always referred to a circus performer as mentioned previously. it is related of joseph jefferson, the dean of the dramatic profession, that while visiting his plantation near new iberia, louisiana, he walked over the grounds accompanied by an old, colored field hand. he talked in his usual manner with the old negro telling him of the many cities in which his contracts compelled him to act ere he would again visit his beautiful southern home. the old negro said he was sorry "kase all de folks, white uns an' black uns, was jes mos' crazy for to see massa joe ak." as they walked and talked the old negro informed mr. jefferson that dan rice's circus was "dere a while back, jes on the aidge ob kane cuttin' time, an' dey had some mighty fine actuhs but nuthin' like de actin' ob massah joe." the old fellow, growing more confidential at the pleased manner in which mr. jefferson received his compliments, added that he would gladly walk to new orleans to see him act. when the great actor advised the old fellow that he would not appear in new orleans that year, the old fellow said: "now des look at dat. i'll nevah git to see you ak, massa joe." the actor assured him that at some time in the future he would have that pleasure. the old negro said: "no, no, i'm an ole man. i ain't got much futhah to go, an' i des doan wan' to die fo' i see you ak." mr. jefferson assured the earnest old negro that he would be glad to arrange some plan whereby not only he but all of his friends in the parish might witness him act. the old negro began in an entreating tone: "massa joe, i knows you'd like to ak fer all ob us but lor' only knows when it'll be. i'se mos' f'raid to ax ye but de grass out yar is so sof' an 'nice i jes' thought maybe ye'd ak out a little fer me. jes' twist about an' turn a couple of summah-saults fer dis pooh ol' nigger." this was the only idea alfred had of acting. he longed to see tony bailles act, that he might catch an idea. he felt it would be so much easier for him to learn to act by seeing bailles than it would be to see others, that bailles was more like himself, not a superior being, as other actors were regarded. cousin charley was even more elated than alfred when they read and re-read the joyous announcement, to them, that van amburg's great golden menagerie and zoological institute was headed for brownsville. the startling news was spread that tony bailles was with the show. alfred scanned the bills, no names appearing on them or descriptions of the great feats their owners performed, and his youthful mind could not comprehend this omission in advertising. animals of all species were pictured but the graceful bare-back rider, high in the air above the horse's back, throwing a back somersault through a paper balloon, was not there. the lady rider on the back of a fast flying steed, one foot pointing to six o'clock, the other to high noon, was searched for in vain. alfred finally arrived at this explanation of the oversight in not advertising the circus actors--that the menagerie was so immense the circus was a secondary consideration. he argued that they never advertised the side-show but it was always there. circus day dawned, the crowds came, the old town was a scene of bustle and activity. the town people were all agog, all the older ones seemed to be seeking tony bailles. alfred and charley followed his brother joe up through bridgeport to the new show grounds. the advertisements gave it that the old bottom, the usual show grounds, was too small for the big show. when the grounds were reached a large man with a very red nose announced from the top of a wagon the program of the day: first, mlle. carlotta de berg would ascend a slender wire from the ground to the apex of the grand pavilion. after this thrilling free exhibition the grand annex containing one thousand animate and inanimate wonders would throw open its doors. as this was a new name for the side-show, cousin charley and alfred began to get their money ready. (alfred carried his own money this show day). but when the front of the tent was reached and the same old gaudily painted pictures swayed in the breeze, both boys involuntarily halted as they realized the grand annex was that deadfall known as the side show. cousin charley swore he "seen the same feller standing in the door of the tent that swindled him and so many others at the last show." cousin charley said: "he dodged back when he seen me." in the verdancy of his suckerdom, charley imagined the fakir who had done him had preserved as keen a recollection of the transaction as himself. he learned afterwards that there is a sucker born every minute and the crop of fakirs is nearly as great. a tall, black-haired man, with rather a heavy face, black velvet vest, stood at the door. a long gold watch chain was around his neck and running across the velvet vest it made the chain appear the most conspicuous thing about the man. of course he wore other articles of clothing but the above description stands out in alfred's mind to the exclusion of his other apparel unless it be the flat-top hat and the white bow tie. the hat and tie gave the wearer a sort of clerical appearance. he had the appearance of a respectable gambler, such as were on river steamers in those days. and this was tony bailles, the actor-athlete of alfred's dreams and talks. alfred was simply bewildered. his hero stood aloft pacing to and fro on an elevated platform, describing the wonders of the great moral exhibition especially for ladies and children. alfred argued to charley that this was tony's home and his oratory would appeal more strongly to the people than a stranger's and he was only of the side show for the day. he disliked to have the hero of his dreams discredited so prematurely and he still hoped to see his idol in spangled tights in the big show performing all kinds of wonderful feats. but the big show was an animal show, pure and simple, not an actor, not a clown, not a rider, not a horse, not even a ring. two ponies and a little cart introduced in the show could not dispel the gloom that had settled over the disappointed gathering in the big tent. the only excitement of the day was when bill gaskill, mart claybaugh, ab linn, and two or three washington county men engaged in a fight. when tony bailles rushed in to quell the disturbance and did not kick one or more of the combatants under the chin, the boy's admiration gradually turned to disgust and he was ready to leave the tent although all were admonished that the most astounding and greatest treat in natural history was about to be brought to their notice. the mammoth of mammoths, the behemoth of holy writ was about to be exhibited, the only one in captivity, something to tell your children and your children's children of. the hippopotamus was brought from his cage and waddled into the roped enclosure in the center of the tent. bob ellingham, the lecturer, talked long and learnedly on the habits and capture of the animal. the name hippopotamus was mentioned at least twenty times in the lecture as a dramatic climax. ellingham rubbed a piece of white paper over the animal's back. standing on a stool above the heads of the multitude he held the once spotless sheet of paper in his left hand, pointing his right forefinger at the paper, now discolored with the matter that oozed from the animal's body, he dramatically exclaimed: "he is truly the behemoth of holy writ. see, he sweateth blood!" as he stood motionless, still holding the paper aloft, old man hare, lacy's father, who had stood a most interested listener during the lecture, looked up into the lecturer's face and, in a querulous tone asked: "what fer animal did ye say it was?" "a guinea pig, you dam old fool," flashed back ellingham, as he stepped off the stool, while the crowd yelled, "bully for hare." the old fellow felt greatly grieved although the shouts of approval from the crowd partially appeased him. how he talked back to the show man made him quite a hero among the country folks for a long time afterwards. it is safe to assert that a more disappointed audience never left an exhibition than filed out of the big tent. even the ministers, and they were all admitted free, were not satisfied. bob playford did not gather up the boys on the lot and pay their way in. as the audience filed out the man with the big red nose stood on top of the wagon and invited everybody into the tent where christy's original minstrels were about to offer the good people of brownsville the same choice and amusing performance they had won fame with in the principal theatres in new york city. songs, glees, choruses, banjo solos, pathetic ballads, side-splitting farces, the whole concluding with a grand walk around by the entire company. bob playford and dan french made all manner of fun of the big man with the red nose. playford laughingly shouted: "pay no attention to him, he don't belong to the show, he lives out in the country. he's a neighbor of old man hare's." cousin charley and alfred were won by the man's eloquence or the twanging of the stringed musical instruments that could be heard in the tent. they were soon inside. a platform on a wagon served as a stage, and a curtain with a cabin and woods as a background hung at the rear of the stage. the entire company of seven persons attired in shirts and trousers made of bed-ticking material, were seated in a semi-circle on the improvised stage. this was alfred's first sight of a minstrel first part. "gentlemen, be seated." the opening chorus was not half over before alfred was laughing as heartily as ever boy laughed. the antics of the fellow with the tambourine who hit the singer sitting next to him on the head with it in time with the pattering of the sheepskin on his knees, hands and head, the assumed anger of the singer as he again hit him a resounding thwack, the finish, where the man with the bones and tambo worked all over the small stage and seemed in danger of upsetting it with their antics, had the crowd wild with their enthusiasm. [illustration] the songs, the jokes, the final farce, "handy andy," pleased alfred so greatly that he remained for the next performance as did lin and her beau, cousin charley and several of alfred's friends. he bought a song book containing only the words. he caught several of the airs and sang them all the way home. it was difficult to convince alfred that the performers were white men blacked up. at supper van amberg's great moral menagerie received a lambasting that boded no good for its future in brownsville. lin said: "it was jes a show for baptusts and sich and they was all thar. huh, they let the preachers in free gratis, an' they ought to let everybody in fer nuthin' caus it warn't wuth nuthin'. durned ef i walk to the grounds to see seven shows like it. the niggers in the side show beat the big show all holler." alfred declared that outside of the animals _his_ show was better than van amberg's. lin added: "yes, ef joe sanford's wall-paper suit wus out of it." the supper was not over ere lin and alfred were in the parlor with the melodeon endeavoring to sing the songs of the minstrels. they had the book and hot were the arguments as to whether they had the tune right or not. lin, cousin charley, alfred, billy woods, and bill hyatt decided to go back to the minstrels at night. alfred sang the songs under his breath. he drank in every word of the jokes and the farce he committed to memory. when they reached home the melodeon was started up again, and its strains swelled out on the night air until the father closed the rehearsal abruptly by ordering all to bed. the seed had been sown; even the chaff had taken root. the clown illusion still clung to alfred but the minstrel idea seemed nearer realization. did ever a party of amateurs decide to assault the public that they did not use a minstrel performance as their weapon? despite the protests of the parents, the old melodeon, notwithstanding its age and other infirmities, was worked overtime. alfred sang and resang the songs they had learned or deceived themselves into believing they had learned at the minstrels. billy woods had a good ear for tunes. as lin put it, billy caught more of the tunes than any of the others. billy became a nightly visitor. billy's flute and the melodeon did not harmonize as the melodeon had only three notes left in it. lin just waited when a note was missing until the next measure and then "ketched up" as she expressed it. amity getty was another addition to the little band. he was really a good performer on the guitar. alfred's especial favorite in the minstrels was the fellow who handled the tambourine. the mother said there was not a pie pan in the house they could bake in, alfred had them so battered and dented thumping them on his knees, head and elbows. "i declare, i believe the boy is going crazy; i don't know what we will do with him," often said the mother. cousin charley was of an inventive turn of mind. he had become greatly interested in the nightly singing and fashioned a tambourine out of an old cheese box by cutting it down. dennis isler put tin jingles in it and put on a sheepskin head. the instrument in alfred's hands became a terror to the household. he was banished to the commons where, surrounded by the children of the neighborhood, he did his practicing to the delight and danger of his audience as he persisted in finishing his antics by thumping one of the audience on the head with his instrument of torture, which generally sent the recipient of his thwack home, holding his head and crying. this usually brought a complaint from the victim's parents and alfred's visits to the cellar accompanied by his father became so frequent that a boy with less ardor would surely have lost interest in his instrument. alfred repeatedly advised lin that they never could be minstrels if they did not have bones. he selected billy storey to perform on these necessary adjuncts to the minstrels. when lin brought home from john allison's meat shop a rib roast, the mother, astonished at the size of it, said: "my goodness, lin, that roast is big enough for any tavern in town." the fact was lin had not closely studied the bone player's instruments. she was of the opinion it required eight bones instead of four, hence the magnitude of the roast. the little band made the big front room the mecca for pilgrims nightly. the mother was nearly frantic; after every concert of the embryotic minstrels she solemnly admonished lin and alfred that that would be the last. lin in turn would accuse alfred of being the cause of all the din and racket. "ef it hadn't been fer cousin charley makin' alfurd thet infernal head drum (lin could never say tambourine), mary would never sed a word as she jus loves music es well es eny body else." lin asserted that "the durn jingling contraption, jes spiled the hull thing and ye don't make good music with it nohow." lin's deductions could not be controverted. alfred did not make good music with his tambourine but it is a fact that he succeeded in drowning a great deal of bad. it was a night never to be forgotten; one of those nights that will linger long in fondest remembrance by any who have enjoyed them. it was the night of one of those old time parties, one of those healthful, pleasure giving affairs, an old fashioned family party. relatives, near and distant, uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces, cousins and friends, came by invitation to the old home. games and recitations, blind-man's buff, button, button, who's got the button, uncle joe, blindfolded, pursuing the prettiest girl at the frolic, brought roars of laughter from everyone but aunt betsy. lin, sitting on a crock endeavoring to pass a linen thread through the eye of a cambric needle; uncle jack, blindfolded trying to pin the tail on the proper place on the paper donkey stuck against the wall. when he stuck the pin in the keyhole of the parlor door the laughter shook the sash in the windows. the young folks formed in a circle holding hands, slowly revolving around a bashful young man standing in the center of the circle. as they circled they sang that old ditty so dear to the youth of those days: "king william was king george's son, and from a royal race he sprung; and on his breast he wore a star, that marked his bravery in the war. go choose your east, go choose your west, go choose the one that you love best." here the young man tagged the girl of his choice. of course, the girl broke from the circle and ran but was easily captured. she was led to the center of the circle which again revolved and the song continued: "down on this carpet you must kneel, just as the grass grows in the field; salute your bride and kiss her sweet, and you may rise unto your feet." when the bashful young man received a thumping thwack from the girl of his choice in return for the kiss he planted on her rosy cheek, the laughter was renewed tenfold. all this may look cold in print to the young folks of today but it made the hot blood of the boys and girls of those good old days flow faster than the patter of their feet to the tune of the songs they sang. sis minks sang "barbara allen" with such telling effect that the assembled multitude became "as subdued as a quaker meetin'" as lin described it. sis was an old maid and lived in the country; her dog had followed her to the party. the standing of every family in those parts was rated by the number of dogs they possessed. sis's people had stood high for many years but their canine possessions had decreased. when questioned by a neighbor as to the number of dogs in his possession, the father of sis ruefully replied: "wall, i hev a house dog, a coon dog, a fox dog an' a 'feist'--it just seems like i can't git a start in dogs again." it was the house dog that had followed sis. sis always sang "barbara allen" with her eyes shut. lin said: "becaus' she'd furgit it ef she looked." sis was in the midst of barbara's woes when someone opened the door slightly. her dog slipped in. seeing his mistress before him and hearing her voice, the dog instinctively crept towards her. as her voice grew more tremulous describing barbara's sad fate, the dog, encouraged by the kindly tones, crept nearer. rising on his hind legs he drew his long, red tongue across her face and mouth. sis opened her eyes and sat down in confusion and no entreaties could induce her to continue. lin said: "i'll bet a fippennybit she thought she'd bin kissed by some feller." alfred did not greatly enjoy the party. he whispered to lin: "let's practice." [illustration: sis opened her eyes and sat down] lin ran her fingers over the keys of the melodeon. the others wanted to be coaxed as amateurs always do. there is no backwardness that requires as much persuasion to appear before an audience as that of an amateur, but when once persuaded there is no cheerfulness that exceeds that of an amateur in responding to an encore. it was not long before the little band began their concert. as they had been rehearsing for several weeks, the opening chorus, with musical accompaniment, was rendered with such vim that the assembled guests were carried off their feet. alfred's antics with the tambourine, storey's manipulation of the bones, the singing, the instrumentation, were a revelation to the good people. alfred's reputation as an actor was known to all the guests. urgent requests were made that he should don his costumes and perform his feats. alfred and lin hastened to his room, returning soon, alfred in his clown make-up, mrs. young's lowers and lin's body dress. prolonged laughter and applause greeted his appearance. first he essayed to sing a clown song entitled "the song of all songs" which runs thusly: "the subject of my song you have seen i dare say, as you've walked along the streets on a fine summer's day; on fences and railings wherever you go, you will see the penny ballads pasted up in a row. i noted them down as i read them along, and i've put them together to make up my song. there was abraham's daughter going out on a spree with old uncle snow in the cottage by the sea. do they think of me at and i'll be easy still, give us back our old commander with the sword of bunker hill." there was a great deal more of this jingle of words, ringing in the titles of all the songs of the day. notwithstanding, alfred had sung it without pause or hesitation night after night with only his associates as an audience, yet at "the sword of bunker hill" his voice faltered and a stage fright that could not be conquered overtook him. the words of the song had left his mouth, the tongue was paralyzed. as many an older actor has done before and since, alfred endeavored to conceal his confusion by stalling. it was really alfred's first appearance before a heterogenous audience. alfred learned even at that early age that there is a difference in audiences. notwithstanding his failure, with the density of perception that usually pervades an amateur's mind, alfred changed his costume to lacy hare's military togs. he mistook the shouts of laughter aroused by this suit as approval of his acting. lin relieved the situation by leading alfred out of the room ere he had presented half of his famous impersonations. lin said afterwards: "i don't know what got inter thet boy. why i allus said he had brass enuf in his face to act afore a protracted meetin' but be durned ef he warn't es bad es joe sanford when he stuck on the pole. i never been more cut up in my life, fur i would a swore he was too spunkey to git skeered." the remainder of the program was more than successful. everyone acquitted themselves creditably excepting alfred. lin sang the pathetic ballad: "out in the cold world, out in the street, asking a penny of each one i meet; shoeless i wander about through the day, wearing my young life in sorrow away. no one to help me, no one to love, no one to pity me, none to caress, fatherless, motherless, sadly i roam; a child of misfortune, i'm driven from home." lin had a deep, sweet voice, almost a baritone. she was full of sentiment and magnetism. deeply in earnest she sang the song with telling effect. a tear, a heartfelt tear, came from the eyes of more than one of the sympathetic group. uncle joe and uncle jack and one or two of the elder men had been led to the cellar several times during the evening, for a more pleasant purpose than alfred generally went there for. the hard cider was kept in the cellar, the sweet cider upstairs. uncle joe was as mellow as a pippin. at the end of lin's first chorus he threw her a handful of change. the other men threw coppers or small silver pieces. lin, like a true artist, stood unmoved and continued her song. alfred picked up the money and handed it to her. she disdained to receive it. how the fires of jealousy burned within alfred's breast as he noted the triumph of lin. how the men could become so affected as to throw her money he could not comprehend. before the next song, lin lectured alfred before the entire company, saying: "the fellur with the head drum (tambourine) in the circus minstrels never beat it in the sad tunes, only in the comic ones. es long as ye've bin showin', a body'd think ye knowed thet much." this calling down further humiliated alfred. bill storey followed in a tuneful baritone, singing: "oh, the old home ain't what it used to be, de banjo and de fiddel am gone, an' no more you'll hear the darkies singing among de sugar cane an' corn. great changes hab come to de poor colored man, but dis change makes him sad an' forlorn, for no more we hear de darkies singing among de sugar cane an' corn." then all sang the chorus: "no, the old home ain't what it used to be, (etc.)" this number met with great approval. professional jealousy surged through alfred's breast. he hated everyone who had been successful. thoughts of all kinds of revenge ran through his mind. he would tell mother that the ten pound rib roast was bought only to get eight bones for bill storey and four bones was all he could rattle on at one time. alfred felt that the whole company had conspired against him, that they were the cause of his not being appreciated. supper was announced. yes, supper, and they all sat down to a table; none of your society lunches, juggled on your knees, as served at the fashionable functions of today. when uncle wilse called down blessings upon all, even those sitting around the fire in the other room, who could not find places at the first table, bowed their heads reverently. cold roast chicken, pickles, sweet preserves, doughnuts, jellies, fine and red, cold claw, beets, hot mince pie, pound cake, layer cake, apples, tea, coffee and cider. it took mother and lin all day to prepare the repast. fun and jokes were passed at and upon one another and everybody was happy, everybody but alfred. with jealousy gnawing his vitals he sat between two big, grown-up men, unnoticed save when he requested some edible passed to him. he almost made up his mind to forsake the amusement profession and take his mother's advice to study to become a doctor. supper over, good nights were said. guest after guest departed. one garrulous gentleman remained; he was noted for his staying qualities. he would visit a family in the country near his home and keep them up until after midnight, which was a terrible breach of etiquette in those days when country folks went to bed with the chickens and town people who stayed up after eleven were looked upon with suspicion. the mother had caught herself nodding several times, the father was yawning, lin could scarcely keep her eyes open, and alfred had taken two or three naps. the prolonged visit had become almost unbearable to all except the lone guest who kept up a commonplace conversation, just sufficiently animated to keep him awake. in the middle of one of his dryest sentences lin jumped up and said: "come on folks, let's go to bed, i expect uncle wilse wants to go home." chapter nine never mind the pain for gladness will outlive it. when your neighbor needs a smile don't hesitate to give it. then came sorrow into the life of alfred. the father was ill for many months; war came with its blighting influences, bringing ruin to many, prosperity to a few. the father's family were virginians, the mother's marylanders. true to their traditions they believed in the people of the south, not favoring secession, however. in the white heat of continued controversy relatives became enemies. to add to their troubles brownsville was visited by the most disastrous fire in its history. alfred's folks lost everything, even to their wearing apparel. alfred was the most fortunate member of the family. he entered and re-entered the burning home after he had been warned not to do so. at every return from the blazing house he carried some of his boyish belongings. lin, in recounting the thrilling scenes of the night of the fire, said: "ef the men hed hed any sense all the things could hev been got out. jim lucas and tom brawley jes piled the bedsteads, bureaus, looking glasses and arm-cheers out of the third story winders an' durn ef i didn't see tom brawley kum out of the house with a arm load of pillurs wrapped up in a blanket. hit takes a fire or a dog fight to show whuther peepul hev got eny judgment or not." on his last trip out of the house alfred carried his dog "bobbie," two pet frizzly chickens, the uniform lacy hare and aunt betsy fashioned, mrs. young's part of his clown suit and the head-drum or tambourine. lin fairly snorted when she saw the boy approaching; "now look at the dratted, fickle boy, leavin' his sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes to perish fur them ole show duds. hit beats the bugs jes to think thet boy 'ud run into thet house blazin' like a lime kiln from top to bottom. a body'd thot he'd tried to save somethin' thet would a done us good. but no; all he thinks about is them ole show things. it's a wonder he didn't try to get the melodeon out eny way." the condition of the family was changed in one night from prosperity to near-poverty. the mother resolutely refused all proffered aid from relatives with whom relations had been strained. to uncle joe's and betsy's offer she returned the message: "if we were southern sympathizers before the fire, we are not beggars now." lin was as defiant as the mother: "huh, yes. ef we'd let 'em help us now, the fust election kum up they'd throw it up to us. uncle billy is a candidate fer county jedge, i reckon he wants a few votes. the lord will purvide a way." she added: "jus tell joe an' betsy an' all the rest of 'em thet we'll hoe our own row yit a while. no siree-horse-fly-over-the-river-to-green-county, we don't want no abolishunist to help us." alfred could not fully comprehend the feelings that influenced the members of the family in the stand they took, but anything his mother said or did always met with his loyal support. the proud, strong-minded mother guided the destinies of the family through the troublesome times that followed. the strictest economy was practiced in all things. brownsville has ever been noted for the hospitality of its people and the plenteous supplies found on the tables of all. therefore, when the usual good things were missing from the table and the mother explained that it would not be for long but for the time being it was imperative to live sparingly, alfred put all in a good humor by calling on muz, (the children's favorite name for the mother), "muz, cook it all up at once and let's have one good, big meal like we used to have, then starve right." uncle jake and aunt betty and all their family were steadfast friends during all the days of distress, as were uncle william and grandfather and his family. even cousin charley exerted himself to be of assistance. lin afterwards declared that the biblical prophecy, "meny shall be called an' only a few kum," had found verification in charley's changed conduct. since lin "jined" church, she often attempted to quote scripture. among other offerings that cousin charley bestowed upon alfred were two hounds with a colony of lively fleas. this gift was greatly appreciated by alfred as the dogs were good coon hunters. it was not long ere the news came to alfred's folks that cousin charley had stolen the hounds from turner simpson, a colored man who lived near the town, and noted for his superior hounds and numerous children. when the mother firmly commanded that the dogs be returned to their owner alfred was greatly disappointed. lin informed the boys that the dogs had to eat and that the mother had enough mouths to feed "without runnin' a dog's boardin' house. why ye durned little fool ye, don't ye know charley's jus put them dogs yar to git 'em kept. they'll jus keep 'em yar till they want to hunt coon an' then they'll take 'em. ef it wur a hoss or hippotumas es was in thet sorry animile show, an' charley 'ud gin it to ye, i'd feel ye could call it yer own. but a houn' dog, never. he'd never part with a houn'. some fine mornin' the houn's'll turn up missin' an' ye'll find dr. playford hes bought 'em fur about five dollars." lin's reference to dr. playford gave alfred an inspiration. he was on his way to dr. bob playford's with the hounds chained together and nearly pulling him off his feet, so eager were they for exercise. the sporting doctor's eyes glistened as he looked the dogs over and noted their good points. alfred explained that they were a present from cousin charley, that he prized them greatly but his mother would not permit him to retain them. the doctor purchased and paid for the dogs, handing the boy a crisp five dollar greenback bill. although greenbacks were greatly depreciated in value at that time, no bill of like denomination has ever before or since had the purchasing power that that five dollars had for alfred. he could scarcely contain himself until he arrived at home, that he might hand the money to his mother. the doctor informed alfred that he would give him an additional dollar if he would deliver the dogs to turner simpson, adding: "simpson keeps all my hounds; he has a pack of them there now and these two will be all i'll need for a while. be careful of the dogs, almost anybody will steal a hound dog and brag about it afterwards." when requested to deliver the dogs to simpson, alfred was dumbfounded. he was soon on his way with the dogs. they did not have to drag the boy as on the way to the doctor's house. when they struck the old road above the tannery, alfred gave the hounds a run, until turner simpson's house came into view. their arrival brought hounds from under the old log house, the porch and the stable. kinky, woolly-headed, barefooted pickanninnies peeked through broken window panes and out of half-opened doors. the baying of the hounds brought old simpson out to the road. alfred advised him that dr. playford had paid him one dollar to deliver the hounds and sent instructions that they be properly cared for. "oh, shucks. you jes tell bob i allus takes good keer ob his dawgs," spoke the old negro in a half joking way. "an' you say to de doctor, dat when he wants to take a pair ob houns away from yar agin he better jes tell me. i done sarch four days fuh dem houns. i neber dream de doctor hed 'em. i nearly hed a fite wid john mccune's boys kase i cused dem ob kidnapin' de houns. now i mus' go ober an' tell john de doctor hed de dawgs all de time." the six dollars were given to the mother. lin declared alfred the best boy in the world and one who, "ef he had the chance, could take keer of himself." a few days later cousin charley brought alfred a fine pair of white and blue pigeons in a nice little box. after talking on many subjects charley came to the real object of his visit. he stated that he had bought the two hounds from a man whom he did not know. he paid the man the cash for the dogs. now he had learned that the dogs had been stolen from turner simpson and he felt it his duty to restore them to their rightful owner. lin was washing dishes at the beginning of charley's talk. she seated herself on the table--a favorite position of lin's--and nodded approval at the end of every sentence charley uttered. when _he_ concluded, lin began: "i'll be tee-to-tall-y dog-goned ef this haint the mos' curious sarcumstance thet's ever kum up. now a man--and lin emphasized each word with the laying of the forefinger of her right hand into the palm of her chubby left--stole turner simpson's houns. ye say ye bought 'em--nodding at charley--ye didn't know they wus stole. ye gin the houns to alfurd. now ye kum after the dogs; ye has to gin the houns back to turner simpson. ye furgit who ye got the houns from an' can't git yer money back, ye're out jus thet much. now s'posin' alfurd sole them air houns to doctor bob playford--charley crimsoned--an' the doctor says 'yere alfurd, yers a dollar, carry the houns to turner simpson's' an' alfurd 'ud do hit, then yer conscience 'ud be easy, wouldn't hit?'" "yes um," meekly answered charley, "but i don't think bob playford wants to buy any houns, he has a plenty, 'bout twenty i reckon." lin smiled as she informed cousin charley that "he hed twenty-two by this time. an' let me tell ye sumthin' further: ef ye're tradin' in birds or pigins or whatever ye call 'em, ye better fin' sum other feller to handle 'em kase alfurd's got on a swappin' canter an' it'll be hard to head him." lin laughed long and heartily. cousin charley mumbled something about the principle of the thing as he left the house. it developed that cousin charley had been doing quite a business in hounds. the pair alfred had, or a similar pair, had been sold to doctor playford, at least twice during the past six months. when charley needed a little money, he just sold the doctor a pair of his own hounds. the doctor took it all good naturedly as he remarked: "charley has stolen more hounds for me than he has sold me, therefore, i still owe him." the mother, when the facts came out, forthwith sent alfred to the doctor with the five dollars. the doctor laughed and said: "alfred, go home and tell mary (his mother) that i gave you the five dollars for keeping the dogs. and say--if charley steals them again you just grab them, come and tell me and i'll give you five dollars more." alfred played spy on charley for some time but charley seemed to have lost interest in the hound business. after the old play-ground, jeffries commons was abandoned, sammy steele's tan-yard became the favorite practicing place of the athletically inclined boys of the town. the soft tan bark was even more suitable for tumbling, leaping and jumping than the old saw-dust ring on the commons. the owner of the tan-yard, sammy steele--no one ever called him samuel--was thought, by those who did not know him intimately, to be hard and severe. and so he was to those who fell under his displeasure. only a few of the boys of the town were permitted to enjoy the practicing place. alfred was one of them. to alfred, the dignified, hard working, honest tanner, was always kindly. alfred performed many errands and did many chores with quickness and willingness for the owner of the tan-yard. the willingness of the boy caught the fancy of the industrious man. one day he called alfred up to his office. the big, earnest man began by saying, (he always repeated his words)--: "little hatfield boy, little hatfield boy, you are not big enough to do much work, much work, but you are willing, you are willing, to do all you can. you are here a greater part of your time, the greater part of your time. the bark is thrown down, thrown down, from the loft to the mill, to the mill, where they grind it; i say grind it, little bits of bark fly off, fly off on the ground bark. i want the ground bark kept clear of the unground, of the unground bark. you are spry, i say you are spry. it will take you but a little while morning and afternoon to clear the ground bark pile of the unground pieces, of the unground pieces. for this i will pay you twenty-five cents a day, twenty-five cents a day." alfred wended his way home in high glee. the prospect of earning money was pleasing to the boy. long before the family arose in the morning he was up and waiting for his breakfast. although it was but a few moment's walk to his place of employment, he insisted that he had best carry his noonday lunch. this the mother would not permit. [illustration: the bark mill] active as a squirrel the boy scampered over the bark pile picking up the bits of unground bark. the work was but play. the noon hour found him on the tan bark pile practicing. as the bell rang calling the men to work he was at his place with the most industrious of them. during the many years that have begun and ended since he worked in sammy steele's tannery, alfred has received some pretty fair weeks' salaries, but no pay ever brought the happiness the one dollar and fifty cents he received for that week's work in the old bark mill when he presented it to his mother. not many days elapsed before his industry was rewarded by an increase of wages to three times the amount he had previously received. his work took wider range, upstairs to the big finishing room and the office where he came in constant contact with the owner of the tannery. he made himself more useful to the man higher up, and when his pay was increased to one dollar a day, it seemed a fortune was in sight. the illusion still clung. the present was but the means to an end and beyond lay his hopes. to become a great clown in the circus was the goal. nor were the little band of minstrels, whose rehearsals had been checked by the fire and the loss of the melodeon, lost sight of. the big finishing room found the little band of amateur minstrels rehearsing almost every night, strange to say, the straight laced old tanner did not object. when several of the nearby neighbors complained of the noise and din, he simply gave orders to limit the rehearsals to p. m. lin said: "huh! ef enybody but alfurd was at the head of it, sammy steele would a histed every one on 'em long ago." lin was peeved. she could not imagine how the singing could be anything without her voice and the melodeon. a tan-yard hand who played the violin by ear had supplanted lin. she declared he could only "fiddle fer dancin', he couldn't foller singin'. ye can't foller a fiddle an' sing, ye got to hev a melodeon or accordion. a fiddle wus never made to sing with, hit's all right fer dancin'. lor', ye never hear any real music less ye got a lead. that's the reason ye never hear any good singin' in baptus meetin'. they're agin manufactured music, they haven't got enythin' to go by." lin had joined the campbellite church for the reason that it was the furthest from the baptist belief, so she claimed. alfred always believed down deep in his heart that lin had allied herself with that particular denomination for the reason that her vocal abilities were appreciated in the little congregation and for the further reason that the church had an organ. lin felt her exclusion from the minstrel rehearsals more than she cared to reveal. alfred did all he could to comfort her. he assured her that charley wagner, the violin player, was not nearly so satisfactory as she. "but s'pose i had saved the melodeon"--(lin always attributed her rejection by the minstrel band to the loss of the melodeon)--"you couldn't a-used it in the tan-yard, it's too damp there and it would spoil the tune of it. why, it's most ruined my tambourine. beside," concluded alfred, "regular minstrels are all men, they don't have any women folks in 'em." his explanation was plausible but it did not satisfy lin. "huh! i wasn't good enuf fur yer ole tan-yard pack. i s'pose when ye got a lot of patchin' and sewin' to do, ye'll be callin' on me but ye won't fin' me in. good bye, mr. clown, minstrel. next time ye try to ak out afore folks i hope ye'll do better en ye did the nite uv the big party." this was a home thrust, it pierced to the quick. alfred was over sensitive. often, when the remembrance of the failure alluded to by lin troubled his mind, he had soothed himself with the hope that few had noticed his failure. but lin's remark forced the awful feeling upon him that, like cousin charley's potato deal, it was known and talked of by the whole town. unexpected happenings brought the rehearsals of the minstrels in the old tan-yard to an abrupt ending. it was during the dark days of the reconstruction period, immediately following the war. only those of the south can fully realize what those days meant to a people already impoverished by the _most gigantic war of christendom_. colonel charlotte, once wealthy, now reduced to almost want, (we will place his residence, oh anywhere, in virginia, georgia or alabama); his once productive plantation neglected for want of tenants and help to cultivate it, stock and products confiscated. many and earnest were the conferences held by the colonel and his unfortunate neighbors, to devise ways and means to recuperate their lost fortunes. after each conference with his friends the colonel would wend his way homeward to confer with his good wife, who was a most sensible and therefore a lovable woman. when the colonel was most despondent the wife was most buoyant, cheering him as best she could. after the colonel had given vent to his feelings, recounting for the hundredth time his helplessness in the face of the oppressive laws rigidly enforced by the carpet-bag officers; after he had delivered himself of a tirade against those who were responsible for the condition of affairs, the good wife said: "colonel, i know if the christian people of the north were aware of the sufferings of our people, we would get relief. i pity you in your troubles and do hope we may see a way to help ourselves. we are out of corn, the meal is almost gone and we have very little bacon left. our children should be in school but i cannot bear to send them with the toes out of their shoes and their shabby clothes." the colonel would compress his lips, cussing every yankee on earth. he would find his way to the country store to while away another day in useless conference with his neighbors. the same persons met daily and dispersed nightly to carry their woes to their homes. time and again colonel charlotte informed the patient little wife that he was without hope. "don't give up," encouraged the wife, "i know it looks dark but it is always darkest before dawn; let us look toward the east and pray for light. i know something will come to us, but for my part, i would not care. i can stand it, but the children, poor innocents, should not be made to suffer; no shoes or clothes fit to go to school or church in. the winter is coming on and our provisions are scant. i worry only on account of the children. colonel, do the best you can; that is all mortal can do, the lord will do the rest." the colonel left his fireside early the next morning resolved to find something to relieve the wants of his family. returning home later than usual he was in a towering rage. the good wife was alarmed. "why, colonel, what has disturbed you so?" "wife, i'm mad clar through and if captain barbour warn't an old friend of the family, i declar' to god i'd assaulted him today." "heaven forbid," pleaded the wife, "i know captain barbour surely would not wound your feelings intentionally." the colonel explained that they were talking over their troubles, bewailing their helplessness, when captain barbour said: "why colonel charlotte, you're better off than any of us, you have the means at your command to not only make a living but to lay a little money by." "and wife, when i asked him how, what do you think he said? that i had a carriage and horses and i could open a livery stable. open a livery stable!" and the hot blood of the charlottes' reddened his temples again as he clinched his fists and walked up and down in his anger. "me, a charlotte, engage in the livery business. why, wife, i could scarcely keep my hands off him. me, a charlotte, in the livery business. pollute that old family carriage that bears on its panels the crest of the charlotte family, whose blood runs back to the men of cromwell." the facts are the old family carriage was about the only relic of the charlotte family's former greatness; imported from england years before, held as almost sacred by succeeding generations of the charlotte family. to have one intimate that the sacred old vehicle should be used to convey the common herd was a heavy blow to the pride of the colonel. "well, colonel," soothingly spoke the wife, "i know your pride has been hurt, i know just how badly you feel. i know you are proud and i really fear that captain barbour in his zeal to assist you was indiscreet. he should not have spoken so abruptly but should have given you time to consider the motive that prompted him. i know--he--he--meant--well--and--and--perhaps--you--should--consider his advice. can't we talk it over?" as she approached him, looking up into his face with a half smile and a half cry, she pleaded: "i would hate to say one word that would humble your pride, but--but those children--you know they ought to have schooling. and i declare, colonel--i do not know--what we're going to do for something to--to--eat." and here the wife broke down. the colonel folded her in his arms as he soothed her, stroking her hair. he declared he would sacrifice all the pride of the charlottes that she and his did not suffer. the negroes were sent to the corn patch to fetch the old horses, pluck the burrs out of manes and tails, smooth them up by currying the long hair off their shaggy coats. the old family carriage was hauled out of the shed, washed, the brass mountings brightened, the coat of arms, the panels scoured until they shone again. the sting was somewhat removed from the colonel's feelings by the painter making the sign read "liberty stable." the word "livery" was not in the painter's vocabulary. when he assured the colonel that the sign was proper the colonel was more satisfied. four or five days wore away. the colonel, from his seat in front of the store, like enoch arden patiently watching for a sail, grew more despondent each day. one november evening, the rain gently falling from the weeping clouds seemingly in sympathy with the colonel's dismal feelings, a young negro was seen coming towards him. colonel charlotte recognized sam, a former slave, the son of an old house servant. the colonel returning the salutation in a manner none the less cheery said: "why, sam, how you all has growed up. i declare i wouldn't knowed you only your voice is so much like your father's. how's all? whar you livin' and what you a-doin' for yourself? come on boy, tell me about you eh?" sam explained to the colonel that "he was working on de new railroad buildin' down raleigh way an' wus doin' tolerable well. a dollar a day, not countin' sundays an' i gits my fodder." "well, sam, if you can stow vittles away like you all done when i fed you, you're gettin' well paid." the colonel laughed at his own joke, the first laugh he had indulged in for days. sam was encouraged by the colonel's good humor. doffing his hat, he addressed the colonel in a sort of patronizing manner: "cunnel, i dun heard you all gone into the liberty business." this flattered the colonel slightly and he straightened up, replying: "yes, sam, i just got tired of seeing my horses and vehicles around doing nothing and i wanted something to occupy my time. i don't count much on what i'll make but it will keep me from rusting out." "well, cunnel, i'se jus come all de way down yar to see you. dar's gwine to be a dance down to townsley's tonight an' me an' my company an' my friend an' his gal wants to go, an' i kum to ask you all how much you gwine fur to ax us to carry us all to de dance an'----" like a flash the colonel jumped to his feet, the old rickety, split-bottom chair was hurled after sam with the words: "you dam black scoundrel, i'll break every bone in your black body if i get hold of you." this speech was hurled after the thoroughly frightened sam as the colonel pursued him. giving up the chase the colonel stalked home. his wife observed his anger as he entered. "wife, i've never in my life sustained a worse shock than today. to think of it after all these days of waitin', after i have been in the liberty business all these days, the first human being to come to me"--and the colonel choked with rage--"the first human being to come to me to hire that old family carriage, was a dam nigger." then the colonel in more moderate language described the scene between himself and sam. the good wife listened to the colonel until he concluded. then in a conciliatory tone, she said: "well, colonel, it does seem as though fate is cruel to you. i do hope you will bear up bravely. i think it just awful that the first customer should have been a nigger. i do hope we will have others soon." then after a pause, she resumed, "insofar as i am concerned i would willingly die before i'd ask you, a charlotte, to sacrifice your pride further. but when i think of our children i don't know what to say. colonel," and she trembled as she spoke, "do you--do--you think--sam had money to pay for the hire of the carriage?" "i done heard the money jingle in his pocket when he run." "well, colonel, i wouldn't even suggest that--that--you carry those niggers to the ball, but if--if we only had the money--it would do us so much good. those children--." the colonel waited to hear no more. out into the chilly autumn evening, more briskly than he had moved in weeks, stalked the colonel. reaching the liberty stable, he ordered one of the boys to locate sam. "make haste," was his parting order. the boy soon returned escorting sam who seemed somewhat afraid to get too near the livery stable proprietor. the colonel assured sam that he desired to talk with him. leading the way he walked until well out of hearing of his stable boy. he began inquiringly, "so there's a big ball at townsley's tonight. it's the fust i've heard of it, an' you an' your company wants to go. well sam, you work hard fur your money an' you ought not to spend it too freely because winter's coming on and these reconstruction laws the yankees have put on us will make it hard on all of us." "about how much do you reckon it will cost you all to go to the ball in a first class livery turn out?" "i dunno sah," meekly answered sam. "how much you got?" was the colonel's next question. "five dollars," and sam jingled the coin in his pocket, showing a set of ivories that would have been the envy of any society belle in the land. "give it to me," and the colonel reached his long arm out towards sam, the palm of his hand up. sam placed the five dollars in it. "sam, i want to see you have your pleasure. five dollars is less than i ever charged for a carriage to a ball before. being's it's you i'll let it go fer that figure providin' you never mention to any person on earth that you hired a conveyance from colonel charlotte." "yes, sah. i'll promise an' i'll neber tell airy livin' soul 'bout it," answered sam, showing signs of fright. the colonel looked about to assure himself that there were no witnesses and commanded sam to raise his right hand and kneel on the ground. sam hesitated, the ground was wet and he had on his new store pants, but down he knelt. "now swear by all the laws of reconstruction that if you ever tell you rid in colonel charlotte's kerrige, you will be whipped by the ku-klux, haunted by ghosts and burned by witches until you are dead and buried in a grave as deep as hell." the thoroughly frightened boy assented to the oath. the colonel ordered him to arise, get his company together, "mosey" down to where the big road crossed the branch and wait until the carriage arrived. the colonel never entered the livery stable, content to leave the conducting of the same to his help. however, he was not content to trust the old family carriage to them. ordering the horses hitched to the sacred vehicle, the colonel hastened to the house, "to plant the tin, afore some dam yankee carpet-bagger grabbed it," as he expressed it. he returned to find the carriage ready for him. two tallow dips burning dimly in the big, old-fashioned lamps on either side of the driver's seat were the admiration of the boys who lighted them. the colonel ordered them to "blow them thar candles out," saying that they only blinded him. the real reason was that the colonel did not desire any light shed on the transaction that would disclose his part in it. once down the hill he halted the team under the big oak tree where four dusky figures, two males and two females, stood. in a voice he intended to sound other than his own, the colonel ordered the waiting group to "git in quick, pull down the curtains and don't airy dam niggers poke your heads out till we git to townsley's." the horses moved off, the colonel soliloquizing as they trotted along the sandy road: "s'pose i meet a white man an' he asks me where i'm goin', what will i tell him? was there ever a white man, was there ever a charlotte put to this test before. if ever a charlotte knew that i engaged in this business what would i say to him? did i ever think i'd come to this? me, colonel charlotte, hauling niggers to a ball." and he again cussed the reconstruction laws. arriving at the country store the dance was already under full headway. the fiddles and scraping of feet could be plainly heard. the voice of the caller, "swing your partners; all hands around; first gent lead off to the right," floated out on the damp air. "git out," was the colonel's orders to his fares. "now, don't stay all night or you'll walk back," were his last words to sam and his company as they ran upstairs to the ball room. tying the horses to the fence, the colonel lighted his pipe, walking to and fro to warm his chilled blood, he gave way to his gloomy thoughts again. "what would captain barbour, colonel woodburn and major hinkle say if they found out that he, colonel charlotte, was engaged in carrying niggers to a ball. ef i was to be ketched yar by a white man, what explanation could i make that would protect the honor of my family?" for himself the colonel felt that he was eternally disgraced and had reached the point where he was willing to be ostracized but hoped to protect the family name. sam returned to the carriage to find a wrap or other article the women had forgotten. the air was very chilly. "sam, have you all got any fire upstairs," asked the colonel. "yes, sah, dars a roarin' fire up yander colonel. jus walk up sah an' warm yoself." pulling his hat down over his eyes, turning his coat collar up to disguise himself, the colonel climbed the narrow stairs. peeping through the door at the whisking dancers he skulked along the side of the room until he reached the big, open wood fireplace. the warmth was very grateful to his benumbed frame. he had not the assurance to look around at the dancers; while his front side was thoroughly warmed, the rear of his anatomy was still numb. about the time he had determined to about face, the dance ceased. he heard several remarks not intended for his ears: "who is dat ole white man 'trudin' yar? whar did dat ole white man kum frum? who fetched him up yar?" the colonel couldn't bear it longer. stalking out, he descended the stairs, asking himself if he could sink lower. in the depths of degradation, what could happen that would sink him lower. a charlotte ordered out of a nigger ballroom. the cold air pierced him more quickly since leaving the ballroom. the big wood fire influenced him to return to its comforting warmth. by this time the fire had heated up the room. the heat from the over-heated revellers, the aroma permeating the atmosphere, was not unfamiliar to the colonel's sense of smell yet none the less unpleasant. it impelled the colonel to seek fresh air more quickly than the side remarks had previously. out in the chilly air he gave way to his thoughts as before, thoughts tinged with even more bitterness. the fire had made him more and more susceptible to the cold and it was not long ere the colonel started on his way to warm himself again. sam met him at the foot of the stairs. bowing and scraping, he began by apologizing profusely: "cunnel, i declars i hates to tell you all but the gemmen dat runs de frolik jus tol' me i has to. i'se been pinted a committee to tell you dey hes made a good hot fire in de back room down stairs fer you. you kin go in an' warm yerself. dey all doan wants you to kum in de big room up stairs eny more. de fak is, de ladies up dar objecks to de oder ob de stable on yer clothes." the facts are that a tannery is not as pleasant to the olfactory senses as pinaud's perfumes, but alfred, unlike col. charlotte, had exposed himself to objectionable odors by working over the vats and leather by day, and thumping the tambourine by night in the big finishing room. but no complaints ever came to his ears of the unpleasant odor of the tannery he carried home with him until lin was discarded by the minstrel band. therefore, when the mother, backed by lin, informed him that he would have to give up his tan-yard affiliations, the boy felt in his heart that as in the colonel's case, it was not the odor but prejudice. he almost wished he had arranged that lin might have retained her place as leader of the singing. but there were other reasons why he was ordered to leave the tanning business. the workman hotel was but a few steps from the old tannery. the new landlord was giving the place a cleaning up. cal wyatt, the son of the hotel man, came over to the tannery and requested alfred, john caldman, vince carpenter and several others to go over during the noon hour to the cellar and give them a hand in stacking up sundry barrels and kegs. all complied. the barrels were quickly lifted on top of each other. a tin cup full of some sort of fluid was passed around several times. all sipped from the cup, much as folks do from a loving cup nowadays. as the barrels were piled higher, the tin cup went around again and again. alfred had sipped from a large spoon a little of the same sort of tasting stuff when grandpap irons made a little toddy before breakfast. but never had his lips sunk into a tin cup filled with the stuff previously. a feeling came over him such as he had never experienced, and it seemed as if all in the cellar were similarly affected. those of the tan-yard hands who had never been known to raise their voices in song, essayed to sing the minstrel songs. those so awkward that they could not walk naturally endeavored to dance. ordinarily alfred would have laughed himself weak at the hilarious attempts of the tan-yard hands, and their imitations. under the influence of the tin cup's magic fluid he held them in that contempt that only the professional can feel for the jay who endeavors to imitate him. [illustration: the tin cup went round again and again] alfred stood motionless, or as near motionless as he possibly could. john caldman, who was known and respected as the one quiet and unobtrusive person in the tannery, and from whose lips a loud word never escaped, stood erect and immovable as the singing, dancing tan-yard hands whirled about him. with compressed lips and haughty mien he seemed not to notice them. suddenly he spoke and in a voice so loud and unnatural that all were awed into silence. the quiet man had changed so completely he seemed another person. alfred gazed at him in astonishment. he hurled epithets and denunciations at those whose names he had never before mentioned aloud. he recalled insults and abuse heaped upon him by all connected with the tannery; he invited, he insisted that the biggest and strongest of those about him come out and fight. he dared the whole crowd to jump on him. none accepting his dare he declared his intention to go to the tan-yard and clean out the old shebang, following his threat with a movement towards the tannery followed by the wobbling crowd. entering the big finishing room alfred saw the infuriated john standing in the middle of the room, an iron hook in one hand, a lump of coal in the other, while the workmen were flying upstairs and down stairs. alfred endeavored to follow those who went down stairs. he remembered starting from the first step at the top. vince carpenter afterwards informed him he never hit another step in his descent. [illustration: sammy steele's mule kicked the boy] gathering himself up in time to hear vince shout: "here comes mr. steele," as badly scared as his dazed senses would permit him to be, alfred fumbled and scrambled about for a moment. he spied a large wheel-barrow overloaded with cows' ears and other by-products of green hides that go into the refuse and find their way to the glue factory. this slimy mess was just out of the lime vat. alfred grabbed the handles and started with the wheel-barrow he did not know where, his sole object being to stall and make the boss believe he was at work. along a narrow plank walk he pushed the gruesome load, weaving, wobbling at every step, threatening to go off one side or the other at any moment, headed for the dump where all the water-soaked, discarded tan bark was deposited. reaching the dumping ground, standing between the handles of the wheel-barrow, alfred attempted to overturn it. the handles overturned alfred. down the steep incline, rolled alfred, wheel-barrow and contents in one conglomerate mass, alfred under the avalanche of cows' ears, tails, etc. mrs. hampton witnessed from her back porch the race down the dump pile. calling a couple of boys the lady led the way to where alfred lay, digging him from under the slimy mess. the boys loaded the soaking figure into the wheel-barrow and carried him home. sammy steele used as motive power in his bark mill a fine white mare and an iron grey mule. when alfred could not get the use of the white mare he rode or drove the mule. alfred's parents and others continually cautioned him to beware of the mule, that it was vicious and would surely kick him. when the boys arrived at alfred's home and lin saw them assisting the almost senseless boy into the house, she began: "well, fur the luv of all thet's holy, what's the rumpus now? i'll bet a fip sammy steele's mewel's kicked thet boy." the boys did not reply, depositing their burden on the floor, hastily departed. to lin's persistent inquiries, alfred admitted that the mule had kicked him. in a maudlin way he stuttered: "l-o-o-k-o-u-t, lin, she'll k-k-i-c-k you." then he laughed a silly laugh. lin was convinced that the boy was out of his head, delirious from the mule's kick, sent for the doctor who came in haste. lin explained that she was "skeered nearly to death. i wus yar all alone an' they kum draggin' him in. i tried to talk with him but he's plum out of his head. his mother an' his pap an' me an' all of us hes warned him time an' 'gain that that mewel would be his death, but he jus kept a-devilin' aroun' hit; now ye see what kum of hit. he's jus like he had a stroke of palsy, hit's a wonder the mewel hedn't killed him stun dead. ef hits palsied him he mought jus es well be dead." thus lin ran on as the old doctor carefully looked the patient over. the doctor had long practiced in brownsville. tomato vine poisoning cases were rare. alfred's ailment on this occasion was common. he made no mistake in diagnosing the case although he did not inform the family of his conclusions. however, he assured them that "the boy would be all right in a day or two. his appetite might not come to him at once but he would be all right in the morning. just let him sleep, don't wake him, and when he gets out caution him to--keep away from the mule," added the doctor dryly. lin said: "be durned ef hit ain't the queerest case i ever seed. alfurd's jus es sick es he kin be an' the old doctur didn't gin him nothin'." a few days later it was whispered among the neighbors that alfred and a number of the tan-yard hands broke into bill wyatt's cellar and drank up all his liquor and alfred, "little as he wus, drinked more'n eny of em." george washington antonio frazier 'lowed that alfred "drinked so much he wouldn't want another drink fer a month. i wouldn't ef i'd hed his cargo," he concluded. lin threw her head up in disgust as she denied this rumor: "huh, all ole frazier is peeved 'bout is bekase he didn't git his ole hog belly filled up fur nuthin'." alfred slept he knew not how long. it was night when he awoke. half awake, he would doze and dream--now he was carrying gourds of water to uncle joe, hastening back to get a gourdful for his own parched lips. he would invariably drop the gourd or have some other mishap--he never got the water to his lips. he realized that there were others in the room, the lamp was too low to distinguish them. he listened endeavoring to hear what they were talking of. the old clock down-stairs struck two, then the little clock on the mantelpiece chimed twice. a figure arose, softly crossing the room and a hand was laid softly on the boy's forehead. his eyes were closed but he knew it was his mother's hand. "he is a little less feverish, pap, you had best go to bed. i'll call lin early and lie down. now go on, you have to work and you won't feel like it, if you don't get your sleep. go on now, if he gets worse, i'll call." "gets worse i'll call you." alfred repeated the words over and over in his mind. he imagined at first that he had been sick a long time. he gathered his thoughts--the old tavern cellar came into his mind, the antics of the tan-yard hands after they had quaffed from the tin cup. alfred got no further in his ramblings than the tin cup; only a ray of thought, yet it was of sufficient power to cause the boy to retch and strain as though he would heave his stomach up. the mother was holding a vessel in one hand and supporting the very sick boy with the other arm. "muz, muz, what's the matter with me--how long have i been sick--d-do you th-i-n-k i'm goin' to die?" the mother soothed him and persuaded him to go to sleep. alfred closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. he heard footsteps and, peering out of the corner of his eye, he perceived the form of his father bending over him. softly walking over to where the mother sat with bowed head, the father began: "i thought i heard him talking. was he awake?" "yes," answered the mother. "what did he say?" eagerly inquired the father. the mother informed him. the father, looking toward the bed, remarked half to himself: "i hope he will be sober enough to talk to me before i leave the house." "why, john," hastily began the mother, "you speak as if he were an old toper." "well, mary. i did not mean it that way. but i have been worried ever since that minstrel crowd has been gathering at the tan-yard. of course, i never knew alfred to drink whiskey but they all drink more or less and alfred is not the boy to pass anything by there's any fun in." "but they had no business to give a boy whiskey," argued the wife, "and i would see about it and i would make an example of them if i were you." "i will do all of that and more," warmly answered the father. after a pause, he resumed: "they tell me they were all in wyatt's cellar and cal wyatt drew a tin cup of high proof whiskey. alfred put the cup--" alfred was following the father's words. at the mention of the word "cup," his stomach rebelled again. his father was holding a vessel, his mother supporting the boy's head. turning his head, the father ejaculated: "phew! if that isn't rot-gut i never smelt it." alfred pretended to go to sleep and the father and mother talked long and earnestly. their solicitude for the erring boy, touched alfred to the heart. he had not realized until this moment the meanness of his actions. when alfred fully realized the misery and suffering he had caused his parents, he was impelled to crawl to them and kiss the hem of their garments, promising never to cause them pain from the same cause again. let it be recorded he did not realize immediately when he drank from the cup, that it was whiskey. after the first swallow or two he became oblivious to his danger. he felt that he was forever disgraced. he thought of getting out of bed and fleeing, he cared not whither, only to get far away from the scene of his disgrace. we do not know that the boy resolved that he would never touch, taste or handle whiskey again. we do not know what resolutions he made to himself, but we do know that whisky never passed his lips again until he was more than a man grown and then rarely and in very small quantities. alfred slept. when he awoke it was daylight. the sun was shining brightly. his first thought was that he would be late for work. then he heard the voice of a neighbor woman, one whom the mother disliked, one who was noted for her tatling propensities. as an excuse to call she had brought fruit for alfred. the boy overheard her inquiries as to his condition. she whispered long and earnestly with lin. the latter, looking down at the pale face of alfred began questioning him: "well, i see ye're alive yit, i gess ye'll kum out of hit. i s'pose the hull durn town'll be laffin' at me. i never dreamed ye wus jus corned. ef i'd knowed, i'd brot ye out uf it quicker; i'd jus made a hull tin cup uf hot mustard--" alfred heard no further than "tin cup." flopping over on his stomach, endeavoring to hold down the last remnants of his innards, he begged to be left alone. but lin kept on: "an' yere i sends fur the doctor es innercent es a baby an' up an' tole him sammy steele's mewel hed histed ye. an' when he was feelin' roun' ye i thot he was feelin' fur busted bones, an' durned ef i ever knowed even when ye begun throwin' up on the carpit thet ye wus jus drunk." lin continued: "ef i hadn't sent fur the doctor it wouldn't be so blamed green lookin' in me. i'll never hear the las' uf hit. i'll bet sammy steele's mewel's ears will burn, the hull town'll be talkin' 'bout thet mewel. they'll say he's a powerful kicker," and lin laughed despite herself. "why, fur weeks after joe sandford got into thet fix with his wall-paper show clothes folks would laff when i went into meetin'. i could tell what they wus thinkin' uf the minnit they'd smile. un the wust part uf hit is i went over to mrs. todd's an' we cried fur two hours. mrs. todd's brother got kicked in the spinel string (cord) with a mewel an' he died the same nite. he never moved after he wus kicked. he wus ossified from head to fut." alfred laughed. lin corrected herself by saying: "thet's what mrs. todd sed ailed him, but i knowed she meant 'palsified'." alfred again laughed. lin knew she had made a mistake; she was sensitive and it nettled her to notice the smile on alfred's face. in tones quite testy she advised him to "hold his laff 'til he could feel hit. ye needn't git so peart, ye hain't out of danger yit, ye're liable to have anuther collapse or sumthin' else. ye'll never look as white aroun' the gills when ye're laid out in them linen sheets ye stole fur yer show." lin "wondered what gran'muther would say when she heard of his 'sickness'." at the word "sickness" lin winked with both eyes. "i'll bet a fip uncle ned will say: 'well, he's another notch nearer hell.'" alfred did not consider the reference to uncle ned, but grandmother came up in his mind and he determined to go to the old lady and tell her the whole truth. and this he did and, instead of condemnation, he received advice that strengthened him in avoiding many of the same sort of pitfalls thereafter. the tin cup incident ended alfred's connection with the tan-yard but alfred never regretted his experience. the work was most health-giving and muscle developing. the examples of industry and integrity learned from sammy steele have been a guiding post in the life of the boy. alfred had not been in his employ long until he was permitted to conduct small trades with the customers who visited the tannery. one day a highly respected farmer brought in a hide. alfred weighed the hide and figured up the amount due the farmer when mr. steele entered the room, passing the compliments of the day with the farmer. the hide was spread out on the table. the tanner folded it over as if to ascertain if it had been damaged in the skinning process. at the first touch of the hide he looked into the farmer's face, and in a careless tone, asked: "been killing a beef?" "yes," drawled the farmer. "eh, huh, eh, huh," nodded the tanner, "what did you do with the carcass?" "oh, we found a market at home for it. we got a big family," replied the farmer. "eh, huh" assented the tanner. reaching over, he took up the slate, rubbed out alfred's figures, figured the hide at about two-thirds the amount alfred was about to pay the farmer. to alfred's surprise the farmer accepted the cut in price and hastily took his leave. the tanner looked after him in a contemptuous manner, turned to alfred and inquired if he knew the farmer. alfred answered: "yes, he's a neighbor of my uncle. he belongs to the baptus church and i heard the preacher say if god ever made an upright man, he was one." "yes, yes," answered the tanner, "god made all men upright but a murn hide will warp most of them." a murn hide is one taken from an animal that dies of a disease. the sensitive touch of the old tanner detected the diseased hide immediately. alfred has applied this incident to many deals in his life and a murn hide became one of his pet references to a crooked transaction. the tie of friendship between alfred and sammy steele lasted while the tanner lived. sammy steele had not acquired a fortune in all the years of his hard labor. a skilled workman, he respected labor. no employe of his was ever tricked out of his wages. he was as fair to the poor as to the rich and both trusted him. in an uncouth world he was a gentleman; he bowed as courteously to a wash-woman as to an heiress. an honest man, he was alfred's boyhood friend, his friend in manhood. alfred loved him while he lived and respected his memory after he was gone. if there were more like sammy steele in this world there would be better boys and better men. chapter ten if every man's eternal care were written on his brow, how many would our pity share who raise our envy now? lest those who read these pages through feelings of sympathy for the author, or influenced by curiosity, may gain the impression that the people of brownsville were not as staid as the exacting proprieties of society demanded, it must be pointed out that there was not a bar-room in the town. the two bakeries, william chatland and josie lawton, sold ale by the glass. every tavern sold whisky by the drink from a demi-john, jug or bottle that was kept locked up. the landlord carried the key and served his customers from a glass or tin-cup. he poured out the drink, limiting the amount to the condition of the one served. alfred would never admit pittsburg in advance of brownsville except in one thing--the mirrored palaces where only cut glass was used in serving the thirsty. [illustration: bill brown] it is peculiar how one's environments will influence his actions in after years. bill brown continues to send cut glass goblets to his friends. he boasts that _his_ friends drink only out of cut glass. this boast does not arouse alfred's envy as he has friends in brownsville who can drink out of the bung hole of a barrel. with going to school five days in a week and hunting saturday, alfred was kept within bounds. kate abrams--everybody who knew him addressed him as "kate" (none ever called him decatur)--captain kate abrams was the beau ideal of a man in alfred's estimation. brave, gay and companionable, a man who loved boys and hated hypocrites, a riverman, one who had plyed the southern rivers from mouth to headwaters, as well known in st. louis or natchez as in his home town, high strung and generous, he was just the kind of man that boys love and respect. to go hunting with kate was a pleasure alfred esteemed above all others. he was the first wing shot alfred ever hunted with. it was the custom of the hunters of that section to kill all their game sitting. when alfred was permitted to handle and shoot the double-barreled gun captain abrams had purchased in st. louis, he experienced thrills known only to an ardent hunter when a gun, the like of which he had never seen before, comes into his hands. "you can't miss shootin' that gun", was alfred's comment. captain abrams generally killed all the game, furnished all the ammunition and divided even with the boys. the captain, daniel livingston and alfred had been out one saturday but bagged only two rabbits; the boys were figuring in their minds how two rabbits could be divided among three persons. when they arrived at the parting point, the captain remarked, "i know you boys would rather have a half dollar each than a rabbit." with this he handed each a bright half dollar. alfred had gone but a few steps toward home when a stranger halted him, inquiring as to the location of the office of the _clipper_, the weekly newspaper. alfred obligingly directed the man to the office. the stranger had alfred greatly interested. he was a journeyman printer. harrison was his name. harrison was only one of the many who roamed over the country in those days. they roamed from one spree to another, sometimes looking for work and never keeping it long if found. harrison was an editorial writer. there were many of them in those days; their enunciation of their political faith was abuse of all who dared dispute them. they wrote for many years and not one line of their output serves as a true mark of the times or people of the days in which they lived. [illustration: harrison and alfred] harrison had walked from uniontown. he had been working on the _genius of liberty_, had left the paper before it ceased publication, as he put it. he borrowed alfred's half dollar. he promised he would meet alfred at the _clipper_ office early next morning. alfred was there early but harrison did not arrive until noon. alfred learned afterwards that high noon was early for harrison, he always did his work between twelve o'clock midnight and bed-time. alfred never liked the man from the time he failed to keep his appointment and repay the half dollar, although for the next year he was in closer touch with harry harrison than any human being on earth. but he soon discovered that harrison had knowledge of many things that he wished to learn. of course, he got a great deal of chaff with the grain, but it was all enlightening. harrison had no difficulty in arranging with mr. hurd as editor, foreman, pressman, reporter and general manager of the _clipper_, issued every thursday. he had come from the _genius of liberty_ published in uniontown, a paper savagely opposed to the _clipper_. alfred's father was a reader and an admirer of the _genius of liberty_, a democratic paper, a hater of the principles of the _clipper_ and not very friendly toward the owner thereof. when harrison called at alfred's home to induce the parents to permit alfred to ally himself with the office force of the newspaper of which harrison was the head, the father bluntly told him that he did not have any faith in a democrat who espoused the principles continuously enunciated by that abolitionist sheet, the _brownsville clipper_, and he would not permit a child of his to work for the paper. harrison advised the family that although he was a democrat he was above all a newspaper man, and newspaper men were compelled often times to sacrifice principles to exigencies. that it was not a matter of the present but of the future. alfred should be fitted for a career that would bring him honor and renown. harrison declared the boy was precocious beyond his years, all he required was training, and he, harrison, was in a position to offer the boy opportunities that might never knock at his door again. notwithstanding the fact that the _brownsville clipper_ had on many occasions praised the business competitor of alfred's father and, while uncle billy was a candidate for county judge, not only assailed his loyalty but referred to all his family in uncomplimentary terms, alfred became an attache of the paper. according to harrison's statement alfred was to be one of the business staff, although there was no written agreement to that effect. however, harrison made mention of this fact several times in conversation with the family. as harrison was editor, reporter, foreman of the composing room, and also the compositor, pressman, etc., the only opening for alfred was in the business department. lin said that harrison was the "most nicest man that ever kum from uniontown, thet they was nearly all 'mountin hoosiers' but she would bet harrison kum from a good family and she hoped hurd's would feed him right." in those days it was the custom for the employer to board his hands. the first three days alfred was in the business department he carried two tons of coal in two big pails from the cellar to the third story--the press room. harrison declared it was not possible to publish a clean sheet unless the room was kept at an even temperature. harrison had reference to the mechanical part of the paper, not the literary. on press day, baggy allison, the town drayman, helped out. he worked the lever of the hand-press. it required heft and strength to pull the lever as it was necessary to press the form heavily to give the type the proper impression on the paper. alfred was the roller. two gluey, molassy, sticky rollers about four inches in diameter with handles on them, not unlike a small lawn mower without wheels, was first run over the ink smeared on a large flat stone, then over the form lying on the press after each impression. press day was a big day in the little printing office. harrison had inaugurated reforms and improvements in the paper. he had a catchy style in writing up the news. for instance: when polly rider and jacob rail were united in marriage, the groom requested a nice mention of the wedding, it was promised him. the following appeared in the _clipper's_ next issue: "on wednesday evening in the presence of a large and respectable gathering of the quality of bull skin township, jacob rail and polly rider were married by a duly qualified squire. the affair was held at tom rush's tavern. all following the bride and groom a-horseback made a crowd as long as any that ever attended an infair or any other public outpouring in this neighborhood. rush sets the best table on the old pike twixt brownsville and cumberland. at this infair he outshone all others; many claimed it was the best meal they ever sat down to. mine host is not a candidate for any office we know of but he can get anything he wants in this county insofar as the support of this paper goes. and we know whereof we write. two baskets filled with dainties and a demi-john came to this office. the whole office wishes the happy landlord 'bon vivant' until we can do better by him. the bride wore red roses and other posies; the groom wore a new black suit which he bought at skinner's round corner clothing store. everybody wishes them a pleasant voyage through life, as does the clipper." the two baskets of dainties had not been received when the article was written but a copy of the paper found its way into the hands of the landlord before the ink was dry and the baskets and demi-john were in the office soon thereafter. folks were just as susceptible to favorable mention then as now. in the same column of the _clipper_ appeared this voluntary tribute: "t. b. murphy, the handsome and polite ladies' man, the artistic grocer, has just gotten in a large supply of everything in his line. murphy is just a little cheaper and a great deal better than other grocers. among the toothsome goodies which the boys of the clipper dote on are the fresh scotch herring all ready for eating and the sugar crackers. they go together and make a snack fit for a king to gorge on." harrison never tired of sugar crackers and scotch herring. the herring kept him continually thirsty, hence jose lawton came in for favorable mention: "jose lawton, the oldest and best baker in the town this day received a dray load of spencer & mckay's cream ale. spicy and brown, it is a nectar fit for the gods and spurs on ye editor in his untiring labors for that great moral inspiration, the public." all that day the business department of the paper was very busy with a large coffee pot carrying inspiration from lawton's to the press room. harrison carried his reforms and innovations to the editorial pages of the paper. in his first editorial he attacked those who held the offices and those who aspired to them, that is, those to whom the paper was opposed. uncle billy hatfield was a candidate for county judge. the _clipper_ said: "the office holding habit is so strongly imbedded in the family," (uncle billy had been a justice of the peace, another uncle a constable and alfred's father burgess for one term), "that if the voters of this county defeat them, as they surely will do as the clipper is in the fight to stay, and they were sent to the island of ceylon, where the natives have no clothes on, they wouldn't be there long before they would hold all the offices. and thus, like here, have their hands in the pockets of the naked voters." press day harrison would fly fold and what not until a dozen copies had been run off that looked right to him. with these he left the office, the drayman and business department struggled along with the printing of the paper. the circulation was nine hundred and it generally took the day and far into the night to work off the edition. harrison carried the copies containing complimentary write-ups of various enterprises and persons in town to the persons themselves and frequently returned with articles contributed by the recipient of the write-up. he would bestow them on the office force, a pair of suspenders to alfred, a pair of gloves to baggy allison, cigars, cheese, scotch herring, sugar crackers and tobacco, were distributed and kept on hand at all times, that is all times near press day. harrison generally celebrated for three days. press day was thursday; he kept it up until sunday when he was generally very sick. on this, alfred's first press day, baggy allison, the pressman, grew very tired when three hundred of the edition had been worked off. the pressman proceeded to take a nap. that the great preserver of public morals might not be delayed in delivery, alfred essayed to work the press. the foot rest was too far away for him to reach the lever. the first time he pulled it towards him while on a tension, the lever slipped from his slender grasp, and flying back, snapped one of the small springs in the press. harrison was sought and finally found but was too effulgent to realize the calamity. he recommended the press be shipped to philadelphia and the office closed for two weeks. he was evidently feeling so good that he could not entertain the idea of getting back to the regular life in less time. mr. hurd, the owner, insisted that davy chalfant, "the best blacksmith in the country," could repair the spring. alfred was dispatched with the broken bits to davy's shop. davy was not only noted for his mechanical skill but for his likes and dislikes. he had a great admiration for mechanics who labored with heavy tools or machinery and greater contempt for all who were engaged in lighter labor. davy could shoe horses, weld tires or axles as no other blacksmith in those parts. [illustration: "what does hurd take me fur, a damned jeweler?"] kaiser, the town jeweler, a german of delicate physique and features, a skilled workman, was held in special contempt by the big blacksmith who never passed the jeweler's shop that he did not hurl, under his breath, contemptuous words at the delicate little jeweler sitting in his window with a magnifying glass on his eye, plying his trade. when alfred handed the blacksmith the broken bits of the spring he took them in the hollow of his big palm and said: "what's these?" alfred explained that the press was broken and it would be impossible to print the paper until the spring was repaired and mr. hurd said he knew that he, mr. chalfant, could fix it. davy turned the bits of broken steel over in his palm with the forefinger of his other hand as he musingly said: "so hurd said i could fix this thing, did he?" and here he handed alfred the broken bits. "well, you take it back to hurd an' ax him what he takes me fur, a damned jeweler?" someone suggested that gus lyons, the machinist and piano tuner, could repair the spring, which he did after several hours work. harrison celebrated longer, with the result that the remainder of the edition was not worked off until after the regular edition of the following week. the edition of the week before went out with the regular edition with an added note at the top of the page explaining the terrible accident to the press which caused the delay. it was one of the onerous duties of the business department to deliver the paper in three towns, brownsville, bridgeport and west brownsville. to the houses on the hill above workman's tavern he generally sent the paper by a boy; the subscribers along water street, down toward the coal tipple, were served by somebody alfred met going that way. [illustration] when alfred took charge of the business department he was furnished a list of the subscribers in the three towns. it was not long until he lost the list; in fact, he never was guided by the list. none of the democrats of any prominence in the town took the paper, but every week, those holding office would be touched up in the paper. the business department always took pains to deliver a copy of the paper to one thus mentioned. if the article were pretty severe alfred saw to it that all the family of the one roasted received a copy of the paper. this kept things stirred up around the office and the town. alfred generally distributed the papers to every family whether they subscribed to it or not. from the outlying districts there came many complaints of the non-delivery of the paper. the owner of the paper hired a horse and buggy to trace the business department in its work. bob and mrs. hubbard owned a malt house and made excellent ale, so it was said. they were subscribers to the paper. the owner of the paper visited the hubbards. the mrs. was the business end of the firm. after visiting a little while and sampling a goblet of the ale, the owner of the paper announced the object of his visit: "we have a new boy, complaints have come to the office that our readers are not receiving their papers regularly. how about yours?" mrs. hubbard looked at the owner rather surprised, as she informed him that she "'adn't noticed the paper around the 'ouse in several weeks." she said: "i thought you 'ad stopped printing it." this nettled the owner, who was proud of his paper. "no ma'am! we have never stopped it but you won't lose nothing, we will run you five weeks over on the next year's subscription." and he took another glass of ale. the owner expressed his disappointment that the paper had not been delivered regularly. he remarked as he sipped at the fresh goblet of ale the lady had insisted on him taking, "you shall have your paper regularly hereafter, i shall bring it down myself every thursday evening." "oh lor', no, mr. urd," the good woman began, "oh lor', 'urd, we wouldn't 'ave you trouble yourself for hennything. never mind the paper, we never reads hit enyhow." alfred did not fancy harrison but was constantly associated with him. there was a charm about the man for alfred that was stronger than his dislike. harrison knew, or pretended he did, all the showmen of the day, he would discuss them for hours while alfred sat in open-mouthed wonder. there was one feature alfred studied over greatly--harrison's acquaintance with all noted showmen was brought about in nearly every instance by harrison having assisted them financially at some time. alfred had never thought of a clown or a minstrel except as one rolling in wealth. when harrison related how he had assisted dan rice out of louisville when in distress and sam sharpley out of maysville when creditors oppressed him, alfred's respect for the man was still more lessened. but it influenced him to look upon actors with a feeling less exalted than previously. [illustration] alfred learned in after years that the hallucinations of harrison as to assisting actors financially were common in the minds of those who lived a roving life. harrison gave alfred the first copy of the _new york clipper_ he ever read, probably the only amusement paper in the united states at that time. alfred was all of one rainy sunday reading that copy of the _clipper_. he kept it hid in the cow stable fearing his father would object to the paper. alfred became an authority on sports and amusements. the town people marveled at his knowledge. frank mckernan, the sporting shoemaker, referred every argument that came up in his shop as to actors or prize fighters to him. harrison presented alfred a book on stage management. it contained just such information as he had been seeking. the band of minstrels were busily rehearsing in the back room of frank mckernan's shoe-shop. harrison elated alfred with the information that after the troupe became perfectly rehearsed they could give performances every saturday night in jeffres hall and money would roll in on them. john and charley acklin, splendid singers from the methodist church choir, joined the troupe when the minstrels serenaded alfred's family. lin acknowledged, "the singin' wus purty an' ye git along right good although hit mought be better." harrison pronounced the troupe perfectly rehearsed and ordered alfred to secure jeffres hall for the following saturday night. then came trouble. harrison assumed to be manager and treasurer. win scott, alfred's dearest pal, had always been the door-keeper. win was intensely jealous of harrison. alfred required harrison's aid with the newspaper and to have a few handbills printed. he loved old win and he was greatly disturbed as to how to appease win and satisfy harrison. harrison had become very much interested in lin. the lady had not given him any encouragement. lin had a beau to whom she was loyal. harrison continually quizzed alfred as to lin's attitude toward him. alfred truthfully advised harrison that lin had never referred to him. harrison, in addition to his impecuniosity, had other peculiarities of which vanity was not the least. alfred persuaded lin to accompany harrison to the proposed show. as lin's "steady" was employed in a distant town and she was very anxious to witness the first minstrels performance, she sort of half way promised to permit the itinerant printer to escort her to the show. but she decidedly declared, "ef he kums near me with the smell of licker on him i'll sack him quick." alfred felt that he was playing a desperate game but he had a great deal at stake. the fact is, in all his other shows he had never enjoyed the luxury of a treasurer. he did not fully comprehend the meaning of the term; a door-keeper was all he required and when harrison continually talked of the treasurer as the one who held the destinies of the troupe in the hollow of his hand, it was displeasing to alfred. in fact, alfred had inwardly resolved that harrison should not handle the funds. win scott, his boyhood friend, should keep door and take in the money as heretofore. alfred resolved, though lin even refused to accept the invitation of harrison, that he would declare himself at the last moment as to the treasurership. alfred called on mr. jeffres, the owner of the hall, the only one in town, stated his business, inquired as to the rental for a single night, intimating to the fidgety little englishman that the hall would be rented many subsequent nights if the price was satisfactory. alfred has experienced many rebuffs but none so overwhelming as the refusal of mr. jeffres to consider his proposition. he was smothered with astonishment, chagrin and several other emotions that no appropriate names have been found for. the parting words of mr. jeffres kept ringing in his ears as he sorrowfully walked homewards, his heart so heavy he could scarcely lift his feet from the ground: "hi do not care to rent my 'all to hirresponsible persons. hi 'av no desire to 'ave you an' your scalawags ha-running about my 'all naked as some of you did the day you 'ad your grandfather's coolin' sheets tacked hon the hold rag tent hin front of my 'ouse." jeffres bowed alfred out of his house as he concluded his speech. lin was up in arms. "huh! let ole tilty go to blazes with his ole 'all (mimicking jeffres). i'll git ye the campbellite meetin' house, see ef i don't." the true inwardness of the refusal of the hall was that jeffres was the business competitor of alfred's father. captain decatur abrams was building the steamboat "talequah." jeffres greatly desired the contract and felt sure that he would get it. captain abrams was the father's friend through all the vicissitudes of those troublesome days and the contract went to alfred's father. in after years, when the old gentleman, whose feelings had softened with age, invited alfred to appear in his hall, alfred met the astounded man with a courtesy and consideration that made the two men friends ever afterwards. spurred to greater activity in furthering his scheme to produce his first minstrel enterprise, alfred, without consulting anyone, walked out the old pike to the redstone school-house. he waited outside until the noon hour. with the sound of the children's voices in their happiness at play disturbing his interview he made his errand known to the teacher. miss lenhart, the teacher, was the sweetheart of his cousin will, although alfred was not aware of it nor did he know of the influence this had in securing him the school-house until long after the couple were wedded. washington brashears, the president of the school directors, gave his permission and thus was the school-house secured. all the scholars, the teacher and the school directors were to receive free tickets for the performance. the mother, remembering the boy's mishaps in similar attempts, was very earnest in her efforts to dissuade him from giving the exhibition, particularly when she was informed by the enthusiastic showman that the price of admission would be twenty-five cents for grown folks and a levy (twelve and a half cents) for children. harrison wrote up jeffres in the _clipper_ as "one who would impede the progress of civilization. the discourager of genius and talent." hurd toned down the article somewhat. however, it had the effect of advertising not only alfred but his great moral exhibition. lin loaned alfred the last cent she had in the world and accompanied him to the dry goods store that he might not be imposed upon in the purchase of red calico to be used as a curtain. "i'll be thar from the time hit opens 'til it's over an' thar'll be no wall-paper show clo's in it nuther, ye see ef thur is. mary, ye needn't be skeered, jes res' easy, i'll see hit's all es proper es eny meetin' or sunday school an' ef they don't like it, be dog-goned ef i don't make alfurd gin the money back." this last declaration did more to allay the worry of the mother than anything that had been said before. the mother actually so forgot her fears that she assisted lin in sewing the curtains. old man risbeck, a neighboring farmer, not only loaned alfred the lumber to build the platform, or stage, but assisted in building it. park mcdonald, another farmer, a little the worse for hard cider, also assisted, with a great deal of advice which was not followed. the teacher dismissed school at noon friday that all might be in readiness for the big show saturday night. alfred was not altogether pleased with the idea of lin bossing the whole job, fearing that many members of his troupe would be disgruntled over her domineering manner. however, she was so enthusiastic and inventive he refrained from doing or saying anything that would impair her usefulness. lin was very sensitive and somehow alfred felt that the success of the great undertaking required lin's help. alfred had worked all night setting type and working off a small, square bill, printed in black ink on pink paper. he would have used red, blue or any other highly colored ink if it had been in the office. the bill read: hatfield and storey's alabama minstrels redstone school-house early candle light come one--come all admission price cents for men and women twelve and a half cents for children. [illustration: alfred as a bill poster] alfred not only set up and printed the bills announcing his first minstrel show but distributed them, tacking them up in conspicuous places. the first bill was tacked on mart claybaugh's blacksmith shop near the old brubaker tavern. alfred then continued out the pike to searight's tavern. at uncle billy hatfield's a great display was made on barn, blacksmith and harness shop. when uncle billy returned home and read the bill headed "hatfield and storey's alabama minstrels," he first imagined that his political enemies were working something off on him. cousin will's explanation did not satisfy him and he ordered the bills removed, fearing they might jeopardize his political chances. alfred visited plumsock, cook's mill, joshua wagner's cider press. even at that early day alfred had the advertising idea pretty well developed. press day the paper was worked off more promptly than usual and alfred had the entire edition delivered by dark. harrison had a longer list of complimentary mentions than usual, hence he celebrated more copiously than ever. lin learned of this through alfred. she remarked: "durn him an' his drinkin'. i'll jes fool him; i'll go out with you all." this was another jolt for alfred as charley wagner, the violinist of the company, was one of those obstinate dutchmen who had to be treated "just so," otherwise he would "pack up his wiolin und scoot," as he expressed it. wagner was fully informed as to the insinuations lin had indulged in reflecting upon his ability and more than once he had advised alfred, "if dor beeg wirginia gal gets anyting to do mid dis troupe, yust count me out." george washington antonio frazier, the town teamster, had been engaged by alfred to transport the troupe and properties to and from the little red school-house. a good sleighing snow covering the ground, the teamster had provided a big bob-sled well filled with straw to keep the feet warm. the start was to be made at o'clock. alfred finally prevailed upon lin to walk to the top of town hill and get in the sled there. he argued to her that she being the only woman in the party it would not look well for her to ride through town. lin finally agreed to do as alfred desired. then came another embarrassment. alfred's brother joe insisted on going. he followed his elder brother up and down stairs crying all the while. finally it was decided to take the little fellow along. customs cling to a family the same as other entanglements. alfred's little brother was handicapped with a crop of curls exact imitations of those that had so embittered the early days of alfred's life. when the sled was loaded and all the troupe comfortably seated therein, it was discovered that the driver was not in sight. alfred knew where to find him and was at his side in a moment. the old fellow was in the act of raising a large glass of whiskey to his lips as alfred touched him on the arm and politely announced that the sled was loaded and all were waiting for the driver. lowering his arm, with the liquor untouched in his hand, the driver began: "look yer, young man. you agreed to give me four dollars to carry you out to redstone school-house an' back. my team'll hev to be fed thur an' i'll hev to eat supper somewhar. ye'll hev to pay up the money afore i move a dam foot." with this he raised the liquor to his lips and swallowed it with one gulp. the bar-room was crowded, as it usually was at that hour of the day. for a moment alfred was confused; he did not possess one cent of money and it flashed through his mind that no one in the troupe would be likely to have any. for just one moment his heart started downwards; the eyes of all were upon him. pulling himself together and straightening himself up to his full height, he said: "mr. frazier, i hired you to haul us to the school-house and return and insofar as your horse feed is concerned, that was not mentioned. i always intended you to eat supper with us at eliza eagle's. when you get back to town and complete your part of the bargain i will pay you, and not before." this speech caught the crowd and took the old teamster somewhat by surprise. "wall, ef you'll put up the money with the landlord, i'll take ye out an' ef ye don't ye can hoof it," was the teamster's reply. turning to the bar-tender, he said: "give me a little more licker." the last demand of the teamster was not an unreasonable one and it would not look well to refuse it. alfred hotly replied: "you'll get your money when you do your work; i would not put up five cents for you while you are drinking whiskey." this angered the old fellow. he sneeringly replied: "i pay fur my licker an' it's nun uf yer dam business how much i drink uf it." through the window alfred discerned a team and sled driving by. rushing out he discovered that it was his uncle jack craft. the two families were not on speaking terms and had not been for a long time. alfred shouted: "ho, uncle! ho, uncle! hold on; pull up, i want to see you." the uncle seemed more than glad to have alfred approach him. he did not even wait to hear the whole of the story alfred had to tell of frazier's meanness. driving his much larger and more stylish conveyance alongside frazier's rig, the passengers and baggage were transferred before frazier realized what had transpired. as he emerged from the hotel he was met with jeers from the troupe as they started off up the old pike, not so rapidly as alfred and uncle joe once traversed it on black fan, but at a pace that put all in good humor. alfred sat on the front seat holding his little brother and charley wagner's violin. it was not solicitude for the safety of the instrument that prompted him to persuade wagner to permit him to hold it. he figured that if wagner balked when lin got in the sled at the top of the hill he would be better entrenched to argue with the obstinate leader with the violin in _his_ hands. when lin hailed them by shouting: "how-dye, how's the minstrels?" all greeted her cordially. alfred had his eye on the leader. while he was not as cordial in his greetings as the others, he smiled and returned lin's salutations. alfred explained jokingly that lin came along to take care of little joe and to help lize eagle out with the supper. the party was a merry one and everyone they met was the butt of their mirth. old man bedler at the toll gate passed the party free and wished alfred all kinds of good luck. the old german's voice trembled and a tear rolled down his bronzed cheek as he shook hands with alfred and said: "good luck! ef my poor billy was only here he'd be with you." he referred to his only son who was drowned a few months previously. alfred had assisted in recovering the body and the old toll-gate keeper had the kindliest feelings for him. it did not require long to arrange the stage and place the few properties. lin was everywhere busy at all times. the widow eagle's humble home was only a short distance from the school-house. supper was called and lin and charley wagner were seen coming from the school-house together joking and laughing. lin had captivated the leader. lin refused to sit at the first table, she declared she would wait and eat with mrs. eagle and mary emily, the daughter. meanwhile, she busied herself waiting on the table. she was markedly attentive to the leader, filling his plate even when he protested that he had more than enough. the leader was an old bachelor. when he got the wishbone of the chicken all insisted that lin and he pull it. when the leader got the short piece all laughed and joked him; all the party was jolly. no. there was one who was not, although he endeavored to conceal it by laughs and remarks. lin knew that alfred was nervous and worried. he was in doubt as to the receipts covering expenses; he was in doubt as to the show pleasing. in fact, he was suffering the tortures all have endured--who have a conscience--who ever produced a public entertainment. the curtain went up, or rather was pulled aside, on alfred's first minstrel show. seated in the semi-circle were billy storey, bones and stump speech; amity getter, interlocutor or middleman, vocalist and guitar player; the acklin brothers, vocalists; billy woods, flute and piccolo, guitar and vocalist; charles wagner, violin; billy hyatt, clog and jig dancer; tommy white, clog and jig dancer, and alfred, singer, dancer, comedian, stage manager, property man and superintendent of wardrobe. the little school-house was packed--sitting, standing and leaning room was all taken, even the window-sills were occupied. lin, seated near the stage, was lost in amazement at the improvement in the troupe. her head nodded and foot patted in time with the tunes with which she was familiar. when storey and alfred concluded their double song and dance, (this was a new number to lin), she led the applause and hustled uncle jack back of the scenes requesting the boys repeat the number. alfred had profited by reading the book harrison had presented him. the song and music made a very great impression on lin. late and early you could hear her voice as she went about her work singing: "i feel just as happy as a big sunflower, that bows and bends in the breezes, and my heart is as light as the winds that blow the leaves from off the treeses" there was but one mishap that marred the evening's performance. the front curtain was run on rings, on a small, tight wire stretched across the entire width of the school house. the curtain that formed a background of the stage, and behind which the performers dressed, was much too heavy for the small nails with which it was secured. someone pulled on the curtain and down it came. alfred and one or two others were changing their costumes. alfred with surprising nimbleness jumped into a large trunk, concealing himself so quickly that the audience caught sight of only his feet as he plunged head first into the trunk. the other two members were completely confused and ran into a corner turning their backs to the audience. [illustration: hatfield and storey] dr. john davidson and othey brashears were seated in the front row, grabbed the curtain and held it head high until all were costumed. it was then replaced and the show went on. lin, in commenting on what alfred considered the most unfortunate accident that ever befell his show, said: "well, ye jus couldn't call hit a back-set to the show, kase peepul laffed more about hit then anythin' else in the hull thing." when the last note of the walk around had died out, the audience remained seated, waiting for more, (printed programs were unknown in those days). getty went before the curtain and announced that the show was over. the crowd began to disperse; the boys from town and some of the country folks forced their way behind the scenes to congratulate alfred, all declaring that it was the best entertainment they had ever witnessed. one over-enthusiastic young fellow offered the leader two dollars to have fiddlers play for a dance; in fact many of the young folks desired to turn it into a dance. this seemed like desecration to alfred and forever after he respected the dignified farmer, washington brashears, who, standing stately and tall, with the beard of a patriarch, in a voice mild but firm, said: "we have been entertained by our young friend and his companions in a way that it falls to the lot of but few to enjoy; only those in filidelphy have the privilege of enjoying such exhibitions as we have enjoyed here tonight. as the chairman of the board of school directors, i can say that we permitted the use of this school-house for the entertainment. it is our only meeting house now, and there will be preaching here next sunday evening, therefore we cannot permit dancing tonight." the nearly ice cold, spring water influenced alfred to go home with the black on his face. the little party and belongings were soon loaded into the roomy sled. bidding goodnight to the few friends who remained to see them off, they headed homeward. it was a happy party that sped along the old pike. lin led in the singing of songs long since discarded by the minstrels. even uncle jack entered into the jollity of the occasion. he was greatly elated over the success of the show. the spirited team was traveling much faster than safety demanded. at a turn in the road there was a treacherous, slippery place, the sled swung around sideways--skidded would explain the motion--one runner slipped over the edge of the bank, the sleigh turned upside down throwing out the cargo of human freight. lin's scream could be heard half a mile. alfred's only solicitude was for his brother joe. uncle jack held on to the team which was released from the sled by the breaking of the pole. after the occupants extricated themselves it was found that the only serious damage suffered was the breaking of amity getty's fine guitar. [illustration] it required the combined strength of all to right the sled and get it up the steep bank to the roadway. the tongue or pole was made fast to the sled with rope and the journey resumed. up hill, all could ride; down hill all were compelled to walk and hold the sled off the heels of the horses, as the broken pole would not permit the team to hold back. it was two o'clock in the morning when the welcome lights of the town shone on the belated minstrels. alfred was too tired and sleepy and the water too cold to wash the black off his face. he crept upstairs to the big room rarely occupied. not answering the breakfast bell, sister lizzie was sent up to call him. one glance at the black face on the pillow sent her scampering down the stairs. "i believe brother alfred has brought a darkey home with him. there's one in the big bed any way." this sent the father upstairs by bounds. alfred was unceremoniously yanked out of bed and shoved down stairs. when he appeared in the kitchen such laughter as greeted him would have pleased him greatly the night before. alfred explaining all the while that it was too cold to wash the black off his face the night before and that he couldn't get it off with cold water "no how." the father insisted that he go to the back yard and scrub his face with cold water as punishment for going to bed blacked up. to lin's question as to how much he had made the night before alfred gave evasive replies. hastily eating his breakfast he was quickly on his way to win scott's home. before he had proceeded far on his way he met his pal scott on his way to alfred's home. alfred judged from the size of the audience that there was not only sufficient money in win's hands to pay all obligations but also a handsome surplus. he was simply crushed to learn that the receipts amounted to just $ . . alfred felt that he would be everlastingly disgraced when he announced that he was not able to pay the debts incurred. the boys conferred long and earnestly. win proposed that they pay lin and uncle jack and then run off; go to the newly discovered oil country and make their fortunes. this proposition was rejected by alfred. to go to the oil regions was a pet idea of the older boy and it was not long ere he left the old town to seek his fortune and alfred never saw him afterwards. alfred took the money. when he reached home he settled with lin in full. uncle jack was handed his four dollars by alfred with the air of a millionaire. after paying lin and uncle jack, alfred had $ . left, with debts to the amount of $ . pressing him, or they would be the next day. he retired to his room. he could plainly hear lin describing and praising the performance. she dwelt at length on the high quality of the gathering, saying that all the best people in red stone section were there. when lin wondered what alfred would do next, now that he had money, alfred felt like rushing from the house to seek his pal and flee to the oil regions. he opened the front door and walked out without any idea of where he was going. he walked aimlessly and found himself on church street where sammy steele overtook him on his way to church. the reverend kerr was pastor, the father of e. m. kerr, afterwards noted in the minstrel profession as e. m. kayne. when mr. steele asked alfred if he were on his way to church, alfred answered: "yes." the two walked to the church together and home after the sermon was over. on the way the tanner described in detail the improvements he was making in his plant and invited alfred to accompany him to the tannery to look over the work under way. in those days everybody ate dinner at high noon. alfred was impatient at the seeming delay of lin in serving the meal. lin remarked: "ye're jus like every man thet gits to makin' money, figity." alfred arrived at the tannery long before the owner. the suction pumps and other labor saving devices were examined and explained to alfred who pretended to be deeply interested. after all had been explained, they found themselves in the big finishing room where alfred had passed so many pleasant days and evenings. the boy wished that he was back in the tannery free from the cares hanging over him. finally, he looked his former employer full in the face and, in a voice full of earnestness, asked the big, dignified man for the loan of thirty dollars, promising to work it out night and day until it was paid in full. he dwelt at length on the shame that would come to him if he could not meet his obligations. "if you will help me out of this i will never forget you and you will never regret it," concluded alfred. the straightforward man of business complimented alfred for his anxiety to pay his debts, at the same time pointing out to him the danger of contracting debts he could not meet; that an honest man never had peace of mind when in debt; that a man was never as brave or useful to himself or family as when free of the haunting fear of losing his standing through debt. he told alfred to meet him at o'clock the next morning and he would give him his answer. after a sleepless night alfred was at the tannery on time. mr. steele was there when he arrived and greeted him kindly. noting alfred's worried expression, he said: "there is no use worrying over affairs of this kind; the proper course is to steer clear of them, which i think you will do after this." alfred assured him that he would be sure to do so. the tanner handed alfred a paper, requesting him to read it carefully. alfred could scarcely believe his eyes as he read: "in consideration of $ to me in hand paid, the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, i hereby agree to bind myself to work for samuel steele for a period of two months, performing such duties as he may direct...." alfred studied a moment and said: "i do not mind any work you may put on me and i will work all day and part of the night, but if you would only let me have the money i can pay you back much sooner out of what i make at hurd's. i want to get out of debt and you are the only person in the world i can go to. i don't want my folks to know of this." "then you will not sign the paper?" questioned the tanner. "i don't like to and it don't seem hardly fair after the wages you paid me before. give me a dollar a day and i'll sign it." mr. steele took the paper from alfred's hand, tore it up and threw it into the open grate as he said: "my boy, i was only trying you. i wanted to show you how those in debt are in the power of anyone who is unscrupulous. if you had signed the paper i would not have had confidence in you. in fact, i did not intend to permit you to sign it if you had shown a willingness to do so. i will loan you the money and you can pay it back to me as you earn it, without interest. settle with your creditors and keep out of debt. and furthermore, tell no one that i loaned you this money, and never borrow another dollar unless you see a way to pay it." the advice given alfred by the old tanner has saved him heart aches and much money. all the outstanding bills were met. when the members of the troupe gathered at their room and the final statement laid before them there was deep silence for a moment. it was a commonwealth arrangement insofar as the profits were concerned, a one man concern as to the losses. however, none ever expected a deficiency, each expecting to get quite a little money for his share. the members of the troupe sympathized with alfred. charley wagner, who was the only salaried member, consoled him thusly: "yah, und ef you ever go to dot redstone school-house mit your troupe again you'll git him all back." how many times alfred has heard like statements since! win scott explained the small receipts and the large crowd. all the school directors and their families were to be admitted free. no tickets were used, the money was taken in at the door. when anyone appeared and said "school director" or "school director's family," win passed them in. it was afterward learned that some of the directors had as many as thirty in their families the night of the show. harry harrison came forward at this critical period of the minstrel enterprise and took upon himself the management. although alfred had his misgivings, he was glad to be relieved of the responsibility and to have the concern continued. not a line appeared in the _clipper_ as to the first show but glowing accounts of what was to follow were printed weekly. harrison prevailed upon the shoemaker to build a small stage in the room the troupe had rented for rehearsing purposes. also to move a partition, giving the minstrels quite a large room which was provided with heat and light. the announcement was sent forth that the evening star minstrels would give entertainments every saturday night at mckernan's hall, at barefoot square. harrison gave no explanation as to why he changed the title of the company. story was angry. alfred was pleased, inwardly congratulating himself that future deficiencies would have to be made up by harrison. the next saturday night and the following saturday night saw the little hall packed. and thus another pang of jealousy will be added to the heart of bill brown, that brownsville enjoyed the distinction of a permanent minstrel hall while pittsburg never had such an institution, traveling minstrel shows appearing there for only one or two nights in masonic hall. after several nights of big business several members of the troupe made inquiries as to the funds and their disposition. at first harrison was very courteous and explained that the establishing and opening of the hall was expensive; that later on when well established, jeffres hall would be secured and nightly dividends would be paid. charley wagner, true to the traditions of history handed down from the days of babylon, namely, that musicians are the first to stir discord, laid down his fiddle and bow and declared: "no more music until we get our money." it then developed that nothing had been paid in the way of salaries or other expenses since harrison had assumed the management. at this juncture harrison became insolvent. the landlord locked up the hall with all the belongings of the troupe nor would he release the goods until the rent was paid in full. harrison was appealed to. he sneered at the impecunious minstrels and taunted them by saying: "now go get your stuff out. if you all hadn't been so peart i'd seen you through." each minstrel was compelled to pay his proportionate share of the amount due for rent and lights. his private property was then delivered to him by the sporting shoemaker. when he had collected the rent due him he sent for harrison, escorted him into the deserted hall and demanded that he (harrison) have the partition replaced in its original location. when harrison angrily refused, the shoemaker proceeded to give him a drubbing. harrison did not collect anything that week from those to whom he gave favorable mention in the paper as two black eyes compelled him to keep close to the office. chapter eleven and i would learn to better show my gratitude for favors had, to see more of the good below and less of what i think is bad. to live not always in the day to come, and count the joys to be, but to remember, as i stray, the past and what is brought to me. lured by that feeling which impels the criminal to visit the scene of his crime, alfred began a pilgrimage to the little red school-house. walking along the old pike the sound of a horse's hoofs beating a tattoo on the road reached his ears. he recognized in the rider, joe thornton. the white pacing mare which thornton bestrode had one of those peculiar high-lifting gaits, that, from the sound of the hoofs on the roadbed, caused one to imagine that she was going at a very rapid gait, while in fact she was not doing much more than pounding the road. uncle joe said of her: "she'd pace all day in the shade of a tree." when opposite alfred, mr. thornton slowed up and made numerous inquiries as to the minstrel show, expressing regret that he was not able to attend; he intended going, having received an invitation from one of the school directors. he requested alfred to advise him of the next performance; he would be there sure. then, as if to make up for the few moments lost conversing with alfred, he gave the mare the word and she pounded the pike more heavily than before. alfred admired the big, handsome rider and the white mare; he longed to bestride her and kept his eyes on horse and rider as they traveled on before him. alfred noticed a black looking object fall to the dusty pike. at the distance it seemed a large sized shoe. alfred kept his eyes on the object as he neared the spot where it lay. bending over he discovered a very large, black book. picking it up he saw bills, money, more money than the boy had ever held in his hands before. he trembled as he turned over bill after bill. he had dreamed that he would be rich--some day in the far future--day dreams. his riches were always to come. they had come suddenly, unexpectedly. mother would have a new cooking stove; lin declared daily that the old stove would not bake on the bottom. brother joe would have toys and a sled, sister lizzie anything she wanted, brother will anything he needed, a melodeon for lin. sammy steele would be paid with the same flourish with which uncle jack was paid. harrison would be deposed, the minstrel troupe would go out, travel to distant parts and make money, more money than alfred wanted; he would divide it with all his best friends, he would make all happy. with these thoughts flying through his mind he walked on in the direction the rider had gone. suddenly realizing that the money was not his he cast a glance ahead, expecting every moment to see the rider returning post haste to claim the treasure. when he reached the lane leading off the pike to the thornton house, he hesitated, opened the book again and looked at the money, turning over the neat layers of bills, fives in one section, tens in another, twenties in a third, legal looking papers in a fourth, tied about with a thin, red ribbon. he thought of concealing the book. no, he would hasten home and conceal the money in the cow stable. he was opposite the gate of the yard in which stood the big thornton house. should he enter? alfred looked long and anxiously for the man on horseback; instead he noticed a proud looking, elderly lady walking about the flower beds. he nodded respectfully but the lady did not make a sign of recognition. however, in quite a loud voice he inquired if mr. thornton were at home. "which mr. thornton? there are two mr. thorntons, russell and joseph." "joseph thornton," answered alfred, "is the gentleman i am looking for." alfred felt his importance. from down the lane toward the barn there came the sound of horse's hoofs clattering on the road. alfred's ears told him that it was the white pacer. as the rider caught sight of alfred he dismounted. running toward the boy, his long beard flowing on either side of his neck, he began: "mr. hatfield, did you see--." here alfred held up the book to his view. as he fairly bounded forward, he grasped the book in one hand and threw an arm around alfred. he exclaimed: "where the h--ll did you find it? it's a good thing for me that you came out the pike; if almost anybody else had found it i'd never have gotten it back, that is the money; i never could have traced that. the papers could have been traced. no one who loses money ever gets it back." as the man turned the book over in his hand he inquired: "did you open it?" then a little ashamed of the question continued: "of course you had to open it, otherwise you wouldn't have known to whom it belonged. now see here alfred, i want to do the right thing by you. i will call at your house tonight. i want to meet your mother; your father i am well acquainted with. your uncle will has told me that he is too hard on you and you're a dam nice boy and you ought to be treated right." at this insinuation alfred fired up. "my father always treats me right, but i've been a pretty bad boy. he has his notions and i've got mine. he never hits a lick amiss. he never hurts me when he does whip me. it's always a big laugh to me. he's the kindest pap in brownsville." "oh, you did not understand me. i did not mean to say that your father whipped you. i heard that he did not give you credit for your--your, that he--he--er hampered you in your--your--er--." "oh, i understand pap," interrupted alfred, "he's all right, we get along all right." then mr. thornton made inquiries as to where alfred was going. when the boy informed him, he said: "that's too far to walk; come on out to the stable, i'll loan you a horse. you can ride him home and i will get him tonight." they walked toward the white mare. alfred asked what kind of a saddler she was. "good," answered the man, "would you like to try her?" "why, yes, if it's all the same to you." by this time alfred was shortening the stirrup straps to the length of his limbs as measured by his arms. alfred's thinking gear was working faster than the white mare's hoofs ever pounded the earth. as he was about to mount he said: "mr. thornton, i'll bring this mare home. i don't want to trouble you to call at our house." [illustration: joe thornton and alfred] "why? i want to see your parents and i want to reward you." alfred, sitting on the horse's back, leaned far over toward the man and detailed the sad results of his first venture in minstrelsy. "whatever you give me will be applied on the payment of my debts. if our folks know that you gave me money they'll want to know what i did with it." the man grasped the situation, but informed alfred the money in the book belonged to his mother. he had withdrawn it from the bank to pay a note. he would help alfred out but must go to town before he could do so. "from whom did you borrow money," asked mr. thornton. alfred hesitated and said: "well, there's where i made another promise not to tell, but i'm going to tell you, i borrowed it from sammy steele." "well, i'll be damned if you ain't a good one. why, sammy steele is the tightest man in brownsville. how did you come to go to him?" alfred explained all. mr. thornton insisted that he ride the white mare home, adding that he would get her that night. alfred rode off, visiting not only the school-house but many old friends. he arrived home as it was growing dark. entering the house he found mr. thornton there; he had told the family all. he informed alfred that he had left an order on jake walters, the town tailor, for a suit of clothes, the material to be selected by the bearer. while the clothes were more than acceptable, alfred was disappointed. he feared he would not be in a position to pay the sammy steele note, although he was bending every energy, even dunning harrison for the fifty cents loaned him at their first meeting. the next week's issue of the _brownsville clipper_ contained a lengthy article, as follows: "one of fayette county's most prominent citizens lost a pocket-book containing a large amount of money and valuable papers. the book was lost on the old pike somewhere between the borough line and thornton's lane. fortunately for the loser, one of the clipper's most trusted employes traveling on the pike, found the valuable book. the finder is one who has been trained under the vigilant eye of the editor of this valuable paper. through the influence of the editor of this paper the money was returned to the owner in less than one hour after its loss was discovered. the finder was suitably rewarded and will soon be advanced to a more lucrative position on this paper." harrison, in addition to his promised reforms in the editorial columns of the paper, introduced innovations in the advertising department. the _pittsburg gazette_ was the only daily paper on the _clipper's_ exchange list--this fact compels the admission that pittsburg was a little ahead of brownsville in the newspaper field, boasting two papers at the time, the _gazette_ and _post_. both papers carried display advertisements of hostetter's stomach bitters and dr. jayne's liver pills for grown people and vermifuge for children. those were the only patent medicines that advertised at that time. harrison, in his illuminating way, wrote to the concerns soliciting advertising. dr. jayne's representative wrote, requesting the weekly circulation of the _clipper_ and the localities wherein it was circulated. harrison answered giving advertising rates, with unlimited reading notices and concluded his letter by advising that "the _brownsville clipper_ goes to greene, washington, westmoreland and bedford counties; it goes to pittsburg, cumberland and washington, and before i took hold of it the owner had all he could do to keep it from going to h--ll." something in harrison's letters appealed to the medicine men as advertisements were secured from both the concerns. in conformity with the custom of the times, part payment for advertising was to be taken in trade. big boxes containing bottles of the stomach bitters, smaller boxes containing pills and vermifuge were received. small quantities of both medicines were, with a great deal of persuasion, exchanged with country stores for farm products. after the first effort none of the bitters were offered for sale or trade insofar as the _clipper's_ supply was concerned. like the farmer who endeavored to sell the tanner the murn hide, harrison had found a market for the bitters at home. they contained about % alcohol, therefore it was a panacea for all ills that harrison was afflicted with, and he had many. the bitters were a pill for every ill. that was a hard winter. sugar crackers, scotch herring and cheese were harrison's principal food and a few of the liver pills were used, but the vermifuge stood on the shelves in the press room covered with dust. mr. hurd ordered alfred to get rid of it even if he had to give it away; not to destroy it; if he could not sell it to give it to the subscribers to the paper with the compliments of the editor. alfred covered his route with renewed vigor, a bundle of papers under his arm and both coat pockets filled with pills. alfred was personally acquainted with nearly every family in the town; he was familiar with the habits and health of all the boys. red haws, green apples, may apples, green chestnuts, in fact, everything that grows which boys devour more greedily before than after maturity, were plentiful in the country around brownsville. alfred did a fine business for a time. the paper was published only weekly and alfred was ordered by mr. hurd to dispense the medicine only when the paper was delivered. alfred was doing so well that he intimated to harrison that the paper should be semi-weekly, at least. alfred was receiving a commission on all pills he sold. alfred looked over the medicine stock; about the only thing in stock was liver pills. there were large quantities of liver pills lying on the shelves. alfred figured that the pills would do johnny's cow no harm and possibly might help her, as the cow was very sick. alfred did not wait until the paper was printed as the case was an urgent one. he made a special call, carrying nearly a pint of the liver pills in a paper collar box. (harrison always wore paper collars and a dicky.) alfred assured johnny that the pills were specially prepared for just such disorders as his cow was afflicted with. there was some question as to the number of pills that constituted a dose for a cow. as the printed directions gave no information on the matter, alfred thought a teacupful of the pellets would be about right. it required a great deal of hard labor on the part of both alfred and the owner to compel the cow to swallow the pills. however, a goodly part of the cupful of pills was administered to her. at first the cow appeared a great deal worse and her owner feared she would die. squire rowley, the best cow doctor in the neighborhood, was sent for. he administered blackberry tea and other astringents and the cow recovered. [illustration: "a cow's dose is a teacupful"] when lin heard that the boys were addressing alfred as "doctor," usually prefixing the title with the word "cow," she said: "they needn't try to plague alfurd, caus' it wus a durn good joke an' besides it cured the cow and it wus about time hurd's paper done somethin' good." alfred had saved sufficient money to cancel the note of sammy steele. with a light step he ran up the stairs leading from the street into the large finishing room. greeting all cheerily he inquired for the boss. mr. steele entered. looking curiously at alfred, with a twinkle in his eye, the old tanner remarked dryly: "hurd--mr. hurd--mr. hurd--must be gettin' mightily pushed when he starts his hands to peddling pills." mr. steele's remark made the boy redden and he mumbled something about the pills being received in trade and had to be sold by somebody. the tanner laughingly continued: "i expected to see johnny mccan coming in with a murn hide. how many of hurd's pills constitute a dose for a cow?" cooney brashear added to the jollity by suggesting that alfred "give sammy's mewel a dose the next time he kicks you." this reference to the "mewel" was only a reverberation of the town talk as lin had predicted. in fact, the reference to the "mewel" kicking alfred became, and is still, a by-word in the old town. mr. steele, to the surprise of alfred, refused to count the dollars and dimes he poured from the old leather purse on the desk. instead the man bid the boy "keep the money until the note was due, then bring it here, not a day before nor a day after. if you think you are going to die, leave directions to pay the debt. the man who pays beforehand shows himself a weakling, he is afraid of himself, he is afraid he cannot hold the money. he usually spends his money before he earns it." it was a great day for brownsville and the leading journal of the town, the _brownsville clipper_. two circuses were headed for the town; rosston, springer & henderson's and thayer & noyse great american circus. the agent of the first named show was first in, andy springer, "old rough head." the agent was aware of the coming opposition although he never mentioned it. his contract for advertising space in the _clipper_ had a clause to the effect that no other circus advertising or reading matter should appear in the columns of the great family paper prior to the date of the exhibition of the r. s. & h. aggregation. harrison made this "slick contract" as he termed it. he charged the circus man double the usual advertising rates, working the agent for unlimited free tickets. the genteel word "complimentary" had not become associated with show tickets as yet. in making up the free list harrison was as liberal to the families of the force as the school directors had been on the occasion of alfred's exhibition. the editor and owner's family received sixteen free tickets; there were five in his family all told. the managing-editor, harrison, and his family received fifteen free tickets. he distributed all of his tickets within two hours after they were counted out to him. (in those days the agent distributed the tickets, not by an order on the show as now.) harrison sought the circus agent at the hotel explaining that since he received the tickets he had consulted his family and they desired to go to the show twice, afternoon and night. the agent, knowing that there was opposition in sight, stood for the hold-up and harrison celebrated most gloriously the next few days, with free tickets to the circus. the foreman of the composing room was to have ten tickets. he was a poor man, harrison advised, and had a lot of children. the circus wouldn't lose anything as they would not pay to go nohow. the pressman and his family were to receive ten free tickets. the devil, alfred, was to receive six free tickets. he managed to get two that harrison carelessly dropped while changing his clothes. scarcely had the first agent cleared the town before charley stowe, agent for thayer & noyse arrived, brisk, bright and beaming. entering the _clipper_ office he found alfred the only person in. mr. stowe was very gracious. he won the boy to his side ere he had conversed with him five minutes. the agent was in a great hurry, he desired to get to pittsburgh at once--most agents are in a great hurry to get into a big city from a small town. alfred informed the agent that he did not know where harrison could be found. "please sit down and look over our paper," said alfred, and he left to seek harrison, who was diligently distributing circus tickets and judging from his condition, getting value received. alfred was almost overcome with the thought of two circuses coming to town. he imparted the information to everyone whom he met who was interested enough to listen. another circus coming, bigger and better than the first one, was alfred's guarantee. he was prompted to this through the fact that the newly arrived agent had been courteous to him. probably the twenty-five cents and two free tickets had something to do with alfred's leaning towards the second show. harrison was finally located at bill wyatt's, a place he had not frequented in a long time as the slate bore figures that had been written on it about the date harrison struck the town. harrison had partially squared the score with circus tickets. harrison was just able to walk with alfred's assistance. as they wobbled down wide market street alfred imagined the man in a mood to be approached. he reminded harrison of the half dollar long over due, and obligingly offered to take it out in circus tickets. harrison scorned the proposition. straightening himself up he endeavored to push alfred aside as he proudly exclaimed: "i don't want you to take anything out in circus tickets. i'll pay cash after the circus." it required all of alfred's powers to make harrison understand that there was another circus agent in town, another circus coming. harrison persisted in the belief that it was the same agent with whom he had done business. stowe meanwhile, as all intelligent agents do, had gone to headquarters. as alfred, with his tow, entered the office, the owner of the paper turned on the managing editor, foreman of the composing room, etc., and let loose a tirade of abuse such as alfred had never heard the like of before: [illustration: "put up your things and git!"] "you damned little shriveled up, whiskey soaked, tobacco smoked, copperhead. what in hell do you mean by making a contract like this for my paper? i'll cram it down your jaundiced jaws, you whelp of hell, you!" and the rage of hurd, who was a very large, fat man, caused his face to turn purple. "pack up your things and git, or i'll slap you into the bowels of the jail. i know enough about you and your record on that traitor sheet, (he referred to the opposition paper, the _genius of liberty_), to have you and all connected with it sent to johnson's island. git out of yere!" yelled hurd. harrison pulled away from alfred and in the effort fell partially over a settee as he sputtered out: "i'm a gemptman, what-smatter with hanner." he intended to use the cant phrase, "that's what's the matter with hannah." hurd shook a purplish looking bit of paper in harrison's face: "what do you mean, you shrimp, by entering into a contract to the effect that no other circus can use my paper?" harrison attempted to look indignant but he was a bad actor, he could only look drunk. on this occasion he could not dissemble. his effort to do so only made him appear more drunken. "i'm--a--man--of--h-honor--i'll stan'--by--anythin' i do." here harrison fell down, full length on the settee, muttering and shaking his fist at hurd. "get him out of this house!" was hurd's order to alfred. alfred pulled and pushed harrison to the bottom of the stairs leading up to his room. harrison fell on all fours and began a slow ascent of the stairs, alfred pushing him as he had seen deck hands shove refractory cattle when loading them on a boat. he returned to the room. hurd was very crusty. he hinted that alfred should not have permitted the first circus agent to induce harrison to sign the shut-out contract. stowe, the circus agent, further endeared himself to alfred when he informed mr. hurd that alfred should not be blamed. alfred, in the brief interview between the second agent and himself, had informed him as to the contract made by the first agent, the price charged for advertising, the free tickets extorted and other information that was valuable. the agent was very diplomatic. he began by calming hurd: "now, mr. hurd, i know the value of your paper to us, i know you to be a man of honor, and i would not offend you by even insinuating that you could find a way to carry our advertising and reading matter as i know you would not violate the contract made with the other concern, although it is evident that contract was obtained by fraud. there is only one way around this;" here the circus agent placed his hand on the shoulder of the big editor, "we will have to get out an extra edition, their advertising and reading matter to go in the regular edition, mine in the extra." the editor beamed on the agent, the beam expressing more strongly than any words: "you're a daisy--but, but," stammered hurd, "we haven't got matter enough for our regular edition. i've been working all morning; harrison's been drunk all week an'--" "never mind," interrupted the agent, "don't you worry, let me do the work and the worrying also. where can we get a little something to clear the cobwebs out of our tonsils?" and they left the office arm in arm, but not until the circus agent had asked alfred if he knew where all the office force could be found. alfred answered "no, sir." and he was truthful; as he was not certain whether he was on the stairs, on the landing, at the top of the stairs or had rolled back to the bottom. when the agent ordered alfred to get the office force together and inform them that they would have to work all night but would be paid double time, alfred ran upstairs, as was his custom, four steps at each bound. harrison was not on the stairs nor at the top landing. running into the press room, alfred found harrison sitting in the coal box, sleeping soundly. after vain efforts to arouse him, alfred hastened to the residence of bill smith who had once worked on the paper. cal wyatt had also served some time setting type, and baggy allison was notified to repair to the office instanter. all were on hand when the circus man returned. cal wyatt, advised alfred to fill harrison's mouth with salt, that it was a never failing remedy. it did bring harrison partly around, just enough to make him a pest, in the way of all with both person and talk. he slobbered over copy and case, hiccoughed, cursed alfred for trying to doctor him; informing alfred that he wanted no "dam cow doctor to fool with him." stowe, the circus agent, laughed until his sides ached. he was informed by the others that alfred was a great minstrel and he volunteered to find him a place with some first class minstrel organization the coming winter. stowe played the banjo and carried the instrument with him. all the local minstrel band were introduced to him. he played and sang with them and within twenty-four hours he owned the town, including the printing office. the type-setters did not have to wait for copy; stowe had quantities. the printers were not compelled to decipher the peculiarities of anyone's handwriting; stowe's copy was printed and punctuated. such copy had never been worked from in the office before. of course all the agent's copy treated of thayer & noyse great circus. harrison got to himself finally. he could make himself very agreeable when he so desired. hurd insisted that there should be other matter written up. in this stowe acquiesced. he scribbled off political, local and other matter at a rapid rate, nor did he stop there. he gave the contract to isaac vance of the marshall house to feed all people and stock with the circus. there were no stable tents in those days nor did anyone stop on the lot. canvassmen, hostlers and actors--all in the hotels. vance got a big contract; stowe secured a half column advertisement for the paper, as he did from several others. the extra appeared, at first glance, as fat as the regular edition. when baggy allison tired, stowe worked the press. he rolled, folded and fed until the extra edition was off the press and ready for distribution. among his printed matter was a quarter sheet, with the portraits of thayer and noyse, and a small amount of reading matter printed on one side only. he dug up a can of red ink from some unexplored recess where it had lain since the presidential campaign of . he had three or four funny mule cuts. he wrote a funny line or two, made a rude cut resembling hurd, informing the public that hurd would ride the trick mule circus day. this bill was printed without the knowledge of hurd. it was folded in the extra and thus distributed. this fact makes valid alfred's claim of another honor for brownsville, namely: that the _brownsville clipper_ was the first paper in this country to issue a colored supplement. of course the word "supplement" was not in a newspaper's vocabulary at that time. another merit this supplement possessed, it was really humorous, and the humor was apparent, even to the people of that day, and that is more than the colored supplements of today can lay claim to. charley stowe was not only the prime mover in all that pertained to the issuance of the extra but he hired a horse and buggy and a boy to assist alfred in its distribution. brownsville was advertised as it had never been before. charley stowe following a precedent established by the first agent that ever traveled ahead of a show, promised many persons to return to brownsville the day of the show. and, unlike the first agent and almost all agents in all times since, he kept his promise and came back. it was a great day for brownsville, it was a great day for thayer and noyse, it was a great day for alfred. charley stowe had another faculty, shy in most agents, memory. he remembered the editor and the office force, particularly the latter. he gave alfred his first sight of the inner sanctorum of the show world, namely, the dressing rooms. he introduced him to big, good-natured dr. thayer, to natty little charley noyse, to the elder stickney and his talented son bob, to j. m. kelly, the long distance single somersault leaper, to little jimmy reynolds, the clown, to mrs. thayer and her charming daughter. it was the unfolding of the scenes of another world to the lad. his recollection of that day is as of a night of enchantment. the circus had a very sick horse, a beautifully marked mare, sorrel and snow white with glass eyes, as they are termed. the beautiful creature was housed in the stable of the marshall house. the animal was evidently one of value to the circus folk as many of them visited the stable; all seemed anxious as to the mare's recovery. after the afternoon performance, dr. thayer, his wife and daughter were in the stable administering to the sick horse. the circus man was completing arrangements to have the tavern keeper care for the mare and send her on to the show, if she were able to travel by the time the company reached uniontown. isaac vance assured the circus people that everything possible would be done for the mare, and turning to alfred, laying both hands on the boy's shoulders, facing him toward mr. thayer, said: "and here's the lad who will take your mare to uniontown. he can ride any horse or mule you have. you should have this boy with your show, he is an actor right. our people swear by him, he can beat anything you have in the nigger minstrel line." then alfred, with a freshness born of ignorance, said: "yes, mr. thayer, you have a fine circus but your minstrels ain't much, not as good as those with van amberg's menagerie, and everybody says so." mr. thayer and his wife both seemed greatly amused at the frankness of the boy. the showman quizzed alfred as to what he could do in the concert. alfred, as all other "rube" amateurs have done and always will do, wanted to engage to give the entire concert. thayer had more patience then than alfred has now as he listened to the boastful assumptions of the boy. finally he said: "if you will get a letter from your father granting me permission to employ you, i will give you the opportunity of your life, but do not come to me without the permission of your parents, as our show does not employ minors. it's against the law." it was further arranged that alfred should take the lilly mare to uniontown the day the show exhibited there. mrs. thayer led alfred to one side and, pressing two dollars into his hand, charged him to visit the sick horse several times daily, and no matter if those in charge asserted that they had given her sufficient water, alfred was to offer the animal drink. she so charged the stable man, stuttering hughey boggs. after the night show alfred called at the stable. the mare seemed very sick. he offered her water which she refused; he felt of her ears, they were cold; he stroked her satin-like coat; she opened her eyes and appeared almost human to alfred as he petted her. arriving at home he went to his mother's room and gave her a detailed account of the day's doings, not forgetting the sick horse or the arrangements made by mr. vance for him to deliver the mare to the show folk in uniontown. alfred had been careful not to reveal any of that part of the conversation touching on the offer of the big showman to employ him providing he could obtain the father's written consent. somehow the mother's fears were aroused, she felt that there was more behind the delivery of the mare than was revealed and she strongly objected to the arrangement. the mother communicated her fears to lin and that worthy was quite ingenious in quizzing the boy. she questioned alfred as to his intentions. "i tole yer mother ye wouldn't run off with thet ole show while yer pap wus away from hum. mary sed 'they mout coax ye off.' did they coax ye? did they offer to gin ye a job?" and she looked at alfred very hard and earnestly. alfred had been revolving in his mind a plan that included having daniel livingstone forge a letter signing alfred's father's name to it, granting the boy permission to join the show. alfred felt very guilty and hung his head when lin's questions grew pointed. alfred was giving the sick show horse all the attention promised and even more. the second day following the mare died. notwithstanding, all seemed to sympathize with alfred, who had become greatly attached to the beautiful horse, it was apparent that all were greatly relieved that alfred had been released from the agreement to deliver the mare to the circus folk. alfred wrote mrs. thayer a long letter, giving the particulars concerning the death of her pet, to which he received a prompt reply, ending with a standing invitation to visit them at any time, either while they were traveling or at their home. the boy was very proud of this letter and read it to all his friends. lin, in commenting on the death of the mare quoted scripture, after her own interpretation: "the lord gins us an' the lord takes hosses es well es peepul. uv cos ye kin buy hosses ef ye got money but ye can't buy peepul. ef ye'd run off with a show an' dide, w--, ye--" here lin stuck. she could not find words to complete the sentence; but after a moment's pause, she continued: "the'd not miss ye es much es the' will thet hoss. bet we'd miss ye every--time--we sot--up to--a--meal." in the vernacular of the show profession of today, rosston, springer & henderson took up the stand and did not appear in brownsville. they were advertised to play in pittsburg. mr. hurd sent alfred to pittsburg to collect the newspaper advertising bill. harrison was having his troubles with those to whom he had sold tickets. the holders of tickets held harrison personally responsible for the non-appearance of the circus. since the day frank mckernan had pummelled harrison, various and divers persons had been threatening him with similar treatment. harrison staved off hostilities by promising to have the tickets redeemed when alfred collected the paper's indebtedness from the circus. the circus had no band wagon. the musicians were mounted on horses. this was all there was of the parade. alfred has since learned that this feature was introduced into the circus as an expediency. g. g. grady, an impecunious circus proprietor, found his colossal aggregation without a band wagon and no funds to purchase one. he hit upon the idea of mounting his band on horses. the innovation was heralded as a feature and to this day circuses advertise the mounted band as a novelty of the "highway, holiday parade." john robinson's circus boasted a steam calliope, which dispensed "biled music." grady, not strong enough financially to annex a calliope, altered an old animal cage that resembled the exterior of a calliope. he installed a very large and loud hand organ inside the imitation calliope wagon, with a stovepipe poking out of the top, plenty of damp straw inside, a man to feed and burn it. in a stove inside, the volumes of smoke issuing from the stovepipe, a strong man turning the hand organ, the greatly improved steam calliope was calculated to astonish the public. if the music were not so vociferous as that his rival's instrument sent forth, it must be admitted that grady's was more tuneful and therefore less objectionable. grady's steam piano came to an untimely end almost before its career began. the man inside the calliope, the fireman, was too industrious. he filled the stove with damp straw, poured kerosene oil over it and applied a match. the parade was in the midst of the public square, in canton, ohio. thousands had congregated to witness it. the whole interior of the calliope was ablaze, smoke issuing from every crack and crevice. the show people grasping the situation, broke open the back door. the damp straw, the old stove, the two men and the hand organ were dragged from the smoking wagon. grady's attempt to rival john robinson was the joke of the circus world. alfred had quite a little difficulty in collecting the printing bill, which was grudgingly paid him. the circus people tore up harrison's order for payment for the tickets given. the treasurer said something about the paper being a "wolf." when alfred returned harrison endeavored to spread the impression by insinuations that he had collected for the tickets and not made returns to him as yet. he was cornered, it was his only way to square himself with those who were pressing him for a settlement. although alfred knew full well that harrison did not intend to injure him, the reports became so annoying and the insinuations so galling that alfred took harrison to account. harrison flew into a rage and threw a small shovel at alfred. things got lively for harrison in a moment. no telling where it would have ended had not the entire hurd family rushed into the room and separated the combatants. harrison was much the worse for the encounter. to drown his grief he started the rounds but jim bench, the town watchman, locked him up. when he sobered up he shook the dust of brownsville from his feet forever more. years afterward alfred met harrison in a far western city, leading the same life. the mother entreated alfred to forever give up the idea of becoming a newspaper man. she had cherished the hope that the boy would yet turn to the study of medicine. old doctor playford, bob's father, informed alfred's uncle that if the boy were so inclined he would take him into his office and see what there was _in him_. the doctor had three good horses, his son bob had a large pack of hounds. alfred's duties did not keep him in the office very steadily. he was on horseback a greater part of the time, by day delivering medicine, by night fox or coon hunting. it was a part of alfred's work to compound medicines in the small laboratory in the doctor's residence. a copy of materia-medica and a latin dictionary were the only guides to the beginner of a medical career in those days. there were no prescriptions sent to the drug store, every doctor filled his own prescriptions. alfred became very quick at compounding prescriptions. a dose of medicine was prepared for mr. hare. this particular dose of medicine did not have the effect the doctor desired, or rather, it had more effect than the doctor or hare desired. the old doctor was a very resolute man, fiery and game, nearly everyone feared him. bob, his son, was one of the few who dared brave the old doctor's wrath. the young doctor espoused alfred's cause when his father charged alfred with carelessness. bob swore that old hare was a notorious liar and that it was not the medicine that made him so sick. the old doctor was very practical, therefore a successful practitioner. alfred protested that he had prepared the medicine for hare as per the formula furnished him. some time after the above argument alfred was summoned to the doctor's room. holding in one hand a glass of water, the doctor handed alfred a lump of darkish color, ordering the boy to swallow it. alfred mechanically swallowed the lump, the doctor handing him the water to take the taste out of his mouth. as alfred drank, the doctor, with a humorous glance, ordered him to hang around until he could determine the effects of the medicine. "it's the same dose you fixed for hare. i'll see whether hare lied or not." alfred had a keen sense of the ridiculous. he had swallowed the pill ere he realized what he was doing and knew full well he would be dreadfully ill, yet he laughed immoderately. "ef hare suffered more than alfurd, he sure wus sick," was lin's comment. "no, alfurd wus not sacked by the ole doctur, he jus naturally did not like doctorin'." mr. todd replied: "i dunno nuthin' 'bout it, only what i've heard. they do say thet since alfred nearly pizened mr. hare, most of doctor playford's patients has gone to doctor jackson. folks is jus naturally afeared to doctor with playford since they found out alfred mixes the medicine. john mccune's two children, ole lige custer an' dave phillips wus all took sick jus like ole hare an' nobody but alfred ever mixed the medicine they took. you know it takes a man thet's hed practus to mix medicines an' alfred ain't hed no chance to learn." lin contended that alfred hed plenty of practice. "he mixed paint in his pap's shop an' he mixed ink in the printin' offis an' lord, he could certinly mix a few squills an' a little castor ile an' sich, that's all playford ever gives. alfurd cud a kep on doctorin' ef he'd wanted to, but the ole doctor sed when he took him thet he would see what wus _in him_, an' i s'pose he did." chapter twelve a man may be defeated half a score of times or more, his prospects may be darkened and his heart be bruised and sore; but let him smile triumphantly-- and call misfortune's bluff. for no man's ever conquered till he says: "i've got enough?" hans christian andersen, the famous danish poet, says: "the life of every man is a fairy tale written by god's finger." carlyle says: "no life of a man faithfully recorded but is a heroic poem." with all the advice and experience one can acquire or have thrust upon him it is passing strange how easy it is to go wrong in this world. it forces one almost to the belief of him who wrote: "the aim is the man's, the end is none of his own." someone has said that the only guide a man requires in this world is to side-step wrong doing. but like many prize fighters, some of us are deficient in foot work. if life is a mission and any other definition of it is false and misleading, fate has certainly picked out some men as the hammer and others as the anvil, some men for door-mats and others for those who walk thereon. alfred claimed to have an aim in life but his entire family and a township of relatives differed with him. alfred's most ardent apologist was compelled to admit that even though he was exerting himself greatly to hold his course he was drifting. the minstrels were back in the old quarters, frank mckernan's shoe-shop, rehearsing nightly. at this time there came a proposition from a man of the town who had recently failed in business. it is a peculiarity of human nature or the fore ordination of fate that when a man fails in a commercial business he engages in show business or life insurance. if he be not mentally equipped to carry to success the business in which he failed, he generally engages in a business that requires ability of a higher order than that in which he was unsuccessful. and so it was of the man who entered into an agreement to finance the minstrels. he possessed a little money and a mother who was well supplied with it. he spent money liberally in equipping the minstrels for their first road venture. all preparations were quietly consummated by order of mr. eli, as that gentleman had numerous creditors whose feelings would have been terribly lacerated had they known that he was soon to take himself away from them. alfred soon had every arrangement completed. he was very happy he was to realize the ambitions of his life's dream. he had been relieved of all financial responsibility. there would be wood cuts, printed bills, an agent and all that goes to make for a real show. the three-sheet bill depicting alfred as a plantation negro dancing "the essence of ole virginia," was his especial pride. many times daily he unrolled this bill and secretly admired it. alfred learned to dance "the essence of ole virginia." although billy hyatt or tom white danced "the essence" much more cleverly, alfred argued that, owing to the bill bearing his name, consistency demanded he execute the dance. the stock bill was from the jordan printing company of boston, wood cuts in two colors, red and yellow. the imprint "boston" on the bills, it was argued, would give the company prestige, that is, after they reached greene county and other far away points on their proposed itinerary. all were instructed to spread the impression that the troupe was from boston. it was rumored that the minstrels were to travel afar, visiting baltimore, washington and other cities. the mother was very greatly disturbed, she questioned alfred frequently as to the rumors. lin, in some way known only to herself, had fathomed alfred's plans; she even knew the backer's name. alfred begged her to keep it secret, that it would ruin everything to have it known. to alfred's surprise she advised that he leave home surreptitiously if he must, with the consent of the mother if he could obtain it. lin argued that he would never do any good at home with "them yar show notions flyin' through yer head. durned ef i wouldn't go an' show 'em i cud be sumthin'." this was the first time lin had ever advised alfred to disobey his mother and, while her advice was pleasing to him insofar as furthering his ambitions was concerned, it was displeasing in other ways, and lowered lin in his estimation. the mother objected strongly to the boy's connection with the minstrels, arguing that the father was absent; that alfred should not leave home until the return of the father. alfred argued with the mother that he had accepted money from eli and was in honor bound to work it out. uncle thomas was called into conference. uncle ned came in without being called. grandpap threatened legal proceedings to restrain the boy if he attempted to leave the town. consternation reigned in the minstrel camp. eli was frantic. without alfred the show could not hope to succeed; so declared all. alfred grew desperate, declaring, since his mother so strongly opposed his going, that he would remain until his father arrived, explain the matter; then, come weal or woe, he would join the show. thus matters stood. eli endeavored to drown his disappointment; he was not visible for a day or two. meanwhile uncle ned was a frequent visitor "to keep an eye on mr. alfred that he did not run away," as he expressed it. alfred boldly declared that uncle ned was interfering and further that they could not hold him; even if they did estop him from going with the minstrels, he would run off to the oil regions. another visit from uncle ned precipitated a war of words. as the meetings between alfred and the uncle became more frequent alfred "grew more tantalizing and impudent," so the uncle asserted. finally, alfred informed the uncle that he was meddling and that his meddling was not appreciated. a quarrel followed. alfred's powers of vituperation were a surprise to the mother and uncle and a delight to lin, who informed mrs. todd: "lor! i expektid tu see alfurd mount him enny minnit; he shook his fingur under ned's nose an' mos' spit in his face. i hed the rollin' pin redy, i'd bin in h'it ef h'tit hed kum to a klinch. i tell ye alfurd's lurned somethin' since they shaved his kurls off. he combed ned es he'd nevur been combed afore, an' mary jes stood an' luked 'til ned got her riled up then twixt her an' alfurd's bumburdment, he mighty nur forgot his religion an' his hat." the uncle in reply to one of alfred's keenest thrusts permitted his anger to get the better of his judgment. he reflected strongly upon alfred's father and the manner in which he had reared alfred and concluded by declaring that he, alfred, had been a disgrace to the entire family and that if his parents were powerless to control him "we'll take a hand in it." the entrance of the mother into the verbal battle at this juncture was so sudden, so earnest, so swift, that uncle ned left the house, almost forgetting his hat. the mother ended the scene by turning on alfred: "you have almost broken my heart, you are a constant source of trouble and worry to me and as if that were not sufficient, your father's people must force themselves into our affairs as they always have done since i married into the family. now if you have promised this man to go with him, if you have accepted money from him, you keep your word, you go and i will stand between your father and you insofar as any of his family are concerned. you go with this man until the money you owe him is paid; then you come straight home. if you do not it will only be the worse for you, i will send rease lynch, the constable, and have him bring you home." alfred's elation by the victory over the uncle was not lowered in the least by the fact that the mother's consent was given only to emphasize her displeasure at the interference of the father's folks. eli was positively informed that alfred would be compelled to return home if the mother sent for him; that he was only permitted to leave home that he might discharge the debt. eli suddenly recalled the fact that he had advanced alfred one dollar and seventy-five cents. he realized that it would not require many days of labor ere the debt would be cancelled. he therefore suddenly decided to make a further advance of money on behalf of alfred's services and, to make it more binding, pay the money to the mother. cousin charley interfered with this plan by calling alfred aside and whispering: "if eli goes over to your house and gives aunt mary any money, and she sees he's been drunk, she'll hist him higher then gilroy's kite. you better let him gin it tu lin." and so it was arranged. eli went to lin, saying: "mrs. linn, i owe alfred thirty dollars. he's a minor. i do not want to pay him the money as i know it is not legal, so i told him i'd give it to his mother, she can do as she likes about it. but if i wus her, i'd keep it; he will git enough to do him, he's a good boy, he don't drink, smoke or chew. i wouldn't have a drinkin' man in my troupe. i didn't know his mother was out. when will she be back? well, mrs. linn, you jus sign this receipt, it will be all the same. now there's thirty dollars and here's a dollar for you to buy yourself some sugar kisses. no, no, sign his mother's name, not yours. now, good-bye, mrs. linn. i forgot to ask, are you any relation to the linns out on redstone. well, i thought not, you're too good lookin'. if i wern't married i'd be after you." lin opened the door, she jerked her head toward the opening, as she said: "now, say, does yer muther know yere' out? run along sonny. don't git mushy." lin reckoned: "the reason eli wouldn't tulerate drinkin' peepul in his trupe is bekus he is afeared the supply will run out." alfred calling on mr. steele to pay the note, produced a roll of bills. mr. steele smiled approvingly. counting out three ten dollar greenbacks, the boy requested the tanner to figure up the interest on the note. "there's no interest to pay and there's no note to pay; here is the cancelled note paid in full." as the man pushed the note toward the boy he was written in red ink across the face, "paid", and also the date. alfred demurred. "no, mr. steele, i never paid the note, i won't have it that way." "well," replied the tanner, "i am not in the habit of taking that which is not coming to me. a friend of yours called sometime ago and informed me that he owed you money and that you was desirous of paying off the note." "joe thornton!" guessed alfred, without a moment's hesitation. "yes, he was the man. how did mr. thornton know that i held your note?" "well, that's where i broke my word with you, but i couldn't very well get around it. i did mr. thornton a favor, he told me he wanted to reward me. i told him i was in trouble, i owed money and i had no way to pay it and i would apply whatever he gave me on the note. he gave me an order for a suit of clothes but he never mentioned the note. i am as much surprised as you; i never dreamed he would pay the note for me." "then you did not borrow the money from thornton?" "no sir, i did not." "well, i would not contract the borrowing habit. the borrower is always a servant to the lender." the mother was troubled. "how did it come that eli paid for services in advance? others never paid their employes until they performed their labor." alfred airily informed her that it was the custom in the show business to pay in advance, that is, the good actors always drew their pay in advance. in fact, he assured the mother that it was the only way to keep good actors, keep them in debt to you; even then, sometimes, they'll run off with another troupe. "well, what do you purpose doing with this money mr. eli left here for you?" enquired the mother. "oh, i want you to keep it for me. i'm going to send you all my money; you use whatever you please, use it all if you want to." "i will keep this money for you," she said, "something seems to tell me you will need it later on." lin allowed that alfred would never need money thereafter. "ef ye git a good start ye'll jes hev cords of greenbacks, an' i believe yere on the right road. i jes tol' yer muther, i ses, 'mary,' ses i, 'alfurd ain't fit fer nuthin' only minstrel showin', he's gittin' more un more like a nigger every day.'" the mother did not relish the compliment. lin advised that alfred keep up his clownish pranks, "then ye kin nigger hit in winter an' clown hit in summer." alfred declared that if he attained his hopes and ambitions, inside of ten years he would be the possessor of a farm and live on it the remainder of his days. in his boyish buoyancy he grew enthusiastic; he pictured how mother and pap would enjoy country life. alfred knew the mother had confidence in him, no matter how strongly she opposed his ways. he knew she had faith in him and it has been the saddest regret of his life that she was not permitted to remain on earth until his boyish dreams were fully realized. a few days later alfred was seated on all his earthly possessions, a hair trunk with big brass tack heads as ornaments, in a big heavy wagon, waving a last good-bye to mother, lizzie, joe, the baby and lin. lin shouted as the wagon moved off: "good luck! good-bye! i know ye'll bring the koon skin hum." it was twelve miles to bealsville on the pike. the big wagon, the small trunks and big boys were too much of a load for the two ordinary horses. the minstrels walked up the hills to lighten the load. "handy andy," alfred's favorite farce, in which he impersonated the character of the awkward negro who breaks the dishes, was the closing number on the program. alfred, always a stickler for natural effects, prevailed upon one of the boys to borrow his mother's china tea set. for safety these dishes were carried in a large carpet-sack. [illustration: "and ask fer licker," added the old stage driver] when the edge of town was reached the team was urged into a smart trot that the advent of the troupe might appear business-like. the minstrels were instructed as to the proper manner in which to conduct themselves that they might appear experienced in traveling--jump out of the wagon, carry their belongings, entering the tavern briskly, "and ask fer licker," added the old stage driver who had been an attentive listener to the instructions. at the edge of town the team was halted to freshen them up for the finish. the minstrels perched themselves picturesquely on the trunks, posing as if for a photograph. the old horses were urged into a trot by jerking and slapping the lines and wielding the whip. the pace was kept up until the tavern was reached. charley guttery, the landlord, was there to greet the minstrels. mrs. guttery was a davis before marriage, the sister of uncle bill's wife. therefore, alfred was welcomed by the entire family. all jumped out of the wagon except tom white; he began unloading the parcels, tossing them on the sidewalk. out came the carpet-sack loaded with chinaware. it struck the ground with a crash. "there goes mother's china teapot smashed all to h--ll," piteously whimpered the boy who furnished the dishes. he began to climb into the wagon, vowing he would throw tom white out quicker than he threw his mother's teapot out. tom was ready for fight and eli had all he could do to keep the boys apart. all this was great amusement for the natives. "let 'em go," one shouted, "let 'em fight; we'd ruther see the fight then yer show." the large room of the tavern was filled with minstrels and town folks. "purty long ride ye hed fur such a big load," remarked one towner. ere alfred could reply, a big gawk chimed in with: "by the dust on their britches laigs i callerate they didn't ride much." then all the crowd laughed. the pike was very dusty and the minstrels showed the effects of their contact with it. "well, ef they haint got a good show we'll gin 'em a ride they won't furgit. yes, an' the rail'll be three cornered. how many monkeys has they?" yelled another. then came quickly, "i dunno, i haint counted 'em yit." this sally brought the biggest laugh yet heard. alfred's blood was boiling; he could stand it no longer. his fist shot out and immediately there were legs and arms sprawling all over the floor; the crowd trampled each other as they stampeded, all endeavoring to exit through the one door at the same time. once outside, several of them, more bold than the others, began making threats and movements to re-enter and bring alfred out. at this juncture the old stage driver and eli waded into them and soon there was not one of the rowdies to be seen. alfred was hustled upstairs and into a room and ordered to remain quiet until further developments. the constable was soon on the scene with warrants for eli and the old driver. they were taken before a justice of the peace and, by the advice of mr. guttery, they requested a continuance of the case until the following morning. this was granted. a few moments later, three or four of the minstrels were arrested. not one of them had engaged in the disturbance; they demanded an immediate trial, feeling certain of acquittal. no evidence was offered as to their participation in the fight. several residents of the town swore positively that none of the accused had engaged in the row in any way. one witness testified that they had just stood around doing nothing. this he emphasized by repeating at intervals in his testimony, "they just stood around doing nothing." the evidence all in, the justice of the peace addressed them somewhat as follows: "you have been arrested charged with disturbing the peace. the evidence goes to show that you are not guilty of that crime; therefore, on that count i will discharge you, the borough to pay the costs. but it appears by the testimony of one of your own witnesses, one of our most reliable citizens that you were standing around doing nothing. therefore, i will fine you two dollars each and costs for loitering." by the advice of the landlord the costs were paid by mr. eli and the fines were to be paid the next morning when the other cases were called. the minstrels that night were slimly attended. in the middle of the night alfred was rudely disturbed by someone awakening him. "git up, git up, quick! we've got to git out of this town or it'll take all the money i've got to square the fight you started yesterday. git up quick!" it was eli's voice and he was very thick tongued; he had been up all night. the team was harnessed and hitched to the wagon. the landlord was there to see the sleepy minstrels off. the last good-byes were scarcely spoken ere the door of the big room was closed by the landlord and the lights put out. it was inky dark to alfred as he sat on the high seat by the driver and heartily wished himself home. it came out later that the landlord and one or two others advised eli to get the minstrels into greene county ere the eyes of the law opened the next morning. hence the a. m. exodus. arriving at carmichael's town after a long and tiresome ride, the minstrels found tom kerr, the jolly landlord of the tavern, with a dinner ready that changed their minds from gloom to gayety. the minstrels were well advertised. winn kerr, lias and dee flannigan had witnessed their entertainment previously, hence the town turned out to welcome them. wealth flowed in upon eli and all went merry as a dinner bell. but eli had great difficulty in tearing himself away from old and new found friends. the regular minstrel wagon was not large enough to carry eli the next morning, consequently jim kerr carried alfred and eli to waynesburg in a private rig. again the crowd was too large for the courthouse; again eli made friends who detained him after the departure of the troupe. alfred refused to remain behind with eli but left with the minstrel boys. eli failed to arrive in the next town in time to open the doors. the crowd was more than ample to fill the hall. alfred took the door and made settlement of bills. eli arrived during the night. the next morning alfred and two others advised mr. eli that they had received word from home that their engagement with the minstrels must end. when eli came to his senses he appealed to alfred to explain why they had decided to quit. alfred said: "because you have been drunk ever since the show left brownsville and the boys are afraid you will not pay them." that night eli invited all the company to meet him in his room at the tavern. by the time the boys arrived eli was so saturated he forgot that which he desired to say to them. instead he insisted on drinking with each one individually, he scorned to drink with the company as a whole. "i want you all to know me. if you want money, i've got slathers of it." all wanted money and they got it. and they spent it. gaudy bows and ties, striped shirts, congress shoes and other dependables never possessed by the wearers previously, began to make their appearance. eli was voted the best ever. those who had threatened to leave because eli imbibed too freely were termed methodists and back-biters. fairmount reached, the old stage driver and his team left for home. from this point the baltimore & ohio railroad was to be the mode of travel, a change hailed with delight. some began figuring on how many days it would be until the minstrels invaded baltimore. two nights were played at fairmount; the first night a large, well pleased audience attended. more invitations to eli's room, more liquor ladled out and more money handed around to the company. on the second night there was a very light attendance; a long hunt to find eli ere bills could be paid and the company could move on to grafton. eli had decided to remain in fairmount until the next train. morgan, the advance agent, accompanied the minstrels to grafton. morgan took the night's receipts. the next morning he could not be located nor did eli make his appearance. the minstrels watched and waited; the day wore along. finally, it was decided that the performance would be repeated that night. a man walked over the town, ringing a bell as he went. halting at short intervals he loudly announced the second exhibition of the minstrels at early candle light. the landlord of the tavern volunteered to look after the financial end of the enterprise. after the exhibition he called the boys together and advised that after his bill and other expenses were deducted, there would be enough left to pay their railroad fare to fairmount and that they would probably find eli there. arriving at fairmount it was learned that eli had left for baltimore the night before. it came to light that morgan had left on the same train, boarding it as it passed through grafton. some members of the company contended that eli had gone on to baltimore to arrange for their coming and that they would hear from him or see him soon. others, that he had left for good. the four musicians, men who had seen more of the world than the ambitious amateurs, boarded a train for wheeling. alfred decided that he and his followers would make their way to new geneva and there board the boat for home. loading their few belongings, including alfred's hair trunk with the brass tack ornaments, into a farm wagon drawn by two big bay mules, the homeward journey was begun. not in dejection, as one might imagine, the boys were too full of spirit to be cast down greatly. one or two began to fret but the jibes of the others soon had all in good humor. the roads through the hilly, muddy country were not as firm as those previously traversed, a contingency the boys had not taken into consideration. at times the mules were unable to move the wagon, even though all the minstrels were pushing or prying to the extent of their muscular power. instead of dust, as on the first day out, the minstrels were covered with mud, from shoes to hats. arriving at new geneva, mud bespattered, tired and hungry, they congregated on the old wharf boat until the steamer was heard coming below the bend. when the boat hove in sight, her prow cutting the water, it was the most welcome sight alfred ever remembered witnessing. safely aboard, it was found that not in the whole party was there enough money to pay the fares to brownsville. therefore deck passage had to be taken and without meals. george warner, the colored steward, knew every one of the boys. one by one they were smuggled into the pantry and a meal that was never excelled given each one. it was two o'clock in the morning when the boat touched at brownsville. alfred determined to carry his trunk home with him. hoisting it on his broad shoulders he began the walk up the hill homewards; every little ways lowering the burden to the ground, he would seat himself upon it pondering as to the tale to tell of the ignominious ending of his dream of prosperity. he thought of lin's parting words: "i hope ye bring the koon skin hum," and he could not suppress his laughter. he brought the big iron knocker down rather lightly, hoping only lin would hear it. he did not care to face his father or mother until he got a little more courage. again the knocker was raised and lowered, a little louder than before. the window sash above was raised and the father's voice, gruffer than alfred had heard it in a long time, demanded, "who's there?" alfred hesitated to give his name. "who's there?" louder and more gruffly than before, impelled the boy to answer: "it's me." "who's me?" came from the window quickly. "oh, come on down, pap, let me in. it's me, pap, don't you know me?" alfred was so crestfallen and ashamed that he could not bear to speak his own name. "in a minute, alfred," came in a more kindly tone as the father's head was withdrawn from the window. then the father's voice was heard informing the mother, "the boy's back." it flashed through the boy's mind that the conditions that brought him home so unexpectedly were known only to himself and he could stave off unpleasant explanations for a time at least. the door opened, the father shook his hand heartily. "how are you? how have you been? we've been expecting you. how did you get out of the trouble in bealsville? the _clipper_ says you were all jerked up and slid out between two days." the mother and all the children were up. lin insisted on setting out a pie and making a hot cup of coffee. alfred was highly complimented that he had kept his promise to return. alfred accepted the praises with a conscience stricken feeling that kept him miserable under his assumed gaiety. the first time lin and alfred were alone in the kitchen, she turned full on him as she asked in a deeply interested way: "how much did ye make outen yere trip?" the question was so direct and without warning that alfred dropped his gaze and began stammering. lin continued: "there's somethin' ded about yer; i smelled a mice the minnit i seen yer face. jes let hit out, ye'll feel better. i'll help ye. where's eli? where's the other boys?" alfred gave lin the whole miserable story, neither adding to it nor concealing anything. lin summed up the matter thus: "ef ye're out enything ye kin sue eli. his muther'll settle." they figured it up, alfred was a little in eli's debt. "then what ye palaverin' 'bout, ye've done all right?" "but it's the disappointment of the thing, the way it wound up and it looked so promising," whined alfred. "well, ef ye never git hit harder then eli hit ye, ye'll need no poultices," consoled lin. "why don't ye gin redstone skule-house another try? charley wagner an' everybody else sed ef ye'd go back that ye'd make all back ye wus shy afore." alfred was on his way in less time than it takes to record it, notifying the boys that they would go to redstone school-house next saturday night. the school-house secured, the music was the next important matter. charley wagner had a sore throat, so he informed alfred. all others approached were affected in the same way. it looked very much as if the exhibition would have to be given up. cousin charley suggested that alfred go to merrittstown and hire the blind hostetler family. all were blind excepting john, who had one eye. there were three brothers and a sister--two violins, a double bass violin, the girl sang and in time with the music manipulated two large corn-cobs, much in the manner of a minstrel's cracking the bones. a contract was entered into with the family whereby they were to receive ten dollars for the night, and their suppers. the school-house was packed, there was some thirty-seven dollars in all. when the performance was nearing the end, cousin charley made his way behind the curtain and in a whisper informed alfred that the constable had seized all the money and properties of the minstrels and that he, alfred, was to be arrested and put in jail. alfred's acting was not so spirited as in the opening. those who were aware of the load that oppressed him, sympathized and condoned with him until he was nearly unmanned. the suit came up before a justice of the peace. eli's creditors had an attorney, alfred and the minstrels had none. the plea that eli was not interested in the venture, that it was alfred's show, was offset by the fact that alfred, in his dealings, informed every one that the show belonged to eli. and there was the advertising matter. did not all bear the words, "eli, owner and manager." alfred had designedly and against his pride ordered eli's name placed on the bills to relieve himself of all responsibility and worry. the evidence was conclusive. at least that's what the lawyer, isaac bailey, said. lin said: "it was boun' to go agin alfurd. limpy bailey cud make black white an' squire wilkinson's agin' evurythin' but the methudis' church." there were numerous little bills unpaid, including five dollars to the blind family. chapters of truths and unfounded rumors, were in the mouths of the gossips as to how the troupe stranded in west virginia, compelled to walk home, traveling as deck passengers on the steamboat. it even went the rounds that they would have starved if george warner had not fed them surreptitiously on their way home. alfred was crestfallen. he was ashamed to visit his old haunts in the town. he evolved plan after plan only to be persuaded by lin to abandon them as soon as they were broached to her. the father rubbed salt into his wounded feelings at every reference he made to the minstrel business and the lowness of those connected with it, holding eli up as a terrible example of what minstrel life would bring a man to. berated, brow-beaten, driven to the wall, alfred answered his father in kind following one of his most bitter arraignments of show people: "father, what are you talking about? something you know nothing of. eli was not a showman, not a minstrel man. he was only with an amateur minstrel show eight days. nothing in his associations made him lower than he was before he left." "then why did you go with him?" sternly demanded the parent. "i wanted to make money." "yes, you wanted to make trouble and disgrace for your poor mother and myself," was the father's rejoinder. "how sorry i am i did not do differently. how sorry i am that this ever happened and i planned it all so differently. i felt i was protecting myself and i'm into it deeper than before." thus would alfred reason with himself. but the judgment of regret is a silent witness of the heart to the conviction that some things are inevitable. with alfred it was a confession hard to make--another battle lost that seemed won. the words, "disgrace to the family, to your mother and myself," kept ringing in his ears and he resolved to leave the town, go to the oil regions, go west, go anywhere, get rich, come back and make his people retract all their cruel reflections. lin adjured him to "furgit the sore spot; es long es ye pick hit, it'll never heal. why, ye cud go to capt. abrams, sammy steele ur joe thornton an' borry enuf to pay every durn cent ye owe; though ye don't owe nuthin', everybody ses so thet knows enythin' bout hit. thet eli's in fur hit all. he ought to pay hit. thur's thet blin' family, he'll nefer hev no luck ef he don't pay 'em." this allusion to the blind family was the last stone. alfred felt that he and he alone was responsible for the amount due the blind family. this obligation brought him more regrets than all his troubles. he crept upstairs, he fell on his knees and prayed, yes, prayed fervently, earnestly. no penitent, no prisoner, no saint, no sinner ever beseeched guidance and assistance with a more contrite heart. it was announced that uncle thomas was to preach to the young people of his congregation. alfred went early. he was ill at ease. he imagined all the congregation gazing at him and when two or more bent their heads and whispered, he imagined that it was he who was under discussion. the song services ended, the minister arose, opened the bible and very slowly read the text selected--"honor thy father and thy mother." raising his eyes from the book, looking over the congregation as if to select some one to whom to direct his words, he repeated, "honor thy father and mother, which is the first commandment with promise. honor thy father and mother, that it may be well with thee, and that thou mayest live long on earth." then followed a lengthy discourse as to the duties of children to their parents. as the sermon progressed, the preacher said: "rebuke not an elder but entreat him as a father. rebuke not an elder but treat all your elders with that respect you would others should exhibit toward your parents. show me the young man who is disrespectful to his parents or elders, disregards their admonitions and i will show you a boy who is without the pale of content." uncle tom seemed to look straight at alfred as he let fall the words. alfred felt sure that he referred to the quarrel between himself and uncle ned. in the next quotation alfred was slightly reassured: "an angry man stirreth up strife and aboundeth in transgressions, for he that is slow to anger is better than the mighty and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city." alfred said to himself, he is touching up uncle ned. he wanted to turn his head around to see how the uncle took his medicine, but the preacher had his attention. alfred was sitting erect, looking straight at the speaker. his attitude seemed to say: "if you are going to hit them all i can stand it but don't hold me up as a lone example of all that's sinful in this congregation." then the speaker waded into the popular frivolities of the times; cards, dice, gambling, drinking, dancing and other pastimes. as alfred was immune from all of the above sins he sat up still more straight and even ventured to look around at some of the society young folks of the congregation. he began to feel that uncle tom was a very good preacher. after a moment's pause as if to pull himself together for the final onslaught upon all that was sinful, the preacher resumed: "i do not hesitate for a moment to condemn show life and all who are aware of its iniquity that engage in it. the circus, the theatre, the actors therein, the proprietors, those who, for sordid gain, place these terrible temptations before our young people." alfred felt himself sinking in the pew. "i do not hesitate to condemn the theatre as one of the broadest roads that leads to destruction. fascinating no doubt to the young of susceptible and impressionable feelings, on that account all the more dangerous. show life is a delusion. it holds out hopes never realized; it poisons the mind and diseases the soul; it takes innocence and happiness and repays with suffering and misery. it separates families; it desolates homes; it makes wanderers on the face of the earth of those who are allured to it. once let a young man acquire a taste for show life and yield himself up to its wicked gratifications; that young man is in great danger of losing his reputation. he is rushing headlong to certain ruin." alfred was sitting straight up. his cheeks burned like fire but there was no shame in his face, he even looked about him; he met the gaze of those who stared and held it until the eyes of the others dropped. the preacher continued: "all the evils that can blight a young life, waste his property, corrupt his morals, blast his hopes, impair his health and wreck his soul, lurk in the purlieus of this abominated show life that is threatening some of the best beloved and most talented of our young people. folly consists in drawing false conclusions from just principles; and that is what the theatre does. men may live fools but fools they cannot die. the instruction of fools is folly; therefore, the actor cannot teach wisdom or morality. he that refuseth instruction despiseth his own soul; but he that heareth reproof getteth understanding." the parting admonition, delivered to the young people in general and, alfred felt, to himself in particular, was: "choose a good name; a good name is rather to be chosen than great riches and loving favor rather than silver and gold." alfred felt that the latter part of the sermon was directed at his ambitions to become a clown, get rich and buy a farm. he wondered who had informed the preacher of his ambitions. when the congregation stood up and sang, alfred's voice could be heard above those around him. when the plate was passed he placed his last dollar on the coppers and dimes on it. when the minister requested that all the young people who desired the prayers of the congregation for their future guidance, stand up, alfred remained seated. there was no contriteness in his heart; no impression had been made upon him. he forgot his surroundings; he felt no embarrassment that all stared at him, their looks seeming to say: "well, how did you like it? hit you pretty hard, did it not?" alfred forgot the sermon, forgot the surroundings; other thoughts swayed his mind. "i'll make uncle tom, i'll make this congregation, i'll make this whole town acknowledge my worth. i've not done anything i'm ashamed of." then the five dollars he owed the blind family flashed upon his mind. "i'll pay them, i'll pay every cent i owe." he passed out of the church unconscious of the gaze of a half hundred young men lined up on either side of the door waiting for the girls to run the gauntlet, each one offering an arm to the girl he fancied; if rejected he was termed "sacked" and the rejected one felt the ridicule of his fellows for many days thereafter. lucy fowler "sacked" john albright that night. lin was so full of this affair that she seemed to forget the sermon in her eagerness to recount the other incident. alfred interrupted her by sneakingly inquiring as to how she liked the sermon. lin forthwith straightened up: "well, ef i wanted tu tell jes what i thot, i'd say he gin ye particular fits, but preachin' is preachin', nobody takes hit to tharselves, they jes think hit's fur everybody. now i reckon ye think the hull blast wus fer ye. s'posen he'd preached on dram drinkin'. i reckon the fellur thet guzzles wud take hit all tu hisself. no, sonny, religun's fur everybody an' ye kan't thro preachin' bricks ye don't hit somebody. so don't take a foolish powder kase a preacher workin' at his trade handed ye a few. hit done ye good, ye never looked so purty in yer life, yer cheeks wus red es cherries an' ye sung like a exorter." alfred asked: "didn't you think he took a shot at uncle ned?" "well, ef he did he never teched him fur ned never winced. ye know them church members never take nuthin' to tharselves; no, they jes believe when the preacher ladles out spiritual feed hits fur sinners on the outside uf the church. they think they're above suspishun. ye know the pharisee thanked gawd he wus not like other peepul, 'an he was _jes awful_. of course a great many say thet the sermon fit yer kase. hit's the best praise ye ever got, hit's better'n a piece in the newspapers. thur's a heap uf peepul in this town never knowed ye amounted to enuf to be preached about. es long es ye hain't stole nuthin' er caused anybody misery er shame, yer on the safe side. yer troubles hain't nuthin', ye jes think they are. uncle tom's got more trouble on his min' now en ye ever had." "i'll bet if i ever get out of this trouble, i'll steer clear of it hereafter," mused alfred. "yes ye will. let me tell ye, sonny, the minnet ye begin to feel yer troubles at a end ye'll begin to look fer more en ye wouldn't be wuth cracklins ef ye didn't. i wouldn't gin four cents fer a man thet didn't git into truble; hit trys 'em out an' ye ken tell what they're made uf. look at all the men ye know who don't know enuf to make truble. what do they amount to? why they ain't got enuf grit in 'em to suck alum." she continued: "onct thur wus a new preacher kum to a place to take charge of a church. a member uf the church called tu pay his respeks an' afore he left he said, confidential like: 'parson, ye preach yer first sermon sunday. now i want to tell ye this fer yer own good: we hev a good many members thet plays ole sledge, ten cents a corner. thar our best payin' members an' i wouldn't, ef i wus ye, say anythin' 'bout card playin' in my fust sermon, they mought think ye wus pussenal.' another member called. after talkin' 'bout the weather an' crops a bit, he sed: 'several uf our best payin' members sell whiskey wholesale, they're agin dram drinkin' but ef ye preach agin whiskey right away it mought make 'em mad, so i wouldn't say anythin' agin whiskey in yer fust sermun nex' sunday.' the preacher began to git a little shaky but he thanked the man. a little later anuther member called. when 'bout tu leave he sed: 'parson, ye preach yer fust sermon sunday; i want ye to start right. we hed a good many dances through the winter, and our peepul is very fond uf dancin'. thur's two ur three big dances to kum off soon. these members thet dance is all willun workers an' liberal givers; ef ye pitch into dancin' en frolikin' in yer fust sermon hit's sure to raise a click in the church thet'll be agin ye. therefore i wouldn't mention anythin' 'bout dancin' in my fust sermon ef i wus ye.' soon another called. after he'd talked a spell, he kum to the pint: 'parson, we got some mighty fine hosses an' most uf 'em belongs to the leadin' members uf yer church an' we has hoss races an' we bets on 'em, an' ef ye preach 'bout anythin' uf thet kind in yer fust sermon it'll hurt the hoss bizness an' put some uf the best members uf the congregashun agin ye.' the preacher raised his hans in holy horror, as he said: 'i can't preach agin the frivolities of fashun, dancin' an' sich; i can't preach agin drunkenness; i can't preach agin gamblin'. fur heavin's sake, what kin i preach about?' 'i'll tell ye,' volunteered the caller quickly, 'preach about the jews, jes gin 'em hell, thar's only one in town.'" lin concluded, "maybe uncle tom figgered the same way on yer kase," and she roared with laughter as she gave alfred a playful push. after the boasting alfred had indulged in previous to going on tour with eli, he could not face his friends. he borrowed five dollars from lin and in a careless way, informed the family that the next day he would go up to uncle jake's for a couple of weeks' visit. he packed up his belongings, bade the family an affectionate good-bye and ran away, like many another coward has done before and since. he was not in debt to any extent, it was simply his vanity, a false pride that would not permit him to face the little world in which he lived. those who should have advised him censured; those who had influence for good held aloof. he went to a big city, to pittsburg, to seek his fortune among strangers, return rich, reward all who were kind to him and humble all who had lost faith in him. he went aboard the boat bound for pittsburg. he slept soundly and was only awakened by the clanging of bells and the blowing of whistles. peering out of the stateroom ventilator, his eyes met a sight such as he had never witnessed before. fire in long-tongued flashes blazed up a hundred feet out of blackened chimneys, shadowy demons working over fiery furnaces, boiling, white hot lava flowed in streams, the air was filled with smoke and sparks. alfred imagined he had died in his sins and was now nearing the place of eternal torment. he could liken the scene before him to nothing on earth. it must be hell, and he felt that the lid had been lifted for his especial benefit. there was a rap on his stateroom door and a voice called: "all out for pittsburg." alfred hustled into his clothes and walked out in the cabin, not desiring to leave the boat until after daylight. he inquired of the clerk as to how long the boat would remain there. "we leave at eight o'clock," replied the clerk. "eight o'clock what? morning or night?" asked alfred. "eight o'clock morning," replied the man. "why, when does it get daylight in pittsburg?" inquired the bewildered boy. the clerk laughed as he answered, "tomorrow, if the sun shines." alfred hastened ashore. the old national hotel, water and smithfield streets, had sheltered him before. therein he entered. changing his clothing he wandered forth aimlessly. he entered the red lion hotel, looked over the circus grounds and then to ben trimble's theatre; from there to the old drury theater, wood and fifth avenue. he took in all the sights of the big city. then he began to make plans as to the future. the hotel rate was one dollar and a half a day. when alfred settled, which he did at the end of the first day, he had but thirty-five cents left. he left his baggage with the hotel people and began a search for work. were you ever in a strange city, broke and without a friend, without the price of a bed, without the price of a full meal? did you ever feel the loneliness, the forsakedness of this condition? you may say, "well, i'd get a job; i'd do anything; i'd dig ditches; i'd--" well, they do not dig ditches in winter, and when they do dig them you must have a vote before you can get a job even at that labor and you cannot get a job at any kind of laboring work unless your physique and clothes look the part. you say there's no excuse for any man being broke or out of a job these times? well, there may be no excuse that will satisfy you but there are men in this condition all over this land--and good honest, willing men, willing to do any kind of work to earn a living. when they apply to you encourage them even though you do not hire them. alfred applied to a large concern that employed many men. he was told there was nothing open. the wholesale drug stores were all supplied with help. another place had a sign out--"no help wanted." alfred failed to notice it as he entered. when he made his errand known the oily haired youngster in the place impudently asked him if he could read, and pointed to the sign. at another place he felt sure he had landed when the boss told him they wanted a married man and that he was too young looking. at the headquarters of a great fraternal society, the principles and teachings of which are mercy and charity toward all mankind, the officer or secretary in charge was particularly unkind and actually spoke and behaved towards the boy as though he had been guilty of some offense, instead of seeking honest employment. after walking more than four miles to a large factory, the head of which stood high in the councils of one of the great political parties of the day, one who had lately issued a statement to the country that the only difficulty his firm was having was to secure men to do their work, he met the great man coming from his office and appealed to him in person, and was informed that they required no more men at that time, but intimated that a factory in a city several hundred miles distant required help. he did not mention that it required several dollars to pay railroad fare to the town referred to. his experience in seeking employment caused alfred to resolve that no man or woman, no weary soul, no matter what the conditions, applying to him for employment or aid should be turned away without a word of encouragement and advice. some philosopher has likened kindness as lighting a neighbor's candle by our own by which we impart something and lose nothing. try a little kindness upon the next applicant who calls upon you. walking down fifth avenue alfred read a sign hung on a door: "wanted. two boys over fifteen years of age." it was the white house saloon. alfred walked in and asked for the position. he learned it was setting up ten pins in a bowling alley. the proprietor, john o'brien, was very kindly spoken and, looking curiously at alfred, he inquired: "how did you come to ask for this job? you look too well groomed for such work?" "well, i'm broke and i've got to do something." alfred was given the job and started to work at once setting up the pins. it was pay day in pittsburg; the big, husky iron workers hurled the balls down the alleys with such tremendous force that the pins were scattered in every direction. at times the bowlers, in their haste and excitement, would not wait for the pins to be set up before hurling the balls and it required quick action on the part of alfred to keep out of harm's way. closing up time came and as the dollar and a half was passed to alfred he noticed that the game keeper was a brother of eli's. pulling his hat over his eyes that he might not be recognized, the star of eli's minstrels fled the place. the barkeeper at the national hotel, dick cannon, had befriended alfred before. when he learned that alfred was living on doughnuts and coffee at the little stand in the market house, cannon took him in and fed him until he secured a position. it was through cannon that alfred finally secured the position of night clerk in the hotel. that a saloonkeeper and a bar-tender, the very people whom alfred had been so constantly warned against, should be the only ones who took an interest in him when in distress, was most surprising to the boy. surely it was not from the fact that he patronized their establishments, as he never entered the place of one and was in the house of the other for only a few hours. john w. pittock, the founder of the _pittsburg leader_, was also proprietor of a book store at the corner of fifth avenue and smithfield street. the _leader_ was the first paper, that the writer has knowledge of, to print a sporting page. pittsburgh, then as now, was strong for athletic sports. aquatic sports were the most popular; jimmy hamill, the champion single sculler of the world, was at the zenith of his career. the day following alfred's experience in the ten pin alley the city was all excitement over a sporting event. alfred was sent to the _leader_ office to procure a number of copies of the paper for numerous guests of the hotel. the following sunday morning alfred sold over two hundred copies of the paper. the superintendent of the smithfield street bridge was a friend of alfred's father. he permitted the boy to establish a news-stand at the end of the bridge. from a. m. until noon hundreds of copies of the _leader_ were sold. with his wages from the hotel the minstrel was making and saving money. alfred was homesick often but determined in his mind not to return to brownsville until he had a stated amount of money. the father wrote him to return at once. alfred replied that he had a good position but would return by a certain date. it was a holiday in the smokey city. alfred cleaned up over forty dollars on papers alone. that night he visited brimstone corner, a methodist church. no man or boy who ever lived in pittsburgh but remembers its location. it was a revival; the church was packed, the sermon eloquent and it made a deep impression upon alfred. the minister read the text as follows: "and he said, a certain man had two sons; and the younger of them said to the father: 'father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.' and he divided unto him his living. and not many days after the younger son gathered all together and took his journey into a far country and there wasted his substance with riotous living. and when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land and he began to be in want. and he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. and he would feign have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat, and no man gave unto him. and when he came to himself, he said: 'how many hired servants of my father have bread enough and to spare, and i perish with hunger.' i will arise and go to my father and will say unto him, 'father, i have sinned against heaven and before thee and am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.' and he arose and came to his father. but when he was yet a great way off his father saw him and had compassion and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. and the son said unto him, 'father, i have sinned against heaven and in thy sight and am no more worthy to be called thy son.' but the father said to his servants, 'bring forth the best robe and put it on him and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet; and bring hither the fatted calf and kill it and let us eat and be merry. for this, my son, was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' and they began to be merry." the preacher continued: "who can say what the causes that led to the young man's leaving the luxurious home of his father to wander, an outcast, over the earth? the vagaries of the human mind are beyond our understanding. the prodigal son may have had illusions; he may have had ambitions. he may have been induced by illusions born of ambitions to make something of himself other than a plain farmer's boy. the dangers that lay along his pathway were not known to him. that he fell in with evil associates and did not have the will power to free himself from them is obvious. "we cannot all live in one city; we cannot all live in one country or on one farm. it is but natural that boys will stray away from the old fireside. read the history of this country; it was settled by hardy yeomen, possessed of that desire for changed conditions. look at the great and growing west, settled by the descendants of those first settlers of new england and virginia. "that boys leave home, as did the prodigal son; that boys fall from grace, as did he who ate husks with the swine, should not shake our faith in the future of a young man who has fallen by the wayside. he is to be reclaimed, not by the mighty hand of the law, not by the chastisement of the father, but by the love and pity that man should exhibit not only for the good but for the lowest of god's creatures. we should extend to them the helping hand; we should prove by our actions that they have our love and pity. "pity is a mode, or a particular development, of benevolence. it is sympathy for those who are weak and suffering. hence, our compassion for the erring one. we have affections for men who are good and noble, men who are prosperous, strong and happy. but for those who have been beaten down by the storms of life, for such we should feel that pity the father displayed for the prodigal son. "if those who have strayed and forgotten the father's advice and the mother's prayers come to us, we should not receive them with reproaches and rebuffs but with open arms; always remembering that the father of all has gladness for those who are glad and pity for those who are sad. "when the erring one returned, envy filled the heart of one of the family and he said to a brother of the prodigal: 'thy brother is come and thy father hath killed the fatted calf because he hath received him safe and sound.' and the brother was angry and would not go in to the feast. therefore came his father out and entreated him to enter. and he answering, said to his father: 'lo, these many years do i serve thee, neither transgressing at any time thy commandments and yet thou never gavest me at any time a fatted kid that i might make merry with my friends. but as soon as this, thy son, came, which has devoured thy living, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf.' and the father answered, 'wealth killeth the foolish man and envy slayeth the silly one. there is not a just man upon earth that doeth good and sinneth not. it is good for a man he beareth the yoke in youth.' "it is sympathy in this world that must reclaim the fallen. it is sympathy in the return of the erring that must reunite families and heal the mother's sorrow for him who has wandered from the fireside and, like the prodigal, returns to be elevated to a life that might been have wasted had not the father's love prevailed to welcome his return. "if this world is to be bettered, if the children of men are to be uplifted, it must be by a love that is as strong as that of the father for the son, the mother for her children. "young man, if you have wandered from home, if you have felt you were abused, return to your family, start life over, reconcile yourself to what you may have imagined were wrongs. if they have wronged you, their love, won by your obedience, will atone for all. if you have wronged anyone, make amends. "fathers, mothers, friends, stretch out your right hands for the salvation and preservation of our young men, for in their hands lies the greatness of the future." the river was low, the boats were not running. the next morning a train bore alfred to layton station on the youghiogheny. a stage coach landed him at the door of his father's home in the middle of the afternoon. there never before was the happiness in alfred's heart that filled it on his home coming. the father was proud of his boy, the mother overwhelmed with her emotions. the children clung to him as though they feared he would fly away from them. lin baked and cooked as she never had before. when it became known that alfred had laid one hundred dollars in his mother's hand and that he "hed plenty more," as lin informed all, the boy could feel a difference in the atmosphere when he mingled with the people of the town. cousin charley and alfred hired a horse and buggy and drove out to merrittstown, passing the thornton home, the old mill, the dam and the home of the youngs. the blind musicians were paid the five dollars yet due with five dollars added for interest. there was only one incident that marred the happy home-coming. alfred licked morgan, eli's agent. eli was a very ill man; his excesses had brought him near death's door. alfred forgot the past and no more attentive friend had eli in his last illness. the fight with morgan was regrettable but, as lin expressed it: "hit let the kat outen the bag an' klarified matters in general an' some mighty big peepul tried to krawl into some mighty little holes, but they stuck out wuss then ef they hed stood up an' sed, 'well, we tuk alfred's money but we thought we wur right but we find we were wrong.'" of those who levied on the money at redstone school-house, but one returned the amount he had illegally received. fred chalfant, the liveryman, was that man. chapter thirteen forgot is the time when the clouds hid the sun. and cold blasts the earth forced to shiver. for such is the power of one warm spring day from winter's whole spell to deliver. alfred was unconsciously broadening in his knowledge; life in its various phases was unfolding to him, and he was profiting by his experiences. his faults appeared very great to others, were only an incentive to him. he had learned thus early that it was not the being exempt from faults so much as to have the will power to overcome them. in early life he had it very strongly impressed upon his mind that some men were perfect, others hopelessly vile. experience and observation forced alfred to the conclusion that none were so good but that some thought them bad, and none so vile but that some thought them good. we generally judge others as to their attitude towards us, agreeable or otherwise. our estimate of another depends greatly upon the manner in which that person affects our interests. it is difficult to think well or speak well of those by whom we are crossed or thwarted. but we are ever ready to find excuses for the vices of those who are useful and agreeable to us. therefore, he is a mighty poor mortal who is not something on his own account. alfred had graduated in that dear old school of experience, wherein education costs more but lasts longer than that acquired in colleges, that it is with the follies of the mind as with the weeds of a field--those destroyed and consumed upon the place of their growth, enrich and improve that place more than if none had ever grown there. the boy had been so continually advised against evil associates that he began taking a mental inventory of every stranger at first meeting. harrison was his estimate of the bad; mr. steele of the good. alfred had arrived at that stage where he not only stood aside and watched himself go by, but he was also watching the other fellow go by. he was out of newspaper business, out of the tannery, had abandoned the practice of medicine. charley's father, who was very strict with his boys, advised the parent to "give alfred more tether, not to stake him down too close. give him a little more rope, there's something in that boy." all of which was communicated to alfred by cousin charley, and uncle bill was thus greatly elevated in alfred's estimation. alfred's father was little short of a genius in a mechanical way; he had a peculiar temperament, mild and easily influenced. he was a creditable artist; many meritorious paintings from his brush in both oil and water adorn the walls of the residences of his friends. he was greatly interested in mechanical pursuits, particularly if of an artistic character. when uncle joe prepared to build a house, "pap" made the plans; when sells brothers built a tableau car or an animal van of an elaborate character, "daddy" made the drawings; when aunt betsy desired patterns to make a quilt to take the premium at the fair, "pap" made the drawings or figures. he became acquainted with an artist from philadelphia and was completely taken with the man's talents. the artist informed him in confidence that he had expended the greater portion of his man life on a work of art that would astonish the world, the father became even more interested in him. the father was the only person who had ever been permitted to look upon the wonderful creation of his genius; yard after yard of art was unwound for the admiration of the father. when he returned from his second visit to the art gallery of the philadelphia artist, he interested the family greatly by his description of the wonderful scenes the painter had wrought on the canvas. the sufferings and privations endured by the man while creating his work seemed to make as profound an impression upon the father as the painting itself. the father predicted that the talented painter would come into his own; the painting would be exhibited all over the world, admiring throngs would rush to see it to praise its incomparable beauties. the father made weekly visits to the home of the great painter, he desired frequent conferences with the father as he required his advice, at least, he so stated. after one of his frequent visits to the art studio the parent inadvertently let fall the remark that the great painting was about ready for exhibition but that the artist did not have money to complete it. he also hinted that if alfred were a boy of proper ambitions he might become attached to the exhibition of the picture, but no, "alfred's ambition did not rise above saw-dust and burnt-cork." these few words aroused alfred's curiosity. by adroit questioning he ascertained that the great work of art was a panorama illustrative of "the pilgrim's progress," to be exhibited in churches, schools and such places, at twenty-five cents for adults; children, half price. the mother wondered that the artist did not exhibit his wonderful painting in the art centers, philadelphia, boston, new york city, instead of butler, pittsburg, perryopolis and muttontown. the father explained that after the professor got the rollers to working smoothly and the lecture down pat, he intended visiting philadelphia, boston and new york. alfred began to realize that the picture was some sort of a show and he marvelled that his father favored it. lin said: "so fur es i kin kalkerlate it es some sort of meetin' house show, nuthin' but picturs. hit may be good, but durned ef i ever got much satisfaction out uf a cirkus lookin' at the picturs. but i s'pose peepul will want to look at the feller thet made hit. they say thet he nurly starved to death to git hit done. ye know, they'll run to see him. mor en they will his pictur--i reckon he has long curley hair an black eyes, they all has, them sufferin' fellers that due wunderful things." lin glancing mischievously at the mother in a tone she pretended to be only for the mother's hearing but really delivered for alfred's annoyance. "well, i hope he kums to red stun' skule-house. it's whur all the big shows gits thur start; they allus git a crowd, the skule direkturs sees to thet an' ef they don't make muny, sammy steele'll hulp 'em out." how did she know about sammy steele and his loan? it was long afterwards that alfred learned that joe thornton had confidentially imparted to bill wyatt, the tavern keeper, the part that he and steele had played in alfred's show life wyatt, in turn, confidentially imparted the story, with a few additions, to uncle bill. the uncle confided the story to the family and cousin charley gave it to the town--but what's the use. professor palmer, the artist, was to visit the family the following sunday. when there appeared a smallish, yankee looking individual, wrinkled face, a tuft of beard on his chin, similar to that bestowed upon the comic cartoons of the face of uncle sam, a beaked nose, very dirty hands and iron grey hair, sparsely sprinkled over his acorn-shaped head, alfred thought a farmer or stock breeder had called on his father. when introduced by the father as "my son, alfred, professor palmer," alfred was taken off his feet and his idea of art dropped away down. the only attraction of the professor was his eloquence, his ability to talk entertainingly. this he did continuously with a pronunciation so correct and studied that it sounded pedantic. the professor kept up his talk, as affected at times as the hand-cuff king's stage announcements or those of the middleman in a minstrel show. after dinner the professor expressed a desire to take a walk with alfred. they walked far, the professor talked long, and became annoyingly confidential. he said: "your father has told me a great deal about you and i must admit that you are a mighty smart young man. you don't belong in this one-horse town, you should get out in the world where there are opportunities waiting for all such as you. you could live in this town a thousand years and you'd be just what you are now. you have had some experience in the show line but in a line that is beneath you; your place in the show business is higher up. i want your advice," he continued insinuatingly. "now, i offered john (he referred to alfred's father), the best thing of his life. he has worked hard all of his days; he is deserving of something better. i have offered him a half interest in my show. ("holy mother of moses!" thought alfred). i have borrowed a little money from him but i need nine hundred dollars more to put me out right. now jack is considering the matter. i wish you, who know more about the show business than both of us put together, (alfred knew he was being flattered), would talk to him, use your influence with him." notwithstanding alfred's life's ambition to become a showman, the idea as presented by the professor filled him with disgust. his father going into the show business! he had pictured show life in his illusions as one long, summer day's dream, but now it seemed the meanest of careers. the idea of his father associating himself with such a calling was repugnant in the extreme. alfred could scarcely restrain his thoughts from taking expression in wrathful words. the man continued, not noticing alfred's changed expression: "you could sing and dance in this entertainment, do just what you pleased, it would make it all the better. i'll deliver the lecture and your daddy, (he was becoming insultingly familiar), could sit at the door and rake in the money. hasn't the old man talked to you about it? i've been talking to him for six months." "talking to my father about going into the show business and he did not knock you down. if he didn't he is a hypocrite." this is only what alfred thought; his reply was: "no, sir." he did not realize whether "no, sir" was the answer to the professor's question or the announcement of the decision he had come to in his mind as to the show business in so far as his father was concerned. the professor rattled on: "now, you get your old man away from the women folks and talk it over with him. it's the best thing ever offered him; he'll get his nine hundred dollars back before a month is out. i'm going to do business with churches and preachers wherever i can. i preached four years in missouri and had to give it up on account of my health; i got stomach trouble from eating rich food. i know just how to work this thing, and if you and your daddy go in with me we will not only make money but have a hell of a good time." they had arrived at the door of alfred's home. the professor, as they passed in, admonished alfred to "think it over and let me hear from you." the professor was soon in the midst of a description of a scene he intended introducing in his church entertainment wherein he used living figures. alfred did not follow his conversation; he was trying to think, but could not think connectedly. he could not talk to the professor, he answered him by nods or shakes of his head. the more reticent alfred became the more voluble the professor grew. at leave-taking time, the professor admonished alfred: "do not forget what i told you." alfred promised that he would not and he was sincere; he could not have forgotten had he tried. the professor gone, alfred hurried to his room. was it possible that his father had even partially entertained an idea of joining the man palmer in a show scheme, the father, who had berated, abused and condemned all and everything pertaining to shows, now favorably considering engaging in the show business himself. alfred endeavored to find excuses for his father--"he was generous, sympathetic, he was listening to the professor only to encourage him." alfred had never been subjected to the influence of a promoter; this was a leaf of life yet unturned by him. alfred felt certain that his father had entered into some sort of an arrangement with the professor. he felt certain the panorama man was endeavoring to induce his father to invest money in the panorama and he finally resolved that it should not be. the more he thought the matter over, the more distasteful show life appeared to him. then the illusion came back to him. he had dreamed by night and prayed by day; he had lived for years with the wish, the hope that he might, after a few years of show life, earn enough to gratify his life's desires, to possess a farm, to own fine horses, to plant fields, to reap harvests, to live near nature. he figured over several sheets of white paper. he would be compelled to labor forty years in the tannery to acquire sufficient money to buy a farm and nearly one hundred years in the newspaper office. jimmy reynolds, the clown with thayer & noyse circus, received one hundred dollars a week, board and lodging, so alfred had been informed. alfred felt in the innermost depths of his soul that he was a much better clown than jimmy. he would secure the position now held by reynolds--one hundred dollars each week for thirty weeks, three thousand dollars a year; ten years, thirty thousand dollars. ten years a clown, then a farm. show business was improper for the father but the means to attain the end for the son, as he reasoned. when lin found the figures and writing on the many sheets of scribbling paper in his room, she pondered long and confusedly over them. "what in the world hes thet consarned boy got intu his punkin' agin? thirty years a clown, ninety-nine years in a nusepaper, furty years in the tan-yard, and a farmer all the rest uf my life." then she laughed. "he must think he'll be as ole as methusulus got." she carried the paper to the mother. they confronted alfred with the sheets on which were scribbled the hieroglyphics. alfred laughingly said it was a new way to tell fortunes. alfred decided to talk to the father the first opportunity that offered. father and son were seated in the front room. "father"--alfred rarely addressed the parent as "father;" "pap" was the every-day appellation but the present matter was of greater importance--"father, i would like to talk to you privately and want you to answer me truthfully." the father had his feet on a stool reclining in the big, easy chair. at the words "answer me truthfully," the father's feet fell to the floor, his cigar dropped until it lay on his chinbeard; the man looked at the boy to convince himself he had heard aright. "why, what the h--ll tarnation do you mean?" alfred was frightened, his voice trembled and sounded unlike his own, but he was determined. "father, i want to talk to you, come upstairs to my room." if alfred had not been so earnest, the scene would have been a laughable one, as it was like burlesquing many similar scenes when the parent addressed the boy in the same words. alfred walked up the steps very slowly, hoping thereby to cause the parent to follow. it was a long time (to alfred) ere the father entered the room. "what's the trouble now?" began the man, as he gazed inquiringly at the boy. "who is this man palmer whom you are so greatly taken up with?" inquired alfred. "why, what's that to you? he's a friend of mine." "has he a show?" was the boy's next query. "a show? not a show like you know anything of. he has a painting, a work of art, that will be exhibited soon." "father, you have always berated, abused and condemned shows and show people. did this man palmer borrow money from you?" the father was confused. he reddened as he stammered: "no--no--not much. you see he is a poor devil of an artist, he would rather paint than eat; he has spent years of his life on a painting. he has a fortune almost in his hands and i loaned him a little money to buy glue and colors to finish his painting. i tell you, he is a genius; why, the roller the pictures work on is one of the most ingenious contrivances you ever saw and it's simple, it can be applied to other uses. no man but a genius like palmer would have thought of it." this and much more information he gave alfred. by his manner alfred could readily see that the parent was greatly interested in palmer and his scheme--for alfred felt such it was. "well, then, father, you have changed your mind as to shows?" "who said i had? no, i have not changed my mind as to shows! who told you i had? but your uncle will, who thinks more of you than you think he does, has persuaded me to give you your own way a little more and if you want to go with palmer i will consent to it after i see palmer and put you under his charge. he must control you just as i want you controlled. he is a man who knows how to manage boys; he is a man you can depend upon and i don't mind you going with him if it can be arranged to suit me and your mother. i am glad you asked my consent and did not run off, like you threatened to do with the nigger minstrels." and he emphasized "nigger minstrels" to strongly convince alfred of his disgust with that branch of show business. the father was so completely wrapped up in palmer, so totally captivated by the eloquence of the man that he had altogether mistaken the questions of the boy. "father, has palmer tried to get nine hundred dollars out of you? did he want you to buy a half interest in the show?" "well," hesitatingly he answered, "palmer has got to raise some money and he asked me to help him out. i haven't said whether i would or not. if you go with him you could look after money matters for----." here alfred interrupted the parent: "have you said anything to mother about this? you know when you went into the patent wash-board concern with niblo and grandpap, you never told mother and when you got took in with uncle thomas on the patent shoe blacking, you said you would never enter into anything outside your business without asking mother's advice. and now you're dickering with this man palmer about a show, something you know nothing about. now pap--." the wash-board and blacking were two of the father's investments that were losses, so he became very much irritated at mention of them and checked the son. "now you hold on, young man! if you tell your mother anything of this, you and i will have trouble. you're meddling with matters that don't concern you. i thought you called me in to ask my permission to go with palmer. now you set yourself up to pry into my business. i'm your father, i've always taken care of you and i am able to take care of myself. i don't want a green boy to look after me." "well, pap; i'm not trying to nose into your business. you told palmer that i knowed a heap about the show business, and you recommended me highly as a showman." the father was sizzling. "who told you so?" "why, palmer himself. now, i don't want to brag on myself," continued alfred who had gained confidence as the interview progressed, "but i've seen a great deal of this show business and you've got to know what you're doing when you get into it. why, look how many men have lost all their money." and here alfred mentioned the names of several men, the details of whose losses in show schemes he had read in the _new york clipper_. "why," he continued, in an outburst of confidence, "i"--and he emphasized the "i"--"i lost money on my last show." he should have added, "my first and last show." but the boy felt that he had pap going. "i had to borrow money from sammy steele to pay my debts." the father gasped. "so you've been borrowing money to get into the show business?" "no, i had to borrow money to get out of it and that's why i don't want you to loan palmer money without you ask mother." alfred knew full well that this reference to the mother would bring the father to terms. "now look here, my boy; i warned you once before not to blab my business to your mother to make trouble in the family--" "well, i'm going to tell her," broke in the boy. "you're going to tell her what?" threateningly asked the father. "i'm not going to tell her anything about you," replied alfred somewhat subdued, "i'm just going to tell her that palmer is trying to borrow money from you." the mother was no different from other women. the father knew full well that her first remark would be: "so palmer wants to borrow money! so that's what brought him here! he is a slick one, you could tell that by his talk. john, i hope you are not fool enough to loan that man money." "no, mary, don't worry yourself, he'll get no money out of me, i could see through him the first time i met him." this line of conversation had been heard so often in the family that it was stereotyped on the memory of all. the father therefore capitulated, and in a tone intended to pacify the boy he said: "now there's no use in stirring up anything over this matter. if you want to go with palmer i will gain your mother's consent. i'll tell her you have asked my permission. i will permit you to remain there as long as you do right. you know more about this business than i do and i'll leave it all in your hands and i'll tell palmer so," the father resignedly concluded. his father had outgeneraled him; he was not the diplomat he imagined himself. he was left in deeper doubt than before the interview. letters came from palmer. alfred knew by the postmark that they were from him. he was tempted to open them. the father read the letters and placed them in the desk, never mentioning palmer's name. this was very perplexing to alfred. it was reported that palmer's great panorama was coming. it was also reported that alfred's uncle thomas, the minister, uncle ned, uncle will, grandpap, and all of alfred's relatives who had opposed his show ambitions previously, sanctioned his going with professor palmer's panorama. uncle thomas explained that palmer was a retired minister, that the surroundings, instead of being degrading, would be uplifting; taking it all in all, john and mary had acted wisely in giving their consent to alfred's joining professor palmer's panorama of pilgrim's progress. somehow it got out that alfred was not anxious to go. lin, in referring to the latter phase of the matter, said: "i jes can't understan' hit. uncle thomas ses hit will satusfy alfurd's ambishun an' possibly settle his min'. but alfurd don't seem to want to go. maybe hit's his muther. alfurd is a great muther's boy, ye wouldn't think hit either, he's sech a tarnel devil ketcher, but he is. i guess he don't like the idee uf this prayur meetin' show an' the show fellur thet painted hit he jes disspises. i bet ye a fip ef hit wus a show with hosses an' gals ur singin' niggurs he'd bust a biler to go. be durned if he ain't the queerest cuss i ever seed. why, it tuk the hull kit uf us tu head him frum runnin' off with a show a while back. now, be dog-goned ef ye kin chase him off with a pack of bob playford's houn's." it was announced by the father that palmer would be the guest of the family for a day. alfred determined to have a heart-to-heart talk with palmer, pretend he was in full accord with his plans, engage to go with the panorama and thus protect the father in his dealings with the man. palmer arrived and with him an open faced, honest appearing pennsylvania dutchman, from bedford county, whom palmer introduced as jake. jake had a continuous smile. sometimes it expanded but never contracted. the smile was a fixture and it became jake greatly. he rarely spoke, the smile sort of atoned for his reticence as it assured those addressing him that jake was not deaf, even though dumb. it was not necessary to question palmer; he was a willing subject, volunteering all the testimony necessary to set alfred's mind at rest. in answer to the query as to whether father had concluded to take an interest in the panorama now that he, alfred, had decided to go with it, palmer rolled off his reply so rapidly that alfred could scarcely follow his words. "i hope john will not be angry with me, i offered him first chance and held off until i almost lost the other fellow. john's all right but he's too conservative. he's afraid of his wife and he'll never make money as long as he continues in business in this town. this dutchman, jake, had the money, he is anxious to travel, he has never been outside of bedford county. jake has a team, a fine team. we can't stick anywhere. he'd sell the team if i said the word. he will haul the whole outfit. i am going to buy another team and a good one, then i can take my wife and you and go ahead and have all the arrangements made before jake arrives with the panorama. of course if john talks his wife into it he will want to come in later. we can easily get rid of jake, he's a "gilly." this is the very business for john. he is a painter, he could paint the panoramas; all he requires is a little experience with water colors. why, look at those flags on the old fellow's barn out the pike; no one but an artist could shade and color like that.[a] those flags are painted so naturally they appear to be fluttering in the wind. john and me could go in together, and paint panoramas of bull run and other battles and sell them or send out a half a dozen. this war will make the panorama business good. your daddy is good on flags and eagles and sich; that's where i am weak. we could make all kinds of money." the exhibitions would be confined to churches and educational institutions; therefore, it was most fortunate for alfred that he should be privileged to become attached to an exhibition that possessed the elevating and refining influences of the great moral entertainment of professor palmer. the father, instead of requesting the minister to ask the blessing, as was his custom, nodded to palmer. all bowed their heads as palmer, in a loud voice, called down a blessing upon the food, the father, the mother, and the boy about to go out into the world to seek his fortune; he also prayed for lin. he called down a blessing upon the panorama and that it might attract thousands that the great moral lesson it was designed to teach might be carried to the furthermost corners of the earth. alfred could not resist the impulse to raise his eyes. the very beard on palmer's chin was quivering with the fervor of his beseechings. all were bowed in respectful reverence except jake--he was gazing nowhere, the smile a little more expansive. after the men had retired from the dining room, lin, the mother and alfred remained seated. lin turned a cup in the tea-grounds. she read that alfred would wander a long way off and "maybe kum back with a great bag of gold, at eny rate, he wus carryin' a heavy load." finally lin, turning to the mother, inquired: "what did ye think uf the blessin'?" "it was very fervent," absently answered the mother. lin sniffed. "well, i'd swore afore a volcany uf fire thet i smelled licker on both uf 'em." the mother communicated lin's suspicions to the father. he admitted that jake might be addicted to liquor. palmer, as an artist, used a great deal of alcohol to dissolve the shellac used for sizing the canvas preparatory to painting and the fumes of alcohol would pervade a man's clothing a long time after being subjected to its permeating influences. lin, with a twinkle in her eye, declared in a loud whisper as the father left the room: "well, durned ef i wus him ef i wouldn't change my clothes afore i asked a blessin' agin." the mother was very much worried. she communicated her fears to uncle thomas and aunt sarah. uncle william, the county judge, was called into conference. he advised that since alfred seemed inclined to a roving life it would be better for him to be connected with a religious show than with a worldly one for he would be free from the vicious surroundings of a circus or minstrel show, and suggested that a binding contract be made with palmer. grandfather secured a copy of the contract under which his brother, the judge, had been apprenticed, and had a copy made to fit alfred's engagement to palmer. the following is an exact copy of the indenture which bound uncle william to learn the trade of a blacksmith. it is now on record in the county courthouse at uniontown, pennsylvania: this indenture witnesseth: that william hatfield, of the township of union, in the county of fayette, state of pennsylvania, hath put himself by the approbation of his guardian, john withrow, and by these presents doth voluntarily put himself an apprentice to george wintermute, of the township of redstone, county and state aforesaid, blacksmith, to learn his art, trade or mystery he now occupieth or followeth, and after the manner of an apprentice to serve from the day of the date hereof, for and during the full end and term of five years, next ensuing, during all of which time he, the said apprentice, his said master shall faithfully serve, his secrets keep, his lawful commands everywhere gladly obey; he shall do no damage to his said master, nor suffer it to be done without giving notice to his said master; he shall not waste his master's goods, nor lend them unlawfully to others; he shall not absent himself day or night from his master's service without his leave; he shall not commit any unlawful deed whereby his said master shall sustain damage, nor contract matrimony within the said term; he shall not buy nor sell nor make any contract whatsoever, whereby his master receive damage, but in all things behave himself as a faithful apprentice ought to do during said term. and the said george wintermute shall use the utmost of his endeavors to teach, or cause to be taught and instructed, the said apprentice the trade or mystery he now occupieth or followeth, and procure and provide for him, the said apprentice, sufficient meat, drink, common wearing apparel, washing, lodging, fitting for an apprentice during the said term; and further he, the said master, doth agree to give unto the said apprentice, ten months' schooling within the said term, and also the master doth agree to give unto the said apprentice two weeks in harvest in each and every year that he, the said apprentice, shall stay with his said master; also the said george wintermute, doth agree to give unto the said apprentice one good freedom suit of clothes. and for the true performance of all and every the said covenants and agreements, either of the said parties binds themselves to each other by these presents. in witness whereof, they have interchangably put their hands and seals, the first day of april, one thousand, eight hundred and sixteen. george wintermute, (seal) william hatfield, (seal) john withrow, (seal) witness present: benjamin roberts. fayette county, ss.: may the th, one thousand eight hundred and sixteen, before me the subscriber, one of the justices of the peace, in and for the said county, came the parties to the within indenture and severally acknowledged it as their act and deed. given under my hand and seal the day and year above mentioned. benjamin roberts, (seal) a copy of the paper binding alfred to george washington palmer is on record in the county courthouse at leesburg, loudoun county, virginia. grandfather argued that if his brother, the judge, could accumulate farms and town property and raise himself to the dignity of a judge, alfred certainly should do equally as well. it was not many days before alfred's duties would take him away from home and he began a round of visits to bid all good-bye. [illustration: the taffy pulling] cousin mary craft gave a cotillion party in the country. cousins hester and martha gave a party in town. frank long gave a taffy pulling. the hot plates of taffy were placed outside the kitchen door on the brick walk to cool before the taffy was pulled. archibald long, frank's father, not knowing of the taffy's location, walked out of the house in his stocking feet, as was his custom ere he retired. in the darkness he planted one foot, then the other, in a plate of the hot taffy. this caused him to jump several feet in the air. he started to run. at each step his feet found another taffy plate. gobs of the hot stuff sticking to his feet, pressing up between his toes, the old man introduced a dance--a high kicking dance that would have won him fame and fortune on the stage. the hot gobs of taffy clinging to his expansive, woolen sock-encased feet caused him such intense pain, the old man endeavored to introduce a new stunt, namely, to throw both feet in the air at the same time. all the boys and girls ran from the dining room at the first sound of the yells of the old man. the lamps within enlightened the weird scene without. when both feet were flung in the air simultaneously the old man sat down suddenly. he sat on the largest plate, with the hottest gob of taffy in the collection. his seat had barely touched the plate, the taffy had scarcely squashed through his jeans pants, until he made an effort to rise again. failing in this he flopped on his stomach, clutching and tearing at his seat of latest misery, taffy stringing from his fingers. rearing his rear end high in the taffy laden air he planted his head in another plate of taffy which, was still tenderly clinging to the few straggling hairs on the old man's pate, as they carried him into the house, the taffy plate on his head like the crown of the old king. gradually dangling, it descended to the floor, only to be trampled in the dust by the rabble. the old man was put to bed. poultices of apple butter, sweet-oil and a whitish-bluish clay dug from the bottom of the spring were applied to his blistered parts. the taffy pulling party, the scene of gayety so suddenly transformed to one of suffering, lives in the memory of alfred by the recollection of long threads of amber colored taffy shimmering in the soft moonlight as they clung to the plum tree branches where the old man's vigorous kicks had landed them. it was maple sugar making time. uncle jacob irons, who lived near masontown fifteen miles away, had a large sugar grove. a visit to uncle jake's was always one continued round of pleasure. the staid uncle, jolly aunt bettie, kate and tillie, joe and george, john and wilson, were always delighted to have alfred visit them. it was a day that marked the passing of winter and the coming of spring, after a night of light freezing with a white frost, the morning sun shining all the brighter that he had been hazed so long by winter's shadows. the earth, the trees, appeared even more brown and barren by contrast with the splendors of the sky. here and there a patch of snow, left sheltered by tree or fence, seemingly endeavoring to hide from the sunbeams that came out of the south, to pour its flood of warmth on it until it melted and mouldered away. it was springtime, the boyhood of the year, when half the world is rhyme and music is the other. it was springtime in the country, far from the city and the ways of men. the mountains in the distance, brown colored in spots, the peaks, like winter kings with beards of snow, seemed to say: "'tis time for me to go northward o'er the icy rocks, northward o'er the sea. come the spring with all its splendor, all its buds and all its blossoms, all its flowers and all its grasses." it was a day that awakened feelings that seemed sacred. have you ever lived in the country? have you ever visited in the country in springtime? have you ever asked yourself: "i wonder if the sap in the sugar trees is stirring yet? is the sugar water dripping?" have you ever worked in a sugar camp, such as there were in old fayette county in those days? nearer the south than bleak new england, the trees more full of sap, the sap sweeter than it flows anywhere on earth. the trees in the camp tapped, the spiles driven, the sweet water dropping; the boys and girls, the men, yes, the women too, gathering the sap. the day is warm, the run a big one; to save it, all must hustle the big barrels loaded on the sleds as the horses move from one tree to another, turning over the mosses and dried leaves, exposing the johnny-jump-ups and violets as if they were just peeping up through the ground at the busy scene. the redbird is singing in the tree, his plumage all the brighter for the winter's bleaching. the day is not long enough, the night is consumed. the boys from all the country about gather at the camp. the moon was a book and every star a word that read fun and frolic to the jolly crowd at the camp at uncle jake's that night. alfred sang songs, and told jokes. they had sugared off, made a big kettle of sugar. some dipped big spoonfuls of the thickened syrup from the kettle, and poured it slowly into tin cups filled with ice cold water. as it cooled the large lump of wax was pulled out of the water with the fingers. some, with buttered hands, worked the wax until they had whitish taffy, others filled their mouths with the wax as it came from the water. the writer will engage to cure any case of stomach trouble that ever worried man or woman with this maple wax. the night wore on, the fun flagged. ben paul, a husky country boy, proposed that two or three go to nick yonse's still house and procure a little "licker." cousin wilson frowned upon this proposal but as the boys were his guests he did not further protest. it was impossible to awaken anyone to get the matured article from the distillery; therefore, with the aid of a clothesline fastened to a jug which ben lowered into a vat filled with corn juice distilled the day previous, a supply was secured. ben returned to the camp. he was truthful when he explained that the offering he brought was no old stale stuff such as they were accustomed to, but something new and fresh. its newness did not deter the boys from helping themselves to big swigs from the jug, smoothing out their wry faces with draughts of sugar water. cousin wilson refused to participate as he busied himself with his work. the sight of a tin cup made alfred fearful that he would spill his sugar. he also declined. after the custom that had prevailed in the tavern cellar, the tin cup went round and round, the result was the same or nearly so as at the tavern. some sang, others danced, one or two slept, some wanted to fight. alfred attempted to pour melody on the troubled revellers but the only effect of his song was to encourage ben paul to knock the bottom out of a new tin pail endeavoring to keep time to the song as he had seen alfred do with the tambourine. cousin john, unnoticed by cousin wilson, was chief among those who passed the tin cup around. john was of a friendly disposition and, not to be rude to his guests, sent the cup around often. several of the boys retired into the shadows of the trees just beyond the glare of the furnace fire to regret their mixing corn and sugar. [illustration: the night at the sugar camp] wilson plainly informed john that this thing had gone far enough. it was john's idea of courtesy, or rather his confused notion, that a host's guests should be permitted to conduct themselves as best suited their pleasure. several of them wanted to fight. john said, "all right, let them fight." wilson interfered. john stepped out of the circle and invited any one or all present to come out. "any of you excepting alfred, he's all right. i can lick any of you with one hand tied behind my back," and john spat on both hands. "come out yer," he pleadingly invited wilson, "or anyone excepting alfred." john, when he invited any or all of the others out, had evidently forgotten his courtesy to his guests or probably he desired to further increase their pleasure. perhaps that was the way he reasoned it, as several had declared they would rather fight than eat. john did not wish them to go home feeling they had missed anything. as a last request, john just pleaded with wilson to step out. he seemed more anxious to have wilson tackle him than any other. as a last declaration of what he wouldn't sacrifice to have wilson step out, he concluded as he slapped his hands together: "step out, ole feller, just step out yer. will you? i'll fight you anyway, i'll fight you now. come on; i don't care a dam if i have my sunday pants on, i'll fight you anyhow." the shouts of the boys could be heard re-echoing up and down the hollows as they wended their ways homeward. the moon had gone down, the night was darkened; it was nearly dawn. the fire had gone down in the furnace, the steam ceased to rise from the kettles, the hoot of the old night owl, after the scenes of the night, made it seem even more quiet. how to get john into the house that uncle jake and the family, might not be awakened, concerned both alfred and wilson. to alfred was delegated the task of conducting john home. john led quietly until a shout of laughter from those bringing up the rear was heard which he chose to construe as derision directed at him, and then he balked. alfred would get him quieted and thus they finally reached the house. here john balked again. alfred and wilson were both over sensitive. if the folks discovered john's condition it would reflect upon them. alfred greatly feared that mrs. young and uncle jake would blame him for john's downfall. they had about made up their minds to carry john to the barn and stow him away in the hay mow but it had turned uncomfortably cool and this plan was abandoned. alfred opened the door leading to the stairs, partly pulling and pushing him upstairs. he landed john in the room, where he fell over on the bed. john muttered and mumbled, flapping and flinging his arms wildly about his head--he arose to a sitting posture. alfred endeavored to lay him down. his face and head were covered with cold perspiration. alfred knew the symptoms of the distressing effects that follow the circulation of a tin cup. he hustled john out of bed. john floundered away from him in the darkness, and found his way into an unused room. alfred could hear him but could not locate him. groping his way in the darkness alfred kept calling in a muffled voice: "john, john, john, where are you? come to me." just then the house seemed to shake from roof to cellar as john and his two hundred pounds fell over uncle jake's home-made sausage stuffer. the stuffer was ten feet long. stuffer and john carried a big rocking chair, a tin boiler and several other reverberating pieces of household junk with them. ere alfred could rescue john from the mass of ruins under and on which he was piled, john began to realize how difficult it is to retain what you have no matter how strongly you desire to do so. alfred had to get out of hearing of john's sufferings to suppress his feeling. he felt very deeply for john from the very bottom of his stomach; in fact, the bottom of his stomach seemed disposed to come up. he endeavored to divert his thoughts but they went back to a tin cup, a wheel-barrow, cow's ears and other things. uncle jake came out of his room. "what's the matter, what's up? you boys trying to tear down the house? what's the trouble anyway?" "oh, john's drunk too much syrup and it's made him deathly sick," alfred began to explain. uncle jake interrupted him, saying, as he backed into the room and closed the door: "oh, i thought sammy steele's mule had kicked some of you." the wings of fame fly slowly, reputation travels faster. it is said that remorse is the echo of a lost virtue. alfred felt that remorse of conscience that can come only to one who has fallen and lived on in the happy illusions that no one heard him drop. governor tener, doctor van voorhis, mr. daly and others of john's friends will no doubt be surprised at this leaf in his life. in all the years that john and alfred have lived since, neither has ever forgotten his first experience with a tin cup that was loaded. footnotes: [a] the flags referred to were painted on the upper doors of james fouts's barn, situated on the old pike three miles east of brownsville. the flags were very brilliantly colored and naturally draped. they were the admiration of all travelers over the great thoroughfare. as the war progressed the confederates raided near that section several times. the owner feared that the flags might imperil the safety of the barn and other buildings on his farm. he therefore sent an order to alfred's father to paint the flags over, who desiring to cover their brilliant colors with one coat selected dark prussian blue. very soon after the flags were painted over, their colors began to appear through the blue. not many hot summer days had gone by until the flags were almost as distinct as when first painted on the big doors of the barn. the reappearance of the flags was regarded as a phenomenon or a miracle by the country folk. the "brownsville clipper," in commenting upon the miracle, declared: "it is an omen of victory for the federal armies; you cannot efface the star spangled banner, it still waves on fouts's barn." the paper criticized the owner for having the flags daubed over and intimated that fouts was lacking in loyalty. (fouts was a democrat. three weeks later the owner of the paper ordered danny stentz to pull in the big flag that hung out of the third story window of the "clipper" building; the confederates were reported as but fourteen miles away. the chemical properties of the coloring matter in the paints was the cause of the reappearance of the red bars of the flags through the blue paint that was spread over them.) chapter fourteen the man who borrows trouble is always on the rack, for there's no way, by night or day, that he can pay it back. mt. pleasant, pa. dear muz: we got here safe and sound. this is a pretty place. palmer lives on the edge of the town; it's an old house; one end of it is all taken up with his "art studio," he calls it. he biles glue and the smell goes through the whole house. you and lin thought i stunk when i worked in the tannery, you ought to smell palmer and his art studio. he has another preacher helping him. his wife is very quiet; she is making the clothes for the panorama; they have a pile of clothes to make. he asked me if i had read "pilgrim's progress." he knows the book backwards, so i have to read it and learn it too. the way he talks this is a regular show, but he won't let you call it a show. the painting looks awful to me but palmer says it looks all right under the lights. he is about done and wants pap to come over to see it. if he comes don't let him bring any money. tell lin to get my shotgun from under the feed trough in the cow stable. she'd better get it quick. turkey evans knows where it is and he'll steal it. answer and let me know if he has stole it yet. tom white is too short. if cousin charley was a few inches taller i could get him this job. it takes tall people to be characters in pilgrim's progress, especially "christian," "help" and the "evangelist." jake's goin' to be somethin' in the panorama. they don't live very well; maybe mrs. palmer didn't know we were coming and didn't fix for us. they have had no meat any meal yet, only flitch.[b] palmer works all night and sleeps all day. he talks the rest of the time. his wife don't say nothin'; just wears a sun bonnet. maybe she has the newralgy. give my love to all. your affectionate son, alfred griffith hatfield. p. n. b. don't forgit the gun. turner simpson promised me when queen had pups to give me one. if he brings it you'll keep it, won't you muz? mt. pleasant, pa. dear muz: the livin's no better, it's flitch every meal; they haven't had pie or cake since we came. palmer says when they get the thing going we'll live on the fat on the land. his wife don't say nothin', just sews and cooks and wears a sun-bonnet. they've got two children somewhere. i heard palmer say they'd have to stay, that they'd be too much trouble on the road. this seemed to make mrs. palmer more quiet, i reckon you'd call it sad. she ought to say somethin', then a body would know what ails her. i don't think it's newralgy. i told her mustard plasters always helped aunt susan and she just looked at me. i hope he gets her goin' soon, i'm hungry. if this show is good, as he says she is, he ought to make enough to buy something to eat besides flitch, corn meal and potatoes. he's got two more scenes to paint, then we're ready to show her up. tom tried to help mrs. palmer wash the dishes, he broke two plates. palmer says he's all thumbs and mouth. your affectionate son, alfred griffith hatfield. p. s. was the gun gone? the pup's a hound but it's bound to be pretty, the children will like it. you keep it till i get home. mt. pleasant, pa. my dear muz: palmer's the awfulest worker i ever saw. he knows his business but he ain't got any money. we're waitin' on jake to come. palmer owes everybody in town, they won't let him have anything until he pays. the flitch gave out last night, and we had nothin' but corn pone, buttermilk and potatoes. palmer said he ketched the gout once from high livin', and he did not want to see another human suffer like he did. i guess his wife's dietin' too, as she don't set down to eat with us. palmer is a wonderful man. he's got his lecture all wrote out and all the characters and all the costumes for them. he's going to begin the rehearsals tomorrow. practicin' we called it. i looked in the dictionary, rehearsing is to recite, to recount, to relate, to repeat what has already been said, to recite in private for experiment and improvement before a public representation. i have learned more from palmer than anybody i was ever with. the old preacher, reverend gideon, writes letters all day; he has the names of all the churches and preachers and we know where we are to be weeks before hand. jake came today and brought his two horses. they're nice horses but he won't let you drive them, he wants to drive himself. palmer went to the stable while jake was unhitchin' and i seen him get money from jake. we had beefstake for supper, fried, but it was too dry. she did not make any sop.[c] we had hot biscuits and good butter, but no pie and cake. i got acquainted with a boy, will peters. he invited me over to his house several times. i want to go but am ashamed to; they have pie and cake three times a day just like we all do at home. mrs. palmer talks a little to me now. she still wears the sun-bonnet but i don't believe it's newralgy that ails her. she asked me if your name warn't mary irons before you married pap. i finished the pilgrim's progress last night. it's a great book, you ought to read it. the one we got at home is not complete, borrow uncle tom's. i'm glad turkey evans did not get hold of my shotgun. palmer's done all his "work of art," as he calls it. tonight he reads the whole thing over to us and then we got to learn our parts. jake is going to be "christian;" that's what i wanted to be but "christian" carries a heavy load on his back and palmer says i'm not strong enough. me and tom must double a dozen different characters. mrs. palmer tried all the clothes for everybody on me. one of the suits i do not like; it's just like you had nothin' on but a shirt; it's for "faith" to wear. i told palmer it would not look right before women and children and he said the costume was patterned after the original plates. i don't know what he meant but he'll not put "faith's" clothes on me, plates or no plates. [illustration: "he'll not put faith's clothes on me"] is pap coming over before we start? if he is, you have lin bake a peck of doughnuts, put them in the big carpet-sack. i'm glad you got the gun. i wrote turner simpson to send you the pup when it was old enough to wean. your affectionate son, alfred griffith hatfield p. s. don't forget the doughnuts. somerset, pa. dear muz: it will be my luck to have pap come to mt. pleasant with the doughnuts and find us all gone. we left last night. i wrote you we was going but i didn't know it until palmer woke me up in the middle of the night. reverend gideon left two days before. someone pulled me out of bed. i hollered, "here, here, hold on!" then i knew it was palmer. i jumped up. he ordered me to dress quickly. i dressed and looked for tom. i asked palmer where he was. he said: "i've called him as often as i'm going to." i called tom and had to wait so long for him to dress that when i got out doors there was jake sitting up in the front seat of the wagon, and mrs. palmer beside him. she looked to me as if she was cryin'. jake told us to "get in, she's going to go." palmer was locking the doors. i heard something splash down in the well. his wife asked for the keys. "they're down in the well; old lane, the landlord, can look for them." mrs. palmer looked very much worried. they left all their things excepting a few bedclothes and the sewing machine. palmer spread the bedclothes on the panorama in the bottom of the wagon; tom, me and him slept all the way here. poor mrs. palmer set up all night beside jake on the seat. if she ain't got the newralgy she'll katch it sure. mrs. palmer wouldn't get out of the wagon to eat breakfast when we stopped on the road at a country house, and palmer spoke real cross to her and she cried. it's the only time i've seen jake's face without a smile and he looks a different man when he ain't smiling. i like jake and he likes me. he wants to see pap. reverend gideon met us here. palmer forgot his clothes and i heard him tell gideon they'd have to go, he had flung the keys in the well and if gideon went back after his clothes they was liable to fling him in jail. i believe palmer's run off owing everybody. this thing's bound to make money. i'm sorry i came for twenty a month. if he does well he'll have to raise me. your affectionate son, alfred griffith hatfield. p. s. the hound was to be a dog, not another kind. palmer, the wife and gideon, were a source of much speculation to alfred; he could not fix their standing in his mind. the facts were that palmer was one of those soldiers of fortune who had experimented with many things and failed in everything. he fitted dryden's description of: "a man so various, that he seemed to be not one, but all mankind's epitome; stiff in opinions, always in the wrong was everything by starts, and nothing long; but, in the course of one revolving moon, was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon." the only aim palmer seemed to have in life was to create the impression that he might have been worse. store clerk, school teacher, politician, preacher, scene painter, amateur showman; such were the pursuits he had been engaged in, not successful in any of them. abusive of all, save that one he was engaged in, blaming the world for his failures. he respected no man or woman. he approached no man save with a selfish motive; could he but injure those with whom he dealt he was happy, though he did not profit thereby. yet he did not so speak, but all his actions conveyed this impression of the man to alfred. and thus his character was impressed on the boy's intuitive mind as strongly as were the scenes on the canvas of the panorama. [illustration: palmer] the wife was only another of that type of woman who has blasted a life, one full of hope, by clinging to a man who was unworthy of one day of her life. it was a pathetic spectacle to see the faded wife standing helpless in the shadow of her husband's selfishness, having sacrificed youth, beauty and everything that woman holds dear. it did not matter to palmer that she was once a school teacher, more than a fair musician, courted by numbers who could have made her useful to society and happy in her life. it did not matter to palmer that she had burned up much of her attractiveness over the cooking stove; that she lost more of it at the washtub; in caring for and rearing the children that had unfortunately come to them. the slaving she had gone through in all their married life to help her husband to get on in the world was all lost upon the selfish man who never gave a thought to her sufferings. he actually treated her if as she had been the cause of his failures, and seemed ashamed of her when younger and more attractive women were near. her two children, somewhere in missouri in the keeping of her mother, seemed her only hope in life and the only time the poor crushed soul evidenced interest in anything was when tidings came from the children or she could prevail upon their thankless father to send them a little money. the mother's wardrobe was scanty that the darlings of her heart might be better clad. aunt susan wore a sun-bonnet almost continuously that she might better keep in place mustard plasters and horse radish leaves to relieve the neuralgia pains. alfred presumed that mrs. palmer was similarly affected since she always wore a sun-bonnet. that was before they left palmer's house. afterwards he became convinced that the woman wore the sun-bonnet to conceal the lines of sorrow in her once fine face. rev. gideon was the last of the trio whom alfred figured out. he had married palmer's sister. they went to a foreign country as missionaries; gideon's health gave way under the tropical climate. he returned to this country and had since made his home with the palmers. but little was learned of the wife. she still lived, and if remittances were not forthcoming, gideon was on the rack. in fact, each one of her complaining letters made gideon turn more yellow in color, sit up later and get up earlier than usual, no matter how poor gideon suffered. if he was ailing and palmer noticed it, he would sneer and jerk out: "huh! got a letter from sis, did you? s'pose she wants you to go back to china. say gideon, that must have been a hell of a job to instill the gospel into heathen when you can't make an impression upon those who understand what you say. it must have been discouraging to waste your eloquence upon those copper-colored thieves. there's many a game to catch suckers in this world but that foreign mission play is the rawest ever sprung. say, gideon, how much did you get? so much for each sinner saved or did you lump the job?" under such cynicism gideon would turn about and walk off as though nothing had been said to him. palmer took an especial delight in teasing gideon as to his mission labors. gideon never deigned to notice the ridicule of palmer, at least in words. yet there was one thing that impressed alfred. palmer always deferred to gideon in any business proposition under consideration; he would bluster and rave a little but always in the end gave in to gideon's judgment. in addition to the receipts that came to him from the exhibition of the panorama, palmer had a large, framed, steel plate engraving of john bunyan which he sold while soliciting subscriptions for several religious publications. he worked diligently. he never desisted when he once went after preacher, deacon or the entire congregation, and he generally sold what he offered or secured their names to one of his numerous subscription lists. he worked so adroitly that he made many his aides. not infrequently a minister would get up during an intermission in the pilgrim's progress exhibition and announce one or more of palmer's offerings. these announcements invariably wound up with the statement that the proceeds were for the benefit of a retired minister who had lost his health in an endeavor to carry the gospel to the heathen in foreign lands. alfred became curious as to what effect these announcements would have upon gideon and he often peeped from behind the scenes to note it. but gideon was never in sight. he would step out of the door as the speaker began. alfred noticed that mrs. palmer always lowered her face over the keys of the piano or organ when the announcement of this character was being made. palmer, behind the scenes, standing near the curtain his head bent to one side his hand up to his ear. if the speaker's efforts pleased him he would pull his tuft of beard with his free hand and ejaculate: "good! fine! capital! good boy, go it old beeswax. i didn't think it was in you. go it boots, you'll win in a walk. they're gittin' their pocket books out now; gideon will do well tonight, ha, ha, ha." did the speaker not measure up to his ideas, he would say: "wade in! wade in! wade in! dam you, the water's not cold. warm up now or you'll freeze them to the pews. oh, what you tryin' to git through you? just listen to that crack; he'll make them think he's going to take up a collection for the foreign missions. you can't get seventeen cents. it's been worked to death. come off, come off your perch, you poll parrot! come off! well you ought to be studying your primer instead of preaching; you don't know as much as gideon." palmer, through the influence of the church members, procured a half dozen young girls, at each place visited, to represent the multitude passing through the gates in the final scene of pilgrim's progress. although these girls were before the audience but a moment or two at the very end of the panorama, amateur like, instead of remaining in front witnessing the exhibition, they would repair to the rear of the curtain, don their robes and stand around during the entire performance, to the annoyance of everybody working the panorama, and, more frequently than otherwise, be late for their cue. one night, an old preacher was laboring with an announcement palmer had written and rehearsed him in, palmer was most vicious in his comments. the old speaker's daughter was one of the virgins, standing near she heard every word uttered and there was enough and there would have been more, had not alfred, by a nudge and a whisper, checked him. palmer grasped the situation at once. he stepped nearer the girls. then with a start, he shaded his eyes, dramatically gazed at the girls and began: "oh, woman, lovely woman, nature made thee to temper man; we had been brutes without you. angels are painted fair to look like you. there is in you all we believe of heaven, amazing brightness, purity, truth, eternal joy and everlasting love." he was never at a loss, his quick wit extricating him from embarrassment at all times. * * * * * somerset, pa. dear muz: we showed, or we exhibited, last night. it was the most crowded church i ever seen. i did well, better than anyone. gideon, mrs. palmer and all said so. gideon said i saved the day, but palmer held me back, he wouldn't let me sing or dance. i heard him tell gideon: "i'll have hell with that gilly kid, he thinks it a minstrel show; i got to hold him down or he'll queer the fake." i don't know what he meant, only he meant me. jake made some awful blunders but gideon said it was like palmer to put him in to play "christian." tomorrow's sunday and i'll write you the full purceeding. i know the whole thing by heart and if pap can paint a pilgrim's progress i can show it, exhibit it. palmer will make a million. lin could go along and play the organ like mrs. palmer. i tell you she can put in the music right, she fills out the thing just grand. lin would have to learn to play with both hands and she must learn music. mrs. palmer won't play without the notes to lead her. i will take the whole sunday to write you the full history of the first night. you better read "pilgrim's progress." did you borrow uncle tom's? does uncle ned feel hard towards me? if anything happens to me and i get ruined it's their doings because i could have been with a minstrel troupe. you have to lie more here in a day than i did all the time i was with a minstrel show. your very affectionate son, alfred griffith hatfield. p. s. i looked at the dictionary. a "gilly" is a man attendant in the scottish highlands. a "kid" is a young goat. it don't tell what a "fake" is. now i know palmer will have to raise my wages. if pap agrees to paint a panorama and take lin along you can get sis minks to work for you. [illustration: "oh! my dear hearers!"] palmer began the exhibition with a lecture: "ladies and gentlemen: john bunyan, the author of that wonderful work, 'the pilgrim's progress,' was an english religious writer, soldier and baptist preacher. he enlisted in the parliamentary army very young. he was so strongly impressed with the glimpse he caught of war that all his writings, even things sacred, were strongly illustrative of fortresses, camps, marching men, guns and trumpets. bunyan was but seventeen years old when he entered the army, hence the lasting impressions his military life made upon his mind. he became famous as a baptist preacher and was flung into bedford jail under order of the restoration. he was frequently offered his liberty on condition that he would desist from preaching. this he refused; therefore, for twelve years he suffered imprisonment for his conscience's sake. "while in bedford jail he began the book that has immortalized him. it is the best allegory ever written and is the only book, excepting the bible, about which the educated majority have come over to the opinion of the common people. the peculiar glory of bunyan is that those who hated his doctrines have acknowledged his genius by printing and using a catholic version of his parable, the pilgrim's progress, with the virgin's head in the title page. "oh, my dear hearers, how similar to the sufferings of the lowly genius in producing his masterpiece were those undergone in painting the work of art about to be unfolded for your inspection. for years he who transferred the thoughts of bunyan into almost real life, for years he who wrought these fancies upon canvas, labored and suffered in secret. no living eye was ever permitted to gaze upon his work save his own. night after night, by the dim light of lamp, the artist labored. lack of food, lack of sleep, did not deter him. he was inspired to produce that which has been pronounced by men of highest learning as the greatest painting the world has ever known, the greatest educator of the masses, the greatest object lesson ever presented to the people of this country. "the pilgrim's progress in living figures and realistic scenes, the hills, the mountains, the sunny pastures, the soft vales, the wilderness, the shining river, the beautiful gates, the celestial city. "like bunyan, the painter had no idea that he was producing a masterpiece." here palmer would step to the front of the platform and, after a modest pause, in a lower tone, continue: "ladies and gentlemen: i was not aware the printed bills had announced to the world that i, professor palmer, d. d., was the author of this work of art, otherwise, i am sure i would not have mentioned it." alfred could never disassociate this announcement from that of the clown in the circus who, after singing his song, announcing the sale of the books, assuring the audience that the proceeds of the sale of the book were for the benefit of an orphan who was a long ways from home, without money or friends. hoping the charitably disposed would assist the orphan by buying the song books. bowing low, he would add: "i forgot to tell you that i am the orphan." dear muz: the first night is the most terrible thing one can go through. we had a hard time of it; palmer became excited and cussed; tom did well as long as i told him; mrs. palmer filled in all the stops with music and this helped but if it hadn't been for me it would have been a bad failure. it was all i could do to keep it going; i nearly worked myself sick. i'm going to ask palmer to raise my wages. palmer praised all of us, but i know he was lying because every time jake or tom made a mistake he cussed. palmer does all the talking for all the characters; the way he can change his voice you'd swear there were several people talking. he is hid from the audience and of course they think it's the characters that talk. in spite of gideon's advice, palmer gave jake the part of christian. the first scene is a field. jake, as christian, is discovered standing in the middle of the field. here is where the pilgrimage begins. jake is supposed to be reading a book and asks: "what shall i do to be saved?" jake held the book in his hand, not looking at it but at the audience, smiling. from behind the scenes palmer hissed; "look serious! look worried! read the book! hold the book up! oh you dam dutch galoot look scared!" jake only smiled louder. i know jake didn't hear a word palmer said. i could hear him breathing from where i stood. you know christian is dressed in ragged clothes, he has a burden on his back. palmer wrapped an old coffee sack about a big stone and this was fastened on jake's back to represent christian's burden. i was evangelist. i had a long, white robe on and wore a wig with long curls; not yellow curls like you used to make me wear, but black curls, with a blue ribbon around my forehead. i walked solemn towards jake; i looked at him a little while, then i raised my hand, pointing the roll of parchment and, in the most saddest way i could speak, i said: "wherefore dost thou cry?" jake said easy like, "not by a tam sight." palmer came right in with the proper speech: "if i be not fit to go to prison i am not fit to go to judgment and thence to execution. the thoughts of these things make me cry." here jake looked at me, then at palmer; then he winked at me. i could scarcely go on with my speech: "if this be thy condition, why standest thou still?" "i don't vant to, i'd rather valk to bedford dan stan' dis way still," was jake's reply. a number of those nearest the platform overheard jake but palmer came in quickly with: "because i knoweth not whither to go." i didn't give jake any time, i just shouted at him: "do you see yon wicket gate?" i pointed at the imaginary gate. jake turned about, shook his head and answered: "no." i cut in before he could get further: "do you see yon shining light? keep that light in thy eye and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate at which, when thou knockest, it shall be told thee what thou shalt do." [illustration: "hold her down, tom"] jake was lost. he walked he knew not whither, palmer pleading and swearing to guide him. the gate and shining light to which i referred were imaginary. i pointed off stage. jake, in his excitement was trying to get away from the audience. he walked up stage; he pressed against the canvas, trying to force his way further. palmer and bedford tom had all their weight against the frame of the panorama. when jake felt resistance he put his powerful muscles to work. "hold on! hold on! stop! you can't go further," cried palmer. jake kept on pushing. "hold her down, tom; hold her down." then came a crash, the lights went out and over went palmer, tom and the panorama. jake's breathing and his efforts to release himself from the heavy canvas covering him could be heard above the din and confusion. palmer was here, there, everywhere, assuring the audience that a slight accident had befallen the mechanical part of the panorama. "just remain seated, we'll give you a good show." he forgot himself and called it a show after all his orders to us not to speak the word "show." the strong arms of bedford tom, and jake soon righted the panorama. mrs. palmer played the organ, and right there is where one of my songs would come in right. i sung for jake and tom last night and jake declared: "the people in bedford would like one of dem nigger songs better dan palmer's hull tarn pictur show. de hull tam ting is a fraudt; no such a man as bunjun was ever in bedford yail. i and tom knows every man dot's been in dot yail and dey don't put 'em in yail fur what he sedt." jake's mixed up; he imagines palmer refers to bedford, pa. the panorama worked along smoothly until pliable and christian, (i and jake), fell into the slough of despond. you know, in the book, pliable and christian are traveling together; they fall in the slough of despond; pliable struggles and gets out. christian, owing to the burden he carries on his back, flounders about and is fast sinking when help appears and asks: "what doest thou there?" jake answered: "noting." palmer hissed: "roll over! roll over! hold your head under the canvas; duck, you son of a gun, duck!" palmer answered with the speech jake was supposed to deliver, as jake rolled over and over: "sir, i was bid by a man named evangelist, who directed me to yonder gate that i might escape the wrath to come and as i was going thither i fell in here." then i come as help; i say: "why did you not look for the steps?" jake is supposed to say: "fear followed me so hard that i fled the next way and fell in." then as help, i lean far over, hold out my hand and say: "give me thine hand that i may draw thee upon hard ground that thou might go thy way." instead of jake following the business as rehearsed, he arose, took the burden off his back, walked out the opposite side, back towards the city of destruction. the audience, or some of them, tittered, others laughed outright. palmer was prompting jake: "get into the pond! complete the scene!" the more palmer prompted, the more confused jake appeared. "get your burden, it's not time to drop it; get your burden." jake, smiling, walked over the miry, muddy slough he was supposed to have struggled in a moment before, and took up the burden. instead of putting it on his back he carried it under his arm, nodded at palmer, as much as to say: "i'm ready for anything further, go on." worldly wise man here appears before christian and speaks to him: "how now good fellow; whither away after this burdened manner?" christian answers: "a burdened manner indeed as ever, i think, poor creature had. and whereas you ask me whither away, i am going to yonder wicket gate, for there, as i am informed, i shall be put in a way to be rid of my heavy burden." then worldly wise advises christian: "wilt thou hearken to me if i give thee counsel?" christian answers: "if it be good i will, for i stand in need of good counsel." worldly wise then answers: "i would advise thee that thou, with all speed, get thyself rid of thy burden, for thou will never be settled in thy mind until then." palmer answered with christian's speech: "that is which i seek for, even to be rid of this heavy burden, but get it off myself i cannot, nor is there any man in our country who can take it off my shoulders." [illustration: jake as christian] jake, smiling more pleasantly than ever, answered, "i kin." suiting the action to the word, he flung his burden into the slough of despond. the pond was a thin piece of canvas painted to represent the quagmire. the burden made a sound as of the house falling down. jake wiped the perspiration from his face and, spitting a mouthful of tobacco juice to one side, he gazed on the audience and smiled. it was too much for even the staid old church members. the laughter was so great that palmer pulled the curtain and announced an organ recital. christian's burden was replaced on jake's back, he was admonished to pay closest attention to palmer's promptings. jake continued the pilgrimage. in the next scene jake, representing christian on his journey from the city of destruction to the celestial city, must pass through the dark valley of shadows. when jake, instead of keeping to the right and following the straight and narrow path, boldly walked into the mouth of the burning pit, out of which palmer was sending sparks and smoke. palmer again pulled the curtain on the scene. jake sat on a stage stump. smoke was still coming from the pot of damp straw. tears filled jake's eyes, tears caused by the smoke. palmer rushed back and forth, declaring jake had made a farce of the most beautiful and inspiring scene in the entire exhibition. i was substituted for jake. i knew every speech; i had learned them all and it went good to the last. the second book is even more impressive and instructive than the first. you should read it. as the young ladies walk in at the beautiful gate of the city, pilgrim is seen through a gauze; one by one the sheets of gauze are pulled down until christian fades away like a vision. it held the audience dumb; they never witnessed anything like it; neither did i. palmer wouldn't let me speak the words; he said they must be delivered with great dramatic effect. the words are: "i see myself now at the end of my journey, my toilsome days are ended. i have formerly lived by hearsay and faith, but i now go where i shall live by sight." but glorious it was to see how the open regions were filled with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with singers and players upon stringed instruments, to welcome the pilgrims as they went up and followed one another in at the gates of the beautiful city. here the young ladies, with lighted lamps, passed in. as pilgrim disappeared, palmer, with great effect, ended the scene with the eloquent words: "now, while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed; his strong man bowed under him and, after he had said: 'take me, for i come unto thee,' he ceased to be seen of them." alfred griffith hatfield. footnotes: [b] bacon. [c] gravy. chapter fifteen do not believe all that you hear, for hot air men are hawking; and even keep a cautious ear when you, yourself, are talking. brownsville, pa. my dear son: i take my pen in hand to write you a few lines hoping that they may find you as well as we all are here. mother reads your letters to us at dinner time. i hope you are living better. i never knew a genius that cared much about his eating, therefore, i do not suppose palmer ever gave it a thought that you were suffering. he is a good fellow and i know he will make out well, except in the eating line. you need not worry about your shotgun; i have it and will look after it until such time as i feel you should be permitted to handle dangerous weepuns. turner simpson says your cousin charley got that hound pup weeks ago; he claims charley said you sent him after the pup. all your friends inquire about you. bill johnston told me he was sorry he had to have you arrested for overturning his hay stack; that he did not believe you was to blame, the boys with you led you into oversetting the haystack to catch the rabbit. your uncle joe was in town saturday, got tite and carried on high. he is getting worse as he gets older. betsy is mortified to death. they were just at communion afore it happened. how is palmer doing? is he making money? did he get my letter? hoping to hear from you very often and that you will remember that your father and mother and all the children think of you daily and all look forward to the time when we shall see you again, your affectionate father, j. c. h. alfred was living in a little world all his own. jake, bedford tom, mrs. palmer, gideon, tom white, were its inhabitants. palmer was not of it. he was not of the agreeable circle. alfred often read letters from home to mrs. palmer. she was greatly interested in the correspondence. alfred knew she desired him to read the father's letter to her. in a serious manner he advised the letter was a business one. this seemed to make the good woman even more anxious. she actually quizzed alfred as to whether the letter was not one demanding payment of money borrowed by her husband. alfred asked her if she knew the amount due his father. she did not, but said she would ascertain; further, she would exert herself to earn money to repay it. alfred appreciated this and regretted he had ever mentioned the flitch in his letters to the folks at home. he felt that he had reflected upon mrs. palmer. he re-read his father's letter that he might expunge the reference to the scant living. he read to where bill johnston had apologized for having him arrested; he did not care to have mrs. palmer know of this. [illustration: palmer and the wise virgin] palmer, with his panorama and side issues, was making money, and there was not a day, not an hour, that something coarse, selfish or mean, did not show itself in word or deed of the man. the half dozen young women, who took part in the final scene, were robed in long, pale blue gowns, worn over their street apparel. it was necessary to fit the costumes on the young ladies previous to the opening or first exhibition. in arranging with the fathers or mothers of the girls, palmer always emphasized the statement that: "my wife, mrs. palmer will take charge of the young ladies, show them their costumes." mrs. palmer was always ready to do so but palmer was always there. he insisted, he forced his services in fitting the costumes. he would take an unusually long time to smooth out the wrinkles on the waist and bust lines. all this was done so unconcerned that none would ever suspect he was playing a part. his wife would flush up, walk away and occupy herself with other duties. if there was a foolish virgin among the damsels--and there were some foolish ones in those days, though not so many as now--palmer would begin a flirtation, kept up until he departed. this was only one of the many mean traits of the man that lessened alfred's respect for him. palmer could not understand alfred. always full of fun and mischief, always ready to laugh, yet at times the boy was positively rude to the man nor would he permit any familiarity from palmer. one day in setting up the frame of the panorama, several members of the church in which it was to be exhibited, entered the auditorium unnoticed. palmer, while driving a nail, miscalculated, the hammer came down on one of his fingers. flinging the hammer on the floor with all the force he could command, he poured forth a torrent of profanity. gideon, by signs, gave palmer to understand that others were near. with a change as quick as a flash, palmer grabbed alfred by the coat collar, nearly lifting the boy off his feet. with a voice that sounded as if it were choking with indignation, he began: "you young scamp, i never heard you swear like this before, and i never want to hear you again. how dare you use such language in this house?" the onslaught was so sudden and unexpected that alfred was taken off his feet. he had been in high good humor, laughing heartily at palmer's mishap. palmer led the intruders out in the auditorium ere the boy gathered his scattered senses. jake exclaimed: "huh! balmur knocks his fingers und makes oudt alfred does der tammen." shaking his head, he continued: "balmur beats der bugs." alfred was savage with anger. he started after palmer but gideon restrained him, standing in his pathway, holding him back, appealing to jake to assist him in controlling the boy. gideon persuaded alfred to drop the matter for the time. jake desired that the boy call palmer to account. he answered gideon's appeals in a sort of careless, i-don't-care way: "vell, it's yust like alfredt feels, if he vants to yump balmur, i tink he kann handle him, i von't interfere. it iss none uf my biziness, yett." [illustration: palmer grabbed alfred by the collar] it was late in the afternoon when palmer again appeared in the church. he entered, as was his custom, all hurry and bustle. "hello, alfred! i thought you'd have the panorama all set. waiting for the boss, hey?" "yes, i'm waiting for the boss and i want to tell the boss the next time he tries to make a scapegoat out of me before a lot of church people he'll hear something he won't like. i'm no clod-hopper to have you make me appear a rowdy. you daddy your own cussing." palmer seemed greatly surprised at this and, as usual, in an argument with his people, became greatly excited. he endeavored to win with a bluff. "here, my young man, you're always playing your jokes on jake and all the others; i was only having a little fun with you, i didn't intend to hurt your feeling." "feelings! feelings! what about my good name? what'll those men think of me? i'm ashamed to face them again while i'm here." "oh, you're too soft to travel; you ought to be at home with your gilt edge ideas." "well, i can go home," hotly retorted alfred. "i've got a written agreement with your father and i'll hold you to it," threatened palmer. "you'll hold me to nothing. you've got no writings that'll permit your making me out a rowdy." "now see here, mr. minstrel," and palmer assumed mock politeness, "i've heard enough of your slack; dry up or i'll make you." alfred jumped to the middle of the platform and dared palmer to lay his hand on him. palmer got so excited he could not talk. gideon, as usual, in his quiet, argumentative way, endeavored to smooth the matter over: "come on, let's get ready for tonight. we're going to have the best business since we opened." "i've quit," announced alfred, "i'm going home." jake's smile fled; his under jaw hung down, giving his face an expression alfred had never previously seen it wear. gideon turned even more yellowish looking. bedford tom ejected a mouthful of tobacco juice as he blurted out: "i pity pilgrim's progress." gideon continued his plea: "well, if this company isn't demoralized i don't know what i'm talking about. now see here, boys, listen to me; we're together, let's reason like honest people should: to have you," and he looked at alfred, "quit thus abruptly would cause innocent ones to suffer. see what an embarrassment it would be to mrs. palmer. why, it would kill her. she has sacrificed everything she holds dear in the world; she has two children." (gideon had won his point, it was not necessary for him to say more). "she has not seen those children in two years; she hopes to have them with her soon. see what a disappointment it would be to her and the children. alfred, as at present arranged, we could not spare you. i will get palmer and we will fix this matter up satisfactorily to you." alfred was just a boy, not unlike any other boy. he did not desire to quit; and he knew he was indispensable to the successful production of the panorama. he also felt that he had won thus far. he did not yield, outwardly at least, but agreed that he would await gideon's interview with palmer. he had no preconceived ideas as to what to do or say further, but, like all who are disgruntled, he could not bring himself to say that he would. while gideon was seeking palmer, jake endeavored to console alfred: "ef you do go out of der paneramy it vill be too tam bad; i will not acdt out annudder time. i toldt balmur delas' time. i'm no handt at paneramy buziness und it's no more fur jake to do it." bedford tom put another blotch on the white pine floor as he patted jake on the back: "you're all yerself agin, ole man, your sensibilness is kerrect; don't try to act in a panerammer or enythin' else. ef ye hed seen yerself with thet tume-stun, er whatever it wus, on yer back, an' wallerin' in thet painted pond, ye'd never went back to bedford. ye certainly made a muss of hit." "vell, i toldt heem i vus ashamed mit myself, end he sedt: 'oh, hell yu kann standt und look myzerbul, kan't yu?'" bedford tom laughed in the honest dutchman's face as he assured him he looked "myzerbul enuff but his actin' was more myzerbul then his looks." "vhy don'dt yu try it ef yu tink it ees so tam easy?" was jake's answer. gideon walked in, beckoned to alfred: "come down to palmer's room, he wants to talk this whole thing over." alfred did not care to meet mrs. palmer. "tell palmer to come up here," was the message gideon carried back. alfred was feeling just a little ashamed of the part he had played in the dispute; he felt that he had gone a bit further than he should. but his instinctive dislike to palmer had grown day by day. the man's face, that index to character, had repulsed him when they first met. there are lines in the face chiseled by a sculptor who never makes a wrong stroke. the face is a truthful record of our vices and virtues. it is a map of life that outlines character so clearly that there is no getting away from the story it tells. the face is a signboard showing which way the man or woman is traveling, which of life's crossroads they are on. the face cannot betray the years one has traveled until the mind gives its consent. the mind is the master. if the mind holds youthful, innocent thoughts, the face will retain a youthful appearance. and the more permanent are the marks made by petulancy, hatred and selfishness thereon. the best letter of recommendation ever written is an open fearless face. palmer put in an appearance, his face showing plainly that he was not at ease. his manner was as flambuoyant as ever: "where is this mainstay of the only panorama on earth? come here, boy, i want to talk to you like a father: "i was a boy not long ago, unthinking, idle, wild and young, i laughed, and danced and talked and sung." the antics palmer cut while delivering this couplet were truly amusing. palmer was an actor. placing his hand on alfred's shoulder, gazing into his face, he continued: "just at the age twixt boy and youth, when thought is speech and speech is truth." then quoting christian in the pilgrim's progress: "i have given him my faith and sworn my allegiance to him. how then can i go back from this and not be hanged as a traitor?" palmer pointed his long, bony finger at alfred and awaited a reply. it came: "i was indeed engaged in your dominions but your services were hard and your wages such as a man could not live on. for the wages of sin is death." palmer, a little discomforted, led the boy to one side, saying: "now see here, young fellow, i'm as old as your father; i don't look it, but i am. now you want to quit, eh? you wouldn't be at home four days before you would wish yourself back here. you are not rich, your father is not rich. you have to make a living. i'll give you an opportunity to make money. you are learning this business, you have good ideas. you remain with me, i'll make a man of you; i'll put you in a way to make more money than you've ever seen." alfred intimated that he could not see himself making a great deal of money at twenty dollars a month. "why, don't you count your board, as anything?" "well, i'm not satisfied. i'm worth more than twenty dollars a month to you," stubbornly contended alfred. "but you and your father are both bound up to me in a written agreement. do you want to break it? would that be right?" "well, you broke your written contract with the members of rock hill church. you said gideon made the contract without consulting you. grandpap made this contract without consulting me." palmer laughed long and loud: "egad, that's good! this kid finds me skinning a couple of old duffers and forthwith he sets about to skin me. the harvest truly is plenteous but the laborers are few; ask and it shall be given to you; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened to you." pointing at alfred, he continued: "but remember, the love of money is the root of all evil. say, what are you going to do with all this money?" "buy a farm, some day," answered alfred. "how great a matter a little fire kindleth," quoted palmer as he pleadingly asked: "say, kid, how much are you going to hang me up for?" "well, if you give me fifty dollars a month, i'll stick to you." "holy mother of all that's evil; the devil and tom walker! say, who do you take after? not your daddy. he's easy. fifty dollars a month? say, i worked two years and had a wife and two children to take care of and i never cleared forty dollars a month. i've been a lifetime working myself up to what i am and you jump into the game, inexperienced, green as a cucumber, and want to hog the persimmons at the start. 'taint fair, 'taint right; i'm an honest man; i want to treat everybody right. you're taking advantage of me. it's the principle of the thing i look at." "well, get another boy, you can find one any day. if i stay with this panorama i will get fifty dollars a month." "yes, and if i permit you to hold me up this time, the next move you'll want the panorama. your uncle william served his time like an honest boy, he has made a fortune. he has the best farm in fayette county; he has money, he is the judge of the county court. he never got where he is by breaking written agreements." "yes, but that was different, uncle william was learning a trade. he got all kinds of chances to make money on the outside of his work." "hold on right there--i'll give you any opportunity you want to make money on the side. you can sell the "life of john bunyan," "the pilgrim's progress," "paradise lost," the steel engraving of the twelve apostles or anything we sell and i'll allow you a good, big commission." the sale of the above mentioned articles was that which first turned alfred against palmer. the sneaking, wheedling methods he employed, the subterfuges, the lies in disposing of books and pictures, were the things which made the man most repulsive to alfred. he therefore felt insulted when palmer offered him the opportunity to make money from this source. alfred plainly informed palmer that he would not have anything to do with the sale of the books or pictures. "huh! i suppose you feel above selling books that are in the libraries of the best people in the world. you'd prefer, no doubt, to sell pills." a little abashed, alfred came back with: "well, if i did sell pills, i sold them on the square and at a less price than they were worth and they were sold to folks that needed them and if they needed them and wern't able to pay for them they got them free and we didn't lie about what we did with the money. we didn't pretend to send it to the heathen." palmer interrupted the boy: "wait and see how you get along when you strike your own gait, when you get your own show out. that's your idea; that's why you are so unreasonable. i'm going to give you the money you ask, not because it's right but because i want to do what's right. if i'd let you go, you'd go back to brownsville and it would not be a week until you'd have some fool thing afloat that would bring all sorts of trouble on your folks. i'm doing this for your people, not for you." alfred had won. he was not entirely free from the feeling that he had not acted quite right but he stilled his conscience by arguing to himself that grandpap had no authority to enter into a contract for him; besides hadn't his mother declared that no indenture was valid without her signature, that no child of hers should ever be bound to anybody? when she demanded to see the papers it was not convenient for those interested to have them at hand. the mother had forcibly informed palmer that there must be no restraint upon alfred should he become homesick and that he must be permitted to return to his home at any time he desired to do so. all of which palmer had unreservedly agreed to. bedford, pa. dear father: your welcome letter came to hand today; glad you are all well and hearty. i've had a big fuss with palmer. i wanted to quit. he coaxed me to stay and promised me fifty dollars a month. is that paper he holds on me binding? could he hold my wages if he wanted to. he told gideon he was going to record the indenture when we got to leesburg and it would always stand in evidence against me. he is not the kind of man grandpap and uncle thomas crack him up to be. if palmer don't pay the fifty, i don't stay, papers or no papers. he is gouging everybody and it is no sin to gouge him. say pap, now don't get mad; how much did he set you back? tell me. if i get the fifty i think i can get yours. if cousin charley has my hound he'll have to give it up when i get home. if i get the fifty i'll buy me a new shotgun like capt. abrams has. my love to muz and all the children and lin. your affectionate son, alfred griffith hatfield. p. s. i am not afraid of palmer; i could break him in two. but i don't like to break the law. let me know about the paper he holds, he would do anything, law or no law. * * * * * since alfred's experience with the law in the eli affair it could not be said that he had more respect for the law but undoubtedly he had more fear for it as evidenced by his letter to the father. things went on much the same with the panorama. palmer was more polite and condescending toward alfred in speech, but many little inconveniences were put upon him that he had not experienced previous to the unpleasantness. jake seemed to have fallen under the displeasure of palmer and many were the squabbles between them. at one place where the panorama exhibited the church was too small. an old carriage factory was used instead. at one end there was a large freight lift elevator. palmer's inventive genius prompted him to use the platform of the elevator for a stage. it was about twenty by thirty feet in dimensions much larger than the stages usually constructed for the panorama. when the elevator was in place it formed a part of the floor of the room. palmer and jake labored all day and into the night to elevate it about two feet above the floor. when elevated thus it was pronounced by the little company the best stage since the season began; just high enough to show the effects to best advantage. jake said he hoped "dey vould strike more blaces mit dings like dis." the building of a platform or a stage in the various churches had made strenuous work for jake. all was set for the unveiling of the wonderful work of art. the old factory was crowded. all went smoothly until the scene where "faithful" is adjudged guilty and condemned to the terrible punishment supposed to be meted out to him. this scene is not visible to the audience but is described by the lecturer, as "faithful" is supposed to be burned to ashes after being scourged and pricked with knives. palmer had just concluded the speech: "now i saw that there stood behind the multitude a chariot and a couple of horses waiting for 'faithful', who, as soon as his adversaries had dispatched him, was taken up into it, and straightway, was carried up through the clouds with sound of trumpet." palmer sounded the trumpet. tom white, in a long, white flowing robe, with gauze veils over his face, is pulled up by a block and tackle, the rope concealed by the long, white robe. with appropriate music this scene was one of the most beautiful in the exhibition. the trumpet sounded signaling "faithful's" ascension. how what followed happened no one will ever know. palmer blamed jake. jake never admitted or denied that he was the cause. when there should have been an ascension there was a descension. the elevator slipped a cog, or something; there was a slow, regular descent, not too hasty. down went the whole panorama, descending in time with the music; down went the city of vanity with its fair, its thieves and fakirs painted on canvas, while poor "faithful" dangled in mid-air. as the elevator sank out of sight, as the characters, painting and frame disappeared below the floor, the audience applauded approvingly at first, then the absurdity of the scene struck them and approving applause changed to aggravating laughter. jake stood manfully by the rope he was holding; palmer was wild; alfred and bedford tom were doing all they could to suppress their laughter. suddenly the thing stopped, struck the floor in the room below. jake, grabbing the windlass, soon had the panorama slowly ascending. as it came into view the audience applauded lustily. mrs. palmer kept the ascension music going until the stage was back in its proper place when palmer, who was always seeking an opportunity to make a speech, walked out in front of the curtain and explained that the panorama weighed several tons, the great weight had broken the lift. at this juncture jake appeared with two heavy pieces of scantling; unmindful of palmer, he began spiking the props under the edge of the platform. the strokes of the hammer completely drowned palmer's voice. when jake sent the last nail home he arose from his knees with a "dere, tam you, i ges you'll holdt now." palmer was in a greater rage than at any time since the tour began. his wife, gideon and several others endeavored to pacify him. everybody but alfred came in for a share of the abuse; even his poor wife, who was really deserving of all praise for saving the scene, was more than censured. alfred could not control his laughter; he fled fearing palmer would turn on him. palmer swore so loudly that gideon came from the front to quiet him. he swore at gideon; he did not care if the whole town heard him curse. he had worn his life out to produce the pilgrim's progress, and now a darn clod-hopper, a reuben, a gilly, a jay, had undone the work of a lifetime and made him (palmer) ridiculous in the eyes of the world. what would people say? what would church people say? they would not pay him for such an exhibition. would he (jake) furnish the money to pay the expenses after ruining the business of the panorama? jake sat on a box, his eyes following palmer as he walked from one side of the platform to the other, busying himself all the while with some part of the panorama, never looking toward jake. jake's smile was the same, that is around the mouth; but looking more closely you could see an expression in the deep-set blue eyes that betrayed feelings far removed from those which cause smiles. palmer concluded his tirade by flinging a hammer on the floor and declaring his belief that the mistakes were the result of a deliberate attempt upon the part of the perpetrator to ruin him. "but i will not be driven away from this work of my life by conspirators." jake had but a limited understanding of palmer's language, yet sufficient of what had been said sifted through his mind to convince him that palmer had made strong charges against him. jake, in a tone of voice that would have convinced anyone more reasonable than palmer, of his sorrow, inquired: "vot i tid?" "vot i tid?" repeated palmer, imitating jake. "vot i tid? ha! ha! what didn't you do? from the night we opened it's been one round of breaks and blunders upon your part." jake, in open-eyed surprise, repeated: "breaks? breaks? breaks? vot i breaks?" palmer never ceased talking nor noticed jake's questions. pointing at jake, he said: "first you assumed the part of christian, the most important character to be impersonated. every schoolboy or girl knows the christian makes a pilgrimage beginning at the city of destruction, from which he flees to the celestial city. he carries a burden, of which he is relieved at the proper time. he is supposed to encounter all sorts of hardships and avoid pitfalls of danger, coming out triumphant at the end of his journey. i ordered you to read the book. alfred read it and is familiar with every detail; you know nothing, positively nothing." "vot i tid?" again demanded jake, a bit sternly. "vot you tid?" and palmer pretended to tear his hair. "the first night, the first scene, by holding the book you were supposed to be reading, down by your knees, gaping at the audience like a baboon. you rolled over on the floor in the slough of despond like a hog wallowing; you throwed your burden in the slough, then walked in the pond after it. the pond you was supposed to be sinking into, drowning, you walked over it as you would over a lawn or carpeted room, not sinking one inch in it. you gathered up christian's burden. instead of replacing it on your back you took it under your arm like a basket; instead of walking as you were directed, towards the wicket gate, the shining light, you steered straight into the bowels of hell. not being satisfied with going to hell yourself, you so arrange this lift, this platform that, at the very climax of the most beautiful scene in the marvelous exhibition, you send the whole panorama down to the lower story of the building, thus conveying to the audience the idea that we are burlesquing pilgrim's progress. instead of steering for heaven, steering for hell! bah! every last one in that audience will leave this building with the idea that the entire panorama went to hell." then in an injured, pleading tone, as if scared, palmer continued: "if this goes ahead of us it will surely ruin our business. i will sell my interest in this show for one-half of what i'd taken yesterday." all this was acting. poor jake was completely confused, dumfounded. most conscientious, honest and sincere, without deceit, he scarcely knew what to say to explain that he was unfortunate and all that had happened was unavoidable. he said: "meester balmur, i'm werry sorry dot i haf you so much troubles made. i haf neffer toldt you dot i cud do vork as alfredt und tom. i cannot speek me plain und i did yust so goot as i cud. i am sorry i kan't exbress my, my, my feelings mit dis ting, but i hope you must exkuse me." palmer interrupted: "oh, well; it's gone beyond my patience to stand it longer. you are an incumbrance, you are a barnacle. i'll sell you my interest in this enterprise and you can go on and run it; this partnership business don't suit me." palmer ended it by saying: "i'll see you in the morning." the little party with the panorama were generally quartered with members of the congregation of the church in which the panorama exhibited. in making contracts with the various churches, palmer, whenever possible, made it a part of the agreement that his people and horses were to be boarded. one family would take palmer and his wife, another a couple of the others. when palmer paid their board they were quartered in the meanest, cheapest taverns or boarding houses in the town. at times the company would lodge in a house the owners of which were very poor people who were sorely in need. it seemed to alfred the more needy a family appeared, the more insistent palmer was in forcing pictures, books, etc., upon them. it was a trick of his to hang a picture in the best room, place books on the center table. if they insisted that conditions would not permit enjoying the luxury of the books or pictures, palmer would become insulting and complain of the quality or quantity of the food. alfred and jake were both so thoroughly ashamed at times they would go elsewhere for their meals. it happened that, when the trouble came up between jake and palmer, the entire party were quartered at a modest little tavern kept by a pennsylvania dutchman of large girth and little patience. palmer had failed to induce him or his good wife, who did all the cooking, to buy pictures or books. "ve vant no more picturs und ve don't reat der pooks," was the argument with which the old fellow met all of palmer's solicitations. after one of their arguments, palmer, as usual, lost his patience: "what sort of humans are you? you belong to no church. where are you bound for? like jake--hell, i suppose." then he laughed sarcastically. "vell, ve haf got along always in frostburgh und hell can't be much vorse und if you vant to sell picturs und pooks to pay fur your bordt, you besser stop mit con lynch (referring to a rival tavern). ve don't keep travelers to kepp oudt of hell, ve keep bordters to keep oudt of der poor house." palmer answered the old fellow's argument with a reply that he thought humorous: "well, if i'd thought there was a poorer house in town than yours i'd stopped there." "vell, it's not too late, gitt oudt, tam you, pack up your pooks und picturs und gitt oudt purty quick or i'll trow you oudt on der rote." palmer, his wife and gideon, sought quarters at the other tavern; jake and alfred remained. the next day was one of unpleasantness. palmer never permitted an opportunity to pass that he did not cast slurs at all, jake in particular. it was evident that palmer was imbibing more freely than usual. he constantly drank whiskey; he was drinking to excess. mrs. palmer cried almost constantly. gideon was more nervous than usual. he was at palmer's side constantly; everywhere palmer went gideon followed. long and earnest talks were engaged in, palmer always obstinate, gideon pleading. when palmer left the place where the panorama was on exhibition, mrs. palmer stood in or near the door gazing out wistfully until he reappeared; then seat herself in the furthermost part of the room from her husband seemingly desirous of keeping out of his sight. alfred finally inquired if he could do anything for her. in a few words she gave him to understand that her husband was of a very excitable nature at intervals, took to drink and continued it until he fell sick. she begged alfred to have jake apologize and not to quarrel or cross the man, no matter what provocation he gave them, all of which alfred promised her. jake readily agreed to do anything she suggested. alfred and jake retired to their room where jake took alfred into his confidence, informing the boy of the circumstances that led to his connection with the panorama. palmer had an advertisement in a newspaper offering flattering inducements to a man with six hundred dollars. jake read the advertisement. palmer visited jake in answer to his letter. his smooth talk won the honest german. palmer was very sorry that jake had not written sooner as he had about concluded a deal with a man in brownsville and before he could arrange with jake he must go to brownsville, see the man and make some sort of an honorable arrangement to relieve him of the promises made. he induced jake to accompany him to brownsville. hence the visit of palmer and jake to alfred's home. afterwards palmer informed jake that he was compelled to pay alfred's father two hundred dollars to release him from their agreement. the honest german was thereby convinced that the panorama was a good investment. he persuaded his mother to borrow six hundred dollars, all of which was turned over to palmer. jake's understanding was that he was to be paid thirty dollars a week for his team services. jake was to have charge of all moneys received, the six hundred dollars was to be repaid from profits of the venture. jake had received to that date forty-one dollars. drawing a paper from an old fashioned leather purse, passing it to alfred: "here iss der writing vot vill tell you how it all iss." alfred read and re-read the paper which was in palmer's handwriting. the legal phraseology was somewhat confusing, but his deductions, were that jake was to receive thirty dollars a week for the use of the team and his and bedford tom's services; that jake was to handle the money; that he, jacob wilson, was to retain six hundred dollars from the profits and that, when the said six hundred dollars had been paid, the terms of the contract had been complied with. such was alfred's understanding of the contract. he became convinced that palmer had in some way defrauded, or intended to defraud jake. the fact that palmer had repeatedly asserted that he could get rid of jake--he so informed alfred when urging the son to influence the father to take an interest in the panorama--caused alfred to feel sure that jake was being tricked. respecting mrs. palmer's request and owing to palmer's condition, alfred decided to keep the matter quiet for the present. ending the interview with jake, he returned the paper to the german with the advice that, when palmer got off his spree, to take the matter up, have the contract examined by a lawyer. although jake was quiet and undemonstrative, he was no easy man to control when aroused. his limited experience in business, his unsophisticated nature naturally made him suspicious and there was not an hour while he was awake that he did not seek alfred to talk over the possibilities of palmer absolutely dropping him without returning any of his money. the night following that of the scene between jake and palmer, after a day that saw palmer in front of the bar of the tavern at least twenty times, the second exhibition of the panorama began. it was the first town wherein the exhibition failed to attract a larger audience the second night than that which witnessed the first exhibition. the facts were palmer's condition was apparent to all with whom he came in contact. the talk went over the town that one of the preachers with the show was on a tear and the other one couldn't hold him down. the church people held consultations and it was determined to cancel the third night. the second exhibition was even more ragged and uneven than the first night. the lift, or platform, did not give way and carry the painted pictures towards the lower regions; "faithful" made the ascension as scheduled; and the climaxes and tableaux were all more beautifully presented than on the opening night. but the eloquent speeches were delivered by palmer in a thick-tongued voice; his pronunciation was so imperfect that many of the most beautiful speeches were lost upon the audience. palmer did not complete his lecture. all were nervous, all were laboring under great strain. the members of the little party exerted themselves; not one made a mistake, not one forgot a line. but palmer, the manager, the proprietor, he who should have been the first in the work, palmer was drunk, and the pilgrim's progress was ruined, insofar as that town was concerned. palmer had become frenzied the night previous and cried over the excusable blunders of an honest meaning man. yet tonight he had ruined the entertainment, disgusted all who heard him. palmer imagined the performance the most excellent yet given, he so informed all. none had the heart to correct his bewildered imaginings. when gideon came back and informed him that the church officials would have nothing further to do with the exhibition and that if it were put on the next night they would announce to the town that they were in no way responsible, he defied the church people, swore he would compel them to comply with their contract, that he would show, (he always used the word "show" when he was excited or drunk), the next night and several nights thereafter. he left the scene for the tavern. jake and alfred repaired to their lodgings. a long time after they had retired, a timid rapping on the door aroused them. the door opened, and gideon and mrs. palmer were standing in the hall. the woman's face was the picture of misery; gideon was in a terrible state of mind. palmer had continued his debauch until he was frenzied. both feared to remain in the house with him; he had attempted to injure both of them. gideon implored alfred and jake to endeavor to calm him; at least, prevent him drinking any more. jake was loath to go. he had no fear of palmer but brooded over the abuse the man had heaped upon him--bedford tom had fully explained and exaggerated all that palmer had said and that jake did not comprehend at the time. jake, after due deliberation, decided in his mind that if palmer ever abused him again, and mrs. palmer was not near, palmer would feel the weight of his hand. therefore jake thought he had best not trust himself in palmer's presence. loud words could be heard. alfred trying the door, found it locked. the landlord demanded to know who was there. alfred informed him that he was a friend of palmer's and had come to look after him. he was admitted. palmer was singing a popular song of the day at the top of his voice, the landlord endeavoring to quiet him. when alfred caught a glimpse of palmer he could not resist laughing outright. the man was minus coat, vest and outer shirt, his long, yellow neck, his sharp face with its tuft of beard, the hooked nose, made his head appear like punch on a stick. catching sight of alfred, palmer extended his hand and began singing a negro minstrel ditty, cake-walking around the boy several times, his hand extended as if he were inviting the boy to join in his dance. "mr. palmer! mr. palmer! it's very late. the folks in the house desire to sleep. come on with me; come on to your room," pleaded alfred. palmer kept up his singing, keeping time with his feet. jake appeared. palmer rushed toward him, threw his arms about him, embraced him, calling him his only friend. "stick to me, jake, i'll do the right thing by you. i know you're all right; i am ashamed of myself for cussing you. but--never--mind. come--on--jake--come--on. where's gideon? i want to give you $ . . come on jake." jake held palmer like a baby, pleading with him to go to bed. palmer swore he would not leave the room until the landlord gave him another drink. then he wanted all to drink with him. all declined. then he wanted to fight the whole crowd. alfred and jake finally pushed and carried palmer to his room. they deposited him upon the bed and held him there by force until his senses began to leave him. sleep overcame him and, although he kept up a twitching of the fingers and mutterings, he slept. alfred and jake both fell asleep. when alfred awoke, palmer still slept. he tiptoed toward palmer and was more than startled to see mrs. palmer seated at the head of the bed, where she had sat all night. gideon called the boy and jake into a conference. it was gideon's idea that the party leave the town immediately, keep palmer on the road away from drink until he was completely sobered up. the panorama was dismounted and loaded in the big wagon in less time than ever before. jake gave the word and they were on their way. palmer fretted and fumed the whole journey; jake did not drive fast enough to please him; he would walk, then ride a short distance; all the while complaining and censuring first one, then another. jake had not traversed half the day's journey until he became convinced that palmer's effusive exhibitions of friendship the night previous were prompted by the libations of which he had partaken. finally, donning hat and coat palmer started at a pace so brisk that he was soon a considerable distance in advance of the slow moving wagon. jake was thoroughly disgusted. at a little distance on he made excuse the harness was broken, and halted the team at least half an hour. jake, like alfred, concluded that palmer would go a little ways and await them. when jake resumed the journey he drove the team somewhat faster, prompted to do so by the anxiety of the good woman, who sat by his side straining her eyes, gazing ahead along the white, dusty way. the object she looked for did not come into sight. the shadows of night began to fall. jake had the team going at a faster pace than the big wagon had ever sped previously. all eyes looked down the pike ahead of the team; all expected every minute to see palmer on the road ahead of them. gideon broke the painful silence: "whoa! whoa! jake, pull the horses up." jake obeyed. all turned towards gideon. "no man could keep ahead of the team the rate we have been going. he couldn't keep ahead of us even if he had run, let alone walked. if palmer hasn't caught onto someone who is traveling in a buggy or other light vehicle, he has laid down by the roadside and fallen asleep and failed to hear us go by. i will go back and look for him; it's only two miles further to town, you all go on." all hesitated. jake then proposed that the wagon halt where it was and all go back seeking palmer. jake, alfred and bedford tom retracing their steps, looking on each side of the road as they walked. every person they met was questioned, but none had noticed a man answering palmer's description. inquiry was made at every farm house. finally a traveler on horseback informed the searchers that a man answering the description of palmer was seated on the driver's seat of the stage coach going west. the three retraced their steps and gave gideon and the wife the information gained. driving into hancock, gideon, who was best informed as to the lines of travel, decided he would take the train for cumberland and ascertain there as to whether palmer had been a passenger on the stage coach. later in the evening news came that a stranger had been discovered by the roadside dead. to attempt to describe the misery of the wife would be impossible, and to aggravate the situation, to still more deeply aggrieve the trouble laden woman, a letter came with the news that one of their children was very ill at home. jake and alfred mounted the horses and rode to the point where the dead man was found. they arrived previous to the coroner; the body had not been removed. it was a lonely place on the pike. two or three country folk stood near the fence, recounting for the tenth time the circumstances attending the discovery of the body. the darkness, the presence of death, were surroundings to which alfred was not accustomed. the body lay about twenty yards from the road under a big tree. as they climbed the fence and faced towards the spot, a stench met their nostrils. they looked at each other. jake was the first to recover his speech: "phew! if dot's bolmur, he iss spiled werry queek." alfred reclimbed the fence. jake looked over the dead man and remarked: "it don'dt look more like bolmur as you do." mounting their horses they were soon back at the tavern. the wife gazed appealingly at them as they entered, and, in a trembling voice, asked: "no news?" "no, it vasn't him, he iss been dedt a veek or two." jake spoke as if disappointed that the dead man was not palmer. later, alfred was lying on the bed laughing, jake, looking at him with a smile which spoke inquisitiveness more plainly than he could have articulated the word, inquired: "vot you laffin at? you laff like a tam fool. it makes me feel like a tam fool, too; i kan't tell but vot you iss laffin at my back." this only brought more laughter. finally, jake began laughing also. "i see, you iss laffin becos i toldt mrs bolmur dot de dedt man vos spildt." "why, jake, the manner in which you gave the news to her sounded as if we were disappointed that the dead man was not palmer." jake arose, walked over to alfred, his face assuming a serious aspect: "it's a werry great bitty for der poor heart-broken-down woman dot it was not bolmur." gideon telegraphed from cumberland that palmer was there; that he would arrive on the next train. jake and alfred had the panorama all set. night came on and neither gideon nor palmer had arrived. no train was scheduled to arrive until midnight. mrs. palmer was too nervous, too ill to give any advice or to even offer a suggestion. "could she play the music as usual if they went on with the exhibition?" "yes, she would get a cup of tea and be ready for her part of the work." alfred arranged with the son of one of the church members to take charge of the financial end. jake said he could do the part of christian and he was sure that he would not make any mistakes. the church was crowded. alfred had assured himself a thousand times that he could go through the whole dialogue. he was correct but there was quite a difference in the delivery of the impassioned speeches; the weak voice of an amateurish schoolboy could not impress the auditors as would that of an elocutionist with a deep musical voice. the panorama did not give its usual satisfaction although jake, to his credit, went through his part without a mistake. but he did so in such an awkward, halting way, that it seemed like anything but a character to excite sympathy; in fact, his fall into the slough of despond was so clumsy that he injured one of his knees. all the while he was rolling about, supposed to be sinking, he was holding his knee in both hands and crying: "by yimminy crickitts, uh! uh!" people sitting near the platform were tittering and laughing. gideon and palmer arrived sometime during the night. gideon was up and about early. he advised that palmer would be all right by night. gideon appeared more ill at ease than alfred had ever seen him. back of the scenes was palmer so drunk he could barely articulate. he looked at jake and alfred as they entered and said: "i--can't--work--tonight; go--on--with--the--performance. i'm going--to--bed." with this he stretched himself out on the floor. jake and alfred gathered him up and laid him none too gently to one side of the stage. confusion or some evil spirit awakened palmer. he walked out into the auditorium. sitting near his wife, he attracted the attention of many of the audience by giving orders, not only to his wife but in one or two instances he shouted at alfred. this so completely unnerved the wife that she actually made mistakes in the music cues. this confused all and the exhibition was terribly marred. the minister of the church was outraged. he ordered the panorama removed at once and palmer ejected. the town marshal escorted palmer out. alfred was so angry at the tantalizing remarks palmer had cast at him from the audience that he did not dare trust himself near the man. he warned jake: "if that palmer speaks to me i will slap his face until it is as red as he made mine." the marshal, through gideon's pleadings, did not lock palmer up but carried him to the tavern. gideon placed him in bed and returned to the church to escort the wife to the tavern. when alfred and jake appeared, gideon was pleading with palmer to go to his room. palmer was demanding drink, the landlord informed him that he sold no drink nor would he permit drink carried into his house. alfred, ashamed of the man, walked out on the sidewalk. palmer forced his way out, gideon feebly holding him. palmer gave the feeble old man a push that would have sent him headlong into the gutter had alfred not caught him. alfred stood gideon on his feet. palmer backed off a pace or two, bowing and feinting as if to fight. he cried mockingly: "who, who art thou? what kind of meat does this, our caesar feed upon that he should thus command us?" putting up his hands prize-fighter fashion, he sparred towards alfred. he made pass after pass as if to strike the boy who stood motionless, permitting palmer's fists to fly by his face without moving or dodging. whether through alfred's passiveness or by mistake, one of palmer's fists landed square on the nose of alfred. the red blood spurted over his shirt front. before jake or gideon could interfere, alfred had the man by the coat collar raining open handed slaps on his face, slaps that so resounded they could be heard above the confusion and bustle of the encounter. palmer had become as a madman. seizing alfred's arm in his teeth, sinking them into the flesh, he held on like a bulldog. the blows alfred rained on the man's face had no effect on him and it was only when beaten into insensibility that the jaws relaxed. the light was dim on the outside and those near by did not realize that palmer was biting the boy. the severe punishment he meted out to palmer did not meet with the approval of many. however, after they were separated and alfred exposed his lacerated arm the talk turned the other way: "he did not give him half enough." the landlord sent for a doctor; the arm was treated. mrs. palmer assisted in binding up the wound. alfred felt so humiliated he scarcely knew how to thank her. he requested the doctor to go up and see palmer, but the good wife had attended to his injuries. palmer, his wife and gideon, decided to travel to the next stop by train. all day on the road jake and alfred were debating as to the course they would pursue. jake was inclined to demand a settlement at once. alfred persuaded him to hold off until he heard from home, then he would endeavor to collect the amount due his father, and if jake desired to travel, he, alfred, would organize a minstrel show and they would go on the road right. the panorama was set. gideon was at the church but mrs. palmer and her husband had not put in an appearance. alfred ran out to the door to inquire of gideon as to whether palmer would be on hand. gideon assured him that the husband and wife had left their lodgings with him and should be at the church at the present time. alfred ran back to the panorama. as he passed behind the curtain he came face to face with palmer. a badly bruised, black and blue face was that into which the boy gazed. he was strongly inclined to take the man by the hand and beg his forgiveness. jake, when advised of alfred's feelings, said: "vait, you kan't tell, he may make your forgiveness. it iss his place to do der beggin'; don't you make vrendts mit him till he askts you to." palmer worked as effectually as if nothing had occurred, although his voice was unsteady at times and slightly hoarse. palmer kept out of view of the audience. alfred never worked so effectually, although his arm pained him constantly. mrs. palmer seemed in better spirits than for a long time. gideon reported professor palmer had met with a painful accident in the last town and could not be seen--this was gideon's statement to all inquiries for palmer. the next morning ladies called at the tavern with flowers. the minister called; he talked to palmer until the panorama man was so nervous he coaxed gideon to get him whiskey. the next night palmer was at the church early. he was particularly deferential to jake and alfred. anything they said or did he acquiesced in. mrs. palmer seemed like a different woman. a letter bringing good news from the sick child was ascribed by jake and alfred as the cause of her cheerfulness. gideon lingered at the church after the performance. jake asked for one hundred dollars to be paid on the morrow. gideon advised that the order must come from palmer ere he could pay out the money. jake answered: "i vill see mr. bolmur aboudt it early tomorrow." gideon begged that jake defer it: "palmer is just getting back to himself; if he gets excited he may go to drinking again." "if he does ve know how to kure him, jes give him a tam goot trashing; dot's vot vill kure him. heh, alfredt?" gideon carried the news to palmer that alfred and jake had combined and at any time they saw him look toward liquor they intended to give him a thrashing. whether gideon understood this to be the attitude of alfred and jake toward palmer or whether he used the threat to deter the drunkard, is not certain. its effect was to so embitter palmer that he set about getting rid of jake at once. mrs. palmer was assured by alfred that no such threat had ever been indulged in by jake or himself. after he had exhausted all subterfuges, palmer grudgingly gave jake the one hundred dollars. alfred was behind the scenes of the panorama dressing his sore arm. he had been thus occupied for some time when palmer and gideon entered and resumed a conversation they had evidently begun previously. gideon seemed in doubt and fearful: "but how will you manage to get rid of him?" was the question he put to palmer. "you leave that to me and don't you give him any more money; stand pat the next time he approaches you." "but he is a partner in the concern. if he went to law he could compel you to make an accounting from the time we began." "what do you think i am?" and palmer looked at gideon in disgust. "don't imagine for one moment of your innocent, unnecessary life that i would sell a reuben like jake or anyone else a third interest in this panorama for six hundred dollars. jake has no interest excepting in the profits until he is paid six hundred dollars. after the six hundred dollars is paid he has no further claim upon me. i could pay him six hundred dollars and kick him out today, or if the panorama did not make six hundred dollars this tour he would get nothing." "well, it's best you pay jake the six hundred dollars and get rid of him honestly," answered gideon. "i'll get rid of him. it's a hell of a nice business to carry two men with you that threaten if you don't carry yourself straight they will thrash you. i am justified in doing anything to free myself and the law will uphold me in it." "well, you will be compelled to get another man if you dispense with alfred," urged gideon. "oh, i can run into baltimore and get a dozen people if i want to. however, i'd like to keep the boy; he's useful and you can trust him. but he's the damndest, greenest kid that i ever met to have had the experience he has." "well, he's a pretty good boy. he did all your work the night you were not here and your wife says he did it well; the boy has talent." "talent, hell! that's not talent; that's nerve. that's why i say he's green. did he ever say anything to you about his arm where i bit him?" inquired palmer. "no; only to say it was pretty sore." "why the dam little fool could shook me down for all i had in the world, mayhem is a penal offence in maryland. that's why i say he's green. i skinned his daddy out of nearly two hundred dollars. he imagines he will get it when we go to brownsville. i'll keep this trick so dam far away from that town a crow couldn't fly to me in a week." alfred had a mind to walk out on the man and declare himself, but he held his peace. he sought jake and together they consulted an attorney. alfred's father would be compelled to bring suit where the debt was contracted, get judgment, send the transcript on before the debt could be collected. jake did not own any of the panorama proper; his agreement gave him one-third of the profits until he was paid the sum of six hundred dollars and thirty dollars a week as hire for his team. alfred did not believe palmer would do anything at once; he concluded that the talk he had overheard was of the same character as that which palmer had indulged in so often previously. alfred was in bed; jake sat by the window buried in thought. finally jake muttered: "to hell mit dis bizness, i vish i vas back at my home in bedfordt." after musing in silence for some time, he muttered: "to hell mit palmer; to hell mit gideon; to hell mit everything but der panorama." jake mused a few minutes. rising to undress, he said defiantly: "to hell mit der panorama." the following day jake asked for an accounting. palmer endeavored to put him off. "how much uv dis panorama i own?" asked jake. "oh, jake, what's the matter with you? you know what our contract is. come now, you're an intelligent man, let's do business on business principles. i'll have gideon balance the books by sunday." "i vant dem balanced today; my condract says dat i am der vun dots to handle der money; maybe i take holdt tonight." palmer became frightened. gideon furnished jake a statement showing the profits to be six hundred dollars and a few cents over. as jake understood the contract he was to receive one-third of the profits, this would entitle him to $ , one hundred of which he had received. jake immediately demanded another hundred dollars. palmer pleaded that he had sent his money away. jake was obdurate. palmer finally produced the amount. jake demanded that he have access to the books; both palmer and gideon demurred, but jake was again triumphant. however, nothing that favored jake was learned from them. hagerstown, md. dear muz: your letter to hand. pap will never get his money from palmer. he is never going to brownsville or near there. i heard him tell gideon, pap was a reuben and he had skinned him out of two hundred dollars. and pap needn't deny it to you. this man is awful; he will cheat anybody. i had to lick him, he nearly bit my arm off. i nearly beat his head off; it was the only way to get loose. i can't tell you all i know in one letter. let pap sue for his account, send the transcript on and i'll get it or i'll know why. he'll not get a chance to bite if i go at him again. i went out to your old home yesterday; they're real nice people. i found the room where i cut my name on the walnut window frame, it's nearly rubbed out. the house looks natural but the garden and flowers are not like grandmother kept them. all the old people asked about grandpap, uncle john and uncle jake. stir pap up. if i come home, i'll write you before i do. your affectionate son, alfred griffith hatfield. p. s. jake's written agreement is a fraud. if pap has an agreement with palmer, it's a fraud too, don't go by it. do as i tell you, i know what's best. you'll learn law if you travel with a panorama. the next move, to winchester, was a long journey. one of jake's horses having been sick, palmer advised a day or two previously that the panorama and people, excepting bedford tom and jake, would travel by train, thus relieving the team. he also promised jake a payment on the profits at the end of the week. as an evidence of good faith he advanced jake a week's wages. jake wanted alfred to make the journey with him in the wagon, but palmer became offended: "what do you people want to do, get rid of the work of preparation? i should take bedford tom with me also but i will permit him to go with you for company, but not alfred." palmer gave all directions as to the roads as he always did. in fact, he cautioned jake more particularly than usual. he also left orders that a dinner be put up for jake and tom to carry with them. palmer arose early to see jake off and again cautioned him not to lose his way. gideon, palmer, the wife and alfred boarded the train. they were to change cars at harper's ferry. but alfred took the train for winchester, gideon excitedly calling him to take the other train. "but that train goes to washington, the man said so," pleaded alfred. "get aboard, quick," shouted gideon, as he jumped on the moving train. alfred ran into the train to palmer. "don't we go to winchester?" he inquired. "not until next month," answered palmer. "where's jake and the team going?" asked alfred. "they told me they were going to winchester." palmer gave a little forced laugh: "jake was your friend, was he not? i thought so at least. didn't you regard him as your friend?" inquired palmer. "of course i did," answered alfred. palmer looked at gideon: "i told you there was something behind this. didn't i tell you so, eh?" gideon seemed undecided; he both nodded and shook his head. palmer threw one limb over the other and rubbed his dirty hands together. "it was like this: jake was a partner of mine. we've been having trouble for some time past. yesterday he accepted a proposition of mine on condition that i was not to mention it to you. he stated you were friends but he did not desire to go into the minstrel business. he feared if you learned he had received his money from me you would be after him hot-foot to invest in a minstrel show." alfred's face flushed. he did not deny that he and jake had conversed many times regarding a minstrel show; jake seemed greatly interested in it. alfred fell for palmer's plausible story. palmer exhibited that which he claimed was a clear receipt from jake. when the party arrived in washington alfred was so taken up with the thousand and one places of interest, he took note of nothing save sight-seeing. lodging at a little hotel on a side street, palmer had not been seen for a day or two. to alfred's inquiry, gideon mumbled something about new people. mrs. palmer became more anxious-looking every day. alfred overheard gideon mention pharoah to the wife. alfred connected the biblical character of that name with the remark. thinking the matter over he remembered hearing palmer oftentimes refer to losses or gains at pharoah. he finally connected it with some sort of a game and made bold to ask gideon what palmer had done about old pharoah. gideon, with a surprised look, asked how he knew palmer was sitting in. "oh, i heard he was after old pharoah." "you've got the pronunciation wrong but the facts right. palmer was one thousand ahead of the game. i begged him to cash in but that's the way with all who play faro. he didn't know enough to quit the game when he had velvet in front of him." palmer had lost all his money but the little savings of his wife. gideon had a few dollars, but that went also. alfred had twenty-nine dollars which he refused to loan palmer. the landlord finally yielded to the arguments of palmer and gideon and agreed to permit the baggage to be taken to the depot and, with the panorama, shipped to the next town; he, the landlord, to accompany them until his claims were paid. the party were off their route. no previous arrangements had been made. none of the religious denominations in the town could be induced to take an interest in the panorama. finally, the courthouse was secured by rental, but without the influence of the church people, the receipts were not fifty per cent of what they usually were, so palmer repeatedly stated. the hotel man had to advance money to move the company to the next place of exhibition. here the receipts again fell short of the expenses. the hotel man sent home for money finally. thoroughly disgusted, the hotel man left the party with palmer's note endorsed by gideon. he requested alfred's endorsement also. that gentleman remembered sammy steele's advice and very politely declined to attach his signature to the paper. palmer insisted that alfred endorse the note, arguing: "it's only a matter of form; i'll take up this note within two weeks." but alfred did not sign. later on, alfred overheard palmer cussing gideon's lax business methods: "since you have been a missionary you don't know enough to top broom-corn. i told you to hold out everything on that hotel guy and you made him put up only thirteen dollars." it developed that there were no losses while the hotel man was with the panorama. palmer made it appear there was in order to get rid of the man. alfred wrote jake a sarcastic letter advising that he thought it would have been more gentlemanly to have informed him of his dislike of the minstrel business instead of talking to palmer. "i assisted you in every way and i thought you were my friend." no reply came. "jake was ashamed to answer," was the conclusion reached by alfred. disgusted with palmer, homesick, offended at his folks that they did not reply to his letter, he resolved to write no more but next pay day leave the panorama and go home. he so informed palmer. palmer's arguments had no effect upon him. finally mrs. palmer persuaded him to remain until they could secure someone to take his place, promising to do so at the first opportunity. "if it's not too long i'll hold out but i want to go home; i'm homesick." mrs. palmer covered her face with her hands as she cried: "if there is a more distressing feeling than a longing for home i pray to god no one will ever suffer as i have. i've been homesick for years." palmer sneered and sarcastically granted her permission to go home at any time she wished. "you and alfred better go home together." alfred felt like slapping the man and would have done so had not his wife been present. palmer greatly interested the family with whom they were boarding. his long prayers at family worship and his eloquent talk completely captivated the entire family including two fine young men. alfred the last day of their stay found palmer rehearsing the elder of the two boys, the younger holding the prompter's book. later alfred overheard palmer assure the old gentleman the panorama was the best money making and the most refined exhibition ever devised. two days later the old gentleman, his two boys and another gentleman arrived in the town where the panorama was on exhibition. the report became generally circulated that the panorama had been sold to the old man for his sons. gideon was to remain as long as they desired his services. alfred was also a part of the sale. palmer advised the buyers that alfred knew as much about the panorama as himself. alfred very promptly informed the old gentleman that he could not remain longer. this held up the sale. palmer coaxed, begged and implored the boy to remain with the panorama. he assured the purchasers his only reason for disposing of the panorama was his wife's health. she had been separated from her children for two years, she was a nervous wreck. he had to make the sacrifice no matter what the consequences--his wife's happiness came first. the wife's appearance more than corroborated palmer's statement. finally he offered alfred one hundred dollars to remain until the new owners learned the way of running the exhibition. alfred's answer was: "you owe my father two hundred dollars." "i do not, i owe him only a hundred and ninety dollars," contradicted palmer. "pay my father and i'll stay." palmer replied: "i always intended to pay your father; i'll pay him whether you stay or not." "when will you pay him?" asked alfred. "as soon as i get my money from these people." "will you give it to me for him?" "no, i will not. i will pay him as i promised. your father is not worrying about his money. we're going to paint a panorama in partnership. i expect to be in brownsville inside of a month, just as soon as i can settle my wife at home." alfred agreed to remain. the sale was made, and alfred was paid one hundred dollars. he wrote the folks at home detailing all the changes, advising that palmer would be in brownsville soon to paint a panorama. alfred remained two weeks. the new people hired an actor to take his place. they did not do well with the panorama, gideon remained but a short time after alfred left. * * * * * palmer forgot to pay alfred's father; he also forgot to visit brownsville. years afterwards alfred met palmer. he was painting, he was an artist, so he stated. he looked like a vagrant; there was not much change in his face, only a little more weather beaten, the lines and wrinkles deeper, the eyes more dull and his hands more dirty. he advised alfred that he had a contract and the work was partly done, but he could not draw any money until it was completed. "now alfred, you know me, you know how i have struggled, you know how the world has been against me. but i'll come back; i'll come into my own. i've got a scheme and i am working it out and it will be a winner. it will put me on easy street all the rest of my days." alfred knew all of this talk was leading up to a "touch." alfred had mellowed in his feelings. he had sympathy for the outcast but felt he did not care to waste any charity on the man. he was figuring rapidly mentally: "i will buy him clothing and give him a small sum of money, that's all." "now you know my ability to earn money," continued palmer, "and you know my family. i want you to do me a favor." ("the 'touch' is coming," thought alfred, "i'll have to give him $ at least.") "now, don't refuse me. i will have money as soon as this job is done, and i'll send it to you; i don't want you to give me nothing. i want you to loan it to me. now alfred, don't go back on me." "well, business is none too good and i have heavy expenses and calls like yours every day. how much do you want?" cautiously inquired alfred. "loan me a dollar," pleaded palmer. alfred handed the man two dollars with a sigh of relief, crediting himself with eighteen. "where are mrs. palmer and gideon?" asked alfred. "oh, gideon died years ago. he hadn't nothing to live for; he just laid down and died. mrs. palmer is at home; i've got a fine home. the children--oh, one of them married a big orange grove man in california and the other is with her mother." alfred afterwards learned that gideon was dead; that the contract palmer was working on was decorating mirrors in bar-rooms. mrs. palmer was living with relatives. palmer had not contributed to her support in years. one of the girls was cashier in a store in kansas city, the other a nurse in a sanatarium. palmer died of alcoholic dementia only a year or two ago. jake is living in bedford; he began where he left off--on the farm. when alfred met jake he summed up his panorama experience thusly: "balmur cheated us all; he cheated everybody und got no good oudt uv it. he stoled the letters i wrote you und made you badt frednts mit me. but it iss all gone now and so iss balmur. i dond't know vich vay he iss gone. he sed i valked straight into hell mit der panorama; i hope he valks straight oudt of it. if he does get in i'll bet dey haff a hard yob to keep him dere; he neffer stays no place long; und i'll bet dey'll be gladt ven he leaves--dat iss if he makes es much troubles in hell as he didt mit der panorama." it is not necessary to state that palmer sent jake to a place he never intended visiting with the panorama. jake, confused and deceived, made his way home. chapter sixteen something each day--a smile, it is not much to give, but the little gifts of life make sweet the days we live. the world appears different to different persons; to one it is dull, to another bright. contentment has much to do with it. the pleasant and interesting happenings crowded into the life of one being may arouse envy in another. the man of genius, the man of imagination will note things in the every-day trend of human affairs that will enrich his memory, store it with wisdom. the man of dulled faculties will never see things in this world as does he who is of a higher intelligence. two men may travel in a country strange to them, their impressions of the customs, habits of the people, conditions and appearances of the land, will be widely different. after alfred's return from the tour with the panorama he became the sir oracle of the town. the shoe-shops of frank mckernan and nimrod potts were the gathering places of those who came to hear the stories that alfred had collected in his travels. previously the atmosphere of the two shoe-shops had been different. mckernan's shop was the gathering place of those who lived under the teachings of thomas jefferson, they were democrats; the audiences at pott's shop had formerly been composed of abolitionists. nimrod potts had been an avowed abolitionist. a change had come over him, politically at least. from a rabid abolitionist he had changed to a dignified democrat, nor was it lust for office that wrought the change--that unholy feeling which influenced horace greeley, who was potts' political god. greeley, after twenty-five years of vituperation and personal abuse, such as was never before applied to opponent by political writer, denouncing those who were opposed to his opinions, as representing all that was of vice and violence, crawled to those he had abused for years begging their votes, willing to pretend to espouse their principles to attain office. horace greeley's seeking and accepting a presidential nomination did more to discredit partisan journalism in this country than all other causes combined since the establishment of the republic. dr. patton, a clean cut man, was the democratic nominee for burgess (mayor) of brownsville. the doctor was slightly aristocratic in his bearing, and a number of his own party were dissatisfied with his candidacy, although a nomination on the democratic ticket was equivalent to election. nimrod potts was the nominee of the republican, radical and abolition element; no one imagined potts had a living chance of election. the times were propitious for the elevation to office of those of humble origin. andrew johnson, a tailor, was then president (by accident). the argument was used, "why not elevate nimrod potts, the cobbler, to the highest office within the gift of the electorate of brownsville?" alfred had unconsciously boosted the candidacy of potts by publicly announcing that he had visited the tailor shop of andrew johnson while in greenville, tenn., and that the shoe-shop of nimrod potts in brownsville was much larger and more pretentious than the tailor shop of the man who was then president; and since the qualification for holding or seeking office in those days seemed to be graduation from some sort of a shop, potts' claims should be considered. whether it was this statement or the vagaries that at times influence the minds of voters, potts was elected. it is a peculiarity of human nature that people neglect little bills--bar bills, cobbling bills, etc. now every man in brownsville did not run bar bills, but every man wore shoes (except in summer). nimrod potts had a list of names in the debtor column of his book embracing some of the best known men and hardest men on shoes in town. when nimrod instituted what he considered needed reforms in the judiciary system, certain ones of the borough's citizenship--although they had never heard of the recall--brownsville had not advanced that far toward socialism as yet--instituted proceedings in the county court, impeaching potts. he was removed from office. those who instituted the ouster proceedings were republicans. alfred's uncle william, who was judge of the court, was a democrat. potts evidently reasoned that it was but natural that a democratic judge should decide to remove him, but to be assailed by his own party was too much for even his fealty. hence he proclaimed himself a democrat and was received with open arms by that party. the causes that led up to the removal of nimrod potts as burgess of brownsville are recorded in history. however, the reader may have failed to note this famous "causus bellus" or forgotten it. in expounding the law two points were always kept in view by burgess potts--the constitution of the united states and his cobbling accounts. if either the plaintiff or defendant were indebted to the cobbler, justice was meted out as the law required, with the addition of the amount due for cobbling. the cobbling bill was always added to the costs. if both parties to the case were indebted to the judge the law was bent to apply to the assessing of costs with the cobblers' bills added. potts felt the honor that alfred had conferred upon him in likening him to andrew johnson. the gatherings at potts' shop, of which alfred was the center of attraction, became more conspicuous than the assemblages at mckernan's. as may be inferred there was bitter rivalry between the two shoe-makers. it was not long ere doubts were expressed as to the correctness of the word pictures alfred painted of the country and its people through which he had journeyed while with the panorama. some folks who had emigrated to brownsville from virginia and maryland could not remember anything of the scenes that alfred described. others remembered just such things as he pictured. barney barnhart, who was from shepperdstown, not only verified alfred's stories relative to the section where he formally resided but actually bettered some of them. alfred was in high repute. he had regained all the prestige lost through his unfortunate connection with eli. working for his father by day, relating his panorama exploits by night, he was leading an exemplary life. some folks ascribed his changed ways to the great moral uplift of the panorama. uncle ned gave palmer credit for the reformation of the boy. consequently they held palmer in highest estimation. alfred had not uttered one word derogatory to palmer to anyone as yet. he was secretly hoping palmer would put in an appearance and paint another panorama, that he might get control of it. he felt riches awaited anyone who possessed a panorama. even when alfred pushed a large pumpkin in the round hole of the chimney on potts' shoe-shop, smoking out the largest gathering to which he had ever described "the pilgrim's progress" as shown in panorama--while the auditors stood on the outside of the shop fanning the smoke from their faces with their hats, alfred, phoenix-like, stood in the middle of the shoe-shop reciting palmer's lecture. alfred was never suspected of smoking his audience out. instead potts hiked across the street to jake sawyer's grocery and accused jimmy edminston of smoking out the temple of justice. alfred's talks and recitals aroused considerable interest in john bunyan's work, "the pilgrim's progress." many were the arguments over the propriety of the work as presented by palmer's panorama. lin said: "fur the life of me i kan't figger out how bunyan hed ever hoped thet christian would turn out good after the load saddled on his shoulders an' the trubles he wus sent through. why, the devil wouldn't try tu win anyone by abusin' 'em thet way. i do not blame jake fur kickin' over the traces an' takin' the wrong path, kos i'd jes soon gone tu hell as some uv the places they sent christian tu." it was explained to lin that the book was written as an allegory and the sufferings were to try christian's faith. "allegery or perregary, i don't kur which. it's jes es bad es burnin' peepul tu deth tu make 'em christians. besides, i don't think much uv christian nohow, the book shows he run away, an' left his wife an' two childrun." however, it was generally admitted that the panorama had greatly benefited alfred. sammy johnson was no longer teased by him; alfred even assured him that the presbyterian church would soon have a bell and he would be employed to ring it. ringing a church bell was sammy's hallucination. alfred could even enter johnny tunstall's grocery, as he no longer shouted "wrang hule" at the old gentleman. alfred no longer associated with his former companions, but was more often seen with teddy darwin, john leclair and other good boys. the civil war, the presidential campaign, the fight between the rival steamboat lines, had kept old brownsville pretty well stirred up for several years, but nothing equaling the excitement caused by the campaign between potts and patton had ever been experienced in the old town. torch-light processions were the popular way of arousing enthusiasm. it was the general belief in those days that the fellow who carried the biggest blaze in the procession was the fellow of most importance. nowadays it's the fellow who buys the oil and sits on the porch and watches the procession go by. cousin albert was an ardent adherent of the potts faction. alfred's father was just as strong for patton. the father was well disposed toward albert but he was very much disgusted with albert's fondness for torch-light processions, particularly when albert bore a transparency on which was painted, in crude letters, a motto most offensive to patton men. the father more than once intimated that alfred was a very dull boy in some respects. "he can play practical jokes on people who should be exempt, and jokes in which no one but alfred could see the humor. but there's albert, who has laid himself liable to have any sort of a joke played upon him, goes scott free." therefore alfred fancied any joke perpetrated upon cousin albert must be pretty strong or the father would stamp it as inane and without humor. handbills advertised there would be a parade of the potts club and the route was given. alfred knew that cousin albert would be at the head of the marchers, bearing a very large transparency, with an offensive motto painted by his father's competitor, jeffries. alfred procured a piece of duck canvas, water proof, about one yard square. repairing to the bowman's pasture lot where the cows spent the night near the gate, alfred, with a scoop shovel, filled the canvas with a half bushel or more of fertilizer. he carried it to sammy steele's old tan house where he had once carried food to the exiles. an old finishing table stood under a window from which the sash had long since disappeared. one standing on the table at the opening was six or seven feet higher than the narrow street below. drums were beating, the procession was coming, the candle torches showed the parade turning hogg's corner off market street; they were coming toward the old tan-yard. alfred stood at the window with the canvas containing the mass of fertilizer. as the head of the parade came opposite he could see cousin albert outlined against the white-washed fence on the opposite side of the street. swinging the package a time or two to give it momentum, as one does a club, alfred loosened his hold on three corners of the canvas. the mess slid out as he had planned it would. he aimed all of it at cousin albert. alfred was pretty sure aim generally, but he had not experimented with the sort of ammunition he was using on this occasion; he was not familiar with its scattering qualities. alfred did not have time to either see or hear how his aim had affected cousin albert. there was an angry confusion of yells and curses extending down the line of march. alfred felt sure that something awful had happened. "catch him! hang him!" there was a shuffling of feet in the darkness. those at the head of the procession had dropped their torches. alfred's joke on cousin albert had spread to some twenty others; in fact, all in line opposite the window were included in the joke. there was a rush for the old tan-house. alfred flew. down the stairs, over the fence, through the widow cunningham's, across the street, through captain cox's yard and into his home, the thoroughly frightened boy fled. pete keifer, who had been in the army, a ninety day man, one of the first to go to the front at the call of duty, one of the first to leave for home after bull run, was most vehement in his threats on the lives of those who had broken up the torch light procession. keifer's hearing was undoubtedly affected by the two pound lump that struck him in the ear, and some scattering. sammy rowland's white shirt front caught a cluster as large as a saucer. his wife said she had a feeling something was going to happen when he put on a biled shirt on a week day. aaron todd, who wore a set of whiskers that would have sent him to the senate had he lived in kansas, carried home concealed in his whiskers a pound or so of alfred's joke. alfred lay in bed trembling. every sound, every footstep on the street startled him. when the father returned home he trembled until the bed shook, fearing it was the mob entering the house. he heard his father laughing, also the mother; then he heard footsteps on the stairs. pretending to be sound asleep he snored loudly. as his father neared the bed he pretended to suddenly awake. the parent carelessly inquired: "how long you been in bed?" "oh, i don't know how long, i've been asleep. why? is there anything happened?" asked alfred as he pulled the clothes up over his head to hide his laughter. the father replied: "yes there has and i feared you were mixed up in it. i am glad you came in early tonight." then the father informed alfred that some half a dozen rowdies had hidden in the old tannery and bombarded the potts procession with all sorts of missiles and _things_. he told of the rage of keifer, the plight of todd, etc. alfred was sorry the joke on cousin albert had miscarried but it seemed to him the hand of fate guided his aim, as all those who suffered were unfriendly, all save sammy rowland. he was a good friend with whom alfred had labored in the tan-yard. alfred went to sleep laughing and arose laughing. his mirth excited comment; it was so continued. the mother often asserted that alfred, from the time he was a baby, always awoke laughing in the morning. but his mirth was so uproarious this morning that it caused the father to look worried. finally, he called alfred into an adjoining room. looking him full in the face he asked: "did you have a hand in that affair last night?" had alfred been threatened with death he could not have suppressed his laughter. the more he laughed the more serious the father became. he had become satisfied that alfred was connected with the reprehensible act. the father continued threateningly: "well, my boy, you keep on, there will be an end to this kind of work. i cannot protect you if it gets out on you; it will be the worst blow you ever inflicted upon this family." thus the father talked until alfred said: "well, pap, i hope you are not going to connect me with this thing just because i laughed." "no, but i have a feeling that you know something of it. those associated with you in this thing will be very apt to blame it all on you." "oh no, they won't. now, just because i laugh _you're_ going to swear this thing onto me." "i am not," replied the father. "the whole town is laughing for that matter but it will go none the less hard with those engaged in it. i wouldn't go over in town if i were you," advised the father as he left the room. alfred made his way to potts' shoe-shop, passing the old tan-house on the way. broken transparency, bits of candles, and other odds and ends were scattered over the ground. the white-washed fence opposite the window in the old tan-house had the appearance of a field covered with snow, with here and there a bit of cedar shrubbery growing on it. dennis isler, jim johnson and piggy mann were under suspicion. alfred stood among the crowd and listened in silence to each description of the scene. no two had seen it alike; one man swore there were half a dozen shots fired, another declared a brick knocked the hat off his head without injuring him in the least. alfred returned home. the mother and lin repeatedly inquired as to what he was laughing at. lin finally, when the mother was not within hearing, with an air "you may fool everybody else but you can't fool me" half whispered: "i know ye done hit. everybody wud know hit wus ye. why, look at yer pants laig, up thar in the room, the marks is on hit." alfred flew up stairs. the right leg of a fairly good pair of pants was amputated just above the knee. the mother wondered why alfred gave those pants to cal pastor (who had but one leg). the _clipper_ had become very friendly. there was scarcely an issue that there was not a complimentary reference to the rising young actor, "an ex-attachee of this paper." the _clipper_ carried a graphic write-up of the disrupting of the potts procession. it was headed: "a dastardly attempt to defeat potts by discouraging his supporters." "a most unexpected and unprepared-for assault was perpetrated upon an orderly procession of brownsville's honest toilers, who were assaulted in the darkness of night with murderous missiles and other _things_, in a heated campaign with momentous issues involved. the hurling of foul epithets is bad enough but when political opponents hurl such things as were hurled at the potts adherents it is time to call a halt. many who were injured by the fusillade declare the onslaught was so unexpected; they were so completely taken by surprise that, had they been killed and interred the assault would not have been more surprising to them. among those who were in the worst of the affray was that gallant soldier and shingle maker, peter keifer. he has also seen service in assisting in arresting sam craft who was drafted. mr. keifer will devote his time to running down the hellish brigands who are a menace to the liberty of the ballot. mr. keifer says he will not be deterred in his purpose." among those employed by alfred's father was one, node beckley--"noah" was his proper name, but all, including his wife, called him node. in personal appearance he was not unlike palmer; spare and wiry, slim-faced, a large hooked nose, a tuft of beard on his chin. he had no particular calling or trade; first a hotel keeper, then a house or boat painter, paper hanger or decorator, saloonkeeper, book-agent, banjo player and cheap gambler. he was good-natured. his wife was the head man of the family; what node lacked in spirit she made up in talk. node was kind in his way to his wife and children, who accepted his efforts in their behalf without any untoward semblance of gratitude and with many complaints that he did not do more for them. consequently node was always on the hustle, or as near so as his indolent disposition would permit him to be. isaac jacquette, john barnhart, jim mann, cousin charley and others were continually teasing node over his many unsuccessful ventures. node did not always take their joshings good naturedly but would remind them that his time was coming, that he would yet strike a lead that would bring him fortune. he had hinted so often in this manner that alfred became convinced node was working on something in secret and became interested in him. the other men ascribed alfred's fondness for beckley to the fact that he could perform on the banjo; they often suggested that alfred and beckley start a minstrel show. "a boy's sense all runs to heart; a boy never sees the dark spots on the character of the man he fancies." node beckley was not a man of bad character. alfred's father dispensed with beckley's services that he might disrupt the intimacy between the two. node opened a saloon, the rialto, on the corner of barefoot square and market street. alfred's father forbade him ever to enter the place. alfred obeyed. the familiarity continued, the man and boy were often seen together on the street. cousin charley tracked them to the barn of the old james beckley tavern. alfred's father feared he was gambling; all the gambling in those days was in haymows or unoccupied buildings in winter, under the trees in summer. the games were "seven up" and "euchre". node was of an inventive turn of mind. it is not known whence came the inspiration, nor is it certain that there was an inspiration. however, it can be recorded to the glory of brownsville that the first flying machine or airship was the invention of a citizen of the old town. the flying machine was the mysterious creation that node had so often hinted at. alfred was deeply interested in the aerial machine. it was planned that the invention should be kept secret from all. harriet, his wife, knew he was working on an invention of some sort, as he had been engaged in this sort of experimenting a greater part of the time since they wedded. when his perpetual motion machine failed to work "had" beckley had lost interest in node's inventions. hence, the flying machine under process of construction was known only to alfred and the inventor. it was their intention to completely surprise the world at large and that part of it in particular bounded by the brownsville borough lines, by having node flit over the town and perhaps over the river; then later on, to uniontown, to pittsburg and other cities. then alfred and node would travel all over the world exhibiting the flying machine. in those days steam was the only propelling power. gasoline engines were unknown, electricity had not been harnessed except for telegraphing. the propelling power of node's flying machine lay in the arms and legs of the one who soared in it. the invention was a very simple contrivance, from which very fact node argued it would be successful. there were two large wings, nine feet in length and of a proportionate breadth, constructed of very light material, and, at alfred's suggestion, covered with feathers. alfred felt it would be more apt to fly if it wore feathers. every backyard, wherein a family killed chickens, ducks or turkeys, was ransacked for feathers. the variegated plumage of the machine would have defied the most learned of ornithologists in defining the species of the bird family to which it belonged. there was what node termed a "rear extension." alfred invariably alluded to it as "her tail." why he applied the feminine gender to the machine was another of those vagaries of which inventors are always possessed. node termed the wings, "side-propellers." the arms of the aerialist were thrust through loops under the wings, hand-holds were at the proper length from the base of the wings. there was a light frame, to which the wings were attached; two light ropes, through pulleys worked by the feet, flopped the rear extension up and down. the rear extension could be also used as a steering apparatus. the entire thing depended upon the movements of the arms. after the machine was far and away up in the air, it would sail as do eagles and buzzards, so node asserted. the only doubt node had was as to possessing strength to raise the thing to the proper height. when he once got in the air, he had no fears of staying there. alfred suggested that the first start be made from the steeple of the episcopal church. node seemed pleased with the suggestion. later, when they walked by the church and gazed up at the heights node concluded the wings and rear extension would have sufficient air pressure to make the rise from a hill. the work had progressed to the point where an experimental trial was in sight. node had been strapped in the frame-work several times. the wings worked perfectly; that is, so long as node's arms kept in motion. the rear extension did not work so well. node explained that it would not work until the thing got up in the air where his feet would have free play. he would sit astraddle of a bench, alfred would hold the frame off the floor, and node would work his feet. her "tail" would wobble and fly up and down at a great rate. its eccentric actions excited the admiration of alfred. he assured node that her tail would be the wonder of the world. "why, black fan's tail never flew around like that, even when she got in the bumble-bee's nest," asserted alfred. node had made several attempts to raise himself from the barn floor, but there was not space to work the machine properly. they determined to arise early some morning, take the machine to hogg's field, just below the pike and give it a trial. the apparatus was carefully carried to the little mound on the high hill overlooking dunlap's creek. alfred cautioned node not to fly down the hill, because it would be a job to carry the machine up the hill. [illustration: trying out the flying machine] lin, gazing out of the kitchen window at the chickens picking around in the yard, said: "lor' a-mighty! what's happened them chickens? they ain't one uf 'em got the shadder uf a tail." alfred had even stolen the big fly brush, made of peacock feathers, to birdify node's flying machine. the extreme end of the rear extension held the long peacock feathers. that the bird man idea should be carried out alfred had made a head dress of turkey feathers down the nape of the neck, and chicken feathers in front. when placed on node's head, with his beaked nose and tuft of chin beard, he appeared very much as one would picture uncle joe cannon robed in maude adams' "chanticler" costume. node was strapped in the frame, his arms adjusted to the wings, and alfred adjusted the head dress against node's violent protest. he argued: "the dam thing will get over my eyes and i am liable to fly into a tree top. take it off. i'll wear it after i get the hang of this thing, after i fly awhile." several attempts were made at a rise. the rear extension always got out of gear; the ropes and pulley tangled in the rigging. it was decided that alfred hold the rear extension aloft. node would run down the hill a few feet launching himself into the air. alfred assured node that he could be of even greater assistance. while the machine was in course of construction node had his own way in everything. now he was strapped in the apparatus and any innovation alfred insisted upon he was powerless to reject. therefore alfred hastened home. there was not a clothes prop in his father's garden long enough to suit his ideas, therefore, he ran to the next door neighbor's, alex smith's, selecting the longest prop he could find. hastening to the scene of the ascension, he found node in anything but an amiable mood. "what the devil do you mean by strapping me in this thing and running all over town to find a pole to push me up in the air? do you s'pose i want you to pole me like a raft? you hold up that end of the thing and i'll fly." node was mad enough to fly. against his angry protests alfred inserted the end of the pole between his legs, held up the tail part of the machine, encouraging node to take a running start, when he got the proper momentum to shout "now," and he, alfred, would give him a lift that was bound to shoot him into the air. they backed up the hill. node lowered his arms, the wings resting on the ground, resting himself a bit; turning his bird-like head toward alfred he asked if there was anyone watching them. node was evidently not sure in his mind that the flight would be successful. when assured by alfred that there were no witnesses node cautioned him not to lift too strongly on the pole which was still between his legs. looking up in the air as if to gauge the height to which he intended to ascend, he said: "now get ready and stand by if anything happens when i light." "ready?" asked node, in an eager voice. "let her go," was alfred's reply. down the hill ran the two. "now!" shouted node. alfred put all his power into the lift he gave the man-bird. node seemed to arise. one of the ropes caught around alfred's neck nearly severing one of his ears. alfred fell headlong, rolling over two or three times. when he arose he directed his gaze heavenward, expecting to see node soaring through the air. curses and struggles from a point twenty feet down the hill disclosed the whereabouts of the inventor. node was lying there, the apparatus in a tangled heap. it was with considerable labor, made more difficult as he was weak from laughter, that alfred released node. criminations and recriminations followed. node swore he had started on a beautiful flight; he could feel himself going up as light as a soap bubble, just then alfred's damn fool head-piece flopped down over his eyes, blinding him so he couldn't see what he was doing. he quit flapping his wings and fell like a log. if it hadn't been for the head dress there's no telling where he would have flown to. alfred contended that the tailpiece caught on one of his ears and pulled the bird-man back out of the air. as proof he exhibited the lacerated ear. alfred had assured node that there were no witnesses. however, the aeronauts had an audience. jake beeca and strap gaines stood in the road below; pete williams, billy brubaker and a couple of strangers were looking down from the pike above; johnny johnson and widdy gould were gazing on the wreck from their back yards. mary hart, jim hart and mrs. smith were at the front gate, inquiring of lin and alfred's mother the cause of the strange procession then passing. [illustration: the end of the flight] node came first. he had forgotten his hat and shoes, laid aside to lighten him for his flight, his clothes were literally bespattered with soft, brown earth, his nose scratched, one of his hands bleeding; on his head the bedraggled feather cap. following behind came alfred, one ear bleeding, his clothing covered with dirt. in his arms he carried the wrecked flying machine, the rear extension dragging, the beautifully colored peacock feathers trailing the dirt. node, with bowed head and abashed manner, walked as though going to his execution. alfred could scarcely walk at all, the ludicrous ending of the flight, appealed so to his mirth. lin gazed curiously at the two as they passed. she scrutinized the flying machine closely, the feathers, the head-dress on node. she entered the house: "well, mary," (addressing the mother), "i've seed a good many funny sights sence alfurd's been ole enuf tu run aroun' but i'll be durned ef this one ain't the cap sheaf." "what's happened now?" anxiously queried the mother. "well, i ain't seed enuf tu jes zackly say what it is but hit looks like alfurd hed turned his mind tu a injun show. he's got node beckley into hit; they has things all trimmed with feathers. now you know what has made our chickens look so bobbed; they ain't one uf 'em thet's got es much tail feathers es a blue bird in poke berry time. an' yer peafowl feather duster,"--here lin raised her hands--"why they ain't enough left to shoo a pis-ant, let alone a fly. lor' mary, hit's orful, they must-a had a sham battul or a war, fer node is kivered with blood an' alfurd looked peeled in several places. node had on a ole feather head dress, barefooted 'ceptin' socks, no hat or coat, kivered with dust and so was alfurd. he was carryin' the injun fixin's and laffin'; laffin', why you'd think hit wus the bigges' frolik in the world. node looked jes es joe sandford looked when he shed his wall-paper show duds. i'll jes run over an' see what had beckley has tu say. i'll bet she'll rear an' charge when node gets home." "good mornin' mrs. beckley, how's all?" was lin's greeting. "won't you walk in, we're all upside down here; walk in ef you can git in fur the dirt and cluttered up house. node's been up and gone for two hours; i'm waitin' fur him to kum so we kin eat breakfus an' clean up. i have no idee whar he is; your alfred an' him's together nite an' day now." lin looked surprised as she repeated, "nite an' day? an' what do ye s'pose they is up tu, mrs. beckley?" "well, i dunno. node's allus got some notion or other in his head. i never pay no tension to him; ef hit ain't one thing hit's anuther. i rekon hit's a patent rite concern. he's been putterin' on pattern things ever sence we wus married." "do they run out at nite much, node an' alfurd?" lin asked. "why, every blessed nite and all day sundays." lin suggested: "maybe they go to baptus meetin'. thar havin' a revivul; maybe node an' alfurd's thinkin' of jinin' the baptus church." "huh! node would be a hell of a baptus; he's so feared of water he hain't washed his feet this blessed wintur," snapped mrs. beckley. lin decided in her mind that mrs. beckley was entirely ignorant of the scheme her husband and alfred had under way and she changed tack: "perhaps they're startin' a show. has yer husband talked about injuns tu yer lately?" "no," answered the wife in open-mouthed wonder, "have you heard they were goun' off tu fight injuns?" "no, no," quickly assured lin, "i didn't mean they wus goin' tu fight injuns. yow know alfurd's full of show notions, an' you know we had a injun show yer on jeffres commons; hit wusn't much uf a show, nuthin' to hit. i thought maybe node an' alfurd had got hit into theur noodles to act injun. did ye see them things with feathers on them they wus draggin' aroun'? yes, an' they got pea fowl feathers on too; bet all they hev no luck, pea fowl feathers allus bring bad luck." here node entered the room. his wife scanned him, noting his skinned nose: "eh, huh, mr. injun, i hope ye ain't skulped?" lifting his hat and looking at his head. node was considerably taken aback; he muttered something about making it go yet, "but no damn fool could pole him into the air." poor node imagined that his secret was out and that all knew of his dismal failure. when he learned that the feathers had deceived all and that the flying machine was looked upon as some sort of show paraphernalia, he humored the deception and admitted that he and alfred were experimenting with indian arms and things, thinking of giving an indian show. this satisfied lin. with all her cunning she was easily deceived. running home she advised the mother that she had guessed it the first guess. "lor', hit's no use fur alfurd tu try tu fool me, i know thet thar boy better'n he knows hisself. i sed, sed i, es soon es i seed node an' him comin' 'hit's injun bizness this trip sure.' why, anybody'd know thet what alfurd was carryin' wus war hoops; war hoops is what injuns has got more uf then most anythin' else. but i swear tu goodness i don't see how node or alfurd cud pass fur an injun. node looked like a skur-crow an' alfred like a tom-boy girl. maybe alfurd kud be pokerhuntus an' node captin john smith." that first attempt at flying but increased the determination to make the thing a success. the complicated gearing of the rear extension, was supported with one rope. it was double gear previously; now it was single gear. before, it worked too rapidly and, like black fan when under full speed, was liable to go by the head. node declared again and again that it was the rear extension that caused him to shoot head-first into the earth. he had just started to rise, he felt himself going up; suddenly the rear extension flew forward, "hit me on the head, your ole injun feathers pushed down over my eyes, and i had to head her for earth. why i'd been a fool to gone on up in the air blinded. when a man's flying he's more anxious to see than when he's walking." alfred meekly suggested that the fellow with the circus walked the tight-rope blindfolded. node admitted this fact; "but he had a foothold. if i'd had a foothold all hell wouldn't held me, i'd been flyin' yet." often did they settle on a date for the next flight only to have something unforeseen interfere. node desired a cloudy day with moderate wind. furthermore, the next flight the course was to be laid out. node declared with decision: "i want to have the starting and the stopping points definitely in mind, i want to know just what i am doing. i know this machine will do the work; i've got more strength in my arms than i ever had afore," and here node would bare his spare arms and fling them about for exercise. "yes, sir, if my arms hold out i can fly anywhere. i'll start from town hill, light on krepp's knob an' pick about a bit, rest my wings and fly back agin." then node would look down on the river which flowed between--he couldn't swim--and with less enthusiasm add: "but i won't do that yet; i'll wait till i get more used to the machine and the air currents. a man to fly right must understand the air currents jes as a sailor understands the course of the winds. there are currents and cross currents; sometimes they git all tangled up, then i'll just quit flappin' my wings, sink below the disturbance, and fly about below until i git out of them. the main thing is to get the rise." "well, i'll give you a lift," suggested alfred. "i want no more of your lifts," quickly answered node. finally it was decided that the next flight be made from the roof of the old barn in which the flying machine was housed. in answer to lin's query as to what he was doing on the roof of the barn so early in the morning, alfred carelessly answered: "oh, i'm making a pigeon box." lin said it looked as if they were going to build a mighty big pigeon house. alfred declared it would be the proper thing to do to invite a half dozen or more friends to witness the ascension. node dissented: "wait until we get the rear extension to working as perfectly as the side propellers and we'll give an exhibition. if you invite anybody in this town to see me fly and anything goes the least bit wrong, they'll walk off and sneer and say: 'he'll never fly.' that's the way they did when i was working on the perpetual motion machine. i had it just about goin', and i invited two or three who i thought were my friends. they looked at it, praised me to my face and said: 'node, by golly, you got it,' then they went right down street and told everybody that i was a dam fool and that's what disheartened me and i quit working on it. if i hadn't invited anybody to look at my work i'd had perpetual motion down to a nicety today. why, i invented a magnet with which you could find gold or silver, no matter if it was buried ten feet deep." (it was the belief of many that there was gold buried in the hills around the old town; that eccentric, wealthy persons in the early days had buried.) "i had this magnet," continued node, "working to perfection. well, i took four men with me, and we went around the point to where a fortune teller told 'had' there was money buried. we worked along the hill up to where the fortune teller had said the money was. the magnet swung right, then left; suddenly it stopped, then whirled around and around. we all turned pale. there was a smell in the air like the damp in a coal bank. one of the men marked the place and said: 'node, it's too late to begin digging today; we'll dig tomorrow.' i waited all day, but none of the men came. 'had' was all excited about it because the fortune teller had described the spot to her; she could tell it with her eyes shut. well, we walked straight to the place, and what do you suppose?" node waited for alfred's reply. "well, i expect you found you was fooled," drawled alfred. "yes, that's what we did," asserted node, "that's jest what we did find, we was fooled, robbed, tricked. there was a hole in the ground four or five feet deep. at the bottom, just the size of a dinner plate and round as a crock, you could tell there had been a crock full of money taken out of the hole. not one of them fellers thet was with me has ever worked a day since." (node had forgotten that they had never worked a day previously.) node put his hand on the flying machine as he declared: "no, sir, no one shall know a thing about this invention until your uncle noah has it so he can do anything a bird can." the allusion to the hidden wealth impressed alfred greatly. he became certain node would make the flying machine a success. therefore, he built the platform on the barn longer that node might get a better start. alfred was strong in the belief that he could greatly aid node with the clothes prop as before. but at the mere suggestion node became angry. he threatened to abandon the flight if he caught sight of a clothes prop in alfred's hands. node knew full well once he was strapped in the machine alfred could do anything he chose. he therefore determined that no poles or props should be taken to the roof of the old barn. alfred had the clothes prop hidden in the barn below. node happened to discover it, and forthwith ordered alfred to carry it back to alex smith's yard. he never took his eyes off the boy until the prop was leaned against the fence in the yard of the owner. node swore he would inform alex smith the next time he went by jacob's store that alfred was stealing his clothes props, "and you know what that red-headed son-of-a-gun will do to you," threatened node, as he shook his finger at alfred. the morning was propitious; node said so at least. there were to be no witnesses, but cousins charley and george were hidden in john fear's coal house, baggy allison was in alfred's barn, jim hart and mary were at the upstairs windows in alex smith's house--all by invitation of alfred. node was very nervous. alfred could do nothing to please him. in preparing for the first flight he had alfred strap his arms in the wings first. he insisted all fastenings should be made ere his arms were strapped. alfred had occasion to go below. node watched him closely as he made his reappearance through the hole in the roof, evidently fearing he had brought a pole with him. finally, the side propellers were adjusted. node flapped them a few times, stood on tip-toes, very much like a cock crowing, as alfred encouragingly assured him that he saw him rising. "if you had only given two or three more flaps with your wings you'd been up in the air sure." then in a coaxing manner alfred continued: "now node, if i was you i would not go too far for the first flight; just flit about, then settle and rest. go at it moderate like." node seemed to gain confidence. he walked back and forth, or rather he walked forth and then back, as he could not turn about owing to the rear extension. node declared it wouldn't bother him in the air. node walked to the edge of the barn some three or four times, bending his bird-like head to look down as if measuring the distance. as he backed up after looking down the last time, alfred sort of taunted him by saying: "if you can't keep yourself from falling hard enough to hurt you, your flying apparatus ain't much account. s'pose you don't fly very high the first time, s'pose you don't fly far, with them wings and that tail you ought to settle so lightly you wouldn't break an egg shell." this seemed to strengthen the bird-man; he drew in a few deep breaths, gazing heavenward, then across the river at krepp's knob, then below him at the river. alfred was all a-tremble. he remembered that node said: "you must mark your course, your starting point, your landing place." alfred wondered in his mind whether node would cross to krepp's or only cross dunlap's creek over duck leonard's mill. node flapped his wings again. this time, with each flap of the wings, alfred gave the rear extension a gentle lift. node would rise four or five inches with each lift. he did nor realize that alfred was lending help to his efforts. after a more forcible lift of the tail than any alfred had yet given it, node, turning his head, with a triumphant look, shouted: "when i say 'three,' i'm going, but don't you do anything, jest let me handle her. let go the rear extension." [illustration: node's flight] pointing the wings heavenward, gazing up as if in prayer, raising himself on his tip-toes, straining every nerve, in a voice tremulous with excitement, he began: "one," stretching higher, he shouted: "two," rising on his tip-toes, he reached the edge of the barn, as he fairly yelled: "three." the wings came down beautifully, but they did not rise again. as node stepped off the edge of the barn he descended instead of ascending, the rear extension got sort of tangled on the comb of the roof, node and the machine dangled in the air momentarily. as alfred dropped through the opening in the roof, he heard node claw a time or two at the weather-boarding; something seemed to let go, to rip, then, there was a dull sound as of a bag of sand falling from a height to the earth. there was the sound of footsteps coming from several directions. alfred heard all this while he was moving faster than he had ever moved before. node did not beat him to the earth by a great margin. as alfred flew out of the door of the barn, he saw jack rathmell doubled over the fence laughing as only jack could laugh. ere node was disentangled from the wrecked airship, ere they escorted him to "had"--he declined to be carried--alfred was safely hidden away in alex smith's hay mow. buried under the hay he kept peering through a convenient crack which gave him a view of the territory between his home and node's residence. somehow he figured the whole thing would be blamed on him. first, lin was seen with her apron around her head going toward node's house. it was not long until she returned, walking hurriedly. she reappeared in a moment, bearing in her hands something that appeared to be bandages. then alfred's father came. in a moment or two he was seen going toward beckley's house. then, a little later, the father and two or three others, including cousin charley, reappeared, walking toward the old barn. cousin charley was evidently describing the attempted flight as he pointed to the roof of the barn. all looked up, then as charley marked a spot on the manure pile with his foot, all looked down. the father gathered up a part of the flying machine and carried it home. standing at the gate he gave a shrill whistle, one that he had used to attract alfred since he was a little boy. alfred made no response. alfred did not know how badly node was injured. he felt very sorry for him, he really liked the man. as miserable as he felt, as sorry as he was, the funny side of the affair crept into his mind and, as usual, he relieved himself with a good hearty laugh. alfred's laugh was cut short by a voice calling from below: "who's that? hey? who's that?" alfred recognized alex smith's voice. he remained motionless for a moment. the voice, part of the way up the ladder leading to the hay mow, called again, this time commandingly: "who's up in the hay mow? come down! come down! or i'll bring you down." alfred remained motionless. "you won't come down, won't you? well, you will when i come back." and the voice told alfred it's owner was leaving the place. alfred, climbing down the ladder, left the stable just as the gate slammed announcing mr. smith's coming. he stood motionless as mr. smith approached. when the elder man recognized the boy he was somewhat surprised. "was that you in the haymow?" "yes, sir," answered alfred. "why didn't you answer when i called to you?" alfred related the whole story. alex smith accompanied alfred home. the story of node beckley's flying machine was gone over. the father was mollified. lin commented thusly: "one story is good till another's told. i jes kum from beckley's; node's not hurt much, jes jarred. he sed he went on the barn to test his apperatus; he wern't ready to fly. an' i don't reckun he wus an' what's more, he never will be. he wus jes straitnin' out the perpellers. he ses: 'alfurd's been so alfired crazy to hev me fly he jes couldn't wait till i got my apperatus finished. while i wus standin' near the aidge uf the roof, my perpellers hangin' down, alfurd snook up ahind me an' gin me a push, and afore i could raise my perpellers i wus on the groun'. if i hed knowed hit i could've saved myself an' flew off an' lit in the field.'" alfred asked lin who made this statement. she replied mrs. beckley had told it to her. "if node told that story i am going over to contradict it, if his back's broken." "nevur mind, nevur mind," consoled lin, "i jes tole 'had' thet node wus a bird, an' like all birds, he knowed which way to fly, kase i heard he headed straight fur the manure pile." chapter seventeen laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone; for this brave old earth must borrow its mirth, it has trouble enough of its own. the world does not require the same attainments from all; it is well it is so ordered. some persons are well taught, some are ill taught, some are not taught at all. some have naturally good dispositions and absorb learning readily. some are deficient in mechanical ingenuity and yet can analyze difficult mental problems. it is no crime to fail in any pursuit or vocation, if failure is not due to idleness or deliberate preference of evil to good. there comes a time in the life of every reasoning person that they must take themselves for better or for worse, that they must take themselves more seriously. captain abrams had unintentionally contributed to alfred's discontent. he had remarked that to putty up holes, paint a board or smear a hurricane deck was not much of a trade or calling, but to be an artist like alfred's father was a profession that would bring success. alfred could not drive a nail straight; he could not saw a board straight; he was such an awkward writer, the school teacher made fun of his copy book. she advised alfred that she did this hoping that by publicly reprimanding him he would learn to write a more legible hand. "you excel in spelling, reading, geography and other studies; you should be ashamed of your writing." the grandfather, the father, the teacher, all liked alfred. none intended to injure his feelings, yet the taunts, the censure, just and unjust, sunk into alfred's soul, and, he advised captain abrams it was only the duty he owed his father that kept him there a day. alfred was low in mind. he sought his father and endeavored to reason with him, but was dismissed with the argument: "you don't want to learn anything useful; if it was something connected with a show, you'd master it mighty quick." "but father, i have no skill or sleight to work with tools." the father interrupted with a peremptory: "do as i did--learn." "i can't learn," pleaded the boy, "try as i may, i'm not cut out for a mechanic. if i could work like you it would be a pleasure to me to keep at it. i'm out of all heart with my work." the father evidently felt for the boy as he spoke in a more kindly tone: "you are not lazy; the things that you can do, you do well. now you painted around that hull quicker than any man at work on the boat. be a little more patient, take more pains and you'll make a good workman. i will pay you wages, try to make something useful out of yourself. you'll never amount to a hill of beans if you follow up your show notions," pleaded the father. "pap, i'm satisfied with what you give, it ain't that. i don't like the work. of course, i painted the hull of the boat quickly but that's all i can do and captain abrams says there's nothing in puttying up nail holes and painting hulls; anybody can learn that in six months." the father became cross again, and, in a threatening tone, said: "i am your father and it is my duty to do my best for you; i firmly believe i am fulfilling my duty as a parent in ordering you to give up all other notions as to the future and get down to business and learn this trade. now make up your mind; go at your work with the feeling that you are determined to succeed. if you go at your work in a half-hearted way you are certain to fail." "well, that's the way i feel about this work; i can't learn it, i don't want to. there's a dozen other things i'd rather do and i can make more money out of them." this stubborn talk exasperated the father, and pointing his finger at the boy to emphasize his words, he said: "first, it was circus, then it was minstrels. you tried the newspaper business, you were not satisfied." "why, you made me quit newspaper work," interrupted alfred. "don't interrupt me again," cautioned the father, "then it was that infernal panorama. that panorama was the worst of all, it gave you the habit of roving; you've never been satisfied a day since you went off with that panorama." "but father, you and all your family were willing i should go. you wanted me to go; i didn't want to go, i only wanted to get back the money palmer cheated you out of." the father thundered: "don't you try to saddle your roving onto me. you're not satisfied in any place and never will be. don't you ever tell me to my face again that i even hinted that you go with the panorama and i don't want you to ever mention that anybody cheated me. i'd like to see the man who can cheat me. now you go to your work, you're not your own man yet. i am going to send you to the merrittstown academy this winter and i want you to settle down. you've had it too easy. when i was a boy i had to get up at o'clock in the morning, make all the fires, milk four cows and feed a pen full of hogs and i had to be done by daylight. you've had it too easy, your mother is the one that's spoiled you. from this day on it's hands off with her; i'll be your boss. now, don't let me hear more of this roving talk." "why, pap, i haven't said one word about roving. can't i do other work right here at home if i quit this, i don't have to rove, do i?" "no, but that's the upshot of all this talk," persisted the father. "now get down to your work; learn it." "i can't," doggedly answered the boy. "didn't you tell me yesterday my fingers were all thumbs? didn't you tell me in front of all the hands that you were ashamed of me and that you didn't think it possible that a child of yours could be so ignorant and awkward." the father stammered and colored. he was a most affectionate parent, he was truly sorry that he had humbled the pride of the boy. "why, my son, the men all know i was only teasing you; they all know you are most intelligent. you can learn anything you set your hand to. why, when you went to dr. playford to learn to be a doctor he informed me as did bob, that they never knew anyone to learn latin as quickly as you. you could tell us all the names for medicines. why, uncle jake, steve gadd and joe gibbons told me the time they took you to washington county to the turkey shoot, that they'd all been down sick if it hadn't been for you. they say it rained a cold rain and you all got wet. uncle jake is subject to the quinsy and he was on the verge of it. they tried the drug store and everywhere and they couldn't get nothing. steve said you went to the drug store and got all they wanted, only you didn't ask for whiskey; you called it fermenting spirits. steve said the druggist told him confidentially you ought to be a druggist, you told him things he didn't know before. now, go at your work as you did at doctoring and you'll learn. it has been the regret of your mother's life that you did not learn to be a doctor. i've sometimes thought old hare just pretended your medicine made him sick to get out of paying the bill. i don't think dr. playford cared one thing about it so far as you was concerned but the other doctors talked so about it he just had to let you go. i've always felt sorry about it because, if any of our family is taken down with a fever, playford is the only fever doctor in town." arguments of this character occurred almost daily. alfred grew more and more dissatisfied, the father more insistent. alfred kept up his minstrel work, appearing ever and anon in amateur exhibitions. folks kept pouring it into his ears: "well, if i had your talent this town wouldn't hold me fifteen minutes; i'd take the boat for pittsburg tonight. what does your father mean by holding you down in this way? does your mother favor it? why, your folks are standing in their own light. if i had a boy like you i'd hire him out and travel with him," was shuban lee's comment. all this was not calculated to cool the ardor of an ambitious amateur. alfred read the _new york clipper_ weekly. he wrote many letters to many minstrel managers to which he did not receive replies. charles duprez, of duprez and benedict, answered one of alfred's letters thusly: dear sir: in answer to your letter--do you double in brass? charles duprez. alfred read and re-read the letter and finally answered: mr. charles duprez: respected sir: i do not double in brass or anything else. i'm a minstrel, not a contortionist. alfred griffith hatfield. no reply ever came. alfred concluded the minstrel field was overcrowded or managers would not have permitted him to remain idle, especially in view of the fact that he had offered to give their full performance, for as low as twenty dollars a month, washing and mending. to one manager he added a confidential p. s.: "if you are not doing very well i can put you on to a good thing, a panorama. i'm a panoramist." alfred turned his attention to acrobatics. every spare hour was spent on the tan bark pile with lint dutton, james todd livingston, tom white and lash hyatt. lint dutton was determined to learn bare-back riding. sneaking his father's horse from the barn, he would endeavor to stand alone on the back of the animal, alfred playing clown and bindley livingston ringmaster. mr. dutton, after lint had fallen and nearly broken his back, locked up the horse. lint determined to give up bare-back riding and practice the indian style of horsemanship. many are the persons who had narrow escapes from being run over by lint as his horse galloped up and down the back streets of the town, wearing the old feather head-dress that node wore in his attempts to fly. alfred and bindley livingston constructed a trapeze. completed, it was suspended to the roof of the cow stable; the boys spent many hours practicing. the climax of the act, livingston, the stronger of the two, hung by his knees on the little horizontal bar above, holding alfred by the ankles both hanging head downwards, swinging to and fro, as does the pendulum of a clock; the limitations of the stable would not permit the swinging part of the performance. a large locust tree in bowman's pasture lot, near alfred's home, was selected as the best possible place to try out the double trapeze act. from a limb of the tree, hen ragor, the assistant in the performance, suspended the trapeze. the news spread that there would be some wonderful acting in the old pasture lot, saturday afternoon, always a holiday to every boy and girl in old brownsville to go fishing, swimming, nutting or berrying. on this particular saturday all the boys and girls hied themselves to the old pasture lot; nor was the gathering confined to the younger set; a few of the adults were attracted. they stood at a distance, viewing the doings; however, not one of them but had a vantage position. as the exercises went along, danny gummert, george pee, denbow simpson and alf mccormick, drew nearer. caroline baldwin, seated on the fence, yelled: "come in and look out, you can see better." this brought a laugh and a few of the elders outside of the pasture sauntered a little ways off only to come nearer as the applause and laughter grew louder. alfred had covered himself with all sorts of glory in the numerous numbers in which he had participated. caroline baldwin, who, with her brothers clarke and charley, occupied two entire private boxes, (two panels of fence), proclaimed during an intermission that alfred was the greatest actor in the country; "it was just shameful he was held down when people all over the country were pantin' to see him do his showin'." lin declared: "nobody in eny show thet's ben yere in years kin hol' a candul tu him; they can't tech him. he kin walk ontu his hans better en some peepul kin on thar feet." here lin cast a withering glance at jack beckley that would have sobered one less saturated. jack returned lin's look with a vague grin, saying: "i'm drunk and glad of it." lin gave him a smart push as she ordered him to keep his distance: "i smell licker on yer close." "excuse me--i didn't--no--i hed--spilled eny--of hit." jack seated himself on the grass, unheeding the jibes of the little boys and girls. he was a good natured tippler. in fact, he seemed pleased that his condition was furnishing fun for the crowd. no blare of trumpet or beat of drum announced the coming of the death-defying gladiators; no eloquent orator was there to describe their deeds. unheralded, unannounced, without applause or acclamation alfred and bindley emerged from their dressing room, baldwin's barn. crossing the narrow alley, climbing the fence they stood under the shade of the trapeze tree, the open-mouthed, craned neck cynosure of all eyes, excepting jack beckley's--he had gone to sleep. the silence that greeted the duo was broken only by sotto voce remarks of lin, taking a mental inventory of alfred, or rather, his costume. he was attired in a red waist trimmed with beads, white tights, long, bright green, silk stockings tied with broad yellow ribbon garters, a big, double bow knot on the outside of each limb; a bright red nubia or neck comforter wound about his middle; no pumps, shoes or other covering on his feet. [illustration: the aerialist's debut] the silence that greeted the appearance of alfred was broken. jack beckley lying on the ground too listless and drunk to raise his eyes higher than alfred's green stockings, noticed the great expanse of feet in them, seemingly larger by the spread of the loose stockings. he remarked to those near him: "thar's a heap uf thet one doubled down on the groun'." lin spoke as if to herself: "well, i'll be tee-to-tully durned. ef thet harum scarum devul hain't got my nit drawurs on fur tites, an' they fit him like sassage guts that's too big fur the fillin'. an', an'," lin craned her neck towards alfred, "an', an', by jiggurs, ef he ain't a wearin' mary's (the mother's) green silk stockin's she used tu dance an' frolik in when she was a gal; an' aunt lib's worked, beaded jenny lind waist; an' lizzie's new red nubby woun' roun' his shad belly. ef he ain't stole the yaller ribbon offen sal whitmire's weddin' bonnit, i'm blind. well, jus' wate, jus wate. ef thar ain't a nuther circus to home tonite it'll be bekase his daddy ain't well." alfred and bindley bowed low, right and left, kissing their hands to the audience, then saluting the trapeze in turn. (this pantomime introduction they had copied from mathews and hunting, noted trapezists in those days.) however, the same salutes have been employed by all aerialists these many years, therefore alfred and bindley should not be charged with stealing the business of others. preparatory to ascending to the trapeze alfred unwound the nubia from his waist, casting it on the ground. lin grabbed it up with a look that seemed to say: "thank gawd, i'll get that anyhow." trapeze performers usually ascend to their rigging on a net webbing, hand over hand sailor fashion. alfred and bindley, after their bows and salutes, climbed up the trunk of the tree to the limb on which their trapeze was suspended. coon like, they crawled out on the limb and lowered themselves to the trapeze. they kissed their hands to the uplifted faces below. at an agreed signal they bent backward, beginning with the feats performed by all trapezists. after every trick the aerialists would come up smiling, seated on the lower bar, side by side. turning themselves upside down--which is the clearest explanation that can be written--they hooked their feet over the short bar in the small swing above and hung motionless head downward with folded arms. as they thus clung one of the yellow ribbons or garters on alfred's limb became loosened. the long ribbon fluttered in the air, furling and unfurling it gracefully descended. lin reached up her hands to catch it, muttering through her set teeth: "i wonder ef he'll shed the rest uf his borryed plumes. i wish he wud. stretchin' an' crawlin' about he'll bust 'em sure." and lin looked at alfred's limbs with an anxious expression: "ef he does you kan't sew 'em an' i ain't got no yarn thet'll match tu darn 'em." the last feat was the hanging head downward by bindley, clasping alfred by the ankles. hen ragor, with the aid of a rope cast over the lower bar, pulled the performers, backwards and forwards. when the proper momentum was gained alfred released his hand hold on the bar. henry was to hold the bar away from the swing of the human pendulum until alfred clapped his hands. he was then supposed to slacken the rope in his hands permitting the bar to swing within the grasp of alfred. this was the rehearsed procedure to carry the thrilling feat to the proper climax. henry swung the trapeze too forcibly, one end of the rope slipped out of his hands and pulled loose from the trapeze bar. the lower bar fouled in the branches of the tree. alfred was clapping his hands violently for the trapeze. henry was endeavoring to cast the rope over the bar, his efforts resulting in failure after failure. finally in his excitement he endeavored to cast the rope up to alfred. the pendulum had nearly stopped swinging, and alfred was waving his arms, clapping his hands and begging piteously for the big trapeze swing. bindley above was holding on to the boy below. he implored alfred to climb up to him. effort after effort was made by alfred to do so, but he hung limp and helpless. he could not command sufficient strength to pull his body up. he clutched at lin's unmentionables as he hung head downward. the earth seemed a long way from him and things on it upside down. the boys below were yelling in their excitement, the girls had covered their faces, the grown folks, who had stood afar, rushed to the scene. never will alfred forget the few moments he was suspended thus, nor will he fail to remember to his dying day the first message he received from the man above. there was a splash, an incipient shower of warmish liquid falling on alfred's upturned chin. alfred wiped it off with his hand; fearing it was blood he scanned it closely. he was greatly relieved when he discovered that it was tobacco juice. (bindley always chewed when acting). following the juice came this message: "i can't hold you all day, come up here or i'll come down there." alfred made frantic grabs, clutches and wiggles to climb up, only to fall back, more helpless. hen was making an effort to throw the rope to alfred. lin grabbed him. snatching the rope from him, she shouted: "clim' the tree, clim' the tree, loose the swing, ye dam fool." hen had started up the tree. a flood of hot juice rained down on alfred's upturned chin, flowing into his mouth. bindley, with clinched teeth, muttered: "if you get killed it's your own fault, i can't hold you any longer." alfred could see old mrs. wagner at an upstairs window waving a book at kenney shoup urging to the rescue. he could hear voices as if in the distance. he felt a lowering of his body. he felt himself rushing through space. he made an effort to look up, and then all was blank. he had a numb feeling in his whole body. "stan' back, stan' back, gin him air, wash thet tobakker juice off his face, hit luks like blud," were the first words he caught. his eyes were wide open. "pour water on his head; lor' don't pour hit down his bosum, you'll ruin lib's worked waist. open the gate an' we'll carry him hum an' fetch a doctur, ef thar's no bones broke he may be hurt innerdly." alfred raised himself up. he looked up into the faces about him. "where's bindley?" were the first words he uttered. "oh, i'm all right," alfred assured him, "we'll do it all right tomorrow, won't we bindley?" bindley nodded his head, doubtfully. alfred attempted to walk but would have fallen had not helping hands been stretched out, easing him down until he rested on all fours. he commanded all to release him: "let me alone, i'm all right. come on home with me, bindley." painfully, slowly he started, crawling toward the opened gate, over the spot where he had collected the ammunition that disbanded the torch-light parade; nor did he turn aside for anything. not unlike a four-footed animal he made his way to the middle of the street. he attempted to arise. again weakness, or pain, bore him down. hands that were willing to assist him before he crawled through the cow pasture, were now held aloof. lin, as she saw him fall in the dust, said: "well, ef he ain't a sight on airth. kum on james todd, help him hum; an' you boys strip him while i heat a kittle uf water, till we git him so the doctur kin handle him." alfred staggered to his feet again, bindley and charley brashear supporting him on either side. thus, the limping procession slowly moved homeward, the young ones and a few grown-up ones bringing up the rear. these latter were re-telling the story of the accident for the twentieth time, usually concluding with: "bindley is a fool; he had further to fall than alfred; he didn't have to fall, he could have just flopped alfred over and turned him so he would have lit on his feet and let him go. no, dam if he didn't hold on 'til he petered out and down they both come like two bags of salt. alfred hit full length, it's a wonder it hadn't busted him. bindley lit sort of half standing, but he got right up and limped a little and it was all over with him, but tother one was knocked colder than a wedge." alfred had been feverish, hot. the great amount of water poured over him to revive him had run down his body, and the many pads in the maiden aunt's garment absorbed the water. alfred complained of feeling cold. someone whispered behind him: "that's a bad sign. when that jones boy got throwed off a horse, nobody thought he wus hurt much but he turned cold just afore he died." aaron todd stood at his gate with a cynical smile spreading over the small expanse of face not hidden by whiskers. he viewed the plight of the boy with evident pleasure. as alfred, with the assistance of his companions, entered the gate leading to his home, todd elevated his nose, and turning about as though to enter his house, sneeringly muttered: "dad-burn him; he got a dose of his own medicine. ho, ho, ho; chickens comes home to roost, don't they?" lin led the way, as she commanded. "kum on in through the kitchen, it won't du fur ye tu track over the front room carpet." with bowed head, leaning on his companions, alfred limped to the kitchen door. bindley and charley disrobed him. placing a big, tin vessel in the middle of the kitchen floor, they soused alfred into it. there was not a bath room, private or public, in brownsville in those days. wash tubs were used in winter, the creek and river in summer. once there came an oldish, high-toned lady from richmond. she lodged with isaac vance at the marshall house. he bought a new carpet and other fine furnishings for her room. it was an unusually warm summer. one day vance noticed the colored porter carrying a tub to the lady's room: "yer, yer, where yer goin' with thet tub?" demanded the proprietor of the hotel. "i'se jes carryin' it up tu mrs. so and so's room," answered the colored man. "what's she goin' to do with thet tub this hot weather" inquired the landlord. "i reckon she's gwine to wash herself; she sed she's gwine to take a bath, i ges dat's washin' herself." "huh!" snorted vance, "not in this house in this weather. ef it wus winter i wouldn't mind it, but i won't have her floppin' aroun' up thar like a dam ole goose, splashin' water all over thet new carpet. take thet tub back to the cellar, an' you go up an' tell her ef she needs a wash to go to the crik like i do." alfred was put to bed. the doctor, after careful examination, declared no bones were broken, there were bad bruises and might be internal injuries. however, it would require several days to fully determine, meanwhile the patient must be kept very quiet. lin advised the doctor: "he lit mos' settin'; ef he'd hed a littul further tu fall he'd lit flat on his settin' down attitudes." a bottle of liniment was ordered, and alfred rubbed often with the preparation. john barnhardt and cousin charley volunteered to sit up with alfred the first night. alfred regained his good humor, laughed and jested over the termination of the trapeze act until all agreed he was in no danger whatever. "why, he's jes carryin' on same es he allus does; hit nevur fazed him," lin assured the mother. however, when the doctor called the following morning and lin confidentially advised him that the boy was all right and he needn't lay abed another minute, the doctor dissented, insisting that the patient remain quiet, at least another twenty-four hours. jim mann agreed to sit up the next night. the father requested jim to get someone to sit up with him for company. it was getting late, lin was dozing, alfred urging her to go to bed. there was a knock on the door; both felt sure it was jim. lin opened the door; there stood jack beckley and in about the same condition as the day before. lin hesitated to admit him. jack explained that jim had invited him to sit up with alfred. he said: "jim and dave adams had a quarrel and jim threw a pot of white paint on adams, covering him from head to foot. jim don't know whether he will be arrested or not; he does not want to be arrested and locked up at night when he can't give bail, so he sent me to look after alfred." lin, when jack's attention was elsewhere, whispered to alfred: "don't close a eye tunite, sleep tumorrer; ye can't tell what a whusky drinkin' man'll du, thar's no dependence in 'em." jack was a most attentive nurse, in the early hours of the night at least. he hovered over the bed at the slightest move of the patient. he insisted on using the liniment almost constantly, declaring he would rub all the soreness out of alfred's bruises before morning. alfred, half asleep, remembered jack saying something about looking for more liniment. jack left the house ere any of the family arose. alfred was loud in his praise of jack's kindness and declared him the best hand in the sick room he had ever seen. the mother was sorry he went off without breakfast. the father said he would hand him a piece of money when he met him. alfred insisted that he had entirely recovered; jack had rubbed all the soreness out of his hurts and he would not lie longer in bed. the father and mother commanded he lie until the doctor assured them danger had passed. the doctor called, and alfred assured him he was all well and wanted to get up and go to work that very day. the doctor said: "well, you ought to know how you feel. have you any soreness in your joints or muscles?" "no, sir; jack beckley rubbed all the soreness out of me last night." "turn over, let me see if there is any evidence of bruises." the doctor seemed deeply interested. alfred could not see his face but he seemed to be critically examining him. he would tap various places on the bruised part of alfred's anatomy. "does that hurt? does that pain you?" would be the question after each tap, to which alfred would invariably answer: "no, sir; no, sir." after studying a few moments the doctor passed into another part of the house; he was evidently conferring with the mother. returning he again took alfred's temperature, examining the tongue even more carefully than previously. the doctor remarked, as if to himself: "it's curious. did you sleep; have you no pain?" again he turned alfred over and gazed long at the parts of the body supposed to be bruised. alfred began to get interested: "what's the matter, doc; have you found any bones broken?" "no, no, nothing of that kind. but the bruises; have you no soreness." alfred assured him that he had not. "i will be back in an hour," was the conclusion of the doctor's instructions to lin. when lin entered the room alfred's first anxious query was: "what's the matter with the doctor, he wants to make you sick whether you are or not. i'm going to get out of this bed this day; i'll not lay here any longer." here the mother entered cautioning alfred to remain entirely quiet. "i'm going over to see grandmother; she is not well. i will bring your father home with me; the doctor will return by that time and we will know what to do for you." later mrs. wagner came, a good-natured, motherly, old german woman, a near neighbor. among her neighbors, she was esteemed as one whose knowledge was invaluable in the sick room. she insisted upon examining alfred's condition. although he insisted he was all right the old lady was permitted to examine his bruises. she left the room, returning soon with a large, hot poultice, applying it. alfred grew rapidly worse. the doctor soon returned. at every pressure of his fingers he found a new sore spot. "does that hurt?" "yes, sir," would be the answer from alfred. warm teas were administered, cold towels were placed on his head, and hot poultices on other parts of his anatomy. alfred feebly acknowledged he was feeling very badly. the father and mother came and with them the grandmother. when alone, the father advised alfred that his body was a solid mass of bruises, that the flesh had turned black and blue. alfred heard lin whisper something about "mortification hed set in an' the doctor feared blood pizen." the family were at dinner--alfred had been placed upon a diet of squab broth, none of the flesh, just the broth--alfred quietly arose and, with the aid of the big looking glass, (mirrors had not been discovered as yet, in brownsville), and a contortion feat such as he had never attempted previously, he scanned the bruised parts. lin's worst fears seemed confirmed; all his person reflected in the looking glass was black as ink, as he expressed it. good mrs. wagner, with the doctor's permission, continued applying the hot poultices. alfred's misery increased near night when the nurses advised him to calm himself as the bruised blood was rapidly disappearing. alfred urged the good woman on by declaring the poultices were getting cold, although they had been applied but a moment or so. uncle ned came to sit up. he greatly increased alfred's nervousness by his attempts at consolation. he showed alfred the error of his ways, assuring him he might have been killed outright and that his foolish ambitions to become an actor would probably lay him up for weeks, that it would cost his father a lot of money and possibly leave alfred with his health impaired for a year to come. alfred, to get relief, implored the uncle to bring in more poultices. he kept the good uncle so busy his lecture was greatly interrupted. in answer to the doctor's first question: "how do you feel this morning?" alfred replied: "very weak; i had no sleep last night." the doctor examined the patient carefully. "does that hurt?" "no, sir," answered the sufferer. "well, you're coming around all right; the blood is circulating and the bruises are much better, your flesh is assuming its natural color." "doctor, i think that liniment had something to do with my trouble, don't you? it nearly burned me up and the turpentine in it smelled so i could hardly stand it. i told jack when he was rubbing me it felt like he was raising blisters." the doctor interrupted the patient by hastily correcting him as to there being any turpentine in the liniment. "i know there was, i've worked with turpentine too long not to know the smell of it," persisted alfred. lin also declared the whole house smelled so of turpentine she was compelled to change the bed clothes. "ye kan't tell what a man thet drinks licker like water mought take intu his hed to rub ontu a body. i wanted tu hist him when he fust kum, but no, jim mann sent him an' he mus' stay." "where's that bottle of liniment i sent here," demanded the doctor. lin opened the closet door and handed out two bottles. one of them contained a few drops of an amber colored fluid. "this is the lotion i prescribed," said the doctor, and he poured a few drops of the liquid in the hollow of his hand. rubbing his hands briskly he held both palms over his nostrils. sniffing it he drew his hands back, his eyes watering. "there's no turpentine in that mixture." he held his hands over lin's nostrils and triumphantly asked if she could detect the odor of turpentine. lin admitted that it had no scent of turpentine. the doctor held his hands over alfred's face: "where's your turpentine? you're a good judge of turpentine and you work in it every day and cannot detect the odor of it from alcohol, wintergreen and chloroform." the doctor laughed as he seldom laughed. calling the mother the doctor laughingly poked a great deal of fun at lin: "i wouldn't want alfred or lin to buy turpentine for me." he kept the fun going by reminding alfred that jeffries (the father's competitor) was probably correct when he spread the report that the father used benzine in his paint instead of turpentine. this was a center shot at alfred. the report had been circulated that his father used benzine to mix his paint with. during the war the price of turpentine was almost prohibitive and benzine was used by many painters. it was not a good substitute and it was a common thing for one contractor to injure another by circulating the report that his competitor used benzine. raising himself up in bed alfred stoutly reiterated that it was turpentine he smelled in the liniment. lin said: "durned ef ye kin fool me in the smell uf enything; my snoot nevur lies. i not only smelt hit but ye kud taste hit." the mother added her observations to alfred's and lin's insisting the room smelled as strongly of turpentine as though it had just been painted. "i was compelled to open the windows," she said. the doctor could not combat the new evidence, it was too direct. "well, if there was turpentine rubbed on this boy, jack beckley brought it here. have you any turpentine in the house he could have gotten at?" the mother and lin both declared there was not a drop of turpentine in the house. the doctor left with orders to continue the poultices. bindley called with his coat pockets full of green apples. emptying the unmatured fruit on the bed, he cautioned alfred to eat salt on them and they wouldn't hurt him. bindley was insulted when the green apples were thrown out by lin, with the remark: "huh! he's got enough pizen in his sistum without loadin' him up with worms." the turpentine story was detailed to the father with the benzine reflection, and he was hot under the collar. he sent bindley forthwith to locate jack beckley and bring him to the house: "but don't say one word to him about what we want him for." the report had spread that alfred was in a serious condition. many were the callers and many the comments on the accident. mrs. todd said: "well, i can't understand why it was that the livingston boy, who was the higher up and fell the farthest, escaped injury, and alfred was hurt so badly. they say livingston could have saved himself the fall. they say he risked his life to save alfred. i can't just understand how alfred got hurt so badly; it seems like a visitation of providence; you know alfred has been so forward in his devilment with other folks." lin flared up as she answered: "an' i kan't fur the life uf me figger out how bindley fell so much higher down then alfurd an' didn't break his back. but judgin' by the terbakker juce he spilled on alfurd afore he fell he mus' dropped his quid an' then fell on hit an' thet broke his fall." there is no denying the fact that the accident made bindley the hero and alfred the goat. peter hunt said: "bindley was prompted by that sense of duty one boy feels toward another. he held alfred until he could hold no longer, and when strength gave out, he fell with alfred. it was an act of heroism." peter said there were two bodies falling with equal velocity; if one had fallen on top of the other the concussion would not have been great. johnny tunstall said of alfred: "huh! the munkey devil; ye kudn't kill him with a hax." george fee expressed his sorrow thusly: "it's a great pity they fell; i tole susan so, for when they wus up in them swings they wus nearer heavun un they'll ever git again." aaron todd pushed his whiskers over the garden fence, inquiring of lin as to alfred's condition: "he's purty badly hurt i fear," he began, and, with a tone that betokened anything but sympathy: "hurt internally i reckon. he'll hardly pull through ef he hes blood pizening; i never knowed anybody thet hed hit internally thet evur got up again." "oh, my!" and lin pretended to be greatly surprised, "oh, my, alfurd's all right. why he's up an' about. ef you're goin' out on a torch-lite percession soon ye'll hear from him." todd's face clouded, pulling his whiskers over the fence into his own yard, muttered: "the luck of sum peepul beats hell." the doctor and jack arrived. "what kind of liniment did you apply to alfred's bruises?" sternly demanded the doctor. "i dunno," quietly answered jack, "your liniment i reckon." [illustration: "and thar's the very bottle"] "was there turpentine in the liniment you used?" continued the doctor, not regarding jack's reply. "well i should say; hit nearly burnt my han' off, hit tuk all the skin off twixt the fingers; my han' wus jus' like when i hed the itch. i've been greasin' hit with hog's lard an' elder bark ever since," and jack pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it up to the doctor's view. the doctor bent over the hand; it was discolored with small blackish spots. "where did you get the liniment; did you bring it with you?" more sternly demanded the doctor. "no, sir, i didn't bring hit with me," somewhat impudently answered jack, "i'm no hopathekary; i got the liniment right thar," pointing to the closet door, "an' thar's the very bottle," continued jack as he opened the closet door. taking the large bottle off the shelf with both hands he passed it to the doctor who shook and uncorked it. as he was in the act of smelling it the father entered the room. turning toward him the doctor, with his nose still at the neck of the bottle, inquired: "john, where did you get this stuff, this liniment?" "liniment?" the father repeated, as he reached for the bottle. "liniment? why, doc, that's not liniment. who said it was? why, i've been experimenting with that stuff nearly a year. that's not liniment, thet's walnut stain; i can stain anything to resemble walnut. we--" the remainder of the father's recommendation was lost in the laugh. alfred kicked the bedclothes over the headboard; the women-folks ran, the doctor did not remain to see jack remove the mortification from alfred's body. when jack had scrubbed, rinsed and dried the supposedly affected portion of alfred's anatomy, he assured him the black and blue color had been supplanted by a redness of the skin that was remarkable. "hit's es red es scarlet," was jack's comparison. "well for heavens' sake, jack, keep it quiet or they'll be doctoring me for scarlet fever," cautioned alfred. as the doctor walked up the path toward the front gate lin shouted after him: "doctur, ye kin tell ole jeffres thet john uses turpentine in his liniment ef he don't in his paints." chapter eighteen thank god for the man who is cheerful, in spite of life's troubles, i say; who sings of a brighter tomorrow because of the clouds today. then came a letter--whatever you may be, your parents were probably more so about the same age; but the world is wiser now than then, the boy world at least. the writer had heard of alfred and his wonderful talents; he was organizing a minstrel show and would like to negotiate with him. the new organization would be one of the most complete in the country; it would be an honor to anyone to be connected with it. benedict would head the company. duprez and benedict's was one of the leading minstrel companies of the period. how was alfred to know the benedict who was to head the new show was not lew benedict? alfred engaged with the great benedict minstrels. rehearsals were called for a. m. daily, but were generally called off until p. m., by which time the principals were in such a jolly mood they did not require rehearsals; they felt funny enough to entertain royalty. the manager, or more properly, the angel, for angel he was, seemed more desirous of making a reputation in bar rooms than with his show. alfred learned the minstrels were being organized to invade the oil regions where money grew on derricks. after subduing the oil territory the angel was supposed to become so favorably impressed with the possibilities of the enterprise, augmenting the company, he would treat the larger cities to a sight of the mighty monarch of the minstrel world. doctor mcclintock and wife lived near rouseville, pa. childless, they adopted a boy, john w. steele. prior to the discovery of coal oil, the worn out fields of that locality were valueless. now broad acres were as valuable as the diamond fields of south africa. never in the wildest days of the gold excitement in california was money more rapidly accumulated or squandered than in the oil regions of pennsylvania. johnny steele fell heir to all the lands of dr. mcclintock. wealth rolled in upon him; he entered upon a career of extravagance. he spent thousands of dollars daily, he literally cast money to the winds. his notoriety spread to the furthermost limits of the country; the daily papers, the weeklies, the monthlies printed exaggerated accounts of his profligacy. skiff and gaylord's minstrels crossed the path of "coal oil johnny," as steele had been dubbed. lew gaylord made a great ado over the spendthrift. steele accompanied the minstrels for a few days; their pathway was one wide streak of hilarity. when hotel men complained of the boisterous behavior of steele the coal oil spendthrift bought the hotel for their stay. "coal oil johnny" was the sensation of the day. he bought the minstrel boys hats, coats, shoes, trunks and that most coveted minstrel decoration, a diamond. the minstrels flourished for a few months. the public rebuked the unenviable notoriety of "coal oil johnny." the minstrels steadily declined. "coal oil johnny" went down with them. his money gone, he was made treasurer of the troupe his prodigality had ruined. when the ending came there was none so poor as he. hotels where he had spent thousands, refused him even a night's lodging. he went back to the farm; the acres he had cultivated were covered with oil derricks; the friends he knew had departed; he was almost a stranger save for the notoriety he had acquired. unabashed he seemed to take a pride in the spendthrift race he had run. he drove a baggage wagon; afterwards he became the baggage master at the depot in rouseville. * * * * * there never was a full rehearsal of the minstrels ere they embarked for parker's landing on the good boat "jim rees." there was no railroad to the oil regions from pittsburgh in those days. the allegheny river was navigable to venango, opposite the present oil city. two members of the minstrels, song and dance men, took a dislike to alfred. others soon became intimate with him, they enjoyed his humorous narratives, particularly his experiences with node beckley and the panorama. the two members mentioned exhausted the new boy's patience and he invited both to fistic combat. his challenges were laughed at; the jibes and jokes became more and more insulting. jealousy, that canker that eats and festers at the hearts of actors as it does at those of no other humans, was the motive for their actions. alfred had introduced a bit of acrobatic comedy in the closing farce that was the laughing hit of the minstrels. owing to the lack of acts, the stage manager ordered alfred to put on a single turn. this act preceded the turn of the song and dance men. the singing of alfred took with the oil men greatly. the two who followed were not even fair singers, their efforts fell flat; they had the stage manager change them on the bill. the change put them just before alfred. when advised of the change he reminded the stage manager that he went on only for accommodation in the olio and flatly refused to follow the song and dance men. the angel ordered the two song and dance men on in their usual position, following alfred. alfred rehearsed a dance secretly. he finished his singing turn with this dance, introducing all his known acrobatic stunts. this rough dance simply set the oil men wild and the two worthies fell flatter at every performance. no philanthropist of the "coal oil johnny" sort had discovered the minstrels as yet, but the path of their travels was one of nightly carousals. the two dancers were assisting the manager-angel in scattering the money that came in. the people were hungry for amusements; hence the tour thus far had been one of profit. the manager and his companions never went to bed when there was another place to go. it was one of the pass-times of the two dancers to enter alfred's room noiselessly, pull him violently out of bed and steal out in the darkness. in one of their playful moods they carried alfred's wearing apparel to another part of the hotel. alfred warned the stage manager that he intended to resent this treatment. however, there was no cessation to the indignities the two put upon the young minstrel. but like all so-called ladders, they could not stand the gaff. after a particularly keen onslaught upon alfred with their tongues, in which several of his weaknesses were commented upon, alfred got back at them: "i don't have to cater to the manager to hold my job; i'm drawing my wages on my work, not on my cheek," was alfred's retort. * * * * * at titusville, a banquet was tendered the minstrels by the landlord of the hotel. many speeches were delivered, good, bad and very bad--all predicting the perpetual success of the minstrel enterprise. there was a lull in the gaiety. the toastmaster announced as there was no prepared program all would be expected to say something. he thereupon introduced one of alfred's tormentors. the fellow arose, cleared his throat and made a laborious attempt to speak a few intelligible words, concluding with an indelicate story. the landlord tiptoed across the room closing the door that none might overhear. with a maudlin leer he followed the landlord with his eyes, as he shouted: "thanks, landy, this ain't a ladies' story." as he sat down there was neither laughter nor applause. the toastmaster called upon alfred. he was overcome with bashfulness and did not arise until several urged him to say something. "get up, get up," urged the two men opposite. alfred arose, so confused he could not articulate. a voice shouted: "tell them about the panorama." alfred began palmer's lecture. it had no application to the occasion, but few understood it, there was an oppressive silence. alfred had no idea of when to cease talking, and would probably have given the whole lecture, had not bill young, a musician, one who took a very great interest in him, seized him by the arm, shaking him forcibly: "here, here; you forgot the song, you promised to sing for us." bill continued: "gentlemen: alfred will now give you a correct imitation of an old maid singing 'barbara allen.'" he gave the imitation so cleverly that the guests applauded again and again. as he ended the song, his eyes closed, imitating the old maid, something soft and mushy struck him on the breast of his white shirt. the juice spattered into his face and over those near him. a glance at the mushy mess, alfred's eyes fell on the two men opposite him. one was looking apologetically at the gentleman next alfred who was wiping his face with his napkin; the other laughing tantalizingly. retaliation was speedy. it was not two seconds after the decayed tomato landed on alfred until a large platter of soft salad of some sort, a sugar bowl and several smaller dishes were landing just where aimed. one of alfred's tormentors lay upon the floor, his face and vest literally covered with salad and other cold lunch. the other was making for the door, dodging plates and cups that flew perilously near his head. alfred, being the swifter, soon overtook the fleeing man. there was a short struggle, and alfred's well directed blows took all the fight out of him; he begged for mercy. the landlord led alfred to the parlor, commanding him to keep quiet and not cause further disturbance. alfred remained in the parlor for what seemed to him a long time. finally, the landlord returned to advise the man struck with the salad plate was pretty badly cut and they thought best to get a doctor. he further stated the other one had complained to the police. "the coward," sneered the landlord, "i wish we had let you give it to him; he would have had something to complain of. however, the chief is a good friend of mine and i think i can fix it so you will not be locked up." alfred's first thought was, what will the folks at home say should he be thrown into jail? the chief of police and members of the company and others crowded into the parlor. the chief, one of those officials who felt his importance greatly, assumed to try the case then and there. "have you had any fights before?" "yes, sir, thousands of them," answered alfred. he was under the impression the question covered his entire life. everybody in the room laughed. "no, i had reference to a fight with the parties whom you assaulted here tonight," continued the officer. alfred was just a little ashamed of the admission and entered into an explanation: "i never tried to fight them before, though they have done everything they could to worry me. ever since i joined the show it has been one insult after another. i could scarcely keep my hands off them only i was afeared they would double team on me. i'd had it out long ago but for that," and as alfred talked he warmed up. "hold on," the chief interrupted, "do not incriminate yourself. did either of these men ever offer you violence?" "no, they was afraid to, they're both cowards. i will fight it out with either of them right now." alfred was angry; the old brownsville way of settling such disputes was all he thought of. the chief remarked to those near him: "i feel sorry for this boy, owing to the fact that they have tormented him;" he turned to alfred, "i do not feel sorry for them nor wish to protect them, yet that is no legal excuse for your assault upon them." someone came forward with this proposition, that inasmuch as they all belonged to one family, that they shake hands all around, call everything square and go on about their business. "well, if the party will withdraw the charge of felonious assault it's all right with me. i don't get nothing out of it nohow," was the police officer's reply. "get them together," was the suggestion made by several. alfred interfered by saying: "i'm willing to get together or do anything that's fair but i'm not going to travel with this gang of rowdies another day." the chief nudged him to cease and whispered: "then they'll put you in jail." "well, i'll put them in jail, too," retorted alfred. "what charges will you prefer against them; you stated you had never had trouble with them before?" "but look what they have done to me," persisted alfred. "they have plagued me until i couldn't have a minute's peace of mind, and then they hit me with a rotten tomattus as big as a gourd, why--?" the chief here interrupted alfred to inform him that in law a rotten tomato was not considered a dangerous weapon. "well, if anybody would hit you with a rotten tomattus, i know what you'd do; you'd shoot 'em, that's what you'd do." "why, there was no tomattuses on the table; i can prove it by the landlord." "them fellers went to the slop barrel and fished it out; didn't i smell old sour swill on it. why the smell of that tomattus would made a dog sick." whether it was alfred's anger, emphasized by his smacking his hands together, his hurried speech, or the description of the condition of the tomato, the laughter that convulsed all seemed to make him more indignant. with heightened voice and more forcible gestures he continued: "if i do live in a little town, i've been away from home before, and i won't let no son-of-a-gun ride over me even if he is as big as the side of a house. i've got a home; i've got good people; i can go to them and i won't travel another day with a pack of drunken rowdies. you can do with me as you please. you say there's no law agin heavin' rotten tomattuses at a person in a banquet. what kind of law have you got in titusville? if anybody would hit another with a tomattus at the dinner table in brownsville they'd beat hell out of him quicker'n you could say 'jack robinson.'" the remainder of alfred's forcible, if not eloquent, speech was drowned by laughter. half a dozen present volunteered to go his bail. numerous attempts were made in the early sunday morning to influence alfred to continue his travels with the troupe. to all arguments he gave the same answer: "no; i'll not travel further with a lot of drunken rowdies." with all sorts of promises, a raise of salary, promotion, and other alluring inducements, they failed to move alfred. finally as do all cajolers, the manager endeavored to threaten the boy into following his wishes. but with no better results. "i would walk home before i would travel another day with you," was the parting shot as the manager left the room, swearing he would have alfred in jail and keep him there. the injured man swore out a warrant for alfred. captain ham came forward promptly and signed the bail bond. the captain was to open a summer garden or park a few days later. as alfred had no previous acquaintance with the gentleman, he has often thought the deep interest evinced by the genial captain was influenced by the two weeks' engagement offered and accepted by alfred to appear in the park. in so far as the writer's knowledge goes, this summer park in titusville was the first of it's kind in this country. titusville is renowned. rockefeller's career began there. titusville was the birthplace of the summer park and the standard oil company. the minstrels left titusville with diminished forces; four remained behind. after a few nights more of feverish hilarity the company disbanded without money or friends. thus early in life the fact was impressed upon alfred that the drunkard is an annoyance to sociability; without judgment, without civility, the drunkard is an object to be avoided in every walk of life. the drunkard is a detriment in business; a disgrace to his friends; the shame and sorrow of his wife and children. he is shunned by even those who profit by his excesses. at a banquet in chicago last year alfred was confused by someone shouting: "al, tell them about your panorama experience; there won't be any tomatoes thrown." he could not get his mind off the interruption. as the guests were departing a gentleman passed his card; the name was not familiar. alfred was passing on when the gentleman said: "al, don't you remember me? we attended a banquet thirty-nine years ago. you were served with tomatoes; i got a dose of salad or some such stuff. i didn't mind the salad but the plate kind of jarred me." here he pushed back a lock of red hair streaked with gray, exhibiting a small scar high up on the temple. alfred recognized him. to relieve the situation alfred inquired as to the whereabouts of dick, the other song and dance man. "oh, he is, or was, working in a saw-mill in williamsport. i haven't seen him in thirty years. al, i didn't throw that tomato. come over to the store, i want to talk to you." * * * * * fort duquesne, afterward pittsburgh, was builded at the confluence of the monongahela and allegheny rivers where they form the ohio, called by the villagers the "point"--a natural site for a beautiful village such as fort duquesne was at the time we write of. it was indeed a sight on which the eye might gaze enraptured, with ever changing beauties to charm it. the high hills on every side cast their shades over the peaceful village for, notwithstanding the prefix "fort", there was no semblance of soldiery, cannon or war, about the peaceful place. the hills of smiling green rising abruptly in places, gently at others, towering above the rivers, seemed to look down upon the village and its peoples. the hills crowned with lofty trees and climbing vines, the trees swaying in the breezes seemed to be bowing approval at the tranquil scene below. the locust, the sumac, the oak, the walnut, the dogwood, the haw, the red berries, glowing in the eyes of the boys of the village, and as impelling to them as the red lights that later glowed on the anheuser busch plants in the city that supplanted the village of fort duquesne. brownsville was one long symphony of content and happiness. the prosperity of its people excited the envy of those of fort duquesne. it was argued by the discontented of fort duquesne that the changing of the name of "red stone old fort" to brownsville was that which brought brownsville renown and riches. therefore, certain ones of fort duquesne called a public meeting to be held at the "point" where the matter of changing the name of fort duquesne was discussed. those who had emigrated from washington county insisted the name should be brownstown, hoping thereby to profit from the confusion that would arise as between that name and brownsville. they argued that when the traders from shousetown, sewickley and smith's ferry, came up the river to barter they would be confused by the similarity of the names and ascend the river no further, thus the trade of brownsville would be diverted. others argued that the name be changed to "three rivers;" still others insisted if change there must be, it be to fort pitt. others wanted a burg made out of the old fort. there was a compromise and the name "pittsburgh" adopted. immediately there was an influx of settlers, particularly from somerset and butler counties. the town profited greatly by the change of names; there were many who could neither spell nor pronounce "duquesne;" but now that it was made easier to explain where you lived, the town thrived. pittsburgh, with an "h", became noted. in fort duquesne the people had been content to live as they began; but the interlopers from braddocks field, greene county, and holidaysburg changed conditions. the luxuriant cabbage gardens gave way to boiler yards; the little brick houses were supplanted by glass houses, still houses and other manufacturing establishments, the mark of that van of commercial greatness that has made pittsburgh famous. that part of the town formerly given over to agricultural pursuits, namely the river banks, was now paved with cobble stones and termed "wharves," thus providing a vantageous place for the citizens to congregate when they had a boat race over the lower course. occasionally a raft from salamanca would be moored on the allegheny wharf and shingles unloaded in piles for the children to play ketch around in the twilight. on the monongahela side where the boats came from and departed for brownsville, there was always more activity. many of fort duquesne's best citizens seceded. the volunteer firemen remained faithful to the old fort. they went into business on smithfield street and are known to this day as the duquesne fire company. it was through those who seceded that the outlying boroughs of birmingham, brownstown, and ormsby, were created on the south side, while those on the north-west side christened their settlement "allegheny," thus destroying its future. as the river of that name that runs away from itself when it rains and drys up when it is clear, is so uncertain, the name allegheny does not appeal to the masses. had allegheny taken the name of "pittsburgh," the courthouse and all other public buildings would be located on the north side, a natural site for a populous city. as it is, pittsburghers are compelled to live in irwin, latrobe, cassopolis and kittanning, to make room for their public buildings. in the early days of the "smoky city," for such had become its nickname, the residents were wont to sit for hours and gaze at the sun and sky; this pleasure is denied residents in modern pittsburgh. the only knowledge they have that there are sun, moon and stars, is that which professor john brashears (from brownsville) supplies with his astronomical instruments. hurrah for brownsville! in those good old days there was no caste or class. on a saturday afternoon the entire populace would gather at scotch hill market and on fifth avenue at night. andy carnegie knew every man who worked for him by his first name and could be seen daily at the bull's head tavern where the men always stopped to open their pay envelopes. the leaders of society were consistent. there were two balls each winter and one picnic in summer. city hall and glenwood grove were the scenes of those gayeties. harry alden, mayor blackmore, chris ihmsen, tom hughes, major maltby, n. p. sawyer, john o'brien, jimmy hammill, harry williams, major bunnell, john w. pittock, bill ramsey and dan o'neil were the social, political and business leaders of pittsburgh in those days. no social function, no political scheme, no public celebration from a wedding to a boat race was successful without their active co-operation. ben trimble, harry williams, matt canning and major bunnell controlled all the theatres. jake fedder was the toll-taker at the smithfield street bridge, a position second in importance only to that of mayor. those were happy days for pittsburgh. everybody had a skiff and fishing was good anywhere. the suckers were all salmon in the river and you did not have to go to lock number one to catch white or yellow perch. a twine line could be bought at any grocery store. sporting goods emporiums had not taken over the fish hook industry. happy would pittsburgh have been could it always have existed as in those golden days. but communities, like humans, grow out of their simplicity, encouraged or subdued by the successes or failures of life. alfred was in pittsburgh again among friends whom he loved. johnny hart had graduated from second cook on the tow boat red fox to stock comedian at trimble's variety theater. harry williams was the stage manager. there was a place made for alfred on almost every bill. the levantine brothers, fred proctor, of keith & proctor, harrigan & hart, delehanty & hengler, joe murphy, johnson & powers, and all the famous artists of that time appeared at this house. alfred impersonated a wide range of characters while in this theatre. harry williams, the stage manager, was an ideal "mose" in the play of that name. (it was the saturday night bill for weeks.) alfred made a big hit as the newsboy, sharing honors with the star. he added new business to the part weekly and was retained several weeks for the one performance on saturday night. alfred was engaged by matt canning, the manager of the pittsburgh opera house. in those days all first class theatres employed a stock company; the stars traveled alone, or at least with only a stage manager. the manuscript of their plays, the scene and property plots were sent in advance. the company studied their parts until the arrival of the star when a grand rehearsal was gone through with. this was a strenuous day's work, particularly if the star was a stickler. booth, barrett, mccullough, edwin adams, joe jefferson, jane coombs and many other noted stars appeared at the pittsburgh opera house and alfred had the honor of supporting all of them, by assisting in moving bureaus, dressing cases, center tables, cooking stoves, bedsteads, bar fixtures and other properties required in the plays, up and down stairs. however, parts, and minor roles, were entrusted to alfred. if the stock system had continued it would be greatly to the advantage of the dramatic stage of today. it made the actor, it proved the actor. he remained in the ranks alone on his ability, impersonating many characters in one season. his art broadened. actors do not compare with those of the olden days. this is true. we may have a few actors as able as any that ever lived but the dramatic profession in general has deteriorated since the combination system superceded the stock company. the stage has advanced in the authorship of plays and their production, not in their rendition. the actors of today are not the students or workers as were those of the earlier days, neither have they the opportunities. alfred was entrusted with many roles not congenial to him; in those he generally failed. in a society drama, appearing in evening dress, a turn-down collar, a large red and white flowing tie, a huge minstrel watch chain attached to his vest, he was reprimanded by jane coombs, the star, in the presence of the company. another time he led a roman mob costumed as a quaker. john mccullough laughed over this afterwards, but at the time, what he said cannot be printed. when joseph jefferson appeared as rip van winkle, in addition to impersonating one of the villagers, alfred was entrusted with the task of securing children to take part in the play. the stage manager advised the bashful children to make merry with rip; that he was very fond of children and would enjoy their familiarity. whether it was the shaggy beard or the assumed intoxication of rip, a child refused to clamber up on rip's back. the stage was waiting; that the scene should not be marred, seventeen year old alfred attempted to perch himself on rip's back. it was not the jefferson of later days but the jefferson of middle manhood. alfred was dropped to the floor amid laughter that the scene never evoked previously. instead of the great actor being peeved, he kindly inquired of alfred if the fall had hurt him. as a matter of fact alfred purposely made the fall awkward. dick cannon had a number of young friends--billy conard, clarke winnett, charley smith, billy kane and alfred. dick had a large luxuriously furnished room in the hotel. one evening each week he set apart to entertain his young friends. to pass the time away dick introduced a game he had played a few times while tending lock at rice's landing. it was a greene county game, new to fort duquesne but universally popular in pittsburgh since. the game was known as "draw poker" in greene county. after several lessons, in which dick's courtesy and unusual interest in his young friends was evidenced at the end of every deal, as dick raked in the pot with the air and manner of a learned professor of a college, he explained to each player who had lost--and his lecture always embraced the entire class, for when the pot justified it, they all lost--just how they should have played their hand to win. "it's just as important to learn how to lay 'em down as it is to play 'em up," was his advice. alfred had failed, notwithstanding dick's teachings, to learn even the rudiments of the game, so he sought the dictionary. he had become convinced that a person to be proficient should, as dick advised in one of his lectures, not only study the game but human nature as well. therefore, alfred decided to start right. he found the word "draw" signified "to drag, to entice, to delineate, to take out, to inhale, to extend." the word "poker" signified any frightful object, a "spook." [illustration: the old greene county game] the echoes of gideon's words were daily percolating through alfred's gray matter: "don't know enough to quit the game when you got velvet in front of you." when questioned as to the cause of his absence from the weekly seance, alfred replied that, as he understood it, the object of dick was to teach and enlighten each in the class, and that he had thoroughly mastered the mysteries of the game and he felt it was imposing on dick to take up his valuable time and devour his delicacies longer; dick should get a new class. "i'm graduated," concluded alfred. * * * * * alfred's connection with the drama was both pleasant and profitable. the probabilities are that if a certain production had realized the hopes of its authors, he would have continued in the dramatic line. it was the beginning of that evolution of the stage that culminated in the ascendency, for a time, of the melodrama. a serial story under the title of "from ocean to ocean," then running in street & smith's _new york weekly_, was dramatized for j. newton gotthold and in so far as the writer is informed it was bartley campbell's first play. the play bore the title of "through fire." it was a stirring drama, and both actor and author had high hopes of its success. j. k. emmett, recruited from the minstrel ranks, had made himself immensely popular, and wealth was rolling in on him. his vehicle "fritz" was a flimsy frame on which was hung emmett's specialties. byron's phenomenal success in "across the continent" was achieved only through his artistic ability. it was argued that j. newton gotthold, a sterling actor, with a sterling play, was sure to attain success. alfred was engaged for the spring trial of the play; also the following season. the opening occurred in youngstown, a western city, so looked upon by pittsburghers in those days. after two nights in the west there would be a week or two weeks in pittsburgh. alfred, in addition to doubling the character of a young snob, afterwards a quick gun-man, also led the indians' attack on the wagon train. a number of supes were employed in youngstown, husky young rolling mill men of muscle and grit. alfred, at the head of his indian braves, attacked the wagon train of emigrants; instead of the supes falling back, as rehearsed, then charging forward, led by the star, they pitched into alfred and his indians at the first rush. alfred to save the scene, fought valiantly to stem the tide of strength and sturdy determination. but the supe pale-faces were too muscular for the copper tinted braves whom alfred led. in fact, at the first onslaught of the whites the indians, with the exception of one or two, fled and left alfred to battle alone. alfred was overpowered, completely vanquished--a blow between the eyes laid him low. the youngstown supes not only wiped up the stage with him but they wiped their feet on him. the gallery howled, the down-stairs applauded, the company laughed. the curtain fell amid loud applause. alfred was anxious to continue the conflict after the curtain dropped; the supes were agreeable. but the stage manager, the stars and others of the company interfered. the matter was amicably adjusted. alfred, although badly maimed, played his parts during the week's run in pittsburgh, although the war club he carried was not the imitation one he wielded in youngstown. however, there was no recurrence of the youngstown scene. the play did not meet with success. after the pittsburgh engagement it was carefully laid away and thus alfred was preserved to minstrelsy. it is a curious fact that the only play bartley campbell ever wrote, a play with the theme of which he was not in sympathy, written for commercial purposes only, has lived longer and earned more money than his most meritorious creations. we refer to "the white slave." who is not familiar with those thrilling lines: "rags are royal raiment when worn for virtue's sake." bartley campbell was a self made man--from laboring in a brick-yard to journalism, then a dramatist. he was a noble boy, a manly man. he toiled patiently all the days of his only too brief life for those he loved. * * * * * it was in the early days of the beginning of that race for wealth that has made pittsburgh both famous and infamous. jared m. brush had been elected mayor; hostetter stomach bitters had become famous in all dry sections of the country; jimmy hammill had won the single sculling championship of the world; the red lion hotel had painted the lion out and painted st. clair hotel in gilt letters to attract trade from sewickley, which community, so near the economites, had imbibed a sort of religious fervor exhibited outwardly only. it was argued by the proprietor that when the residents of sewickley drove by on their way to market to dispose of their garden truck, butter and eggs, they would be attracted by the word "saint." the st. nicholas hotel on grant street always boarded the court jurors. the st. charles on wood street had the patronage of the democrats of fayette county. brownsville people always stopped at the monongahela house. the bleating sheep, the frolicking calves, the cackling hens, that had been heard on the verdant ridges of pennsylvania road, had been crowded to the rural district known later as east liberty and walls. the log houses had given away to brick and frame dwellings owned by those who occupied them. doctor spencer had opened a dental emporium on penn street near the old ferry, then known as hand street, now ninth. business was so good joe zimmerman had to paint his name upside down on his store front near the union depot. the fact that this cigar store was always crowded suggested the idea of another railroad for pittsburgh. at first it was contemplated building the road along the south or west bank of the monongahela, extending the road to, or beyond brownsville. bill brown then resided on braddocks field, although he has repeatedly and earnestly protested to the writer that he was not at home when braddock fell and did not hear of it for some time afterwards. therefore, it is hoped those who are not acquainted with bill will not connect him in any way with anything that happened to braddock--the general, not the village. when bill learned of the projected railroad he interested a number of capitalists who owned coal land and town lots in braddock. hence, the new road was built on bill's side of the river. first, it was completed to mckeesport. the opposition steamboat lines plying the river, (the boats being much fleeter than the railroad), controlled the passenger traffic. when the projectors of the new railroad had this fact forced upon them they abandoned the plan of building the road further up the monongahela than mckeesport. surveying a route along the youghiogheny river and thence to connellsville they announced that they would eventually build to uniontown and down redstone creek to brownsville thus entering brownsville by the back door, as it were. however, this change of route did not work as the railroad people hoped for. the railroad carried a few passengers for layton's station, west newton and several settlements between mckeesport and connellsville. all travelers to mckeesport still patronized the boats, even those for west newton and layton station traveled on the boats to mckeesport, and awaited the train to continue their journey. the railroad people, dispirited and almost bankrupt, appealed to brown and his friends who had held out such glowing inducements to them to build the road on their side of the river. an investigation of conditions was ordered and bill, with his usual good luck and influence, appointed chairman of the investigating committee, with powers to expend whatever amount was necessary to the investigation. bill made one trip on the railroad to connellsville. thereafter, he spent the greater part of the beautiful autumn traveling up and down the monongahela, even as far up the river as geneva, although the scope of the investigation was to extend only as far as mckeesport. the palatial side-wheel steamers were always crowded to the guards with travelers. many slept on cots in the cabins but bill had the bridal chamber. the mirrored bars employed a double shift of irrigators. they were never closed except when the boats were moored at pittsburgh, and then bill could always get in the back way. the food was bountiful; stewed chicken for breakfast, turkey for dinner, fried chicken for supper, and at night a poker game in the barber shop. again and again the railroad people requested a report from bill but he was busy investigating as to why the steam cars were running with empty seats. finally notices were mailed to the railroad people, the superintendents who were also the section foremen, that the chairman of the committee was ready to report. they were requested to meet at dimling's where bill often assembled himself. [illustration: bill's report] brown arose to read his elaborate report. he began by making a short explanatory speech mostly devoted to the immense amount of labor entailed upon him in the investigation. he thanked the railroad people for the confidence they had placed in him. he deplored his lack of ability and knowledge. in fact, in his talk he expressed such a contemptuous opinion of himself that those present (country folks), from hazelwood and port perry were wrothy that they had entrusted bill with the mission and money to complete the investigation. they were ignorant of the fact that the speech was one he had delivered to the members of another body yearly when elected to the office of treasurer. bill then read his report. it dealt with the crowned heads of europe, the free traders of pennsylvania, the populists of kansas and nebraska, the government of ancient greece and the wars of the romans. of course this had nothing to do with the subject under investigation but it served to rattle and confuse those to whom the report was read and impress them with the wide scope of the investigation. the report referred in scathing terms to the unparalleled audacity of the officers of the rival lines of steamers, more particularly the new, or people's line. that line had only two boats, the "elector" and "chieftain," while the mail line had the "fayette," "gallatin," "franklin," "jefferson," "elisha bennett," and other boats. bill, like everybody on the inside, felt that the mail line would soon absorb its rival and it was politic to be "in" with the stronger corporation. the report demanded that the runners for the boats be restrained from soliciting passengers; that the steamboats be restrained from departing on the scheduled time of the railroads. thus, if the west newton and layton station passengers could not make connections at mckeesport, that is, if the trains arrived prior to the boats, travellers would be compelled to patronize the railroad. he also compared the officers of the steamboat lines to the gauls who devastated rome, the vandals who had over-run the fairest plains of europe. that part of the report ended with: "god forbid we live longer under these conditions." having thus artfully worked up the feelings of those present, bill gazed over the assemblage with the air of a man who has gotten that which he went after, and continued to read: "after diligent research, entailing much traveling, including many trips up and down the river at great expense including shoe-shining, your committee has succeeded in evolving a plan whereby the pittsburgh and connellsville railroad may be able to control the passenger traffic on its lines. and it is to be hoped that all concerned will take the proper view of the matter and concur in the recommendations of the committee: first, that all trains on the pittsburgh and connellsville railroad (excepting when otherwise so ordered), be and are hereby ordered equipped with an extra car, divided into three compartments, namely, dining room, bar-room, and another room." the chairman explained that the words "excepting when otherwise so ordered" were inserted as a precautionary measure. "it might happen at times that two cars, of the kind the committee recommended, might be required." after concluding his report the chairman carefully folded the paper, placing it in his hat. casting his eyes over the meeting he silently waited for some one to say something to dimling. after the meeting adjourned, one man ventured to remark that bill had gone about the investigation like a colt approaching a brass band, prancing and dancing, wrong end foremost. many were the written protests sent bill. all these he ignored. he not only refused to reply to them, but to emphasize his contempt, used them for an unseemly purpose. chapter nineteen hang on! cling on! no matter what they say. push on! work on! things will come your way. "a person dunno till after they've fell intu a muddy ditch how meny roads they cud a took an' kept out uf hit. but after ye've fell in the mud a time ur tu an' then ye don't no enuf tu keep outen hit, ye ain't much; ye're only gettin' muddy an' not larnen eny sense, an' thar ain't much hope fur ye." this was lin's answer to alfred's declaration that he would never go out with another show unless it was first class. if there ever lived a boy who has not experienced the feelings that must come to a rooster that has been in a hard battle and lost the greater part of his tail feathers, he is one who has never looked over his record and endeavored to rub out the punk spots. there are but few boys who have not an exaggerated ego, and it is well that they are so constituted, they will better battle with the rebuffs and the disappointments that youth always walks into. if a boy is lacking in confidence--conceit is confidence increased in a boy; conceit is ignorance in a man. conceit renders a man so cock-sure that he ignores advice. the first thing for which a boy should be operated upon is an overdeveloped bump of self-conceit. the earlier in life this protuberance is punctured the more quickly he will become useful to himself and family. it often requires several operations to effect a cure. over-zealous friends are responsible to an extent for the failure of many promising young men. many persons regard exaggerated praise necessary to the advancement of youth. a boy entering almost any profession or trade can be unfitted for his labors by fulsome flattering. alfred's best friends filled him with the false idea that he was a great actor, that he was being abused and thwarted. had his friends been sincere, he could have side stepped many stiff punches that he walked straight into. most fortunate is the boy who gets knocked through the ropes early in the bout of life; his youth will enable him to come back the stronger. the king solomon of showmen, p. t. barnum, the father of fakes, originated the "gift show"--the giving of presents to all who purchased tickets of admission. everybody received a prize. several hundred of the prizes were of little value. there was one that was valuable: a gold watch and chain, a diamond pin or other article of jewelry, was generally the capital prize as it was designated. people flocked to barnum's museum to win the capital prize; barnum reaped a harvest. of course the idea of the "gift show" was immediately taken up by ignorant imitators who are always quick to appropriate the ideas of others. numerous magicians were soon touring the country with their alluring advertisements promising presents far exceeding in value the receipts of the theaters in which they appeared, even though the prices of admission were doubled. the circus concert adopted the "gift show" scheme, and when a circus side-show, or concert, adopts an innovation of this character, it is safe to wager that the yokel will "get his" good and plenty. the "gift show" idea was worked so successfully that the numerous jewelry concerns that had sprung up in maiden lane and on the bowery could not fill the orders for the brass ornaments required to supply the enterprises distributing them. everybody got a prize; there were no blanks. alfred and another boy, george, did the distributing act. stationed on either side of the stage, they received the tickets. pretending to look at the number, they handed the prize out. alfred had four packages of prizes; he was ordered to alternate. first a lady's breast pin, then a gent's collar button, then a stud, then a finger ring. the capital prize the boss awarded in person. since the days of barnum's "gift show," no "sucker" has ever seen the capital prize except when the proprietor of the "gift show" was not looking. the "gift show" man usually placed the capital prize in the show window of a prominent store. everyone who bought a ticket hoped to capture the capital prize. the "gift show" always fixed the landlord of the hotel or some man about town to draw the capital prize, returning it to the "gift show" manager afterwards. it is amazing the many who were willing to play the part of capper in this game. after a number of tickets were presented and not less than a peck of the cheap presents distributed, the capper would pass up his ticket, and the boss proclaim in a loud tone: "four hundred and sixty-two wins the capital prize, a solid silver tea set." the plate was set out on a table covered with a black velvet cloth to brighten the appearance of the ware. "if the gentleman prefers we will gladly pay him one hundred and seventy-five dollars in gold for his ticket." the money counted out to him in the presence of the gaping multitude whetted everybody's desire to win the capital prize. the following night the hall was crowded again. "gift shows" always remained three nights in each place. the entertainment offered was a secondary consideration; hence alfred was the star of the show. he had unlimited opportunities. the fact was, the only reason the manager gave an entertainment at all was to escape the lottery laws. alfred was on the stage half a dozen times and would have gone on again had he had anything more to offer. alfred imagined the more often he appeared the more he was appreciated, until one night a sailor heaved an orange from the gallery, landing it on alfred's head. the seeds flew all over the stage. alfred did not regain his composure even when assured by others of the company that the seeds were not his brains. a gentleman whom he had met while with eli during their tour of greene county--he was only an acquaintance of a day--called on alfred. alfred introduced him as his friend. agreeable, intelligent and well dressed, he made an impression on the show people and without consulting alfred, the "gift show" man fixed alfred's friend to cop the capital prize which he did very successfully. when the boss called: "ticket three hundred and nine wins the capital prize," the rehearsed scene was gone through with, although alfred's friend made the play doubly strong by hesitating in accepting the cash in lieu of the tea set. "i would prefer the silverware; i wish to preserve it in our family." after a little further parleying, he was handed one hundred and seventy-five dollars. he received congratulations, answered questions and smiled on everybody. the night alfred's friend won the capital prize the audience was larger and more intelligent than usual. one gentleman remarked, as he passed back to alfred the present tendered him: "boy, keep this for me until i call for it. write my name on it; i don't want to lose it, i want to get it melted, we need a pair of candle sticks and brass is mighty high." an old lady opened her envelope containing a pair of ear-rings. handing them to alfred she remarked: "i hope there's no mistake here, the ticket reads ear-rings, these are chandeliers." the stool pigeon, after receiving the money for the capital prize, wandered leisurely out of the hall. he was supposed to be met by the fixer of the "gift show", to whom he was to return the money the boss had given him. alfred's friend played his part capitally. he sauntered out leisurely; he did not saunter out of the main door, or, if he did, the fixer failed to meet him. the hall was empty save for the two or three stragglers and the manager. the fixer entered hurriedly, looking sharply around the almost vacant room, he whispered with the boss. they turned their glances toward alfred. it was an illusion of the boss and his staff that others of the company were ignorant of the deception practiced in the awarding of the capital prize. the boss called alfred to his room and questioned him at length as to the gentleman he had introduced as his friend. alfred stated when the eli minstrels were touring greene county the gentleman accompanied them several days. his companionship was so agreeable that eli remained behind in carmichaelstown a day or two. the boss had learned the fellow was a short card player, and he swore he would not allow a cheap poker player to do him. "fix the olly! i gave him broads to the show! he's right as a guinea! fix him! have this cheap greene county bilk pinched. i'll land him in the quay." all of this, interpreted, meant that the boss wanted the winner of the capital prize arrested and thrown into jail. he did not dare proceed against him for holding out the money he had given him. to attempt to recover it by law would expose their nefarious practice. there was hurrying to and fro and in hot haste but nothing as to the whereabouts of the gentleman could be learned. the constable searched all night, and the fixer remained with him as long as he could keep pace with the officer. weary, blear-eyed, unsteady on his limbs, he finally lay down on a bench in the hotel sitting room and was awakened only by the breakfast bell. next morning he was very surly. he ordered alfred in a very rude manner to remove two large boxes of jewelry from the hotel to the theatre and to remove the boxes as soon as he got through his breakfast: "and don't eat all day either." alfred did not eat all day; in fact he ate but little. he was choking with wrath over the insult the man had put upon him. taking himself from the table he awaited the coming of the man. as he emerged from the dining room, alfred halted him with: "i say, you ordered me to move some baggage from the hotel to the theatre. i just called upon you to tell you that you ain't my boss; you didn't hire me, you don't pay me; furthermore, i did not hire out to this troupe to peddle brass jewelry or handle baggage. you move the boxes yourself." "well, we'll see if you don't move them boxes, and i'll give you a smack in the jaw, you jay, you!" alfred remembered titusville, and a greatly subdued manner, said: "if you're the boss, just hand me my money and i'll skedaddle double quick." later in the day the boss sent for alfred to come to his room. as he entered, the boss said: "well, you want your money, do you, eh?" alfred replied: "i couldn't very well stay here after what's passed between your manager and myself." "that's so," smilingly assented the boss. turning his back on alfred and pretending to look over his books, he continued: "where do you expect to meet your friend?" "what friend," inquired alfred. "the smart young fellow you rung in on us yesterday. i'd thought you'd skipped without waiting for the few bones i hold of yours. you're too fly to work for a salary. talk about sure-thing men, there ain't a strong arm game in the country can beat it; garroting is laid in the shade by your play." alfred could not understand the man at all. he was completely confused: "what do you mean? has that man who tried to boss me this morning been telling you anything about me?" the man wheeled around in his chair, facing alfred. pointing his finger at alfred, in a voice choking with anger, he exclaimed: "you're not as slick as you imagine you are; you've been under cover ever since you came here. you made all my people think you were a straight guy; you played the role of a gilly kid to the queen's taste. but i'm on to you bigger than a house; after you've worked me for a hundred and seventy-five dollars, now you want to wolf me for twenty-five more. i won't shake down for one dime more. you think you'll get your bit of the touch but i'll bet you dollars to doughnuts that guy will double cross you and it will serve you right for doing the man you were working for. you can leave; i can't hold you but you won't get a case from me. i'll stand pat on this proposition. do you hear?" alfred understood the man, in some way, was endeavoring to connect him with the gentleman who won the capital prize. "all i want is my money, the money you owe me and you'll pay me before i leave this town," was alfred's declaration as he left the room. a bluff always unsettles a scoundrel. spaff hyman, the magician of the troupe, was after alfred in a moment. he explained that the boss and one or two others were under the impression that alfred and the gentleman whom alfred had introduced as his friend were in cahoots, that alfred had brought the stranger there to do the gift showman out of the money and that alfred stood in with the play. alfred was indignant. spaff assured the boy that he had implicit confidence in his honesty. "i know that greene county gang," continued spaff, "jim kerr and lias flanagan had that old trotting horse sneak. this fellow that came on here was the brains of the gang; they skinned every sucker on the fair grounds where they entered this horse. he had this combination sized up; he came on here to trim the boss and he got away with the play. i know you had nothing to do with it, but if you leave now, those who suspect you will make others believe you are crooked. hold down the job until you prove yourself right, then skip if you want to." alfred began an explanation: "i never met this man but once. i heard several people say he was a young man with no bad habits: 'he does not drink a drop of liquor, he don't smoke, chew tobacco, nor cuss.' that's what i heard in carmichaelstown." "huh! yes, he's a saint," sarcastically mused the old sleight of hand man, "he's a saint and that's what makes him successful as a con. sam weller advised his son to 'bevare of vidders,' i advise you to beware of saints. since the days of the bible when saints were inspired, there have been but few of them roving the earth. latter day saints are material, hence, susceptible to all the temptations and frailties of this world. when you get acquainted with a man who boasts that he has no bad habits, look out for him, he will spring something on you that will outweigh all the minor defects that scar the character of the ordinary man. i do not say there are no good men, there are; but the man who pretends to go through this world on a record of no bad habits accumulates a heap of inward secretiveness. it keeps growing. he gets swelled up, and some day he breaks out and the enormity of his break surprises all. 'he had no bad habits,' that's what they all said. no, he had no bad habits that were apparent; he was a sneak. in order to conceal his little sins, he deceived himself and his friends. if he had been honest he would have gone through life like the average man. go back in your mind and figure up the fellows that have fallen and see if the fellow with no bad habits isn't in the majority. mind, i'm not figuring on the poor devil without education or advantages, the fellow who robs hen-roosts or steals dimes. i'm talking about the fellow who walks off with one hundred and seventy-five dollars, robs the banks or post-offices, the fellow who touches the widow and orphan." "i can't understand you," ventured alfred. "well, you can't understand the fellow who had no bad habits." "but the boss is not playing fair with the public," protested alfred. "well, who on earth ever did play fair with the public? i know you, with your ideas bounded by fayette county's limitations, don't understand these things. there's men who would not take advantage of any man in a personal business transaction, who will get in on almost anything that will worst the public. the public is a cruel monster; the public condemned and crucified christ; the public is behind every lynching. the public condemns and ostracizes a man, even though he has lived an upright life all his days, when some scalawag, for personal or financial reasons, assails him in a newspaper. when commodore vanderbilt gave utterance to the words, 'the public be damned,' he expressed the sentiment of four-fifths of those who have rubbed up against the public, as had the sturdy old man who acquired his estimate of human nature while rowing the public over the river. the public would ride across the river without paying him fare. the public will crowd into our show tonight without paying. the public will eat all the fruit that ripens, all the grain that grows, drink all the liquors malted and take anything they can get for nothing. i mean the public rabble, the mob, not the individual. the only time you can trust the public is when their sympathies are aroused over some great public calamity that brings death and desolation. then the public is of one mind, the public then shows to best advantage." "well, you are the funniest man i ever heard talk. now what are you going to do to make the public what you consider it should be?" "educate it; educate it. three-fourths of the public are suckers, one-fourth skinners. now, i don't mean to assert that one-fourth are dishonest men, but most of them are men a bit too fly for the others. you know there's not one man in a thousand that considers it cheating to give himself a bit the best of it. now you argue that the public is ignorant and that the only way to get it right is to educate it. well, the fellow who walked off with the boss's one hundred and seventy-five dollars is educated." "how do you account for his dishonesty" inquired alfred. "i don't account for it." it was arranged that spaff go to the boss, patch up matters between him and alfred. spaff requested alfred remain in the hall that he might be near. the door closed on spaff. alfred remained near it; he wished afterwards he had not. the transom was open and every word uttered in the room floated through it. spaff began: "say, boss, i've been talking to that fresh young nigger singer, and, while he don't know much, it's my opinion he knows nothing of the guy who done you for the capital prize. he's purty handy around here and i thought you better keep him. i've got him going; i told him if he left now everybody would conclude he was in on the capital prize trick. so i think he'll stick." "what the hell do i care whether he sticks or not? he may be straight but i doubt it. the only reason i want him to stay is that he will have trouble in finding the other guy; i'm certain they were to meet somewhere and split up the touch." spaff was heard to say: "no, i think you're wrong. i am sure this kid is not in on it. i know that fellow; he's slick, he's always been a sure thing man and he has been planning this touch for sometime. he simply used alfred to get an introduction." "well, he's a good one. he did not want to draw the prize, he argued; all the best people in town knew him and it would be difficult to deceive them. why, i thought he was a small town jay. he even cautioned me to have someone at the door to receive the money, he did not care to carry it about with him." after a pause he continued: "well, about this boy; what shall i say to him? i don't think it's a good play to let him go; not now, at any rate. you say he's straight. do you reckon he's on to the capital prize fake?" "well, i dunno," answered spaff. "if he is, and he's dirty, he could queer us in all these towns; he's been through here with two or three jim crow minstrel shows; these rubes imagine he's some pumpkins. why, i have to go out of the house every time he comes on. he's the rankest performer i ever saw; he can sing a little and that lets him out. why don't you cut his act down one-half at least? half of the audience, green as they are, wouldn't stay in the house if they were not waiting for their presents." "he comes on ahead of you and hurts your act," the boss assured spaff. that gentleman said: "well, we've got to give them something for their money and alfred does pretty good; if he only had the stuff he would be all right." the boss agreed to this. "yes, if he had something new. those gags he springs were told before the flood. lord, if i had the gall of some people i'd be rich. when he came here into this room and wanted money for that stuff he's telling, i got up and opened the door and planted a kick on him and says: 'now, leave, skip, git out of yere and don't let me see you around yere agin.'" "why, he never told me one word of this," and spaff's voice evidenced his surprise. "what do you say about keeping him?" questioned spaff. "oh, we've got to have someone, but watch him." when spaff came out of the room he found alfred some distance from the door. "now, i've had a hard time squaring this matter with the boss. someone has got to him and he is sore on you, or was. i just told him you were all right and that i would be responsible for you and he said: 'well, i'll let him stay on your account.'" alfred could not restrain his anger longer. whirling around, facing spaff, he said in tones neither low or slow: "you go back and tell that damn sneak that i don't want to stay with him. you tell him he is a liar if he says he ever kicked me. you tell him if he says i had anything to do with the disappearance of his capital prize money, he's another liar. you tell him i'll meet him outside the hotel and he'll take back everything he said to you." spaff began to look scared. "why, how do you know what he said to me," he queried in a voice that showed his fear. "i heard every word; the transom was open; i couldn't help it. i'm glad i did hear. i know where you all stand. i'm only a boy, but i'll clean up this capital prize swindle and i'm going after it tonight. 'watch me,' that's what the boss ordered you to do." poor old spaff was thoroughly frightened. he coaxed and pleaded with alfred to drop the matter, take his pay and he would endeavor to have his wages raised. at the first opportunity he slipped away from alfred, ran around the back way and up to the boss's room. alfred was seated at the supper table. the boss entered and, with a pleasant "good evening," seated himself opposite alfred, and familiarly inquired: "what they got for supper? they set a fairly good table here but the waiters are slow." alfred sulkily ate in silence, never deigning to look at or answer the questions of the boss. that gentleman rattled on, first on one subject, then another. finally, he carelessly asked alfred the title of the new song he sang the night before. never noticing the boy's rude behavior in not replying to him, he continued, dipping a half doughnut in his coffee: "i want you to tell that gag about noah being the first man to run a boat show; i think it's the funniest thing i ever heard. where did you get it? i always make it a point to be in the house when you tell that gag." alfred did not understand that all this was flattery; he imagined the boss was guying him. his face was hot, his voice trembled. leaning over the table, he sneered: "so you come in every night to hear the jokes that came over in noah's ark, do you? well, you needn't come in tonight, you won't hear them. when you get through with your supper i want a settlement with you and if you think you can kick me, come out of this house and try it." he left the table and passed out. instead, spaff came to him, handing him twenty-five dollars. "now, see here, young fellow, you're too hot-headed, you'll never get along if you keep this up. this man appreciates your work; he told me so. say, you didn't hear right. i was in the room, i didn't hear the things you did. come on, now, i'll get you a raise of five dollars a week." alfred walked away from the man. his baggage had been conveyed to the hotel from the theatre and his preparations completed. he left the "gift show." * * * * * "i'll never take another chance with a fly-by-night troupe. if i can't get with the best i'll stay right here in this town. i'll paint hulls, houses or anything; i'll go back to the tan-yard; i'll go to the newspaper office; i'll do anything, i don't care what it is or how badly i hate to do it. i wouldn't be caught dead with another troupe like the last one i was with." so declared alfred to lin and cousin charley. after alfred was out of hearing, cousin charley, with a laugh, remarked he had "heard that story afore. it won't be a month till he's off agin with some kind of a show. he can't git with a good one; they wouldn't have him with a good show. (cousin charley had assured alfred that very morning that he considered him the best actor he had ever seen). he'll be out with a fly-by-night troupe afore the next month. alfred's a gone goslin'. he's got no trade an' he'll hev to scratch to make a livin'. i sort of pity uncle john an' aunt mary, kase they think so much of the boy, an' it's a great pity for them. uncle john ought to beat the foolishness out of him long ago. he never touches him, no matter what he does. does he?" lin looked at cousin charley in a sort of pitying way as she asked: "how is hit thet all are agin alfurd? ye all like him, i no ye do, but durned ef ye evur lose a shot at him. no, his pap don't whup him eny more, he nevur did beat him tu hurt; hit wus sort of a habit tu take him intu the celler to skur him but hit nevur done him a mite uf good, he jus laffed an' made fun uf hit. ye kin do more with reasonin' with alfurd." cousin charley agreed with lin and declared that he always took alfred's part. "i told his father alfred would go off some day and then they'd all be dog-goned sorry they hadn't handled him different." "well, alfurd's not goin' off eny more till he goes rite; he's gettin' more sot in his ways every day, he's mos' like a man." alfred's family were greatly elated that he had settled down. staid old brownsville was stirred from center to sandy hollow. peter hunt, philosopher and photographer, leased krepp's bottom for the announced purpose of converting it into a skating park or rink. alfred was one of peter's right hand men. the creeks and rivers had furnished ample fields for the skaters of brownsville heretofore, but peter felt the time had come when the society people of the town, who did not care to skate with the common herd, should have a more exclusive place in which to enjoy this wholesome recreation. therefore krepp's bottom was selected. the proposed park was the talk of the town. dunlap's creek flowed in a circle, skirting three sides of the bottom land. levees three feet high were thrown up along the banks of the creek, a rope stretched along the west side. an opening in the levee admitted the water. two feet of water covered the bottom. the weather turned cold, ice formed, the park was opened, and three-fourths of the public walked in free. alfred felt that spaff was about right in his estimate of the public. the creek fell, the dry, clay land absorbed the water, the ice sunk and cracked in places. the waters of the creek flowed six feet below and the glory of the skating park was a memory of the past. later on a promoter endeavored to rent jeffries hall for a roller skating rink. george washington frazee, who learned of the man renting jeffries' hall for a skating rink, said: "huh! another dam fool 'bout skeetin'. jeffries hall won't hold water, an' if it did hit wouldn't freeze hard enuff to bear." for the winter the town went back to its time honored sport of sledding, "coasting" it is termed nowadays. sleds of all kinds were seen on the hills and streets of the two towns. even men engaged in the sport. the speed attained, especially on scrabbletown hill, was terrific. the big sleds, loaded with from four to eight persons, flew down the hills at the rate of a mile a minute. the sleds bore striking names, alfred's the "west wind." it was one of the speediest of the numerous fast ones. starting at the top of town hill, those on the brownsville side would speed to the iron bridge, even across it into bridgeport. those sliding scrabbletown hill would often be sent, by the speed attained on this steep incline, across the iron bridge into brownsville. thus the coasters of the rival towns would at times, pass each other going in opposite directions. the older men would sit in the stores and watch the sliders. the shoe-shops of mckernan and potts were the scenes of many heated arguments as to the fleetness of the different sleds. an old gentleman who had recently moved to brownsville from uniontown, endeavored to impress the shoe-shop crowds with the superiority of the sleds of the uniontown boys over those of brownsville. he related that a uniontown boy slid down laurel hill through uniontown and would have slid on down the pike to searight's only he was afraid he would 'skeer' somebody's horses. [illustration: brownsville's winter sport] shuban lee, ever loyal to brownsville and her sleds, related how alfred had loaned his sled to a show fellow he brought home with him from somewhere. "the show chap did not know much about sliding. alfred's sled was a whirlwind when it got to goin'. the show feller hauled the sled to the top of town hill. he started down the hill. the sled run so fast it crossed the iron bridge up to the top of scrabbletown hill. afore he cud git off she started back down the hill, across the iron bridge agin, up to the top of town hill an' back she started. half the men in town run out an' tried to stop thet sled but hit wus so cold they couldn't do hit. she just kept on a-goin' down one hill an' up tother." here the uniontown man, with a contemptuous snort, said: "i s'pose he just kept on slidin' till he froze to death?" "no," shuban answered, "he didn't freeze, he just kept on slidin' till they shot him to keep him from starvin' to death. an' i kin prove hit by ole man smith an' if you won't believe him i kin show you the feller's grave." chapter twenty this world would be tiresome, we'd all get the blues, if all the folks in it held just the same views; so do your work to the best of your skill, some people won't like it, but other folks will. jean jacques rousseau, a french-swiss philosopher, nearing the end of his days complained that in all his life he never knew rest or content for the reason he had never known a home. his mother died giving him birth, his father was a shiftless dancing master. rousseau claimed his misfortunes began with his birth and clung to him all his life. rousseau was one of the few persons who have attained distinction without the aid of a home in youth. no matter how humble the home, it is the beginning of that education that brings out all the better nature of a human being. the home is the god-appointed educator of the young. we have educational institutions, colleges, schools, but the real school where the lessons of life are indelibly impressed upon the mind is the home. we write and talk of the higher education. there is no higher education than that taught in a well regulated home presided over by god-fearing, man-loving parents whose lives are a sacrifice to create a future for their children. the parents, rather than the children, should be given credit for the successes of this life. alfred had separated himself from his home several times but never decided to leave it for any lengthy period; but now the time had arrived when it seemed to him the parting of the ways in his ambitious life was at hand. on the dead walls, fences and old buildings, were pasted highly colored show bills announcing the coming of thayer & noyes great american circus. alfred decided he would go hence as a member of the troupe. the humdrum life of the old town had begun to wear on his energetic feelings. there were social pleasures sufficient to make the days and nights joyous, but alfred was thinking beyond the days thereof. the circus had come and gone. "i will take your address. if anything occurs that i can use you i will write. you can expect a letter from me soon." with these words dr. thayer crushed alfred's hopes. alfred voted the show the best he had ever witnessed, but the concert, the after show that promised so much and gave so little, he condemned. after writing several letters and destroying them, deciding they did not fulfill all requirements, the following letter was mailed: brownsville, fayette co., pa. dr. james l. thayer: respected sir: i take my pen in hand to acquaint you with the effect your show had on our people. it is the opinion of all who take interest in actors and should know, that your show was better than george f. bailey's and it was considered the best we ever had. brownsville people are hard to please. they see so much it must be choice if it suits them. your circus suited all. i have heard many actors declare brownsville was the hardest town to please they ever tackled. an english sleight of hand man played jeffries hall three nights. he said they were a "bit thick." alf burnett, the humorist, compared brownsville to slush ice. bob stickney was the best one in your show. now comes the news that i hate to tell (and this was the sole reason that prompted the letter). your after-concert is a bad recommend for your real show. i reckon one thing that made it appear worse is we have a regular minstrel show on hand all the time. i'm at the head of it, and most of the people in town know our jokes and songs by heart and when your concert people told them they did not tell them right and our people noticed the mistakes, and of course you couldn't expect them to laugh at the jokes anyway. now you promised to write me. if you can do so, i can go to your show most any time providing you do not get too far away from brownsville. please send me where you're going to list. i am sure i can make a heap of improvement in your concert and i know you do not want people anywhere to call you an old fraud as they have done here. your most obedient servant, alfred griffith hatfield. p. s. please let me know what you can afford to pay a prime concert actor. between times i can help out in the circus ring if you have clothes fit to do it in. in due time this reply was received: fairmont, va. mr. hatfield: your letter duly received. you will find our advance route for the next ten days enclosed. you can join at any time it suits your convenience. your salary will be based upon the value and extent of services you can render this company. after a trial, if your ability is not what you represented it to be, your engagement will be ended without prejudice to you or expense to this firm. respectfully yours, thayer and noyes, per b. l. p. s. send your professional name and billing. alfred read and re-read the letter and immediately began making preparations to tempt fate once more. the preparations mostly consisted in surreptitiously secreting his wearing apparel in the old barn where node had labored so long on his great inventions. it was alfred's intention to leave home clandestinely. as usual with boys in his frame of mind he did not dare to trust himself to advise with anyone; like boys in general, he did not desire advice. approval was that which he most craved. uniontown was decided upon as the place to join the circus. alfred felt the leaving of home and family meant more to him than ever before. at times he was buoyed up by hopes of success. he would argue with himself thusly: i have promised to join the show. they need me; they will be expecting me. this is the opportunity i have been looking for. alfred spent all his spare time at home with his mother, sisters and brothers. his usual haunts in town were forgotten. family and friends noted the change and wondered thereat. lin was unstinted in her praise. lin asserted from the wildest, he had become the tamest boy in brownsville. "he'll eat out of your hand now," she assured mrs. todd. mr. todd jerked out a "huh" as he advised them to keep their eyes on the "devil ketcher." "he's just sittin' the megs for another outbreak. he's compilin' some devilment, yer ken bet yer bottom dollar. he kan't fool me twice." it was the day previous to alfred's intended departure. he had been at home all day. he gave his sled to brother joe. it was summer and the steel soles were greased to keep them from rusting. lin would not permit joe to haul it over the floor claiming it would grease everything it touched. to brother bill fell shinny clubs and bats, marbles and a kite. sister lizzie was the recipient of more than a quart of various colored beads taken from aunt lib's jenny lind waist. ida belle, the baby was remembered with a big dutch doll that rolled its eyes, the mother with an ornamental sugar bowl and lin with a pair of puff combs. a pair of skates and a bow and arrow were given to cousin charley. the greater effort alfred made to ease his mind, the more conscience stricken he became. try as he would he could not force the gayety he feigned. he clung to the baby sister every moment he was in the house. lin, in an adjoining room, heard him ask the child if she would miss her big "bruzzer" when he was gone. entering the room she found alfred in tears, the sympathetic child stroking his face. alfred endeavored to swallow the lump in his throat but he only sobbed the more. it did him good as ashamed as he felt. lin looked him over suspiciously as she, in a voice as commanding as she would pitch it, said: "look here, ye can't bamboozle me another minnit. what's on yer mind? spit it out afore it spills. get it out of yer sistum and yer'll feel a hull lot better. thar hain't a durned dud of yers in this house. air yu fixin' to fly the coop? if ye air, don't go off like a thief afore daylight. go away so you won't be ashamed to kum back. kum on now, let's hear from you! i'll durn soon tell you whar to head in." alfred made a full and complete confession. "so yer fixin' to run off and break the hearts of all at home, an' put a dent in your own. for a week ye been jumpin' to make yerself more dear to 'em afore ye hurt 'em. yer hain't learnin' much with all yer schoolin'. when do the retreat begin?" banteringly demanded lin. "tomorrow," feebly answered alfred. that night, the family were in the big room, mother sewing, the children playing about her. lin, seated behind the mother, repeatedly signaled alfred to begin his talk to the mother as per his promise. the boy looked another direction but lin never took her eyes off his face. her gaze became painful. finally he began: "muz, do you think pap would be mad if i was to go away while he is in pittsburgh?" the mother, without taking her eyes off her work, said: "i hope you're not going to uncle jake's again. you'll wear your welcome out, won't you?" "no, i'm going away on business. i'm tired and sick of the way things are going with me. i see nothing ahead for me and i'm going to strike out for myself." the mother put down her sewing and looked very seriously. lin, from behind her, nodded vigorously for him to go on. "look at dan livingstone," alfred continued; "he never had anything until he went off with capt. abrams. now see where he is and i don't know how many boys have gone away and all have done well. all i need is to get out of this town and i know i can do something for myself." "does capt. abrams want to take you with him," anxiously inquired the mother. "oh, no, he never said a word to me about it, but i know i could go with him if i wanted to." "well, where do you think of going?" questioned the mother. alfred hesitated a second. "well, first i'm going to try it with a circus but i don't expect to stay long. i'm just going on trial." noting the look of worriment on the face of the mother he continued: "i know i won't do. they almost tell me so in a letter and it's only to uniontown, twelve miles away. i won't be gone long," and he caught the baby up, tossed it up, and pretended to be very jolly. the matter was gone over and over with the mother who insisted that alfred remain at home until the return of the father. if he could obtain his father's consent he could go. lin endeavored to assist the boy by remarking: "well, if he's jes goin' for a trial, uniontown is so close to hum, you could walk back if ye hain't fit fer the work." the mother protested to the last. alfred had been so very liberal in bestowing presents to ease his conscience that he had but forty-six cents in his purse when the leaving time came. he was acquainted with all the old stage drivers on the line. it was his intention to walk up town hill, rest under the big locust trees at the brow of the hill until the stage coach arrived, the horses walking slowly ascending the long hill, he would get up beside the driver or crawl in the boot on the rear of the stage coach. he lolled on the grass as the stage approached. the driver was a stranger to him. he looked appealingly at the man but received no recognition. the heavy stage lumbered by. alfred ran for the rear end of it. the boot was bulging out with trunks and valises; there was no room for alfred. a broad strap that held the huge leather cover in place over the trunks dangled down within reach. grasping it as the four horses struck a trot, alfred was helped along at a lively gait. through sandy hollow by the old brubaker house, then a slow walk up the hill by mart claybaugh's blacksmith shop, through the toll gate, then into a trot on by the old school-house where his first minstrel show was given, on by all the familiar places. [illustration: leaving home] heretofore when traveling the pike alfred had a word and a smile for all as he knew every family along its sides. on this occasion he endeavored to conceal his identity. but once did the coach halt--at searight's half way to uniontown to water the horses and liquor the driver and passengers. old logan, the hostler at searight's crowed in imitation of a rooster, the passengers throwing him pennies. alfred with cast down head walked on to the next hill. when the stage rolled by he again grasped the strap and kept pace with the coach until the outskirts of uniontown were reached. a small colored boy directed him to the show grounds. through the main street of the town alfred trudged, carrying the large carpet sack formerly used with the eli troupe as a property receptacle for mrs. story's china tea set. arriving at the circus grounds, the afternoon performance was over. drawing near the tent he anxiously expected to find the show folks looking for him. he imagined they would all be expecting him. the huge form of dr. thayer loomed up. alfred hastened toward him. the doctor was engaged in an earnest argument with a mechanic of the town over the charges for repairs on a wagon. alfred walked up to the circus man. the doctor did not even notice him. he followed the two men around the wagon as they argued, alfred stationing himself directly in the big showman's path. their eyes met several times, still no recognition came from the circus manager. alfred finally accosted the big man with a "howdy, mr. thayer. i've come to work for you." the showman's surprised look showed plainly he did not recognize alfred. "i'm the new boy to work in your concert." motioning with his arm he ordered alfred to go back and charley would attend to him. without any idea who charley was or what he was, alfred started in the direction indicated by the jerk of the doctor's hand. approaching the connection between the main tent and the dressing room tent, a man lying on the grass warned alfred back. even after he explained that he was searching for charley, the man, without heeding the appeal, motioned the boy back. walking around to the other side of the tent, he stealthily approached the opening and darted in. he was barely inside the tent when a big, burly fellow seized him roughly and hustled him through the opening, demanding why he was sneaking into the ladies' dressing room. "mr. thayer hired me. he sent me here. he told me charley would attend to me. i'm looking for charley." the man asked: "what charley are you looking for?" "i don't know. mr. thayer told me charley would put me to work." the man laughed and led the way into the tent as he cautioned the lad to use the name of mr. noyes instead of charley. mr. noyes was too busy to talk to him. alfred's attention was divided between the performance and the novel scenes in the men's dressing tents; the latter were as interesting to him as the ring performance. the order and decorum pervading the organization was marked. charley noyes, a most competent director of a circus performance, the deportment of his employes was nearly perfect. even the property men were respectable and well behaved. the performance over, a heavy set man was packing a huge trunk with horse covers and other trappings. he had repeatedly requested the others to lend a hand. alfred assisted the man with his work until completed. in the interim alfred advised him why he was there. the man looked the boy over carefully saying: "where are you going to pad?" alfred had no idea of the meaning of the word "pad." afterwards, he learned that "pad" was slang for bed and sleep. he answered correctly by chance, "i don't know." "well, you can get in with me. it's a two o'clock call. i'm going to spread a couple of blankets under the band chariot. i sleep better there than in a hotel." the blankets spread, alfred's carpet sack served as a pillow for him. they were about to crawl in when the other asked alfred if he had been to "peck." "not within the last week." the man looked at him pityingly. there was a lunch stand nearby. the man, returning from it, handed alfred a half of a fried chicken and an apple pie. although alfred insisted, the man would not eat any of it. he ordered alfred to eat it all, remarking "you need it." alfred found himself the object of considerable sympathy the following day and not until someone asked him how it was he had been without food for a week did he learn that "peck" in show slang signified meals--eating. boy-like, he had worn his new sunday shoes. his feet were feverish and sore. even had alfred not been footsore, the snoring of the other would have made sleep impossible to him. how long he lay awake he had no reckoning of. it seemed to him he had only closed his eyes when he felt a yank at the blankets and a rough voice ordering him to get up. it was the lot watchman. the big band chariot was slowly ascending the foothills of the mountains. the east was ahead over the mountain. the curtain of night was being lifted by the first streak of gray dawn spreading over the sky. all were asleep in the wagon excepting the driver. halting his team he began winding the long reins about the big brakes. he was about to climb down when alfred inquired as to the trouble. the driver advised that the off leader's inside trace was loose and the lead bars dragging. alfred advised the driver to sit still. "i'll hook it up. how many links do you drop?" he asked as he pushed the horse into place. he was on the wagon in a jiffy. the driver was greatly taken with the boy. further up the mountain at the big watering trough, alfred assisted in watering and washing the horses' shoulders. it was only a day or two until alfred was permitted to handle the reins over the team, a favor this celebrated old horseman had never conferred upon anyone previously. never will alfred forget that journey up the mountains. every turn of the wheels of the big chariot, as they ground the limestone under their weight until the flinty pebbles shed sparks, made him feel more lonely. in the dim gray of the early day the distance seemed greater than when softened by the light of the morning sun. he had often from afar viewed the mountains over which they were traveling. as they ascended, he gazed long and wistfully towards home, a home that lives in his memory today as clearly as on that morning in the long ago. [illustration: on the band wagon] when the crest of the ridge was reached and the descent on the other side began, looking backwards, he imagined the world between him and home. right glad was he of the friendly advances of the old driver--they were friends. soon the band men began to awaken, taking out their instruments, arranging their clothing, and making preparation for the entrance into town. the baggage wagons had preceded the band and performer's wagons. there was but one animal van, charley white's trained lions, the feature of the show. the teams halted. the driver placed plumes in the head gear of the horses. the band men pulled on red coats and caps. as the horns tooted and the cymbals clashed they entered the town. alfred assisted the driver to unhitch his team. mr. noyes arrived, meanwhile. alfred volunteered to take charge of his team. he drove the handsome horses to the barn and saw that they were fed and watered. mr. noyes remarked: "you seem to be fond of horses. have you handled them before?" "all my life," proudly answered alfred. "well, you ride with me tomorrow. it will be more pleasant than in the band wagon. i want you to go in the concert today." he had no orchestrated music, but phil blumenschein, the bandmaster, was an old minstrel leader. the orchestra played over alfred's stuff two or three times and played it better than it was ever played before. in those days an orchestra furnished the music for the entire circus performance. there came a heavy rain. the attendance at the concert was very light insofar as the paid admissions were concerned but all connected with the circus were there to witness the debut of the new boy who had joined to strengthen the concert. no opera house or theatre ever erected has the resonance, the perfect acoustics of a circus tent when the canvas is wet and the temperature within above degrees. there was a chord from the orchestra. alfred ran to the platform in the middle of the ring. (the gentleman who announced the concert assured the audience there would be a stage erected). this stage was a platform about ten feet square resting flat on the uneven earth. as alfred stepped on it and began his song and dance, in which he did some very heavy falls, the platform rocked and reeled like a boat in a storm. every slap of the big shoes on his well developed feet made a racket, the sound twofold increased by the acoustics of the damp tent. alfred's voice sounded louder to himself than ever before, notwithstanding he worked his whole first number with his back to the audience. (in theatres the orchestra is always in a pit in front of the performers--in a circus concert the orchestra is behind the performer). alfred faced the orchestra; his back to the audience, his work made a hit, even more with the show folks than with the audience. dick durrant, the banjoist, taught alfred the comedy of the familiar duet, "what's the matter pompey?" this was in alfred's line and the act became the comedy feature of the concert. salary day came on sunday. the employes of the circus reported to the room of the manager, where their salary was counted out to them by the treasurer. when alfred's turn came he was asked: "how much does your contract call for?" "i have no contract. here is the letter under which i joined," assured alfred, passing the letter to the treasurer. glancing at it: "yes, i wrote that letter but you'll have to see mr. thayer." as alfred opened the door to depart he said, "you had best see mr. noyes." "how much are you going to pay me, mr. thayer?" "well, let me see, ten dollars a week will be about right, won't it charley?" "eh, no, pay him fifteen. he's worth it. he's the best boy i ever had around me," was mr. noyes' answer. charley noyes paid alfred the first salary he ever earned with a circus and it was so ordained that alfred should pay the then famous circus manager the last salary he ever received, years after the day charley noyes declared alfred the best boy he ever had around him. the once famous manager, broken in health and fortune, was seeking employment and it fell to alfred's lot to secure him an engagement with a company of which alfred was the manager. when the salary of the veteran was being discussed, alfred's intervention secured him remuneration far in excess of that hoped for. soon after this engagement ended, mr. noyes died very suddenly. the end came in a little city of texas. it happened that the minstrel company, owned by the one time new boy of the circus, was in waco. letters on mr. noyes' person written by alfred led the hotel people to telegraph the minstrel manager, who hastened to the city where his friend had died. ere he arrived, the masonic fraternity had performed the last sad rites. mr. noyes was the friend of alfred when he needed friends and it was his intention to send all that was mortal of him to his old home. telegrams were not answered and charles noyes sleeps in the little cemetery at lampasas, texas. as the thayer & noyes circus was one of the best, alfred has always considered his engagement with that concern as the beginning of his professional career. dr. james l. thayer and his family were highly connected. mr. noyes married the sister of his partner's wife. the families did not agree and this led to a separation of the partners, disastrous to both. chas. noyes' crescent city circus, and dr. james thayer's great american circus never appealed to the people as did the old title, nor was either of the concerns as meritorious as the thayer & noyes concern. in the prosperous days of the show the proprietors and their wives were welcome guests in the homes of the best families in the cities visited. the writer remembers that in the city of baltimore, the mayor, the city council and other high dignitaries attended the opening performance in a body. the company was the cream of the circus world: s. p. stickney, one of the most respectable and talented of old time circus men; sam and robert stickney, sons; emma stickney, his daughter; tom king and wife, millie turnour, jimmy reynolds, the clown whose salary of one hundred dollars a week had so excited the cupidity of alfred; woody cook, who came from cookstown, fayette county, only a few miles from brownsville, and who, like alfred had left home to seek his fortune; james kelly, champion leaper of the world; james cook and wife, of the cook family, were of the company. all circus people in those days were apprenticed, all learned their business. one of the latter day hall room performers would have received short shrift in a company of those days, when every performer was an all-round athlete; in fact, in individual superiority, the circus actor of that day outclassed those of the present. the riders were very much superior as they had more competent instructors. the only particular in which the circus performance has progressed is in the introduction of the thrillers--the big aerial acts, the mid-air feats. combination acts are superior in the present circus and in this alone has there been improvement. the circus people of old bore the same relation to the public as does the legitimate actor today. there was an aristocracy in the circus world of those days that could not be understood by the circus people of today. some twelve families controlled the circus business in this country for years. they were people of wealth and affairs. the robinson family was one of the oldest and most famous of their times. the elder john robinson left an estate valued in the millions. the numerous apprentices of this master of the circus were the most famous of all of their times. james robinson who was the undisputed champion bare-back rider of the world, was an apprentice of "old john" robinson. assuming the name of robinson, he held a place in the circus field never attained by any other. he toured the world heralded as the champion, yet he would never permit himself to be announced as such. he earned two fortunes. today at an age that leaves the greater number of men in their dotage, mr. robinson is healthy and active. he enjoys life as few old persons do. in the office of his friend, dr. j. j. mcclellan, he may be found almost any day, the center of a group of good fellows and none merrier than the once champion bare-back rider of the world. the stickneys were one of the greatest of the old time circus families. in the summer the family followed the red wagons and in the winter mr. stickney managed the american theatre on poydras street, new orleans. america's noted players all appeared in this theatre. young bob stickney was born in this theatre. he made his first appearance on the stage as the child in rolla, supporting edwin forrest. no more talented or graceful performer ever entered a circus ring than this same robert stickney. only a few weeks ago the writer attended a performance of that improbable play, polly at the circus. the grace and dramatic actions of mr. stickney in the one brief moment in the scene where polly rushes into the ring, were more effectively and dramatically portrayed than any climax in the play. when thayer & noyes' great american circus exhibited in baltimore a special quarter sheet bill was printed, the program of the performance. al. g. field was one of the names on the bill, in two colors. the agent mailed one of these bills to the show. it was not until the portly proprietor, dr. thayer, explained to alfred that his name was entirely too long for a quarter sheet, and that if he, alfred, desired to be billed, he must curtail the name. "i've just knocked your hat off," laughed the good natured showman. alfred thought little of the matter. he only regarded the name as a _nom-de-plume_. other bills were printed bearing the name of al. g. field; when nearing the end of the circus season the management of the bidwell & mcdonough's black crook company applied to thayer & noyes for two or three lively young men to act as sprites, and goblins, mr. thayer recommended young mr. field as a capable person to impersonate the red gnome; this name went on the bills. alfred never signed a letter or used the newly acquired name until years afterwards circumstances and conditions had fixed the show name upon him and it was absolutely imperative he adopt it. therefore in , by act of the legislature of ohio and the probate court of franklin county, ohio, the name of alfred griffith hatfield field was legalized, abbreviated on all advertising matter to al. g. field. it is so copyrighted in the title of the al. g. field greater minstrels with the librarian of congress. chapter twenty-one we all fall down at times, though we have nerve and grit; you're worth a bet, but don't forget-- to lay down means to quit. "columbus, ohio, is a long ways out west and i don't hope tu ever git tu see you all agin but i hope you won't fergit me, kase i'll never fergit you. i'd go with you all but i'm 'bliged tu keep my promise. i hope my married life will turn out all right but you kan't never guess whar you're goin' tu land when yu sail on the sea of matermony. "they say the reason men don't practis what they preach is bekase they need the money. well, if he practices what he preaches, he'll be a good pervider and that's all i'll ask of him. "i hope john will do better when you git settled in columbus an' i know he will. alfred's mos' a man grown an' he'll be a big help to his pap if ye'll jes' take him right. i jes' told john day afore yisterday--i ses, ses i--'alfurd's no child enny more and you ought not tu treat him like a boy.' i want you all to write me and tell me how yu like it. i s'pose when yu git out in ohio you'll all git the ager. uncle wilse's folks did and they shook thar teeth loose. they moved to tuscarrarus county. newcomerstown was thar post office. they wrote us they wanted to kum back home afore they was there a month. "it's bad fur ole peepul to change their hums. hits all right fur young folks kase they're not settled an' they soon fergit the old love fur the new, but i hope you'll like hit. john says the railroads kum into columbus from both ways an' the cars are comin' an' goin' all the time. if you live close tu the depot you won't sleep much kase you hain't used tu hit." lin's fears were not realized. alfred's home was far from the depot. it was in the south end, in fact, the south end was columbus in those days. those who guided the destinies of railroads were as wise in those days as these of the present. the site of coony born's father's brewery was selected as the most desirable location for a passenger depot. the good people of columbus (the south end) were more jealous of their rights than the people of today when a railroad is supposed to be encroaching upon them; therefore when it was proposed to locate a depot where the noise would disturb their slumbers and their setting hens, the opposition of not the few, but many, was aroused. to locate the depot in their midst was an invasion of their rights. not only would it disturb the quietude of their homes but it would be a menace to their business inasmuch as it would attract undesirable strangers. the business men of the south end had their regular customers and did not care to take chances with strangers. they admitted a depot was a necessity--a sort of nuisance--to be tolerated, but not approved. railroad people of those days were as inconsistent as those of today. they were spiteful. they built a depot outside the city limits, as near the line of demarcation as possible. north public lane, now naghten street, was the north city limits. the south end had won. they celebrated their victory over the railroads by a public demonstration. hessenauer's garden was crowded. the principal speaker, in eloquent low dutch, congratulated the citizens on the preservation of their rights--and slumbers. he highly complimented them over the fact that they had forced the railroads to locate their depot as far from the south end as the law and the city limits would permit. the new depot was connected with the city by a cinder path, nor could the city compel the builders of the new depot to lay a sidewalk. the depot people claimed the land thereunder would revert to the city. therefore, in the rainy seasons incoming travelers carried such quantities of the cinder walk on their feet that the sidewalks of high street appeared to strangers in mourning for the sad mistake of those who platted the town in confining the city forever to one street. every incoming locomotive deposited its ashes on the cinder path. the city could not remove the ashes as rapidly as they accumulated. the task was abandoned and to this day no continuous efforts are made to keep the streets of columbus clean. like the good fraus of the south end cleaning house, the streets are cleaned once a year--near election time. there was no population north of naghten street until after the erection of the depot. it is true there were a few north of ireland folks living in the old todd barracks, and many of their descendants to this day can be found on neil avenue; yet they had no political power at that time; in fact the south end people, with that supreme indifference which characterizes those who have possession by right of inheritance, did not even note the invasion of the city by the yankees and puritans from worthington and westerville. it was not until pat egan was elected coroner that the residents of the south end realized a candidate of theirs could be laid out by a foreigner. it was in those days that alfred was introduced to columbus. they were the good old days, when all thrifty people made their kraut on all hallowe'en and the celebration of schiller's birthday was only overshadowed by that of washington's; when the first woods were away out in the country and quail shooting good anywhere this side of alum creek. the state fair grounds (franklin park) were in the city. the state house, the court house, born's brewery, the city hall, and hessenauer's garden, all in the south end, were all the public improvements the city could boast of. others were not desired. those days only live in the memory of the good people who enjoyed them--the good old days when every lawn in the south end was a social center on sundays; where every tree shaded a happy, contented gathering whose songs of the fatherland were in harmony with the laws of the land, touching a responsive chord in the breasts of those who not only enjoyed the benefits and blessings of the best and most liberal government on earth, but appreciated them. the statesmen of those days, the men who made laws and upheld them, chosen as rulers by a majority of their fellow citizens, were respected by all. it was not necessary for an official to stand guard between the rabble and the administration. office holders stood upon the dignity of their offices. demagogues had not instilled in the minds of the ignorant that to be governed was to be oppressed. those unfitted by nature and education to administer public affairs did not aspire to do so nor to embarrass those who were competent. in the good old days of columbus, in the days of "rise up" william allen, allen w. thurman, sunset cox and others, that fact that has been recognized in republic, kingdom and empire, namely: that that government is least popular that is most open to public access and interference. the office holders of those days were strong and self-reliant. they formulated and promulgated their policies. they had faith in themselves. the voters had faith in them and faith is as necessary in politics as in religion. the glories of the south end began to wane. south end people in the simplicity of their minds felt they were entitled to their customs, liberties and enjoyments. sober and law abiding, they only asked to be permitted to live in their own way as they had always lived. but the interlopers objected. the yankees interfered in private and public affairs, legislation was distorted, and still more aggravating, the descendants of the puritans demanded that at all public celebrations pumpkin pie and sweet cider be substituted for lager beer, head and limburger cheese. a german lends dignity to any business or calling he may engage in. honest and industrious, he succeeds in his undertakings. in the old days all that was required to establish a paying business in the south end was a keg of beer, a picture of prince bismarck and a urinal. patronized by his neighbors, his place was always quiet and orderly. but little whiskey was consumed, hence there was but little drunkenness. when william wall invited george schoedinger into john corrodi's, george called for beer. wall, with a shrug of his shoulders to evidence his disgust, said: "oh, shucks! beer! beer! take whiskey, mon, beer's too damn bulky." as there was no prohibition territory in those days there was no bottled beer. whether keg beer was too bulky or not relished, brewery wagons seldom invaded the sections wherein the interlopers dwelt. the grocery wagons of george wheeler and wm. taylor were often in evidence. both of these groceries in the north end did a thriving jug and bottle trade. the germans bought and imbibed their beer openly. the grocery wagons were a cloak to the secretiveness of those whom they served, therefore those who patronized the grocery wagons were greatly grieved and rudely shocked at the sight of the beer wagons and the knowledge that their fellow citizens drank beer in their homes or on their lawns. this became an issue in politics and religion. many went to church seeking consolation and were forced to listen to political speeches. preachers forgot their calling; instead of preaching love, they advocated hatred. the german saloon, being lowly and harmless, must go. in their stead came the mirrored bar with its greater influence for the spread of intemperance but clothed with more respectability outwardly. public officials were embarrassed, cajoled and threatened. the malcontent, the meddler, the demagogue, had injected their baneful innovations into the political life of columbus. it is related the indians would not live as the puritan fathers desired they should. they would not accept the dogmas and beliefs of the whites. at thanksgiving time, a period of fasting and prayer, the puritan fathers held a business meeting and these resolutions were adopted: first, resolved, that the earth and the fullness thereof belong to god. second, that god gave the earth to his chosen people. third, that we are those. they then adjourned, went out and slew every redskin in sight. politically, the same fate was meted out to the peaceful citizens of the south end. the sceptre had passed from the hands of the sturdy old burghers of the south end. in their stead came a crop of office holders who, striving for personal popularity, catering to the meddler and busybody--a class who had no business of their own, but ever ready to attend to that of others. from a willing-to-be governed and peaceful city, discontent and confusion came. every tinker, tailor or candle stick maker, every busybody in the city took it upon themselves, although without training, ability or experience, to advise how the city should be governed. in the new order of things, representatives were elected noted only for their talking talents, the consequence of which was that every official considered that he was entitled to talk and talk on every subject whether he understood it or not. there was a custom among the warriors of rome that when one fell in battle, each soldier in his command cast a shovelful of earth on the corpse. thus a mighty mound was formed. and so it was in the new order of things in columbus. when a question of moment came, every official endeavored to shower his eloquence upon it until it was buried under a mass of words. the busybodies who so greatly interfered with public matters were from the grocery wagon sections and were addicted to chewing cloves. those from the west side chewed tobacco. all ate peanuts. special appropriations were requested by john ward, city hall janitor, to remove the peanut hulls after each talk fest. and thus it was that peanut politics and peanut politicians came to be known in columbus. peanut politics like all infections, spread until the whole political system became affected. if the depot had been located in the south end there would be no north end today. do you remember the north end before the depot was located there? do you remember wesley chapel on the site of the present wesley and nicholas block. worship was never disturbed by the hum of business. in the north end in those days there was tom marshall's red bird saloon, jack moore's barber shop, and that old frame building, hickory alley and high street, no. , a floor space of twenty-five by forty feet. they turned out one hundred and fifty buggies a year. later, as the columbus buggy company, a buggy every eight minutes was the output. that was the beginning of the largest concern of its kind in the world. the columbus buggy company and doctor hartman, the foremost citizen of columbus, have done more to bring fame and business to columbus than all other concerns combined. their advertising matter, the most expensive ever used, is distributed to all parts of the world; hence, the man abroad hailing from columbus is not compelled to carry a map to verify his statement that columbus is on it. the columbus of that day had more street railways than the columbus of today. in fact, every man that had a pull had a street of his own. columbus has more streets than any city in the world, comparatively. it is true some of them are not as long as the names they bear, yet they are on the town plat. probably it was this ambition to own a street that influenced others to own street railways. we always spoke of "old man" miller owning the two-horse high street line. luther donaldson owned the one-horse line on state street. doctor hawkes owned the one-horse line on west broad street. doctor hawkes owned several stage lines diverging from columbus. he was the most serious of men. alfred was in his employ. his duties called him to towns on the various stage routes. hunting was good anywhere in those days. alfred was provided with a rickety buggy and a spavined horse. he provided himself with a shot gun and a dog. [illustration: the first home of the columbus buggy co.] returning from mt. sterling one raw autumn day, the game had been plentiful. the old doctor met alfred near where the hawkes hospital (now mt. carmel) stands. the doctor driving a nettled horse, hurriedly advised alfred that business of importance demanded he return to washington c. h. there was a fine bag of game under the seat in the buggy, also a double barreled shot gun and a hunting suit. how to explain their presence to the doctor was perplexing, although he had not neglected the business entrusted to him; in fact, he was an hour ahead of the time. alfred feared the doctor would be displeased. the doctor, quickly alighting, ordered alfred into his rig. "doctor, i have a bunch of quail under the seat. just let me get my gun out and you can have the quail if you want them; if not, send them out to father's." the old doctor knitted his brow but said nothing. however, the quail were sent to the father's house. another day, starting on a trip to the country, the doctor standing on the steps of the office, looked at alfred and asked if he had forgotten anything. "no, sir, nothing. i have everything i usually take with me." "where's your gun?" asked the doctor. "out home," replied alfred. "now doctor, i have done a little hunting but i always start early and i never neglect your business." the doctor muttered something about hunting being a frivolous sport and it should not be engaged in on your employer's time. he never permitted anyone to waste time. the hawkes' farm, embracing all the land on the west side near where the mt. carmel hospital is now located, was covered with stones. it was a fad of the doctor's to pass an afternoon on the farm, gathering stones. preparing to leave for aetna one morning, alfred called at the office to receive instructions. it was late when the old gentleman put in an appearance. he had had a bad night and desired alfred to accompany him to the farm. arriving at the farm, it was not long until he had alfred picking up stones. the greater part of the day was thus spent. alfred's back ached. he thought it the most peculiar fad a sane man ever indulged in. the doctor was as deeply interested as though engaged in some great undertaking. a dozen boulders were placed in the buggy, as heavy a load as the old vehicle would stand up under. driving to a point where the doctor had quite a pile, the stones were unloaded and another load collected. rabbits were numerous. the next visit to the farm alfred carried his gun. it was but a few moments until a cotton-tail jumped up in the path of the buggy. alfred killed the rabbit. it was not long until four of the big-eared bunnies were dead on the buggy floor. the old doctor began to show interest in the sport. when alfred made a move to lay away his gun, the doctor requested that he continue the hunt. nor was it long until he advised alfred that he would accompany him to mt. sterling and requested that the gun and dog be taken along. the doctor without expressing himself as being at all interested, followed alfred in the field. the only interest he seemed to take in the sport was when the hunter missed; then, knitting his brows, he would follow the birds with his eyes as they flew away. dr. hawkes was the most unimpressionable of men. he had no conception of humor. he rarely smiled and never laughed outright. he assured alfred that he would employ a man who had been in the penitentiary in preference to one who had traveled with a circus. the prejudiced old doctor was not aware that alfred formerly followed the "red wagons." a contract had been entered into to convey a number of young school girls to their homes in the country. the driver failed to report. an hour passed. the old doctor was greatly worried. the team was the best in the barn and more than anxious to answer to the driver's command. alfred climbed to the seat. old miles, the barn boss, was in doubt as to entrusting the horses to a driver who was not familiar with them. "hol' on, boy. everybody kan't handle dis team." "turn them loose, miles, i'm on my way," alfred shouting "all-aboard." the doctor looked on in doubt. gazing up at alfred he began questioning him as to where he had learned to drive four horses. "oh, when i was with a circus," replied alfred. "i reined six better ones than these." "you have a precious load. i'm really afraid to trust them to you. it would be an awful thing if you should not be able to handle the team. i'll send old joe with you." "it's not necessary," alfred replied. the young ladies aboard, the whip cracked, they were off; around the state house square, up high street on a lively trot. the old doctor stood on the corner with as near a smile on his face as alfred ever noticed. in the evening he complimented alfred meagerly on his proficiency as a whip. alfred laughingly reminded him that they did not teach you stage driving over at the "pen". uncle henry, a blacksmith who shod the doctor's stage horses, asserted the reason the doctor preferred those from the "pen" was that he could hire them cheaper. james clahane was facetiously dubbed "the duke of middletown" by his friends, and that meant everybody who was intimate with the good-natured irishman. there must be something ennobling in the blacksmith calling. it not only strengthens the muscles but the nature of a man. when doctor hawkes projected the horse car line on west broad street, he solicited clahane to buy stock. the old blacksmith had his hard-earned savings invested in west broad street building lots. the doctor argued the street car line would not only pay handsome dividends but greatly enhance the value of abutting property. clahane, very much against his judgment, invested considerable money in the street car line. the cars were not operated a month until clahane questioned the doctor as to when the road would strike a dividend. it was considered a good joke by all, save the doctor. burglars cracked the street car safe, securing over four hundred dollars of the company's money. the news spread quickly. clahane, minus coat, with plug hat in hand, (it was a hot morning), approached the office. several gentlemen, including the doctor, stood on the steps viewing the wreck within. clahane, while yet the width of broad street away, shouted at the top of his voice: "egad, dhoctur, yese hev got yere divident." if the old doctor realized the humor of this dig he never evidenced it. the world declared the doctor cold and uncharitable, but alfred never enters mt. carmel hospital that he does not lift his hat in reverence as he halts in front of the marble bust that so faithfully portrays the serious face of doctor hawkes. in those days heitman was mayor, sam thompson chief of police, lott smith was the 'squire of the town, and 'squire doney in the township. chief heinmiller ran the fire department and ran it right. oliver evans had the exclusive oyster trade of the city, handling it personally with a one horse wagon. the postoffice was near the neil house. the canal boats unloaded at broad street, and columbus had a fourth of july celebration every year. alfred was one of a committee of young men laboring, to demonstrate to the world that the birth of this nation was an event, and incidently, to attract attention to a section of the city that had been overlooked in the way of street improvements. the large vacant field opposite the blind asylum was selected as the proper location for the fourth of july celebration. the fact that the brass band, lately organized by the officers of the blind asylum, would be available for the exercises, had great weight with the committee, in selecting the location. parsons avenue, then east public lane, was the muddiest street in the city. those who drove their cows home via east public lane will verify this statement. the city council had been appealed to personally and by petition. finally, to partially appease public outcry, a very narrow sidewalk was constructed from friend, now main street, to mound, one short square. this very narrow sidewalk aroused those of the neighborhood as never before, excepting when the pound was established and citizens prevented pasturing their live stock on the public streets. among the attractions of the fourth of july celebration were lon worthington, tight-rope walker; billy wyatt, in fire-eating exercises; a greased pig; ed delany, who was to read the declaration of independence and alfred a burlesque oration. there was universal dissatisfaction over the narrow sidewalk and many independent citizens refused to walk upon it. they waded in mud to their knees, and proudly boasted of their independence as citizens. even ladies refused to use the sidewalk, asserting it was so narrow two persons could not pass without embracing. there was an old soldier who bore the scars of numerous battles and was looking for more. on the glorious fourth, to more strongly emphasize his disdain for the narrow sidewalk, he rigged himself out in the uniform he had worn throughout the war. although it was excessively hot he wore not only his fatigue uniform but his heavy blue double-caped overcoat. he paraded up and down along the side of the detested sidewalk, never stepping foot upon it. when his feet became too heavy with mud he scraped it off on the edge of the walk as he cursed the city council. he consigned them to----, where there are no fourth of julys or sidewalks. strains of music foretold the coming of the grand parade, headed by the blind band, marching in the middle of the street, their movement guided by a drum major blessed with the sight of one eye. on they came, four abreast, taking up the narrow street from field fence line to narrow sidewalk line. from the opposite direction came the son of mars. he was large enough to be the father of that mythical warrior. the four slide trombone players leading the van were rapidly nearing the violent soldier who was taking up as much street as the four musicians; in fact, after his last visit to ed turner's saloon, the old soldier actually required the full width of the street. as the band and soldiers neared each other, it was evident there would be a collision. on the old "vet" marched, oblivious of everything on earth excepting the sidewalk. people yelled at him. one man who knew something of military tactics shouted "halt!" the old veteran shouting back, to go to where he had consigned the city council and their sidewalk. "get out of the way; let the band by!" waving his mace as an emblem of authority, jack nagle, the policeman, ran towards the old soldier. "get out of the way! get out of the street! get on the sidewalk! can't you walk on the sidewalk?" "walk on the sidewalk," shouted the old soldier, "walk on the sidewalk? huh, what in hell do you take me for, the tight-rope walker?" the fourth of july celebration was successful. in obtaining street improvements, east public lane was paved with brick twenty years afterwards, thus alfred gained a reputation as a politician. years later, george j. karb, a candidate for sheriff, requested alfred and several of his friends to make a tour of the northern part of the county in his interest--a section noted for its piety and respectability. there were mayor george pagels and bill parks and jewett of worthington, fred butler of dublin, tom hanson of linworth, and numerous other deacons and elders to be seen. karb requested that alfred select the right people to accompany him. w. e. joseph, charley wheeler and gig osborn, made up the committee that was to present the merits of the candidate for sheriff to the voters of the linwood and plain city section. karb was furious when he learned that fred atcherson had volunteered to carry the party in his big packard machine. he swore they would lose him more votes than he could ever hope to regain; an automobile was the detestation of every farmer. to complete the campaign organization the committee decided to wear the largest goggles, caps and automobile coats procurable. the first farmer's team they met shied off the road, upsetting the wagon, breaking the tongue and crushing one wheel. the committee gave the farmer an order on fred immel to repair the wagon if possible, otherwise deliver a new wagon to the bearer, charging same to george j. karb. this experience cautioned the party to be more careful. another farmer's team approaching, they halted by the roadside a hundred yards from the passing point. do what he would the farmer could not urge his team by the automobile. charley wheeler became impatient and sarcastic. "what's the matter? you going to hold us here all day? didn't your crow-baits ever see a gas wagon before?" "yes, my team has seed gas wagons and gas houses afore," sneered the farmer, "but they hain't used to a hull pack of skeer crows in one crowd. when we put a skeer crow in a corn field, one's all we make. some damned fools make a dozen and put 'em all in one automobile. if you'll all get out and hide, my team will go by your ole benzine tank." hot and dusty, the party halted in front of a hotel. the village was larger and more prosperous than any yet visited. a number of men were threshing grain a few hundred yards away, the steam threshing machine attracting farmers from all the country about. one a peculiar man, more refined appearing than the others, had once been a college professor; overstudy had partially unbalanced his reason. he was versed in the classics. he took an especial interest in alfred. bill joseph is the luckiest man that ever tapped a slot machine. when traveling he often steps off the train while it halts at a depot and pulls his expenses out of a slot machine. on this day he was unusually lucky. the hotel had a varied assortment of drop-a-nickle-in-the-slot devices. joe tapped them in a row. the hotel people looked upon him with suspicion. but when he carried the winnings into the bar, ordering the hotel man to slake the thirsts of the threshers, they were sort of reconciled. the old college professor, unlike the others, demanded something stronger than beer. his neighbors, who evidently had him in charge, endeavored to persuade him to go home. [illustration: on the crowd cheered] "wait! hold a minute. i want to talk to this man field. he is a scientific man. his father laid the atlantic cable. his family is noted the world over. i want to talk to him. the field family are noted scientists." one of those who seemed most intimate with the professor was an old soldier, very deaf. "what did you say his name was?" he inquired. "field," replied the professor. "f-i-e-l-d." "field," repeated the old soldier. "field. well, i want nuthin' to do with _him_. field was my captain's name in the army, an' he was the damnedest beat i ever knowed." the old professor stuck to alfred quoting latin. he quoted a striking climax from one of bryan's speeches, a quotation bryan has been using in his chautauqua lectures and political speeches for years. the old professor observed claudius evolved this idea years ago. alfred had no idea of who claudius was, or how long ago he lived. however, when he located him four hundred years back, the old professor said "huh, four hundred years ago? h-ll! four thousand years." alfred did not delve into the classics further. alfred presented the claims of geo. karb for the office of sheriff and concluded his talk by inviting all to call on karb when they happened in columbus. "and when election day comes around, i hope you will all see your way clear to cast your votes for him, even though you are opposed to him politically. we must not adhere too strictly to our political prejudices in selecting officers to look after our personal affairs. and that's what a sheriff should do, and that's what geo. karb will do. therefore, i ask you to cast your votes for geo. j. karb for sheriff of franklin county." the crowd cheered. the old professor took it upon himself to reply. first, he thanked all for the honor they did his community by visiting them. "we have too few scientists visit us and i hope mr. field will come again when he can enlighten us on many scientific matters of which we are in doubt. as to his candidate for sheriff of franklin county, we know he is deserving or mr. field and the eminent gentlemen would not commend him. and i know that every voter here would be glad to vote for mr. karb if we lived in franklin county." the facts are, the committee in their zeal, were electioneering in milford center, union county. joe was pryed off the slot machines and a solemn compact entered into that the part of the electioneering tour over the franklin county line be forever held and guarded as a sealed book. chapter twenty-two and far away--up yonder, in the window o' the blue, the dreamed-of angels listen to an echo glad and new-- thrilled to the gates of glory, and they say: "heaven's love to you, brother of the light that makes the morning!" "if john kin do better in columbus, hit's yo're duty to go." thus linn advised the mother. columbus was a big city but it was not home. the mother was discontented and longed for the old town back yonder. alfred had promised to abandon his circus ambitions. he had just concluded a season in the south with the simmons & slocum minstrels, a famous troupe of those days. e. n. slocum was a columbus man. alfred had received an offer to cross the ocean with haverly's minstrels, a very large company. haverly had invaded london previously and the success of that venture aroused great hopes for the success of the second company. the mother's strenuous opposition to alfred's acceptance of the engagement was backed up by uncle henry hunt, who was on a visit from burlington, iowa. uncle henry was born in elk county, ky. his mother died when he was very young. his father married soon after the death of the first wife. the younger sister and himself did not appeal strongly to the step-mother. she was deeply interested in church work, and had little time to devote to the half orphaned children or her home. a plantation and a hundred and fifty slaves engaged all the father's time. the boy and girl ran wild on the place and it was little wonder they often came in for censure and even more severe punishment. the sister seemed more aggravating to the new mother than the boy. reprimands became more frequent, followed by bodily punishment. during the father's absence in louisville, the step-mother's abuse of the sister became so aggravating to the brother that he assaulted the step-mother. the boy, fearing the wrath of the father, determined to run away. he had relatives, a brother in newark, ohio. walking and working, he reached newark, footsore, weary, lonesome and homesick. he felt he had reached a haven of rest. the wife of the brother was the best man. she ran the husband, she ran the home. ragged and miserable looking, his reception was anything but cordial. the recital of his wrongs, the abuse of his sister by the step-mother, instead of creating sympathy, brought censure. the brother's wife was a most devout church member and that a boy of fourteen had descended to the depths of degradation his condition denoted, was most abhorrent to her. the boy realized that he was an unwelcome guest. it was not long ere the brother, influenced by the wife, informed him that he must go back to his home, to the old plantation in kentucky, that he must submit to the authority of the step-mother, become a better boy, that his behavior, had disgraced the family, and that he, the brother, could not harbor him longer. the brother's wife assured him the prayers of herself and family would go up for him nightly. they gave him no food, they gave him no money. when the door of his brother's house closed upon him, all there was of love in his being for kith or kin went out of him, save for the memory of the dead mother and the living sister. he worked on a farm barefooted; he slept in an out-house without sufficient covering to keep him warm; he carried a clap-board to the field that he might protect his feet from the frost while he husked corn. he apprenticed himself to a blacksmith, learned the trade and came to columbus. he established a shop at a crossroads in the country. it became known as hunt's corners. it is now the corner of cleveland and mt. vernon avenues. uncle henry, through influence, secured a contract from the penitentiary. he accumulated money, moved to burlington, iowa, became one of the prosperous, progressive business men of that beautiful city. that uncle henry's heart was hardened towards relatives did not change his generous disposition towards friends. alfred liked the rugged old blacksmith whose good nature and wholesome hospitality were the admiration of all who were fortunate enough to be his guests. he entertained as few men can entertain. the host of a home is a difficult social role to fill. there are no rules, no book-lessons that teach it. it is an inborn trait and comes only to a man who loves the companionship, the good-fellowship of human beings. uncle henry was noted for the good things to eat he so abundantly provided. however, had he served the plainest food to those whom he welcomed, his hearty hospitality would have made it a feast. [illustration: uncle henry] uncle henry soothingly addressed the mother: "sis," (he always addressed her as "sis,"), "alfred's not going to england. he has walked many dusty roads, like myself, and he's all the better for it, but you can't walk back from england. i've told him so. alfred's going to stay right here in this country. he's all right. he's going with a circus. he's a better circus manager than plenty of them that's making money. when he gets a little older, hard behind the ears, we're going to get up a company and start him out right. i've talked it all over with grimes and two or three other friends. now you and john just let that boy alone. he'll come out all right." the mother said: "alfred has promised me he will not go with another circus. it keeps us worried all the time. i'm afraid something will happen him." "yes, something will happen him, and you take it from me, it will happen here or there, and it's more liable to happen here than there. say, sis, come on, be a sensible woman. never drive your boys away. never coax them to lie." "why, i haven't coaxed alfred to lie," quickly answered the mother. "say, sis, you've been coaxing that boy to lie since he was able to paddle his own canoe. your coaxing him to do that, he will never do. that is, stay at home and paint wagons, houses or boats. give him his way. he'll have it anyhow, you see if he don't. if he wants to start a grocery, i'll loan him the money. but, he'll never make a groceryman. suppose they'd tried to make a preacher out me," (and all laughed), uncle henry said, "yes, you laugh at the very idea of it. let me tell you something, and i hope alfred's high-falutin' preacher uncles and others won't get red in the face when they hear of it. if you all keep caterwauling alfred around, he wouldn't amount to three hurrahs in halifax." "he may work for doctor hawkes forty years longer and he will be no better off than a living. there's no hope for a boy in working for a man like doctor hawkes. the doctor's all right but he never assisted a human being to better himself. he's like all other rich men. he just uses men to pile it up for himself, and any man that can't pile it up for himself, or don't make a big try to do so, needs shingling. i never had any relatives to pull me back, and i never had any to put me forward." "where is your brother and his wife?" someone asked uncle henry. "wheeling cinders," came quick as a flash. "oh, uncle henry, i am surprised." "well, the reason i say that, is, they told me that people that did certain things would sure go there"--and he pointed downwards--"and they did those very things so what can i say when you ask me where they are?" * * * * * peter sells and alfred were close friends. the sells bros. show had opened early--april , , . it rained or snowed every day during their engagement in columbus. the show was to appear in chillicothe a few days after leaving columbus. peter sells came into the stage office and arranged to go to chillicothe. he had returned from kentucky to confer with his brothers. alfred accepted his invitation to accompany him to chillicothe. the after concert, with no performers to present it, had been omitted for three days. alfred advised ephraim sells that could he find wardrobe a concert could be given that afternoon and night. the wardrobe was secured. the announcer made much of the "great minstrel comedian" who would positively appear in the concert for this day only. nat goodwin and his company, who were to appear in the opera house that night, were in the audience. ephraim, allen and peter sells, and alfred were seated on a bench in front of the hotel. allen sells was endeavoring to persuade alfred to remain with the show. while the dicker was pending, a young clerk from a store door, yelled to a passer-by on the opposite side of the street: "were you at the circus?" the other yelled: "yes." "how was it?" "bum, but the concert's good. that al. g. field that was here last winter in the opera house, is with them. the concert's the best part of the whole thing. i guess the minstrels are busted, or field wouldn't be with such a bum circus." the sells brothers appreciated the joke. the argument ended abruptly by the engagement of alfred. ephraim sells was exacting in all his dealings. severe with the drunkard, he endeavored to assist all temperate and deserving employes, advising men to secure their own homes. "own your home. you will never accumulate anything without a home. establish a home, raise a family, be somebody." there are many men living in columbus today who owe all their possessions to ephraim sells' advice. the sells brothers shows were larger than the thayer & noyes. in fact, the sells shows had the advantage of a menagerie. the circus performance was not so meritorious as the first circus alfred was connected with. the sells brothers, with the exception of peter, were not good showmen; that is, they were not producers, although good business men. had the sells brothers possessed the talent for originating and producing displayed by james a. bailey, or alfred t. ringling, their organization would have been second to none, as they had the opportunities but did not take advantage of them. they were undoubtedly exhibiting the finest menagerie in the country, the collection of animals, with the exception of a giraffe, was most complete. peter, the advance agent, returned to the show. he severely criticized the appearance of the show, particularly the lack of decorations. nashville was a two days' stand. ephraim gave alfred orders to buy all the decorations, banners, flags, etc., necessary to convert the interior of the tents into a bower of beauty. nashville stores were ransacked. printed calico or other goods with the national colors emblazoned on them were the only decorations available. wagon loads of these goods were purchased. side poles were festooned with the gaudy colored calico, and lengths of it hung in front of the reserved seats, on the band stand, the entrance to the dressing tents. the decorations were the wonder and admiration of the circus folks. drivers, razor-backs, car porters, cook tent, side show people came again to gaze upon the riot of color presented by the decorations. it rained as it only rains in nashville. the surrounding country is fame's eternal camping ground. here sleep men from all the states of the north and south. it is the bivouac of the dead. the hills have trembled with the tramp of armies. blood has flowed as freely as the rushing waters of the murky cumberland. hills now green with nature's garb were once stained with the blood of those who struggled for the mastery. but no battlefield near nashville ever presented the sight that did the hill on which stood sells brothers tents in the soft haze of that october morning. running rivulets of red percolated in a hundred gulleys from under the circus tents. the gaudy red calico was now white, but all the plains below were red. thousands came to view the sight. one negro spread the news that "the varmints wus all loose and had et up all de circus folks case de blood was leakin' out de tents in buckets-full." another surmised "de elephans had upset the lemonade tubs." the decorations had faded white, the hills were red, ephraim and lewis made the air blue. lewis sarcastically suggested alfred communicate with peter advising we had decorations, but they ran away, and we didn't have time to go down in the hollow and dip them up. one morning the startling news went around that the old man had fired the principal clown. in those days the old clown was best man with a circus. he was the entertainer--the leading man. he must be eloquent, nimble and a comedian. every circus had it's popular clown. it was the days of dan rice, ben mcginley, pete conklin, johnny patterson, walcutt, den stone, john lowlow, and others. therefore, when alfred was ordered--not requested--to prepare himself for the important role of principal clown, he was no little taken aback. "i have no costumes, i have no gags, i have no make-up," were alfred's excuses. after all the boyhood day dreams, after all the preparations in his mind, after all the yearnings, all the ambitious hopes of a boy's lifetime, here was the coveted opportunity to become a clown in the circus. and, now when the opportunity to immortalize himself, to earn a salary as great as jimmy reynolds, and eventually buy a farm, he shied. a performer from chiranni's circus in south america dug from the bottom of his trunk as funny a clown costume as ever joy donned. when made up, all pronounced alfred as funny appearing as any clown. "he has a beak like dan rice and feet like dr. thayer," were a few of the side remarks. alfred determined he would not use the jokes of the clown who had just left. the clown in those days was given unlimited opportunities. the tents were smaller--his voice reached every auditor. sam rinehart, good old sam, was the ringmaster. those of jimmy reynold's jokes alfred could not bring to memory, sam remembered. therefore, the new clown was a success, with the circus people at least. jimmy reynolds' gags were new around the show, and if alfred was not receiving jimmy's salary he was telling his jokes. alfred introduced local talks, which pleased the audiences greatly. [illustration: alfred as the old clown] all efforts to engage a clown were terminated by the manager making an agreement with alfred, installing him as principal clown, a vocation he followed many summers. lin's prophesy was literally fulfilled: "you kin clown h-it in summer and nigger it in winter." on that first day alfred, nervously awaiting his cue to enter the ring as a clown, cautiously peered through the red damask curtains at the dressing room entrance. a boy on a top seat nearby caught sight of the white-painted face. in an ecstacy of joy he clapped his hands, shouting: "oh, there's the old clown, there's the old clown." sam rinehart, sotto voice, standing near the band stand, remarked: "if that kid only knowed how dam new he is he wouldn't call him the _old_ clown." of all the roles enacted by alfred, that of the circus clown was most enjoyed. with thousands around him, in sympathy with every mishap or quip, at liberty to introduce any business that would amuse, with constantly changing audiences, alfred enjoyed his work as greatly as did his auditors. "alfred will come to town sum day a real clown in a circus, and the whole country will turn out to see him. litt dawson, the congressman, won't be so much when alfred gits to goin'." this was another of lin's prophesies. alfred came back home a real clown in a circus. the whole country turned out. no circus ever attracted the multitudes in such numbers. hundreds turned away at both performances. alfred's only regret was that lin was not present. two children had come to her. one was named john, the girl mary, in honor of alfred's father and mother. lin had trouble with the school-marm. the children, as children often did in those days, brought home a few insects in their hair. lin pursued them vigorously with a fine-toothed comb. to more quickly exterminate them, lin gave the head of each child an application of lard and sulphur. the teacher sent the children home with a note advising lin the preparation on their heads was offensive to her, the smell could not be tolerated. lin led the children back to the school, tartly informing the school-marm that her children were "sent to school to be larnt, not smellt." when alfred visited old loudon county he fully expected to meet lin and her family. when informed the big, hearty, wholesome woman had paid nature's debt and that nearly her last words were a message to his father and mother, the pleasure of his visit was greatly marred. the sells brothers and the barnum show were having opposition in indiana. the late james anderson, of columbus, who for years was the superintendent of doctor hawkes stage, carriage & transfer company, was the manager of sells brothers show. ben wallace was the liveryman who furnished the hay and oats for the circus. anderson and wallace became acquainted. a few days later anderson informed alfred that he and the tall young liveryman in peru had formed a partnership to organize a circus. they offered alfred a much greater salary than sells brothers were paying him, and also a winter's work organizing the show. a contract already signed with the duprez and benedict minstrels was cancelled, an office opened in comstock's opera house, columbus, ohio. every performer, every musician, etc., with the wallace show that first season was engaged by alfred. neither wallace or anderson knew what their show was to be until rehearsals began in peru. both were pleased. a bit of heretofore unwritten history: after alfred had refused several offers, after all the best shows had their people engaged, mr. anderson, returning from cincinnati, called on alfred. the first word he uttered chilled alfred's blood. "call everything off, cancel all contracts, the show don't go out." alfred had antagonized sells brothers and others by engaging people who had been with them for years. he had burned the bridges behind him, as it were. mr. anderson, in explanation, advised that he had been disappointed in money matters. men that were to assist him had gone back on their promises, the printing firm demanded a deposit, he saw ruin staring him in the face. it was useless to argue the matter with anderson. it was nearly morning when the men separated. at eight o'clock alfred was at the office awaiting mr. anderson's arrival. anderson was still more dejected than the night before. "what amount of money do you require?" asked alfred. "three thousand dollars." "will that see you through and put the show out?" was alfred's next question. "with what i've got i can get through on that." "well, i'll let you have it." ben wallace is a money-getter and would win success in any business. however, the president of the wabash valley trust company, the owner of the hagenback-wallace shows, with the finest winter quarters of any show in the country, with hundreds of acres of the most productive farming land in miami county, ind., will never know until he reads these pages the narrow margin by which the show was saved, insofar as anderson was concerned. lewis sells was a peculiar man in many respects and one must thoroughly understand his composition to appreciate him. his educational advantages were limited. from a street car conductor to an auctioneer, showman and capitalist, were the gradations of his career. he was conservative and sagacious, a faithful friend, and, like uncle henry, and most men who have tasted of the bitter and prospered by their own exertions, a candid hater. the after years of his life were made unpleasant by a heartless robbery perpetrated by those near him. the loss of the money, some thirty thousand dollars, was as nothing compared to the chagrin over the fact that those who committed the theft were enabled to cover their work so completely the law could not reach them. he fretted that they robbed him at the end of his long and successful career. for several months alfred filled the position of general agent for the sells brothers combined shows, to the complete satisfaction of all the brothers and the disappointment of many subordinates. it is not wealth nor ancestry, but honorable conduct and a noble disposition that makes men great. peter sells was a great man. he would have graced any profession or calling. in all his life he was affable and congenial. when he was prosperous he was not imperious or haughty. when he was oppressed he was not meek. suffering as few men have suffered he refused to wreak that vengeance upon the destroyers of his home, man is justified in--take a doubled-barreled shot gun and inform those who have wronged you that the world is not large enough for both. this was the advice of one who stood by peter sells in all his troubles. another took him to the country, engaged in shooting at a mark with a forty-four smith & wesson, intimating that he could settle all his troubles by dealing out the punishment those who had broken up his home deserved. peter, with a calmness that was most impressive replied: "i'll commit no crime. there comes a time in the life of every human being that their life is lived over. it is in that hour when the coffin lid is shut down. just before the funeral when earth has seen the last of you, your life is lived over in the conversation which recounts your deeds upon earth. i will do no forgiving, but i will do no killing." in comparison with the loss of a wife, all other bereavements pale. she has filled so large a sphere in your life you think of the past when your lives were entwined, of the days when life was a beautiful pathway of flowers. the sun shone on the flowers, the stars hung overhead. you think of her now as you thought of her then in all the gentleness of her beauty. you think of her now as the mother of your child. no thorns are remembered. the heart whose beat measured an eternity of love to you lies under your feet but the love of her still lives in your being. you forget the injury, you forget the disgrace, you forget all of the present, only remembering the happiness of the past. you know she lives in a world where sunshine has been overshadowed by clouds, yet you love her all the more, although to you she is even further removed than by death. such were the last days of peter sells. it is well the old way of satisfying honor is giving way. yet with all its brutality it had the merit of protecting the home. only those who were close to peter sells knew of the burden he bore, the weight of sorrow that cut short a life that has left its impress of nobleness upon all who were privileged to share his confidence and friendship. chapter twenty-three in the land of the sage and the cottonwood, the cactus plant and the sand, when you've just dropped in from the effete east there's a greeting that's simply grand; it's when some giant comes up to you, with a hand that weighs a ton, and cries as he smites you on the back; "why, you derned old son of a gun!" texas, quoting col. bailey of the _houston post_, "is a symphony, a vast hunk of mellifluence, an eternal melody of loveliness, a grand anthem of agglomerated and majestic beneficence. texas is heaven on earth and sea and sky set to music." with ample room to spare, texas would accommodate either austria-hungary, germany and france; and if it were populated as thickly as is belgium it would have a population of over , , . the state of texas could accommodate comfortably the people of all the european nations. texas was wild and woolly when alfred first toured it with a wagon show. weatherford was away out west; dallas was in its swaddling clothes and houston was a village. hunting was good just over the corporation line and there was no closed season on anything. charley gibbs and henry greenwall owned the state. charley highsmith was a schoolboy; he had never owned a dog or looked along the barrels of a double-barreled gun. mike conley was setting type in a printing office run by hand, and bill sterritt was the printer's devil, excepting when ducks were coming in. ben mccullough was the only railroad man in north texas, and george green the only republican in the state. jake zurn had not left germany and jim hogg was a cowboy. a pair of texas ponies, an open buggy, a doubled-barreled shotgun, two dogs and an invalid, were alfred's constant companions on that tour of texas. the invalid who was touring texas for his health, was a relative of the managers, a german, refined and scholarly, a high class gentleman. this was the introduction: "alfred, mr. smith is not well. the doctor advised that he live in the open. he is my guest and i want him to ride with you. i am sure you will like him. i want this trip to benefit his health. you have the best team with the company. you can make the route in half the time it requires the show to drive it. sleep late in the morning." despite this advice, the invalid and alfred were well on their way by daylight almost every morning, nor did they make the routes in half the time the show did. it was more frequently the reverse, particularly if the shooting was good. the invalid was the wellest sick-man companion ever toured with. his cheeks were sallow, low in flesh, but the spirit was there. it was a case of the invalid looking after the nurse. the vast plains were covered with cattle--texas steers. the invalid marvelled at their numbers. while alfred was scouring the prairie with dog and gun the invalid would stand erect in the buggy, on the road side, computing the number of texas steers within sight. how the cattle men separated their droves, claiming their cattle, was a wonderment. cowboys and texas steers was a theme on which the invalid never tired talking. texas steers were a hobby with him. he would talk with cowboys for hours, collecting information. many nights the circus people in making long drives between exhibiting points were compelled to sleep in their wagons, tents, or anywhere they could find shelter. this sort of life soon brought bronze to the invalid's cheeks and strength to his body. pidcock's ranch, embraced several thousand acres of land, a house with four rooms and porch or veranda. all the house was given over to the ladies. alfred explained to the manager of the ranch that he had in charge an invalid and requested the ranchman to do the best he could for them in the way of sleeping quarters. the ranchman arranged a comfortable bed on the porch for the invalid and alfred, advising they would be compelled to sit up until the ladies retired. all had long retired ere the invalid put in an appearance. the invalid invariably found congenial company--cowboys, cattlemen or rangers. each night finding his way to bed he would awaken alfred to explain something new as to texas steers. the invalid had dispatched two cowboys thirty miles for refreshments. the invalid did not part from his guests until late. alfred's wife had sent him a birthday present, a pair of night-shirts worked with red braid, and he was very proud of them. the invalid on retiring commented again on the beauty of alfred's hand-painted night-shirts and the immensity of the droves of texas steers. sleeping in the open on the porch, their slumbers were deep. awaking late, alfred's face felt drawn up. it was as though it was puckered out of all shape. placing his hand on a substance as large as a hulled hickory nut, it was with some little difficulty peeled from his face. a dozen other lumps of similar size were scattered over his ample countenance. glancing at the invalid whose face was adorned with a full set of whiskers, alfred discovered they were liberally sprinkled with the whitish-grayish substance that adorned his own face and the front of his decorated night garments. prying loose another lump, alfred, holding the substance at arm's length, scrutinizing it closely, endeavoring to analyze it. a "cluck-cluck" caused him to look aloft and there, on a beam, sat ten or twelve contented "dominicker" hens. he could discern but half of their bodies--that part that goes over the fence last. rudely awaking the invalid, alfred brushing, picking and pinching the white and greenish bumps from face and night-shirt, indulging in language not proper even on a texas ranch, he slowly worked his way to the watering trough (the only bathing facility), followed by the invalid, who was parting his whiskers to free them from the hidden lumps, meanwhile endeavoring to console alfred: "never mindt, alfred. never mindt. your shirt vill vash all right, und my viskers, too," parting his whiskers and dumping a few more deposits, he remarked: "it's purty badt i know, but, alfred, it might a bin wusser. 'ust s'posin' dem schickens roostin' over us hadt been texas steers." * * * * * "the sooner a man goes into business, the sooner he will be able to retire; that is, if he is baked done. if he ain't, he better let somebody do business for him. my boy, it's better to go into business too young than too old. if you happen to spill the beans, you've got the vim to pick them up again." "well, uncle henry, if i have good luck this season, i'm going to make a break for myself." "good luck, huh? if you're lookin' for luck to help you, you'll be so near-sighted you can't see a business chance across a narrow alley. if luck got you anything you might. there ain't no luck coming to any man that waits on it. every man that's got any get-up in him always has bad luck. he brings it on himself, then he just beats luck out. there ain't no good luck. it's grit and judgment agin dam-fool notions. and grit and judgment wins out nearly every time. i'd rather drive a bad bargain than drive a dray. you can drive a dozen bargains a day. you can drive only one dray. one of your bargains may buck, the other eleven win out. a minstrel show is alright, but, mind, it's a lifetime job, going into business. you ought to know what you're doing. but, i'd thought you'd go into the circus business." "well, i would, uncle henry, but i haven't got the capital. it takes more money than i ever hope to possess. besides, i want a business wherein i can make a reputation for myself." "you better go into a business where you can make money. the reputation will make itself. if you can't make money, you can't make reputation." "but it's my ambition to have the biggest minstrel show in the country." "well, you do that which you feel would be the most agreeable to you. when i went into the grocery business in burlington, everybody behind my back predicted i would lose out. everybody told me to my face i'd win out. make up your mind to stand on your own judgment." sam flickinger, editor of the _ohio state journal_, wrote the first mention of the al. g. field minstrels. he gave alfred desk room in the job office of the _journal_, of which he was manager and editor. the first advertising for the al. g. field minstrels was printed in the job office of the _ohio state journal_. the dates and small bills have been printed in that office, or the successors of it, ever since. almost every one of alfred's friends advised him to abandon the idea of entering the minstrel business. his family were all opposed to it. this was the manner in which alfred's declaration as to going into business seemed to be received by his friends. col. reppert of the b. & o. assured alfred he would send him a ticket to any point he might require it from. billy mcdermott, probably fearing the colonel might not get the ticket to him, presented alfred with a pair of broad-soled low-heeled walking shoes. there was one staunch friend whose words were always encouraging. "you're right, old boy. i wish you all the success you so richly deserve. never mind the knockers. you're in right. you'll make it go." thus did bill hunter of the penna. r. r. encourage alfred. alfred often declared bill a level-headed man, one who would be heard from later. frank field was the city passenger agent of the penna. r. r. frank and bill were very kindly disposed towards show folks. they carried a troupe on their own account over the penna. lines. they were security for the fares to the amount of a couple of hundred dollars. the troupe stranded bill held the musical instruments. the instruments were taken to the city ticket office, concealed under the counter. bill and frank were "stuck." they endeavored to dispose of the horns to alfred. alfred joked bill frequently, advising him to organize a band, and learn to play one of the horns. this "guying" did not alter bill's attitude towards alfred's enterprise. he was even more optimistic as to its success. bill would slap alfred on the back, saying: "never mind the salary you are leaving. you'll make more money with this minstrel show in a year than you would on salary in two." alfred from the first day he began his minstrel career sought to introduce new ideas; not to do things as they had been done. he was the first to uniform the parade. the costumes were long, light-colored, newmarket overcoats, black velvet collar, stylishly patterned. they were very attractive overcoats, contrasting effectively with the red broadcloth, gold-trimmed band uniforms. the company rehearsed in columbus and opened at marion, ohio, october , . the opening day was a dismal, rainy, fall day, just verging on winter. alfred's good friends gathered in the union depot at columbus to bid the minstrels godspeed, although they traveled on another line. bill hunter was at the depot to see them off. the genteel appearance of the troupe, especially the overcoats, were favorably commented upon. bill shook hands with each member of the company as they entered the car. when the last man was aboard, when the last good-bye had been spoken, barney mccabe remarked to those assembled: "i don't know what kind of a show alfred's got, but they have the finest overcoats that ever went out of this depot." bill, winking at barney, said: "i'll have 'em all before two weeks. if he makes money with this troupe, he can ketch bass with biscuits." another of alfred's innovations was a large amount of scenery and properties. each piece of baggage was marked with bright letters, "the al. g. field minstrels." the afterpiece, "the lime kiln club," was quite a pretentious affair for a minstrel company in those days. the stage setting, representing the interior of a lodge, required antiquated furniture such as could not be hired in the one night stands. therefore, the minstrels carried all this furniture, a large sheet-iron wood stove with lengths of stovepipe. not until the last trunk was loaded onto the baggage wagon, did alfred leave the depot that first morning. walking slowly along the street, keeping pace with the heavy wagon, proud of the new trunks with the plainly painted names on each, the furniture for "the lime kiln club," with the stove and stovepipe atop of all, the wagon passed up the street. while passing a building in course of erection, the workmen ceased their labors to gaze at the wagon. a plasterer with limey overalls gazed at the wagon intently until it passed by. turning to his fellow workmen, pushing his hands in his pockets deeper, and shrugging his shoulders, he sympathetically remarked: "hit's mighty cole weather fur flittin'. i allus feel sorry for pore folks as has tu move in cole weather." looking down the street from where the wagon came he continued: "i wonder whar the folks is. walkin' to keep warm, i reckon. i hope they hain't any children." thereafter, alfred ordered the odd furniture, stovepipe and stove loaded in the bottom of the wagon. a heavy rain interfered with the attendance the opening night. in the excitement, alfred did not realize that he had lost money. it was only after the second night--upper sandusky--that he figured the first two nights were unprofitable. chas. alvin davis, of alvin joslin fame, and his manager, were visitors the second night. the receipts at bucyrus were very light, and to pile up troubles for the new minstrel manager, a boy connected with the theatre stole from alfred's clothes in the dressing room all his private funds. the empty pocket-book was found in an ash-barrel at the rear of the boy's residence, yet the police did not feel it was sufficient evidence to warrant the arrest of the young scamp. the fourth night, at mansfield, rain, hail, sleet and snow, such as ohio had never experienced at that season of the year, (october ), made the streets impassable. the minstrels played to a very meager audience. after all bills were paid the company had thirty-seven dollars in the treasury. several friends in columbus assured alfred that if he ran short he could draw on them. alfred had learned six weeks was the most lengthened period any of his friends gave him to keep the company afloat. "he's ruined. all his savings gone, he will be worse off than when he began life." this was the comment of one of his dearest friends. leaving mansfield at midnight, arriving at ashland, alfred, that he might not have the night lodging to pay, sat in the depot until daylight, then sauntered to the hotel. thirty-seven dollars in the treasury, cold and snowing. alfred debated in his mind as to whether he should telegraph his friends in columbus for assistance. his decision was: "no, i will not humble myself. i'll pull through some way. besides, i have invested my own money in this concern. if i lose it, it's gone. i can earn more. if i borrow money and lose, i'm in debt." he didn't know he could do it. he wasn't sure he could pull the show through. he had heard and seen the sneers and smiles of incredulity. he remembered uncle henry's advice: "if you haven't got the stuff in you to stand alone and fight for yourself, you're wasting time trying to do business. being smart is only half of it. being game is the other half. the biggest persimmons are atop of the tree. you've got to climb to get them. there are times when you'll have to hold on by your finger tips. but if you're not game enough to take the risk, you don't deserve what's up at the top. the cowards are standing under the tree waiting for the persimmons to fall. there's so many of them they have to fight harder to get those that fall to the ground than the game fellow that climbs the tree. men will pull you down, tramp on you, in their endeavors to climb over you. it's the selfish idea of many men they can build up more rapidly if they tear down. they'll block your game, they'll lie about you, they'll not only throw you down but they'll sit on you, and hold you down, until you gather force to squirm from under. you'll never suffer as much when you have the least as you do when the grit has leaked out of you. the man who climbs the tree from the bottom to the top is never licked. if they pull him down he will start from the bottom again. poverty cannot ruin him. it's only a check. he has less fear than those who have had a ladder placed against the tree for them to climb up. believe in yourself. take everything that belongs to you. take your licking but don't sell out to cowardice. when your grit's gone you're done for." a thin, a very thin partition between the room he occupied and that of two of his principal people, alfred was compelled to play the role of eavesdropper again. "he won't pull through. i am sorry i joined the show, i throwed away a good engagement to accept this one. i'm stuck again. this thing won't last a week. i'm going to get away at the first opportunity." it was one of a talented team of musicians. they not only did a fine specialty but doubled in the band. the one talking was the manager of the act. alfred held a contract with the trio. he had fulfilled all the requirements of it and they owed him considerable money, advanced for hotel bills during rehearsals, railroad fares, etc. he lay on the bed debating with himself what to do, enter the room and throw the talker out of the window, or have him arrested. "i heard field tell his treasurer he had no money. i'm going to skip. take my word for it, we're all up against it." the other replied: "well, i owe the company a lot of money. i'll stick until i see how it goes." alfred was on fire. he would die rather than fail. the following day was sunday. this would entail extra expense. basing his calculations upon receipts in other cities, he feared he would not have funds to carry the company to akron, the next exhibition point. he accidently met a columbus man, a minister, reverend messie, the pastor of the church where alfred's family worshipped. he had recently officiated at the wedding of alfred's sister; he felt he had met a friend from home. he decided to lay his troubles before the good man but weakened at the beginning. instead he inquired as to whether the minister was acquainted with a banker in the city. the minister accompanied alfred to a bank and had alfred requested him, to make a favorable talk for him, the good man could not have said more. "this is mr. field, a friend and neighbor of mine. he has not acquainted me with the nature of his business with you, but he is responsible, owns property in columbus and bears an excellent reputation." the banker invited the minstrel into his private office. alfred made a statement of his affairs, dwelling strongly on the robbery at bucyrus, exhibiting newspaper clippings to substantiate his statements. "let us see what your liabilities are. going over them, there were none. nearly all of the company were indebted for money advanced. i can't see where you are in any financial trouble. you have no debts following you, have you?" "none," answered alfred. "well, what is the trouble?" "it's like this," the minstrel explained. "we've done no business since we opened. i have lost money at every stand. i have but thirty-seven dollars on hand. it's a big jump to akron. i am sure, i'll require a little money, not much. if it hadn't been for that touch at bucyrus i'd be all right." "you'll do business here. it's the best minstrel town in ohio. primrose & west did fairly well, although our people didn't know them. hi henry packed the house." "i fear people do not know us," sighed alfred. "well, i'll introduce you--they will know you." alfred had ended every statement with the wail that if he had not been robbed in bucyrus he would be all right. "the bank closes at noon. come around, take lunch with me, i'll see you to akron. don't worry. i fear you're a bit shaky. you are just starting in business, you require confidence." "if it hadn't been for the touch at bucyrus, i'd have been all right," ruefully remarked alfred. the president and alfred made a round of the business houses of the town. "this is mr. field, the minstrel man, one of our people. his home is in columbus. i just bought four seats. the seats are going pretty fast. i want you to be there tonight. have you got your tickets?" no one seemed to have taken the precaution to buy seats in advance although all declared they were going. rarely did the callers leave a place until those called upon had reserved their seats. it was not long until the seat sale assured alfred it would not be necessary to negotiate a loan. "i would have helped you out if you had needed the money," declared the banker, "but i knew we could hustle a bit and fill the house." the gentleman was a good story-teller. alfred was in a rare good humor. he had a fund of stories new to the banker. the fact of the robbery in bucyrus was detailed to every business man they called upon. all sympathized with alfred. "bucyrus is a tough town," several remarked. "you'll never get your money," another declared. "be more careful if you ever go there again." when about to separate, the banker in a kindly manner assured alfred that he was only too glad to have been of service to him. he spoke encouragingly of the future. "if you have a good show, you are sure to pull through. i wouldn't carry a great amount of money on my person hereafter if i were you. be careful. do not have a repetition of the bucyrus affair. how much did they get from you over there?" "sixty dollars." the words were scarcely uttered until the banker bursted into a fit of laughter. alfred had never been accused of destiny, but he could not realize what there was in the admission to so excite the man's mirth. had the gentleman known what sixty dollars meant to him at that time, it would not have seemed so funny. from the fact that alfred had dwelt so strongly on the theft of his money, with the constantly repeated statement that "if it had not been for the robbery, he would have been all right," the moneyed man had gained the idea he had lost several hundred dollars; hence his mirth. at akron the minstrels did capacity business. warren and youngstown were equally satisfactory as were new castle and steubenville. wheeling was the first city wherein opposition was encountered. wilson & rankin's minstrels were billed at the opera house, the field company at the grand opera house. when the wilson & rankin party started on their parade, the other company followed in their wake. wilson shouted to the bystanders in front of the mcclure house, "war! war!" this opposition embittered george wilson and for years the two companies waged a relentless war, which never ceased until mr. wilson disbanded his company. carl rankin, who was a columbus boy and an old friend of alfred's called on alfred. he advised that he was dissatisfied with his surroundings and a tentative partnership agreement was entered into for the next season. however, the arrangements went no further as mr. rankin's health failed him rapidly and it was not long until minstrelsy lost one of the most versatile performers that ever adorned it. since the conversation overheard in ashland, alfred had not spoken to the manager of the musical act. the telegraph wires were carrying messages daily seeking an act to take the place of the dissatisfied one. at zanesville, just before the matinee, (zanesville was the first city wherein the al. g. field minstrels appeared in a matinee), alfred called the manager of the musical act to his dressing room. "mr. turner, it has come to me that you intended leaving this company. therefore, i have engaged an act to take your place; you can leave after tonight's performance, or as soon thereafter as it suits your convenience." "why, mr. field, i did not intend to leave your company. who so advised you? i never told anyone i intended leaving." "now bob, don't deny it. i heard you say you were going to leave the company, that you had no confidence in the stability of the enterprise. your talk came at a time when i was feeling pretty blue and it hurt. judging from your talk you are an undesirable man to have around and i certainly am glad to dispense with your services." the man threatened legal proceedings. alfred was obdurate. the man was tendered his salary. he refused to sign a receipt. alfred ordered the treasurer to give him his money without his signature to a receipt. the other two members of the act protested vigorously. they presented their case in this manner: "we were working for bob. he owned the act. we like the show; we like you. it's the middle of the season. we are liable to be idle for months. we don't think we should be discharged for the threats of bob. we can't control his mouth. mr. field, if you discharge every performer who indulges in idle talk, you won't have anybody around you." "boys, i do not propose to discharge anyone for idle talk but i won't keep a traitor in this camp. you remain with the company. i will pay you the same salary you have been receiving just to play in the band and sit in the first part." with varying success the first season progressed. but never a salary day that the "white specter" did not perambulate. every obligation met promptly, a few folks began to take notice of the new show, persons who had held their faces the other way. the manager was forced to practice the greatest economy. there was a few weeks around christmas time when his shoes leaked. after christmas he purchased two pair of shoes, preparing for future contingencies. smallpox was raging through minnesota and wisconsin, many cities were quarantined. at lacrosse, winona, rochester and eau claire, the people would not go to the theatre; hence, the show was a big loser. at hudson, wis., a big lumber camp in those days, the gross receipts were the least the company ever played to--just sixteen dollars--a few cents less than the receipts of alfred's first show in redstone school-house. alfred requested the manager of the opera house to dismiss the audience. the manager refused to listen to the proposition. he contended it was saturday night, and that many would drop in. they failed to drop in or to be pushed in. however, alfred has always felt grateful to that manager. no audience was ever dismissed by the al. g. field greater minstrels in all the years of their existence, although an engagement in atlanta, ga., was curtailed. the company opened to an over-flowing house. the advance sale for the remainder of the engagement was gratifying. henry grady, the famous journalist and orator, after delivering a speech that electrified not only the boston audience that listened to it, but the nation, had died. atlanta and the entire south was stricken with sorrow. the minstrel manager was intimately acquainted with mr. grady. mr. grady was one of the promoters of the piedmont exposition. peter sells was one of mr. grady's admirers, and as a courtesy to him had loaned the exposition a flock of ostriches; which was one of the attractive features of that most memorable exposition. alfred was entrusted with the details pertaining to the transaction. mr. grady had been very courteous to alfred. there never was a man who knew henry grady that did not admire his charming personality. therefore, when mr. de give suggested the engagement of the minstrels end and the theatre be closed out of respect to the memory of mr. grady, alfred promptly acquiesced. the closing of this engagement was a sacrifice that alfred felt greatly at the time. it meant pecuniary loss that was embarrassing to him, yet there never was a moment he regretted his action. it was the beginning of friendships that have endured all the years since. not only the success attending his annual visits to atlanta, but the associations are of that pleasant character that make a stranger feel he is in the home of his friends. capt. forrest adair, one of atlanta's foremost citizens, journeys each year to the annual banquets celebrating the birthday of the al. g. field greater minstrels. he is as well known and as greatly respected by every member of the organization as by alfred. the first season the profits were not great, although on the right side of the ledger. the opposition of family and friends continued. "abandon the minstrels, go back to a salary." alfred was considered bull headed, contrary, without judgment, etc. however, nothing swerved him. he announced to all he would continue in the minstrel business. george knott, (doc.) and gov. campbell were the agents of the al. g. field minstrels the first season. gov. campbell's folks once resided in woodville. the citizens united in their endeavors to have him bring his minstrels to the town. there had never been a minstrel entertainment presented in the town previously and none since. the hotel man had undertaken the building of a hall. all sorts of inducements were held out in the letter received by alfred. terms were satisfactorily arranged, a date scheduled and the minstrels billed to appear in woodville. a narrow-gauge railroad, a train with a disabled engine and a disgusted minstrel troupe arrived at p. m., six hours late. charles sweeny, the stage manager, came swiftly into the dining room, leaning over alfred, he whispered: "there's no stage, no scenery, no seats. just a bare hall. no reserved sale. there's--" only thus far did sweeny get in his enumeration of his troubles until alfred was searching for the manager. he hurriedly inquired of the hotel man as he left the dining room, without his dinner, as to the place of business of the manager of the theater. the hotel man gazed at him in blank surprise. alfred, in his impatience, did not await an answer. rushing up the principal street of the village, he inquired of several persons as to where he could locate the manager of the theater. finally the postmaster, in answer to his impatient questions, said: "you will not find any particular manager as he ain't got to that yet. he's just built a room and thar's nuthin' in it. he's at the hotel down yonder." it began to dawn upon alfred that the landlord of the hotel was the man he was looking for. "lord, young man. if i'd known you was lookin' for me, i'd told you quicker, who i was. i'm no theater manager." "but you wrote me you had a theater. i am here with my company ready to give a performance and you have neither stage nor scenery in your hall. how do you expect me to put the show on?" "why! don't you carry your stage and scenery?" the man asked, in candid surprise. "certainly not. and you should know it. you haven't even got a seat sale on." the hotel man began to get excited. "what the hell have i got to do with selling tickets? if you don't carry your own tickets you're a purty cheap concern. i don't propose to be brow-beaten by you. if you don't like the place the road runs both ways out of it." and he walked away from the minstrel man in high dudgeon. seats were borrowed from the court house, the methodist church, the hotel, anywhere they could be secured. a half dozen carpenters were working on the improvised stage until the minute the curtain went up. the dining room of the hotel was converted into a dressing room. after supper was served the minstrel trunks were placed in the dining room. pickles, crackers, ginger snaps, etc., were all in place on the table for an early morning breakfast. the minstrels ate the tables bare, ransacked cupboards and sideboards in kitchen and dining room, feasting and frolicking during the performance. the bar adjoined the dining room. the minstrels blackened and in their stage attire, they said to the peg-legged barkeeper: "these are on me; i've got on my other clothes; i'll settle after the show." the dressing, or dining room, was about twenty yards from the stage of the hall. as there was no stage door, (only a front door in the hall), the minstrel men were obliged to enter by a window. the sash taken out, leaned against the wall. in the piano chorus of a most pathetic ballad, both window sashes fell over. the crashing glass brought the entire audience to their feet. the hall owner stepped over the low footlights onto the stage, brushing the semi-circle of surprised minstrels to one side. disappearing behind the curtain, he reappeared in an instant, bearing in either hand a window sash with shattered bits of glass sticking here and there. crossing the stage, at the instant the interlocutor announced the singing of the reigning song success, "there's a light in the window for you," placing the sash in front of the stage, he seated himself. the stage, or platform, was very low. the sash stuck up several inches above the footlights. harry bulger, in one of his dances purposely kicked them over again. down they fell among the musicians. mr. hall-owner was again to the rescue, this time triumphantly bearing the sash to the rear of the hall. alfred looked after the front of the house as well as his stage work. remaining at the door until he had barely time to make up, he requested the hall owner to take tickets until he returned, and not to permit any to enter without tickets. the hall man promised not to permit any to enter without tickets. alfred sang a song, "hello, baby, here's your daddy," the title of it. the dozen end men, during the chorus, drew from under their chairs large dolls with blackened faces. each burlesqued a person handling a baby awkwardly. as alfred took his seat his eyes went anxiously to the door. it was closed. no one entered all the while he was on the stage. at the end of the baby song, it was customary for alfred to cast a big ugly doll, with the words "here's your daddy," into the audience. one of the company dudishly attired was seated in the audience to catch the doll, leave the house, pretending to be greatly embarrassed. the audience usually howled. the baby was flung in the direction of the member of the company. unfortunately, it had to pass over the head of the manager of the hall. jumping up, reaching into the air much as an expert baseball player does in pulling down a hot one, he pulled the baby down. holding it upside down, he flung it towards alfred. anxious to save the scene, with all his force alfred flung it towards the young man of the company, who stood waiting to play his part. but again the hall man jumped between and caught the baby. by one foot he swung it about his head a couple of times; the head and arms of the rag doll flew towards alfred, striking the stage at his feet. the man holding the legs and all that part of the baby below the belt, waved it aloft. meanwhile the audience was encouraging him with shouts of approval. concluding his stage work, hastening towards the door, not even delaying to change his costume or remove the black from his face, he vigorously beckoned the hall man to him. walking towards the door, alfred poured forth a torrent of peevish abuse: "why, you wrote me all sorts of letters that people were crazy mad for a minstrel show and there's not fifty dollars in the house." the landlord doubted this statement. "not fifty dollars in the house, huh? why, there's men in thar," and he jerked his head towards the audience, "there's men in thar with three hundred dollars in thar pockets right now. don't you think you're in a poverty-struck place. our people have all got money." thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, jingling keys and coins. "i mean the tickets do not represent fifty dollars so far. i'm in good and deep and you are the cause of it." "i find nothing to do business with. i ask you as a last request to watch the door for me. you leave the door and every jay will walk in." "oh no, they won't," interrupted mr. hall-man. "they won't get in this hall without paying." "why, what in thunder is to hinder them? the whole town could walk in without paying one cent." [illustration: he waved the key] "i'll be durned if they could," ejaculated mr. hall-man, and he waved the key of the door triumphantly at alfred. the man had actually locked the door. when opened, there were some dozen seeking admission. many left in disgust. there was a bill for lights of glass, and numerous drinks at the bar presented to alfred. the glass he settled for, informing the hotel man he did not pay bar-bills. the barkeeper could not recognize any one of the performers in their street attire. he assured alfred "the hull pack of niggers with you jus' drank and drank and only a few paid. the bill don't amount to much, so far as enny one of the men is concerned; but one gal, one nigger gal, jus' treated right and left. if we could get what she owes, i'd let the rest go." the barkeeper referred to harry bulger. alfred's great desire was to present his minstrel show in his old home town, brownsville. the stage in jeffries' hall was too small to accommodate the minstrels. therefore, one of alfred's boyhood friends, levi waggoner, arranged to play the minstrels in the skating rink. levi was one of the boys who had stood by the old town through all its changes and become one of its substantial citizens. awake to every business opportunity, he had not only seated the floor space of the rink but builded circus seats against the rear wall. alfred was not in the old town an hour until it became imperative that he should seek protection from his friends. he delegated one of the company, one who was noted for his staying qualities, to represent him. every man met, no matter how old, claimed to be a schoolboy friend of alfred's. "there goes another old friend of alf's" became a by-word long before night. "spider" pomeroy, six feet six then, when a boy, (he has grown some since), celebrated alfred's return more uproariously than any one person in the town. alfred supplied him with a ticket early in the morning. by noon "spider" had obtained six tickets, always claiming he had lost the other one. when the doors opened, "spider" ran over the small boys in his way, brushed the ticket taker aside, entering without a ticket he perched himself on the top of lee wagoner's improvised circus seats, his legs doubled up until his knees stuck up on either side above his head like a grasshopper. he sat through the first part. the minstrel with the staying qualities was laboring with a monologue. "spider", after his strenuous day, was sleeping off his exuberance. at the dullest part in the monologist's offering, "spider" let go all holds. the skating rink was built on piles, over the river's bank. one walking on the floor, their footsteps awakened echoes. when "spider" hit that floor--and he hit it with all his frame--legs, arms, feet and head, all at one time, it sounded as if the building had collapsed. all were on their feet looking towards the back of the rink. as "spider" lit, the monologist shouted: "there goes another old friend of alf's." it came in pat. the audience grasped it and the monologist established a reputation for originality. "there goes another old friend of alf's" is a common saying in brownsville until this day. the property man that first season was a german, new in the minstrel game. he is now a capitalist and probably would not relish the disclosing of his name. chas. sweeny, the stage manager, was a stickler for realism. in the burlesque of "the lime kiln club," one climax was the sound of a cat fight on the roof. the cats were supposed to fall through the skylight. every member of the lodge was supposed to have his dog with him--colored people are fond of dogs. when the cats fall into the lodge room, every dog goes after them. fake, or dummy cats were prepared for the scene and used during rehearsals. the first night sweeny ordered gus, the property man, to procure two live cats. gus, stationed on a very high step-ladder in the wings, at the cue was to throw the cats on the stage. gus was heard to remark: "you all better hurry or send some von to manage one of dese cats." the cat fight was heard on the roof. the glass in the skylight was heard to break. the cats were, with great difficulty, flung by gus. they clawed and held onto him. the long step-ladder was rocking like a slender tree in a gale. one cat left the hands of gus, alighting with all four feet on sweeny's neck, with a spring that sent it out over the heads of the orchestra to the fourth or fifth row in the parquet. the cat left its marks on sweeny's neck and the scars are there today as plain as twenty-seven years ago. as gus flung the second cat the exertion was too much for him. he followed on the step-ladder, overturning brother gardner and the stove. three dogs pounced upon gus as he rolled over and over on the floor. three of the largest dogs had followed the first cat over the heads of the orchestra, and a stampede of the audience was in progress, the dogs and cats under the feet of men and women, who were jumping on chairs or rushing towards the exits. the curtain went down without the humorous dialogue that usually terminated the scene. "mr. president: i moves you, sir, dat no member ob dis club hyaraftuh be admitted wid more'n three dogs." alfred put his shoulder to the wheel wherever and whenever a push or a pull was required. night after night, he assisted the stage hands in hustling effects from the theatre to the train. on one occasion the train was scheduled to leave in a very short time after the curtain fell. alfred, without changing his stage clothes, busied himself assisting the stage hands. gus, the property man, flung alfred's clothing into his trunk, not observing they were his street apparel instead of stage costumes. the trunk was sent to the depot. when alfred prepared to follow he was minus everything except a large pair of shoes, thin pants, long stockings and undershirt. there was no time to be lost; grabbing up a large piece of carpet, alfred wound it around himself and started for the depot on a run. doc quigley, arthur rigby and several of the company stationed themselves along his route to the depot, hiding in the shadows of doorways. one after another shouted: "good-bye, al, good-bye old boy. you've got the best show ever. come back again. your show's great." [illustration: "good-bye al, old boy"] "all right boys, good-bye. i'll be with you next season," shouted the hustling minstrel as he sped for the train. alfred was completely deceived. he imagined the compliments were coming from the towns-people. the german property man, whose mistake was responsible for alfred's grotesque appearance, was stationed by the jokers behind a fence near the depot. as alfred hove in sight with the old rag carpet flapping around his form, gus shouted: "goot bye, mr. fieldt. goot luck. your show iz great. kum unt see us agen. i hope your show will be here nexdt season." "it will be, but you won't be with it, you dutch son of a gun." alfred had recognized the voice. chapter twenty-four into the city during the day, back to the country at eventide, courting the charm of the simple way, casting the tumult of greed aside. "he is the happiest man who best appreciates his happiness. happiness comes to him who does not seek it." "well, you've got there. i was opposed to your goin' into the minstrel business. it's not good to argue agin anything a young man sets his mind on. i figured if you got knocked out, you'd be able to come back agin. i'd rather seed you in the circus business, but say, boy, if this show of yours ain't a jim dandy. are you making any money?" "well, i have made money, uncle henry, but i'm investing it in my business as fast as i earn it. you see the minstrel business is changing. the basis of minstrelsy will always be that which it is and has been, but you can't hand them the same things they've been accepting the past forty years and expect them to enjoy and buy it. the farce comedy, the musical show are virtually minstrel shows. based upon music and dancing, they produce about the same stuff the minstrels do." "well alfred, we hear a great deal about the old black-face minstrels. some people say they like them best." "that's true, uncle henry. you can't gainsay it. some people like the old-fashioned cooking the best. but the public, the majority demand something different. even if they eat the same sort of food they ate when younger, they demand it be served differently. let me call your attention to this fact: every manager that has endeavored to present an old-time, black-face minstrel show in late years has failed. the old-time minstrel show, like the one-ring circus, is pleasant to dream of, pleasant to talk of, but not profitable to present. two friends were responsible for my decision to put on a simon-pure, old-time minstrel show. i engaged the best talent procurable, costumed the show in conformity with the ideas of my friends. it was the least profitable of any season since my first year; or it would have been had i continued. i changed my entire show in the middle of the season, going back to the black-face comedians, white-face singers. "the minstrels in all climes have sung their songs of love and war. even in the days of the ancients there were minstrels who sang the news of the times to the gaping multitudes in the streets and market places. in fact, david, with his harp of a thousand strings, whose voice charmed king saul and his court, was the first minstrel. i can fully understand why a minstrel, an american minstrel, singing a plantation melody to his dusky dulcinea, should have a blackened face, but why a man blackened as a negro should sing of 'my sister's golden hair,' or 'mother's eyes of blue,' is too incongruous for even argument's sake." [illustration: david, the first minstrel] "well, alfred, how is it the other managers do not adopt the style of your entertainment." "uncle henry, i am not my brother's keeper. i had opposition with one of those so-called old time minstrel shows a short time ago. our company was making money every night. they were barely paying expenses. and yet the greater part of their press work was devoted to informing the public that we were not genuine minstrels, our singers wore white wigs, flesh colored stockings and satin suits. they were really advertising one of the attractions of our exhibition. we copied that notice and had it sent broadcast over the sections where the companies conflicted. i watched the press closely and but one paper that came under my observation endorsed their idea." "now, alfred, let me tell you something. i've had all i wanted to eat and drink; i've worn good clothes; i've helped the poor; i've kept my family right; and i've seen enough of this world to convince me the only way to have money to burn is not to burn it. to have money to spend when you are old, is to save it while you're young. i was so poor when i was young, i had my lesson. say, son, it's a sad thing to be poor when you're young, not wanted in your brother's home. but it's dreadful to be poor when you are old and not wanted anywhere. you can't make a living. you are dependent upon charity. now don't fool yourself and say with your income you can't save. if you can live you can save. george m. pullman, marshall field, john d. rockefeller, and a thousand others began saving on less than your income. now, alfred, don't think because the fool in your business has spent money recklessly, don't think that's an excuse for you to spend. i know minstrel people. i know them backwards. don't be like them. the only things to do in this world, day after day, are the things you ought to do. you can't do too much for others, but don't depend upon them to do for you. a poor, old man is the saddest sight on earth." "it's true i felt mighty sore that my folks threw me on the world so young. but you bet i am proud of the fact that i can buy and sell the whole kit of them. i help them, i give them, i don't begrudge it to them; but, while i can't entirely forget the bitterness of those boyhood days, i can't help but feel a bit proud that i am independent of them in my old days. and to hear some of them talk, you'd think they made me. well, they did, but they didn't intend to. while they were sitting around praying for prosperity, i was sweating. sweating, it's a good thing. it takes all the bad diseases out of you and a good deal of the cussedness. say, alfred, you never knowed a skin-flint that sweat. stingy men never sweat. i admire all good people but i would rather see a man give another a meal, than talk over his victuals and eat them alone when he knows there's someone next door hungry. did you ever notice when a man thinks he's a genius he lets his hair grow long and when a woman gets out of her place, to be something she oughtn't to be, she cuts her hair short. every crank puts some kind of a brand on themselves. you don't have to talk to them to find out what they are. "i sold whiskey when i was in the wholesale grocery business. everybody in my line sold it. you remember the best stores in columbus sold it. you couldn't hold a first-class trade if you didn't sell it. i never sold it to people who had no shoes. i never sold it to young men nor to old men in their dotage. there was never preacher came to me to talk religion or anything else while i was selling whiskey. but as soon as i sold out the whiskey business, they began runnin' after me. one of them kept a-comin' and a-comin'. he kept tellin' me how to live, how to spend the rest of my days. get a library. a library was the greatest thing a man could have. it kept your mind at rest; you could seek refuge in your library at any time when in trouble. i promised him to get a library. i had one built expressly. i had two barrels of old crow whiskey that i kept when i sold the store. i filled a sufficient number of quart bottles to fill the shelves of the library, labeled the bottles, and waited for the next visit of the gentleman who induced me to invest in a library. he congratulated me on taking his advice. i told him i never had any learning to speak of; when i should have been at school i had to be at work; perhaps i should have consulted him about stocking the library. he expressed a desire to examine it. when i threw the doors open and the rows of bottles of old crow came into his view, he never flinched. i told jim if he fainted to be handy with a pail of water. but he never backed off. he put his glasses on his nose, read the labels and 'lowed while my library was large it was not greatly diversified. thereafter the good man was more deeply interested in me than ever before. at first he called once a day. it was not long until he called three times a day regularly." [illustration: uncle henry's library] jim describes the scene thusly: "uncle henry, lolling in the big, easy chair, sleepily. enter the gentleman who recommended the library. 'good morning, brother hunt, i hope you are feeling well'; uncle henry, with eyes half-closed, never waited to hear more. he languidly motioned towards the sideboard, closed his eyes, looked the other way. uncle henry's idea of a gentleman was one who turned his back while you were pouring out your liquor." uncle henry was known to every showman in america. he maintained a field whereon the circuses pitched their tents. he owned the billboards. no circus visited burlington that did not find him an interested friend. i have heard that uncle henry could drive a good bargain in a trade. i never knew him as a buyer or a seller. i only knew him as one who knew how to give. i only knew him as one who found it more blessed to give than receive. his qualities of good more than overbalanced his imperfections. his was a character that left its impress on the community in which he was known. he was loved by those who were welcomed in his hospitable home. there have been men of more renown than the hardy old blacksmith, who, from a barefooted boy made his way without education or friends, and that he was influenced in his feelings by his early hardships was only the man that was in him, over-balancing the better nature of one who, when a friend was a friend, who, when against you, was always in the open. he was as honest in his dislikes as he was in his admirations. when the sands of his life were ebbing fast on that sunday afternoon in midsummer, the last of earth, the last sounds that fell upon the ears of uncle henry were the rumbling of the wheels of a circus moving over the paved streets from the train to the show grounds. * * * * * they have got a newspaper fixed and the worst roast ever read published today. mailed copy. if you want a good lawyer, advise. joe kaine. alfred read and re-read this telegram. he was having the most strenuous opposition of his business career, fighting one of the most unprincipled of men, the head of a company that had attained great popularity although on the decline at the time, and soon thereafter went the way of all such concerns--those of the minstrel kind at least. it was known to alfred that the opposition had engaged a noted press agent and that this agent had been on the route of alfred's company. alfred answered the telegram, requesting a synopsis of the article. it was at the time the notorious hatfield gang of west virginia, were the subjects of unusual newspaper exaggeration. the write-up that had stirred kaine was in substance: "prominent minstrel man's real name leads to conjecture he was once one of the notorious hatfield gang. doubts as to his braving the laws of west virginia. "it is reported though his company is advertised, it will not appear in any of the cities in this state. the depredations of the notorious hatfield family has made the name feared wherever it is known. officers have been on their track for years. the majority of the desperate family seem to be secure in the fastnesses of their mountain hiding places. so completely terrorized are the mountaineers by this family that no arrests have been made of any of the gang lately. however, should the member of the family now masquerading under an assumed name enter the state he will be arrested on sight and made to stand trial for past deeds of the family. however, it is not believed that the man will run the risk of entering the state. it is rumored he is on his way to canada." kaine supplemented his first telegram with a second one advising alfred that the evening paper would publish any statement he telegraphed, and to make the denial strong. alfred wired him: engage counsel who will answer for me. i am prepared to give bond in any amount. al. g. field. he further telegraphed "devil anse" hatfield and several others of the family: will be there. meet me on arrival. another telegram read: get this in newspapers, but not as coming from me. another telegram went forward later as a news item: "it is reported here that a dozen armed men from kentucky and west virginia are secreted on the cars of the al. g. field minstrels, to resist arrest of one of their number who is reported with the minstrels." of course all this was false. when the minstrel troupe arrived, hundreds were at the depot. alfred was one of the first to leave the train. the officers and many others were aware of the falsity of the published statement, but hundreds were deceived by the sensational reports. the owner of the paper wherein the reports originated assured alfred they had been imposed upon and the columns of the paper were open to anything he might dictate for publication. introducing alfred to his city editor, the owner of the paper remarked: "i have requested mr. field to prepare a statement for publication. we want to do what is right by him." the matter was submitted to the editor. he reminded alfred that it did not answer the article published by them but was a boost for his minstrels. alfred replied: "i realize the matter published was false, but the dear public has gained the idea that i am a desperado. they will only remember this a day or two. if i endeavor to contradict the published reports, it will keep it in their minds. this matter i submit will benefit me. a denial such as you have in mind will not do me any good." while this advertising was not the sort alfred desired, he was bound to make the most of it. the theatres were packed to their capacity during the three or four weeks the opposition worked the press with the silly matter; although many newspapers treated it as a joke. for a few weeks alfred was a living curiosity, pointed out by some as a desperado to be shunned, sought by others to be idolized. surely, human nature is past understanding. it is dangerous to try to blacken the character of your opponent as it invariably places one's own under the spotlight and they'll find spots you were sure were never visible. * * * * * ed boggs, now secretary to the governor of the state, was at the time engaged in the drug business and managed the opera house in charleston, w. va. the gross receipts were the largest in the history of the opera house. alfred carried his share of the money in a satchel after the show. boggs accompanied him to the ferry. there was no bridge spanning the river in those days. boggs' store was on the corner of water street near the ferry landing. the ferry boat was on the opposite side. boggs suggested they step into the drug store and smoke a cigar until the boat returned. alfred, arriving at his private car--the wife was a visitor--the first question propounded was: "where have you been to this hour of the night? where's your satchel?" alfred nearly fainted. he rushed out on the platform of the car. the ferry boat had left on the last trip of the night. alfred was not clear in his mind as to where he had left the satchel, whether in the drug store or on the boat. he floundered along the banks of the river, endeavoring to locate a skiff that he might recross the river. his fears were that he had left the satchel on the forecastle of the ferry boat where he stood smoking while crossing the river. the kanawha is a narrow stream as it flows by charleston, yet it seemed an ocean that night. alfred's slumbers were neither lengthy nor soothing. one hour previous to the scheduled time of the ferry boat's arrival on her first trip of the morning, he stood on the shore gazing across the river. when the boat was within four feet of her dock, alfred leaped aboard, and began inquiries. the captain said: "i was at the wheel. if you left your money on the boat you might as well stay on this side. there was a rough crowd aboard after the show. that money's split up and partly drunk up by this time." mr. boggs had not arrived. the clerk searched the drug store. he urged the minstrel man to assist in exploring the mysterious recesses behind the counters. no satchel was found. mr. boggs was late coming to the store. "he always gets here before this," the clerk asserted. alfred could not restrain himself longer. he fairly ran to the residence of mr. boggs. the servant brought the message: "mr. boggs was not well this morning. he would probably not go to the store until afternoon." "jumping jupiter, holy moses," and other expressions were suppressed by the highly wrought-up minstrel, as he stood on the doorstep. say to mr. boggs: "mr. field must see him, if only for a moment. must see him at once." "howdy, al, i thought you were on your way to huntington." "no, our train does not leave until eight-thirty. i only have twenty-five minutes. are you going to the store?" alfred tried to look unconcerned as he asked the question: "did i leave my satchel in your drug store last night? i feel sure i did." boggs gazed at him in blank amazement. "your satchel with all that money in it? you don't mean to tell me you left that satchel somewhere and are not certain where?" "oh, i am pretty certain i left it in your store." "well, if you left the satchel in my drug store it is there yet." "i am pretty sure i did." "but you're not certain," persisted boggs. after every corner and nook of the store had been searched, alfred went behind the counters. again he looked under them. boggs did not seem to be greatly interested in the search. he seated himself at a desk as alfred rose from his knees, from exploring a dark corner, and inquired in an unconcerned tone, "find it?" alfred was irritated. he did not reply. the ferry boat whistle sounded. the bell was tapping. alfred looked at boggs. he was still at the desk. "good-bye, i'm going. i guess the hatfields haven't exclusive privileges in west virginia. i think i'll join them to get even. i either left that satchel in this drug store or on that boat. that's a cinch." boggs raised his eyes. "well, if you only knew where you left your satchel you'd have a better chance to recover it." "well, i'm going," replied alfred, moving towards the door. "good-bye," boggs shouted. alfred was on the front steps. "hold on," boggs yelled, "i'll go over the river with you." alfred was looking across the river. boggs was by his side. they had walked several yards towards the ferry boat. boggs inquired as to what excuse he would make to his wife. alfred turned his head. boggs was carrying the satchel in his hand farthest from alfred. as the latter reached for the grip, boggs laughed as he pulled away, saying, "i won't trust you with it." boggs discovered the satchel after alfred left the drug store. he awaited the return of the ferry boat and endeavored to have the captain make an extra trip to relieve alfred's suspense. the captain refused, saying: "if a man is that careless with money, he ought to worry." * * * * * in the early days of alfred's minstrel career he became acquainted with dan d. emmett, the originator of american minstrelsy (the first part). emmett was living in chicago at that time. [illustration: dan emmett] years afterward alfred learned that mr. emmett was living in retirement in his old home, mount vernon, ohio. he called on the aged minstrel. mr. emmett pleaded that he be permitted to accompany the minstrels on a farewell tour. his request was granted. at the time there was no intention of advertising emmett. he was simply to accompany the troupe as a guest of mr. field. about this time several persons were claiming the song "dixie." alfred furnished the _new york herald_ with irrefutable proof that to emmett belonged the honor. that paper sent a man from new york city. he spent several days at the home of emmett. the feature story and the subsequent proofs published by col. cunningham, editor of the _confederate veteran_, forever settled the controversy as to the authorship of dixie. emmett's memory, in his last years, as to dates was defective. the story of dixie was often related to alfred by emmett and, from other information, alfred is of the opinion that dixie was sung in the south long before its new york production. emmett was the musical director of bryants' minstrels. dan bryant desired a walk-around song and dance. emmett, on saturday night was commissioned to have this number ready for monday night's performance. he labored all day sunday. dixie was produced on monday night and made an instantaneous hit. this is the accepted story as to the production of "dixie." it is well known to all of emmett's intimates that he was a slow study and a very indifferent reader but once he memorized music, he required no notes thereafter. it is not probable emmett turned out dixie in one day or the company learned and produced the song with only one rehearsal. all minstrel people admit this. dixie was produced in new york in . prof. arnold, of memphis, (of montgomery, ala., then), claims that emmett visited montgomery in january, , and sang dixie, the words, however, a little different from those used in new york later. in presence of mr. field, prof. arnold called emmett's attention to this. emmett's reply was that the air of dixie--the melody--had been played by him for a year prior to his writing the words of the song. it is alfred's opinion that emmett first sang the song in the south else how could it in those days become so suddenly popular. it is an authenticated fact that the troops from alabama first sang dixie as a war song of the south. there are gentlemen living in both eufala and montgomery who assert that dixie was sung in those cities early in and that it attained great popularity. however, the memory of emmett will be preserved to future generations as the author of a song the common people love to sing. * * * * * "i have bought a farm." the wife looked incredulous. the past four years alfred had optioned as many different farms, always dissuaded by the wife to give them up. in fact, the wife did not show the husband's enthusiasm as to the bucolic life. "i've bought a farm: bienville, a part of the old goodrich tract ceded to that family by the government for services in the revolutionary war, opposite 'high banks' on the olentangy river, where the ruins of the old fort are. it is a place of historic interest. the river, the best bass stream in ohio, skirts the east side of the farm. there's a lovely brook running through the farm, and the largest virgin forest in the county. why, the timber in that woods will sell for more than i paid for the whole farm. but i will not cut a single tree down, only an occasional shell-bark hickory tree to smoke our meat. uncle jake always smoked his meat with hickory wood and he cured the finest meat in fayette county, generally a little too salty; we must look out for that." "the bottom land is a farm in itself. there are two orchards, an old one and a young one. the old one is about run out and i'll cut it down when the young one comes in. the wood will be fine to burn. dry apple wood makes the hottest fire." "dried apples? what are you talking about--burning dried apples?" but alfred was not to be interrupted. "the hill land is not so good but i'll bring that up. i've bought a book on liming land. i won't have a great deal of stock to begin with. it's my intention to begin with a few of each species and breed up, that's the way doctor hartman does. "the hill land is not productive now and the bottom land will have to supply the farm until we get the hills tillable. there's only one thing that troubles me. the bottoms overflow every time the river rises. as you know, the olentangy rises every time it rains." "well, for heaven's sake, you haven't bought a farm like that, have you? now, al, you are just like your father. your mother often told me he could make money but always had a plan to spend it and his investments always proved failures. why don't you let this farm business go? you've got enough on your hands without a farm." alfred never noticed the interruption. "chickens are very profitable. poultry raising is one of the most profitable things about a farm, and the average farmer does not give his chickens any attention. i expect you to look after the chicken end of the farm. all the profits will be yours." even this liberal offer did not interest the wife greatly. "the first thing i am going to do is to build a dyke or levee along the river bank to protect the bottoms from overflows. this must be done this winter. mr. monsarrat is at work on one on his place. he went to the expense of hiring regular dyke-builders, civil engineers and all that sort of thing. i'll just hire farmers and their teams. i've got onto a man that built all the dykes down toward chillicothe. he knows just how to construct them. i'll hire him to superintend the work. of course, i'll be on the ground all the time to look after the details." "when will you have time to attend to matters of that kind? now, al, you're just hatching up a lot of trouble for us. why don't you rest? you have been working all these years to lay by a few dollars and now you are contriving to spend them. we know nothing of farming. we will be worried to death." "now don't get excited, tillie. hold your horses. i've thought the whole matter out. now listen to me. you can't farm in winter, can you?" and alfred waited for his wife to answer. the wife deigned no reply; she either considered the question too deep or too silly. alfred answered his own question: "no, you can't farm in winter. this is november. i've fixed it that by the time we are ready to farm we will be all prepared. i've subscribed for three farm journals, a poultry paper and a dairying book. the farm journals are published in new york, los angeles and denver. this will educate us up to farming methods in all sections. what they don't know in one section, we will learn from another. you leave it all to me. country life will make another woman out of you and pearl will like it. it will be good for you all. it's the dream of my life realized and i do hope you will enter into my plans and be the help you have always been. i'm going to have a horse and phaeton for your exclusive use. i don't want you to do anything. just sort of look over things. you need not read the farm journals unless you are interested. you read up on poultry and the dairy. they go together. all i'll ask you to do is to look after those two things, the poultry and the dairy. i'll take care of the farming." bob brown, (no relation to bill brown), editor of the _louisville times_, one of alfred's warmest friends, published a feature article, a brief history of alfred's career, touching on his newspaper experiences, however, omitting the cow-doctor experience. the article concluded with a lengthy write-up of alfred as a farmer. the paper was carried in triumph and read to mrs. field and pearl. bob predicted the success for alfred in farming that he had attained in minstrelsy. several illustrations in bob's write-up exhibited alfred in farmer's garb, feeding cattle, sheep and hogs out of his hand. the wife observed: "why, you haven't got sheep, hogs or cows as yet; have you imposed upon mr. brown?" "no, certainly not. bob is an up-to-date newspaper man. newspapers that wait to print things as they are, get left. newspapers that print things as they are to be, are the live, up-to-date, always read journals. bob knows i'll have things just as he represents them." bob brown's write-up was greatly appreciated by alfred even after emmett logan informed him that bob had written him confidentially that he, alfred, had turned farmer, but he did not know what for, as he felt certain alfred could not plant his feet in the road and raise dust; in fact, he did not think alfred could raise a parasol. alfred was advised that a club, of which he was an honorary member, would entertain him--that it would be a farmer's night. alfred well knew there would be great fun at the expense of the farmer. he would be the butt of all the jokes the busy brains of a dozen or more keen wits could devise. therefore, he studied for days that he might in a humorous way parry the jibes. nothing humorous in connection with the farm could be evolved from his brain. he was too ambitious, too enthusiastic a farmer to ridicule any phase of his newly adopted calling. therefore, when the chairman concluded his introduction in these words: "and now, gentlemen, we have a farmer as our guest here tonight. it has been the plaint of the farmer from time out of mind that he had not representation; that he had not voice in affairs that had to do with his vocation. the newly made clod-hopper is respectfully informed that he can air his grievances to the fullest extent and that, unlike others, we will not pass resolutions of acquiescence in his views and then repudiate them. we will file them in our archives as a memento of the fact that another good man has gone wrong. alfred, it is the fear of all your friends in this club that the minstrel show will not make enough money to run the farm." [illustration: alfred as a farmer] alfred replied to the introduction: "gentlemen, the introduction honors me; to be a farmer has been the dream of my life. beginning life on a farm, i ask no more pleasant ending than to live the last days of my earthly time on a farm. "the facetious remarks of the toastmaster do not explain my reasons for engaging in farming. it is true, financial consideration did not govern me in this matter, although i do hope to make the farm self-supporting. if i do not, i shall not feel that i have made a bad investment. "in seeking the quietude of the farm, i was actuated by that yearning that comes to all men who have led a busy life--to turn back the years and try to live the days of patches, freckles, stone bruises and laughter; to live those days again when there was only one care in the world, not to be late for meals. "i want to go way back yonder in my life to a house half hidden from view by the locusts and maples, where the bees hummed and swarmed. i want a scent of the honeysuckle as the maples and locusts budded forth in what seemed to me the morning of the world--springtime. i want to follow the path down by the big spring, through the hazel bushes, where the cotton tail jumped up just ahead of you and the redbird sang his sweetest song. i can follow the path in my mind as the hunting dog follows the scent, down to the old rock hole where the clear, cool waters of the creek formed an eddy, in which the chub and yellow perch lurked and jumped at the bait as they never did anywhere else. "i want to feel that ecstacy that only comes to a boy when the bottle cork you used for a bobber goes under water, when something is pulling on the line like a scared mule, bending double the pole cut in the thicket on your way to the creek. i want to throw the pole away, roll up the tangled line, hide it away in the corn crib, and sneak back to the house the opposite direction from the creek, that the folks wouldn't suspect i had been fishing on sunday. "i want to go back yonder in my life where the hills meet the sky in a purple haze, where you feel yourself growing with the trees, where the smell of new earth calls you to the woods, where the dogwood is budding and the may-apple peeps up through last year's leaves at the new leaves budding out on the grand old maples above. "i want to go so far back from the worries of city life that the crowing of the cock and the cackle of the hen will tell me it is morning, instead of the clanging of bells and blowing of whistles. i want to go back yonder where the setting sun, instead of the city lights, will tell me it is night. i want to hear the cricket and whip-poor-will as we heard them in the evenings long ago, as we listened with bated breath to the jack o'-lantern legends that stirred our childish fancy until the croaking of the frogs sent us to bed to dream of uncanny things. "i want to live in the happiness of an autumn when the frost was on the pumpkin and the fodder in the shock; when the hickory nuts falling on the ground called the squirrels; when the stars gleamed bright enough to afford you light to bring a 'possum out of a tree with the old flintlock musket--how you cherished that gun. and when the snow hid the roads and paths like the white coverlet on the big bed in the spare room and the big backlog crackled and burned on the hearth, and the red apples glistened in the firelight, and the popcorn imitation of a snowstorm was more realistic than any artificial one that you have since witnessed. "how you shivered as you undressed in the room above going to bed, but how soundly you slept after you got warm. i want to go back to one of those hallowed sunday mornings in summer when the hush of heaven seemed to fall on earth; when the quiet that spread over hill and vale seemed to announce the spirit of god in some unusual sense; when the peace of heaven seemed so near you felt its happiness. "while living the old days over--the days way back yonder--i want to live in the love of my friends of today. whilst i cherish only a memory of the friends of the old days, i hold, after my family, the love and esteem of my friends of today above all things in this life. "gentlemen, come down to the farm. visit with me and endeavor to live the life of a boy again, if only for a day." [illustration: bill brown as a farmer] alfred's response was not what the assemblage expected. congratulations were showered upon him. the speech was reproduced in newspapers all over the country. printed copies of it were circulated. the sentiment expressed therein seemed to have struck a responsive chord in the hearts of all men who love to live close to nature. it does not seem possible that any one would have the hardihood to endeavor to controvert the sentiments set forth in alfred's tribute to the "back to the farm" life, yet there appeared in all the papers that had given publicity to alfred's speech, a diatribe from bill brown, headed "the truth," as follows: pittsburgh, pa. i have read with much interest al. g. field's address on "the farm." if you will pardon my profanity for a minute, i will say "damn the farm." our paths through the woods on the farm must have been different. al. pursued the cotton tail through the level and green grassy meadows, getting pleasure in pursuit, and which left no traces of his going; i pursued the ever ready pole cat through hollows, over logs and stone piles, which left nothing but bruises, but i found more pleasure in pursuit than possession. al. had patches, freckles and laughter; i had rags, bruises and tears. al. took the path down to the spring through the hazel bushes; i took the stony road to a mudhole through thorns and blackberry bushes. al. caught nice yellow perch with a cork bobber; i caught suckers with a paper bobber, for there were no corks used on our farm. al. fished on sunday; i went to church at o'clock, sunday school at , church again at : , and perchance prayer meeting in the evening. al. smelled the new earth from a two seated surrey or horseback; i smelled the new earth from the back of the harrow or plow. al. watched the dogwoods bud, and breathed their fragrance as they budded; i felt the dogwood switches drop on my poor back and bare limbs. al. had to be told when it was dark and when it was morning. i knew when i was told to quit work that it was dark and bed-time, and knew that it was daylight when i was yanked out of bed to walk two miles before breakfast to bring in a lot of cows. al. had a nice "coverlit" over his bed, and turned into a nice feather bed and rested in peace. i rolled myself up in a worn-out horse blanket, and turned into a tick filled with straw, shivering until i got to sleep and kept on shivering. oh yes, i cherish the days on the farm and will never forget them. but a more pleasant recollection to me is the day that i left the cackling of the hens, the braying of the donkey, the bellowing of the cows, and the old plow standing in the furrow, where i hope it still stands. the new stack of hay might have brought fragrance to al's sensitive nostrils, but to me it seemed as well suited as a reservoir for perfume as for a monument in a cemetery. i want to live in the love and esteem of my friends of today; i cherish the memory of the old friends, and i value their love and esteem, but the memory of the old straw pile back of the barn still clings to me closer than all these, and e'er i get ready to go back to the darned old farm, i will make myself a pair of wooden bills and perch myself on the stake and rider fence, prepared to take my turn with the hennery. "visit me," he says, "and endeavor to live the life of a boy over again on the farm." not for bill, and i can but repeat what i said in my profane way, again and again. al. can have the farm, but as for me it's first "back to the mines, bill." with sad memories of the milk pail, the fork and curry comb, i am, sadly and sorrowfully yours, bill brown. insofar as alfred's knowledge goes, bill brown's pessimistic views of farm life were not accepted by any save alfred's immediate family. alfred carried a copy of his address, "a glimpse of nature, or back to the farm" in his pocket. mrs. field preserved bill brown's screed. as one prediction of bill's after another came to pass, she would say to alfred: "there, see there? even mr. brown knew what would come of this farming business." the dyke was constructed and would no doubt have answered the purpose intended had it not been constructed of clayey soil that disintegrated and floated away with the muddy current the first freshet. chickens were the first purchases. rhode island reds, alfred asserted, were superior as farm chickens. they were good layers, good setters and good mothers. one hundred hens and two roosters were the basis of the poultry plant. alfred had read that one hundred hens properly catered to would produce on an average five dozens of eggs a day. eggs were fifty cents a dozen. he figured that fifteen dollars a week would be pretty good. of course, he had forgotten that farm hands eat eggs. two dozen eggs were brought to the city and delivered to the home of alfred, where the family rests up in the winter from the farm labors of the summer. "of course, it's not what i expected," he consolingly admitted to his wife, "but you can't move chickens from one place to another and have them do well. howard park says so and he has had a heap of chicken experience. they will do better when you get out there. you will feed them properly and regularly. their laying streak has been broken up. we must train them to lay while eggs are expensive and lay off when they are cheap." alfred insisted pearl keep a "farm book," entering on one page the expenditures opposite the receipts. after two months alfred declared the book a trouble and worry. "just spend what you have to and let it go at that. howard park says everybody has the same experience when they first go into farming." there were two entries on the two pages of receipts, nineteen pages of expenditures: february th--credit by dozen eggs $ . march th--one bull . alfred bought the bull from a neighboring farmer. "registered jersey, worth at least $ ; i got him for $ ," boasted alfred. "the man needed the money." it was learned later that the bull had been accidently shot by trespassing hunters and permanently disabled. when alfred was put wise to this, he sold the bull for beef. [illustration: "i want a rooster for every hen"] in the grocery bill, (alfred furnished everything), there was a charge of four dollars and thirty cents for eggs. alfred argued to his wife it was for hatching eggs for the incubator; that he had instructed mrs. roost she must raise four hundred chickens at least. but mrs. roost, over the telephone, advised that farmers must have eggs to eat and she always cleared her coffee with eggs, and our hens were not laying and that most of them had the roup, and you can't expect eggs when you only got two roosters for a hundred hens. alfred called up mrs. reed and advised that he must have more roosters. "how many do you wish?" she inquired. [illustration: al. g. field, ] "well, we are not getting any eggs. i want a rooster for every hen. i'm bound to have eggs." the wife changed her mind as to rhode island reds. she declared the only person she knew that had good luck with rhode island reds was mrs. mott and she just lived with her chickens. "now, mrs. goodrich has barred plymouth rocks and they are the chickens." alfred ordered a flock of barred plymouth rocks. someone recommended to alfred black minorcas. charley schenck had a pen he wished to dispose of. alfred figured that since they had experienced so much bad luck with one breed they would soon strike a winner by having several kinds. therefore, when s. s. jackson presented alfred with a pen of india games, you could look out upon the chicken lot at any time of day and see three or four cock-fights in progress at the same time. the hands were kept from their work, attracted by the gameness of the cocks. a beautiful litter, (as alfred termed them), of top-knots, van houden chickens, were the next addition to the poultry yard. when cautioned that he would soon have a polyglot lot of poultry, alfred, for the first time, weakened on the chicken proposition; more for the reason that he was disgusted with their polygamous propensities. although living in one herd, he imagined that each breed would live to itself. alfred dubbed them "mormons." pearl and mrs. field had become interested in the little chicks. as hen after hen came off, her brood was carried to the house and endeavors made to raise the chicks by hand. they had some forty or fifty, when rats, or a "varmint" penetrated the coop and twenty-four were killed in one night. the sorrow caused by this loss of their pets was partly compensated for by the closer ties formed with those spared. each one was named. when either pearl or aunt tillie passed out of the kitchen door, the chicks would fly to meet them. stooping down to feed them, they would fly on the shoulders of the two women. one of the grocery bills rendered contained an item, "four dollars for chickens." mrs. mott had also sold mrs. field quite a number of chickens. alfred supposed these chickens were for breeding purposes. one sunday the table was without chicken. mrs. field explained she had no one to go after them. "i'd have shot them for you if you had advised me you wanted chickens killed." "chickens killed?" repeated both pearl and aunt tillie, "well, i'd like to see you or anyone else kill _our_ chickens. why, there's betty, biddy, snooks, dick and kelly; they're just like humans. you don't imagine for a moment we will kill any of _our_ chickens, do you?" and alfred bought chickens for the table all summer. alfred promised his wife that he would look after the farming part. the chickens and dairy came under her charge. he therefore, sat down to his desk and wrote out minute instructions as to fields to be planted and designated the crops to sow in each field. he ordered a hill field, near the barn, sowed in buckwheat. the farmer meekly intimated that ten acres of buckwheat and five acres of oats seemed rather disproportional. "never mind, follow my order," haughtily commanded alfred. "none of us care for rolled oats and we all like buckwheat cakes." alfred discharged his regular farmer; he claimed the man got up too early; he got up at four o'clock and threshed around making so much noise nobody could sleep. the hills had not been plowed in years. the land was shaly, easily washed. it rained from the day the family moved onto the farm until late in june. seeds of all kinds from the fields above washed down into the bottoms below. beans, potatoes, egg plant, rye, peas, beets and cow peas grew in the bottom as only noxious weeds and wild crops grow. from this conglomeration sprang the noted bean that bill brown and alfred are forming a company to distribute. the rain continued. the weather being cool, fires were necessary. nothing but wood was used as fuel. the wife protested the heat for cooking was not sufficient. it just dried the juices in the meats. a heating plant was put in. kerosene lamps did not produce sufficient light, so a lighting plant was installed. springs and well were unhandy. alfred installed a water plant. alfred swore you might just as well live in the city if you had all city fixin's. the walks in the yard and across the lawn were inches thick with mud. pearl and mrs. field, by the light of the wood fire, would read bill brown's life on the farm, while alfred watched the barometer. the women began to talk about moving back to town. alfred was as miserable as life could make him. day after day the rain fell in torrents. the dam that formed the lake wherein alfred intended raising fish in summer, and a skating pond in winter, and also to furnish ice, broke, flooding the cow stables, washing out the sweet corn patch and the garden floated. alfred was unmercifully berated that he had dragged his family to the country, destroying their happiness and spending all his money for--what, for what? just to gratify a whim, a boyish illusion. alfred felt he must do something to turn the tide. the rain kept falling. he started to the city on his mysterious errand. returning he proudly hung above the mantle piece this motto: "it hain't no use to grumble and complain, it's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice; when god sorts out the weather and sends rain, why, rain's my choice." the rain ceased. the sun shone, the grasses grew. happiness came into the family. ere the summer was over, farm life had so ingratiated itself that they did not relish the idea of moving back to the city. bill brown is ever kind. he sent a half dozen guineas, advising they were "chicken-house sentinels." they multiplied more rapidly than any fowls known; that the hen laid forty and fifty eggs in one nest. mr. field and all the hands followed those guineas all summer, nor did anyone find a guinea egg. after months of seeking guinea eggs, an old lady familiar with guineas advised alfred that all of bill's guineas were cocks. it was true; they were all shriner guineas. alfred procured a few suffragettes and guineas are now the most prolific fowl production of the farm. [illustration: home, sweet home] chapter twenty-five it's curious what fuss folks makes 'bout boys that went away years ago from home. there's young bill piper that used to keep recitin', do you know what he's done? he's gone to actin', there's some that actually pay to go an' hear bill talkin', public in a play. why, he couldn't chop a cord o' hickory wood in a year; he may fool the folks out yonder, but he ain't no hero here. i am glad to have uncle tom visit us. he is a good man. it is true his calling made him very narrow when a younger man, but he was always kind hearted, and under his austerity there's a lot of man. i am doubly glad he is to visit us. i want him to carry back to my old home, to those who predicted a much different career for me, a few things i would like them to know. [illustration: uncle tom] "what are you going to do with polly?" inquired the wife. polly was a bird purchased in new orleans; warranted to be one of the best talkers ever imported; talks french, english and spanish. the bird came up to the guarantee and even surpassed it. she can cuss in two or three languages not specified in the guarantee. the wife suggested we carry polly to sister's. "but uncle tom will visit there and it would come out that the parrot belonged to us. besides, it would be disreputable to have polly's profanity charged to sister's family." janet wolfe, a teacher of languages, was also a guest of the family. she and the uncle spent a great deal of their leisure talking to polly. janet was particularly interested in polly's spanish and french. one morning the two were standing near polly's perch. polly was unusually talkative. in answer to a sentence of janet's purest south end french, polly rolled off sentence after sentence of new orleans french market french. janet turned red, then pale. she hurriedly inquired as to whether uncle tom understood french. when assured he did not, she elevated her hands in thankfulness. uncle tom adhered to the custom of family worship. one morning uncle tom's prayer was very long. polly, evidently--like others of the family--was hungry, but, unlike them, did not have the politeness to conceal it. stretching her wings to the fullest width, craning her neck, in a bored tone she squeaked: "o-h h-e-l-l. give us a rest." there was no suppressing the laughter. polly laughed too. uncle tom smiled faintly. alfred pretended to chastise the bird, raising the feather duster over her. polly began a tirade that all the family understood. it must have sounded to uncle tom something like this: "go to hell-go-to-hell-all-of-you. get-to-hell-out-of-yere-dam-you, dam-you-all. polly's-sick-poor-polly. chippy-get-your-hair-cut-hair-cut. oh-hell." many were the arguments and interchanges of opinions as between alfred and uncle tom. the younger man never mentioned the old days at home, he was more anxious to have the uncle refer to them. many years had elapsed and alfred surmised the uncle had forgotten events that were ineffaceably impressed upon his own memory. the uncle and nephew, held many long conversations. one night while alone the uncle took alfred aback a bit, when he very abruptly inquired as to whether he was satisfied with his profession--his life. "i can see you are well fixed and financial success has come to you. but, are you satisfied with your life? would you live the same life over again?" "uncle in the main, i am satisfied with my life. there are many things that i would prefer to forget and there are many things i hope to remember. as a boy, i was ambitious to become a circus clown." the uncle smiled. "this at first, was a boy's whim, an illusion. that ambition was based entirely upon a desire to acquire sufficient money to make me comfortable. it was a boyish fancy at the beginning but some of the happiest days of my life were when i wore the motley and endeavored to spread gladness as a circus clown. "to see others enjoying themselves, to hear and see folks laugh, is one of the greatest pleasures to me in this life. but i am sorry i did not become something other than a showman." the old minister looked at alfred in amazement. "i will always retain most pleasant recollections of the many friends that i have made in the show world, but, uncle thomas, i feel that i could have done something better for myself if i had only been as bent upon it as i was upon show life." "why, alfred! you surprise me. what do you think you should have gone into? a mercantile business?" "no, i never had any taste for that. of late years i have often wished i had been enabled to enter the legal profession. i believe i would have made a success as a lawyer." "oh, as a politician?" "no, no, uncle, i abhor politics as i know them. i mean a lawyer. one who was respected by all the people in the community where he practiced. i have often thought i would like to be a sort of lawyer and farmer. i never was satisfied with myself until i became the owner of a farm." "well, if you are dissatisfied with your business, i cannot understand why you have been so successful." "now, uncle tom, you misunderstand me. i am not dissatisfied with my business. i had ambitions as a boy, i have ambitions as a man." "are you ashamed of your calling?" this was a leading question. alfred felt the inquisitor was digging pretty deep. "no, uncle, i am not. i shall always respect the calling of a public entertainer. i thank god, and pat myself on the back often, that not one dollar i possess was wrung from a human being that they were unwilling to part with. i respect myself all the more that not one penny of the little that i have saved is tainted, that is in the latter day application of the term. in my professional work i have carried gladness. i have endeavored to make two blades of grass grow where one grew before. i have injured no man by my profession, but have made many happy. why should i be ashamed of it? of course, i often wish that i had entered a field where i could have enjoyed more opportunities; where i could have extended myself as it were. i would like to live in a larger world." "why, alfred, i am again surprised. you travel the world over." "yes, but uncle, it's the narrowest world you ever dreamed of. a crowd's no company. the loneliest moments i pass are when in the largest gatherings. i was cut out for a showman, but i ought to be a stationary one. if you and father and all my other relatives had only headed me for the law, perhaps i'd be a different man." "alfred, what was to be could not be changed. you have everything to be thankful for and little to regret. you have a faithful helpmate in your wife. your father is a great consolation to you. he tells me of the lovely traits of your character. if i had my children around me as he has, if i could live in their love as he does, i would sacrifice all else in this world." "why, uncle tom, aren't you satisfied with your calling?" "if you refer to the ministry, i answer 'no.' the salaries of the ministers of this country do not average five hundred dollars a year. and yet, as a class, they are the best educated the hardest working, poorest paid, underfed profession i know of. with less culture, less mental power, there are men in all walks of life that are paid three times the salary even our most eloquent and useful ministers receive. and yet, no matter how great the good a minister may have accomplished, if he makes the slightest allusion to the matter of money, it discredits him. that i have worn the livery of christ all my days will buoy me up, and that i am proud of my service in the army of the lord lends happiness. i have endeavored to maintain the character i have assumed in meekness and sincerity. but the character of a minister is the most assailable of that of any of the professions. the slightest slip, the one misstep, and he is lost. like samson, shorn of his hair, he is a poor, feeble, faltering creature, the pity of his friends, the derision of the public." "well, uncle tom, yours is not the only profession that's held back by popular prejudices. it's one of the peculiarities of the littleness of human nature. it's a sure sign of a dwarfed mind to have your actions criticized and misconstrued. there's not a great calamity, a pestilence, a plague, a drought or a famine, a galveston disaster, a johnstown flood, a poor family's poverty, that the theatrical profession are not appealed to first and are first to respond. but if a theatrical man interests himself in public affairs his motives are impugned." "i am surprised at this, alfred. it sounds so very much like the restrictions placed upon ministers. does it hamper you in your affairs?" "not in the least. that is, not now. there was a time when i was younger that i felt the sting pretty keenly. now it has a different effect. you remember bill jones in brownsville? he had a boy named bill. young bill was under discussion by the cracker barrel committee in oliver baldwin's grocery. andy smith had just remarked that 'bill jones's boy is a durned fool; he don't know nuthin'; he don't know enough to gether greens; he don't know enough to slop hogs.' just then he noticed the boy's father sitting behind the stove. old bill had overheard andy's talk. andy endeavored to square himself. in an apologetic tone he said: 'but, taint' your fault, bill; tain't your fault; ye ain't to blame. you learnt him all you know.' you can't tell anything about human nature and the better plan is to make yourself as agreeable to those you respect and love and to keep others at arm's length. when you feel that folks have any objections to you, beat them to it. they soon come over." "do you remember a boy that was raised in brownsville, worked in snowden's machine shop? do you remember he worked his way up? he entered the ministry. he became a very good preacher, quite eloquent. there was a movement inaugurated by some of his boyhood friends to have him brought to brownsville to fill the pulpit of a church. the women of taste were sort of running things. the brownsville boy who had become a preacher was turned down. do you remember why? well, his parents were very humble people. the taste of many of the members revolted at the idea of the pulpit of the church being filled by one whose father worked around the town in his shirt sleeves. do you remember the trade of his father?" "no, i have forgotten." "well, he was a carpenter." the uncle did not perceive the application at once. after a moment he nodded his head a half dozen times, very slowly as he framed the question: "what became of--?" "he is living in retirement with his children in houston, texas. he became a noted man in the ministry of that state. he never visited his old home after the slight put upon him by the taste of a part of the congregation." "well, alfred, your experience has been of great value to you. you have met all manner of people." "yes, and in all walks of life. and my estimate of them is, that human nature is about the same in all men, although some of them possess the faculty to a greater degree than others of concealing it. the first president i ever met to talk to was general grant. i had always read of him as the silent man of destiny; but he did about all the talking for all those about him the few moments i was in his presence." "i met ben harrison, but that was before he was president. it was during a political campaign in indiana. he seemed to me to be about as cool and level-headed a man as i ever met. i stood beside him on a car platform. in petersburg, va., after he was elected president, he came out of his private car in response to the cheers of the crowd. i feel sure he intended to make a short speech, as the multitude seemed to demand it. the president was bowing his acknowledgments to the large gathering, when someone, with that bad taste that always crops out at the most inopportune moment, yelled 'hurrah for cleveland.' a great many others, with bad taste, laughed. harrison flushed to his temples, bowed and backed into the car. "i met cleveland twice. once in that old club in buffalo, n. y. cleveland was sheriff at that time. he was in the prime of manhood, sociable and full of animation. he did not talk much but was a good listener and a hearty laugher at the stories george bleinstein related. i met him again after he was out of the presidential chair. his health was shattered. he was endeavoring to recuperate in that most sensible way, hunting and fishing. his limbs were in such condition he could not endure the exercise and did not get the benefit he anticipated from the outdoor life. "i met rutherford b. hayes many times while he was governor of the state of ohio, and once after he became president. he was the most democratic of men, plain and approachable. "of all the presidents i have had the good fortune to meet mckinley was the most lovable to me, probably because i was better acquainted with him than the others. mrs. mckinley and her sister owned the opera house in canton, ohio. mrs. mckinley's brother, mr. barber, was the manager for them. i met mckinley in columbus, canton and washington. he was always the same. he never mentioned politics at any time i was in his presence; always talked upon commonplace subjects, inquiring after friends or conditions of business over the country. mckinley had the good taste to remember his friends. "it was the custom of the president and his wife, while in washington, to call up the home of mr. barber in canton, on the long distance telephone daily. alfred happened in canton on new year's day. he wished the president a happy new year over the phone. the president, in turn, invited him to call at the white house when visiting washington. alfred, after the phone was hung up, remarked to barber: 'the president is too busy with politicians to bother with minstrels.' barber afterwards repeated alfred's remark to the president. later, alfred visited washington. the president sent a messenger inviting him to call at the white house, nor did alfred have long to wait when his card was sent in. after a hearty handshake the president invited him to have a cigar. the first question he asked was as to the health of an old columbus liveryman--brice custer--a democrat at that. "the most interesting near-president i ever met was your old fellow-townsman, james g. blaine." "oh, i knew blaine well as a boy," uncle tom said. "i never met him after he left brownsville. where did you meet him?" "i visited augusta, me., with my minstrels. i sent a messenger inviting him to attend the entertainment. in reply he invited me to call at his residence. to my surprise he seemed to be familiar with my career. he inquired after many of the older men of brownsville, particularly john snowden, bobby rodgers and others. he could not remember my father but he remembered grandfather, uncle william and uncle joe's father. his memory as to the older inhabitants of the town was most remarkable. he gave me much information as to the early history of brownsville. he advised when he regained his health he intended visiting the valley again, renewing old friendships. the cheeks of the famous american were sallow and flabby. his general appearance was that of one who was desperately struggling to fight off the finish. although he talked hopefully of the future and outlined his precautions for guarding his health, it was not long afterwards until he 'crossed the bar.' "blaine was a wonderful man. do you remember the last speech he made at his old home? it was in the midst of a heated political campaign. several noted orators accompanied him. the issues of the campaign were discussed by the speakers who preceded him. blaine was introduced; the applause was long-continued. speaking slowly at first, with distinct enunciation, he said: "'ladies and gentlemen, neighbors, friends, all: i am here tonight in the interests of that great political party of which i have the honor to be a member. i came here to make a political speech. i came here to discuss the questions in which this section is so vitally interested. i see many familiar faces. i see many in front of me tonight who have always held views opposed to mine, politically; but our opinions on public questions have never marred our friendships and never will insofar as i am concerned. i always hope to retain the respect and good-will you bear me, evidenced by your presence here tonight.' "'when i gaze around me, i note the silver tops of many men whose hair was as black as the raven's wing when we trod these old hills together. i note cheeks even whiter now than the hair that shades them--cheeks then flushed with the bloom that only comes to youth. i know many of you here tonight expect me to discuss the issues of the day. i hope you will excuse me when i inform you i cannot bring myself to do it, that word of mine might cause pain to one friend--that would destroy all the pleasure that has come to me from this meeting of old friends here tonight--it is a pleasant feeling to the wanderer that he is again in the home of his fathers, in the home of his friends.' "he continued relating incidents of his boyhood. i venture to say it was the most effective political speech ever delivered and not a word of politics in it." "alfred, your experiences are valuable, and i believe you are filling the mission god intended you for. i feel when i talk to you my little world growing smaller. i have lived in a little world all my life. the only information i get of the big world comes through well-meaning, but often prejudiced, persons. i do not know man as i should. i believe to know god you must know man. alfred, i am told intemperance is the curse of the theatrical profession. are many of your people drunkards?" "very few of them. we do not tolerate a drunkard one day. it would be an insult to permit a drunkard to go before an audience. theatrical people with their peculiar temperaments and manner of life, are easily led astray but i do not believe, comparatively speaking, there is nearly so much intemperance among theatrical people as some other professions." "how do you manage the members of your company?" "we endeavor to dissuade them from all practices that will interfere with their duties. we take a great deal of pains with the younger ones; particularly as to the drink habit; do all we can with advice, and endeavor in every way to have them lead sober, moral lives. the general manager of one of the largest railway systems in this country, after twenty-five years' experience, has arrived at this conclusion. 'do all possible to rescue the man starting in on a drinking life. bump the old soak and bump him hard; bump him quick. never temporize with a man who has broken his promise as to the liquor habit. if he gets bumped hard, it will either cure him or cause him to drink himself to death. in either way society is the better off.'" "what a load of sin the saloonkeeper carries, the man that sells the drunkard rum. if all the saloons could be closed--uncle tom, have you given the subject, or this sin, or whatever you may term it, serious study? the saloonkeeper may have it within his power to curtail, to lessen the evil effects of drunkenness, but it's high time the fellow on the other side of the bar came in for his share of the censure. don't you know that if every saloon in the land was closed, under existing conditions, drunkenness and the increased consumption of whisky would go on. statistics bear this out." "well, what is your remedy for the evil, alfred?" "i have no remedy. i have a safeguard--high license, the sale of whisky placed in the hands of reputable men." "but, alfred, there are no reputable men in the whisky business." "uncle tom, you admitted a few moments ago you lived in a little world, you did not know men. i am not entering upon a defense of the saloonkeeper, but human nature, is human nature. bad taste is bad taste. it's bad taste for a minister of the gospel to make statements that can be controverted so readily that his veracity is made questionable. if i were a minister, i would inform myself, visit the saloons. i would go into the neil house, the chittenden, the lowest dives in the city; not as a sneak or a spy, but in my duty, my profession, my calling as a preacher, as a man with the determination to do good unto my fellow men. i would go as he, in whose footsteps preachers profess to follow, did. i would shake hands with the business man, the bum. i'd pass them my card or have someone introduce me. i'd invite them to visit my church. i'd make them feel i was a friend, not an enemy. i would endeavor to instill into their lives the truth. i'd preach that god is love. i would make myself a welcome visitor everywhere i went. the presence of a good man with a desire to do good has a beneficial effect upon men in every walk of life, in church or saloon. "uncle thomas, if the clergy do not realize it, they should. they are widening a breach, a chasm between the people and the church, that will be difficult to bridge over. they are positively bringing their calling into disrepute. let nothing be done through strife or vain glory but in lowliness of mind, is a divine injunction they seem to have forgotten." "alfred, i am surprised at your arguments. i want to ask you: did you ever know an honest saloonkeeper, an honest man who made or sold whisky?" "there are thousands of them. thomas daly, one of the largest distillers in this country, belle vernon, fayette county, penn., is a man who stands as high morally as any in his section. "martin casey, who lately passed away in ft. worth, texas, a wholesale dealer in liquors, was a friend of mine for thirty years. he was a friend of your nephews, jim and clarke. he was beloved in the community where he lived and died. no charity, no public or private work for the betterment of mankind, was without his support. the widow and orphan did not appeal to him without receiving. in fact, it was not necessary for the poor to appeal to martin casey. his friendship would have honored any man. "you will say these men were too far away. tom swift, a saloonkeeper, stood as high among those who were intimate with him as any man in this city. joe hirsch is another, and there are hundreds of others." "then, alfred, you are against temperance?" "no, sir. i'm for temperance. if there is anything i can do to ameliorate or decrease the evil effects of intemperance, i will willingly take my place in the ranks and add my strength to the fight. ninety men of a hundred are in sympathy with those who are battling for the alleviation of the evils of intemperance. but there are not ten men in a hundred that have faith in the means employed. the only practical temperance work that has come under my observation was that of father matthews and francis murphy." "well, alfred, what do you think of sam jones, and billy sunday?" "sam jones is dead and nearly forgotten. as to billy sunday, i have made it a rule not to talk about a business competitor. talk is advertising. billy sunday is running a show. it's bigger than mine, but it's not as good because it's not an honest show. it's run under the guise of religion. religion, as i understand it, is your life work from day to day and not the inspiration or the evolution of a week, a month or a year. billy sunday has four or five advance agents, or promoters. i employ only two. billy sunday has promoters the slickest in the business: men who have had the experience of years in all sorts of schemes. his show is a sad reflection upon the ministers and church members of any city that falls for his methods. the preachers simply admit that they are not equal to the labor they are engaged in. they must have a buffoon, a mountebank, whose methods are repugnant to those who believe in the religion that is taught by the bible. billy sunday creates excitement that carries some folks off their feet for the time being: no lasting results obtain. those that will remember billy sunday longest are those people who give up their money to him. billy sunday's show has the gift show scheme distanced before the start." uncle tom enjoyed his visit to columbus greatly. on his last sunday he occupied the pulpit of the evangelical church on east main street. he advised alfred the day previous that he would preach a special sermon--text, i cor., chapter , verse : "i had rather speak five words with my understanding that by my voice i might teach others also, than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue." after elaborating upon the text, he reached the pith of his sermon: "a man out of place is only half a man. his nature is perverted. he becomes restless and discontented and his life is made a failure, while the same person might have made a success of all his undertakings if he had been properly placed. as a rule, that which one likes best to do is his forte. no man can be wholly successful in this life until he finds his place. some men glide into their proper sphere as naturally as the birds of the air fly, or fish in the deep swim. others never ask the question of themselves: 'what is my place? what shall i do that i may be content to labor and succeed in the world?' every man should ask himself: 'what is my place? how shall i decide it? how shall i fill it that my life shall not be a failure?' it may be difficult to answer this question. the answer may not always be from the heart, that is, influenced by sincerity. ignorance or lack of ambition may prompt an answer and failure follow. though difficult to answer, the question must be answered by all. 'what is my right place in the labor of this world? how shall i find it? how shall i succeed in it?' but few men can be really successful and discontented--contentment is success. "education and civilization will have found their highest value in this world when every man has chosen his proper work; work for which he is fitted by nature and inclination. how many boys have had their aspirations checked, their longings silenced, by loving but misguided parents and friends? how many boys, who might have attained eminence in a calling they were fitted for, have been forced to fill a place that was repugnant to their natures? there is not a day we do not see natural ability checked by occupations that are not congenial to those engaged in them. we can hardly conceive of a man or boy forced to do work they loathe. parents may feel they are fulfilling a highest duty when they choose a profession or a calling they believe the best for their children, but against which the whole nature of the boy revolts, and for which they have no natural ability. if instinct and heart ask for a blacksmithing trade, be a blacksmith; if for carpentry, be a carpenter; if for the medical profession, be a doctor; if for music, be a musician. there is nothing like filling your place in the labor of this world successfully. if you cannot fill a higher position acceptably and successfully, be content to choose a lower one. there's nothing more creditable in this world than filling a small place in a large way. it is better to be a first rate brick mason than a second rate lawyer. choose your calling in this world. prosecute it with all the vigor in your being. with a firm reliance in god and confidence in yourself failure is impossible." neither uncle tom nor alfred, in their conversation referred to the sermon at dinner. several complimented uncle tom on his sermon. as alfred looked across the table at the uncle, they both smiled. alfred thought of another sermon he had sat under years previously, and it's his opinion the uncle had the same thought. uncle tom sleeps in a little church yard in virginia near the people he loved so well, and that his views broadened in his last years only made him more beloved by those for whom he always faithfully labored, believing in the right as he saw it. he was an honest man, a consistent christian. chapter twenty-six not hurrying to, not turning from the goal. not mourning for the things that disappear in the dim past, nor holding back in fear from what the future veils; but with a whole and happy heart, that pays the toll to you and age, and travels on with cheer. uncle madison, stage driver, soldier, planter, historian, a gentleman of the old school; versed in the classics and current events, most positive in his deductions. he fought every day and year of the civil war for the cause of the south. he had labored every day since appomattox to better the conditions he had been active in unsettling. the soul of honor, as courtly as a king, as keen as a flint, as blunt as a sledge, as tender as a child. [illustration: uncle madison] it was telegraphed all over the country that a. p. clayton, mayor of st. joe, mo., and alfred, were behind the bars in pittsburgh, pa. bill brown telegraphed w. e. joseph, masonic temple, columbus: "clayton and field in jail here, will you help to get them out?" the answer was: "if clayton and alfred are in jail, it's where they belong. w. e. joseph." uncle madison read of it in the newspapers. he reared and charged. "bill brown nor no other man could put him in jail without suffering for it." alfred's explanation did not satisfy uncle madison. "it's only bill's way of having fun with his friends. no one that goes to pittsburgh but bill plays some sort of a joke on him. we are glad to get off so easy. we expected him to steal our clothes or have us indicted for bootlegging. why, there are a number of people in the west--good people--who will not go east via pittsburgh, fearing bill's practical jokes." pet clayton, imperial potentate of the shrine, was _compelled_ to visit pittsburgh in connection with his official duties. clayton carried alfred with him as protection. alfred, in his haste, forgot his dress suit. arriving in pittsburgh only a few moments before the ceremonial session, bill insisted alfred wear one of his (bill's) dress suits; that it was the rule of the temple that all must wear dress suits to gain admission. bill is wider than alfred, "thicker through," but not quite as tall. there was too much space everywhere excepting in the length of legs and arms of bill's dress suit, as it encompassed alfred. no coaxing or lengthening of the suspenders or pulling at the sleeves could make alfred look other than ridiculous. after walking from the ft. pitt hotel to the temple, the suit began to "set" to its new conditions. the legs, seat and sleeves, were drawing up at every breath. bill, in introducing the visitors, kindly made apologies for the condition of clayton, and the appearance of alfred, explaining that clayton had just come from louisville, where he was booked for one night only, but there was more to inspect than he had ever tackled before. he also assured the nobility that alfred owned a dress suit but they would not permit him to take it out of columbus; that the suit alfred wore was one he had kindly loaned him and he hoped that if anything happened alfred those assembled would respect the clothes. when alfred arose the next morning to prepare for the automobile ride the local people had tendered the visitors, his clothes were missing from the room. bill brown and the committee were waiting. "slip on your overcoat; that will hide bill's old suit. you won't be out of the automobile until you return. this hotel will make that suit good. how much did it cost you?" "sixty dollars; well, we'll make them buy you a hundred dollar suit." every out of town guest, (shriners) had lost something from their rooms. harrison dingman was tugging at an odd pair of shoes, a number eight and a ten, to get ready for the automobile tour. bill brown was everywhere consoling the losers, making notes of the losses pretending he wanted to bring suit against the hotel. alfred and clayton were hustled into an automobile under brown's tender care. as the auto sped on, clayton remonstrated as to the high speed at which the machine was traveling. brown was describing the carnegie technical school. clayton, seemingly not interested, bluntly informed bill he would not ride further at the speed we're going. "i'm too damn good a man to get killed by one of these machines," declared clayton. brown pretended his feelings were injured. halting the auto as he climbed out backwards, he remarked: "i don't want to annoy you, gentlemen. the educational institution we are now passing is one of the most noted in the world. i supposed you'd be interested in it. it is one of which pittsburghers are justly proud. we take a young man from the home, pass him through this school and turn him out versed in any profession or trade." clayton said something about an institution in st. joe that took a hog from the pen every minute, passed him through and turned him out every minute, ready for the table. clayton referred to st. joe's slaughter houses. after brown left the auto there was no slacking of its speed. both alfred and clayton remonstrated with the chauffer. he claimed they were not traveling nearly so rapidly as the machines containing the other guests; that he did not know their destination and must keep in sight of them. as clayton was insisting that the auto be halted, a policeman threw up his hands, commanding the chauffer to halt, advising all they were arrested for exceeding the speed limit. clayton quickly informed the officers that we were guests, not the owners of the machine; that we had protested since we entered the park at the high speed; that we were not to blame and should not be arrested. "i'm not here in pittsburgh to break laws that i instruct my officers to enforce. i am the mayor of st. joe and i won't stand for this arrest." "st. joe, st. joe," mused the irish policeman, "well, uv course, i have no authority to turn yez loose. there may be a st. joe but i haven't heered uf it. there's so meny new korporations springing up around yere, i exshpect coryopolis will be havin' a mayor next an' he'll come in the city an' want to have immunity fur any crime he may commit. no, you nabobs wid dese automobiles must be held in check. ye kilt two shill-dren and a hog out uv wan family last week." [illustration: "it's done every day in st. joe"] clayton led the officer behind the machine. alfred overheard him offer the cop two dollars and to set them up to turn the pair loose. "it's done every day in st. joe," clayton confided. the officer shook his head and remarked: "i'll have tu take yez down. get in!" and he pointed with his club to the open door of the machine. "climb in! i'll let yez talk to the sargent." the mayor of st. joe and the meek minstrel re-embarked. the officer sat up beside the chauffer, clayton slinging it into him every foot of the way to the station. there was a crowd outside the door. "phwat are they pinched fur?" inquired a ward politician who had a pull, and consequently got a reply from the cops. "exceedin' the spheed law in the park," replied the officer. "they're from out of town, are they?" "yis," answered the cop. "the big one claims he's the mayor of st. joseph's academy, er some other place. the other one has thryed to hide hisself in his overcoat." they were in front of the sergeant's desk. alfred whispered to clayton: "give a fictitious name." clayton was arguing the case with the sergeant. "my name's clayton. this is mr. field, al. g. field, of minstrel fame. he lives in columbus, ohio, right near you. he is the potentate of aladdin temple, columbus." [illustration: "it will cost us fifty dollars and costs"] "hold on, pet, hold on," pleaded alfred, "i--i--" "never mind, alfred, never mind. now, i'm the mayor of a city. i know just how to handle these matters." "well, don't give them my name and pedigree. handle it without that," requested alfred. "put them both together in cell twenty-three and send for the bertillon officers. i think you'll find their mugs in the hall of fame." clayton advised alfred the hall of fame had reference to the rogue's gallery. clayton clamored for an opportunity to telephone the chief of police, the director of public safety, or some other high mogul. "if i was in st. joe, i'd be out of here in two minutes," he excitedly declared. "of course you would," assented alfred, "but you're not in st. joe. you're in jail in pittsburgh, a shake-down town, and it will cost us fifty and costs, you see if it don't." "not on your life it won't. let me get this fellow on the phone. what's his name? i met him last night. i'll tell him something," said clayton. "do you know him?" meekly inquired alfred. "know him? hell? why, i'm well acquainted with him. i had fifty drinks with him last night." "well, telephone him quick," urged alfred. "hello, hello! this is clayton, clayton, c-l-a-y-t-o-n, clayton. i met you last night. (ha-ha-ha). how do you feel? (oh, all right). where am i at? no, no! pet clayton, mayor of st. joe, imperial potentate of the--hello--gurgle--gurgle," and pet hung up the phone. "well, don't that beat the bugs! now this fellow knows me but he says he must see me. he only met me last night, he isn't familiar with my voice. i told him who i was but he said i might be all right, but he would come out and investigate." "it seems to me bill brown would come back looking for us. you're the guest of honor." this reminder riled clayton up. "i'll attend to mr. brown's case. i put him where he is. i'll show him something next session of the imperial council." just then the jailer thrust a thin loaf of bread part ways between the bars. alfred and pet gazed at the bread as it stuck there. in a moment the man sat a thin can of water beside the bread. clayton endeavored to bribe him to go to a restaurant and bring some real refreshments. "phwat wud yez like to eat?" "oh, old crow or joe finch's 'golden wedding.'" "oh, yez'll git none of those things out here. they wudn't know how to cook them if they had 'em. yez'd better have some corned beef and cabbage. no, this is friday, yez can't get that. salt mackerel is the bhest i can do for yez the day." clayton pinched off a crust, with the remark: "i'll eat your bread but damned if i drink your water." clayton swore he could buy the police, the police station, the police department or anything else in pittsburgh, but he wouldn't be shook down. he had endeavored to bribe everyone he came in contact with, but all refused to accept, even the policeman. pet confidentially informed alfred, as they sat in the dark, dismal cell, that he knew there wasn't a straight man in pittsburgh; that being mayor of st. joe he had got next to all the grafting cities in the country. "i will admit to you, and you are the first man i ever breathed it to, there is a little, very little, grafting going on in st. joe." pet had pittsburgh people sized up right, but he applied st. joe prices and they were rejected. the old janitor seemed to be taken up greatly with the two prisoners. "yez belongs to some kind of a sacret society, don't yez?" he inquired. clayton straightened up to his full height. "yes, we belong to the ancient arabic order nobles of the mystic shrine of north america." pet rolled off the lengthy title so rapidly the old fellow was astounded. resting his hands on the cell bars, he gazed admiringly at clayton fully a half minute, ere he asked: "are yez pope of it?" later it developed the janitor was a captain of police, also a shriner. he played his part well. when bill brown and mccandless arrived they almost came to blows. bill swore they were disgraced. bill endeavored to borrow the fifty dollar fine from both clayton and alfred. failing, he borrowed, or pretended to borrow the amount from mccandless. clayton and alfred were liberated, loaded into an auto, the chauffer ordered to drive slowly to the work house. when clayton and alfred stepped on to the veranda, the doors were flung open. on each side of the long tables there was a row of red fezzes. under each a shriner. there was a welcome, and such a welcome as could only be extended by those who at one time or another have been the victims of bill brown's practical jokes. to those who are not intimate with bill brown, his sense of humor may appear forced. but his pranks are only the over-flowing exuberance of a great, big, fun-loving man--a big body--but scarcely big enough to contain a heart so filled with love for his fellow man. alvah p. clayton thanked the committee, thanked bill brown, thanked the police for their kindly consideration in placing him in jail. he stated that visiting the city in his official capacity, he had concluded the duties that called him to pittsburgh, that he carried on his person money and valuables representing thousands of dollars. he was compelled to remain in the city all day and he felt much safer in jail than loose on the streets of pittsburgh. we love men like bill brown and pet clayton because they are lovable men. happy is the man who has that in his soul that acts upon the dejected mortal as april showers upon violet roots. bill brown has a motto worked on brass, with steel fish-hooks. it hangs over the mantelpiece in his home, and reads: "i am an old man; my troubles are many, but most of them never happened." alfred has added to this motto: "they mostly happened to others." uncle madison never could understand why alfred was indifferent as to his arrest. he never could appreciate the sense of humor that influenced alfred to go to jail for a joke. uncle madison, while on a visit to alfred, read in the columbus papers of the different classes of people composing its citizenship. "you have the upper class, the middle class, the lower class." when uncle madison was asked if the people of virginia were not designated by classes, he replied: "no sir! no sir! we only have one class of people in virginia--the high class. all the others are republicans." uncle madison declares this is the age of shriek and frenzy, the over-zealous, ambitious politician who gets his ideas from history, going back a little further than most people read, puts them forward as his own. "the majority of folks, in this the best of countries, believe that the founders of it, knew just about what they were doing when they made out the plans and specifications. if you will read the writings of jefferson, you will find them as applicable to present conditions as they were the day they were written. "alfred i hope you won't be bamboozled by the ravings of demagogues, who constantly preach about the wrongs of the people. you'll find the wrongs that influence them are their own imaginary wrongs. the founders of this country provided for the righting of all wrongs. we can right any wrong at the ballot box. we do not require any new-fangled, or rather old-fangled, ideas warmed over. the man who advocates the so-called referendum, the initiative, and particularly, the recall, is a traitor to the true principles of government as established by our forefathers. we have lived and thrived for more than a hundred years under the best form of government ever devised. if we want to preserve it, if we desire to perpetuate our institutions, the demagogue, the mountebanking politician must be squelched. they ruined every republic of the ancient world and if we don't throttle them they'll ruin ours. "the self-seeking demagogue starts out with the captivating doctrine, the rule of the people, but his end will be the dangerous despotism of one man rule--the rule of himself. could you or any reasoning man who has followed the demagogues of this country, for a moment doubt that any one of them, on the slightest pretext or opportunity would make a despot that would shade those of the old world? "the initiative, the referendum and the recall lend themselves to the demagogues' schemes, and they call it progressiveness. nothing in government could be more reactionary. it was tried in greece and it failed. it was tried in ancient rome and it failed. the political party that's 'agin' the recall, the referendum and the initiative, will win and it deserves to win. "socialism, in theory, is a most beautiful dream, an illusion. socialism, as it is practiced by the discontented and turbulent, is about as near anarchy as we can get. see what they have done wherever they have obtained a foothold. it's un-american; it's unpatriotic; it is against all that a patriotic american citizen holds most sacred. despite the demagogues who have brought about these conditions, those who love this country, respect its laws and appreciate the advantages it offers to every man willing to work, will triumph. the evolution will never come to revolution. "the romans, two thousand years ago, experienced the same troubles we are having. there is a fable comparing the corporeal body to the body politic. once upon a time the feet became discontented and struck. they refused to be walked upon longer. the legs noted the dissatisfaction of the feet. although they never had cause for complaint before, they said: 'well, we will quit also. we will refuse to carry the body around longer.' the stomach said: 'well, i can't digest food if you refuse to work, so i'll just quit also; besides, i've been working all these years for that aristocrat, the brain. i am down under the table doing the work while the brain is enjoying the wit and gaiety. i want to be up where he is. the brain has been the master long enough.' the brain became stubborn: 'all well and good for you. if that is the manner in which you look upon your duties; if you feel that you have been imposed upon, go your way. i refuse to think for you further.' "the feet stubbed their toes; their course was irregular; they stepped on broken glass; they swelled up as large as watermelons. the legs, illy nourished, not clothed, became weak and rheumatic, gave way altogether. the stomach, not receiving food, began to ache and cramp. the brain was suffering from the ills that had befallen the stomach, the limbs and the feet. the misery became general. the entire body was suffering, and its sufferings had weakened it greatly. "after a while they all concluded their only hope to live happily was that one should depend upon the other. it was decided the brain should run things; but the ills brought upon the body had caused so much suffering that it required a length of time until all recovered the condition they were in before the strike--as we will call it. all agreed the brain should have all the powers as before but must consider the other parts of the body as of greater importance than heretofore. this the brain had learned, and further that they were all necessary parts of one great body. and thus they all concluded to go to work together. after the brain put food into the stomach, clothes on the legs, healed the wounds of the feet, it found its sufferings had ceased. the brain learned it must take good care of all parts of the body or it would suffer. neither one could long exist without the aid of the other. "god needs all kinds of people in this world. some represent the brain, others the stomach, more the feet and legs. as abraham lincoln said: 'god must love the common people: he made so many of them.' "along comes the demagogue. in his zeal to gratify vainglorious ambitions, he endeavors to convince the common people that confusion and agitation will right their wrongs. "they quote from abraham lincoln. let me ask you to compare their speeches and appeals with those of abraham lincoln. do you remember any speech of these modern demagogues in which they have told the common people that they were living in the best country in the world? that they, the common people, had it in their power to relieve themselves of their few wrongs? do you ever remember one of them telling the dear common people that good government was essential to prosperity? that it was a higher honor to be governed in a republic like ours, than to live in any other country? "every human being begins life under control and there is not one in a thousand that ever should live, only under control. three-fourths of the people in this world never knew they were counted until they get into a mob. "the demagogues array their hearers against wealth. they leave the impression that all who are so fortunate as to possess a little more of this world's goods than the poorest, are dishonest; that it is dishonorable to be of the moneyed class. they never tell the people it is but natural and necessary that some should be richer than others. these conditions have always prevailed and could only be changed by a gross violation of rights, held inviolate since the beginning of civilization. since the world began, industry and frugality have been rewarded by wealth. "these demagogues never tell the people that the opportunities are ever open that have made others rich. they never tell the boys growing up that ten or twenty years hence, they the boys of today, will be the business men, the moneyed class of this country. "to be prosperous is not to be superior. wealth should form no barrier between men. the only distinction that should be recognized is as between integrity and corruption. "the present day fads are only the revival of the brain throbs of demagogues gone before. read jewett's translation of politics. aristotle, who dealt wisely with many momentous questions, designated the initiative, referendum and recall, as the fifth form of democracy, in which not the law but the multitude, have the superior power and supersede the law by their decrees. homer says that 'it is not good to have a rule of many.' "as i said before, there will be no revolution. the patriotic people of this country will attend to this. but we will be compelled to do a little deporting and perhaps a little disciplining. the american people will attend to this sooner or later. the red flag has no place in this country. curb the trusts, curtail combinations in restraint of trade, let all men get an even start in the race and the deserving will win. i am not a rich man; i'm a poor man. i've worked all my life. i am happy and contented. insofar as riches are concerned, i would like to possess them, but damned if i want them if i've got to rob others who have labored more diligently and with more intelligence than i have." "now, uncle madison, what's your cure for the political and social upheavals?" "patriotism, loyalty to our country, to our flag, to our institutions, to the principles that have made us what we are." "uncle madison, you were a confederate soldier." "yes, and i'm proud of it. i fought for what i believed to be right. we of the south lived under conditions that had grown upon us, been forced upon us; i refer to slavery. i'm not defending slavery, i'm glad it's done, but we had lived under a government that guaranteed to protect our rights and property. no matter if slavery was wrong--was it right for one-half of the people of a country to insist the other half impoverish themselves--give up all their possessions? "slavery was handed down to us and--well, there's nothing in threshing this matter over; slavery was the cause of the war, the negro was the issue. if the negro had been a commercial product in the north there would have been no war. the south lost because it was ordained they should lose. that does not lessen my pride in the fact that i fought for the cause i thought was right; we were right in the fact that we fought for the property this government promised to protect us in, and that's just what the north would have done if conditions had been reversed." "uncle madison, do you believe in the majority rule?" "the majority, if you mean the greater number of people, never did rule and never will. it's the few that does the thinking, does the ruling. why, my boy, there are times in our lives when god and one are a majority." chapter twenty-seven mornin' little dreamer with sunshine in your eyes, the stars were talking to you ere they left the brightening skies. "the care of children, by dr. holt," is the title of the book by which the baby is being reared. on the care of feeding bottles it recommends: "when the baby is done it must be unscrewed and put in a cool place under a tap. if the baby does not thrive, it must be boiled." [illustration: an evening at maple villa] hattie remarked afterwards she "never reckoned the poor, measley little thing would stay with us." _it was_ little, _it was_ puny, but it brought a happiness into the household never before experienced--brought a happiness into the lives of uncle al and aunt tillie--that only those who love children and have never been blessed with them can appreciate. alfred with his usual assurance undertook to instruct the family, including the doctor and the nurse as to how the baby should be handled--yes, that's the term he used, "handled." aunt tillie reminded him the baby was not a colt. he was advised that the old fashioned way of nursing babies was obsolete. he was not permitted to up-de-doo baby, that is, throw him up and catch him coming down, notwithstanding he asserted this was the only way to prevent a baby from becoming liver-grown; nor would miss liston or pearl the mother, permit alfred to kiss the baby on the mouth. miss liston asserted that kissing was most dangerous in spreading microbes and germs; therefore, the baby must not be kissed on the mouth. "all right, little baby," alfred would say, "i can kiss his little tootsie ootsies." "please don't kiss his foot," appealingly pleaded pearl. "please don't kiss his foot, he might put it in his mouth." "i kissed you on the mouth a thousand times when you was a baby, and i'm living yet," snapped alfred. [illustration: field] baby cried at night. alfred declared it was unnecessary to lose sleep on account of a baby crying. all required was a cradle. every person that expected to rear a baby should have a cradle. alfred visited every furniture store in the city. not one had a cradle. few understood what they were. one young clerk advised that his grandfather in the country, near alfred's farm had one and he had heard the grandfather say his father before him had used it. alfred sent his colored man, doc blair, to borrow or buy the cradle. the cradle was borrowed. the man did not care to sell it. he sent the wagon to get the cradle. "hide it in the barn until i return; i want to introduce baby to it. this will prevent his crying at night, that is so wearing on his mother and so irritating to aunt tillie, and leg-breaking to his daddy." he explained to hattie, who knew all about babies. hattie just smiled: "you just rock him to and fro and he will go to sleep any time. you can't raise a baby without a cradle, it is impossible." "bring in the cradle," was alfred's command to doc blair. "mister field, you can't bring that thing in hyar. some of you all will get your legs cut off. you can't get it through the door nohow. we couldn't get it in the top wagon. we had to take the farm wagon." [illustration] on the lawn near the front door reposed an old fashioned cradle for reaping grain, such as farmers used before the horsepower reapers came into use--a hand cradle with rusty scythe and hickory fingers. alfred called at a cabinet maker's and ordered a cradle made to order. the rockers must be pointed and have plenty of circle so it would not overset easily. the german agreed to have the cradle completed by saturday. sunday was selected as the day to introduce baby field to the soothing influence of a cradle. alfred advised "all you have to do is sit near it. you can read or sew. just gently push the cradle with your foot. you can have a rope reaching to your bed. if the baby gets restless at night all you have to do is hold on to the rope." alfred insisted that eddie, the father, learn to sing the old nursery song, the inspiration of which was the sugar trough cradle alfred was rocked in: rock-a-bye baby on the tree top, when the wind blows the cradle will rock; when the bow bends cradle will fall, down comes baby, cradle and all. pearl claims it was the singing of this lullaby or the attempts of eddie to sing it, that spoiled field's disposition. the cabinet maker certainly misunderstood alfred's specifications as to the construction of the cradle. aunt tillie declared she would not have it in the house. pearl named it "noah's ark." when baby was laid in the cradle he appeared as but a speck. when alfred essayed to rock it to show the others how, baby howled with fear. alfred swore if they had known anything or consulted him they would have ordered the cradle before the baby came, put him into it on arrival, then he would have gotten used to it by this time. "now you'll have trouble breaking him to the cradle. every baby should be cradle-broke as soon as they are born." aunt tillie again reminded alfred the baby was not a colt. "the cabinet maker was ordered to make a cradle, not a life raft. i didn't order but two rockers. i never ordered it that big. do you think i'm a fool. i know what a cradle is." [illustration] "well, you don't call that thing a cradle, do you?" inquired aunt tillie. "well, it's as near as you will get to one, people don't know nothing about babies or cradles in these days." the cradle, with its three rockers and six sharp points and a big old fashioned rocking chair with four more pointed rockers, made the baby's room a storage place for ancient instruments of torture. the night was a wild one, winds without, colic within. eddie knew the route to the paregoric. after the first combat with the rocker eddie swore it would have to go or he would. he felt he had a chance with the rocking chair, but with six points more against him he balked. "besides nearly breaking my neck, i broke the paregoric bottle and got glass in my feet." [illustration: the wreck] doc and alfred sorrowfully bore the cradle to the chicken house and it has become a receptacle for old carpets and other rubbish. aunt tillie said: "well, you boasted field would have something no other baby in this section had and you made good--nothing like that cradle was ever seen in this section. i wonder what you will think of next to squander your money on?" when the cradle is referred to alfred flares up. "i've had three or four offers for it lately. i expect a man here to look at it tomorrow. don't you dare to break it up to make chicken coops with. i'll get three times as much as i paid for it just as soon as sensible people who are raising a baby learn i have a cradle. some smart man will start a cradle factory, and he'll get the money, too." all the common sense suggestions offered by alfred were rejected. he volunteered to walk the floor with baby while he was cutting teeth. "no, sir, no, sir, i will not permit you to walk the floor with him while he is cutting his teeth. you walk the floor with him when he is teething, when he grows up the dentist will have to carry him around the office before working on his teeth." "don't ride him backwards. he will be bald. riding backwards is the cause of half the baldness in the world." nurse had a schedule by which baby's cries were timed. lung expansion was necessary. crying was essential to lung expansion, exercising his voice field made a new schedule. he was on time; in fact, he worked overtime. he cried by sun time, that is, he began by sun time and quit by any time. he cried until george washington's portrait turned its face to the wall, the dogs howled, and the cream soured. notwithstanding, the baby of these days is raised after the automatic drop-a-nickle-in-the-slot manner, it is surprising how they thrive. he was a tiny, human toy a little while back; now he is the autocrat of the house, the absolute boss. riding or driving, walking or autoing--he is first. he sits at the head of the table. if he desires aught, his desires are gratified. it is only those who have crossed the apex and begun the descent on the other side, that can realize how quickly children--the baby of yesterday, becomes the head of the house, ruling all with love. field will be a year old the first of the month. he will have a birthday party; there will be a cake and one candle. aunt tillie will have a birthday party for uncle al soon. when she asked his age that she might order the candles to decorate the cake, he answered, "just make it a birthday party, not a torch light procession like ollie evans had on his birthday." * * * * * the inner man, like the negro, is born white, but is colored by the life he lives; but not one is so black they have not felt humbled and rebuked under the clear and open countenance of a child. who has not felt his impurities the more that he was in the presence of a sinless child? you have probably seen one whom some low vice has corrupted, one who is the aversion of man and woman, make of himself a plaything for a rollicking crowd of children, enter into their sports in a spirit that made his countenance glow with a delight, as though only goodness had ever been expressed upon it. you have seen another--a genteel person, cold and supercilious--endeavor to make himself agreeable to children, court their favor, win their fancy. you have seen the child draw back and shrink in undisguised aversion. i have always felt there was a curse upon such a person. better be driven from among men than disliked by children and dogs. one is as instinctive as the other. it is a delicate thing to write of one's self. it grates on one's feelings to write anything derogatory and may be redundant to write praise. i have endeavored to watch myself go by. to those who have followed me thus far, to those who have been my friends, to those who are my friends, to all mankind who despise hypocrisy and love human beings and dogs, i commend myself in a good indian's prayer. o powers that be, make me sufficient to my own occasions. teach me to know and to observe the rules of the game. give to me to mind my own business at all times, and to lose no good opportunity of holding my tongue. help me not to cry for the moon or over spilled milk. grant me neither to proffer nor to welcome cheap praise; to distinguish sharply between sentiment and sentimentality, cleaving to the one and despising the other. when it is appointed for me to suffer, let me, so far as may humanly be possible, take example from the dear well-bred beasts, and go quietly, to bear my suffering by myself. give me to be always a good comrade, and to view the passing show with an eye constantly growing keener, a charity broadening and deepening day by day. help me to win, if win i may; but--and this, o powers! especially--if i may not win, make me a good loser. amen. al. g. field. +-----------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's notes | | | |while unusual spellings have been retained as in the | |original, unexpected inconsistencies in spellings and| |punctuation have been standardised. | +-----------------------------------------------------+ [transcriber's note: illustrations are explained at the end of the text.] * * * * * * * * * * * * * * crankisms by lisle de vaux matthewman pictured by clare victor dwiggins * mcmi * henry t. coates & co. philadelphia copyright, , by henry t. coates & company. _all rights reserved._ if i may be permitted to offer a suggestion, the crankisms should be read in the spirit in which sermons are listened to--with the object of discovering whom they hit. this will furnish amusement, for what is more entertaining than trying the cap on others? the settings speak for themselves; but the author desires to express his indebtedness to the artist for having infused life into and lent grace to dead bones of words, and for having, in many cases, given to those words a deeper and more subtle meaning than they themselves could be made to express. l. de v. m. may, . the kisses of an enemy are deceitful, but not as deceitful as the advice of the friend who is always counseling you for your own good. the best and the worst in man respond only to woman's touch--unfortunately for man. men reason; women do not. woman has no logic, and judging from the use it is to man, is better off without it. the present arrangement of society refuses to many the means to live, while forbidding them the right to die when they wish. woman generally tries to attract a man's eye, and then blames him for being caught by prettiness and superficial charms. but she rarely tries to appeal to his better self. the man who is pockmarked has most to say against freckles. charity covers a multitude of sins which are committed in her name. life is full of golden opportunities for doing what we do not want to do. never compliment a woman and you will earn her undying enmity. respect is rarely appreciated by her; but compliments are always at a premium, even counterfeits being accepted as greedily as the real. when we grow old we walk unfeelingly over that which we, in our youth, madly chased. the biggest fool is the one who thinks he can fool others with impunity without them knowing and resenting it. when we get what we want we are always disappointed to find that it is not what we wanted. like does not always worship like: beauty often worships the beast. we were all in the front row when modesty was served out--at least we think so. because some men are ruined by intemperance it does not follow that all should become abstainers, any more than because some men are ruined by marriage all men should remain single. what men see in women or women in men to admire is generally a puzzle to those who know the men and women in question intimately. the only compliment which a woman really dislikes is that which is paid to another. things have changed since shakespeare's time: men's evil deeds we write in sympathetic ink; their virtues on marble tombstones. our own weaknesses we regard as misfortunes from which we cannot escape; the weaknesses of others we consider crimes. no matter how well we do, we are sure to be anxious to impress upon others that what we have achieved is trifling-- compared with that of which we are capable. a woman is not a woman merely by reason of her sex, any more than an angel is of necessity an angel of light. we are quite able, while hating sin, to pity and be charitable to the sinner--when we happen to be the sinner concerned. the commonly accepted idea that a woman of beauty is of necessity lacking in mental qualities, must have originated in the head of some woman who possessed neither. the devil is not as black as he is painted. in fact, he is more like us than we care to admit. faithful are the wounds of a friend; and as it is more blessed to give than to receive, we prefer to do the wounding. the naked truth and a naked lie are shocking alike to society. a man often envies another man his physical qualities--rarely his mental. as we have no soul mirror we cannot see the reflection of our spiritual deformities. it is easy to have conscientious scruples when they are profitable. the man who marries for money is a fool, but rarely as big a fool as he who marries for love. when you have done a man a favor do not insist too earnestly that it is a mere trifle, or he may take you at your word and not trouble to repay it; which would be very disappointing. the gentle art of making enemies is the one natural accomplishment which is common to all sorts and conditions of men--and women. what we think of ourselves combined with what others think of us is a very fair estimate. if a girl cannot make up her mind between two men it is because she has no mind worth making up. besides, any man who will knowingly be one of two is not worth the trouble of thinking about. if we devoted as much attention to our own affairs as we freely give to those of others, we and others would be gainers. merit, like the show inside a circus, is of comparatively little use as a drawing card; it is the bluff and buncombe the banging drum and megaphone of the barker which is the successful magnet. we always know what we should do under certain circumstances, but unfortunately we never find circumstances arranged so as to suit what we do. an over sensitive conscience is simply the evidence of spiritual dyspepsia. the man who has it is no better than his fellows. generosity, as commonly understood, consists in forcing upon others that for which one has no use. there is a greater difference between really thinking and only thinking that we think than most of us think. we rashly demand that the devil shall have his due, forgetting that if that gentleman gets all that is coming to him it will go badly with some of us. if women knew themselves as well as they know men--and if men knew women as well as they know themselves--things would be very much as they are. before he knows a woman a man often thinks her an angel; when he knows her he knows--er--better. a critic is one who knows perfectly well how a thing should be done, but is unable to do it. therefore we are all the keenest critics in matters of which we know least. from all enemies and most friends, good lord, deliver us! everything comes to the man who waits but that is no inducement to wait-- for no man wants everything. he usually wants one thing in particular-- just that one which he never gets, no matter how long he waits. when a man has drained the dregs of the bitterness of life, hope and fear no longer exist in him, only indifference which produces stupefaction. forbidden fruit has no attraction until we know that it is forbidden. a man can be judged from the theatres he frequents and the ladies who accompany him there. criticism grows faint in the presence of successful achievement. - a man may confess that his judgment was at fault, but never that his intentions were other than strictly honorable. our last match never ignites except when we are sure it will not, and are prepared for the worst. it is impossible to serve two masters, and few of us try. we are satisfied to praise god from whom all blessings flow while we cash the checks of mammon. our own success is due to our indomitable energy and other deserving traits; that of others largely to blind luck. with our energy and the good luck of others what could we not achieve! the trouble with most reformers that they waste their time and energy trying to reform somebody else. we are convinced in our own minds that every man deserves what he gets; but, judging from ourselves, not every one gets what he deserves. if we saw ourselves as others see us we should not believe our own eyes; but we should have a still lower opinion of the rest of the world than we now have. when we care we usually don't dare; when we dare we don't often care. what sounds so sweet as the human voice--to the one who is doing the talking! words may be mere wind, but then so is a tornado. laugh, and the world laughs with you; cry, and the world laughs at you. a proverbial expression is often a crystallized lie which we should like to believe. because everything is for the best it does not follow that it is for our best. it is easier to moralize than to be moral. the difference between an actress on the stage and a woman not on the stage is a matter of here and there. ignorance is not so surprising, nor such a mark of inferiority, as unwillingness to learn. he who grows indignant when his veracity is questioned generally has good and sufficient reason therefor. our joys are mainly those of prospect and retrospect. it is not to be expected that the average man should know what a real woman is like--he so rarely sees one. the chinese promise and never intend to perform; we promise and do intend to perform. the result is about the same. woman regards the criticizing of her sex as her own prerogative, and criticizes more bitterly than any man would think of doing; but she resents any criticism, no matter how just, from man. lambs, it is true, gambol, but in due time they all get fleeced. what we need is some philosopher to tell us how to be happy when we have every reason for being unhappy. the most striking trait of the average man is unwillingness to be convinced--that we are right and he is wrong. if man were so constituted that he could pat himself on the back gracefully, or kick himself effectively, he would spend most of his spare time doing one or the other. most of us live as if we expected to be judged from our epitaph rather than from our conduct. the world is a paradise for fools, a purgatory or worse for others. when we have the capacity of enjoying we have not the reason for enjoyment; when we do have good and sufficient grounds we no longer have the capacity. to be happy, give; to be successful, take; to be happy and successful, give and take. what a woman admires in a man depends on whether she is married or single. confidence given is usually confidence misplaced. women admire the gilded youth because he is a golden calf. even those who do not repeat scandal are generally willing to listen to it. talk of the virtues of another, and, as a rule, your hearers will get bored; only hint that you could a tale unfold and you will secure perfect attention. we forget that once upon a time we were little children; but the unpleasant fact that we are big children is being constantly forced upon us, together with the moral certainty that we shall never be anything else. a man considers his little weaknesses amiable traits; a woman--a woman will not admit that she has a weakness. god's call, through the still small voice, to preach, is much more irresistible when megaphoned by a wealthy church. many who sing loud praises to god, pay heavy tribute to the devil. if the world is, as is so often whined, growing worse, it is partly because of our presence in it. the counsel of a good book is far superior to that of a man who says one thing and does another. if other people would only be as reasonable as we are, what a heaven this earth would be. the world has no sympathy for the gambler who loses. trust in god, but keep a sharp lookout on your friends. tell the truth and you will shame the devil; you will also surprise him very often. the knowledge that virtue is its own reward is what deters many from well doing. it requires no particular skill to win the game when fortune has dealt you all the trumps. we give much more thought to what is due to us than to what is due from us. a camel may not be able to pass through the eye of a needle, but that does not deter many a lobster from trying to do so. the man who sees things as they are is regarded as a madman, just as those were formerly looked upon who maintained that the earth was round. the average man sees things as they seem to be. we are all convinced of the righteousness and reasonableness of majority rule--when we happen to belong to the majority. the greater his trouble, the more a man hugs it to his heart. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * [illustrations: readers who are unable to use the fully illustrated html version of this text may wish to view some individual pictures, located within the "images" directory of the html file. complete page images are named in the form "pagen.png", using the number of each "crankism" as the page number. drawings alone--without text and its surrounding decoration--are named in the form "picn.png", or "picna.png," "picnb.png" for illustrations that were made up of separate elements.] figures of earth a comedy of appearances james branch cabell illustrated by frank c. papé "cascun se mir el jove manuel, qu'era del mom lo plus valens dels pros." contents author's note a foreword part one: the book of credit chapter i how manuel left the mire ii niafer iii ascent of vraidex iv in the doubtful palace v the eternal ambuscade vi economics of math vii the crown of wisdom viii the halo of holiness ix the feather of love part two: the book of spending x alianora xi magic of the apsarasas xii ice and iron xiii what helmas directed xiv they duel on morven xv bandages for the victor part three: the book of cast accounts xvi freydis xvii magic of the image-makers xviii manuel chooses xix the head of misery xx the month of years xxi touching repayment xxii return of niafer xxiii manuel gets his desire xxiv three women part four: the book of surcharge xxv affairs in poictesme xxvi deals with the stork xxvii they come to sargyll xxviii how melicent was welcomed xxix sesphra of the dreams xxx farewell to freydis xxxi statecraft xxxii the redemption of poictesme part five: the book of settlement xxxiii now manuel prospers xxxiv farewell to alianora xxxv the troubling window xxxvi excursions from content xxxvii opinions of hinzelmann xxxviii farewell to suskind xxxix the passing of manuel xl colophon: da capo to six most gallant champions is dedicated this history of a champion: less to repay than to acknowledge large debts to each of them, collectively at outset, as hereafter seriatim. [illustration] [illustration] author's note figures of earth is, with some superficial air of paradox, the one volume in the long biography of dom manuel's life which deals with dom manuel himself. most of the matter strictly appropriate to a preface you may find, if you so elect, in the foreword addressed to sinclair lewis. and, in fact, after writing two prefaces to this "figures of earth"--first, in this epistle to lewis, and, secondly, in the remarks[ ] affixed to the illustrated edition,--i had thought this volume could very well continue to survive as long as its deficiencies permit, without the confection of a third preface, until i began a little more carefully to consider this romance, in the seventh year of its existence. [footnote : omitted in this edition since it was not possible to include all of frank c. papé's magnificent illustrations.--the publisher] but now, now, the deficiency which i note in chief (like the superior officer of a disastrously wrecked crew) lies in the fact that what i had meant to be the main "point" of "figures of earth," while explicitly enough stated in the book, remains for every practical end indiscernible.... for i have written many books during the last quarter of a century. yet this is the only one of them which began at one plainly recognizable instant with one plainly recognizable imagining. it is the only book by me which ever, virtually, came into being, with its goal set, and with its theme and its contents more or less pre-determined throughout, between two ticks of the clock. egotism here becomes rather unavoidable. at dumbarton grange the library in which i wrote for some twelve years was lighted by three windows set side by side and opening outward. it was in the instant of unclosing one of these windows, on a fine afternoon in the spring of , to speak with a woman and a child who were then returning to the house (with the day's batch of mail from the post office), that, for no reason at all, i reflected it would be, upon every personal ground, regrettable if, as the moving window unclosed, that especial woman and that particular child proved to be figures in the glass, and the window opened upon nothingness. for that, i believed, was about to happen. there would be, i knew, revealed beyond that moving window, when it had opened all the way, not absolute darkness, but a gray nothingness, rather sweetly scented.... well! there was not. i once more enjoyed the quite familiar experience of being mistaken. it is gratifying to record that nothing whatever came of that panic surmise, of that second-long nightmare--of that brief but over-tropical flowering, for all i know, of indigestion,--save, ultimately, the , words or so of this book. for i was already planning, vaguely, to begin on, later in that year, "the book about manuel." and now i had the germ of it,--in the instant when dom manuel opens the over-familiar window, in his own home, to see his wife and child, his lands, and all the poictesme of which he was at once the master and the main glory, presented as bright, shallow, very fondly loved illusions in the protective glass of ageus. i knew that the fantastic thing which had not happened to me,--nor, i hope, to anybody,--was precisely the thing, and the most important thing, which had happened to the gray count of poictesme. so i made that evening a memorandum of that historical circumstance; and for some months this book existed only in the form of that memorandum. then, through, as it were, this wholly isolated window, i began to grope at "the book about manuel,"--of whom i had hitherto learned only, from my other romances, who were his children, and who had been the sole witness of dom manuel's death, inasmuch as i had read about that also, with some interest, in the fourth chapter of "jurgen"; and from the unclosing of this window i developed "figures of earth," for the most part toward, necessarily, anterior events. for it seemed to me--as it still seems,--that the opening of this particular magic casement, upon an outlook rather more perilous than the bright foam of fairy seas, was alike the climax and the main "point" of my book. yet this fact, i am resignedly sure, as i nowadays appraise this seven-year-old romance, could not ever be detected by any reader of "figures of earth," in consequence, it has seemed well here to confess at some length the original conception of this volume, without at all going into the value of that conception, nor into, heaven knows, how this conception came so successfully to be obscured. so i began "the book about manuel" that summer,--in , upon the back porch of our cottage at the rockbridge alum springs, whence, as i recall it, one could always, just as manuel did upon upper morven, regard the changing green and purple of the mountains and the tall clouds trailing northward, and could observe that the things one viewed were all gigantic and lovely and seemed not to be very greatly bothering about humankind. i suppose, though, that, in point of fact, it occasionally rained. in any case, upon that same porch, as it happened, this book was finished in the summer of . and the notes made at this time as to "figures of earth" show much that nowadays is wholly incomprehensible. there was once an olrun in the book; and i can recall clearly enough how her part in the story was absorbed by two of the other characters,--by suskind and by alianora. freydis, it appears, was originally called hlif. miramon at one stage of the book's being, i find with real surprise, was married _en secondes noces_ to math. othmar has lost that prominence which once was his. and it seems, too, there once figured in manuel's heart affairs a bel-imperia, who, so near as i can deduce from my notes, was a lady in a tapestry. someone unstitched her, to, i imagine, her destruction, although i suspect that a few skeins of this quite forgotten bel-imperia endure in the radegonde of another tale. nor can i make anything whatever of my notes about guivret (who seems to have been in no way connected with guivric the sage), nor about biduz, nor about the anti-pope,--even though, to be sure, one mention of this heresiarch yet survives in the present book. i am wholly baffled to read, in my own penciling, such proposed chapter headings as "the jealousy of niafer" and "how sclaug loosed the dead,"--which latter is with added incomprehensibility annotated "(?phorgemon)." and "the spirit who had half of everything" seems to have been exorcised pretty thoroughly.... no; i find the most of my old notes as to this book merely bewildering; and i find, too, something of pathos in these embryons of unborn dreams which, for one cause or another, were obliterated and have been utterly forgotten by their creator, very much as in this book vexed miramon lluagor twists off the head of a not quite satisfactory, whimpering design, and drops the valueless fragments into his waste-basket.... but i do know that the entire book developed, howsoever helterskelter, and after fumbling in no matter how many blind alleys, from that first memorandum about the troubling window of ageus. all leads toward--and through--that window. the book, then, was published in the february of . i need not here deal with its semi-serial appearance in the guise of short stories: these details are recorded elsewhere. but i confess with appropriate humility that the reception of "figures of earth" by the public was, as i have written in another place, a depressing business. this romance, at that time, through one extraneous reason and another, disappointed well-nigh everybody, for all that it has since become, so near as i can judge, the best liked of my books, especially among women. it seems, indeed, a fact sufficiently edifying that, in appraising the two legendary heroes of poictesme, the sex of whom jurgen esteemed himself a connoisseur, should, almost unanimously, prefer manuel. for the rest,--since, as you may remember, this is the third preface which i have written for this book,--i can but repeat more or less what i have conceded elsewhere. this "figures of earth" appeared immediately following, and during the temporary sequestration of, "jurgen." the fact was forthwith, quite unreticently, discovered that in "figures of earth" i had not succeeded in my attempt to rewrite its predecessor: and this crass failure, so open, so flagrant, and so undeniable, caused what i can only describe as the instant and overwhelming and universal triumph of "figures of earth" to be precisely what did not occur. in comstockery still surged, of course, in full cry against the imprisoned pawnbroker and the crimes of his author, both literary and personal; and the, after all, tolerably large portion of the reading public who were not disgusted by jurgen's lechery were now, so near as i could gather, enraged by manuel's lack of it. it followed that--among the futile persons who use serious, long words in talking about mere books,--aggrieved reproof of my auctorial malversations, upon the one ground or the other, became in biloquial and pandemic. not many other volumes, i believe, have been burlesqued and cried down in the public prints by their own dedicatees.... but from the cicatrix of that healed wound i turn away. i preserve a forgiving silence, comparable to that of hermione in the fifth act of "a winter's tale": i resolve that whenever i mention the names of louis untermeyer and h.l. mencken it shall be in some connection more pleasant, and that here i will not mention them at all. meanwhile the fifteen or so experiments in contrapuntal prose were, in particular, uncharted passages from which i stayed unique in deriving pleasure where others found bewilderment and no tongue-tied irritation: but, in general, and above every misdemeanor else, the book exasperated everybody by not being a more successfully managed re-hashing of the then notorious "jurgen." since , and since the rehabilitation of "jurgen," the notion has uprisen, gradually, among the more bold and speculative thinkers, that perhaps i was not, after all, in this "figures of earth" attempting to rewrite "jurgen": and manuel has made his own friend. james branch cabell richmond-in-virginia april a foreword "amoto quoeramus seria ludo" to sinclair lewis my dear lewis: to you (whom i take to be as familiar with the manuelian cycle of romance as is any person now alive) it has for some while appeared, i know, a not uncurious circumstance that in the _key to the popular tales of poictesme_ there should have been included so little directly relative to manuel himself. no reader of the _popular tales_ (as i recall your saying at the alum when we talked over, among so many other matters, this monumental book) can fail to note that always dom manuel looms obscurely in the background, somewhat as do king arthur and white-bearded charlemagne in their several cycles, dispensing justice and bestowing rewards, and generally arranging the future, for the survivors of the outcome of stories which more intimately concern themselves with anavalt and coth and holden, and with kerin and ninzian and gonfal and donander, and with miramon (in his rôle of manuel's seneschal), or even with sclaug and thragnar, than with the liege-lord of poictesme. except in the old sixteenth-century chapbook (unknown to you, i believe, and never reprinted since , and not ever modernized into any cognizable spelling), there seems to have been nowhere an english rendering of the legends in which dom manuel is really the main figure. well, this book attempts to supply that desideratum, and is, so far as the writer is aware, the one fairly complete epitome in modern english of the manuelian historiography not included by lewistam which has yet been prepared. it is obvious, of course, that in a single volume of this bulk there could not be included more than a selection from the great body of myths which, we may assume, have accumulated gradually round the mighty though shadowy figure of manuel the redeemer. instead, my aim has been to make choice of such stories and traditions as seemed most fit to be cast into the shape of a connected narrative and regular sequence of events; to lend to all that wholesome, edifying and optimistic tone which in reading-matter is so generally preferable to mere intelligence; and meanwhile to preserve as much of the quaint style of the gestes as is consistent with clearness. then, too, in the original mediaeval romances, both in their prose and metrical form, there are occasional allusions to natural processes which make these stories unfit to be placed in the hands of american readers, who, as a body, attest their respectability by insisting that their parents were guilty of unmentionable conduct; and such passages of course necessitate considerable editing. ii no schoolboy (and far less the scholastic chronicler of those last final upshots for whose furtherance "hannibal invaded rome and erasmus wrote in oxford cloisters") needs nowadays to be told that the manuel of these legends is to all intents a fictitious person. that in the earlier half of the thirteenth century there was ruling over the poictoumois a powerful chieftain named manuel, nobody has of late disputed seriously. but the events of the actual human existence of this lord of poictesme--very much as the emperor frederick barbarossa has been identified with the wood-demon barbatos, and the prophet elijah, "caught up into the chariot of the vedic vayu," has become one with the slavonic perun,--have been inextricably blended with the legends of the dirghic manu-elul, lord of august. thus, even the irregularity in manuel's eyes is taken by vanderhoffen, in his _tudor tales_, to be a myth connecting manuel with the vedic rudra and the russian magarko and the servian vii,--"and every beneficent storm-god represented with his eye perpetually winking (like sheet lightning), lest his concentrated look (the thunderbolt) should reduce the universe to ashes.... his watery parentage, and the storm-god's relationship with a swan-maiden of the apsarasas (typifying the mists and clouds), and with freydis the fire queen, are equally obvious: whereas niafer is plainly a variant of nephthys, lady of the house, whose personality dr. budge sums up as 'the goddess of the death which is not eternal,' or nerthus, the subterranean earth, which the warm rainstorm quickens to life and fertility." all this seems dull enough to be plausible. yet no less an authority than charles garnier has replied, in rather indignant rebuttal: "qu'ont étè en réalité manuel et siegfried, achille et rustem? par quels exploits ont-ils mérité l'éternelle admiration que leur ont vouée les hommes de leur race? nul ne répondra jamais à ces questions.... mais poictesme croit à la réalité de cette figure que ses romans ont faite si belle, car le pays n'a pas d'autre histoire. cette figure du comte manuel est réelle d'ailleurs, car elle est l'image purifiée de la race qui l'a produite, et, si on peut s'exprimer ainsi, l'incarnation de son génie." --which is quite just, and, when you come to think it over, proves dom manuel to be nowadays, for practical purposes, at least as real as dr. paul vanderhoffen. iii between the two main epic cycles of poictesme, as embodied in _les gestes de manuel_ and _la haulte histoire de jurgen_, more or less comparison is inevitable. and codman, i believe, has put the gist of the matter succinctly enough. says codman: "the gestes are mundane stories, the history is a cosmic affair, in that, where manuel faces the world, jurgen considers the universe.... dom manuel is the achilles of poictesme, as jurgen is its ulysses." and, roughly, the distinction serves. yet minute consideration discovers, i think, in these two sets of legends a more profound, if subtler, difference, in the handling of the protagonist: with jurgen all of the physical and mental man is rendered as a matter of course; whereas in dealing with manuel there is, always, i believe, a certain perceptible and strange, if not inexplicable, aloofness. manuel did thus and thus, manuel said so and so, these legends recount: yes, but never anywhere have i detected any firm assertion as to manuel's thoughts and emotions, nor any peep into the workings of this hero's mind. he is "done" from the outside, always at arm's length. it is not merely that manuel's nature is tinctured with the cool unhumanness of his father the water-demon: rather, these old poets of poictesme would seem, whether of intention or no, to have dealt with their national hero as a person, howsoever admirable in many of his exploits, whom they have never been able altogether to love, or entirely to sympathize with, or to view quite without distrust. there are several ways of accounting for this fact,--ranging from the hurtful as well as beneficent aspect of the storm-god, to the natural inability of a poet to understand a man who succeeds in everything: but the fact is, after all, of no present importance save that it may well have prompted lewistam to scamp his dealings with this always somewhat ambiguous manuel, and so to omit the hereinafter included legends, as unsuited to the clearer and sunnier atmosphere of the _popular tales_. for my part, i am quite content, in this comedy of appearances, to follow the old romancers' lead. "such and such things were said and done by our great manuel," they say to us, in effect: "such and such were the appearances, and do you make what you can of them." i say that, too, with the addition that in real life, also, such is the fashion in which we are compelled to deal with all happenings and with all our fellows, whether they wear or lack the gaudy name of heroism. dumbarton grange october, [illustration] part one the book of credit to wilson follett then _answered the magician dredefully: manuel, manuel, now i shall shewe unto thee many bokes of_ nygromancy, _and howe thou shalt cum by it lyghtly and knowe the practyse therein. and, moreouer, i shall shewe and informe you so that thou shall have thy desyre, whereby my thynke it is a great gyfte for so lytyll a doynge_. i how manuel left the mire they of poictesme narrate that in the old days when miracles were as common as fruit pies, young manuel was a swineherd, living modestly in attendance upon the miller's pigs. they tell also that manuel was content enough: he knew not of the fate which was reserved for him. meanwhile in all the environs of rathgor, and in the thatched villages of lower targamon, he was well liked: and when the young people gathered in the evening to drink brandy and eat nuts and gingerbread, nobody danced more merrily than squinting manuel. he had a quiet way with the girls, and with the men a way of solemn, blinking simplicity which caused the more hasty in judgment to consider him a fool. then, too, young manuel was very often detected smiling sleepily over nothing, and his gravest care in life appeared to be that figure which manuel had made out of marsh clay from the pool of haranton. this figure he was continually reshaping and realtering. the figure stood upon the margin of the pool; and near by were two stones overgrown with moss, and supporting a cross of old worm-eaten wood, which commemorated what had been done there. one day, toward autumn, as manuel was sitting in this place, and looking into the deep still water, a stranger came, and he wore a fierce long sword that interfered deplorably with his walking. "now i wonder what it is you find in that dark pool to keep you staring so?" the stranger asked, first of all. "i do not very certainly know," replied manuel "but mistily i seem to see drowned there the loves and the desires and the adventures i had when i wore another body than this. for the water of haranton, i must tell you, is not like the water of other fountains, and curious dreams engender in this pool." "i speak no ill against oneirologya, although broad noon is hardly the best time for its practise," declared the snub-nosed stranger. "but what is that thing?" he asked, pointing. "it is the figure of a man, which i have modeled and re-modeled, sir, but cannot seem to get exactly to my liking. so it is necessary that i keep laboring at it until the figure is to my thinking and my desire." "but, manuel, what need is there for you to model it at all?" "because my mother, sir, was always very anxious for me to make a figure in the world, and when she lay a-dying i promised her that i would do so, and then she put a geas upon me to do it." "ah, to be sure! but are you certain it was this kind of figure she meant?" "yes, for i have often heard her say that, when i grew up, she wanted me to make myself a splendid and admirable young man in every respect. so it is necessary that i make the figure of a young man, for my mother was not of these parts, but a woman of ath cliath, and so she put a geas upon me--" "yes, yes, you had mentioned this geas, and i am wondering what sort of a something is this geas." "it is what you might call a bond or an obligation, sir, only it is of the particularly strong and unreasonable and affirmative and secret sort which the virbolg use." the stranger now looked from the figure to manuel, and the stranger deliberated the question (which later was to puzzle so many people) if any human being could be as simple as manuel appeared. manuel at twenty was not yet the burly giant he became. but already he was a gigantic and florid person, so tall that the heads of few men reached to his shoulder; a person of handsome exterior, high featured and blond, having a narrow small head, and vivid light blue eyes, and the chest of a stallion; a person whose left eyebrow had an odd oblique droop, so that the stupendous boy at his simplest appeared to be winking the information that he was in jest. all in all, the stranger found this young swineherd ambiguous; and there was another curious thing too which the stranger noticed about manuel. "is it on account of this geas," asked the stranger, "that a great lock has been sheared away from your yellow hair?" in an instant manuel's face became dark and wary. "no," he said, "that has nothing to do with my geas, and we must not talk about that" "now you are a queer lad to be having such an obligation upon your head, and to be having well-nigh half the hair cut away from your head, and to be having inside your head such notions. and while small harm has ever come from humoring one's mother, yet i wonder at you, manuel, that you should sit here sleeping in the sunlight among your pigs, and be giving your young time to improbable sculpture and stagnant water, when there is such a fine adventure awaiting you, and when the norns are foretelling such high things about you as they spin the thread of your living." "hah, glory be to god, friend, but what is this adventure?" "the adventure is that the count of arnaye's daughter yonder has been carried off by a magician, and that the high count demetrios offers much wealth and broad lands, and his daughter's hand in marriage, too, to the lad that will fetch back this lovely girl." "i have heard talk of this in the kitchen of arnaye, where i sometimes sell them a pig. but what are such matters to a swineherd?" "my lad, you are to-day a swineherd drowsing in the sun, as yesterday you were a baby squalling in the cradle, but to-morrow you will be neither of these if there by any truth whatever in the talking of the norns as they gossip at the foot of their ash-tree beside the door of the sylan's house." manuel appeared to accept the inevitable. he bowed his brightly colored high head, saying gravely: "all honor be to urdhr and verdandi and skuld! if i am decreed to be the champion that is to rescue the count of arnaye's daughter, it is ill arguing with the norns. come, tell me now, how do you call this doomed magician, and how does one get to him to sever his wicked head from his foul body?" "men speak of him as miramon lluagor, lord of the nine kinds of sleep and prince of the seven madnesses. he lives in mythic splendor at the top of the gray mountain called vraidex, where he contrives all manner of illusions, and, in particular, designs the dreams of men." "yes, in the kitchen of arnaye, also, such was the report concerning this miramon: and not a person in the kitchen denied that this miramon is an ugly customer." "he is the most subtle of magicians. none can withstand him, and nobody can pass the terrible serpentine designs which miramon has set to guard the gray scarps of vraidex, unless one carries the more terrible sword flamberge, which i have here in its blue scabbard." "why, then, it is you who must rescue the count's daughter." "no, that would not do at all: for there is in the life of a champion too much of turmoil and of buffetings and murderings to suit me, who am a peace-loving person. besides, to the champion who rescues the lady gisèle will be given her hand in marriage, and as i have a wife, i know that to have two wives would lead to twice too much dissension to suit me, who am a peace-loving person. so i think it is you who had better take the sword and the adventure." "well," manuel said, "much wealth and broad lands and a lovely wife are finer things to ward than a parcel of pigs." so manuel girded on the charmed scabbard, and with the charmed sword he sadly demolished the clay figure he could not get quite right. then manuel sheathed flamberge, and manuel cried farewell to the pigs. "i shall not ever return to you, my pigs, because, at worst, to die valorously is better than to sleep out one's youth in the sun. a man has but one life. it is his all. therefore i now depart from you, my pigs, to win me a fine wife and much wealth and leisure wherein to discharge my geas. and when my geas is lifted i shall not come back to you, my pigs, but i shall travel everywhither, and into the last limits of earth, so that i may see the ends of this world and may judge them while my life endures. for after that, they say, i judge not, but am judged: and a man whose life has gone out of him, my pigs, is not even good bacon." "so much rhetoric for the pigs," says the stranger, "is well enough, and likely to please them. but come, is there not some girl or another to whom you should be saying good-bye with other things than words?" "no, at first i thought i would also bid farewell to suskind, who is sometimes friendly with me in the twilight wood, but upon reflection it seems better not to. for suskind would probably weep, and exact promises of eternal fidelity, and otherwise dampen the ardor with which i look toward to-morrow and the winning of the wealthy count of arnaye's lovely daughter." "now, to be sure, you are a queer cool candid fellow, you young manuel, who will go far, whether for good or evil!" "i do not know about good or evil. but i am manuel, and i shall follow after my own thinking and my own desires." "and certainly it is no less queer you should be saying that: for, as everybody knows, that used to be the favorite byword of your namesake the famous count manuel who is so newly dead in poictesme yonder." at that the young swineherd nodded, gravely. "i must accept the omen, sir. for, as i interpret it, my great namesake has courteously made way for me, in order that i may go far beyond him." then manuel cried farewell and thanks to the mild-mannered, snub-nosed stranger, and manuel left the miller's pigs to their own devices by the pool of haranton, and manuel marched away in his rags to meet a fate that was long talked about. [illustration] ii niafer the first thing of all that manuel did, was to fill a knapsack with simple and nutritious food, and then he went to the gray mountain called vraidex, upon the remote and cloud-wrapped summit of which dread miramon lluagor dwelt, in a doubtful palace wherein the lord of the nine sleeps contrived illusions and designed the dreams of men. when manuel had passed under some very old maple-trees, and was beginning the ascent, he found a smallish, flat-faced, dark-haired boy going up before him. "hail, snip," says manuel, "and whatever are you doing in this perilous place?" "why, i am going," the dark-haired boy replied, "to find out how the lady gisèle d'arnaye is faring on the tall top of this mountain." "oho, then we will undertake this adventure together, for that is my errand too. and when the adventure is fulfilled, we will fight together, and the survivor will have the wealth and broad lands and the count's daughter to sit on his knee. what do they call you, friend?" "i am called niafer. but i believe that the lady gisèle is already married, to miramon lluagor. at least, i sincerely hope she is married to this great magician, for otherwise it would not be respectable for her to be living with him at the top of this gray mountain." "fluff and puff! what does that matter?" says manuel. "there is no law against a widow's remarrying forthwith: and widows are quickly made by any champion about whom the wise norns are already talking. but i must not tell you about that, niafer, because i do not wish to appear boastful. so i must simply say to you, niafer, that i am called manuel, and have no other title as yet, being not yet even a baron." "come now," says niafer, "but you are rather sure of yourself for a young boy!" "why, of what may i be sure in this shifting world if not of myself?" "our elders, manuel, declare that such self-conceit is a fault, and our elders, they say, are wiser than we." "our elders, niafer, have long had the management of this world's affairs, and you can see for yourself what they have made of these affairs. what sort of a world is it, i ask you, in which time peculates the gold from hair and the crimson from all lips, and the north wind carries away the glow and glory and contentment of october, and a driveling old magician steals a lovely girl? why, such maraudings are out of reason, and show plainly that our elders have no notion how to manage things." "eh, manuel, and will you re-model the world?" "who knows?" says manuel, in the high pride of his youth. "at all events, i do not mean to leave it unaltered." then niafer, a more prosaic person, gave him a long look compounded equally of admiration and pity, but niafer did not dispute the matter. instead, these two pledged constant fealty until they should have rescued madame gisèle. "then we will fight for her," says manuel, again. "first, manuel, let me see her face, and then let me see her state of mind, and afterward i will see about fighting you. meanwhile, this is a very tall mountain, and the climbing of it will require all the breath which we are wasting here." so the two began the ascent of vraidex, by the winding road upon which the dreams traveled when they were sent down to men by the lord of the seven madnesses. all gray rock was the way at first. but they soon reached the gnawed bones of those who had ascended before them, scattered about a small plain that was overgrown with ironweed: and through and over the tall purple blossoms came to destroy the boys the serpent of the east, a very dreadful design with which miramon afflicted the sleep of lithuanians and tartars. the snake rode on a black horse, a black falcon perched on his head, and a black hound followed him. the horse stumbled, the falcon clamored, the hound howled. then said the snake: "my steed, why do you stumble? my hound, why do you howl? and, my falcon, why do you clamor? for these three doings foresay some ill to me." "oh, a great ill!" replies manuel, with his charmed sword already half out of the scabbard. but niafer cried: "an endless ill is foresaid by these doings. for i have been to the island of the oaks: and under the twelfth oak was a copper casket, and in the casket was a purple duck, and in the duck was an egg: and in the egg, o norka, was and is your death." "it is true that my death is in such an egg," said the serpent of the east, "but nobody will ever find that egg, and therefore i am resistless and immortal." "to the contrary, the egg, as you can perceive, is in my hand; and when i break this egg you will die, and it is smaller worms than you that will be thanking me for their supper this night." the serpent looked at the poised egg, and he trembled and writhed so that his black scales scattered everywhither scintillations of reflected sunlight. he cried, "give me the egg, and i will permit you two to ascend unmolested, to a more terrible destruction." niafer was not eager to do this, but manuel thought it best, and so at last niafer consented to the bargain, for the sake of the serpent's children. then the two lads went upward, while the serpent bandaged the eyes of his horse and of his hound, and hooded his falcon, and crept gingerly away to hide the egg in an unmentionable place. "but how in the devil," says manuel, "did you manage to come by that invaluable egg?" "it is a quite ordinary duck egg, manuel. but the serpent of the east has no way of discovering the fact unless he breaks the egg: and that is the one thing the serpent will never do, because he thinks it is the magic egg which contains his death." "come, niafer, you are not handsome to look at, but you are far cleverer than i thought you!" now, as manuel clapped niafer on the shoulder, the forest beside the roadway was agitated, and the underbrush crackled, and the tall beech-trees crashed and snapped and tumbled helter-skelter. the crust of the earth was thus broken through by the serpent of the north. only the head and throat of this design of miramon's was lifted from the jumbled trees, for it was requisite of course that the serpent's lower coils should never loose their grip upon the foundations of norroway. all of the design that showed was overgrown with seaweed and barnacles. "it is the will of miramon lluagor that i forthwith demolish you both," says this serpent, yawning with a mouth like a fanged cave. once more young manuel had reached for his charmed sword flamberge, but it was niafer who spoke. "no, for before you can destroy me," says niafer, "i shall have cast this bridle over your head." "what sort of bridle is that?" inquired the great snake scornfully. "and are those goggling flaming eyes not big enough and bright enough to see that this is the soft bridle called gleipnir, which is made of the breath of fish and of the spittle of birds and of the footfall of a cat?" "now, although certainly such a bridle was foretold," the snake conceded, a little uneasily, "how can i make sure that you speak the truth when you say this particular bridle is gleipnir?" "why, in this way: i will cast the bridle over your head, and then you will see for yourself that the old prophecy will be fulfilled, and that all power and all life will go out of you, and that the northmen will dream no more." "no, do you keep that thing away from me, you little fool! no, no: we will not test your truthfulness in that way. instead, do you two continue your ascent, to a more terrible destruction, and to face barbaric dooms coming from the west. and do you give me the bridle to demolish in place of you. and then, if i live forever i shall know that this is indeed gleipnir, and that you have spoken the truth." so niafer consented to this testing of his veracity, rather than permit this snake to die, and the foundations of norroway (in which kingdom, niafer confessed, he had an aunt then living) thus to be dissolved by the loosening of the dying serpent's grip upon middlegarth. the bridle was yielded, and niafer and manuel went upward. manuel asked, "snip, was that in truth the bridle called gleipnir?" "no, manuel, it is an ordinary bridle. but this serpent of the north has no way of discovering this fact except by fitting the bridle over his head: and this one thing the serpent will never do, because he knows that then, if my bridle proved to be gleipnir, all power and all life would go out of him." "o subtle, ugly little snip!" says manuel: and again he patted niafer on the shoulder. then manuel spoke very highly in praise of cleverness, and said that, for one, he had never objected to it in its place. [illustration] iii ascent of vraidex now it was evening, and the two sought shelter in a queer windmill by the roadside, finding there a small wrinkled old man in a patched coat. he gave them lodgings for the night, and honest bread and cheese, but for his own supper he took frogs out of his bosom, and roasted these in the coals. then the two boys sat in the doorway, and watched that night's dreams going down from vraidex to their allotted work in the world of visionary men, to whom these dreams were passing in the form of incredible white vapors. sitting thus, the lads fell to talking of this and the other, and manuel found that niafer was a pagan of the old faith: and this, said manuel, was an excellent thing. "for, when we have achieved our adventure," says manuel, "and must fight against each other for the count's daughter, i shall certainly kill you, dear niafer. now if you were a christian, and died thus unholily in trying to murder me, you would have to go thereafter to the unquenchable flames of purgatory or to even hotter flames: but among the pagans all that die valiantly in battle go straight to the pagan paradise. yes, yes, your abominable religion is a great comfort to me." "it is a comfort to me also, manuel. but, as a christian, you ought not ever to have any kind words for heathenry." "ah, but," says manuel, "while my mother dorothy of the white arms was the most zealous sort of christian, my father, you must know, was not a communicant." "who was your father, manuel?" "no less a person than the swimmer, oriander, who is in turn the son of mimir." "ah, to be sure! and who is mimir?" "well, niafer, that is a thing not very generally known, but he is famed for his wise head." "and, manuel, who, while we speak of it, is oriander?" said manuel: "oh, out of the void and the darkness that is peopled by mimir's brood, from the ultimate silent fastness of the desolate deep-sea gloom, and the peace of that ageless gloom, blind oriander came, from mimir, to be at war with the sea and to jeer at the sea's desire. when tempests are seething and roaring from the aesir's inverted bowl all seamen have heard his shouting and the cry that his mirth sends up: when the rim of the sea tilts up, and the world's roof wavers down, his face gleams white where distraught waves smite the swimmer they may not tire. no eyes were allotted this swimmer, but in blindness, with ceaseless jeers, he battles till time be done with, and the love-songs of earth be sung, and the very last dirge be sung, and a baffled and outworn sea begrudgingly own oriander alone may mock at the might of its ire." "truly, manuel, that sounds like a parent to be proud of, and not at all like a church-going parent, and of course his blindness would account for that squint of yours. yes, certainly it would. so do you tell me about this blind oriander, and how he came to meet your mother dorothy of the white arms, as i suppose he did somewhere or other." "oh, no," says manuel, "for oriander never leaves off swimming, and so he must stay always in the water. so he never actually met my mother, and she married emmerick, who was my nominal father. but such and such things happened." then manuel told niafer all about the circumstances of manuel's birth in a cave, and about the circumstances of manuel's upbringing in and near rathgor and the two boys talked on and on, while the unborn dreams went drifting by outside; and within the small wrinkled old man sat listening with a very doubtful smile, and saying never a word. "and why is your hair cut so queerly, manuel?" "that, niafer, we need not talk about, in part because it is not going to be cut that way any longer, and in part because it is time for bed." the next morning manuel and niafer paid the ancient price which their host required. they left him cobbling shoes, and, still ascending, encountered no more bones, for nobody else had climbed so high. they presently came to a bridge whereon were eight spears, and the bridge was guarded by the serpent of the west. this snake was striped with blue and gold, and wore on his head a great cap of humming-birds' feathers. manuel half drew his sword to attack this serpentine design, with which miramon lluagor made sleeping terrible for the red tribes that hunt and fish behind the hesperides. but manuel looked at niafer. and niafer displayed a drolly marked small turtle, saying, "maskanako, do you not recognize tulapin, the turtle that never lies?" the serpent howled, as though a thousand dogs had been kicked simultaneously, and the serpent fled. "why, snip, did he do that?" asked manuel, smiling sleepily and gravely, as for the third time he found that his charmed sword flamberge was unneeded. "truly, manuel, nobody knows why this serpent dreads the turtle: but our concern is less with the cause than with the effect. meanwhile, those eight spears are not to be touched on any account." "is what you have a quite ordinary turtle?" asked manuel, meekly. niafer said: "of course it is. where would i be getting extraordinary turtles?" "i had not previously considered that problem," replied manuel, "but the question is certainly unanswerable." they then sat down to lunch, and found the bread and cheese they had purchased from the little old man that morning was turned to lumps of silver and virgin gold in manuel's knapsack. "this is very disgusting," said manuel, "and i do not wonder my back was near breaking." he flung away the treasure, and they lunched frugally on blackberries. from among the entangled blackberry bushes came the glowing serpent of the south, who was the smallest and loveliest and most poisonous of miramon's designs. with this snake niafer dealt curiously. niafer employed three articles in the transaction: two of these things are not to be talked about, but the third was a little figure carved in hazel-wood. "certainly you are very clever," said manuel, when they had passed this serpent. "still, your employment of those first two articles was unprecedented, and your disposal of the carved figure absolutely embarrassed me." "before such danger as confronted us, manuel, it does not pay to be squeamish," replied niafer, "and my exorcism was good dirgham." and many other adventures and perils they encountered, such as if all were told would make a long and most improbable history. but they had clear favorable weather, and they won through each pinch, by one or another fraud which niafer evolved the instant that gullery was needed. manuel was loud in his praises of the surprising cleverness of his flat-faced dark comrade, and protested that hourly he loved niafer more and more: and manuel said too that he was beginning to think more and more distastefully of the time when niafer and manuel would have to fight for the count of arnaye's daughter until one of them had killed the other. meanwhile the sword flamberge stayed in its curious blue scabbard. [illustration] iv in the doubtful palace so manuel and niafer came unhurt to the top of the gray mountain called vraidex, and to the doubtful palace of miramon lluagor. gongs, slowly struck, were sounding as if in languid dispute among themselves, when the two lads came across a small level plain where grass was interspersed with white clover. here and there stood wicked looking dwarf trees with violet and yellow foliage. the doubtful palace before the circumspectly advancing boys appeared to be constructed of black and gold lacquer, and it was decorated with the figures of butterflies and tortoises and swans. this day being a thursday, manuel and niafer entered unchallenged through gates of horn and ivory; and came into a red corridor in which five gray beasts, like large hairless cats, were casting dice. these animals grinned, and licked their lips, as the boys passed deeper into the doubtful palace. in the centre of the palace miramon had set like a tower one of the tusks of behemoth: the tusk was hollowed out into five large rooms, and in the inmost room, under a canopy with green tassels, they found the magician. "come forth, and die now, miramon lluagor!" shouts manuel, brandishing his sword, for which, at last, employment was promised here. the magician drew closer about him his old threadbare dressing-gown, and he desisted from his enchantments, and he put aside a small unfinished design, which scuttled into the fireplace, whimpering. and manuel perceived that the dreadful prince of the seven madnesses had the appearance of the mild-mannered stranger who had given manuel the charmed sword. "ah, yes, it was good of you to come so soon," says miramon lluagor, rearing back his head, and narrowing his gentle and sombre eyes, as the magician looked at them down the sides of what little nose he had. "yes, and your young friend, too, is very welcome. but you boys must be quite worn out, after toiling up this mountain, so do you sit down and have a cup of wine before i surrender my dear wife." says manuel, sternly, "but what is the meaning of all this?" "the meaning and the upshot, clearly," replied the magician, "is that, since you have the charmed sword flamberge, and since the wearer of flamberge is irresistible, it would be nonsense for me to oppose you." "but, miramon, it was you who gave me the sword!" miramon rubbed his droll little nose for a while, before speaking. "and how else was i to get conquered? for, i must tell you, manuel, it is a law of the léshy that a magician cannot surrender his prey unless the magician be conquered. i must tell you, too, that when i carried off gisèle i acted, as i by and by discovered, rather injudiciously." "now, by holy paul and pollux! i do not understand this at all, miramon." "why, manuel, you must know she was a very charming girl, and in appearance just the type that i had always fancied for a wife. but perhaps it is not wise to be guided entirely by appearances. for i find now that she has a strong will in her white bosom, and a tireless tongue in her glittering head, and i do not equally admire all four of these possessions." "still, miramon, if only a few months back your love was so great as to lead you into abducting her--" the prince of the seven madnesses said gravely: "love, as i think, is an instant's fusing of shadow and substance. they that aspire to possess love utterly, fall into folly. this is forbidden: you cannot. the lover, beholding that fusing move as a golden-hued goddess, accessible, kindly and priceless, wooes and ill-fatedly wins all the substance. the golden-hued shadow dims in the dawn of his married life, dulled with content, and the shadow vanishes. so there remains, for the puzzled husband's embracing, flesh which is fair and dear, no doubt, yet is flesh such as his; and talking and talking and talking; and kisses in all ways desirable. love, of a sort, too remains, but hardly the love that was yesterday's." now the unfinished design came out of the fireplace, and climbed up miramon's leg, still faintly whimpering. he looked at it meditatively, then twisted off the creature's head and dropped the fragments into his waste-basket. miramon sighed. he said: "this is the cry of all husbands that now are or may be hereafter,--'what has become of the girl that i married? and how should i rightly deal with this woman whom somehow time has involved in my doings? love, of a sort, now i have for her, but not the love that was yesterday's--'" while miramon spoke thus, the two lads were looking at each other blankly: for they were young, and their understanding of this matter was as yet withheld. then said miramon: "yes, he is wiser that shelters his longing from any such surfeit. yes, he is wiser that knows the shadow makes lovely the substance, wisely regarding the ways of that irresponsible shadow which, if you grasp at it, flees, and, when you avoid it, will follow, gilding all life with its glory, and keeping always one woman young and most fair and most wise, and unwon; and keeping you always never contented, but armed with a self-respect that no husband manages quite to retain in the face of being contented. no, for love is an instant's fusing of shadow and substance, fused for that instant only, whereafter the lover may harvest pleasure from either alone, but hardly from these two united." "well," manuel conceded, "all this may be true; but i never quite understood hexameters, and so i could not ever see the good of talking in them." "i always do that, manuel, when i am deeply affected. it is, i suppose, the poetry in my nature welling to the surface the moment that inhibitions are removed, for when i think about the impending severance from my dear wife i more or less lose control of myself--you see, she takes an active interest in my work, and that does not do with a creative artist in any line. oh, dear me, no, not for a moment!" says miramon, forlornly. "but how can that be?" niafer asked him. "as all persons know, i design the dreams of men. now gisèle asserts that people have enough trouble in real life, without having to go to sleep to look for it--" "certainly that is true," says niafer. "so she permits me only to design bright optimistic dreams and edifying dreams and glad dreams. she says you must give tired persons what they most need; and is emphatic about the importance of everybody's sleeping in a wholesome atmosphere. so i have not been permitted to design a fine nightmare or a creditable terror--nothing morbid or blood-freezing, no sea-serpents or krakens or hippogriffs, nor anything that gives me a really free hand,--for months and months: and my art suffers. then, as for other dreams, of a more roguish nature--" "what sort of dreams can you be talking about, i wonder, miramon?" the magician described what he meant. "such dreams also she has quite forbidden," he added, with a sigh. "i see," said manuel: "and now i think of it, it is true that i have not had a dream of that sort for quite a while." "no man anywhere is allowed to have that sort of dream in these degenerate nights, no man anywhere in the whole world. and here again my art suffers, for my designs in this line were always especially vivid and effective, and pleased the most rigid. then, too, gisèle is always doing and telling me things for my own good--in fine, my lads, my wife takes such a flattering interest in all my concerns that the one way out for any peace-loving magician was to contrive her rescue from my clutches," said miramon, fretfully. "it is difficult to explain to you, manuel, just now, but after you have been married to gisèle for a while you will comprehend without any explaining." "now, miramon, i marvel to see a great magician controlled by a woman who is in his power, and who can, after all, do nothing but talk." miramon for some while considered manuel, rather helplessly. "unmarried men do wonder about that," said miramon. "at all events, i will summon her, and you can explain how you have conquered me, and then you can take her away and marry her yourself, and heaven help you!" "but shall i explain that it was you who gave me the resistless sword?" "no, manuel: no, you should be candid within more rational limits. for you are now a famous champion, that has crowned with victory a righteous cause for which many stalwart knights and gallant gentlemen have made the supreme sacrifice, because they knew that in the end the right must conquer. your success thus represents the working out of a great moral principle, and to explain the practical minutiae of these august processes is not always quite respectable. besides, if gisèle thought i wished to get rid of her she would most certainly resort to comments of which i prefer not to think." but now into the room came the magician's wife, gisèle. "she is, certainly, rather pretty," said niafer, to manuel. said manuel, rapturously: "she is the finest and loveliest creature that i have ever seen. beholding her unequalled beauty, i know that here are all the dreams of yesterday fulfilled. i recollect, too, my songs of yesterday, which i was used to sing to my pigs, about my love for a far princess who was 'white as a lily, more red than roses, and resplendent as rubies of the orient,' for here i find my old songs to be applicable, if rather inadequate. and by this shabby villain's failure to appreciate the unequalled beauty of his victim i am amazed." "as to that, i have my suspicions," niafer replied. "and now she is about to speak i believe she will justify these suspicions, for madame gisèle is in no placid frame of mind." "what is this nonsense," says the proud shining lady, to miramon lluagor, "that i hear about your having been conquered?" "alas, my love, it is perfectly true. this champion has, in some inexplicable way, come by the magic weapon flamberge which is the one weapon wherewith i can be conquered. so i have yielded to him, and he is about, i think, to sever my head from my body." the beautiful girl was indignant, because she had recognized that, magician or no, there is small difference in husbands after the first month or two; and with miramon tolerably well trained, she had no intention of changing him for another husband. therefore gisèle inquired, "and what about me?" in a tone that foreboded turmoil. the magician rubbed his hands, uncomfortably. "my dear, i am of course quite powerless before flamberge. inasmuch as your rescue appears to have been effected in accordance with every rule in these matters, and the victorious champion is resolute to requite my evil-doing and to restore you to your grieving parents, i am afraid there is nothing i can well do about it." "do you look me in the eye, miramon lluagor!" says the lady gisèle. the dreadful prince of the seven madnesses obeyed her, with a placating smile. "yes, you have been up to something," she said, "and heaven only knows what, though of course it does not really matter." madame gisèle then looked at manuel "so you are the champion that has come to rescue me!" she said, unhastily, as her big sapphire eyes appraised him over her great fan of gaily colored feathers, and as manuel somehow began to fidget. gisèle looked last of all at niafer. "i must say you have been long enough in coming," observed gisèle. "it took me two days, madame, to find and catch a turtle," niafer replied, "and that delayed me." "oh, you have always some tale or other, trust you for that, but it is better late than never. come, niafer, and do you know anything about this gawky, ragtag, yellow-haired young champion?" "yes, madame, he formerly lived in attendance upon the miller's pigs, down rathgor way, and i have seen him hanging about the kitchen at arnaye." gisèle turned now toward the magician, with her thin gold chains and the innumerable brilliancies of her jewels flashing no more brightly than flashed the sapphire of her eyes. "there!" she said, terribly: "and you were going to surrender me to a swineherd, with half the hair chopped from his head, and with the shirt sticking out of both his ragged elbows!" "my dearest, irrespective of tonsorial tastes, and disregarding all sartorial niceties, and swineherd or not, he holds the magic sword flamberge, before which all my powers are nothing." "but that is easily settled. have men no sense whatever! boy, do you give me that sword, before you hurt yourself fiddling with it, and let us have an end of this nonsense." thus the proud lady spoke, and for a while the victorious champion regarded her with very youthful looking, hurt eyes. but he was not routed. "madame gisèle," replied manuel, "gawky and poorly clad and young as i may be, so long as i retain this sword i am master of you all and of the future too. yielding it, i yield everything my elders have taught me to prize, for my grave elders have taught me that much wealth and broad lands and a lovely wife are finer things to ward than a parcel of pigs. so, if i yield at all, i must first bargain and get my price for yielding." he turned now from gisèle to niafer. "dear snip," said manuel, "you too must have your say in my bargaining, because from the first it has been your cleverness that has saved us, and has brought us two so high. for see, at last i have drawn flamberge, and i stand at last at the doubtful summit of vraidex, and i am master of the hour and of the future. i have but to sever the wicked head of this doomed magician from his foul body, and that will be the end of him--" "no, no," says miramon, soothingly, "i shall merely be turned into something else, which perhaps we had better not discuss. but it will not inconvenience me in the least, so do you not hold back out of mistaken kindness to me, but instead do you smite, and take your well-earned reward." "either way," submitted manuel, "i have but to strike, and i acquire much wealth and sleek farming-lands and a lovely wife, and the swineherd becomes a great nobleman. but it is you, niafer, who have won all these things for me with your cleverness, and to me it seems that these wonderful rewards are less wonderful than my dear comrade." "but you too are very wonderful," said niafer, loyally. says manuel, smiling sadly: "i am not so wonderful but that in the hour of my triumph i am frightened by my own littleness. look you, niafer, i had thought i would be changed when i had become a famous champion, but for all that i stand posturing here with this long sword, and am master of the hour and of the future, i remain the boy that last thursday was tending pigs. i was not afraid of the terrors which beset me on my way to rescue the count's daughter, but of the count's daughter herself i am horribly afraid. not for worlds would i be left alone with her. no, such fine and terrific ladies are not for swineherds, and it is another sort of wife that i desire." "whom then do you desire for a wife," says niafer, "if not the loveliest and the wealthiest lady in all rathgor and lower targamon?" "why, i desire the cleverest and dearest and most wonderful creature in all the world," says manuel,--"whom i recollect seeing some six weeks ago when i was in the kitchen at arnaye." "ah, ah! it might be arranged, then. but who is this marvelous woman?" manuel said, "you are that woman, niafer." niafer replied nothing, but niafer smiled. niafer raised one shoulder a little, rubbing it against manuel's broad chest, but niafer still kept silence. so the two young people regarded each other for a while, not speaking, and to every appearance not valuing miramon lluagor and his encompassing enchantments at a straw's worth, nor valuing anything save each other. "all things are changed for me," says manuel, presently, in a hushed voice, "and for the rest of time i live in a world wherein niafer differs from all other persons." "my dearest," niafer replied, "there is no sparkling queen nor polished princess anywhere but the woman's heart in her would be jumping with joy to have you looking at her twice, and i am only a servant girl!" "but certainly," said the rasping voice of gisèle, "niafer is my suitably disguised heathen waiting-woman, to whom my husband sent a dream some while ago, with instructions to join me here, so that i might have somebody to look after my things. so, niafer, since you were fetched to wait on me, do you stop pawing at that young pig-tender, and tell me what is this i hear about your remarkable cleverness!" instead, it was manuel who proudly told of the shrewd devices through which niafer had passed the serpents and the other terrors of sleep. and the while that the tall boy was boasting, miramon lluagor smiled, and gisèle looked very hard at niafer: for miramon and his wife both knew that the cleverness of niafer was as far to seek as her good looks, and that the dream which miramon had sent had carefully instructed niafer as to these devices. "therefore, madame gisèle," says manuel, in conclusion, "i will give you flamberge, and miramon and vraidex, and all the rest of earth to boot, in exchange for the most wonderful and clever woman in the world." and with a flourish, manuel handed over the charmed sword flamberge to the count's lovely daughter, and he took the hand of the swart, flat-faced servant girl. "come now," says miramon, in a sad flurry, "this is an imposing performance. i need not say it arouses in me the most delightful sort of surprise and all other appropriate emotions. but as touches your own interests, manuel, do you think your behavior is quite sensible?" tall manuel looked down upon him with a sort of scornful pity. "yes, miramon: for i am manuel, and i follow after my own thinking and my own desire. of course it is very fine of me to be renouncing so much wealth and power for the sake of my wonderful dear niafer: but she is worth the sacrifice, and, besides, she is witnessing all this magnanimity, and cannot well fail to be impressed." niafer was of course reflecting: "this is very foolish and dear of him, and i shall be compelled, in mere decency, to pretend to corresponding lunacies for the first month or so of our marriage. after that, i hope, we will settle down to some more reasonable way of living." meanwhile she regarded manuel fondly, and quite as though she considered him to be displaying unusual intelligence. but gisèle and miramon were looking at each other, and wondering: "what can the long-legged boy see in this stupid and plain-featured girl who is years older than he? or she in the young swaggering ragged fool? and how much wiser and happier is our marriage than, in any event, the average marriage!" and miramon, for one, was so deeply moved by the staggering thought which holds together so many couples in the teeth of human nature that he patted his wife's hand. then he sighed. "love has conquered my designs," said miramon, oracularly, "and the secret of a contented marriage, after all, is to pay particular attention to the wives of everybody else." gisèle exhorted him not to be a fool, but she spoke without acerbity, and, speaking, she squeezed his hand. she understood this potent magician better than she intended ever to permit him to suspect. whereafter miramon wiped the heavenly bodies from the firmament, and set a miraculous rainbow there, and under its arch was enacted for the swineherd and the servant girl such a betrothal masque of fantasies and illusions as gave full scope to the art of miramon, and delighted everybody, but delighted miramon in particular. the dragon that guards hidden treasure made sport for them, the naiads danced, and cherubim fluttered about singing very sweetly and asking droll conundrums. then they feasted, with unearthly servitors to attend them, and did all else appropriate to an affiancing of deities. and when these junketings were over, manuel said that, since it seemed he was not to be a wealthy nobleman after all, he and niafer must be getting, first to the nearest priest's and then back to the pigs. "i am not so sure that you can manage it," said miramon, "for, while the ascent of vraidex is incommoded by serpents, the quitting of vraidex is very apt to be hindered by death and fate. for i must tell you i have a rather arbitrary half-brother, who is one of those dreadful realists, without a scrap of aesthetic feeling, and there is no controlling him." "well," manuel considered, "one cannot live forever among dreams, and death and fate must be encountered by all men. so we can but try." now for a while the sombre eyes of miramon lluagor appraised them. he, who was lord of the nine sleeps and prince of the seven madnesses, now gave a little sigh; for he knew that these young people were enviable and, in the outcome, were unimportant. so miramon said, "then do you go your way, and if you do not encounter the author and destroyer of us all it will be well for you, and if you do encounter him that too will be well in that it is his wish." "i neither seek nor avoid him," manuel replied. "i only know that i must follow after my own thinking, and after a desire which is not to be satisfied with dreams, even though they be"--the boy appeared to search for a comparison, then, smiling, said,--"as resplendent as rubies of the orient." thereafter manuel bid farewell to miramon and miramon's fine wife, and manuel descended from marvelous vraidex with his plain-featured niafer, quite contentedly. for happiness went with them, if for no great way. [illustration] v the eternal ambuscade manuel and niafer came down from vraidex without hindrance. there was no happier nor more devoted lover anywhere than young manuel. "for we will be married out of hand, dear snip," he says, "and you will help me to discharge my geas, and afterward we will travel everywhither and into the last limits of earth, so that we may see the ends of this world and may judge them." "perhaps we had better wait until next spring, when the roads will be better, manuel, but certainly we will be married out of hand." in earnest of this, niafer permitted manuel to kiss her again, and young manuel said, for the twenty-second time, "there is nowhere any happiness like my happiness, nor any love like my love." thus speaking, and thus disporting themselves, they came leisurely to the base of the gray mountain and to the old maple-trees, under which they found two persons waiting. one was a tall man mounted on a white horse, and leading a riderless black horse. his hat was pulled down about his head so that his face could not be clearly seen. now the companion that was with him had the appearance of a bare-headed youngster, with dark red hair, and his face too was hidden as he sat by the roadway trimming his long finger-nails with a small green-handled knife. "hail, friends," said manuel, "and for whom are you waiting here?" "i wait for one to ride on this black horse of mine," replied the mounted stranger. "it was decreed that the first person who passed this way must be his rider, but you two come abreast. so do you choose between you which one rides." "well, but it is a fine steed surely," manuel said, "and a steed fit for charlemagne or hector or any of the famous champions of the old time." "each one of them has ridden upon this black horse of mine," replied the stranger. niafer said, "i am frightened." and above them a furtive wind began to rustle in the torn, discolored maple-leaves. "--for it is a fine steed and an old steed," the stranger went on, "and a tireless steed that bears all away. it has the fault, some say, that its riders do not return, but there is no pleasing everybody." "friend," manuel said, in a changed voice, "who are you, and what is your name?" "i am half-brother to miramon lluagor, lord of the nine sleeps, but i am lord of another kind of sleeping; and as for my name, it is the name that is in your thoughts and the name which most troubles you, and the name which you think about most often." there was silence. manuel worked his lips foolishly. "i wish we had not walked abreast," he said. "i wish we had remained among the bright dreams." "all persons voice some regret or another at meeting me. and it does not ever matter." "but if there were no choosing in the affair, i could make shift to endure it, either way. now one of us, you tell me, must depart with you. if i say, 'let niafer be that one,' i must always recall that saying with self-loathing." "but i too say it!" niafer was petting him and trembling. "besides," observed the rider of the white horse, "you have a choice of sayings." "the other saying," manuel replied, "i cannot utter. yet i wish i were not forced to confess this. it sounds badly. at all events, i love niafer better than i love any other person, but i do not value niafer's life more highly than i value my own life, and it would be nonsense to say so. no; my life is very necessary to me, and there is a geas upon me to make a figure in this world before i leave it." "my dearest," says niafer, "you have chosen wisely." the veiled horseman said nothing at all. but he took off his hat, and the beholders shuddered. the kinship to miramon was apparent, you could see the resemblance, but they had never seen in miramon lluagor's face what they saw here. then niafer bade farewell to manuel with pitiable whispered words. they kissed. for an instant manuel stood motionless. he queerly moved his mouth, as though it were stiff and he were trying to make it more supple. thereafter manuel, very sick and desperate looking, did what was requisite. so niafer went away with grandfather death, in manuel's stead. "my heart cracks in me now," says manuel, forlornly considering his hands, "but better she than i. still, this is a poor beginning in life, for yesterday great wealth and to-day great love was within my reach, and now i have lost both." "but you did not go the right way about to win success in anything," says the remaining stranger. and now this other stranger arose from the trimming of his long fingernails; and you could see this was a tall, lean youngster (though not so tall as manuel, and nothing like so stalwart), with ruddy cheeks, wide-set brown eyes, and crinkling, rather dark red hair. then manuel rubbed his wet hands as clean as might be, and this boy walked on a little way with manuel, talking of that which had been and of some things which were to be. and manuel said, "now assuredly, horvendile, since that is your name, such talking is insane talking, and no comfort whatever to me in my grief at losing niafer." "this is but the beginning of your losses, manuel, for i think that a little by a little you will lose everything which is desirable, until you shall have remaining at the last only a satiation, and a weariness, and an uneasy loathing of all that the human wisdom of your elders shall have induced you to procure." "but, horvendile, can anybody foretell the future? or can it be that miramon spoke seriously in saying that fate also was enleagued to forbid the leaving of this mountain?" "no, manuel, i do not say that i am fate nor any of the léshy, but rather it seems to me that i am insane. so perhaps the less attention you pay to my talking, the better. for i must tell you that this wasted country side, this mountain, this road, and these old maples, and that rock yonder, appear to me to be things i have imagined, and that you, and the niafer whom you have just disposed of so untidily, and miramon and his fair shrew, and all of you, appear to me to be persons i have imagined; and all the living in this world appears to me to be only a notion of mine." "why, then, certainly i would say, or rather, i would think it unnecessary to say, that you are insane." "you speak without hesitation, and it is through your ability to settle such whimseys out of hand that you will yet win, it may be, to success." "yes, but," asked manuel, slowly, "what is success?" "in your deep mind, i think, that question is already answered." "undoubtedly i have my notion, but it was about your notion i was asking." horvendile looked grave, and yet whimsical too. "why, i have heard somewhere," says he, "that at its uttermost this success is but the strivings of an ape reft of his tail, and grown rusty at climbing, who yet feels himself to be a symbol and the frail representative of omnipotence in a place that is not home." manuel appeared to reserve judgment. "how does the successful ape employ himself, in these not quite friendly places?" "he strives blunderingly, from mystery to mystery, with pathetic makeshifts, not understanding anything, greedy in all desires, and honeycombed with poltroonery, and yet ready to give all, and to die fighting for the sake of that undemonstrable idea, about his being heaven's vicar and heir." manuel shook his small bright head. "you use too many long words. but so far i can understand you, that is not the sort of success i want. no, i am manuel, and i must follow after my own thinking and my own desire, without considering other people and their notions of success." "as for denying yourself consideration for other people, i am of the opinion, after witnessing your recent disposal of your sweetheart, that you are already tolerably expert in that sort of abnegation." "hah, but you do not know what is seething here," replied manuel, smiting his broad chest. "and i shall not tell you of it, horvendile, since you are not fate nor any of the léshy, to give me my desire." "what would be your desire?" "my wish would be for me always to obtain whatever i may wish for. yes, horvendile, i have often wondered why, in the old legends, when three wishes were being offered, nobody ever made that sensible and economical wish the first of all." "what need is there to trouble the léshy about that foolish wish when it is always possible, at a paid price, to obtain whatever one desires? you have but to go about it in this way." and horvendile told manuel a queer and dangerous thing. then horvendile said sadly: "so much knowledge i can deny nobody at michaelmas. but i must tell you the price also, and it is that with the achieving of each desire you will perceive its worth." thus speaking, horvendile parted the thicket beside the roadway. a beautiful dusk-colored woman waited there, in a green-blue robe, and on her head was a blue coronet surmounted with green feathers: she carried a vase. horvendile stepped forward, and the thicket closed behind him, concealing horvendile and this woman. manuel, looking puzzled, went on a little way, and when he was assured of being alone he flung himself face downward and wept. the reason of this was, they relate, that young manuel had loved niafer as he could love nobody else. then he arose, and went toward the pool of haranton, on his way homeward, after having failed in everything. [illustration] vi economics of math what forthwith happened at the pool of haranton is not nicely adapted to exact description, but it was sufficiently curious to give manuel's thoughts a new turn, although it did not seem, even so, to make them happy thoughts. certainly it was not with any appearance of merriment that manuel returned to his half-sister math, who was the miller's wife. "and wherever have you been all this week?" says math, "with the pigs rooting all over creation, and with that man of mine forever flinging your worthlessness in my face, and with that red-haired suskind coming out of the twilight a-seeking after you every evening and pestering me with her soft lamentations? and for the matter of that, whatever are you glooming over?" "i have cause, and cause to spare." manuel told her of his adventures upon vraidex, and math said that showed what came of neglecting his proper business, which was attendance on her husband's pigs. manuel then told her of what had just befallen by the pool of haranton. math nodded. "take shame to yourself, young rascal with your niafer hardly settled down in paradise, and with your suskind wailing for you in the twilight! but that would be alianora the unattainable princess. thus she comes across the bay of biscay, traveling from the far land of provence, in, they say, the appearance of a swan: and thus she bathes in the pool wherein strange dreams engender: and thus she slips into the robe of the apsarasas when it is high time to be leaving such impudent knaves as you have proved yourself to be." "yes, yes! a shift made all of shining white feathers, sister. here is a feather that was broken from it as i clutched at her." math turned the feather in her hand. "now to be sure! and did you ever see the like of it! still, a broken feather is no good to anybody, and, as i have told you any number of times, i cannot have trash littering up my kitchen." so math dropped this shining white feather into the fire, on which she was warming over a pot of soup for manuel's dinner, and they watched this feather burn. manuel says, sighing, "even so my days consume, and my youth goes out of me, in a land wherein suskind whispers of uncomfortable things, and wherein there are no maids so clever and dear as niafer, nor so lovely as alianora." math said: "i never held with speaking ill of the dead. so may luck and fair words go with your niafer in her pagan paradise. of your suskind too"--math crossed herself,--"the less said, the better. but as for your alianora, no really nice girl would be flying in the face of heaven and showing her ankles to five nations, and bathing, on a monday too, in places where almost anybody might come along. it is not proper, but i wonder at her parents." "but, sister, she is a princess!" "just so: therefore i burned the feather, because it is not wholesome for persons of our station in life to be robbing princesses of anything, though it be only of a feather." "sister, that is the truth! it is not right to rob anybody of anything, and this would appear to make another bond upon me and another obligation to be discharged, because in taking that feather i have taken what did not belong to me." "boy, do not think you are fooling me, for when your face gets that look on it, i know you are considering some nonsense over and above the nonsense you are talking. however, from your description of the affair, i do not doubt that gallivanting, stark-naked princess thought you were for taking what did not belong to you. therefore i burned the feather, lest it be recognized and bring you to the gallows or to a worse place. so why did you not scrape your feet before coming into my clean kitchen? and how many times do you expect me to speak to you about that?" manuel said nothing. but he seemed to meditate over something that puzzled him. in the upshot he went into the miller's chicken-yard, and caught a goose, and plucked from its wing a feather. then manuel put on his sunday clothes. "far too good for you to be traveling in," said math. manuel looked down at his half-sister, and once or twice he blinked those shining strange eyes of his. "sister, if i had been properly dressed when i was master of the doubtful palace, the lady gisèle would have taken me quite seriously. i have been thinking about her observations as to my elbows." "the coat does not make the man," replied math piously. "it is your belief in any such saying that has made a miller's wife of you, and will keep you a miller's wife until the end of time. now i learned better from my misadventures upon vraidex, and from my talking with that insane horvendile about the things which have been and some things which are to be." math, who was a wise woman, said queerly, "i perceive that you are letting your hair grow." manuel said, "yes." "boy, fast and loose is a mischancy game to play." "and being born, also, is a most hazardous speculation, sister, yet we perforce risk all upon that cast." "now you talk stuff and nonsense--" "yes, sister; but i begin to suspect that the right sort of stuff and nonsense is not unremunerative. i may be wrong, but i shall afford my notion a testing." "and after what shiftless idiocy will you be chasing now, to neglect your work?" "why, as always, sister, i must follow my own thinking and my own desire," says manuel, lordlily, "and both of these are for a flight above pigs." thereafter manuel kissed math, and, again without taking leave of suskind in the twilight, or of anyone else, he set forth for the far land of provence. vii the crown of wisdom so did it come about that as king helmas rode a-hunting in nevet under the hunter's moon he came upon a gigantic and florid young fellow, who was very decently clad in black, and had a queer droop to his left eye, and who appeared to be wandering at adventure in the autumn woods: and the king remembered what had been foretold. says king helmas to manuel the swineherd, "what is that i see in your pocket wrapped in red silk?" "it is a feather, king, wrapped in a bit of my sister's best petticoat" "now, glory be to your dark magics, friend, and at what price will you sell me that feather?" "but a feather is no use to anybody, king, for, as you see, it is a quite ordinary feather?" "come, come!" the king says, shrewdly, "do people anywhere wrap ordinary feathers in red silk? friend, do not think to deceive king helmas of albania, or it will be worse for you. i perfectly recognize that shining white feather as the feather which was moulted in this forest by the zhar-ptitza bird, in the old time before my grandfathers came into this country. for it was foretold that such a young sorcerer as you would bring to me, who have long been the silliest king that ever reigned over the peohtes, this feather which confers upon its owner perfect wisdom: and for you to dispute the prophecy would be blasphemous." "i do not dispute your silliness, king helmas, nor do i dispute anybody's prophecies in a world wherein nothing is certain." "one thing at least is certain," remarked king helmas, frowning uglily, "and it is that among the peohtes all persons who dispute our prophecies are burned at the stake." manuel shivered slightly, and said: "it seems to me a quite ordinary feather: but your prophets--most deservedly, no doubt,--are in higher repute for wisdom than i am, and burning is a discomfortable death. so i recall what a madman told me, and, since you are assured that this is the zhar-ptitza's feather, i will sell it to you for ten sequins." king helmas shook a disapproving face. "that will not do at all, and your price is out of reason, because it was foretold that for this feather you would ask ten thousand sequins." "well, i am particularly desirous not to appear irreligious now that i have become a young sorcerer. so you may have the feather at your own price, rather than let the prophecies remain unfulfilled." then manuel rode pillion with a king who was unwilling to let manuel out of his sight, and they went thus to the castle called brunbelois. they came to two doors with pointed arches, set side by side, the smaller being for foot passengers, and the other for horsemen. above was an equestrian statue in a niche, and a great painted window with traceries of hearts and thistles. they entered the larger door, and that afternoon twelve heralds, in bright red tabards that were embroidered with golden thistles, rode out of this door, to proclaim the fulfilment of the prophecy as to the zhar-ptitza's feather, and that afternoon the priests of the peohtes gave thanks in all their curious underground temples. the common people, who had for the last score of years taken shame to themselves for living under such a foolish king, embraced one another, and danced, and sang patriotic songs at every street-corner: the lower council met, and voted that, out of deference of his majesty, all fools' day should be stricken from the calendar: and queen pressina (one of the water folk) declared there were two ways of looking at everything, the while that she burned a quantity of private papers. then at night were fireworks, the king made a speech, and to manuel was delivered in wheel-barrows the sum of ten thousand sequins. thereafter manuel abode for a month at the court of king helmas, noting whatever to this side and to that side seemed most notable. manuel was well liked by the nobility, and when the barons and the fine ladies assembled in the evening for pavanes and branles and pazzamenos nobody danced more statelily than messire manuel. he had a quiet way with the ladies, and with the barons a way of simplicity which was vastly admired in a sorcerer so potent that his magic had secured the long sought zhar-ptitza's feather. "but the most learned," as king helmas justly said, "are always the most modest." helmas now wore the feather from the wing of the miller's goose affixed to the front of helmas' second best crown, because that was the one he used to give judgments in. and when it was noised abroad that king helmas had the zhar-ptitza's feather, the peohtes came gladly to be judged, and the neighboring kings began to submit to him their more difficult cases, and all his judgings were received with reverence, because everybody knew that king helmas' wisdom was now infallible, and that to criticize his verdict as to anything was merely to expose your own stupidity. and now that doubt of himself had gone out of his mind, helmas lived untroubled, and his digestion improved, and his loving-kindness was infinite, because he could not be angry with the pitiable creatures haled before him, when he considered how little able they were to distinguish between wisdom and unwisdom where helmas was omniscient: and all his doings were merciful and just, and his people praised him. even the queen conceded that, once you were accustomed to his ways, and exercised some firmness about being made a doormat of, and had it understood once for all that meals could not be kept waiting for him, she supposed there might be women worse off. and manuel got clay and modeled the figure of a young man which had the features and the wise look of king helmas. "i can see the resemblance," the king said, "but it does not half do me justice, and, besides, why have you made a young whipper-snapper of me, and mixed up my appearance with your appearance?" "i do not know," said manuel, "but i suppose it is because of a geas which is upon me to make myself a splendid and admirable young man in every respect, and not an old man." "and does the sculpture satisfy you?" asks the king, smiling wisely. "no, i like this figure well enough, now it is done, but it is not, i somehow know, the figure i desire to make. no, i must follow after my own thinking and my own desire, and wisdom is not requisite to me." "you artists!" said the king, as people always say that "now i would consider that, for all the might of your sorceries, wisdom is rather clamantly requisite to you, messire manuel, who inform me you must soon be riding hence to find elsewhere the needful look for your figure. for thus to be riding about this world of men, in search of a shade of expression, and without even being certain of what look you are looking for, does not appear to me to be good sense." but young manuel replied sturdily: "i ride to encounter what life has in store for me, who am made certain of this at least, that all high harvests which life withholds for me spring from a seed which i sow--and reap. for my geas is potent, and, late or soon, i serve my geas, and take my doom as the pay well-earned that is given as pay to me, for the figure i make in this world of men. "this figure, foreseen and yet hidden away from me, glimpsed from afar in the light of a dream,--will i love it, once more, or will loathing awake in me after its visage is plainlier seen? no matter: as fate says, so say i, who serve my geas, and gain in time such payment, at worst, as is honestly due to me, for the figure i make in this world of men. "to its shaping i consecrate youth that is strong in me, ardently yielding youth's last least gift, who know that all grace which the gods have allotted me avails me in naught if it fails me in this. for all that a man has, that must i bring to the image i shape, that my making may live when time unmakes me and death dissevers me from the figure i make in this world of men." to this the king rather drily replied: "there is something in what you say. but that something is, i can assure you, not wisdom." so everyone was satisfied in albania except manuel, who declared that he was pleased but not contented by the image he had made in the likeness of king helmas. "besides," they told him, "you look as though your mind were troubling you about something." "in fact, i am puzzled to see a foolish person made wise in all his deeds and speeches by this wisdom being expected of him." "but that is a cause for rejoicing, and for applauding the might of your sorceries, messire manuel, whereas you are plainly thinking of vexatious matters." manuel replied, "i think that it is not right to rob anybody of anything, and i reflect that wisdom weighs exactly the weight of a feather." then manuel went into king helmas' chickenyard, and caught a goose, and plucked from its wing a feather. manuel went glitteringly now, in brocaded hose, and with gold spurs on his heels: the figure which he had made in the likeness of king helmas was packed in an expensive knapsack of ornamented leather, and tall shining manuel rode on a tall dappled horse when he departed southward, for manuel nowadays had money to spare. viii the halo of holiness now manuel takes ship across the fretful bay of biscay, traveling always toward provence and alianora, whom people called the unattainable princess. oriander the swimmer followed this ship, they say, but he attempted to do manuel no hurt, at least not for that turn. so manuel of the high head comes into the country of wicked king ferdinand; and, toward all-hallows, they bring a stupendous florid young man to the king in the torture-chamber. king ferdinand was not idle at the moment, and he looked up good-temperedly enough from his employment: but almost instantly his merry face was overcast. "dear me!" says ferdinand, as he dropped his white hot pincers sizzlingly into a jar of water, "and i had hoped you would not be bothering me for a good ten years!" "now if i bother you at all it is against my will," declared manuel, very politely, "nor do i willingly intrude upon you here, for, without criticizing anybody's domestic arrangements, there are one or two things that i do not fancy the looks of in this torture-chamber." "that is as it may be. in the mean time, what is that i see in your pocket wrapped in red silk?" "it is a feather, king, wrapped in a bit of my sister's best petticoat." then ferdinand sighed, and he arose from his interesting experiments with what was left of the marquess de henestrosa, to whom the king had taken a sudden dislike that morning. "tut, tut!" said ferdinand: "yet, after all, i have had a brave time of it, with my enormities and my iniquities, and it is not as though there were nothing to look back on! so at what price will you sell me that feather?" "but surely a feather is no use to anybody, king, for does it not seem to you a quite ordinary feather?" "come!" says king ferdinand, as he washed his hands, "do people anywhere wrap ordinary feathers in red silk? you squinting rascal, do not think to swindle me out of eternal bliss by any such foolish talk! i perfectly recognize that feather as the feather which milcah plucked from the left pinion of the archangel oriphiel when the sons of god were on more intricate and scandalous terms with the daughters of men than are permitted nowadays." "well, sir," replied manuel, "you may be right in a world wherein nothing is certain. at all events, i have deduced, from one to two things in this torture-chamber, that it is better not to argue with king ferdinand." "how can i help being right, when it was foretold long ago that such a divine emissary as you would bring this very holy relic to turn me from my sins and make a saint of me?" says ferdinand, peevishly. "it appears to me a quite ordinary feather, king: but i recall what a madman told me, and i do not dispute that your prophets are wiser than i, for i have been a divine emissary for only a short while." "do you name your price for this feather, then!" "i think it would be more respectful, sir, to refer you to the prophets, for i find them generous and big-hearted creatures." ferdinand nodded his approval. "that is very piously spoken, because it was prophesied that this relic would be given me for no price at all by a great nobleman. so i must forthwith write out for you a count's commission, i suppose, and must write out your grants to fertile lands and a stout castle or two, and must date your title to these things from yesterday." "certainly," said manuel, "it would not look well for you to be neglecting due respect to such a famous prophecy, with that bottle of ink at your elbow." so king ferdinand sent for the count of poictesme, and explained to him as between old friends how the matter stood, and that afternoon the high count was confessed and decapitated. poictesme being now a vacant fief, king ferdinand ennobled manuel, and made him count of poictesme. it was true that all poictesme was then held by the northmen, under duke asmund, who denied king ferdinand's authority with contempt, and defeated him in battle with annoying persistence: so that manuel for the present acquired nothing but the sonorous title. "some terrible calamity, however," as king ferdinand pointed out, "is sure to befall asmund and his iniquitous followers before very long, so we need not bother about them." "but how may i be certain of that, sir?" manuel asked. "count, i am surprised at such scepticism! is it not very explicitly stated in holy writ that though the wicked may flourish for a while they are presently felled like green bay-trees?" "yes, to be sure! so there is no doubt that your soldiers will soon conquer duke asmund." "but i must not send any soldiers to fight against him, now that i am a saint, for that would not look well. it would have an irreligious appearance of prompting heaven." "still, king, you are sending soldiers against the moors--" "ah, but it is not your lands, count, but my city of ubeda, which the moors are attacking, and to attack a saint, as you must undoubtedly understand, is a dangerous heresy which it is my duty to put down." "yes, to be sure! well, well!" says manuel, "at any rate, to be a count is something, and it is better to ward a fine name than a parcel of pigs, though it appears the pigs are the more nourishing." in the mean while the king's heralds rode everywhither in fluted armor, to proclaim the fulfilment of the old prophecy as to the archangel oriphiel's feather. never before was there such a hubbub in those parts, for the bells of all the churches sounded all day, and all the people ran about praying at the top of their voices, and forgiving their relatives, and kissing the girls, and blowing whistles and ringing cowbells, because the city now harbored a relic so holy that the vilest sinner had but to touch it to be purified of iniquity. and that day king ferdinand dismissed the evil companions with whom he had so long rioted in every manner of wickedness, and ferdinand lived henceforward as became a saint. he builded two churches a year, and fared edifyingly on roots and herbs; he washed the feet of three indigent persons daily, and went in sackcloth; whenever he burned heretics he fetched and piled up the wood himself, so as to inconvenience nobody; and he made prioresses and abbesses of his more intimate and personal associates of yesterday, because he knew that people are made holy by contact with holiness, and that sainthood is retroactive. thereafter count manuel abode for a month at the court of king ferdinand, noting whatever to this side and to that side seemed most notable. manuel was generally liked by the elect, and in the evening when the court assembled for family-prayers nobody was more devout than the count of poictesme. he had a quiet way with the abbesses and prioresses, and with the anchorites and bishops a way of simplicity which was vastly admired in a divine emissary. "but the particular favor of heaven," as king ferdinand pointed out, "is always reserved for modest persons." the feather from the wing of helmas' goose king ferdinand had caused to be affixed to the unassuming skullcap with a halo of gold wire which ferdinand now wore in the place of a vainglorious earthly crown; so that perpetual contiguity with this relic might keep him in augmenting sanctity. and now that doubt of himself had gone out of his mind, ferdinand lived untroubled, and his digestion improved on his light diet of roots and herbs, and his loving-kindness was infinite, because he could not now be angry with the pitiable creatures haled before him, when he considered what lengthy and ingenious torments awaited every one of them, either in hell or purgatory, while ferdinand would be playing a gold harp in heaven. so ferdinand dealt tenderly and generously with all. half of his subjects said that simply showed you: and the rest of them assented that indeed you might well say that, and they had often thought of it, and had wished that young people would take profit by considering such things more seriously. and manuel got clay and modeled a figure which had the features and the holy look of king ferdinand. "yes, this young fellow you have made of mud is something like me," the king conceded, "although clay of course cannot do justice to the fine red cheeks and nose i used to have in the unregenerate days when i thought about such vanities, and, besides, it is rather more like you. still, count, the thing has feeling, it is wholesome, it is refreshingly free from these modern morbid considerations of anatomy, and it does you credit." "no, king, i like this figure well enough, now that it is done, but it is not, i somehow know, the figure i desire to make. no, i must follow after my own thinking and my own desires, and i do not need holiness." "you artists!" the king said. "but there is more than mud upon your mind." "in fact, i am puzzled, king, to see you made a saint of by its being expected of you." "but, count, that ought to grieve nobody, so long as i do not complain, and it is of something graver you are thinking." "i think, sir, that it is not right to rob anybody of anything, and i reflect that absolute righteousness is a fine feather in one's cap." then manuel went into the chicken-yard behind the red-roofed palace of king ferdinand, and caught a goose, and plucked from its wing a feather. thereafter the florid young count of poictesme rode east, on a tall dappled horse, and a retinue of six lackeys in silver and black liveries came cantering after him, and the two foremost lackeys carried in knapsacks, marked with a gold coronet, the images which dom manuel had made. a third lackey carried dom manuel's shield, upon which were emblazoned the arms of poictesme. the black shield displayed a silver stallion which was rampant in every member and was bridled with gold, but the ancient arms had been given a new motto. "what means this greek?" dom manuel had asked. "_mundus decipit_, count," they told him, "is the old pious motto of poictesme: it signifies that the affairs of this world are a vain fleeting show, and that terrestrial appearances are nowhere of any particular importance." "then your motto is green inexperience," said manuel, "and for me to bear it would be black ingratitude." so the writing had been changed in accordance with his instructions, and it now read _mundus vult decipi_. [illustration] ix the feather of love in such estate it was that count manuel came, on christmas morning, just two days after manuel was twenty-one, into provence. this land, reputed sorcerous, in no way displayed to him any unusual features, though it was noticeable that the king's marmoreal palace was fenced with silver pikes whereon were set the embalmed heads of young men who had wooed the princess alianora unsuccessfully. manuel's lackeys did not at first like the looks of these heads, and said they were unsuitable for christmas decorations: but dom manuel explained that at this season of general merriment this palisade also was mirth-provoking because (the weather being such as was virtually unprecedented in these parts) a light snow had fallen during the night, so that each head seemed to wear a nightcap. they bring manuel to raymond bérenger, count of provence and king of aries, who was holding the christmas feast in his warm hall. raymond sat on a fine throne of carved white ivory and gold, beneath a purple canopy. and beside him, upon just such another throne, not quite so high, sat raymond's daughter, alianora the unattainable princess, in a robe of watered silk which was of seven colors and was lined with the dark fur of barbiolets. in her crown were chrysolites and amethysts: it was a wonder to note how brightly they shone, but they were not so bright as alianora's eyes. she stared as manuel of the high head came through the hall, wherein the barons were seated according to their degrees. she had, they say, four reasons for remembering the impudent, huge, squinting, yellow-haired young fellow whom she had encountered at the pool of haranton. she blushed, and spoke with her father in the whistling and hissing language which the apsarasas use among themselves: and her father laughed long and loud. says raymond bérenger: "things might have fallen out much worse. come tell me now, count of poictesme, what is that i see in your breast pocket wrapped in red silk?" "it is a feather, king," replied manuel, a little wearily, "wrapped in a bit of my sister's best petticoat." "ay, ay," says raymond bérenger, with a grin that was becoming even more benevolent, "and i need not ask what price you come expecting for that feather. none the less, you are an excellently spoken-of young wizard of noble condition, who have slain no doubt a reasonable number of giants and dragons, and who have certainly turned kings from folly and wickedness. for such fine rumors speed before the man who has fine deeds behind him that you do not come into my realm as a stranger: and, i repeat, things might have fallen out much worse." "now listen, all ye that hold christmas here!" cried manuel "a while back i robbed this princess of a feather, and the thought of it lay in my mind more heavy than a feather, because i had taken what did not belong to me. so a bond was on me, and i set out toward provence to restore to her a feather. and such happenings befell me by the way that at michaelmas i brought wisdom into one realm, and at all-hallows i brought piety into another realm. now what i may be bringing into this realm of yours at heaven's most holy season, heaven only knows. to the eye it may seem a quite ordinary feather. yet life in the wide world, i find, is a queerer thing than ever any swineherd dreamed of in his wattled hut, and people everywhere are nourished by their beliefs, in a way that the meat of pigs can nourish nobody." raymond bérenger said, with a wise nod: "i perceive what is in your heart, and i see likewise what is in your pocket. so why do you tell me what everybody knows? everybody knows that the robe of the apsarasas, which is the peculiar treasure of provence, has been ruined by the loss of a feather, so that my daughter can no longer go abroad in the appearance of a swan, because the robe is not able to work any more wonders until that feather in your pocket has been sewed back into the robe with the old incantation." "now, but indeed does everybody know that!" says manuel. "--everybody knows, too, that my daughter has pined away with fretting after her lost ways of outdoor exercise, and the healthful changes of air which she used to be having. and finally, everybody knows that, at my daughter's very sensible suggestion, i have offered my daughter's hand in marriage to him who would restore that feather, and death to every impudent young fellow who dared enter here without it, as my palace fence attests." "oh, oh!" says manuel, smiling, "but seemingly it is no wholesome adventure which has come to me unsought!" "--so, as you tell me, you came into provence: and, as there is no need to tell me, i hope, who have still two eyes in my head, you have achieved the adventure. and why do you keep telling me about matters with which i am as well acquainted as you are?" "but, king of arles, how do you know that this is not an ordinary feather?" "count of poictesme, do people anywhere--?" "oh, spare me that vile bit of worldly logic, sir, and i will concede whatever you desire!" "then do you stop talking such nonsense, and do you stop telling me about things that everybody knows, and do you give my daughter her feather!" manuel ascends the white throne of alianora. "queer things have befallen me," said manuel, "but nothing more strange than this can ever happen, than that i should be standing here with you, and holding this small hand in mine. you are not perhaps quite so beautiful nor so clever as niafer. nevertheless, you are the unattainable princess, whose loveliness recalled me from vain grieving after niafer, within a half-hour of niafer's loss. yes, you are she whose beauty kindled a dream and a dissatisfaction in the heart of a swineherd, to lead him forth into the wide world, and through the puzzling ways of the wide world, and into its high places: so that at the last the swineherd is standing--a-glitter in satin and gold and in rich furs,--here at the summit of a throne; and at the last the hand of the unattainable princess is in his hand, and in his heart is misery." the princess said, "i do not know anything about this niafer, who was probably no better than she should have been, nor do i know of any conceivable reason for your being miserable." "why, is it not the truth," asks manuel of alianora, speaking not very steadily, "that you are to marry the man who restores the feather of which you were robbed at the pool of haranton? and can marry none other?" "it is the truth," she answered, in a small frightened lovely voice, "and i no longer grieve that it is the truth, and i think it a most impolite reason for your being miserable." manuel laughed without ardor. "see how we live and learn! i recall now the droll credulity of a lad who watched a shining feather burned, while he sat within arm's reach thinking about cabbage soup, because his grave elders assured him that a feather could never be of any use to anybody. and that, too, after he had seen what uses may be made of an old bridle or of a duck egg or of anything! well, but all water that is past the dam must go its way, even though it be a flood of tears--" here manuel gently shrugged broad shoulders. he took out of his pocket the feather he had plucked from the wing of ferdinand's goose. he said: "a feather i took from you in the red autumn woods, and a feather i now restore to you, my princess, in this white palace of yours, not asking any reward, and not claiming to be remembered by you in the gray years to come, but striving to leave no obligation undischarged and no debt unpaid. and whether in this world wherein nothing is certain, one feather is better than another feather, i do not know. it well may come about that i must straightway take a foul doom from fair lips, and that presently my head will be drying on a silver pike. even so, one never knows: and i have learned that it is well to put all doubt of oneself quite out of mind." he gave her the feather he had plucked from the third goose, and the trumpets sounded as a token that the quest of alianora's feather had been fulfilled, and all the courtiers shouted in honor of count manuel. alianora looked at what was in her hand, and saw it was a goose-feather, in nothing resembling the feather which, when she had fled in maidenly embarrassment from manuel's over-friendly advances, she had plucked from the robe of the apsarasas, and had dropped at manuel's feet, in order that her father might be forced to proclaim this quest, and the winning of it might be predetermined. then alianora looked at manuel. now before her the queer unequal eyes of this big young man were bright and steadfast as altar candles. his chin was well up, and it seemed to her that this fine young fellow expected her to declare the truth, when the truth would be his death-sentence. she had no patience with his nonsense. says alianora, with that lovely tranquil smile of hers: "count manuel has fulfilled the quest. he has restored to me the feather from the robe of the apsarasas. i recognize it perfectly." "why, to be sure," says raymond bérenger. "still, do you get your needle and the recipe for the old incantation, and the robe too, and make it plain to all my barons that the power of the robe is returned to it, by flying about the hall a little in the appearance of a swan. for it is better to conduct these affairs in due order and without any suspicion of irregularity." now matters looked ticklish for dom manuel, since he and alianora knew that the robe had been spoiled, and that the addition of any number of goose-feathers was not going to turn alianora into a swan. yet the boy's handsome and high-colored face stayed courteously attentive to the wishes of his host, and did not change. but alianora said indignantly: "my father, i am surprised at you! have you no sense of decency at all? you ought to know it is not becoming for an engaged girl to be flying about provence in the appearance of a swan, far less among a parcel of men who have been drinking all morning. it is the sort of thing that leads to a girl's being talked about." "now, that is true, my dear," said raymond bérenger, abashed, "and the sentiment does you credit. so perhaps i had better suggest something else--" "indeed, my father, i see exactly what you would be suggesting. and i believe you are right." "i am not infallible, my dear: but still--" "yes, you are perfectly right: it is not well for any married woman to be known to possess any such robe. there is no telling, just as you say, what people would be whispering about her, nor what disgraceful tricks she would get the credit of playing on her husband." "my daughter, i was only about to tell you--" "yes, and you put it quite unanswerably. for you, who have the name of being the wisest count that ever reigned in provence, and the shrewdest king that arles has ever had, know perfectly well how people talk, and how eager people are to talk, and to place the very worst construction on everything: and you know, too, that husbands do not like such talk. certainly i had not thought of these things, my father, but i believe that you are right." raymond bérenger stroked his thick short beard, and said: "now truly, my daughter, whether or not i be wise and shrewd--though, as you say, of course there have been persons kind enough to consider--and in petitions too--however, be that as it may, and putting aside the fact that everybody likes to be appreciated, i must confess i can imagine no gift which would at this high season be more acceptable to any husband than the ashes of that robe." "this is a saying," alianora here declares, "well worthy of raymond bérenger: and i have often wondered at your striking way of putting things." "that, too, is a gift," the king-count said, with proper modesty, "which to some persons is given, and to others not: so i deserve no credit for it. but, as i was saying when you interrupted me, my dear, it is well for youth to have its fling, because (as i have often thought) we are young only once: and so i have not ever criticized your jauntings in far lands. but a husband is another pair of sandals. a husband does not like to have his wife flying about the tree tops and the tall lonely mountains and the low long marshes, with nobody to keep an eye on her, and that is the truth of it. so, were i in your place, and wise enough to listen to the old father who loves you, and who is wiser than you, my dear--why, now that you are about to marry, i repeat to you with all possible earnestness, my darling, i would destroy this feather and this robe in one red fire, if only count manuel will agree to it. for it is he who now has power over all your possessions, and not i." "count manuel," says alianora, with that lovely tranquil smile of hers, "you perceive that my father is insistent, and it is my duty to be guided by him. i do not deny that, upon my father's advice, i am asking you to let perish a strong magic which many persons would value above a woman's pleading. but i know now"--her eyes met his, and to any young man anywhere with a heart moving in him, that which manuel could see in the bright frightened eyes of alianora could not but be a joy well-nigh intolerable,--"but i know now that you, who are to be my husband, and who have brought wisdom into one kingdom, and piety into another, have brought love into the third kingdom: and i perceive that this third magic is a stronger and a nobler magic than that of the apsarasas. and it seems to me that you and i would do well to dispense with anything which is second rate." "i am of the opinion that you are a singularly intelligent young woman," says manuel, "and i am of the belief that it is far too early for me to be crossing my wife's wishes, in a world wherein all men are nourished by their beliefs." all being agreed, the yule-log was stirred up into a blaze, which was duly fed with the goose-feather and the robe of the apsarasas. thereafter the trumpets sounded a fanfare, to proclaim that raymond bérenger's collops were cooked and peppered, his wine casks broached, and his puddings steaming. then the former swineherd went in to share his christmas dinner with the king-count's daughter, alianora, whom people everywhere had called the unattainable princess. and they relate that while alianora and manuel sat cosily in the hood of the fireplace and cracked walnuts, and in the pauses of their talking noted how the snow was drifting by the windows, the ghost of niafer went restlessly about green fields beneath an ever radiant sky in the paradise of the pagans. when the kindly great-browed warders asked her what it was she was seeking, the troubled spirit could not tell them, for niafer had tasted lethe, and had forgotten dom manuel. only her love for him had not been forgotten, because that love had become a part of her, and so lived on as a blind longing and as a desire which did not know its aim. and they relate also that in suskind's low red-pillared palace suskind waited with an old thought for company. [illustration] [illustration] part two the book of spending to louis untermeyer often _tymes herde manuel tell of the fayrness of this queene of _furies _and_ gobblins _and_ hydraes, _insomuch that he was enamoured of hyr, though he neuer sawe hyr: then by this connynge made he a hole in the fyer, and went ouer to hyr, and when he had spoke with hyr, he shewed hyr his mynde._ x alianora they of poictesme narrate that after dinner king raymond sent messengers to his wife, who was spending that christmas with their daughter, queen meregrett of france, to bid dame beatrice return as soon as might be convenient, so that they might marry off their daughter alianora to the famous count manuel. they tell also how the holiday season passed with every manner of festivity, and how dom manuel got on splendidly with his princess, and how it appeared to onlookers that for both of them, even for the vaguely condescending boy, love-making proved a very marvelous and dear pursuit. dom manuel confessed, in reply to jealous questionings, that he did not think alianora quite so beautiful nor so clever as niafer had been, but this, as manuel pointed out, was hardly a matter which could be remedied. at all events, the princess was a fine-looking and intelligent girl, as dom manuel freely conceded to her: and the magic of the apsarasas, in which she was instructing him, dom manuel declared to be very interesting if you cared for that sort of thing. the princess humbly admitted, in reply, that of course her magic did not compare with his, since hers was powerful only over the bodies of men and beasts, whereas dom manuel's magic had so notably controlled the hearts and minds of kings. still, as alianora pointed out, she could blight corn and cattle, and raise tempests very handily, and, given time, could smite an enemy with almost any physical malady you selected. she could not kill outright, to be sure, but even so, these lesser mischiefs were not despicable accomplishments in a young girl. anyhow, she said in peroration, it was atrocious to discourage her by laughing at the best she could do. "ah, but come now, my dear," says manuel, "i was only teasing. i really think your work most promising. you have but to continue. practise, that is the thing, they say, in all the arts." "yes, and with you to help me--" "no, i have graver matters to attend to than devil-mongering," says manuel, "and a bond to lift from myself before i can lay miseries on others." for because of the geas that was on him to make a figure in the world, dom manuel had unpacked his two images, and after vexedly considering them, he had fallen again to modeling in clay, and had made a third image. this image also was in the likeness of a young man, but it had the fine proud features and the loving look of alianora. manuel confessed to being fairly well pleased with this figure, but even so, he did not quite recognize in it the figure he desired to make, and therefore, he said, he deduced that love was not the thing which was essential to him. alianora did not like the image at all. "to have made an image of me," she considered, "would have been a very pretty compliment. but when it comes to pulling about my features, as if they did not satisfy you, and mixing them up with your features, until you have made the appearance of a young man that looks like both of us, it is not a compliment. instead, it is the next thing but one to egotism." "perhaps, now i think of it, i am an egotist. at all events, i am manuel." "nor, dearest," says she, "is it quite befitting that you, who are now betrothed to a princess, and who are going to be lord of provence and king of arles, as soon as i can get rid of father, should be always messing with wet mud." "i know that very well," manuel replied, "but, none the less, a geas is on me to honor my mother's wishes, and to make an admirable and significant figure in the world. apart from that, though, alianora, i repeat to you, this scheme of yours, about poisoning your father as soon as we are married, appears to me for various reasons ill-advised. i am in no haste to be king of arles, and, in fact, i am not sure that i wish to be king at all, because my geas is more important." "sweetheart, i love you very much, but my love does not blind me to the fact that, no matter, what your talents at sorcery, you are in everyday matters a hopelessly unpractical person. do you leave this affair to me, and i will manage it with every regard to appearances." "ah, and does one have to preserve appearances even in such matters as parricide?" "but certainly it looks much better for father to be supposed to die of indigestion. people would be suspecting all sorts of evil of the poor dear if it were known that his own daughter could not put up with him. in any event, sweetheart, i am resolved that, since very luckily father has no sons, you shall be king of arles before this new year is out." "no, i am manuel: and it means more to me to be manuel than to be king of arles, and count of provence, and seneschal of aix and brignoles and grasse and massilia and draguignan and so on." "oh, you are breaking my heart with this neglect of your true interests! and it is all the doing of these three vile images, which you value more than the old throne of boson and rothbold, and oceans more than you do me!" "come, i did not say that." "yes, and you think, too, a deal more about that dead heathen servant girl than you do about me, who am a princess and the heir to a kingdom." manuel looked at alianora for a considerable while, before speaking. "my dear, you are, as i have always told you, an unusually fine looking and intelligent girl. and yes, you are a princess, of course, though you are no longer the unattainable princess: that makes a difference certainly--but, over and above all this, there was never anybody like niafer, and it would be nonsense to pretend otherwise." the princess said: "i wonder at myself. you are schooled in strange sorceries unknown to the apsarasas, there is no questioning that, after the miracles you wrought with helmas and ferdinand: even so, i too have a neat hand at magic, and it is not right for you to be treating me as though i were the dirt under your feet. and i endure it! it is that which puzzles me, it makes me wonder at myself, and my sole comfort is that, at any rate, this wonderful niafer of yours is dead and done with." manuel sighed. "yes, niafer is dead, and these images also are dead things, and both these facts continually trouble me. nothing can be done about niafer, i suppose, but if only i could give some animation to these images i think the geas upon me would be satisfied." "such a desire is blasphemous, manuel, for the eternal father did no more than that with his primal sculptures in eden." dom manuel blinked his vivid blue eyes as if in consideration. "well, but," he said, gravely, "but if i am a child of god it is only natural, i think, that i should inherit the tastes and habits of my father. no, it is not blasphemous, i think, to desire to make an animated and lively figure, somewhat more admirable and significant than that of the average man. no, i think not. anyhow, blasphemous or not, that is my need, and i must follow after my own thinking and my own desire." "if that desire were satisfied," asks alianora, rather queerly, "would you be content to settle down to some such rational method of living as becomes a reputable sorcerer and king?" "i think so, for a king has no master, and he is at liberty to travel everywhither, and to see the ends of this world and judge them. yes, i think so, in a world wherein nothing is certain." "if i but half way believed that, i would endeavor to obtain schamir." "and what in the devil is this schamir?" "a slip of the tongue," replied alianora, smiling. "no, i shall have nothing to do with your idiotic mud figures, and i shall tell you nothing further." "come now, pettikins!" says manuel. and he began coaxing the princess of provence with just such cajoleries as the big handsome boy had formerly exercised against the peasant girls of rathgor. "schamir," said alianora, at last, "is set in a signet ring which is very well known in the country on the other side of the fire. schamir has the appearance of a black pebble; and if, after performing the proper ceremonies, you were to touch one of these figures with it the figure would become animated." "well, but," says manuel, "the difficulty is that if i attempt to pass through the fire in order to reach the country behind it, i shall be burned to a cinder, and so i have no way of obtaining this talisman." "in order to obtain it," alianora told him, "one must hard-boil an egg from the falcon's nest, then replace it in the nest, and secrete oneself near by with a crossbow, under a red and white umbrella, until the mother bird, finding one of her eggs resists all her endeavors to infuse warmth into it, flies off, and plunges into the nearest fire, and returns with this ring in her beak. with schamir she will touch the boiled egg, and so restore the egg to its former condition. at that moment she must be shot, and the ring must be secured, before the falcon can return the talisman to its owner. i mean, to its dreadful owner, who is"--here alianora made an incomprehensible sign,--"who is queen freydis of audela." "come," said manuel, "what is the good of my knowing this in the dead of winter! it will be months before the falcons are nesting again." "manuel, manuel, there is no understanding you! do you not see how badly it looks for a grown man, and far more for a famed champion and a potent sorcerer, to be pouting and scowling and kicking your heels about like that, and having no patience at all?" "yes, i suppose it does look badly, but i am manuel, and i follow--" "oh, spare me that," cried alianora, "or else, no matter how much i may love you, dearest, i shall box your jaws!" "none the less, what i was going to say is true," declared manuel, "and if only you would believe it, matters would go more smoothly between us." [illustration] xi magic of the apsarasas now the tale tells how, to humor alianora, count manuel applied himself to the magic of the apsarasas. he went with the princess to a high secret place, and alianora, crying sweetly, in the famous old fashion, "torolix, ciccabau, tio, tio, torolililix!" performed the proper incantations, and forthwith birds came multitudinously from all quarters of the sky, in a descending flood of color and flapping and whistling and screeching. the peacock screamed, "with what measure thou judgest others, thou shalt thyself be judged." sang the nightingale, "contentment is the greatest happiness." the turtle-dove called, "it were better for some created things that they had never been created." the peewit chirped, "he that hath no mercy for others, shall find none for himself." the stork said huskily, "the fashion of this world passeth away." and the wail of the eagle was, "howsoever long life may be, yet its inevitable term is death." "now that is virtually what i said," declared the stork, "and you are a bold-faced and bald-headed plagiarist." "and you," replied the eagle, clutching the stork's throat, "are a dead bird that will deliver no more babies." but dom manuel tugged at the eagle's wing, and asked him if he really meant that to hold good before this court of the birds. and when the infuriated eagle opened his cruel beak, and held up one murderous claw, to make solemn oath that indeed he did mean it, and would show them too, the stork very intelligently flew away. "i shall not ever forget your kindness, count manuel," cried the stork, "and do you remember that the customary three wishes are always yours for the asking." "and i too am grateful," said the abashed eagle,--"yes, upon the whole, i am grateful, for if i had killed that long-legged pest it would have been in contempt of the court, and they would have set me to hatching red cockatrices. still, his reproach was not unfounded, and i must think up a new cry." so the eagle perched on a rock, and said tentatively, "there is such a thing as being too proud to fight." he shook his bald head disgustedly, and tried, "the only enduring peace is a peace without victory," but that did not seem to content him either. afterward he cried out, "all persons who oppose me have pygmy minds," and "if everybody does not do exactly as i order, the heart of the world will be broken": and many other foolish things he repeated, and shook his head over, for none of these axioms pleased the eagle, and he no longer admired the pedagogue who had invented them. so in his worried quest for a saying sufficiently orotund and meaningless to content his ethics, and to be hailed with convenience as a great moral principle, the eagle forgot all about count manuel: but the stork did not forget, because in the eyes of the stork the life of the stork is valuable. the other birds uttered various such sentiments as have been recorded, and all these, they told manuel, were accredited sorceries. the big yellow-haired boy did not dispute it, he rarely disputed anything: but the droop to that curious left eye of his was accentuated, and he admitted to alianora that he wondered if such faint-hearted smug little truths were indeed the height of wisdom, outside of religion and public speaking. then he asked which was the wisest of the birds, and they told him the zhar-ptitza, whom others called the fire-bird. manuel induced alianora to summon the zhar-ptitza, who is the oldest and the most learned of all living creatures, although he has thus far learned nothing assuredly except that appearances have to be kept up. the zhar-ptitza came, crying wearily, "fine feathers make fine birds." you heard him from afar. the zhar-ptitza himself had every reason to get comfort out of this axiom, for his plumage was everywhere the most brilliant purple, except that his neck feathers were the color of new gold, and his tail was blue with somewhat longer red feathers intermingled. his throat was wattled gorgeously, and his head was tufted, and he seemed a trifle larger than the eagle. the fire-bird brought with him his nest of cassia and sprigs of incense, and this he put down upon the lichened rocks, and he sat in it while he talked with manuel. the frivolous question that manuel raised as to his clay figures, the zhar-ptitza considered a very human bit of nonsense: and the wise creature said he felt forced to point out that no intelligent bird would ever dream of making images. [illustration: he was drying out in the sun] "but, sir," said manuel, "i do not wish to burden this world with any more lifeless images. instead, i wish to make in this world an animated figure, very much as, they say, a god did once upon a time--" "come, you should not try to put too much responsibility upon jahveh," protested the zhar-ptitza, tolerantly, "for jahveh made only one man, and did not ever do it again. i remember the making of that first man very clearly, for i was created the morning before, with instructions to fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven, so i saw the whole affair. yes, jahveh did create the first man on the sixth day. and i voiced no criticism. for of course after working continuously for nearly a whole week, and making so many really important things, no creative artist should be blamed for not being in his happiest vein on the sixth day." "and did you happen to notice, sir," asks manuel, hopefully, "by what method animation was given to adam?" "no, he was drying out in the sun when i first saw him, with gabriel sitting at his feet, playing on a flageolet: and naturally i did not pay any particular attention to such foolishness." "well, well, i do not assert that the making of men is the highest form of art, yet, none the less, a geas is upon me to make myself a very splendid and admirable young man." "but why should you be wasting your small portion of breath and strength? to what permanent use could one put a human being even if the creature were virtuous and handsome to look at? ah, manuel, you have not seen them pass, as i have seen them pass in swarms, with their wars and their reforms and their great causes, and leaving nothing but their bones behind them." "yes, yes, to you, at your age, who were old when nineveh was planned, it must seem strange; and i do not know why my mother desired that i should make myself a splendid and admirable young man. but the geas is upon me." the zhar-ptitza sighed. "certainly these feminine whims are not easily explained. yet your people have some way of making brand-new men and women of all kinds. i am sure of this, for otherwise the race would have been extinct a great while since at the rate they kill one another. and perhaps they do adhere to jahveh's method, and make fresh human beings out of earth, for, now i think of it, i have seen the small, recently completed ones, who looked exactly like red clay." "it is undeniable that babies do have something of that look," assented manuel. "so then, at least, you think i may be working in the proper medium?" "it seems plausible, because i am certain your people are not intelligent enough to lay eggs, nor could, of course, such an impatient race succeed in getting eggs hatched. at all events, they have undoubtedly contrived some method or other, and you might find out from the least foolish of them about that method." "who, then, is the least foolish of mankind?" "probably king helmas of albania, for it was prophesied by me a great while ago that he would become the wisest of men if ever he could come by one of my shining white feathers, and i hear it reported he has done so." "sir," said manuel, dubiously, "i must tell you in confidence that the feather king helmas has is not yours, but was plucked from the wing of an ordinary goose." "does that matter?" asked the zhar-ptitza. "i never prophesied, of course, that he actually would find one of my shining white feathers, because all my feathers are red and gold and purple." "but how can there be any magic in a goose-feather?" "there is this magic, that, possessing it, king helmas has faith in, and has stopped bothering about, himself." "is not to bother about yourself the highest wisdom?" "oh, no! oh, dear me, no! i merely said it is the highest of which man is capable." "but the sages and philosophers, sir, that had such fame in the old time, and made the maxims for you birds! why, did king solomon, for example, rise no higher than that?" "yes, yes, to be sure!" said the zhar-ptitza, sighing again, "now that was a sad error. the poor fellow was endowed with, just as an experiment, considerable wisdom. and it caused him to perceive that a man attains to actual contentment only when he is drunk or when he is engaged in occupations not very decorously described. so sulieman-ben-daoud gave over all the rest of his time to riotous living and to co-educational enterprises. it was logic, but it led to a most expensive seraglio and to a very unbecoming appearance, and virtually wrecked the man's health. yes, that was the upshot of one of you being endowed with actual wisdom, just as an experiment, to see what would come of it: so the experiment, of course, has never been repeated. but of living persons, i dare assert that you will find king helmas appreciably freed from a thousand general delusions by his one delusion about himself." "very well, then," says manuel. "i suspect a wilful paradox and a forced cynicism in much of what you have said, but i shall consult with king helmas about human life and about the figure i have to make in the world." so they bid each other farewell, and the zhar-ptitza picked up his nest of cassia and sprigs of incense, and flew away with it: and as he rose in the air the zhar-ptitza cried, "fine feathers make fine birds." "but that is not the true proverb, sir," manuel called up toward the resplendent creature, "and such perversions too, they tell me, are a mark of would-be cleverness." "so it may seem to you now, my lad, but time is a very transforming fairy. therefore do you wait until you are older," the bird replied, from on high, "and then you will know better than to doubt my cry or to repeat it." [illustration] xii ice and iron then came from oversea the bishops of ely and lincoln, the prior of hurle, and the master of the temple, asking that king raymond send one of his daughters, with a suitable dowry, to be the king of england's wife. "very willingly," says raymond bérenger; and told them they could have his third daughter sancha, with a thousand marks. "but, father," said alianora, "sancha is nothing but a child. a fine queen she would make!" "still, my dear," replied king raymond, "you are already bespoke." "i was not thinking about myself. i was thinking about sancha's true welfare." "of course you were, my dear, and everybody knows the sisterly love you have for her." "the pert little mess is spoilt enough as it is, heaven knows. and if things came to the pass that i had to stand up whenever sancha came into the room, and to sit on a footstool while she lolled back in a chair the way meregrett does, it would be the child's ruin." raymond bérenger said: "now certainly it will be hard on you to have two sisters that are queens, and with perhaps little beatrice also marrying some king or another when her time comes, and you staying only a countess, who are the best-looking of the lot." "my father, i see what you would be at!" cried alianora, aghast. "you think it is my duty to overcome my private inclinations, and to marry the king of england for ruthless and urgent political reasons!" "i only said, my darling--" "--for you have seen at once that i owe this great sacrifice to the future welfare of our beloved provence. you have noted, with that keenness which nothing escapes, that with the aid of your wisdom and advice i would know very well how to manage this high king that is the master of no pocket handkerchief place like provence but of england and of ireland too." "also, by rights, of aquitaine and anjou and normandy, my precious. still, i merely observed--" "oh, but believe me, i am not arguing with you, my dear father, for i know that you are much wiser than i," says alianora, bravely wiping away big tears from her lovely eyes. "have it your own way, then," replied raymond bérenger, with outspread hands. "but what is to be done about you and count manuel here?" the king looked toward the tapestry of jephthah's sacrifice, beside which manuel sat, just then re-altering the figure of the young man with the loving look of alianora that manuel had made because of the urgency of his geas, and could not seem to get exactly right. "i am sure, father, that manuel also will be self-sacrificing and magnanimous and sensible about it." "ah, yes! but what is to happen afterward? for anyone can see that you and this squinting long-legged lad are fathoms deep in love with each other." "i think that after i am married, father, you or king ferdinand or king helmas can send count manuel into england on some embassy, and i am sure that he and i will always be true and dear friends without affording any handle to gossip." "oho!" king raymond said, "i perceive your drift, and it is toward a harbor that is the king of england's affair, and not mine. my part is to go away now, so that you two may settle the details of that ambassadorship in which dom manuel is to be the vicar of so many kings." raymond bérenger took up his sceptre and departed, and the princess turned to where manuel was pottering with the three images he had made in the likeness of helmas and ferdinand and alianora. "you see, now, manuel dearest, i am heart-broken, but for the realm's sake i must marry the king of england." manuel looked up from his work. "yes, i heard. i am sorry, and i never understood politics, but i suppose it cannot be helped. so would you mind standing a little more to the left? you are in the light now, and that prevents my seeing clearly what i am doing here to this upper lip." "and how can you be messing with that wet mud when my heart is breaking!" "because a geas is upon me to make these images. no, i am sure i do not know why my mother desired it. but everything which is fated must be endured, just as we must now endure the obligation that is upon you to marry the high king of england." "my being married need not matter very much, after i am queen, for people declare this king is a poor spindling creature, and, as i was saying, you can come presently into england." manuel looked at her for a moment or two. she colored. he, sitting at the feet of weeping jephthah, smiled. "well," said manuel, "i will come into england when you send me a goose-feather. so the affair is arranged." "oh, you are all ice and iron!" she said, "and you care for nothing except your wet mud images, and i detest you!" "my dearest," manuel answered placidly, "the trouble is that each of us desires one particular thing over and above other things. your desire is for power and a great name and for a king who will be at once your mouthpiece, your lackey and your lover. now, candidly, i cannot spare the time to be any of these things, because my desire is different from your desire, but is equally strong. also, it seems to me, as i become older, and see more of men and of men's ways, that most people have no especial desire but only preferences. in a world of such wishy-washy folk you and i cannot hope to escape being aspersed with comparisons to ice and iron, but it does not become us to be flinging these venerable similes in each other's faces." she kept silence a while. she laughed uneasily. "i so often wonder about you, manuel, as to whether inside the big, high-colored, squinting, solemn husk is living a very wise person or a very unmitigated fool." "i perceive there is something else which we have in common, for i, too, often wonder about that." "it is settled, then?" "it is settled that, instead of ruling little arles, you are to be queen of england, and lady of ireland, and duchess of normandy and aquitaine, and countess of anjou; that our token is to be a goose-feather; and that, i diffidently repeat, you are to get out of my light and interfere no longer with the discharge of my geas." "and what will you do?" "i must, as always, follow after my own thinking--" "if you complete the sentence i shall undoubtedly scream." manuel laughed good-humoredly. "i suppose i do say it rather often, but then it is true, and the great trouble between us, alianora, is that you do not perceive its truth." she said, "and i suppose you will now be stalking off to some woman or another for consolation?" "no, the consolation i desire is not to be found in petticoats. no, first of all, i shall go to king helmas. for my images stay obstinately lifeless, and there is something lacking to each of them, and none is the figure i desire to make in this world. now i do not know what can be done about it, but the zhar-ptitza informs me that king helmas, since all doubt of himself has been put out of mind, can aid me if any man can." "then we must say good-bye, though not for a long while, i hope." "yes," manuel said, "this is good-bye, and to a part of my living it is an eternal good-bye." dom manuel left his images where the old hebrew captain appeared to regard them with violent dumb anguish, and manuel took both of the girl's lovely little hands, and he stood thus for a while looking down at the princess. said manuel, very sadly: "i cry the elegy of such notions as are possible to boys alone. 'surely,' i said, 'the informing and all-perfect soul shines through and is revealed in this beautiful body.' so my worship began for you, whose violet eyes retain at all times their chill brittle shining, and do not soften, but have been to me always as those eyes which, they say, a goddess turns toward ruined lovers who cry the elegy of hope and contentment, with lips burned bloodless by the searing of passions which she, immortal, may neither feel nor comprehend. even so do you, dear alianora, who are not divine, look toward me, quite unmoved by anything except incurious wonder, the while that i cry my elegy. "i, for love, and for the glamour of bright beguiling dreams that hover and delude and allure all lovers, could never until to-day behold clearly what person i was pestering with my notions. i, being blind, could not perceive your blindness which blindly strove to understand me, and which hungered for understanding, as i for love. thus our kisses veiled, at most, the foiled endeavorings of flesh that willingly would enter into the soul's high places, but is not able. now, the game being over, what is the issue and end of it time must attest. at least we should each sorrow a little for what we have lost in this gaming,--you for a lover, and i for love. "no, but it is not love which lies here expiring, now we part friendlily at the deathbed of that emotion which yesterday we shared. this emotion also was not divine; and so might not outlive the gainless months wherein, like one fishing for pearls in a millpond, i have toiled to evoke from your heart more than heaven placed in this heart, wherein lies no love. now the crying is stilled that was the crying of loneliness to its unfound mate: already dust is gathering light and gray upon the unmoving lips. therefore let us bury our dead, and having placed the body in the tomb, let us honestly inscribe above this fragile, flower-like perished emotion, 'here lieth lust, not love.'" now alianora pouted. "you use such very ugly words, sweetheart: and you are talking unreasonably, too, for i am sure i am just as sorry about it as you are--" manuel gave her that slow sleepy smile which was manuel. "just," he said,--"and it is that which humiliates. yes, you and i are second-rate persons, alianora, and we have found each other out. it is a pity. but we will always keep our secret from the rest of the world, and our secret will always be a bond between us." he kissed the princess, very tenderly, and so left her. then manuel of the high head departed from aries, with his lackeys and his images, riding in full estate, and displaying to the spring sunlight the rearing silver stallion upon his shield and the _motto mundus vult decipi_. alianora, watching from the castle window, wept copiously, because the poor princess had the misfortune to be really in love with dom manuel. but there was no doing anything with his obstinacy and his incomprehensible notions, alianora had found, and so she set about disposing of herself and of the future through more plastic means. her methods were altered perforce, but her aim remained unchanged: and she still intended to get everything she desired (which included manuel) as soon as she and the king of england had settled down to some sensible way of living. it worried this young pretty girl to consult her mirror, and to foreknow that the king of england would probably be in love with her for months and months: but then, as she philosophically reflected, all women have to submit to being annoyed by the romanticism of men. so she dried her big bright eyes, and sent for dressmakers. she ordered two robes each of five ells, the one to be of green and lined with either cendal or sarcenet, and the other to be of brunet stuff. she selected the cloth for a pair of purple sandals, and for four pairs of boots, to be embroidered in circles around the ankles, and she selected also nine very becoming chaplets made of gold filigree and clusters of precious stones. and so she managed to get through the morning, and to put manuel out of mind, for that while, but not for long. [illustration] xiii what helmas directed now the count of poictesme departs from provence, with his lackeys carrying his images, and early in april he comes to helmas the deep-minded. the wise king was then playing with his small daughter mélusine (who later dethroned and imprisoned him), but he sent the child away with a kiss, and he attentively heard dom manuel through. king helmas looked at the images, prodded them with a shriveled forefinger, and cleared his throat; and then said nothing, because, after all, dom manuel was count of poictesme. "what is needed?" said manuel. "they are not true to life," replied helmas--"particularly this one which has the look of me." "yes, i know that: but who can give life to my images?" king helmas pushed back his second best crown, wherein was set the feather from the wing of the miller's goose, and he scratched his forehead. he said, "there is a power over all figures of earth and a queen whose will is neither to loose nor to bind." helmas turned toward a thick book, wherein was magic. "yes, _queen_ is the same as _cwen_. therefore queen freydis of audela might help you." "yes, for it is she that owns schamir. but the falcons are not nesting now, and how can i go to freydis, that woman of strange deeds?" "oh, people nowadays no longer use falcons; and of course nobody can go to freydis uninvited. still, it can be managed that freydis will come to you when the moon is void and powerless, and when this and that has been arranged." thereafter helmas the deep-minded told count manuel what was requisite. "so you will need such and such things," says king helmas, "but, above all, do not forget the ointment." count manuel went alone into poictesme, which was his fief if only he could get it. he came secretly to upper morven, that place of horrible fame. near the ten-colored stone, whereon men had sacrificed to vel-tyno in time's youth, he builded an enclosure of peeled willow wands, and spread butter upon them, and tied them with knots of yellow ribbons, as helmas had directed. manuel arranged all matters within the enclosure as helmas had directed. there manuel waited, on the last night in april, regarding the full moon. in a while you saw the shadowings on the moon's radiancy begin to waver and move: later they passed from the moon's face like little clouds, and the moon was naked of markings. this was a token that the moon-children had gone to the well from which once a month they fetch water, and that for an hour the moon would be void and powerless. with this and that ceremony count manuel kindled such a fire upon the old altar of vel-tyno as helmas had directed. manuel cried aloud: "now be propitious, infernal, terrestrial and celestial bombo! lady of highways, patroness of crossroads, thou who bearest the light! thou who dost labor always in obscurity, thou enemy of the day, thou friend and companion of darkness! thou rejoicing in the barking of dogs and in shed blood, thus do i honor thee." manuel did as helmas had directed, and for an instant the screamings were pitiable, but the fire ended these speedily. then manuel cried, again: "o thou who wanderest amid shadows and over tombs, and dost tether even the strong sea! o whimsical sister of the blighting sun, and fickle mistress of old death! o gorgo, mormo, lady of a thousand forms and qualities! now view with a propitious eye my sacrifice!" thus manuel spoke, and steadily the fire upon the altar grew larger and brighter as he nourished it repugnantly. when the fire was the height of a warrior, and queer things were happening to this side and to that side, count manuel spoke the ordered words: and of a sudden the flames' colors were altered, so that green shimmerings showed in the fire, as though salt were burning there. manuel waited. this greenness shifted and writhed and increased in the heart of the fire, and out of the fire oozed a green serpent, the body of which was well--nigh as thick as a man's body. this portent came toward count manuel horribly. he, who was familiar with serpents, now grasped this monster's throat, and to the touch its scales were like very cold glass. the great snake shifted so resistlessly that manuel was forced back toward the fire and toward a doom more dreadful than burning: and the firelight was in the snake's contemptuous wise eyes. manuel was of stalwart person, but his strength availed him nothing until he began to recite aloud, as helmas had directed, the multiplication tables: freydis could not withstand mathematics. so when manuel had come to two times eleven the tall fire guttered as though it bended under the passing of a strong wind: then the flames burned high, and manuel could see that he was grasping the throat of a monstrous pig. he, who was familiar with pigs, could see that this was a black pig, caked with dried curds of the milky way; its flesh was chill to the touch, like dead flesh; and it had long tusks, which possessed life of their own, and groped and writhed toward manuel like fat white worms. then manuel said, as helmas had directed: "solomon's provision for one day was thirty measures of fine flour, and threescore measures of meal, ten fat oxen, and twenty oxen out of the pastures, and a hundred sheep, beside harts, and roebucks, and fallow deer, and fatted fowl. but elijah the tishbite was fed by ravens that brought him bread and flesh." again the tall flames guttered. now manuel was grasping a thick heatless slab of crystal, like a mirror, wherein he could see himself quite clearly. just as he really was, he, who was not familiar with such mirrors, could see count manuel, housed in a little wet dirt with old inveterate stars adrift about him everywhither; and the spectacle was enough to frighten anybody. so manuel said: "the elephant is the largest of all animals, and in intelligence approaches the nearest to man. its nostril is elongated, and answers to the purpose of a hand. its toes are undivided, and it lives two hundred years. africa breeds elephants, but india produces the largest." the mirror now had melted into a dark warm fluid which oozed between his fingers, dripping to the ground. but manuel held tightly to what remained between his palms, and he felt, they say, that in the fluid was struggling something small and soft and living, as though he held a tiny minnow. said manuel, "a straight line is the shortest distance between two points." of a sudden the fire became an ordinary fire, and the witches of amneran screamed, and morven was emptied of sorcery, and count manuel was grasping the warm soft throat of a woman. instantly he had her within the enclosure of peeled willow wands that had been spread with butter and tied with knots of yellow ribbon, because into such an enclosure the power and the dominion of freydis could never enter. all these things manuel did precisely as king helmas had directed. xiv they duel on morven so by the light of the seven candles dom manuel first saw queen freydis in her own shape, and in the appearance which she wore in her own country. what manuel thought there was never any telling: but every other man who saw queen freydis in this appearance declared that instantly all his past life became a drugged prelude to the moment wherein he stood face to face with freydis, the high queen of audela. freydis showed now as the most lovely of womankind. she had black plaited hair, and folds of crimson silk were over her white flesh, and over her shoulders was a black cloak embroidered with little gold stars and ink-horns, and she wore sandals of gilded bronze. but in her face was such loveliness as may not be told. now freydis went from one side of the place to the other side, and saw the magics that protected the enclosure. "certainly, you have me fast," the high queen said. "what is it you want of me?" manuel showed her the three images which he had made, set there arow. "i need your aid with these." queen freydis looked at them, and freydis smiled. "these frozen abortions are painstakingly made. what more can anybody demand?" dom manuel told her that he desired to make an animated and lively figure. whereupon she laughed, merrily and sweetly and scornfully, and replied that never would she give such aid. "very well, then," said manuel, "i have ready the means to compel you." he showed this lovely woman the instruments of her torture. his handsome young face was very grave, as though already his heart were troubled. he thrust her hand into the cruel vise which was prepared. "now, sorceress, whom all men dread save me, you shall tell me the tuyla incantation as the reward of my endeavors, or else a little by a little i shall destroy the hand that has wrought so many mischiefs." freydis in the light of the seven candles showed pale as milk. she said: "i am frail and human in this place, and have no power beyond the power of every woman, and no strength at all. nevertheless, i will tell you nothing." manuel set his hand to the lever, ready to loose destruction. "to tell me what i desire you to tell me will do you no hurt--" "no," replied freydis: "but i am not going to take orders from you or any man breathing." "--and for defying me you will suffer very terribly--" "yes," replied freydis. "and much you will care!" she said, reproachfully. "--therefore i think that you are acting foolishly." freydis said: "you make a human woman of me, and then expect me to act upon reason. it is you who are behaving foolishly." count manuel meditated, for this beyond doubt sounded sensible. from the look of his handsome young face, his heart was now exceedingly troubled. queen freydis breathed more freely, and began to smile, with the wisdom of women, which is not super-human, but is ruthless. "the hand would be quite ruined, too," said manuel, looking at it more carefully. upon the middle finger was a copper ring, in which was set a largish black stone: this was schamir. but manuel looked only at the hand. he touched it. "your hand, queen freydis, whatever mischief it may have executed, is soft as velvet. it is colored like rose-petals, but it smells more sweet than they. no, certainly, my images are not worth the ruining of such a hand." then manuel released her, sighing. "my geas must stay upon me, and my images must wait," says manuel. "why, do you really like my hands?" asked freydis, regarding them critically. manuel said: "ah, fair sweet enemy, do not mock at me! all is in readiness to compel you to do my will. had you preserved some ugly shape i would have conquered you. but against the shape which you now wear i cannot contend. dragons and warlocks and chimaeras and such nameless monsters as i perceive to be crowding about this enclosure of buttered willow wands i do not fear at all, but i cannot fight against the appearance which you now wear." "why, do you really like my natural appearance?" freydis said, incredibly surprised. "it is a comfort, of course, to slip into it occasionally, but i had never really thought much about it one way or the other--" she went to the great mirror which had been set ready as helmas directed, "i never liked my hair in these severe big plaits, either. as for those monsters yonder, they are my people, who are coming out of the fire to rescue me, in some of the forgotten shapes, as spoorns and trows and calcars, and other terrors of antiquity. but they cannot get into this enclosure of buttered willow wands, poor dears, on account of your magickings. how foolish they look--do they not?--leering and capering and gnashing their teeth, with no superstitious persons anywhere to pay attention to them." the queen paused: she coughed delicately. "but you were talking some nonsense or other about my natural appearance not being bad looking. now most men prefer blondes, and, besides, you are not really listening to me, and that is not polite." "it is so difficult to talk collectedly," said manuel, "with your appalling servitors leering and capering and gnashing double sets of teeth all over upper morven--" she saw the justice of this. she went now to that doorway through which, unless a man lifted her over the threshold, she might not pass, on account of the tonthecs and the spaks and the horseshoes. she cried, in a high sweet voice: "a penny, a penny, twopence, a penny and a half, and a half-penny! now do you go away, all of you, for the wisdom of helmas is too strong for us. there is no way for you to get into, nor for me to get out of, this place of buttered willow wands, until i have deluded and circumvented this pestiferous, squinting young mortal. go down into bellegarde and spill the blood of northmen, or raise a hailstorm, or amuse yourselves in one way or another way. anyhow, do you take no thought for me, who am for the while a human woman: for my adversary is a mortal man, and in that duel never yet has the man conquered." she turned to manuel. she said: "the land of audela is my kingdom. but you embraced my penalties, you have made a human woman of me. so do i tread with wraiths, for my lost realm alone is real. here all is but a restless contention of shadows which pass presently; here all that is visible and all the colors known to men are shadows dimming the true colors; here time and death, the darkest shadows known to men, delude you with false seemings: for all such things as men hold incontestable, because they are apparent to sight and sense, are a weariful drifting of fogs that veil the world which is no longer mine. so in this twilit world of yours do we of audela appear to be but men and women." "i would that such women appeared more often," said manuel. "the land of audela is my kingdom, where i am queen of all that lies behind this veil of human sight and sense. this veil may not ever be lifted; but very often the veil is pierced, and noting the broken place, men call it fire. through these torn places men may glimpse the world that is real: and this glimpse dazzles their dimmed eyes and weakling forces, and this glimpse mocks at their lean might through these rent places, when the opening is made large enough, a few men here and there, not quite so witless as their fellows, know how to summon us of audela when for an hour the moon is void and powerless: we come for an old reason: and we come as men and women." "ah, but you do not speak with the voices of men and women," manuel replied, "for your voice is music." "the land of audela is my kingdom, and very often, just for the sport's sake, do i and my servitors go secretly among you. as human beings we blunder about your darkened shadow world, bound by the laws of sight and sense, but keeping always in our hearts the secrets of audela and the secret of our manner of returning thither. sometimes, too, for the sport's sake, we imprison in earthen figures a spark of the true life of audela: and then you little persons, that have no authentic life, but only the flickering of a vexed shadow to sustain you in brief fretfulness, say it is very pretty; and you negligently applaud us as the most trivial of men and women." "no; we applaud you as the most beautiful," says manuel. "come now, count manuel, and do you have done with your silly flatterings, which will never wheedle anything out of me! so you have trapped queen freydis in mortal flesh. therefore i must abide in the body of a human woman, and be subject to your whims, and to your beautiful big muscles, you think, until i lend a spark of audela's true life to your ridiculous images. but i will show you better, for i will never give in to you nor to any man breathing." in silence count manuel regarded the delightful shaping and the clear burning colors of this woman's face. he said, as if in sadness: "the images no longer matter. it is better to leave them as they are." "that is very foolish talk," queen freydis answered, promptly, "for they need my aid if ever any images did. not that, however, i intend to touch them." "indeed, i forbid you to touch them, fair enemy. for were the images made as animated and lively as i wish them to be, i would be looking at them always, and not caring for any woman: and no woman anywhere would have the power to move me as your beauty moves me now, and i would not be valuing you the worth of an old onion." "that is not the truth," says freydis, angrily, "for the man who is satisfied with the figure he has made is as great a fool about women as any other man. and who are you to be forbidding me anything?" "i would have you remember," said manuel, very masterfully, "that they are my images, to do with as i wish. also i would have you remember that, whatever you may pretend to be in audela, here i am stronger than you." now the proud woman laughed. defiantly she touched the nearest image, with formal ancient gestures, and you could see the black stone schamir taking on the colors of an opal. under her touch the clay image which had the look of alianora shivered, and drew sobbing breath. the image rose, a living creature that was far more beautiful than human kind, and it regarded manuel scornfully. then it passed limping from the enclosure: and manuel sighed. "that is a strong magic," said manuel: "and this is almost exactly the admirable and significant figure that i desired to make in the world. but, as i now perceive too late, i fashioned the legs of this figure unevenly, and the joy i have in its life is less than the shame that i take from its limping." "such magic is a trifle," freydis replied, "although it is the only magic i can perform in an enclosure of buttered willow wands. now, then, you see for yourself that i am not going to take orders from you. so the figure you have made, will you or nil you, must limp about in all men's sight, for not more than a few centuries, to be sure, but long enough to prove that i am not going to be dictated to." "i do not greatly care, o fairest and most shrewd of enemies. a half-hour since, it seemed to me an important matter to wrest from you this secret of giving life to images. now i have seen the miracle; i know that for the man who has your favor it is possible to become as a god, creating life, and creating lovelier living beings than any god creates, and beings which live longer, too: and even so, it is not of these things that i am really thinking, but only of your eyes." "why, do you like my eyes!" says freydis,--"you, who if once you could make living images would never be caring about any woman any more?" but manuel told her wherein her eyes were different from the eyes of any other person, and more dangerous, and she listened, willingly enough, for freydis was not a human woman. thereafter it appeared that a grieving and a great trouble of mind had come upon manuel because of the loveliness of freydis, for he made this complaint: "there is much loss in the world, where men war ceaselessly with sorrow, and time like a strong thief strips all men of all they prize. yet when the emperor is beaten in battle and his broad lands are lost, he, shrugging, says, 'in the next battle i may conquer.' and when the bearded merchant's ship is lost at sea, he says, 'the next voyage, belike, will be prosperous.' even when the life of an old beggar departs from him in a ditch, he says, 'i trust to be to-morrow a glad young seraph in paradise.' thus hope serves as a cordial for every hurt: but for him who had beheld the loveliness of freydis there is no hope at all. "for, in comparison with that alien clear beauty, there is no beauty in this world. he that has beheld the loveliness of freydis must go henceforward as a hungry person, because of troubling memories: and his fellows deride him enviously. all the world is fretted by his folly, knowing that his faith in the world's might is no longer firm-set, and that he aspires to what is beyond the world's giving. in his heart he belittles the strong stupid lords of earth; and they, being strong, plan vengeance, the while that in a corner he makes images to commemorate what is lost: and so for him who has beheld the loveliness of freydis there is no hope at all. "he that has willed to look upon queen freydis does not dread to consort with serpents nor with swine; he faces the mirror wherein a man beholds himself without self-deceiving; he views the blood that drips from his soiled hands, and knows that this, too, was needed: yet these endurings purchase but one hour. the hour passes, and therewith passes also freydis, the high queen. only the memory of her hour remains, like a cruel gadfly, for which the crazed beholder of queen freydis must build a lodging in his images, madly endeavoring to commingle memories with wet mud: and so for him who has beheld the loveliness of freydis there is no hope at all." freydis heard him through, considerately. "but i wonder to how many other women you have talked such nonsense about beauty and despair and eternity," said freydis, "and they very probably liking to hear it, the poor fools! and i wonder how you can expect me to believe you, when you pretend to think me all these fine things, and still keep me penned in this enclosure like an old vicious cow." "no, that is not the way it is any longer. for now the figure that i have made in the world, and all else that is in the world, and all that is anywhere without this enclosure of buttered willow wands, mean nothing to me, and there is no meaning in anything save in the loveliness of freydis." dom manuel went to the door of the enclosure then to the windows, sweeping away the gilded tonthecs and the shining spaks, and removing from the copper nails the horseshoes that had been cast by mohammed's mare and hrimfaxi and balaam's ass and pegasus. "you were within my power. now i destroy that power, and therewith myself. now is the place unguarded, and all your servitors are free to enter, and all your terrors are untrammeled, to be loosed against me, who have no longer anything to dread. for i love you with such mortal love as values nothing else beside its desire, and you care nothing for me." after a little while of looking she sighed, and said uneasily: "it is the foolish deed of a true lover. and, really, i do like you, rather. but, manuel, i do not know what to do next! never at any time has this thing happened before, so that all my garnered wisdom is of no use whatever. nobody anywhere has ever dared to snap his fingers at the fell power of freydis as you are doing, far less has anybody ever dared to be making eyes at her. besides, i do not wish to consume you with lightnings, and to smite you with insanity appears so unnecessary." "i love you," manuel said, "and your heart is hard, and your beauty is beyond the thinking of man, and your will is neither to loose nor to bind. in a predicament so unexampled, how can it at all matter to me whatever you may elect to do?" "then certainly i shall not waste any of my fine terrors on you!" said freydis, with a vexed tossing of her head. "nor have i any more time to waste upon you either, for presently the moon-children will be coming back to their places: and before the hour is out wherein the moon stays void and powerless i must return to my own kingdom, whither you may not follow, to provoke me with any more of your nonsense. and then you will be properly sorry, i dare say, for you will de remembering me always, and there will be only human women to divert you, and they are poor creatures." freydis went again to the mirror, and she meditated there. "yes, you will be remembering me with my hair in these awful plaits, and that is a pity, but still you will remember me always. and when you make images they will be images of me. no, but i cannot have you making any more outrageous parodies like astonished corpses, and people everywhere laughing at queen freydis!" she took up the magical pen, laid ready as helmas had directed, and she wrote with this gryphon's feather. "so here is the recipe for the tuyla incantation with which to give life to your images. it may comfort you a little to perform that silly magic. it, anyhow, will prevent such good-for-nothing minxes as may have no more intelligence than to take you seriously, from putting on too many airs and graces around the images which you will make of me with my hair done so very unbecomingly." "nothing can ever comfort me, fair enemy, when you have gone away," said manuel. but he took the parchment. xv bandages for the victor they came out of the enclosure, to the old altar of vel-tyno, while the moon was still void and powerless. the servitors of freydis were thronging swiftly toward upper morven, after a pleasant hour of ravening and ramping about poictesme. as spoorns and trows and calcars and as other long forgotten shapes they came, without any noise, so that upper morven was like the disordered mind of a wretch that is dying in fever: and to this side and to that side the witches of amneran sat nodding in approval of what they saw. thus, one by one, the forgotten shapes came to the fire, and cried, "a penny, a penny, twopence, a penny and a half, and a halfpenny!" as each entered into the fire which was the gateway to their home. "farewell!" said freydis: and as she spoke she sighed. "not thus must be our parting," manuel says. "for do you listen now, queen freydis! it was helmas the deep-minded who told me what was requisite. '_queen_ is the same as _cwen_, which means a woman, no more nor less,' said the wise king. 'you have but to remember that.'" she took his meaning. freydis cried out, angrily: "then all the foolishness you have been talking about my looks and your love for me was pre-arranged! and you have cheated me out of the old tuyla mystery by putting on the appearance of loving me, and by pestering me with such nonsense as a plowman trades against the heart of a milkmaid! now, certainly, i shall reward your candor in a fashion that will be whispered about for a long while." with that, queen freydis set about a devastating magic. "all, all was pre-arranged save one thing," said manuel, with a yapping laugh, and not even looking at the commencing terrors. he thrust into the fire the parchment which freydis had given him. "yes, all was pre-arranged except that helmas did not purge me of that which will not accept the hire of any lying to you. so the deep-minded's wisdom comes, at the last pinch, to naught." now freydis for an instant waved back two-thirds of an appalling monster, which was as yet incompletely evoked for dom manuel's destruction, and freydis cried impatiently, "but have you no sense whatever! for you are burning your hand." and indeed the boy had already withdrawn his hand with a grimace, for in the ardor of executing his noble gesture, as queen freydis saw, he had not estimated how hot her fires were. "it is but a little hurt to me who have taken a great hurt," says manuel, sullenly. "for i had thought to lie, and in my mouth the lie turned to a truth. at least, i do not profit by my false-dealing, and i wave you farewell with empty hands burned clean of theft." then she who was a human woman said, "but you have burned your hand!" "it does not matter: i have ointments yonder. make haste, queen freydis, for the hour passes wherein the moon is void and powerless." "there is time." she brought out water from the enclosure, and swiftly bathed dom manuel's hand. from the fire now came a whispering, "make haste, queen freydis! make haste, dear fairy mistress!" "there is time," said freydis, "and do you stop flurrying me!" she brought from the enclosure a pot of ointment, and she dressed manuel's hand. "borram, borram, leanhaun shee!" the fire crackled. "now the hour ends." then freydis sprang from manuel, toward the flames beyond which she was queen of ancient mysteries, and beyond which her will was neither to loose nor to bind. and she cried hastily, "a penny, a penny, twopence--" but just for a moment she looked back at morven, and at the man who waited upon morven alone and hurt. in his firelit eyes she saw love out of measure and without hope. and in the breast of freydis moved the heart of a human woman. "i cannot help it," she said, as the hour passed. "somebody has to bandage it, and men have no sense in these matters." whereon the fire roared angrily, and leaped, and fell dead, for the moon-children bil and hjuki had returned from the well which is called byrgir, and the moon was no longer void and powerless. "so, does that feel more comfortable?" said freydis. she knew that within this moment age and sorrow and death had somewhere laid inevitable ambuscades, from which to assail her by and by, for she was mortal after the sacred fire's extinction, and she meant to make the best of it. for a while count manuel did not speak. then he said, in a shaking voice: "o woman dear and lovely and credulous and compassionate, it is you and you alone that i must be loving eternally with such tenderness as is denied to proud and lonely queens on their tall thrones! and it is you that i must be serving always with such a love as may not be given to the figure that any man makes in this world! and though all life may be a dusty waste of endless striving, and though the ways of men may always be the ways of folly, yet are these ways our ways henceforward, and not hopeless ways, for you and i will tread them together." "now certainly there is in audela no such moonstruck nonsense to be hearing, nor any such quick-footed hour of foolishness to be living through," freydis replied, "as here to-night has robbed me of my kingdom." "love will repay," said manuel, as is the easy fashion of men. and freydis, a human woman now in all things, laughed low and softly in the darkness. "repay me thus, my dearest: no matter how much i may coax you in the doubtful time to come, do you not ever tell me how you happened to have the bandages and the pot of ointment set ready by the mirror. for it is bad for a human woman ever to be seeing through the devices of wise kings, and far worse for her to be seeing through the heroic antics of her husband." meanwhile in arles young alianora had arranged her own match with more circumspection. the english, who at first demanded twenty thousand marks as her jointure, had after interminable bargaining agreed to accept her with three thousand: and she was to be dowered with plymouth and exeter and tiverton and torquay and brixham, and with the tin mines of devonshire and cornwall. in everything except the husband involved, she was marrying excellently, and so all arles that night was ornamented with flags and banners and chaplets and bright hangings and flaring lamps and torches, and throughout provence there was festivity of every sort, and the princess had great honor and applause. but in the darkness of upper morven they had happiness, no matter for how brief a while. [illustration] [illustration] part three the book of cast accounts to h.l. mencken consider, _faire miserie, (quoth manuel) that it lyes not in mans power to place his loue where he list, being the worke of an high deity._ a birde was neuer seen in pontus, _nor true loue in a fleeting mynde: neuer shall remoue the affection of my hearte, which in nature resembleth the stone_ abiston. xvi freydis they of poictesme narrate how queen freydis and count manuel lived together amicably upon upper morven. they tell also how the iniquitous usurper, duke asmund, at this time held bellegarde close at hand, but that his northmen kept away from upper morven, on account of the supernatural beings you were always apt to encounter thereabouts, so that manuel and freydis had, at first, no human company. "between now and a while," said freydis, "you must be capturing bellegarde and cutting off duke asmund's ugly head, because by right and by king ferdinand's own handwriting all poictesme belongs to you." "well, we will let that wait a bit," says manuel, "for i do not so heartily wish to be tied down with parchments in a count's gilded seat as i do to travel everywhither and see the ends of this world and judge them. at all events, dear freydis, i am content enough for the present, in this little home of ours, and public affairs can wait." "still, something ought to be done about it," said freydis. and, since manuel displayed an obstinate prejudice against any lethal plague, she put the puckerel curse upon asmund, by which he was afflicted with all small bodily ills that can intervene between corns and dandruff. on upper morven freydis had reared by enchantment a modest home, that was builded of jasper and porphyry and yellow and violet breccia. inside, the stone walls were everywhere covered with significant traceries in low relief, and were incrusted at intervals with disks and tesserae of turquoise-colored porcelain. the flooring, of course, was of zinc, as a defence against the unfriendly alfs, who are at perpetual war with audela, and, moreover, there was a palisade, enclosing all, of peeled willow wands, not buttered but oiled, and fastened with unknotted ribbons. everything was very simple and homelike, and here the servitors of freydis attended them when there was need. the fallen queen was not a gray witch--not in appearance certainly, but in her endowments, which were not limited as are the powers of black witches and white witches. she instructed dom manuel in the magic of audela, and she and manuel had great times together that spring and summer, evoking ancient dis-crowned gods and droll monsters and instructive ghosts to entertain them in the pauses between other pleasures. they heard no more, for that turn, of the clay figure to which they had given life, save for the news brought, by a bogglebo, that as the limping gay young fellow went down from morven the reputable citizenry everywhere were horrified because he went as he was created, stark-naked, and this was not considered respectable. so a large tumble-bug came from the west, out of the quagmires of philistia and followed after the animated figure, yelping and spluttering, "morals, not art!" and for that while, the figure went out of manuel's saga, thus malodorously accompanied. "but we will make a much finer figure," says freydis, "so it does not matter." "yes, by and by," says manuel, "but we will let that wait a bit." "you are always saying that nowadays!" "ah, but, my dear, it is so very pleasant to rest here doing nothing serious for a little while, now that my geas is discharged. presently of course we must be travelling everywhither, and when we have seen the ends of this world, and have judged them, i shall have time, and greater knowledge too, to give to this image making--" "it is not from any remote strange places, dear manuel, but from his own land that a man must get the earth for this image making--" "well, be that as it may, your kisses are to me far more delicious than your magic." "i love to hear you say that, my dearest, but still--" "no, not at all, for you are really much nicer when you are cuddling so, than when you are running about the world pretending to be pigs and snakes and fireworks, and murdering people with your extravagant sorceries." saying this, he kissed her, and thus stilled her protests, for in these amiable times queen freydis also was at bottom less interested in magic than in kisses. indeed, there was never any sorceress more loving and tender than freydis, now that she had become a human woman. if ever she was irritable it was only when manuel confessed, in reply to jealous questionings, that he did not find her quite so beautiful nor so clever as niafer had been: but this, as manuel pointed out, could not be helped. for there had never been anybody like niafer, and it would be nonsense to say otherwise. it is possible that dom manuel believed this. the rather homely, not intelligent, and in no respect bedazzling servant girl may well have been--in the inexplicable way these things fell out,--the woman whom manuel's heart had chosen, and who therefore in his eyes for the rest of time must differ from all other persons. certainly no unastigmatic judge would have decreed this swarthy niafer fit, as the phrase is, to hold a candle either to freydis or alianora: whereas manuel did not conceal, even from these royal ladies themselves, his personal if unique evaluations. to the other side, some say that ladies who are used to hourly admiration cannot endure the passing of a man who seems to admire not quite wholeheartedly. he who does not admire at all is obviously a fool, and not worth bothering about. but to him who admits, "you are well enough," and makes as though to pass on, there is a mystery attached: and the one way to solve it is to pursue this irritating fellow. some (reasoning thus) assert that squinting manuel was aware of this axiom, and that he respected it in all his dealings with freydis and alianora. either way, these theorists did not ever get any verbal buttressing from dom manuel. niafer dead and lost to him, he, without flaunting any unexampled ardors, fell to loving alianora: and now that freydis had put off immortality for his kisses, the tall boy had, again, somewhat the air of consenting to accept this woman's sacrifice, and her loveliness and all her power and wisdom, as being upon the whole the handiest available substitute for niafer's sparse charms. yet others declare, more simply, that dom manuel was so constituted as to value more cheaply every desire after he had attained it. and these say he noted that--again in the inexplicable way these things fall out,--now manuel possessed the unearthly queen she had become, precisely as alianora had become, a not extraordinary person, who in all commerce with her lover dealt as such. "but do you really love me, o man of all men?" freydis would say, "and, this damned niafer apart, do you love me a little more than you love any other woman?" "why, are there any other women?" says manuel, in fine surprise. "oh, to be sure, i suppose there are, but i had forgotten about them. i have not heard or seen or thought of those petticoated creatures since my dear freydis came." the sorceress purred at this sort of talk, and she rested her head where there seemed a place especially made for it. "i wish i could believe your words, king of my heart. i have to strive so hard, nowadays, to goad you into saying these idiotic suitable dear things: and even when at last you do say them your voice is light and high, and makes them sound as though you were joking." he kissed the thick coil of hair which lay fragrant against his lips. "do you know, in spite of my joking, i do love you a great deal?" "i would practise saying that over to myself," observed freydis critically. "you should let your voice break a little after the first three words." "i speak as i feel. i love you, freydis, and i tell you so." "yes, but you are no longer a perpetual nuisance about it." "alas, my dear, you are no longer the unattainable queen of the country on the other side of the fire, and that makes a difference, certainly. it is equally certain that i love you over and above all living women." "ah, but, my dearest, who loves you more than any human tongue can tell?" "a peculiarly obstinate and lovely imbecile," says manuel; and he did that which seemed suitable. later freydis sighed luxuriously. "that saves you the trouble of talking, does it not? and you talked so madly and handsomely that first night, when you wanted to get around me on account of the image, but now you do not make me any pretty speeches at all." "oh, heavens!" said manuel, "but i am embracing a monomaniac. dear freydis, whatever i might say would be perforce the same old words that have been whispered by millions of men to many more millions of women, and my love for you is a quite unparalleled thing which ought not to be travestied by any such shopworn apparel." "now again you must be putting me off with solemn joking in that light high voice, and there is no faithfulness in that voice, and its talking troubles me." "i speak as i feel. i love you, freydis, and i tell you so, but i cannot be telling it over and over again every quarter of the hour." "oh, but very certainly this big squinting boy is the most unloquacious and the most stubborn brute that ever lived!" "and would you have me otherwise?" "no, that is the queer part of it. but it is a grief to me to wonder if you foresaw as much." "i!" says manuel, jovially. "but what would i be doing with any such finespun policies? my dear, until you comprehend i am the most frank and downright creature that ever lived you do not begin to appreciate me." "i know you are, big boy. but still, i wonder," freydis said, "and the wondering is a thin little far-off grief." [illustration] xvii magic of the image-makers it was presently noised abroad that queen freydis of audela had become a human woman; and thereafter certain enchanters came to upper morven, to seek her counsel and her favor and the aid of schamir. these were the enchanters, manuel was told, who made images, to which they now and then contrived--nobody seemed to know quite how, and least of all did the thaumaturgists themselves,--to impart life. once manuel went with freydis into a dark place where some of these magic-workers were at labor. by the light of a charcoal fire, clay images were ruddily discernible; before these the enchanters moved unhumanly clad, and doing things which, mercifully perhaps, were veiled from manuel by the peculiarly perfumed obscurity. as manuel entered the gallery one of the magic-workers was chaunting shrilly in the darkness below. "it is the unfinished rune of the blackbirds," says freydis, in a whisper. below them the troubled wailing continued: "--crammed and squeezed, so entombed (on some wager i hazard), in spite of scared squawking and mutter, after the fashion that lean-faced rajah dealt with trapped heroes, once, in calcutta. dared you break the crust and bullyrag 'em--hot, fierce and angry, what wide beaks buzz plain saxon as ever spoke witenagemot! yet, singing, they sing as no white bird does (where none rears phoenix) as near perfection as nature gets, or, if scowls bar platitude, notes for which there is no rejection in banks whose coinage--oh, neat!--is gratitude." said, in the darkness, another enchanter: "but far from their choiring the high king sat, in a gold-faced vest and a gold-laced hat, counting heaped monies, and dreaming of more francs and sequins and louis d'or. meanwhile the queen on that fateful night, though avowing her lack of all appetite, was still at table, where, rumor said, she was smearing her seventh slice of bread (thus each turgescible rumor thrives at court) with gold from the royal hives. through the slumberous pare, under arching trees, to her labors went singing the maid dénise--" a third broke in here, saying: "and she sang of how subtle and bitter and bright was a beast brought forth, that was clad with the splendor and light of the cold fair ends of the north, like a fleshly blossom more white than augmenting tempests that go, with thunder for weapon, to ravage the strait waste fastness of snow. she sang how that all men on earth said, whether its mistress at morn went forth or waited till night,--whether she strove through the foam and wreckage of shallow and firth, or couched in glad fields of corn, or fled from all human delight,--that thither it likewise would roam." now a fourth began: "thus sang dénise, what while the siccant sheets and coverlets that pillowed kingly dreams, with curious undergarbs of royalty, she neatly ranged: and dreamed not of that doom which waited, yet unborn, to strike men dumb with perfect awe. as when the seventh wave poises, and sunlight cleaves it through and through with gold, as though to gild oncoming death for him that sees foredoomed--and, gasping, sees death high and splendid!--while the tall wave bears down, and its shattering makes an end of him: thus poised the sable bird while one might count one, two, and three, and four, and five, and six, but hardly seven--" so they continued; but manuel listened to no more. "what is the meaning of all this?" he asked, of freydis. "it is an experimental incantation," she replied, "in that it is a bit of unfinished magic for which the proper words have not yet been found: but between now and a while they will be stumbled on, and then this rune will live perpetually, surviving all those rhymes that are infected with thought and intelligent meanings such as are repugnant to human nature." "are words, then, so important and enduring?" "why, manuel, i am surprised at you! in what else, pray, does man differ from the other animals except in that he is used by words?" "now i would have said that words are used by men." "there is give and take, of course, but in the main man is more subservient to words than they are to him. why, do you but think of such terrible words as religion and duty and love, and patriotism and art, and honor and common-sense, and of what these tyrannizing words do to and make of people!" "no, that is chop-logic: for words are only transitory noises, whereas man is the child of god, and has an immortal spirit." "yes, yes, my dearest, i know you believe that, and i think it is delightfully quaint and sweet of you. but, as i was saying, a man has only the body of an animal to get experiences in, and the brain of an animal to think them over with, so that the thoughts and opinions of the poor dear must remain always those of a more or less intelligent animal. but his words are very often magic, as you will comprehend by and by when i have made you the greatest of image-makers." "well, well, but we can let that wait a bit," said manuel. and thereafter manuel talked with freydis, confessing that the appearance of these magic-workers troubled manuel. he had thought it, he said, an admirable thing to make images that lived, until he saw and considered the appearance of these habitual makers of images. they were an ugly and rickety, short-tempered tribe, said manuel: they were shiftless, spiteful, untruthful, and in everyday affairs not far from imbecile: they plainly despised all persons who could not make images, and they apparently detested all those who could. with manuel they were particularly high and mighty, assuring him that he was only a prosperous and affected pseudo-magician, and that the harm done by the self-styled thaumaturgist was apt to be very great indeed. what sort of models, then, were these insane, mud-moulding solitary wasps for a tall lad to follow after? and if manuel acquired their arts (he asked in conclusion), would he acquire their traits? "the answer is perhaps no, and not impossibly yes," replied freydis. "for by the ancient tuyla mystery they extract that which is best in them to inform their images, and this is apt to leave them empty of virtue. but i would have you consider that their best endures, whereas that which is best in other persons is obliterated on some battle-field or mattress or gallows that is why i have been thinking that this afternoon--" "no, we will let that wait a bit, for i must turn this over in my mind," said manuel, "and my mature opinion about this matter must be expressed later." but while his thoughts were on the affair his fingers made him droll small images of ten of the image-makers, which he set aside unquickened. freydis smiled at these caricatures, and asked when manuel would give them life. "oh, in due time," he said, "and then their antics may be diverting. but i perceive that this old tuyla magic is practised at great price and danger, so that i am in no hurry to practise any more of it. i prefer to enjoy that which is dearer and better." "and what can be dearer and better?" "youth," manuel answered, "and you." queen freydis was now a human woman in all things, so this reply delighted her hearing if not her reason. "do these two possessions content you, king of my heart?" she asked him very fondly. "no," manuel said, gazing out across morven at the cloud-dappled ridges of the taunenfels, "nor do i look ever to be contented in this world of men." "indeed the run of men are poor thin-minded creatures, manuel--" he answered, moodily: "but i cannot put aside the thought that these men ought to be my fellows and my intimates. instead, i who am a famed champion go daily in distrust, almost in fear, of these incomprehensible and shatter-pated beings. to every side there is a feeble madness over-busy about long-faced nonsense from which i recoil, who must conceal this shrinking always. there is no hour in my life but i go armored in reserve and in small lies, and in my armor i am lonely. freydis, you protest deep love for this well-armored manuel, but what wisdom will reveal to you, or to me either, just what is manuel? oh, but i am puzzled by the impermanence and the loneliness and the impotence of this manuel! dear freydis, do not love my body nor my manner of speaking, nor any of the ways that i have in the flesh, for all these transiencies are mortgaged to the worms. and that thought also is a grief--" "let us not speak of these things! let us not think of anything that is horrid, but only of each other!" "but i cannot put aside the thought that i, who for the while exist in this mortgaged body, cannot ever get out to you. freydis, there is no way in which two persons may meet in this world of men: we can but exchange, from afar, despairing friendly signals, in the sure knowledge they will be misinterpreted. so do we pass, each coming out of a strange woman's womb, each parodied by the flesh of his parents, each passing futilely, with incommunicative gestures, toward the womb of a strange grave: and in this jostling we find no comradeship. no soul may travel upon a bridge of words. indeed there is no word for my foiled huge desire to love and to be loved, just as there is no word for the big, the not quite comprehended thought which is moving in me at this moment. but that thought also is a grief--" manuel was still looking at the changing green and purple of the mountains and at the tall clouds trailing northward. the things that he viewed yonder were all gigantic and lovely, and they seemed not to be very greatly bothering about humankind. then freydis said: "let us not think too much, dear, in our youth. it is such a waste of the glad time, and of the youth that will not ever be returning--" "but i cannot put aside the thought that it will never be the true manuel whom you will love or even know of, nor can i dismiss the knowledge that these human senses, through which alone we may obtain any knowledge of each other, are lying messengers. what can i ever be to you except flesh and a voice? nor is this the root of my sorrowing, dear freydis. for i know that my distrust of all living creatures--oh, even of you, dear freydis, when i draw you closest,--must always be as a wall between us, a low, lasting, firm-set wall which we can never pull down. and i know that i am not really a famed champion, but only a forlorn and lonely inmate of the doubtful castle of my body; and that i, who know not truly what i am, must die in this same doubt and loneliness, behind the strong defences of posturing and bluntness and jovial laughter which i have raised for my protecting. and that thought also is a grief." now manuel was as freydis had not ever seen him. she wondered at him, she was perturbed by this fine lad's incomprehensible dreariness, with soft red willing lips so near: and her dark eyes were bent upon him with a beautiful and tender yearning which may not be told. "i do not understand you, my dearest," said she, who was no longer the high queen of audela, but a mortal woman. "it is true that all the world about us is a false seeming, but you and i are real and utterly united, for we have no concealments from each other. i am sure that no two people could be happier than we are, nor better suited. and certainly such morbid notions are not like you, who, as you said yourself, only the other day, are naturally so frank and downright." now manuel's thoughts came back from the clouds and the green and purple of the mountains. he looked at her very gravely for an instant or two. he laughed morosely. he said, "there!" "but, dearest, you are strange and not yourself-- "yes, yes!" says manuel, kissing her, "for the moment i had forgotten to be frank and downright, and all else which you expect of me. now i am my old candid, jovial, blunt self again, and i shall not worry you with such silly notions any more. no, i am manuel: i follow after my own thinking and my own desire; and if to do that begets loneliness i must endure it" [illustration] xviii manuel chooses "but i cannot understand," said freydis, on a fine day in september, "how it is that, now the power of schamir is in your control, and you have the secret of giving life to your images, you do not care to use either the secret or the talisman. for you make no more images, you are always saying, 'no, we will let that wait a bit,' and you do not even quicken the ten caricatures of the image-makers which you have already modeled." "life will be given to these in due time," said manuel, "but that time is not yet come. meanwhile, i avoid practise of the old tuyla mystery for the sufficing reason that i have seen the result it has on the practitioner. a geas was upon me to make a figure in the world, and so i modeled and loaned life to such a splendid gay young champion as was to my thinking and my desire. thus my geas, i take it, is discharged, and a thing done has an end. heaven may now excel me by creating a larger number of living figures than i, but pre-eminence in this matter is not a question of arithmetic--" "ah, yes, my squinting boy has all the virtues, including that of modesty!" "well, but i have seen my notion embodied, seen it take breath, seen it depart from morven in all respects, except for a little limping--which, do you know, i thought rather graceful?--in well-nigh all respects, i repeat, quite indistinguishable from the embodied notions of that master craftsman whom some call ptha, and others jahveh, and others abraxas, and yet others koshchei the deathless. in fine, i have made a figure more admirable and significant than is the run of men, and i rest upon my laurels." "you have created a living being somewhat above the average, that is true: but then every woman who has a fine baby does just as much--" "the principle is not the same," said manuel, with dignity. "and why not, please, big boy?" "for one thing, my image was an original and unaided production, whereas a baby, i am told, is the result of more or less hasty collaboration. then, too a baby is largely chance work, in that its nature cannot be exactly foreplanned and pre-determined by its makers, who, in the glow of artistic creation, must, i imagine, very often fail to follow the best aesthetic canons." "as for that, nobody who makes new and unexampled things can make them exactly to the maker's will. even your image limped, you remember--" "ah, but so gracefully!" "--no, manuel, it is only those necromancers who evoke the dead, and bid the dead return to the warm flesh, that can be certain as to the results of their sorcery. for these alone of magic-workers know in advance what they are making." "ah, this is news! so you think it is possible to evoke the dead in some more tangible form than that of an instructive ghost? you think it possible for a dead girl--or, as to that matter, for a dead boy, or a defunct archbishop, or a deceased ragpicker,--to be fetched back to live again in the warm flesh?" "all things are possible, manuel, at a price." said manuel: "what price would be sufficient to re-purchase the rich spoils of death? and whence might any bribe be fetched? for all the glowing wealth and beauty of this big round world must show as a new-minted farthing beside his treasure chests, as one slight shining unimportant coin which--even this also!--belongs to earth, but has been overlooked by him as yet. presently this hour, and whatever is strutting through this hour, is added to the heaped crypts wherein lie all that was worthiest in the old time. "now there is garnered such might and loveliness and wisdom as human thinking cannot conceive of. an emperor is made much of here when he has conquered some part of the world, but death makes nothing of a world of emperors: and in death's crowded store-rooms nobody bothers to estimate within a thousand thousand of how many emperors, and tzars and popes and pharaohs and sultans, that in their day were adored as omnipotent, are there assembled pellmell, along with all that was worthiest in the old time. "as touches loveliness, not even helen's beauty is distinguishable among those multitudinous millions of resplendent queens whom one finds yonder. here are many pretty women, here above all is freydis, so i do not complain. but yonder is deep-bosomed semiramis, and fair-tressed guenevere, and magdalene that loved christ, and europa, the bull's laughing bride, and lilith, whose hot kiss made satan ardent, and a many other ladies by whose dear beauty's might were shaped the songs which cause us to remember all that was worthiest in the old time. "as wisdom goes, here we have prudent men of business able to add two and two together, and justice may be out of hand distinguished from injustice by an impanelment of the nearest twelve fools. here we have many helmases a-cackling wisely under a goose-feather. but yonder are cato and nestor and merlin and socrates, abelard sits with aristotle there, and the seven sages confer with the major prophets, and yonder is all that was worthiest in the old time. "all, all, are put away in death's heaped store-rooms, so safely put away that opulent death may well grin scornfully at life: for everything belongs to death, and life is only a mendicant scratching at his sores so long as death permits it. no, freydis, there can be no bribing death! for what bribe anywhere has life to offer which death has not already lying disregarded in a thousand dusty coffers along with all that was worthiest in the old time?" freydis replied: "one thing alone. yes, manuel, there is one thing only which all death's ravishings have never taken from life, and which has not ever entered into death's keeping. it is through weighing this fact, and through doing what else is requisite, that the very bold may bring back the dead to live again in the warm flesh." "well, but i have heard the histories of presumptuous men who attempted to perform such miracles, and all these persons sooner or later came to misery." "why, to be sure! to whom else would you have them coming?" said freydis. and she explained the way it was. manuel put many questions. all that evening he was thoughtful, and he was unusually tender with freydis. and that night, when freydis slept, dom manuel kissed her very lightly, then blinked his eyes, and for a moment covered them with his hand. standing thus, the tall boy queerly moving his mouth, as though it were stiff and he were trying to make it more supple. then he armed himself. he took up the black shield upon which was painted a silver stallion. he crept out of their modest magic home and went down into bellegarde, where he stole him a horse, from the stables of duke asmund. and that night, and all the next day, dom manuel rode beyond aigremont and naimes, journeying away from morven, and away from the house of jasper and porphyry and violet and yellow breccia, and away from freydis, who had put off immortality for his kisses. he travelled northward, toward the high woods of dun vlechlan, where the leaves were aglow with the funereal flames of autumn: for the summer wherein dom manuel and freydis had been happy together was now as dead as that estranged queer time which he had shared with alianora. [illustration] xix the head of misery when manuel had reached the outskirts of the forest he encountered there a knight in vermilion armor, with a woman's sleeve wreathed about his helmet: and, first of all, this knight demanded who was manuel's lady love. "i have no living love," said manuel, "except the woman whom i am leaving without ceremony, because it seems the only way to avoiding argument." "but that is unchivalrous, and does not look well." "very probably you are right, but i am not chivalrous. i am manuel. i follow after my own thinking, and an obligation is upon me pointing toward prompt employment of the knowledge i have gained from this woman." "you are a rascally betrayer of women, then, and an unmanly scoundrel." "yes, i suppose so, for i betrayed another woman, in that i permitted and indeed assisted her to die in my stead; and so brought yet another bond upon myself, and an obligation which is drawing me from a homelike place and from soft arms wherein i was content enough," says manuel, sighing. but the chivalrous adventurer in red armor was disgusted. "oh, you tall squinting villain knight of the silver stallion, i wonder from whose court you can be coming, where they teach no better behavior than woman-killing, and i wonder what foul new knavery you can be planning here." "why, i was last in residence at raymond bérenger's court," says manuel: "and since you are bent on knowing about my private affairs, i come to this forest in search of béda, or kruchina, or whatever you call the misery of earth in these parts." "aha, and are you one of raymond bérenger's friends?" "yes, i suppose so," says manuel, blinking,--"yes, i suppose so, since i have prevented his being poisoned." "this is good hearing, for i have always been one of raymond bérenger's enemies, and all such of his friends as i have encountered i have slain." "doubtless you have your reasons", said manuel, and would have ridden by. but the other cried furiously, "turn, you tall fool! turn, cowardly betrayer of women!" he came upon manuel like a whirlwind, and manuel had no choice in the matter. so they fought, and presently manuel brought the vermilion knight to the ground, and, dismounting, killed him. it was noticeable that from the death-wound came no blood, but only a flowing of very fine black sand, out of which scrambled and hastily scampered away a small vermilion-colored mouse. then manuel said, "i think that this must be the peculiarly irrational part of the forest, to which i was directed, and i wonder what may have been this scarlet squabbler's grievance against king raymond bérenger?" nobody answered, so manuel remounted, and rode on. count manuel skirted the wolflake, and came to a hut, painted gray, that stood clear of the ground, upon the bones of four great birds' feet. upon the four corners of the hunt were carved severally the figures of a lion, a dragon, a cockatrice and an adder, to proclaim the miseries of carnal and intellectual sin, and of pride, and of death. here manuel tethered his horse to a holm-oak. he raised both arms, facing the east. "do you now speed me!" cried manuel, "ye thirty barami! o all ye powers of accumulated merit, o most high masters of almsgiving, of morality, of relinquishment, of wisdom, of fortitude, of patience, of truth, of determination, of charity, and of equanimity! do all you aid me in my encounter with the misery of earth!" he piously crossed himself, and went into the hut. inside, the walls were adorned with very old-looking frescoes that were equally innocent of perspective and reticence: the floor was of tessellated bronze. in each corner manuel found, set upright, a many-storied umbrella of the kind used for sacred purposes in the east: each of these had a silver handle, and was worked in nine colors. but most important of all, so manuel had been told, was the pumpkin which stood opposite to the doorway. manuel kindled a fire, and prepared the proper kind of soup: and at sunset he went to the window of the hut, and cried out three times that supper was ready. one answered him, "i am coming." manuel waited. there was now no sound in the forest: even the few birds not yet gone south, that had been chirping of the day's adventures, were hushed on a sudden, and the breeze died in the tree-tops. inside the hut manuel lighted his four candles, and he disposed of one under each umbrella in the prescribed manner. his footsteps on the bronze flooring, and the rustling of his garments as he went about the hut doing what was requisite, were surprisingly sharp and distinct noises in a vast silence and in an illimitable loneliness. then said a thin little voice, "manuel, open the door!" manuel obeyed, and you could see nobody anywhere in the forest's dusk. the twilit brown and yellow trees were still as paintings. his horse stood tethered and quite motionless, except that it was shivering. one spoke at his feet. "manuel, lift me over the threshold!" dom manuel, recoiling, looked downward, and in the patch of candlelight between the shadows of his legs you could see a human head. he raised the head, and carried it into the hut. he could now perceive that the head was made of white clay, and could deduce that the misery of earth, whom some call béda, and others kruchina, had come to him. "now, manuel," says misery, "do you give me my supper." so manuel set the head upon the table, and put a platter of soup before the head, and fed the soup to misery with a gold spoon. when the head had supped, it bade manuel place it in the little bamboo cradle, and told manuel to put out the lights. many persons would not have fancied being alone in the dark with misery, but manuel obeyed. he knelt to begin his nightly prayer, but at once that happened which induced him to desist. so without his usual divine invocation, dom manuel lay down upon the bronze floor of the hut, beneath one of the tall umbrellas, and he rolled up his russet cloak for a pillow. presently the head was snoring, and then manuel too went to sleep. he said, later, that he dreamed of niafer. [illustration] xx the month of years in the morning, after doing the head's extraordinary bidding, manuel went to feed his horse, and found tethered to the holm-oak the steed's skeleton picked clean. "i grieve at this," said manuel, "but i consider it wiser to make no complaint." indeed, there was nobody to complain to, for misery, after having been again lifted over the threshold, had departed to put in a day's labor with the plague in the north. thereafter manuel abode in this peculiarly irrational part of the forest, serving misery for, as men in cheerier places were estimating the time, a month and a day. of these services it is better not to speak. but the head was pleased by manuel's services, because misery loves company: and the two used to have long friendly talks together when manuel's services and misery's work for that day were over. "and how came you, sir, to be thus housed in a trunkless head?" asked manuel, one time. "why, when jahveh created man on the morning of the sixth day, he set about fashioning me that afternoon from the clay which was left over. but he was interrupted by the coming of the sabbath, for jahveh was in those days, of course, a very orthodox jew. so i was left incomplete, and must remain so always." "i deduce that you, then, sir, are heaven's last crowning work, and the final finishing touch to creation." "so the pessimists tell me," the clay head assented, with a yawn. "but i have had a hard day of it, what with the pestilence in glathion, and wars between the emperor and the milanese, and all those october colds, so we will talk no more philosophy." thus manuel served the head of misery, for a month of days and a day. it was a noticeable peculiarity of this part of the forest--a peculiarity well known to everybody, though not quite unanimously explained by the learned,--that each day which one spent therein passed as a year, so that dom manuel in appearance now aged rapidly. this was unfortunate, especially when his teeth began to fail him, because there were no dentists handy, but his interest in the other plagues which visited this forest left manuel little time wherein to think about private worries. for béda was visited by many of his kindred, such as mitlan and kali and thragnar and pwyll and apepi and other evil principles, who were perpetually coming to the gray hut for family reunions, and to rehearse all but one of the two hundred and forty thousand spells of the capuas. and it was at this time that manuel got his first glimpse of sclaug, with whom he had such famous troubles later. so sped the month of days that passed as years. little is known as to what happened in the gray hut, but that perhaps is a good thing. dom manuel never talked about it. this much is known, that all day the clay head would be roving about the world, carrying envious reports, and devouring kingdoms, and stirring up patriotism and reform, and whispering malefic counsel, and bringing hurt and sorrow and despair and evil of every kind to men; and that in the evening, when at sunset phobetor took over this lamentable work, béda would return contentedly to dun vlechlan, for manuel's services and a well-earned night's rest. on most evenings there was unspeakable company, but none of these stayed overnight. and after each night passed alone with misery, the morning would find manuel older looking. "i wonder, sir, at your callousness, and at the cheery way in which you go about your dreadful business," said manuel, once, after he had just cleansed the dripping jaws. "ah, but since i am all head and no heart, therefore i cannot well pity the human beings whom i pursue as a matter of allotted duty." "that seems plausible," says manuel, "and i perceive that if appearances are to be trusted you are not personally to blame. still, i cannot but wonder why the world of men should thus be given over to misery if koshchei the deathless, who made all things as they are, has any care for men." "as to what goes on overhead, manuel, you must inquire of others. there are persons in charge, i know, but they have never yet permitted misery to enter into their high places, for i am not popular with them, and that is the truth." "i can understand that, but nevertheless i wonder why misery should have been created to feed upon mankind." "probably the cows and sheep and chickens in your barnyards, and the partridges and rabbits in your snares, and even the gasping fish upon your hook, find time to wonder in the same way about you, dom manuel." "ah, but man is the higher form of life--" "granting that remarkable assumption, and is any man above misery? so you see it is logical i should feed on you." "still, i believe that the misery of earth was devised as a trial and a testing to fit us for some nobler and eternal life hereafter." "why in this world should you think that?" the head inquired, with real interest. "because i have an immortal spirit, sir, and--" "dear me, but all this is very remarkable. where is it, manuel?" "it is inside me somewhere, sir." "come, then, let us have it out, for i am curious to see it." "no, it cannot get out exactly, sir, until i am dead." "but what use will it be to you then?" said misery: "and how can you, who have not ever been dead, be certain as to what happens when one is dead?" "well, i have always heard so, sir." the head shook itself dubiously. "now from whom of the léshy, i wonder, can you have been hearing such fantastic stories? i am afraid somebody has been making fun of you, manuel." "oh, no, sir, this is a tenet held by the wisest and most admirable of men." "i see: it was some other man who told you all these drolleries about the eternal importance of mankind," the head observed, with an unaccountable slackening of interest. "i see: and again, you may notice that the cows and the sheep and the chickens, also, resent extinction strenuously." "but these are creatures of the earth, sir, whereas there is about at any rate some persons a whiff of divinity. come now, do you not find it so?" the head looked graver. "yes, manuel, most young people have in them a spark which is divine, but it is living that snuffs this out of all of you, by and large, without bothering grandfather death to unpeel spirits like bananas. no, the most of you go with very little spirit, if any, into the grave, and assuredly with not enough spirit to last you forever. no, manuel, no, i never quarrel with religion, because it is almost the strongest ally i have, but these religious notions rather disgust me sometimes, for if men were immortal then misery would be immortal, and i could never survive that." "now you are talking nonsense, sir," said manuel, stoutly, "and of all sorts of nonsense cynical nonsense is the worst." "by no means," replied the head, "since, plainly, it is far worse nonsense to assert that omnipotence would insanely elect to pass eternity with you humans. no, manuel, i am afraid that your queer theory, about your being stuffed inside with permanent material and so on, does not very plausibly account for either your existence or mine, and that we both stay riddles without answers." "still, sir," said manuel, "inasmuch as there is one thing only which all death's ravishings have never taken from life, and that thing is the misery of earth--" "your premiss is indisputable, but what do you deduce from this?" manuel smiled slowly and sleepily. "i deduce, sir, that you, also, who have not ever been dead, cannot possibly be certain as to what happens when one is dead. and so i shall stick to my own opinion about the life to come." "but your opinion is absurd, on the face of it." "that may very well be, sir, but it is much more comfortable to live with than is your opinion, and living is my occupation just now. dying i shall attend to in its due turn, and, of the two, my opinion is the more pleasant to die with. thereafter, if your opinion be right, i shall never even know that my opinion was wrong: so that i have everything to gain, in the way of pleasurable anticipations anyhow, and i have nothing whatever to lose, by clinging to the foolish fond old faith which my fathers had before me," said manuel, as sturdily as ever. "yes, but how in this world--?" "ah, sir," says manuel, still smiling, "in this world men are nourished by their beliefs; and it well may be that, yonder also, their sustenance is the same." but at this moment came reeri (a little crimson naked man, having the head of a monkey) with his cock in one hand and his gnarled club in the other. necessarily the blood demon's arrival put an end to their talking, for that turn. [illustration] xxi touching repayment so count manuel's youth went out of him as he became more and more intimate with misery, and an attachment sprang up between them, and the two took counsel as to all manuel's affairs. they often talked of the royal ladies whom manuel had loved and loved no longer. "for at one time," manuel admitted, "i certainly fancied myself in love with the princess alianora, and at another time i was in love with queen freydis. and even now i like them well enough, but neither of these royal ladies could make me forget the slave girl niafer whom i loved on vraidex. besides, the princess and the queen were fond of having their own way about everything, and they were bent on hampering me with power and wealth and lofty station and such other obstacles to the following of my own thinking and my own desires. i could not endure the eternal arguing this led to, which was always reminding me, by contrast, of the quiet dear ways of niafer and of the delight i had in the ways of niafer. so it seemed best for everyone concerned for me to break off with freydis and alianora." "as for these women," the head estimated, "you may be for some reasons well rid of them. yet this alianora has fine eyes and certain powers." "she is a princess of the apsarasas," manuel replied, "and therefore she has power over the butterflies and the birds and the bats, and over all creatures of the air. i know, because she has disclosed to me some of the secrets of the apsarasas. but over her own tongue and temper the princess alianora has no power and no control whatever, and if i had married her she would have eventually pestered me into being a king, and giving my life over to politics and the dominion of men." "this freydis, too, has beautiful black hair--and certain powers--" "she was once queen of audela, and therefore she retains power over all figures of earth. i know, because she has disclosed to me some of the secrets of audela. but the worst enemy of freydis also goes in red, and is housed by the little white teeth of freydis, for it was this enemy that betrayed her: and if i had married her she would have coaxed me, by and by, into becoming a great maker of images, and giving my life over to such arts." misery said: "you have had love from these women, you have gained power and knowledge from these women. therefore you leave them, to run after some other woman who can give you no power and knowledge, but only a vast deal of trouble. it is not heroic, manuel, but it is human, and your reasoning is well fitted to your time of life." "it is true that i am young as yet, sir--" "no, not so very young, for my society is maturing you, and already you are foreplanning and talking the follies of a man in middle life." "no matter what my age may come to be, sir, i shall always remember that when i first set up as a champion, and was newly come from living modestly in attendance upon the miller's pigs, i loved the slave girl niafer. she died. i did not die. instead, i relinquished niafer to grandfather death, and at that price i preserved my own life and procured a recipe through which i have prospered unbelievably, so that i am today a nobleman with fine clothes and lackeys, and with meadow-lands and castles of my own, if only i could obtain them. so i no longer go ragged at the elbows, and royal ladies look upon me favorably, and i find them well enough. but the joy i took in niafer is not to be found in any of these things." "that too is an old human story," the head said, "and yours is a delusion that comes to most men in middle life. however, for a month of years you have served me faithfully, except for twice having failed to put enough venom in my soup, and for having forgotten to fetch in any ice that evening the old black one was here. still, nobody is perfect; your time of service is out; and i must repay you as need is. will you have happiness, then, and an eternal severance between you and me?" "i have seen but one happy person," manuel replied. "he sat in a dry ditch, displaying vacant glittering eyes, and straws were tangled in his hair, but tom o' bedlam was quite happy. no, it is not happiness i desire." the head repeated: "you have served me. i repay, as need is, with the payment you demand. what is it you demand?" dom manuel said, "i demand that niafer who was a slave girl, and is now a ghost in her pagan paradise." "do you think, then, that to recall the dead is possible?" "you are cunning, sir, but i remember what freydis told me. will you swear that misery cannot bring back the dead?" "very willingly i will swear to it, upon all the most authentic relics in christendom." "ah, yes, but will you rest one of your cold hard pointed ears against"--here manuel whispered what he did not care to name aloud,--"the while that you swear to it." "of course not," misery answered, sullenly: "since every troubled ghost that ever gibbered and clanked chains would rise confronting me if i made such an oath. yes, manuel, i am able to bring back the dead, but prudence forces me to lie about my power, because to exercise that power to the full would be well-nigh as ruinous as the breaking of that pumpkin. for there is only one way to bring back the dead in flesh, and if i follow that way i shall lose my head as all the others have done." "what is that to a lover?" says manuel. the head sighed, and bit at its white lips. "an oath is an oath to the léshy. therefore do you, who are human, now make profitable use of the knowledge and of the power you get from those other women by breaking oaths! and as you have served me, so will i serve you." manuel called black eagles to him, in the manner the princess alianora had taught, and he sent them into all parts of the world for every sort of white earth. they obeyed the magic of the apsarasas, and from britain they brought dom manuel the earth called leucargillon, and they brought glisomarga from enisgarth, and eglecopala from the gallic provinces, and argentaria from lacre kai, and white earth of every description from all parts of the world. manuel made from this earth, as queen freydis had taught him how to do, the body of a woman. he fashioned the body peculiarly, in accordance with the old tuyla mystery, and the body was as perfect as manuel could make it, in all ways save that it had no head. then manuel sent a gold-crested wren into provence: it entered through an upper window of the king's marmoreal palace, and went into the princess alianora's chamber, and fetched hence a handkerchief figured with yellow mulberries and wet with the tears which alianora had shed in her grieving for manuel. and dom manuel sent also a falcon, which returned to him with queen freydis' handkerchief. that was figured with white fleurs-de-lis, and that too was drenched with tears. whereupon, all being in readiness, misery smiled craftily, and said: "in the time that is passed i have overthrown high kings and prophets, and sorcerers also, as when misery half carelessly made sport of mithridates and of merlin and of moses, in ways that ballad-singers still delight to tell of. but with you, dom manuel, i shall deal otherwise, and i shall disconcert you by and by in a more quiet fashion. hoh, i must grapple carefully with your love for niafer, as with an antagonist who is not scrupulous, nor very sensible, but who is exceedingly strong. for observe: you obstinately desire this perished heathen woman, who in life, it well may be, was nothing remarkable. therefore you have sought misery, you have dwelt for a month of years with terror, you have surrendered youth, you are planning to defy death, you are intent to rob the deep grave and to despoil paradise. truly your love is great." manuel said only, "an obligation is upon me, for the life of niafer was given to preserve my life." "now i, whom some call béda, and others kruchina, and whom for the present your love has conquered--i it is, alone, who can obtain for you this woman, because in the long run i overcome all things and persons. life is my province, and the birth cry of every infant is an oath of allegiance to me. thus i am overlord where all serve willy-nilly except you, who have served of your own will. and as you have served me, so must i serve you." manuel said, "that is well" "it is not so well as you think, for when you have this niafer i shall return to you in the appearance of a light formless cloud, and i shall rise about you, not suddenly but a little by a little. so shall you see through me the woman for love of whom your living was once made high-hearted and fearless, and for whose sake death was derided, and paradise was ransacked: and you will ask forlornly, 'was it for this?' throughout the orderly, busied, unimportant hours that stretch between your dressing for the day and your undressing for the night, you will be asking this question secretly in your heart, while i pass everywhither with you in the appearance of a light formless cloud, and whisper to you secretly." "and what will you whisper to me?" "not anything which you will care to repeat to anybody anywhere. oh, you will be able to endure it, and you will be content, as human contentment goes, and my triumph will not be public. but, none the less, i shall have overthrown my present conqueror, and i shall have brought low the love which terror and death did not affright, and which the laws of earth could not control; and i, whom some call béda, and others kruchina, will very terribly attest that the ghost of outlived and conquered misery is common-sense." "that is to-morrow's affair," replied dom manuel "to-day there is an obligation upon me, and my dealings are with to-day." then manuel bound the clay head of misery in the two handkerchiefs which were wet with the tears of alianora and of freydis. when the cock had crowed three times, dom manuel unbound the head, and it was only a shapeless mass of white clay, because of the tears of freydis and alianora. manuel modeled in this clay, to the best of his ability, the head of niafer, as he remembered her when they had loved each other upon vraidex: and after the white head was finished he fitted it to the body which he had made from the other kinds of white earth. dom manuel robed this body in brown drugget such as niafer had been used to wear in and about the kitchen at arnaye, and he did the other things that were requisite, for this was the day of all saints when nothing sacred ought to be neglected. [illustration] xxii return of niafer now the tale tells how dom manuel sat at the feet of the image and played upon a flageolet. there was wizardry in the music, dom manuel said afterward, for he declared that it evoked in him a vision and a restless dreaming that followed after misery. so this dreaming showed that when misery was dispossessed of the earth he entered (because misery is unchristian) into the paradise of the pagans, where niafer, dead now for something over a year, went restlessly in bliss: and misery came shortly afterward to niafer, and talked with her in a thin little voice. she listened willingly to this talk of manuel and of the adventures which niafer had shared with manuel: and now that she remembered manuel, and his clear young face and bright unequal eyes and his strong arms, she could no longer be even moderately content in the paradise of the pagans. thereafter misery went about the heathens' paradise in the appearance of a light formless cloud. and the fields of this paradise seemed less green, the air became less pure and balmy, and the sky less radiant, and the waters of the paradisal river eridanus grew muddy. the poets became tired of hearing one another recite, the heroes lost delight in their wrestling and chariot racing and in their exercises with the spear and the bow. "how can anybody expect us to waste eternity with recreations which are only fitted to waste time?" they demanded. and the lovely ladies began to find the handsome lovers with whom they wandered hand in hand through never-fading groves of myrtle, and with whom they were forever reunited, rather tedious companions. "i love you," said the lovers. "you have been telling me that for twelve centuries," replied the ladies, yawning, "and too much of anything is enough." "upon my body, i think so too," declared the lovers. "i said it only out of politeness and force of habit, and i can assure you i am as tired of this lackadaisical idiocy as you are." so everything was at sixes and sevens in this paradise: and when the mischief-maker was detected, the blessed held a meeting, for it was now the day of all souls, on which the dead have privilege. "we must preserve appearances," said these dead pagans, "and can have only happy-looking persons hereabouts, for otherwise our paradise will get a poor name, and the religion of our fathers will fall into disrepute." then they thrust misery, and niafer also, out of the pagan paradise, because misery clung to niafer in the appearance of a light formless cloud, and there was no separating the two. these two turned earthward together, and came to the river of sweat called rigjon. niafer said to the fiery angel sandalfon that guards the bridge there, "the misery of earth is with me." sandalfon saw that this was so, and answered, "my fires cannot consume the misery of earth." they came to hadarniel, the noisy angel whose, whispering is the thunder. niafer said, "the misery of earth is with me." hadarniel replied, "before the misery of earth i am silent." they came to kemuel and his twelve thousand angels of destruction that guard the outermost gateway. niafer said, "the misery of earth is with me." kemuel answered, "i ruin and make an end of all things else, but for the misery of earth i have contrived no ending." so misery and niafer passed all the warders of this paradise: and in a dim country on the world's rim the blended spirit of misery and the ghost of niafer rose through a hole in the ground, like an imponderable vapor. they dissevered each from the other in a gray place overgrown with poplars, and misery cried farewell to niafer. "and very heartily do i thank you for your kindness, now that we part, and now that, it may be, i shall not ever see you again," said niafer, politely. misery replied: "take no fear for not seeing me again, now that you are about once more to become human. certainly, niafer, i must leave you for a little while, but certainly i shall return. there will first be for you much kissing and soft laughter, and the quiet happy ordering of your home, and the heart-shaking wonder of the child who is neither you nor manuel, but both of you, and whose life was not ever seen before on earth: and life will burgeon with white miracles, and every blossom you will take to be eternal. laughing, you will say of sorrow, 'what is it?' and i, whom some call béda, and others call kruchina, shall be monstrously amused by this. "then your seeing will have my help, and you will observe that manuel is very much like other persons. he will be used to having you about, and you him, and that will be the sorry bond between you. the children that have reft their flesh from your flesh ruthlessly, and that have derived their living from your glad anguish, each day will, be appearing a little less intimately yours, until these children find their mates. thereafter you will be a tolerated intruder into these children's daily living, and nobody anywhere will do more than condone your coming: you will weep secretly: and i, whom some call béda, and others call kruchina, shall be monstrously amused by this. "then i shall certainly return to you, when your tears are dried, and when you no longer believe what young niafer once believed; and when, remembering young niafer's desires and her intentions as to the disposal of her life, you will shrug withered shoulders. to go on living will remain desirable. the dilapidations of life will no longer move you deeply. shrugging, you will say of sorrow, 'what is it?' for you will know grief also to be impermanent. and your inability to be quite miserable any more will assure you that your goings are attended by the ghost of outlived and conquered misery: and i, whom some call béda, and others call kruchina, shall be monstrously amused by this." said niafer, impatiently, "do you intend to keep me here forever under these dark twinkling trees, with your thin little talking, while manuel stays unhappy through his want of me?" and misery answered nothing as he departed from niafer, for a season. such were the happenings in the vision witnessed by dom manuel (as dom manuel afterward declared) while he sat playing upon the flageolet. [illustration] xxiii manuel gets his desire now the tale tells that all this while, near the gray hut in dun vlechlan, the earthen image of niafer lay drying out in the november sun; and that gray dom manuel--no longer the florid boy who had come into dun vlechlan,--sat at the feet of the image, and played upon a flageolet the air which suskind had taught him, and with which he had been used to call young suskind from her twilit places when manuel was a peasant tending swine. now manuel was an aging nobleman, and niafer was now a homeless ghost, but the tune had power over them, none the less, for its burden was young love and the high-hearted time of youth; so that the melody which once had summoned suskind from her low red-pillared palace in the doubtful twilight, now summoned niafer resistlessly from paradise, as manuel thriftily made use of the odds and ends which he had learned from three women to win him a fourth woman. the spirit of niafer entered at the mouth of the image. instantly the head sneezed, and said, "i am unhappy." but manuel kept on playing. the spirit descended further, bringing life to the lungs and the belly, so that the image then cried, "i am hungry." but manuel kept on playing. so the soul was drawn further and further, until manuel saw that the white image had taken on the colors of flesh, and was moving its toes in time to his playing; and so knew that the entire body was informed with life. he cast down the flageolet, and touched the breast of the image with the ancient formal gestures of the old tuyla mystery, and he sealed the mouth of the image with a kiss, so that the spirit of niafer was imprisoned in the image which manuel had made. under his lips the lips which had been misery's cried, "i love." and niafer rose, a living girl just such as manuel had remembered for more than a whole year: but with that kiss all memories of paradise and all the traits of angelhood departed from her. "well, well, dear snip," said manuel, the first thing of all, "now it is certainly a comfort to have you back again." niafer, even in the rapture of her happiness, found this an unimpassioned greeting from one who had gone to unusual lengths to recover her companionship. staring, she saw that manuel had all the marks of a man in middle life, and spoke as became appearances. for it was at the price of his youth that manuel had recovered the woman whom his youth desired: and misery had subtly evened matters by awarding an aging man the woman for whose sake a lad had fearlessly served misery. there was no longer any such lad, for the conquered had destroyed the conqueror. then, after a moment's consideration of this tall gray stranger, niafer also looked graver and older. niafer asked for a mirror: and manuel had none. "now but certainly i must know at once just how faithfully you have remembered me," says niafer. he led the way into the naked and desolate november forest, and they came to the steel-colored wolflake hard by the gray hut: and niafer found she was limping, for manuel had not got her legs quite right, so that for the rest of her second life she was lame. then niafer gazed for a minute, or it might be for two minutes, at her reflection in the deep cold waters of the wolflake. "is this as near as you have come to remembering me, my dearest!" she said, dejectedly, as she looked down at manuel's notion of her face. for the appearance which niafer now wore she found to be very little like that which niafer remembered as having been hers, in days wherein she had been tolerably familiar with the lady gisèle's mirrors; and it was a grief to niafer to see how utterly the dearest dead go out of mind in no long while. "i have forgotten not one line or curve of your features," says manuel, stoutly, "in all these months, nor in any of these last days that have passed as years. and when my love spurred me to make your image, niafer, my love loaned me unwonted cunning. even by ordinary, they tell me, i have some skill at making images: and while not for a moment would i seem to boast of that skill, and not for worlds would i annoy you by repeating any of the complimentary things which have been said about my images,--by persons somewhat more appreciative, my dear, of the toil and care that goes to work of this sort,--i certainly think that in this instance nobody has fair reason to complain." she looked at his face now: and she noted what the month of living with béda, with whom a day is as a year, had done to the boy's face which she remembered. count manuel's face was of remodeled stuff: youth had gone out of it, and the month of years had etched wrinkles in it, success had hardened and caution had pinched and self-complacency had kissed it. and niafer sighed again, as they sat reunited under leafless trees by the steel-colored wolflake. "there is no circumventing time and death, then, after all," said niafer, "for neither of us is now the person that ascended vraidex. no matter: i love you, manuel, and i am content with what remains of you: and if the body you have given me is to your will it is to my will." but now three rascally tall ragged fellows, each blind in one eye, and each having a thin peaked beard, came into the opening before the gray hut, trampling the dead leaves there as they shouted for mimir. "come out!" they cried: "come out, you miserable mirmir, and face those three whom you have wronged!" dom manuel rose from the bank of the wolflake, and went toward the shouters. "there is no mimir," he told them, "in dun vlechlan, or not at least in this peculiarly irrational part of the forest." "you lie," they said, "for even though you have hitched a body to your head we recognize you." they looked at niafer, and all three laughed cruelly. "was it for this hunched, draggled, mud-faced wench that you left us, you squinting old villain? and have you so soon forgotten the vintner's parlor at neogréant, and what you did with the gold plates?" "no, i have not forgotten these things, for i never knew anything about them," said manuel. said one of the knaves, twirling fiercely his moustachios: "hah, shameless mimir, do you look at me, who have known you and your blind son oriander, too, to be unblushing knaves for these nine centuries! now, i suppose, you will be denying the affair of the squirrel also?" "oh, be off with your nonsense!" says manuel, "for i have not yet had twenty-two years of living, and i never saw you before, and i hope never to see you again." but they all set upon him with cutlasses, so there was nothing remaining save to have out his sword and fight. and when each of these one-eyed persons had vanished curiously under his death-wound, manuel told niafer it was a comfort to find that the month of years had left him a fair swordsman for all that his youth was gone; and that he thought they had better be leaving this part of the high woods of dun vlechlan, wherein unaccountable things took place, and all persons behaved unreasonably. "were these wood-spirits unreasonable," asks niafer, "in saying that the countenance and the body you have given me are ugly?" "my dear," replied manuel, "it was their saying that which made me try to avoid the conflict, because it does not look well, not even in dealing with demons, to injure the insane." "manuel, and can it be you who are considering appearances?" dom manuel said gravely: "my dealings with misery and with misery's kindred have taught me many things which i shall never forget nor very willingly talk about. one of these teachings, though, is that in most affairs there is a middle road on which there is little traffic and comparatively easy going. i must tell you that the company i have been in required a great deal of humoring, for of course it is not safe to trifle with any evil principle. no, no, one need not absolutely and openly defy convention, i perceive, in order to follow after one's own thinking," says manuel, shrewdly, and waggling a gray beard. "i am so glad you have learned that at last! at least, i suppose, i am glad," said niafer, a little wistfully, as she recalled young manuel of the high head. "but, as i was saying, i now estimate that these tattered persons who would have prevented my leaving, as well as the red fellow that would have hindered my entering, this peculiarly irrational part of the forest, were spiritual intruders into misery's domain whom misery had driven out of their wits. no, niafer, i voice no criticism, because with us two this misery of earth, whom some call béda, and others kruchina, has dealt very handsomely. it troubles me to suspect that he was also called mimir; but of this we need not speak, because a thing done has an end, even a killed grandfather. nevertheless, i think that dun vlechlan is unwholesome, and i am of the opinion that you and i will be more comfortable elsewhere." "but must we go back to looking after pigs, dear manuel, or are you now too old for that?" dom manuel smiled, and you saw that he retained at least his former lordliness. "no, now that every obligation is lifted, and we are reunited, dear snip, i can at last go traveling everywhither, so that i may see the ends of this world and judge them. and we will do whatever else we choose, for, as i must tell you, i am now a nobleman with lackeys and meadowlands and castles of my own, if only i could obtain possession of them." "this is excellent hearing," said niafer, "and much better than pig-stealing, and i am glad that the world has had sense enough to appreciate you, manuel, and you it. and we will have rubies in my coronet, because i always fancied them. now do you tell me how it all happened, and what i am to be called countess of. and we will talk about that traveling later, for i have already traveled a great distance today, but we must certainly have rubies." [illustration] xxiv three women so manuel put on his armor, and with manuel telling as much as he thought wise of the adventures which he had encountered while niafer was dead, they left this peculiarly irrational part of the forest, and fared out of the ruined november woods; and presently, in those barren fields that descend toward the sand dunes of quentavic, came face to face with queen freydis and the princess alianora, where these two royal ladies and many other fine people rode toward the coast. alianora went magnificently this morning, on a white horse, and wearing a kirtle of changeable green like the sea's green in sunlight: her golden hair was bound with a gold frontlet wherein were emeralds. freydis, dark and stately, was in crimson embroidered with small gold stars and ink-horns: a hooded falcon sat on her gloved wrist. now freydis and alianora stared at the swarthy, flat-faced, limping peasant girl in brown drugget that was with count manuel. then alianora stared at freydis. "is it for this dingy cripple," says alianora, with her proud fine face all wonder, "that dom manuel has forsaken us and has put off his youth? why, the girl is out and out ugly!" "our case is none the better for that," replied freydis, the wise queen, whose gazing rested not upon niafer but on manuel. "who are those disreputable looking, bold-faced creatures that are making eyes at you?" says niafer. and manuel, marveling to meet these two sorceresses together, replied, as he civilly saluted them from a little distance, "two royal ladies, who would be well enough were it not for their fondness for having their own way." "and i suppose you think them handsome!" "yes, niafer, i find them very beautiful. but after looking at them with aesthetic pleasure, my gaze returns adoringly to the face i have created as i willed, and to the quiet love of my youth, and i have no occasion to be thinking of queens and princesses. instead, i give thanks in my heart that i am faring contentedly toward the nearest priest with the one woman in the world who to my finding is desirable and lovely." "it is very sweet of you to say that, manuel, and i am sure i hope you are telling the truth, but my faith would be greater if you had not rattled it off so glibly." then alianora said: "greetings, and for the while farewell, to you, count manuel! for all we ride to quentavic, and thence i am passing over into england to marry the king of that island." "now, but there is a lucky monarch for you!" says manuel, politely. he looked at freydis, who had put off immortality for his kisses, and whom he had deserted to follow after his own thinking: these re-encounters are always awkward, and dom manuel fidgeted a little. he asked her, "and do you also go into england?" she told him very quietly, no, that she was only going to the coast, to consult with three or four of the water-demons about enchanting one of the red islands, and about making her home there. she had virtually decided, she told him, to put a spell upon sargyll, as it seemed the most desirable of these islands from what she could hear, but she must first see the place. queen freydis looked at him with rather embarrassing intentness all the while, but she spoke quite calmly. "yes, yes," dom manuel said, cordially, "i dare say you will be very comfortable there, and i am sure i hope so. but i did not know that you two ladies were acquainted." "indeed, our affairs are not your affairs," says freydis, "any longer. and what does it matter, on this november day which has a thin sunlight and no heat at all in it? no, that girl yonder has to-day. but alianora and i had each her yesterday; and it may be the one or it may be the other of us three who will have to-morrow, and it may be also that the disposal of that to-morrow will be remarkable." "very certainly," declared alianora, with that slow, lovely, tranquil smile of hers, "i shall have my portion of to-morrow. i would have made you a king, and by and by the most powerful of all kings, but you followed after your own thinking, and cared more for messing in wet mud than for a throne. still, this nonsense of yours has converted you into a rather distinguished looking old gentleman, so when i need you i shall summon you, with the token that we know of, dom manuel, and then do you come post-haste!" freydis said: "i would have made you the greatest of image-makers; but you followed after your own thinking, and instead of creating new and god-like beings you preferred to resurrect a dead servant girl. nevertheless, do i bid you beware of the one living image you made, for it still lives and it alone you cannot ever shut out from your barred heart, dom manuel: and nevertheless, do i bid you come to me, dom manuel, when you need me." manuel replied, "i shall always obey both of you." niafer throughout this while said nothing at all. but she had her private thoughts, to the effect that neither of these high-and-mighty trollops was in reality the person whom henceforward dom manuel was going to obey. so the horns sounded. the gay cavalcade rode on, toward quentavic. and as they went young osmund heleigh (lord brudenel's son) asked for the gallant king of navarre, "but who, sire, was that time-battered gray vagabond, with the tarnished silver stallion upon his shield and the mud-colored cripple at his side, that our queens should be stopping for any conference with him?" king thibaut said it was the famous dom manuel of poictesme, who had put away his youth for the sake of the girl that was with him. "then is the old man a fool on every count," declared messire heleigh, sighing, "for i have heard of his earlier antics in provence, and no lovelier lady breathes than dame alianora." "i consider queen freydis to be the handsomer of the two," replied thibaut, "but certainly there is no comparing either of these inestimable ladies with dom manuel's swarthy drab." "she is perhaps some witch whose magic is more terrible than their magic, and has besotted this ruined champion?" "it is either enchantment or idiocy, unless indeed it be something far higher than either." king thibaut looked grave, then shrugged. "oy dieus! even so, queen freydis is the more to my taste." thus speaking, the young king spurred his bay horse toward queen freydis (from whom he got his ruin a little later), and all alianora's retinue went westward, very royally, while manuel and niafer trudged east. much color and much laughter went one way, but the other way went contentment, for that while. [illustration] [illustration] part four the book of surcharge to hugh walpole soe _manuel made all the goddes that we call_ mamettes _and_ ydolles, _that were sett ouer the subiection of his lyfe tyme: and euery of the goddes that manuel wolde carue toilesomelie hadde in hys bodie a blemmishe; and in the mydle of the godes made he one god of the philistines._ xxv affairs in poictesme they of poictesme narrate how manuel and niafer traveled east a little way and then turned toward the warm south; and how they found a priest to marry them, and how manuel confiscated two horses. they tell also how manuel victoriously encountered a rather terrible dragon at la flèche, and near orthez had trouble with a groach, whom he conquered and imprisoned in a leather bottle, but they say that otherwise the journey was uneventful. "and now that every obligation is lifted, and we are reunited, my dear niafer," says manuel, as they sat resting after his fight with the dragon, "we will, i repeat, be traveling every whither, so that we may see the ends of this world and may judge them." "dearest," replied niafer, "i have been thinking about that, and i am sure it would be delightful, if only people were not so perfectly horrid." "what do you mean, dear snip?" "you see, manuel, now that you have fetched me back from paradise, people will be saying you ought to give me, in exchange for the abodes of bliss from which i have been summoned, at least a fairly comfortable and permanent terrestrial residence. yes, dearest, you know what people are, and the evil-minded will be only too delighted to be saying everywhere that you are neglecting an obvious duty if you go wandering off to see and judge the ends of this world, with which, after all, you have really no especial concern." "oh, well, and if they do?" says manuel, shrugging lordily. "there is no hurt in talking." "yes, manuel, but such shiftless wandering, into uncomfortable places that nobody ever heard of, would have that appearance. now there is nothing i would more thoroughly enjoy then to go traveling about at adventure with you, and to be a countess means nothing whatever to me. i am sure i do not in the least care to live in a palace of my own, and be bothered with fine clothes and the responsibility of looking after my rubies, and with servants and parties every day. but you see, darling, i simply could not bear to have people thinking ill of my dear husband, and so, rather than have that happen, i am willing to put up with these things." "oh, oh!" says manuel, and he began pulling vexedly at his little gray beard, "and does one obligation beget another as fast as this! now whatever would you have me do?" "obviously, you must get troops from king ferdinand, and drive that awful asmund out of poictesme." "dear me!" says manuel, "but what a simple matter you make of it! shall i attend to it this afternoon?" "now, manuel, you speak without thinking, for you could not possibly re-conquer all poictesme this afternoon--." "oh!" says manuel. "no, not single-handed, my darling. you would first have to get troops to help you, both horse and foot." "my dearest, i only meant--" "--even then, it will probably take quite a while to kill off all the northmen." "niafer, will you let me explain--" "--besides, you are miles away from poictesme. you could not even manage to get there this afternoon." manuel put his hand over her mouth. "niafer, when i spoke of subjugating poictesme this afternoon i was attempting a mild joke. i will never any more attempt light irony in your presence, for i perceive that you do not appreciate my humor. meanwhile i repeat to you, no, no, a thousand times, no! to be called count of poictesme sounds well, it strokes the hearing: but i will not be set to root and vegetate in a few hundred spadefuls of dirt. no, for i have but one lifetime here, and in that lifetime i mean to see this world and all the ends of this world, that i may judge them. and i," he concluded, decisively, "am manuel, who follow after my own thinking and my own desire." niafer began to weep. "i simply cannot bear to think of what people will say of you." "come, come, my dear," says manuel, "this is preposterous." niafer wept. "you will only end by making yourself ill!" says manuel. niafer continued to weep. "my mind is quite made up," says manuel, "so what, in god's name, is the good of this?" niafer now wept more and more broken-heartedly. and the big champion sat looking at her, and his broad shoulders relaxed. he viciously kicked at the heavy glistening green head of the dragon, still bleeding uglily there at his feet, but that did no good whatever. the dragon-queller was beaten. he could do nothing against such moisture, his resolution was dampened and his independence was washed away by this salt flood. and they say too that, now his youth was gone, dom manuel began to think of quietness and of soft living more resignedly than he acknowledged. "very well, then," manuel says, by and by, "let us cross the loir, and ride south to look for our infernal coronet with the rubies in it, and for your servants, and for some of your palaces." so in the christmas holidays they bring a tall burly squinting gray-haired warrior to king ferdinand, in a lemon grove behind the royal palace. here the sainted king, duly equipped with his halo and his goose-feather, was used to perform the lesser miracles on wednesdays and saturdays. the king was delighted by the change in manuel's looks, and said that experience and maturity were fine things to be suggested by the appearance of a nobleman in manuel's position. but, a pest! as for giving him any troops with which to conquer poictesme, that was quite another matter. the king needed his own soldiers for his own ends, which necessitated the immediate capture of cordova. meanwhile here were the prince de gâtinais and the marquess di paz, who also had come with this insane request, the one for soldiers to help him against the philistines, and the other against the catalans. "everybody to whom i ever granted a fief seems to need troops nowadays," the king grumbled, "and if any one of you had any judgment whatever you would have retained your lands once they were given you." "our deficiencies, sire," says the young prince de gâtinais, with considerable spirit, "have not been altogether in judgment, but rather in the support afforded us by our liege-lord." this was perfectly true; but inasmuch as such blunt truths are not usually flung at a king and a saint, now ferdinand's thin brows went up. "do you think so?" said the king. "we must see about it. what is that, for example?" he pointed to the pool by which the lemon-trees were watered, and the prince glanced at the yellow object afloat in this pool. "sire," said de gâtinais, "it is a lemon which has fallen from one of the trees." "so you judge it to be a lemon. and what do you make of it, di paz?" the king inquired. the marquess was a statesman who took few chances. he walked to the edge of the pool, and looked at the thing before committing himself: and he came back smiling. "ah, sire, you have indeed contrived a cunning sermon against hasty judgment, for, while the tree is a lemon-tree, the thing that floats beneath it is an orange." "so you, marquess, judge it to be an orange. and what do you make of it, count of poictesme?" the king asks now. if di paz took few chances, manuel took none at all. he waded into the pool, and fetched out the thing which floated there. "king," says big dom manuel, sagely blinking his bright pale eyes, "it is the half of an orange." said the king: "here is a man who is not lightly deceived by the vain shows of this world, and who values truth more than dry shoes. count manuel, you shall have your troops, and you others must wait until you have acquired count manuel's powers of judgment, which, let me tell you, are more valuable than any fief i have to give." so when the spring had opened, manuel went into poictesme at the head of a very creditable army, and dom manuel summoned duke asmund to surrender all that country. asmund, who was habitually peevish under the puckerel curse, refused with opprobrious epithets, and the fighting began. manuel had, of course, no knowledge of generalship, but king ferdinand sent the conde de tohil vaca as manuel's lieutenant. manuel now figured imposingly in jeweled armor, and the sight of his shield bearing the rampant stallion and the motto _mundus vult decipi_ became in battle a signal for the more prudent among his adversaries to distinguish themselves in some other part of the conflict. it was whispered by backbiters that in counsel and in public discourse dom manuel sonorously repeated the orders and opinions provided by tohil vaca: either way, the official utterances of the count of poictesme roused everywhere the kindly feeling which one reserves for old friends, so that no harm was done. to the contrary, dom manuel now developed an invaluable gift for public speaking, and in every place which he conquered and occupied he made powerful addresses to the surviving inhabitants before he had them hanged, exhorting all right-thinking persons to crush the military autocracy of asmund. besides, as manuel pointed out, this was a struggle such as the world had never known, in that it was a war to end war forever, and to ensure eternal peace for everybody's children. never, as he put it forcefully, had men fought for a more glorious cause. and so on and go on, said he, and these uplifting thoughts had a fine effect upon everyone. "how wonderfully you speak!" dame niafer would say admiringly. and manuel would look at her queerly, and reply: "i am earning your home, my dear, and your servants' wages, and some day these verbal jewels will be perpetuated in a real coronet. for i perceive that a former acquaintance of mine was right in pointing out the difference between men and the other animals." "ah, yes, indeed!" said niafer, very gravely, and not attaching any particular meaning to it, but generally gathering that she and manuel were talking about something edifying and pious. for niafer was now a devout christian, as became a countess of poictesme, and nobody anywhere entertained a more sincere reverence for solemn noises. "for instance," dame niafer continued, "they tell me that these lovely speeches of yours have produced such an effect upon the philistines yonder that their queen stultitia has proffered an alliance, and has promised to send you light cavalry and battering-rams." "it is true she has promised to send them, but she has not done so." "none the less, manuel, you will find that the moral effect of her approbation will be invaluable; and, as i so often think, that is the main thing after all--" "yes, yes," says manuel, impatiently, "we have plenty of moral approbation and fine speaking here, and in the south we have a saint to work miracles for us, but it is asmund who has that army of splendid reprobates, and they do not value morality and rhetoric the worth of an old finger-nail." so the fighting continued throughout that spring, and in poictesme it all seemed very important and unexampled, just as wars usually appear to the people that are engaged in them. thousands of men were slain, to the regret of their mothers and sweethearts, and very often of their wives. and there was the ordinary amount of unparalleled military atrocities and perfidies and ravishments and burnings and so on, and the endurers took their agonies so seriously that it is droll to think of how unimportant it all was in the outcome. for this especial carnage was of supreme and world-wide significance so long ago that it is now not worth the pains involved to rephrase for inattentive hearing the combat of the knights at perdigon--out of which came alive only guivric and coth and anavalt and gonfal,--or to speak of the once famous battle of the tinkers, or to retell how the inflexible syndics of montors were imprisoned in a cage and slain by mistake. it no longer really matters to any living person how the northmen burned the bridge of boats at manneville; nor how asmund trod upon a burned-through beam at the disastrous siege of Évre, and so fell thirty feet into the midst of his enemies and broke his leg, but dealt so valorously that he got safe away; nor how at lisuarte unarmored peasants beat off manuel's followers with scythes and pitchforks and clubs. time has washed out the significance of these old heroisms as the color is washed from flimsy cloths; so that chroniclers act wisely when they wave aside, with undipped pens, the episode of the brave siennese and their green poison at bellegarde, and the doings of the anti-pope there, and grudge the paper needful to record the remarkable method by which gaunt tohil vaca levied a tax of a livre on every chimney in poictesme. it is not even possible, nowadays, to put warm interest in those once notable pots of blazing sulphur and fat and quicklime that were emptied over the walls of storisende, to the discomfort of manuel's men. for although this was a very heroic war, with a parade of every sort of high moral principle, and with the most sonorous language employed upon both sides, it somehow failed to bring about either the reformation or the ruin, of humankind: and after the conclusion of the murdering and general breakage, the world went on pretty much as it has done after all other wars, with a vague notion that a deal of time and effort had been unprofitably invested, and a conviction that it would be inglorious to say so. therefore it suffices to report that there was much killing and misery everywhere, and that in june, upon corpus christi day, the conde de tohil vaca was taken, and murdered, with rather horrible jocosity which used unusually a heated poker, and manuel's forces were defeated and scattered. [illustration] xxvi deals with the stork now manuel, driven out of poictesme, went with his wife to novogath, which had been for some seven years the capital of philistia. queen stultitia, the sixtieth of that name to rule, received them friendlily. she talked alone with manuel for a lengthy while, in a room that was walled with glazed tiles of faience and had its ceiling incrusted with moral axioms, everywhere affixed thereto in a light lettering of tin, so as to permit of these axioms being readily changed. stultitia sat at a bronze reading-desk: she wore rose-colored spectacles, and at her feet dozed, for the while, her favorite plaything, a blind, small, very fat white bitch called luck. the queen still thought that an alliance could be arranged against duke asmund as soon as public sentiment could be fomented in philistia, but this would take time. "have patience, my friend!" she said, and that was easy saying for a prosperous great lady sitting comfortably crowned and spectacled in her own palace, under her own chimneys and skylights and campaniles and domes and towers and battlements. but in the mean while manuel and niafer had not so much as a cowshed wherein to exercise this recommended virtue. so manuel made inquiries, and learned that queen freydis had taken up her abode on sargyll, most remote of the red islands. "we will go to freydis," he told niafer. "but, surely, not after the way that minx probably believes you treated her?" said niafer. manuel smiled the sleepy smile that was manuel. "i know freydis better than you know her, my dear." "yes, but can you depend upon her?" "i can depend upon myself, and that is more important." "but, manuel, you have another dear friend in england; and in england, although the lord knows i never want to lay eyes on her, we might at least be comfortable--" manuel shook his head: "i am very fond of alianora, because she resembles me as closely as it is possible for a woman to resemble a man. that makes two excellent reasons--one for each of us, snip,--why we had better not go into england." so, in their homeless condition, they resolved to set out for sargyll,--"to visit that other dear friend of yours," as niafer put it, in tones more eloquent than manuel seemed quite to relish. dame niafer, though, now began to complain that manuel was neglecting her for all this statecraft and fighting and speech-making and private conference with fine ladies; and she began to talk again about what a pity it was that she and manuel would probably never have any children to be company for niafer. niafer complained rather often nowadays, about details which are here irrelevant: and she was used to lament with every appearance of sincerity that, in making the clay figure for niafer to live in, manuel should have been so largely guided by the elsewhere estimable qualities of innocence and imagination. it frequently put her, she said, to great inconvenience. now manuel had been inquiring about this and that and the other since his arrival in novogath, and so manuel to-day replied with lordly assurance. "yes, yes, a baby or two!" says manuel. "i think myself that would be an excellent idea, while we are waiting for queen stultitia to make up her subjects' minds, and have nothing else in particular to do--" "but, manuel, you know perfectly well--" "--and i am sufficiently versed in the magic of the apsarasas to be able to summon the stork, who by rare good luck is already indebted to me--" "what has the stork to do with this?" "why, it is he who must bring the babies to be company for you." "but, manuel," said niafer, dubiously, "i do not believe that the people of rathgor, or of poictesme either, get their babies from the stork." "doubtless, like every country, they have their quaint local customs. we have no concern, however with these provincialities just now, for we are in philistia. besides, as you cannot well have forgotten, our main dependence is upon the half-promised alliance with queen stultitia, who is, as far as i can foresee, my darling, the only monarch anywhere likely to support us." "but what has queen stultitia to do with my having a baby?" "everything, dear snip. you must surely understand it is most important for one in my position to avoid in any way offending the sensibilities of the philistines." "still, manuel, the philistines themselves have babies, and i do not see how they could have conceivably objected to my having at any rate a very small one if only you had made me right--" "not at all! nobody objects to the baby in itself, now that you are a married woman. the point is that the babies of the philistines are brought to them by the stork; and that even an allusion to the possibility of misguided persons obtaining a baby in any other way these philistines consider to be offensive and lewd and lascivious and obscene." "why, how droll of them! but are you sure of that, manuel!" "all their best-thought-of and most popular writers, my dear, are unanimous upon the point; and their seranim have passed any number of laws, their oil-merchants have founded a guild, especially to prosecute such references. no, there is, to be sure, a dwindling sect which favors putting up with what babies you may find in the cabbage patch, but all really self-respecting people when in need of offspring arrange to be visited by the stork." "it is certainly a remarkable custom, but it sounds convenient if you can manage it," said niafer. "what i want is the baby, though, and of course we must try to get the baby in the manner of the philistines, if you know that manner, for i am sure i have no wish to offend anybody." so manuel prepared to get a baby in the manner preferred by the philistines. he performed the suitable incantation, putting this and that together in the manner formerly employed by the thessalian witches and sorcerers, and he cried aloud a very ancient if indecent charm from the old latin, saying, as queen stultitia had told him to say, without any mock-modest mincing of words: dictum est antiqua sandalio mulier habitavit, quae multos pueros habuit tum ut potuit nullum quod faciundum erat cognoscere. sic domina anser._ then manuel took from his breast-pocket a piece of blue chalk and five curious objects something like small black stars. with the chalk he drew upon the floor two parallel straight lines. manuel walked on one of these chalk lines very carefully, then beckoned niafer to him. standing there, he put his arms about her and kissed her. then he placed the five black stars in a row,-- * * * * * --and went over to the next line. the stork having been thus properly summoned, manuel recalled to the bird the three wishes which had been promised when manuel saved the stork's life: and manuel said that for each wish he would take a son fetched to him by the stork in the manner of the philistines. the stork thought it could be arranged. "not this morning, though, as you suggest, for, indebted as i am to you, dom manuel, i am also a very busy bird. no, i have any number of orders that were put in months before yours, and i must follow system in my business, for you have no notion what elaborate and exact accounts are frequently required by the married men that receive invoices from me." "come now," says manuel, "do you be accommodating, remembering how i once saved your life from the eagle, and my wife and i will order all our babies now, and spare you the trouble of keeping any accounts whatever, so far as we are concerned." "oh, if you care to deal with such wholesale irregularity, and have no more consideration than to keep casting old debts in my bill, i might stretch a point in order to be rid of you," the stork said, sighing. "now, but surely," manuel considered, "you might be a little more cheerful about this matter." "and why should i, of all the birds that go about the heavens, be cheerful?" "well, somehow one expects a reasonable gaiety in you who bring hilarity and teething-rings into so many households--" the stork answered: "i bring the children, stainless and dear and helpless, and therewith i, they say, bring joy. now of the joy i bring to the mother let none speak, for miracles are not neatly to be caged in sentences, nor is truth always expedient. to the father i bring the sight of his own life, by him so insecurely held, renewed and strengthened in a tenement not yet impaired by time and folly: he is no more disposed to belittle himself here than elsewhere; and it is himself that he cuddles in this small, soft, incomprehensible and unsoiled incarnation. for, as i bring the children, they have no evil in them and no cowardice and no guile. "i bring the children, stainless and dear and helpless, when later i return, to those that yesterday were children. and in all ways time has marred, and living has defaced, and prudence has maimed, until i grieve to entrust that which i bring to what remains of that which yesterday i brought. in the old days children were sacrificed to a brazen burning god, but time affects more subtile hecatombs: for moloch slew outright. yes, moloch, being divine, killed as the dog kills, furiously, but time is that transfigured cat, an ironist. so living mars and defaces and maims, and living appears wantonly to soil and to degrade its prey before destroying it. "i bring the children, stainless and dear and helpless, and i leave them to endure that which is fated. daily i bring into this world the beauty and innocence and high-heartedness and faith of children: but life has no employment, or else life has no sustenance, for these fine things which i bring daily, for always i, returning, find the human usages of living have extinguished these excellences in those who yesterday were children, and that these virtues exist in no aged person. and i would that jahveh had created me an eagle or a vulture or some other hateful bird of prey that furthers a less grievous slaying and a more intelligible wasting than i further." to this, dom manuel replied, in that grave and matter-of-fact way of his: "now certainly i can see how your vocation may seem, in a manner of speaking, a poor investment; but, after all, your business is none of my business, so i shall not presume to criticize it. instead, let us avoid these lofty generalities, and to you tell me when i may look for those three sons of mine." then they talked over this matter of getting babies, manuel walking on the chalk line all the while, and manuel found he could have, if he preferred it so, three girls in place of one of the boys, since the demand for sons was thrice that for daughters. to niafer it was at once apparent that to obtain five babies in place of three was a clear bargain. manuel said he did not want any daughters, they were too much of a responsibility, and he did not intend to be bothered with them. he was very firm and lordly about it. then niafer spoke again, and when she had ended, manuel wished for two boys and three girls. thereafter the stork subscribed five promissory notes, and they executed all the other requisite formalities. [illustration: "summons the stork"] the stork said that by a little management he could let them have one of the children within a day or so. "but how long have you two been married?" he asked. "oh, ever so long," said manuel, with a faint sigh. "why, no, my dearest," said niafer, "we have been married only seven months." "in that event," declared the stork, "you had better wait until month after next, for it is not the fashion among my patrons to have me visiting them quite so early." "well," said manuel, "we wish to do everything in conformance to the preferences of philistia, even to the extent of following such incomprehensible fashions." so he arranged to have the promised baby delivered at sargyll, which, he told the stork, would be their address for the remainder of the summer. [illustration] xxvii they come to sargyll then manuel and niafer put out to sea, and after two days' voyaging they came to sargyll and to the hospitality of queen freydis. freydis was much talked about at that time on account of the way in which king thibaut had come to his ruin through her, and on account of her equally fatal dealings with the duke of istria and the prince of camwy and three or four other lords. so the ship-captains whom dom manuel first approached preferred not to venture among the red islands. then the jewish master of a trading vessel--a lean man called ahasuerus--said, "who forbids it?" and carried them uneventfully from novogath to sargyll. they narrate how oriander the swimmer followed after the yellow ship, but he attempted no hurt against manuel, at least not for that turn. thus manuel came again to freydis. he had his first private talk with her in a room that was hung with black and gold brocade. white mats lay upon the ground, and placed irregularly about the room were large brass vases filled with lotus blossoms. here freydis sat on a three-legged stool, in conference with a panther. from the ceiling hung rigid blue and orange and reddish-brown serpents, all dead and embalmed; and in the middle of the ceiling was painted a face which was not quite human, looking downward, with evil eyes half closed, and with its mouth half open in discomfortable laughter. freydis was clad in scarlet completely, and, as has been said, a golden panther was talking to her when dom manuel came in. she at once dismissed the beast, which smiled amicably at dom manuel, and then arched high its back in the manner of all the cat tribe, and so flattened out into a thin transparent goldness, and, flickering, vanished upward as a flame leaves a lampwick. "well, well, you bade me come to you, dear friend, when i had need of you," says manuel, very cordially shaking hands, "and nobody's need could be more great than mine." "different people have different needs," freydis replied, rather gravely, "but all passes in this world." "friendship, however, does not pass, i hope." she answered slowly: "it is we who pass, so that the young manuel whom i loved in a summer that is gone, is nowadays as perished as that summer's gay leaves. what, grizzled fighting-man, have you to do with that young manuel who had comeliness and youth and courage, but no human pity and no constant love? and why should i be harboring his lighthearted mischiefs against you? ah, no, gray manuel, you are quite certain no woman would do that; and people say you are shrewd. so i bid you very welcome to sargyll, where my will is the only law." "you at least have not changed," dom manuel replied, with utter truth, "for you appear today, if anything, more fair and young than you were that first night upon morven when i evoked you from tall flames to lend life to the image i had made. well, that seems now a lengthy while ago, and i make no more images." "your wife would be considering it a waste of time," queen freydis estimated. "no, that is not quite the way it is. for niafer is the dearest and most dutiful of women, and she never crosses my wishes in anything." freydis now smiled a little, for she saw that manuel believed he was speaking veraciously. "at all events," said freydis, "it is a queer thing surely that in the month which is to come the stork will be fetching your second child to a woman resting under my roof and in my golden bed. yes, thurinel has just been telling me of your plan, and it is a queer thing. yet it is a far queerer thing that your first child, whom no stork fetched nor had any say in shaping, but whom you made of clay to the will of your proud youth and in your proud youth's likeness, should be limping about the world somewhere in the appearance of a strapping tall young fellow, and that you should know nothing about his doings." "ah! what have you heard? and what do you know about him, freydis?" "i suspicion many things, gray manuel, by virtue of my dabblings in that gray art which makes neither for good nor evil." "yes," said manuel, practically, "but what do you know?" she took his hand again. "i know that in sargyll, where my will is the only law, you are welcome, false friend and very faithless lover." he could get no more out of her, as they stood there under the painted face which looked down upon them with discomfortable laughter. so manuel and niafer remained at sargyll until the baby should be delivered. king ferdinand, then in the midst of another campaign against the moors, could do nothing for his vassal just now. but glittering messengers came from raymond bérenger, and from king helmas, and from queen stultitia, each to discuss this and that possible alliance and aid by and by. everybody was very friendly if rather vague. but manuel for the present considered only niafer and the baby that was to come, and he let statecraft bide. then two other ships, that were laden with duke asmund's men, came also, in an attempt to capture manuel: so freydis despatched a sending which caused these soldiers to run about the decks howling like wolves, and to fling away their swords and winged helmets, and to fight one against the other with hands and teeth until all were slain. the month passed thus uneventfully. and niafer and freydis became the best and most intimate of friends, and their cordiality to each other could not but have appeared to the discerning rather ominous. "she seems to be a very good-hearted sort of a person," niafer conceded, in matrimonial privacy, "though certainly she is rather queer. why, manuel, she showed me this afternoon ten of the drollest figures to which--but, no, you would never guess it in the world,--to which she is going to give life some day, just as you did to me when you got my looks and legs and pretty much everything else all wrong." "when does she mean to quicken them?" dom manuel asked: and he added, "not that i did, dear snip, but i shall not argue about it." "why, that is the droll part of it, and i can quite understand your unwillingness to admit how little you had remembered about me. when the man who made them has been properly rewarded, she said, with, manuel, the most appalling expression you ever saw." "what were these images like?" asked dom manuel. niafer described them: she described them unsympathetically, but there was no doubt they were the images which manuel had left unquickened upon upper morven. manuel nodded, smiled, and said: "so the man who made these images is to be properly rewarded! well, that is encouraging, for true merit should always be rewarded." "but, manuel, if you had seen her look! and seen what horrible misshapen creatures they were--!" "nonsense!" said manuel, stoutly: "you are a dear snip, but that does not make you a competent critic of either physiognomy or sculpture." so he laughed the matter aside; and this, as it happened, was the last that dom manuel heard of the ten images which he had made upon upper morven. but they of poictesme declared that queen freydis did give life to these figures, each at a certain hour, and that her wizardry set them to live as men among mankind, with no very happy results, because these images differed from naturally begotten persons by having inside them a spark of the life of audela. thus manuel and his wife came uneventfully to august; all the while there was never a more decorous or more thoughtful hostess than queen freydis; and nobody would have suspected that sorcery underlay the running of her household. it was only through dom manuel's happening to arise very early one morning, at the call of nature, that he chanced to be passing through the hall when, at the moment of sunrise, the night-porter turned into an orange-colored rat, and crept into the wainscoting: and manuel of course said nothing about this to anybody, because it was none of his affair. [illustration] xxviii how melicent was welcomed so the month passed prosperously and uneventfully, while the servitors of queen freydis behaved in every respect as if they were human beings: and at the end of the month the stork came. manuel and niafer, it happened, were fishing on the river bank rather late that evening, when they saw the great bird approaching, high overhead, all glistening white in the sunset, except for his thin scarlet legs and the blue shadowings in the hollows of his wings. from his beak depended a largish bundle, in pale blue wrappings, so that at a glance they knew the stork was bringing a girl. statelily the bird lighted on the window sill, as though he were quite familiar with this way of entering manuel's bedroom, and the bird went in, carrying the child. this was a high and happy moment for the fond parents as they watched him, and they kissed each other rather solemnly. then niafer left manuel to get together the fishing tackle, and she hastened into the house to return to the stork the first of his promissory notes in exchange for the baby. and as manuel was winding up the lines, queen freydis came to him, for she too had seen the stork's approach; and was, she said, with a grave smile, well pleased that the affair was settled. "for now the stork has come, yet others may come," says freydis, "and we shall celebrate the happy event with a gay feast this night in honor of your child." "that is very kind and characteristic of you," said manuel, "but i suppose you will be wanting me to make a speech, and i am quite unprepared." "no, we will have none of your high-minded and devastating speeches at our banquet. no, for your place is with your wife. no, manuel, you are not bidden to this feast, for all that it is to do honor to your child. no, no, gray manuel, you must remain upstairs this evening and throughout the night, because this feast is for them that serve me: and you do not serve me any longer, and the ways of them that serve me are not your ways." "ah!" says manuel, "so there is sorcery afoot! yes, freydis, i have quite given over that sort of thing. and while not for a moment would i seem to be criticizing anybody, i hope before long to see you settling down, with some fine solid fellow, and forsaking these empty frivolities for the higher and real pleasures of life." "and what are these delights, gray manuel?" "the joy that is in the sight of your children playing happily about your hearth, and developing into honorable men and gracious women, and bringing their children in turn to cluster about your tired old knees, as the winter evenings draw in, and in the cosy fire-light you smile across the curly heads of these children's children at the dear wrinkled white-haired face of your beloved and time-tested helpmate, and are satisfied, all in all, with your life, and know that, by and large, heaven has been rather undeservedly kind to you," says manuel, sighing. "yes, freydis, yes, you may believe me that such are the real joys of life; and that such pleasures are more profitably pursued than are the idle gaieties of sorcery and witchcraft, which indeed at our age, if you will permit me to speak thus frankly, dear friend, are hardly dignified." freydis shook her proud dark head. her smiling was grim. "decidedly, i shall not ever understand you. doddering patriarch, do you not comprehend you are already discoursing about a score or two of grandchildren on the ground of having a five-minute-old daughter, whom you have not yet seen? nor is that child's future, it may be, yours to settle--but go to your wife, for this is niafer's man who is talking, and not mine. go up, methuselah, and behold the new life which you have created and cannot control!" manuel went to niafer, and found her sewing. "my dear, this will not do at all, for you ought to be in bed with the newborn child, as is the custom with the mothers of philistia." "what nonsense!" says niafer, "when i have to be changing every one of the pink bows on melicent's caps for blue bows." "still, niafer, it is eminently necessary for us to be placating the philistines in all respects, in this delicate matter of your having a baby." niafer grumbled, but obeyed. she presently lay in the golden bed of freydis: then manuel duly looked at the contents of the small heaving bundle at niafer's side: and whether or no he scaled the conventional peaks of emotion was nobody's concern save manuel's. he began, in any event, to talk in the vein which fathers ordinarily feel such high occasions to demand. but niafer, who was never romantic nowadays, merely said that, anyhow, it was a blessing it was all over, and that she hoped, now, they would soon be leaving sargyll. "but freydis is so kind, my dear," said manuel, "and so fond of you!" "i never in my life," declared niafer, "knew anybody to go off so terribly in their looks as that two-faced cat has done since the first time i saw her prancing on her tall horse and rolling her snake eyes at you. as for being fond of me, i trust her exactly as far as i can see her." "yet, niafer, i have heard you declare, time and again--" "but if you did, manuel, one has to be civil." manuel shrugged, discreetly. "you women!" he observed, discreetly. "--as if it were not as plain as the nose on her face--and i do not suppose that even you, manuel, will be contending she has a really good nose,--that the woman is simply itching to make a fool of you, and to have everybody laughing at you, again! manuel, i declare i have no patience with you when you keep arguing about such unarguable facts!" manuel, exercising augmented discretion, now said nothing whatever. "--and you may talk yourself black in the face, manuel, but nevertheless i am going to name the child melicent, after my own mother, as soon as a priest can be fetched from the mainland to christen her. no, manuel, it is all very well for your dear friend to call herself a gray witch, but i do not notice any priests coming to this house unless they are especially sent for, and i draw my own conclusions." "well, well, let us not argue about it, my dear." "yes, but who started all this arguing and fault-finding, i would like to know!" "why, to be sure i did. but i spoke without thinking. i was wrong. i admit it. so do not excite yourself, dear snip." "--and as if i could help the child's not being a boy!" "but i never said--" "no, but you keep thinking it, and sulking is the one thing i cannot stand. no, manuel, no, i do not complain, but i do think that, after all i have been through with, sleeping around in tents, and running away from northmen, and never having a moment's comfort, after i had naturally figured on being a real countess--" niafer whimpered sleepily. "yes, yes," says manuel, stroking her soft crinkly hair. "--and with that silky hell-cat watching me all the time,--and looking ten years younger than i do, now that you have got my face and legs all wrong,--and planning i do not know what--" "yes, to be sure," says manuel, soothingly: "you are quite right, my dear." so a silence fell, and presently niafer slept. manuel sat with hunched shoulders, watching the wife he had fetched back from paradise at the price of his youth. his face was grave, his lips were puckered and protruded. he smiled by and by, and he shook his head. he sighed, not as one who is grieved, but like a man perplexed and a little weary. now some while after niafer was asleep, and when the night was fairly advanced, you could hear a whizzing and a snorting in the air. manuel went to the window, and lifted the scarlet curtain figured with ramping gold dragons, and he looked out, to find a vast number of tiny bluish lights skipping about confusedly and agilely in the darkness, like shining fleas. these approached the river bank, and gathered there. then the assembled lights began to come toward the house. you could now see these lights were carried by dwarfs who had the eyes of owls and the long beaks of storks. these dwarfs were jumping and dancing about freydis like an insane body-guard. freydis walked among them very remarkably attired. upon her head shone the uraeus crown, and she carried a long rod of cedar-wood topped with an apple carved in bluestone, and at her side came the appearance of a tall young man. so they all approached the house, and the young man looked up fixedly at the unlighted window, as though he were looking at manuel. the young man smiled: his teeth gleamed in the blue glare. then the whole company entered the house, and from manuel's station at the window you could see no more, but you could hear small prancing hoof-beats downstairs and the clattering of plates and much whinnying laughter. manuel was plucking irresolutely at his grizzled short beard, for there was no doubt as to the strapping tall young fellow. presently you could hear music: it was the ravishing nis air, which charms the mind into sweet confusion and oblivion, and manuel did not make any apparent attempt to withstand its wooing. he hastily undressed, knelt for a decorous interval, and climbed vexedly into bed. xxix sesphra of the dreams in the morning dom manuel arose early, and left niafer still sleeping with the baby. manuel came down through the lower hall, where the table was as the revelers had left it. in the middle of the disordered room stood a huge copper vessel half full of liquor, and beside it was a drinking-horn of gold. manuel paused here, and drank of the sweet heather-wine as though he had need to hearten himself. he went out into the bright windy morning, and as he crossed the fields he came up behind a red cow who was sitting upon her haunches, intently reading a largish book bound in green leather, but at sight of manuel she hastily put aside the volume, and began eating grass. manuel went on, without comment, toward the river bank, to meet the image which he had made of clay, and to which through unholy arts he had given life. the thing came up out of the glistening ripples of brown water, and the thing embraced manuel and kissed him. "i am pagan," the thing said, in a sweet mournful voice, "and therefore i might not come to you until your love was given to the unchristened. for i was not ever christened, and so my true name is not known to anybody. but in the far lands where i am worshipped as a god i am called sesphra of the dreams." "i did not give you any name," said manuel; and then he said: "sesphra, you that have the appearance of alianora and of my youth! sesphra, how beautiful you are!" "is that why you are trembling, manuel?" "i tremble because the depths of my being have been shaken. since youth went out of me, in the high woods of dun vlechlan, i have lived through days made up of small frettings and little pleasures and only half earnest desires, which moved about upon the surface of my being like minnows in the shoals of a still lake. but now that i have seen and heard you, sesphra of the dreams, and your lips have touched my lips, a passion moves in me that possesses all of me, and i am frightened." "it is the passion which informs those who make images. it is the master you denied, poor foolish manuel, and the master who will take no denial." "sesphra, what is your will with me?" "it is my will that you and i go hence on a long journey, into the far lands where i am worshipped as a god. for i love you, my creator, who gave life to me, and you love me more than aught else, and it is not right that we be parted." "i cannot go on any journey, just now, for i have my lands and castles to regain, and my wife and my newborn child to protect." sesphra began to smile adorably: you saw that his teeth were strangely white and very strong. "what are these things to me or you, or to anyone that makes images? we follow after our own thinking and our own desires." "i lived thus once upon a time," said manuel, sighing, "but nowadays there is a bond upon me to provide for my wife, and for my child too, and i have not much leisure left for anything else." then sesphra began to speak adorably, as he walked on the river bank, with one arm about dom manuel. always sesphra limped as he walked. a stiff and obdurate wind was ruffling the broad brown shining water, and as they walked, this wind buffeted them, and tore at their clothing. manuel clung to his hat with one hand, and with the other held to lame sesphra of the dreams. sesphra talked of matters not to be recorded. "that is a handsome ring you have there," says sesphra, by and by. "it is the ring my wife gave me when we were married," manuel replied. "then you must give it to me, dear manuel." "no, no, i cannot part with it." "but it is beautiful, and i want it," sesphra said. so manuel gave him the ring. now sesphra began again to talk of matters not to be recorded. "sesphra of the dreams," says manuel, presently, "you are bewitching me, for when i listen to you i see that manuel's imperilled lands make such a part of earth as one grain of sand contributes to the long narrow beach we are treading. i see my fond wife niafer as a plain-featured and dull woman, not in any way remarkable among the millions of such women as are at this moment preparing breakfast or fretting over other small tasks. i see my newborn child as a mewing lump of flesh. and i see sesphra whom i made so strong and strange and beautiful, and it is as if in a half daze i hear that obdurate wind commingled with the sweet voice of sesphra while you are talking of matters which it is not safe to talk about." "yes, that is the way it is, manuel, and the way it should be, and the way it always will be as long as life is spared to you, now. so let us go into the house, and write droll letters to king helmas and raymond bérenger and queen stultitia, in reply to the fine offers they have been making you." they came back into the empty banquet-hall. this place was paved with mother of pearl and copper; six porphyry columns supported the musicians' gallery. to the other end were two alabaster urns upon green pedestals that were covered with golden writing in the old dirgham. here manuel cleared away the embossed silver plates from one corner of the table. he took pen and ink, and sesphra told him what to write. sesphra sat with arms folded, and as he dictated he looked up at the ceiling. this ceiling was of mosaic work, showing four winged creatures that veiled their faces with crimson and orange-tawny wings; suspended from this ceiling by bronze chains hung ostrich eggs, bronze lamps and globes of crystal. "but these are very insulting replies," observed dom manuel, when he had finished writing, "and they will make their recipients furious. these princes, sesphra, are my good friends, and they are powerful friends, upon whose favor i am dependent." "yes, but how beautiful these replies are worded! see now, dear manuel, how divertingly you have described king helmas' hideous nose in your letter to king helmas, and how trenchant is that paragraph about the scales of his mermaid wife--" "i admit that passage is rather droll--" "--and in your letter to the pious queen stultitia that which you say about the absurdities of religion, here, and the fun you make of her spectacles, are masterpieces of paradox and of very exquisite prose--" "those bits, to be sure, are quite neatly put--" "--so i must see to it that these replies are sent, to make people admire you everywhere." "yet, sesphra, all these princes are my friends, and their goodwill is necessary to me--" "no, manuel. for you and i will not bother about these stupid princes any more, nor will you need any friends except me; for we will go to this and that remote strange place, and our manner of living will be such and such, and we will do so and so, and we will travel everywhither and see the ends of this world and judge them. and we will not ever be parted until you die." "what will you do then, dear sesphra?" manuel asks him fondly. "i shall survive you, as all gods outlive their creators. and i must depute the building of your monument to men of feeble minds which have been properly impaired by futile studies and senility. that is the way in which all gods are doomed to deal with their creators: but that need not trouble us as yet." "no," manuel said, "i cannot go with you. for in my heart is enkindling such love of you as frightens me." "it is through love men win to happiness, poor lonely manuel." now when manuel answered sesphra there was in manuel's face trouble and bewilderment. and manuel said: "under your dear bewitchments, sesphra, i confess that through love men win to sick disgust and self-despising, and for that reason i will not love any more. now breathlessly the tall lads run to clutch at stars, above the brink of a drab quagmire, and presently time trips them--oh, sesphra, wicked sesphra of the dreams, you have laid upon me a magic so strong that, horrified, i hear the truth come babbling from long-guarded lips which no longer obey me, because of your dear bewitchments. "look you, adorable and all-masterful sesphra, i have followed noble loves. i aspired to the unattainable princess, and thereafter to the unattainable queen of a race that is more fine and potent than our race, and afterward i would have no less a love than an unattainable angel in paradise. hah, i must be fit mate for that which is above me, was my crying in the old days; and such were the indomitable desires that one by one have made my living wonderful with dear bewitchments. "the devil of it was that these proud aims did not stay unattained! instead, i was cursed by getting my will, and always my reward was nothing marvelous and rare, but that quite ordinary figure of earth, a human woman. and always in some dripping dawn i have turned with abhorrence from myself and from the sated folly that had hankered for such prizes, which, when possessed, showed as not wonderful in anything, and which possession left likable enough, but stripped of dear bewitchments. "no, sesphra, no: men are so made that they must desire to mate with some woman or another, and they are furthermore so made that to mate with a woman does not content their desire. and in this gaming there is no gain, because the end of loving, for everybody except those lucky persons whose love is not requited, must always be a sick disgust and a self-despising, which the wise will conduct in silence, and not talk about as i am talking now under your dear bewitchments." then sesphra smiled a little, saying, "and yet, poor manuel, there is, they tell me, no more uxorious husband anywhere." "i am used to her," manuel replied, forlornly, "and i suppose that if she were taken away from me again i would again be attempting to fetch her back. and i do not like to hurt the poor foolish heart of her by going against her foolish notions. besides, i am a little afraid of her, because she is always able to make me uncomfortable. and above all, of course, the hero of a famous love-affair, such as ours has become, with those damned poets everywhere making rhymes about my fidelity and devotion, has to preserve appearances. so i get through each day, somehow, by never listening very attentively to the interminable things she tells me about. but i often wonder, as i am sure all husbands wonder, why heaven ever made a creature so tedious and so unreasonably dull of wit and so opinionated. and when i think that for the rest of time this creature is to be my companion i usually go out and kill somebody. then i come back, because she knows the way i like my toast." "instead, dear manuel, you must go away from this woman who does not understand you--" "yes," manuel said, with grave conviction, "that is exactly the trouble." "--and you must go with me who understand you all through. and we will travel everywhither, so that we may see the ends of this world and judge them." "you tempt me, sesphra, with an old undying desire, and you have laid strong enchantments on me, but, no, i cannot go with you." the hand of sesphra closed upon the hand of manuel caressingly. manuel said: "i will go with you. but what will become of the woman and the child whom i leave behind me unfriended?" "that is true. there will be nobody to look out for them, and they will perish miserably. that is not important, but perhaps upon the whole it would be better for you to kill them before we depart from sargyll." "very well, then," says manuel, "i will do that, but you must come up into the room with me, for i cannot bear to lose sight of you." now sesphra smiled more unrestrainedly, and his teeth gleamed. "i shall not ever leave you now until you die." [illustration] xxx farewell to freydis they went upstairs together, into the room with scarlet hangings, and to the golden bed where, with seven sorts of fruit properly arranged at the bedside, dom manuel's wife niafer lay asleep. manuel drew his dagger. niafer turned in her sleep, so that she seemed to offer her round small throat to the raised knife. you saw now that on the other side of the golden bed sat queen freydis, making a rich glow of color there, and in her lap was the newborn naked child. freydis rose, holding the child to her breast, and smiling. a devil might smile thus upon contriving some new torment for lost souls, but a fair woman's face should not be so cruel. then this evil joy passed from the face of freydis. she dipped her fingers into the bowl of water with which she had been bathing the child, and with her finger-tips she made upon the child's forehead the sign of a cross. said freydis, "melicent, i baptize thee in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost." sesphra passed wildly toward the fireplace, crying, "a penny, a penny, twopence, a penny and a half, and a halfpenny!" at his call the fire shot forth tall flames, and sesphra entered these flames as a man goes between parted curtains, and instantly the fire collapsed and was as it had been. already the hands of freydis were moving deftly in the sleep charm, so that niafer did not move. freydis to-day was resplendently robed in flame-colored silk, and about her dark hair was a circlet of burnished copper. manuel had dropped his dagger so that the point of it pierced the floor, and the weapon stood erect and quivering. but manuel was shaken for a moment more horribly than shook the dagger: you would have said he was convulsed with horror and self-loathing. so for an instant he waited, looking at dame niafer, who slept untroubled, and at fiery-colored freydis, who was smiling rather queerly: and then the old composure came back to manuel. "breaker of all oaths," says freydis, "i must tell you that this sesphra is pagan, and cannot thrive except among those whose love is given to the unchristened. thus he might not come to sargyll until the arrival of this little heathen whom i have just made christian. now we have only christian terrors here; and again your fate is in my hands." dom manuel looked grave. "freydis," he said, "you have rescued me from very unbecoming conduct. a moment more and i would have slain my wife and child because of this sesphra's resistless magic." says freydis, still smiling a queer secret smile: "indeed, there is no telling into what folly and misery sesphra would not have led you. for you fashioned his legs unevenly, and he has not ever pardoned you his lameness." "the thing is a devil," manuel said. "and this is the figure i desired to make, this is the child of my long dreams and labors! this is the creature i designed to be more admirable and significant than the drab men i found in streets and lanes and palaces! certainly, i have loosed among mankind a blighting misery which i cannot control at all." "the thing is you as you were once, gray manuel. you had comeliness and wit and youth and courage, and these you gave the image, shaping it boldly to your proud youth's will and in your proud youth's likeness. but human pity and any constant love you did not then have to give, either to your fellows or to the fine figure you made, nor, very certainly, to me. so you amused yourself by making sesphra and by making me that which we are to-day." now again showed subtly evil thoughts in the face of this shrewd flaming woman who had so recently brought about the destruction of king thibaut, and of the duke of istria, and of those other enamored lords. and dom manuel began to regard her more intently. in manuel's sandals the average person would have reflected, long before this, that manuel and his wife and child were in this sorcerous place at the mercy of the whims and the unwholesome servitors of this not very dependable looking witch-woman. the average person would have recollected distastefully that unusual panther and that discomfortable night-porter and the madness which had smitten duke asmund's men, and the clattering vicious little hoofs of the shrill dwarfs; and to the average person this room would have seemed a desirable place to be many leagues away from. but candid blunt dom manuel said, with jovial laughter: "you speak as if you had not grown more adorable every day, dear freydis, and as though i would not be vastly flattered to think i had any part in the improvement. you should not fish thus unblushingly for compliments." the sombre glitterings that were her eyes had narrowed, and she was looking at his hands. then freydis said: "there are pin-points of sweat upon the back of your hands, gray manuel, and so alone do i know that you are badly frightened. yes, you are rather wonderful, even now." "i am not unduly frightened, but i am naturally upset by what has just happened. anybody would be. for i do not know what i must anticipate in the future, and i wish that i had never meddled in this mischancy business of creating things i cannot manage." queen freydis moved in shimmering splendor toward the fireplace. she paused there, considerately looking down at the small contention of flames. "did you not, though, again create much misery when for your pleasure you gave life to this girl child? certainly you must know that there will be in her life--if life indeed be long spared to her," said freydis, reflectively,--"far less of joy than of sorrow, for that is the way it is with the life of everybody. but all this likewise is out of your hands. in sesphra and in the child and in me you have lightly created that which you cannot control. no, it is i who control the outcome." now a golden panther came quite noiselessly into the room, and sat to the right of freydis, and looked at dom manuel. "why, to be sure," says manuel, heartily, "and i am sure, too, that nobody is better qualified to handle it. come now, freydis, just as you say, this is a serious situation, and something really ought to be done about this situation. come now, dear friend, in what way can we take back the life we gave this lovely fiend?" "and would i be wanting to kill my husband?" queen freydis asked, and she smiled wonderfully. "why, but yes, this fair lame child of yours is my husband to-day,--poor, frightened, fidgeting gray manuel,--and i love him, for sesphra is all that you were when i loved you, manuel, and when you condescended to take your pleasure of me." now an orange-colored rat came into the room, and sat down upon the hearth to the left hand of freydis, and looked at dom manuel. and the rat was is large as the panther. then freydis said: "no, manuel, sesphra must live for a great while, long after you have been turned to graveyard dust: and he will limp about wherever pagans are to be found, and he will always win much love from the high-hearted pagans because of his comeliness and because of his unfading jaunty youth. and whether he will do any good anywhere is doubtful, but it is certain he will do harm, and it is equally certain that already he weighs my happiness as carelessly as you once weighed it." now came into the room another creature, such as no madman has ever seen or imagined, and it lay down at the feet of freydis, and it looked at dom manuel. couched thus, this creature yawned and disclosed unreassuring teeth. "well, freydis," says dom manuel, handsomely, "but, to be sure, what you tell me puts a new complexion upon matters, and not for worlds would i be coming between husband and wife--" queen freydis looked up from the flames, toward dom manuel, very sadly. freydis shrugged, flinging out her hands above the heads of the accursed beasts. "and at the last i cannot do that, either. so do you two dreary, unimportant, well-mated people remain undestroyed, now that i go to seek my husband, and now i endeavor to win my pardon for not letting him torment you. eh, i was tempted, gray manuel, to let my masterful fine husband have his pleasure of you, and of this lean ugly hobbling creature and her brat, too, as formerly you had your pleasure of me. but women are so queerly fashioned that at the last i cannot, quite, consent to harm this gray, staid, tedious fellow, nor any of his chattels. for all passes in this world save one thing only: and though the young manuel whom i loved in a summer that is gone, be nowadays as perished as that summer's gay leaves, it is certain a woman's folly does not ever perish." "indeed, i did not merit that you should care for me," says manuel, rather unhappily. "but i have always been, and always shall be sincerely fond of you, freydis, and for that reason i rejoice to deduce that you are not, now, going to do anything violent and irreparable and such as your better nature would afterward regret." "i loved you once," she said, "and now i am assured the core of you was always a cold and hard and colorless and very common pebble. but it does not matter now that i am a mortal woman. either way, you have again made use of me. i have afforded you shelter when you were homeless. and now again you will be getting your desire." queen freydis went to the window, and lifted the scarlet curtain figured with ramping gold dragons; but the couching beasts stayed by the hearth, and they continued to look at dom manuel. "yes, now again, gray manuel, you will be getting your desire. that ship which shows at the river bend, with serpents and castles painted on its brown sails, is miramon lluagor's ship, which he has sent to fetch you from sargyll: and the last day of your days of exile is now over. for miramon is constrained by one who is above us all; therefore miramon comes gladly and very potently to assist you. and i--who have served your turn!--i may now depart, to look for sesphra, and for my pardon if i can get it." "but whither do you go, dear freydis?" dom manuel spoke as though he again felt quite fond of her. "what does that matter," she answered, looking long and long at him, "now that count manuel has no further need of me?" then freydis looked at niafer, lying there in a charmed sleep. "i neither love nor entirely hate you, ugly and lame and lean and fretful niafer, but assuredly i do not envy you. you are welcome to your fidgeting gray husband. my husband is a ruthless god. my husband does not grow old and tender-hearted and subservient to me, and he never will." thereafter freydis bent downward, and freydis kissed the child she had christened. "some day you will be a woman, melicent, and then you will be loving some man or another man. i could hope that you will then love the man who will make you happy, but that sort of man has not yet been found." dom manuel came to her, not heeding the accursed beasts at all, and he took both the hands of freydis in his hands. "my dear, and do you think i am a happy man?" she looked up at him: when she answered, her voice trembled. "i made you happy, manuel. i would have made you happy always." "i wonder if you would have? ah, well, at all events, the obligation was upon me. at no time in a man's life, i find, is there lacking some obligation or another: and we must meet each as we best can, not hoping to succeed, just aiming not to fall short too far. no, it is not a merry pursuit. and it is a ruining pursuit!" she said, "i had not thought ever to be sorry for you--why should i grieve for you, gray traitor?" harshly he answered: "oho, i am not proud of what i have made of my life, and of your life, and of the life of that woman yonder, but do you think i will be whining about it! no, freydis: the boy that loved and deserted you is here,"--he beat upon his breast,--"locked in, imprisoned while time lasts, dying very lonelily. well, i am a shrewd gaoler: he shall not get out. no, even at the last, dear freydis, there is the bond of silence." she said, impotently, "i am sorry--even at the last you contrive for me a new sorrow--" for a moment they stood looking at each other, and she remembered thereafter his sad and quizzical smiling. these two had nothing more to share in speech or deed. then freydis went away, and the accursed beasts and her castle too went with her, as smoke passes. manuel was thus left standing out of doors in a reaped field, alone with his wife and child while miramon's ship came about. niafer slept. but now the child awoke to regard the world into which she had been summoned willy-nilly, and the child began to whimper. dom manuel patted this intimidating small creature gingerly, with a strong comely hand from which his wedding ring was missing. that would require explanations. it therefore seems not improbable that he gave over this brief period of waiting, in a reaped field, to wondering just how much about the past he might judiciously tell his wife when she awoke to question him, because in the old days that was a problem which no considerate husband failed to weigh with care. xxxi statecraft now from the ship's gangway came seven trumpeters dressed in glistening plaids: each led with a silver chain a grayhound, and each of the seven hounds carried in his mouth an apple of gold. after these followed three harp-players and three clergymen and three jesters, all bearing crested staves and wearing chaplets of roses. then miramon lluagor, lord of the nine sleeps and prince of the seven madnesses, comes ashore. an incredible company followed. but with him came his wife gisèle and their little child demetrios, thus named for the old count of arnaye: and it was this boy that, they say, when yet in swaddling-bands, was appointed to be the slayer of his own father, wise miramon lluagor. dame niafer was wakened, and the two women went apart to compare and discuss their babies. they put the children in one cradle. a great while afterward were these two again to lie together thus, and from this mating was the girl to get long sorrow, and the boy his death. meanwhile the snub-nosed lord of the nine sleeps and the squinting count of poictesme sat down upon the river bank to talk about more serious matters than croup and teething. the sun was high by this time, so kan and muluc and ix and cauac came in haste from the corners of the world, and held up a blue canopy to shelter the conferring between their master and dom manuel. "what is this," said miramon lluagor to dom manuel, first of all, "that i hear of your alliance with philistia, and of your dickerings with a people who say that my finest designs are nothing but indigestion?" "i have lost poictesme," says manuel, "and the philistines offer to support me in my pretensions." "but that will never do! i who design all dreams can never consent to that, and no philistine must ever enter poictesme. why did you not come to me for help at the beginning, instead of wasting time upon kings and queens?" demands the magician, fretfully. "and are you not ashamed to be making any alliance with philistia, remembering how you used to follow after your own thinking and your own desire?" "well," manuel replies, "i have had as yet nothing save fair words from philistia, and no alliance is concluded." "that is more than well. only, let us be orderly about this. imprimis, you desire poictesme--" "no, not in particular, but appearances have to be preserved, and my wife thinks it would look better for me to redeem this country from the oppression of the heathen northmen, and so provide her with a suitable home." "item, then i must obtain this country for you, because there is no sense in withstanding our wives in such matters." "i rejoice at your decision--" "between ourselves, manuel, i fancy you now begin to understand the reasons which prompted me to bring you the magic sword flamberge at the beginning of our acquaintance, and have learned who it is that wears the breeches in most marriages." "no, that is not the way it is at all, miramon, for my wife is the dearest and most dutiful of women, and never crosses my wishes in anything." miramon nodded his approval. "you are quite right, for somebody might be overhearing us. so, let us get on, and do you stop interrupting me. item, you must hold poictesme, and your heirs forever after must hold poictesme, not in fee but by feudal tenure. item, you shall hold these lands, not under any saint like ferdinand, but under a quite different sort of liege-lord." "i can see no objection to your terms, thus far. but who is to be my overlord?" "a person whom you may remember," replied miramon, and he beckoned toward the rainbow throng of his followers. one of them at this signal came forward. he was a tall lean youngster, with ruddy cheeks, wide-set brown eyes, and a smallish head covered with crisp, tightly-curling dark red hair: and manuel recognized him at once, because manuel had every reason to remember the queer talk he had held with this horvendile just after niafer had ridden away with miramon's dreadful half-brother. "but do you not think that this horvendile is insane?" dom manuel asked the magician, privately. "i confess he very often has that appearance." "then why do you make him my overlord?" "i have my reasons, you may depend upon it, and if i do not talk about them you may be sure that for this reticence also i have my reasons." "but is this horvendile, then, one of the léshy? is he the horvendile whose great-toe is the morning star?" "i may tell you that it was he who summoned me to help you in distress, of which i had not heard upon vraidex, but why should i tell you any more, dom manuel? come, is it not enough that am offering you a province and comparatively tranquil terms of living with your wife, that you must have all my old secrets to boot?" "you are right," says manuel, "and prospective benefactors must be humored." so he rested content with his ignorance, nor did he ever find out about horvendile, though later manuel must have had horrible suspicions. meanwhile, dom manuel affably shook hands with the red-headed boy, and spoke of their first meeting. "and i believe you were not talking utter foolishness after all, my lad," says manuel, laughing, "for i have learned that the strange and dangerous thing which you told me is very often true." "why, how should i know," quiet horvendile replied, "when i am talking foolishness and when not?" manuel said: "still, i can understand your talking only in part. well, but it is not right for us to understand our overlords, and, madman or not, i prefer you to queen stultitia and her preposterous rose-colored spectacles. so let us proceed in due form, and draw up the articles of our agreement." this was done, and they formally subscribed the terms under which dom manuel and the descendants of dom manuel were to hold poictesme perpetually in fief to horvendile. it was the most secret sort of compact, and to divulge its ten stipulations would even now be most disastrous. so the terms of this compact were not ever made public. thus all men stayed at no larger liberty to criticize its provisos than his circumstances had granted to dom manuel, upon whom marrying had put the obligation to provide, in one way or another way, for his wife and child. [illustration] xxxii the redemption of poictesme when then these matters were concluded, and the future of poictesme had been arranged in every detail, then miramon lluagor's wife told him that long words and ink-bottles and red seals were well enough for men to play with, but that it was high time something sensible was done in this matter, unless they expected niafer to bring up the baby in a ditch. the magician said, "yes, my darling, you are quite right, and i will see to it the first thing after dinner." he then said to dom manuel, "now horvendile informs me that you were duly born in a cave at about the time of the winter solstice, of a virgin mother and of a father who was not human." manuel replied, "certainly that is true. but why do you now stir up these awkward old stories?" "you have duly wandered from place to place, bringing wisdom and holiness to men--" "that also is generally known." "you have duly performed miracles, such as reviving dead persons and so on--" "that too is undeniable." "you have duly sojourned with evil in a desert place, and have there been tempted to despair and blaspheme and to commit other iniquities." "yes, something of the sort did occur in dun vlechlan." "and, as i well know, you have by your conduct of affairs upon vraidex duly disconcerted me, who am the power of darkness--" "ah! ah! you, miramon, are then the power of darkness!" "i control all dreams and madnesses, dom manuel; and these are the main powers of darkness." manuel seemed dubious, but he only said: "well, let us get on! it is true that all these things have happened to me, somehow." the magician looked at the tall warrior for a while, and in the dark soft eyes of miramon lluagor was a queer sort of compassion. miramon said, "yes, manuel, these portents have marked your living thus far, just as they formerly distinguished the beginnings of mithras and of huitzilopochtli and of tammouz and of heracles--" "yes, but what does it matter if these accidents did happen to me, miramon?" "--as they happened to gautama and to dionysos and to krishna and to all other reputable redeemers," miramon continued. "well, well, all this is granted. but what, pray, am i to deduce from all this?" miramon told him. dom manuel, at the end of miramon's speaking, looked peculiarly solemn, and manuel said: "i had thought the transformation surprising enough when king ferdinand was turned into a saint, but this tops all! either way, miramon, you point out an obligation so tremendous that the less said about it, the wiser; and the sooner this obligation is discharged and the ritual fulfilled, the more comfortable it will be for everybody." so manuel went away with miramon lluagor into a secret place, and there dom manuel submitted to that which was requisite, and what happened is not certainly known. but this much is known, that manuel suffered, and afterward passed three days in an underground place, and came forth on the third day. then miramon said: "all this being duly performed and well rid of, we do not now violate any messianic etiquette if we forthwith set about the redemption of poictesme. now then, would you prefer to redeem with the forces of good or with the forces of evil?" "not with the forces of evil," said manuel, "for i saw many of these in the high woods of dun vlechlan, and i do not fancy them as allies. but are good and evil all one to you of the léshy?" "why should we tell you, manuel?" says the magician. "that, miramon, is a musty reply." "it is not a reply, it is a question. and the question has become musty because it has been handled so often, and no man has ever been able to dispose of it." manuel gave it up, and shrugged. "well, let us conquer as we may, so that god be on our side." miramon replied: "never fear! he shall be, in every shape and attribute." so miramon did what was requisite, and from the garrets and dustheaps of vraidex came strong allies. for, to begin with, miramon dealt unusually with a little fish, and as a result of these dealings came to them, during the afternoon of the last thursday in september, as they stood on the seashore north of manneville, a darkly colored champion clad in yellow. he had four hands, in which he carried a club, a shell, a lotus and a discus; and he rode upon a stallion whose hide glittered like new silver. manuel said, "this is a good omen, that the stallion of poictesme should have aid brought to it by yet another silver stallion." "let us not speak of this bright stallion," miramon hastily replied, "for until this yuga is over he has no name. but when the minds of all men are made clear as crystal then a christening will be appointed for this stallion, and his name will be kalki, and by the rider upon this stallion antan will be redeemed." "well," manuel said, "that seems fair enough. meanwhile, with this dusky gentleman's assistance, i gather, we are to redeem poictesme." "oh, no, dom manuel, he is but the first of our redeemers, for there is nothing like the decimal system, and you will remember it was in our treaty that in poictesme all things are to go by tens forever." thereafter miramon did what was requisite with some acorns, and the splutterings were answered by low thunder. so came a second champion to aid them. this was a pleasant looking young fellow with an astonishingly red beard: he had a basket slung over his shoulder, and he carried a bright hammer. he rode in a chariot drawn by four goats. "come, this is certainly a fine stalwart fighting-man," says manuel, "and to-day is a lucky day for me, and for this ruddy gentleman also, i hope." "to-day is always his day," miramon replied, "and do you stop interrupting me in my incantations, and hand me that flute." so manuel stayed as silent as that brace of monstrous allies while miramon did yet another curious thing with a flute and a palm-branch. thereafter came an amber-colored champion clad in dark green, and carrying a club and a noose for the souls of the dead. he rode upon a buffalo, and with him came an owl and a pigeon. "i think--" said manuel. "you do not!" said miramon. "you only talk and fidget, because you are upset by the appearance of your allies; and such talking and fidgeting is very disturbing to an artist who is striving to reanimate the past." thus speaking, miramon turned indignantly to another evocation. it summoned a champion in a luminous chariot drawn by scarlet mares. he was golden-haired, with ruddy limbs, and was armed with a bow and arrows: he too was silent, but he laughed, and you saw that he had several tongues. after him came a young shining man who rode on a boar with golden bristles and bloodied hoofs: this warrior carried a naked sword, and on his back, folded up like a cloth, was a ship to contain the gods and all living creatures. and the sixth redeemer was a tall shadow-colored person with two long gray plumes affixed to his shaven head: he carried a sceptre and a thing which, miramon said, was called an ankh, and the beast he rode on was surprising to observe, for it had the body of a beetle, with human arms, and the head of a ram, and the four feet of a lion. "come," manuel said, "but i have never seen just such a steed as that." "no," miramon replied, "nor has anybody else, for this is the hidden one. but do you stop your eternal talking, and pass me the salt and that young crocodile." with these two articles miramon dealt so as to evoke a seventh ally. serpents were about the throat and arms of this champion, and he wore a necklace of human skulls: his long black hair was plaited remarkably; his throat was blue, his body all a livid white except where it was smeared with ashes. he rode upon the back of a beautiful white bull. next, riding on a dappled stag, came one appareled in vivid stripes of yellow and red and blue and green: his face was dark as a raincloud, he had one large round eye, white tusks protruded from his lips, and he carried a gaily painted urn. his unspeakable attendants leaped like frogs. the jolliest looking of all the warriors came thereafter, with a dwarfish body and very short legs; he had a huge black-bearded head, a flat nose, and his tongue hung from his mouth and waggled as he moved. he wore a belt and a necklace, and nothing else whatever except the plumes of the hawk arranged as a head-dress: and he rode upon a great sleek tortoise-shell cat. now when these unusual appearing allies stood silently aligned before them on the seashore, dom manuel said, with a polite bow toward this appalling host, that he hardly thought duke asmund would be able to withstand such redeemers. but miramon repeated that there was nothing like the decimal system. "that half-brother of mine, who is lord of the tenth kind of sleeping, would nicely round off this dizain," says miramon, scratching his chin, "if only he had not such a commonplace, black-and-white appearance, apart from being one of those dreadful realists, without a scrap of aesthetic feeling--no, i like color, and we will levy now upon the west!" so miramon dealt next with a little ball of bright feathers. then a last helper came to them, riding on a jaguar, and carrying a large drum and a flute from which his music issued in the shape of flames. this champion was quite black, but he was striped with blue paint, and golden feathers grew all over his left leg. he wore a red coronet in the shape of a rose, a short skirt of green paper, and white sandals; and he carried a red shield that had in its centre a white flower with the four petals placed crosswise. such was he who made up the tenth. now when this terrible dizain was completed the lord of the seven madnesses laid fire to a wisp of straw, and he cast it to the winds, saying that thus should the anger of miramon lluagor pass over the land. then he turned to these dreadful ten whom he had revivified from the dustheaps and garrets of vraidex, and it became apparent that miramon was deeply moved. said miramon: "you, whom i made for man's worship when earth was younger and fairer, hearken, and learn why i breathe new life into husks from my scrap-heaps! gods of old days, discrowned, disjected, and treated as rubbish, hark to the latest way of the folk whose fathers you succored! they have discarded you utterly. such as remember deride you, saying: "'the brawling old lords that our grandfathers honored have perished, if they indeed were ever more than some curious notions bred of our grandfathers' questing, that looked to find god in each rainstorm coming to nourish their barley, and god in the heat-bringing sun, and god in the earth which gave life. even so was each hour of their living touched with odd notions of god and with lunacies as to god's kindness. we are more sensible people, for we understand all about the freaks of the wind and the weather, and find them in no way astounding. as for whatever gods may exist, they are civil, in that they let us alone in our lifetime; and so we return their politeness, knowing that what we are doing on earth is important enough to need undivided attention.' "such are the folk that deride you, such are the folk that ignore the gods whom miramon fashioned, such are the folk whom to-day i permit you freely to deal with after the manner of gods. do you now make the most of your chance, and devastate all poictesme in time for an earlyish supper!" the faces of these ten became angry, and they shouted, "blaerde shay alphenio kasbue gorfons albuifrio!" all ten went up together from the sea, traveling more swiftly than men travel, and what afterward happened in poictesme was for a long while a story very fearful to hear and heard everywhere. manuel did not witness any of the tale's making as he waited alone on the seashore. but the land was sick, and its nausea heaved under manuel's wounded feet, and he saw that the pale, gurgling, glistening sea appeared to crawl away from poictesme slimily. and at bellegarde and naimes and storisende and lisuarte, and in all the strongly fortified inland places, asmund's tall fighting-men beheld one or another of the angry faces which came up from the sea, and many died swiftly, as must always happen when anybody revives discarded dreams, nor did any of the northmen die in a shape recognizable as human. when the news was brought to dom manuel that his redemption of poictesme was completed, then dom manuel unarmed, and made himself presentable in a tunic of white damask and a girdle adorned with garnets and sapphires. he slipped over his left shoulder a baldric set with diamonds and emeralds, to sustain the unbloodied sword with which he had conquered here as upon vraidex. over all he put on a crimson mantle. then the former swineherd concealed his hands, not yet quite healed, with white gloves, of which the one was adorned with a ruby, and the other was a sapphire; and, sighing, manuel the redeemer (as he was called thereafter) entered into his kingdom, and they of poictesme received him far more gladly than he them. thus did dom manuel enter into the imprisonment of his own castle and into the bonds of high estate, from which he might not easily get free to go a-traveling everywhither, and see the ends of this world and judge them. and they say that in her low red-pillared palace suskind smiled contentedly and made ready for the future. [illustration] part five. the book of settlement to joseph hergesheimer thus _manuel reigned in vertue and honoure with that noble ladye his wyfe: and he was beloued and dradde of high and lowe degree, for he dyde ryghte and iustice_ according to the auncient manner, _kepynge hys land in dignitie and goode appearance, and hauynge the highest place in hys tyme._ xxxiii now manuel prospers they of poictesme narrate fine tales as to the deeds that manuel the redeemer performed and incited in the days of his reign. they tell also many things that seem improbable, and therefore are not included in this book: for the old songs and tales incline to make of count manuel's heydey a rare golden age. so many glorious exploits are, indeed, accredited to manuel and to the warriors whom he gathered round him in his famous fellowship of the silver stallion,--and among whom, holden and courteous anavalt and coth the alderman and gonfal and donander had the pre-eminence, where all were hardy,--that it is very difficult to understand how so brief a while could have continued so many doings. but the tale-tellers of poictesme have been long used to say of a fine action,--not falsely, but misleadingly,--"thus it was in count manuel's time," and the tribute by and by has been accepted as a dating. so has chronology been hacked to make loftier his fame, and the glory of dom manuel has been a magnet that has drawn to itself the magnanimities of other days and years. but there is no need here to speak of these legends, about the deeds which were performed by the fellowship of the silver stallion, because these stories are recorded elsewhere. some may be true, the others are certainly not true; but it is indisputable that count manuel grew steadily in power and wealth and proud repute. miramon lluagor still served him, half-amusedly, as dom manuel's seneschal; kings now were manuel's co-partners; and the former swineherd had somehow become the fair and trusty cousin of emperors. and madame niafer, the great count's wife, was everywhere stated, without any contradiction from her, to be daughter to the late soldan of barbary. guivric the sage illuminated the tree which showed the glorious descent of dame niafer from kaiumarth, the first of all kings, and the first to teach men to build houses: and this tree hung in the main hall of storisende. "for even if some errors may have crept in here and there," said dame niafer, "it looks very well." "but, my dear," said manuel, "your father was not the soldan of barbary: instead, he was the second groom at arnaye, and all this lineage is a preposterous fabrication." "i said just now that some errors may have crept in here and there," assented dame niafer, composedly, "but the point is, that the thing really looks very well, and i do not suppose that even you deny that." "no, i do not deny that this glowing mendacity adds to the hall's appearance." "so now, you see for yourself!" said niafer, triumphantly. and after that her new ancestry was never questioned. and in the meanwhile dom manuel had sent messengers over land and sea to his half-sister math at rathgor, bidding her sell the mill for what it would fetch. she obeyed, and brought to manuel's court her husband and their two boys, the younger of whom rose later to be pope of rome. manuel gave the miller the vacant fief of montors; and thereafter you could nowhere have found a statelier fine lady than the countess matthiette de montors. she was still used to speak continually of what was becoming to people of our station in life, but it was with a large difference; and she got on with niafer as well as could be expected, but no better. and early in the summer of the first year of manuel's reign (just after dom manuel fetched to storisende the sigel of scoteia, as the spoils of his famous fight with oriander the swimmer), the stork brought to niafer the first of the promised boys. for the looks of the thing, this child was named, not after the father whom manuel had just killed, but after the emmerick who was manuel's nominal father: and it was this emmerick that afterward reigned long and notably in poictesme. so matters went prosperously with dom manuel, and there was nothing to trouble his peace of mind, unless it were some feeling of responsibility for the cult of sesphra, whose worship was now increasing everywhere among the nations. in philistia, in particular, sesphra was now worshipped openly in the legislative halls and churches, and all other religion, and all decency, was smothered under the rituals of sesphra. everywhere to the west and north his followers were delivering windy discourses and performing mad antics, and great hurt came of it all by and by. but if this secretly troubled dom manuel; the count, here as elsewhere, exercised to good effect his invaluable gift for holding his tongue. nor did he ever speak of freydis either, though it is recorded that when news came of the end which she had made in teamhair under the oppression of the druids and the satirists, dom manuel went silently into the room of ageus, and was not seen any more that day. that in such solitude he wept is improbable, for his hard vivid eyes had forgotten this way of exercise, but it is highly probable that he remembered many things, and found not all of them to his credit. so matters went prosperously with gray manuel; he had lofty palaces and fair woods and pastures and ease and content, and whensoever he went into battle attended by his nine lords of the silver stallion, his adversaries perished; he was esteemed everywhere the most lucky and the least scrupulous rogue alive: to crown all which the stork brought by and by to storisende the second girl, whom they named dorothy, for manuel's mother. and about this time too, came a young poet from england (ribaut they called him, and he met an evil end at coventry not long thereafter), bringing to dom manuel, where the high count sat at supper, a goose-feather. the count smiled, and he twirled the thing between his fingers, and he meditated. he shrugged, and said: "needs must. but for her ready wit, my head would have been set to dry on a silver pike. i cannot well ignore that obligation, if she, as it now seems, does not intend to ignore it." then he told niafer he must go into england. niafer looked up from the marmalade with which she was finishing off her supper, to ask placidly, "and what does that dear yellow-haired friend of yours want with you now?" "my dear, if i knew the answer to that question it would not be necessary for me to travel oversea." "it is easy enough to guess, though," dame niafer said darkly, although, in point of fact, she too was wondering why alianora should have sent for manuel; "and i can quite understand how in your sandals you prefer not to have people know about such doings, and laughing at you everywhere, again." dom manuel did not reply; but he sighed. "--and if any importance whatever were attached to my opinion in this house i might be saying a few things; but, as it is, it is much more agreeable, all around, to let you go your own hard-headed way and find out by experience that what i say is true. so now, manuel, if you do not mind, i think we had better be talking about something else a little more pleasant." dom manuel still did not say anything. the time, as has been noted, was just after supper, and as the high count and his wife sat over the remnants of this meal, a minstrel was making music for them. "you are not very cheerful company, i must say," niafer observed, in a while, "although i do not for a moment doubt your yellow-haired friend will find you gay enough--" "no, niafer, i am not happy to-night." "yes, and whose fault is it? i told you not to take two helpings of that beef." "no, no, dear snip, it is not indigestion, but rather it is that music, which is plaguing me." "now, manuel, how can music bother anybody! i am sure the boy plays his violin very nicely indeed, especially when you consider his age." said manuel: "yes, but the long low sobbing of the violin, troubling as the vague thoughts begotten by that season wherein summer is not yet perished from the earth, but lingers wanly in the tattered shrines of summer, speaks of what was and of what might have been. a blind desire, the same which on warm moonlit nights was used to shake like fever in the veins of a boy whom i remember, is futilely plaguing a gray fellow with the gray wraiths of innumerable old griefs and with small stinging memories of long-dead delights. such thirsting breeds no good for staid and aging men, but my lips are athirst for lips whose loveliness no longer exists in flesh, and i thirst for a dead time and its dead fervors to be reviving, so that young manuel may love again. "to-night now surely somewhere, while this music sets uncertain and probing fingers to healed wounds, an aging woman, in everything a stranger to me, is troubled just thus futilely, and she too remembers what she half forgets. 'we that of old were one, and shuddered heart to heart, with our young lips and our souls too made indivisible,'--thus she is thinking, as i think--'has life dealt candidly in leaving us to potter with half measures and to make nothing of severed lives that shrivel far apart?' yes, she to-night is sad as i, it well may be; but i cannot rest certain of this, because there is in young love a glory so bedazzling as to prevent the lover from seeing clearly his co-worshipper, and therefore in that dear time when we served love together i learned no more of her than she of me. "of all my failures this is bitterest to bear, that out of so much grieving and aspiring i have gained no assured knowledge of the woman herself, but must perforce become lachrymose over such perished tinsels as her quivering red lips and shining hair! of youth and love is there no more, then, to be won than virginal breasts and a small white belly yielded to the will of the lover, and brief drunkenness, and afterward such puzzled yearning as now dies into acquiescence, very much as the long low sobbing of that violin yonder dies into stillness now the song is done?" so it was that gray manuel talked in a half voice, sitting there resplendently robed in gold and crimson, and twiddling between his fingers a goose-feather. "yes," niafer said, presently, "but, for my part, i think he plays very nicely indeed." manuel gave an abrupt slight jerking of the head. dom manuel laughed. "dear snip," said he, "come, honestly now, what have you been meditating about while i talked nonsense?" "why, i was thinking i must remember to look over your flannels the first thing to-morrow, manuel, for everybody knows what that damp english climate is in autumn--" "my dearest," manuel said, with grave conviction, "you are the archetype and flawless model of all wives." [illustration] xxxiv farewell to alianora now dom manuel takes ship and goes into england: and for what happened there we have no authority save the account which dom manuel rendered on his return to his wife. thus said dom manuel: he went straight to woodstock, where the king and queen then were. at woodstock dom manuel was handsomely received, and there he passed the month of september-- (_"why need you stay so long, though?" dame niafer inquired. "well," manuel explained, "one thing led to another, as it were." "h'm!" niafer remarked._) he had presently a private talk with the queen. how was she dressed? as near as manuel recalled, she wore a green mantle fastened in front with a square fermoir of gems and wrought gold; under it, a close fitting gown of gold-diapered brocade, with tight sleeves so long that they half covered her hands, something like mitts. her crown was of floriated trefoils surmounting a band of rubies. of course, though, they might have been only garnets-- (_"and where was it that she dressed up in all this finery to talk with you in private?" "why, at woodstock, naturally." "i know it was at woodstock, but whereabouts at woodstock?" "it was by a window, my dear, by a window with panes of white glass and wooden lattices and a pent covered with lead." "your account is very circumstantial, but where was the window?" "oh, now i understand you! it was in a room." "what sort of room?" "well, the walls were covered with gay frescoes from saxon history; the fireplace was covered with very handsomely carved stone dragons; and the floor was covered with new rushes. indeed, the queen has one of the neatest bedrooms i have ever seen." "ah, yes," said niafer: "and what did you talk about during the time that you spent in your dear friend's bedroom?"_) well, he found all going well with queen alianora (dom manuel continued) except that she had not yet provided an heir for the english throne, and it was this alone which was troubling her. it was on account of this that she had sent for count manuel. "it is considered not to look at all well, after three years of marriage," the queen told him, "and people are beginning to say a number of unkind things." "it is the common fate of queens," dom manuel replies, "to be exposed to the criticism of envious persons." "no, do not be brilliant and aphoristic, manuel, for i want you to help me more practically in this matter." "very willingly will i help you if i can. but how can i?" "why, you must assist me in getting a baby,--a boy baby, of course." "i am willing to do all that i can, because certainly it does not look well for you to have no son to be king of england. but how can i, of all persons, help you in this affair?" "now, manuel, after getting three children you surely ought to know what is necessary!" dom manuel shook a gray head. "my children came from a source which is exhausted." "that would be deplorable news if i believed it, but i am sure that if you will let me take matters in hand i can convince you to the contrary--" "well, i am open to conviction." "--although i scarcely know how to begin, because i know that you will think this hard on you--" he took her hand. dom manuel admitted to niafer without reserve that here he took the queen's hand, saying: "do not play with me any longer, alianora, for you must see plainly that i am now eager to serve you. so do not be embarrassed, but come to the point, and i will do what i can." "why, manuel, both you and i know perfectly well that, even with your dorothy ordered, you still hold the stork's note for another girl and another boy, to be supplied upon demand, after the manner of the philistines." "no, not upon demand, for the first note has nine months to run, and the other falls due even later. but what has that to do with it?" "now, manuel, truly i hate to ask this of you, but my need is desperate, with all this criticizing and gossip. so for old time's sake, and for the sake of the life i gave you as a christmas present, through telling my dear father an out-and-out story, you must let me have that first promissory note, and you must direct the stork to bring the boy baby to me in england, and not to your wife in poictesme." so that was what dame alianora had wanted. (_"i knew that all along" observed dame niafer,--untruthfully, but adhering to her general theory that it was better to appear omniscient in dealing with one's husband._) well, dom manuel was grieved by the notion of being parted from his child prior to its birth, but he was moved alike by his former fondness for alianora, and by his indebtedness to her, and by the obligation that was on him to provide as handsomely as possible for his son. nobody could dispute that as king of england, the boy's station in life would be immeasurably above the rank of the count of poictesme's younger brother. so manuel made a complaint as to his grief and as to niafer's grief at thus prematurely losing their loved son-- (_"shall i repeat what i said, my dear?" "no, manuel, i never understand you when you are trying to be highflown and impressive."_) well, then, dom manuel made a very beautiful complaint, but in the outcome dom manuel consented to this sacrifice. he would not consent, though, to remain in england, as alianora wanted him to do. "no," he said, nobly, "it would not look at all well for you to be taking me as your lover, and breaking your marriage-vows to love nobody but the king. no, alianora, i will help you to get the baby you need, inasmuch as i am indebted to you for my life and have two babies to spare, but i am not willing to have anything to do with the breaking of your marriage-vows, because it is a crime which is forbidden by the holy scriptures, and of which niafer would certainly hear sooner or later." (_"oh, manuel, you did not say that!" "my dear, those were my exact words. and why not?" "that was putting it sensibly of course, but it would have sounded much better if you had expressed yourself entirely upon moral grounds. it is most important, manuel, as i am sure i have told you over and over again, for people in our position to show a proper respect for morality and religion and things of that sort whenever they come up in the conversation; but there is no teaching you anything except by bitter experience, which i sincerely hope may be spared you, and one might as well be arguing with a brick wall, and so you may go on"_) well, the queen wept and coaxed, but manuel was firm. so manuel spent that night in the queen's room, performing the needful incantations, and arranging matters with the stork, and then dom manuel returned home. and that--well, really that was all. such was the account which dom manuel rendered his wife. "and upon the whole, niafer, i consider it a very creditable stroke of business, for as king of england the child will enjoy advantages which we could never have afforded him." "yes," said niafer, "and what does that dear friend of yours look like nowadays?" "--besides, should the boy turn out badly our grief will be considerably lessened by the circumstance that, through never seeing this son of ours, our affection for him will never be inconveniently great." "there is something in that, for already i can see that emmerick inherits his father's obstinacy, and it naturally worries me, but what does the woman look like nowadays?" "--then, even more important than these considerations--." "nothing is more important, manuel, in this very curious sounding affair, than the way that woman looks nowadays." "ah, my dear," says manuel, diplomatically, "i did not like to speak of that, i confess, for you know these blondes go off in their appearance so quickly--" "of course they do, but still--" "--and it not being her fault, after all, i did not like to tell you about dame alianora's looking so many years older than you do, since your being a brunette gives you an unfair advantage to begin with." "ah, it is not that," said niafer, still rather grim-visaged, but obviously mollified. "it is the life she is leading, with her witchcraft and her familiar spirits and that continual entertaining and excitement, and everybody tells me she has already taken to dyeing her hair." "oh, it had plainly had something done to it," says manuel, lightly. "but it is a queen's duty to preserve such remnants of good looks as she possesses." "so there, you see!" said niafer, quite comfortable again in her mind when she noted the careless way in which dom manuel spoke of the queen. a year or two earlier dame niafer would perhaps have been moved to jealousy: now her only concern was that manuel might possibly be led to make a fool of himself and to upset their manner of living. with every contented wife her husband's general foolishness is an axiom, and prudent philosophers do not distinguish here between cause and effect. as for alianora's wanting to take manuel as a lover, dame niafer found the idea mildly amusing, and very nicely indicative of those washed-out, yellow-haired women's intelligence. to be harboring romantic notions about manuel seemed to manuel's wife so fantastically out of reason that she half wished the poor creature could without scandal be afforded a chance to find out for herself all about manuel's thousand and one finicky ways and what he was in general to live with. that being impossible, niafer put the crazy woman out of mind, and began to tell manuel about what had happened, and not for the first time either, while he was away, and about just how much more she was going to stand from sister math, and about the advantages of a perfectly plain understanding for everybody concerned. and with niafer that was the end of count manuel's discharging of his obligation to alianora. of course there were gossips who said this, that and the other. some asserted that manuel's tale in itself contained elements of improbability: others declared that queen alianora, who was far deeplier versed in the magic of the apsarasas than was dom manuel, could just as well have summoned the stork without his assistance. it was true the stork was under no especial obligations to alianora: even so, said these gossips, it would have looked far better, and a queen could not be too particular, and it simply showed you about these foreign southern women; and although they of course wished to misjudge no one, there was no sense in pretending to ignore what everybody practically knew to be a fact, and was talking about everywhere, and some day you would see for yourself. but after all, dom manuel and the queen were the only persons qualified to speak of these matters with authority, and this was dom manuel's account of them. for the rest, he was sustained against tittle-tattle by the knowledge that he had performed a charitable deed in england, for the queen's popularity was enhanced, and all the english, but particularly their king, were delighted, by the fine son which the stork duly brought to alianora the following june. manuel never saw this boy, who afterward ruled over england and was a highly thought-of warrior, nor did dom manuel ever see queen alianora any more. so alianora goes out of the story, to bring long years of misery and ruining wars upon the english, and to dom manuel no more beguilements. for they say dom manuel could never resist her, because of that underlying poverty in the correct emotions which, as some say, dom manuel shared with her, and which they hid from all the world except each other. [illustration] xxxv the troubling window it seemed, in a word, that trouble had forgotten count manuel. none the less, dom manuel opened a window, at his fine home at storisende, on a fine, sunlit, warmish morning (for this was the last day of april) to confront an outlook more perturbing than his hard vivid eyes had yet lighted on. so he regarded it for a while. considerately dom manuel now made experiments with three windows in this room of ageus, and found how, in so far as one's senses could be trusted, the matter stood. thereafter, as became an intelligent person, he went back to his writing-table, and set about signing the requisitions and warrants and other papers which ruric the clerk had left there. yet all the while dom manuel's gaze kept lifting to the windows. there were three of them, set side by side, each facing south. they were of thick clear glass, of a sort whose manufacture is a lost art, for these windows had been among the spoils brought back by duke asmund from nefarious raidings of philistia, in which country these windows had once been a part of the temple of ageus, an immemorial god of the philistines. for this reason the room was called the room of ageus. through these windows count manuel could see familiar fields, the long avenue of poplars and the rising hills beyond. all was as it had been yesterday, and as all had been since, nearly three years ago, count manuel first entered storisende. all was precisely as it had been, except, to be sure, that until yesterday dom manuel's table had stood by the farthest window. he could not remember that until to-day this window had ever been opened, because since his youth had gone out of him count manuel was becoming more and more susceptible to draughts. "it is certainly very curious," dom manuel said, aloud, when he had finished with his papers. he was again approaching the very curious window when his daughter melicent, now nearly three years old, came noisily, and in an appallingly soiled condition, to molest him. she had bright beauty later, but at three she was one of those children whom human powers cannot keep clean for longer than three minutes. dom manuel kept for her especial delectation a small flat paddle on his writing-table, and this he now caught up. "out of the room with you, little pest!" he blustered, "for i am busy." so the child, as was her custom, ran back into the hallway, and stood there, no longer in the room, but with one small foot thrust beyond the doorsill, while she laughed up at her big father, and derisively stuck out a tiny curved red tongue at the famed overlord of poictesme. then dom manuel, as was his custom, got down upon the floor to slap with his paddle at the intruding foot, and melicent squealed with delight, and pulled back her foot in time to dodge the paddle, and thrust out her other foot beyond the sill, and tried to withdraw that too before it was spanked. so it was they gave over a quarter of an hour to rioting, and so it was that grave young ruric found them. count manuel rather sheepishly arose from the floor, and dusted himself, and sent melicent into the buttery for some sugar cakes. he told ruric what were the most favorable terms he could offer the burgesses of narenta, and he gave ruric the signed requisitions. presently, when ruric had gone, dom manuel went again to the farthest window, opened it, and looked out once more. he shook his head, as one who gives up a riddle. he armed himself, and rode over to perdigon, whither sainted king ferdinand had come to consult with manuel about contriving the assassination of the moorish general, al-mota-wakkil. this matter dom manuel deputed to guivric the sage; and so was rid of it. in addition, count manuel had on hand that afternoon an appeal to the judgment of god, over some rather valuable farming lands; but it was remarked by the spectators that he botched the unhorsing and severe wounding of earl ladinas, and conducted it rather as though dom manuel's heart were not in the day's business. indeed, he had reason, for while supernal mysteries were well enough if one were still a hare-brained lad, or even if one set out in due form to seek them, to find such mysteries obtruding themselves unsought into the home-life of a well-thought-of nobleman was discomposing, and to have the windows of his own house playing tricks on him seemed hardly respectable. all that month, too, some memory appeared to trouble dom manuel, in the back of his mind, while the lords of the silver stallion were busied in the pursuit of othmar and othmar's brigands in the taunenfels: and as soon as dom manuel had captured and hanged the last squad of these knaves, dom manuel rode home and looked out of the window, to find matters unchanged. dom manuel meditated. he sounded the gong for ruric. dom manuel talked with the clerk about this and that. presently dom manuel said: "but one stifles here. open that window." the clerk obeyed. manuel at the writing-table watched him intently. but in opening the window the clerk had of necessity stood with his back toward count manuel, and when ruric turned, the dark young face of ruric was impassive. dom manuel, playing with the jeweled chain of office about his neck, considered ruric's face. then manuel said: "that is all. you may go." but count manuel's face was troubled, and for the rest of this day he kept an eye on ruric the young clerk. in the afternoon it was noticeable that this ruric went often, on one pretext and another, into the room of ageus when nobody else was there. the next afternoon, in broad daylight, manuel detected ruric carrying into the room of ageus, of all things, a lantern. the count waited a while, then went into the room through its one door. the room was empty. count manuel sat down and drummed with his fingers upon the top of his writing-table. after a while the third window was opened. ruric the clerk climbed over the sill. he blew out his lantern. "you are braver than i," count manuel said, "it may be. it is certain you are younger. once, ruric, i would not have lured any dark and prim-voiced young fellow into attempting this adventure, but would have essayed it myself post-haste. well, but i have other duties now, and appearances to keep up: and people would talk if they saw a well-thought-of nobleman well settled in life climbing out of his own windows, and there is simply no telling what my wife would think of it" the clerk had turned, startled, dropping his lantern with a small crash. his hands went jerkily to his smooth chin, clutching it. his face was white as a leper's face, and his eyes now were wild and glittering, and his head was drawn low between his black-clad shoulders, so that he seemed a hunchback as he confronted his master. another queer thing manuel could notice, and it was that a great lock had been sheared away from the left side of ruric's black hair. "what have you learned," says manuel, "out yonder?" "i cannot tell you," replied ruric, laughing sillily, "but in place of it, i will tell you a tale. yes, yes, count manuel, i will tell you a merry story of how a great while ago our common grandmother eve was washing her children one day near eden when god called to her. she hid away the children that she had not finished washing: and when the good god asked her if all her children were there, with their meek little heads against his knees, to say their prayers to him, she answered, yes. so god told her that what she had tried to hide from god should be hidden from men: and he took away the unwashed children, and made a place for them where everything stays young, and where there is neither good nor evil, because these children are unstained by human sin and unredeemed by christ's dear blood." the count said, frowning: "what drunken nonsense are you talking at broad noon? it is not any foolish tatter of legend that i am requiring of you, my boy, but civil information as to what is to be encountered out yonder." "all freedom and all delight," young ruric told him wildly, "and all horror and all rebellion." then he talked for a while. when ruric had ended this talking, count manuel laughed scornfully, and spoke as became a well-thought-of nobleman. ruric whipped out a knife, and attacked his master, crying, "i follow after my own thinking and my own desires, you old, smug, squinting hypocrite!" so count manuel caught ruric by the throat, and with naked hands dom manuel strangled the young clerk. "now i have ridded the world of much poison, i think," dom manuel said, aloud, when ruric lay dead at manuel's feet. "in any event, i cannot have that sort of talking about my house. yet i wish i had not trapped the boy into attempting this adventure, which by rights was my adventure. i did not always avoid adventures." he summoned two to take away the body, and then manuel went to his bedroom, and was clothed by his lackeys in a tunic of purple silk, and a coronet was placed on his gray head, and the trumpets sounded as count manuel sat down to supper. pages in ermine served him, bringing manuel's food upon gold dishes, and pouring red wine and white from golden beakers into manuel's gold cup. skilled music-men played upon viols and harps and flutes while the high count of poictesme ate richly seasoned food and talked sedately with his wife. they had not fared thus when manuel had just come from herding swine, and niafer was a servant trudging on her mistress' errands, and when these two had eaten very gratefully the portune's bread and cheese. they had not any need to be heartened with rare wines when they endured so many perils upon vraidex and in dun vlechlan because of their love for each other. for these two had once loved marvelously. now minstrels everywhere made songs about their all-conquering love, which had derided death; and nobody denied that, even now, these two got on together amicably. but to-night dame niafer was fretted, because the pastry-cook was young ruric's cousin, and was, she feared, as likely as not to fling off in a huff on account of dom manuel's having strangled the clerk. "well, then do you raise the fellow's wages," said count manuel. "that is easily said, and is exactly like a man. why, manuel, you surely know that then the meat-cook, and the butler, too, would be demanding more, and that there would be no end to it." "but, my dear, the boy was talking mad blasphemy, and was for cutting my throat with a great horn-handled knife." "of course that was very wrong of him," said dame niafer, comfortably, "and not for an instant, manuel, am i defending his conduct, as i trust you quite understand. but even so, if you had stopped for a moment to think how hard it is to replace a servant nowadays, and how unreliable is the best of them, i believe you would have seen how completely we are at their mercy." then she told him all about her second waiting-woman, while manuel said, "yes," and "i never heard the like," and "you were perfectly right, my dear," and so on, and all the while appeared to be thinking about something else in the back of his mind. xxxvi excursions from content thereafter count manuel could not long remain away from the window through which ruric had climbed with a lantern, and through which ruric had returned insanely blaspheming against law and order. the outlook from this window was somewhat curious. through the two other windows of ageus, set side by side with this one, and in appearance similar to it in all respects, the view remained always unchanged, and just such as it was from the third window so long as you looked through the thick clear glass. but when the third window of ageus was opened, all the sunlit summer world that you had seen through the thick clear glass was gone quite away, and you looked out into a limitless gray twilight wherein not anything was certainly discernible, and the air smelt of spring. it was a curious experience for count manuel, thus to regard through the clear glass his prospering domains and all the rewards of his famous endeavors, and then find them vanished as soon as the third window was opened. it was curious, and very interesting; but such occurrences make people dubious about things in which, as everybody knows, it is wisdom's part to believe implicitly. now the second day after ruric had died, the season now being june, count manuel stood at the three windows, and saw in the avenue of poplars his wife, dame niafer, walking hand in hand with little melicent. niafer, despite her lameness, was a fine figure of a woman, so long as he viewed niafer through the closed window of ageus. dom manuel looked contentedly enough upon the wife who was the reward of his toil and suffering in dun vlechlan, and the child who was the reward of his amiability and shrewdness in dealing with the stork, all seemed well so long as he regarded them through the closed third window. his hand trembled somewhat as he now opened this window, to face gray sweetly-scented nothingness. but in the window glass, you saw, the appearance of his flourishing gardens remained unchanged: and in the half of the window to the right hand were quivering poplars, and niafer and little melicent were smiling at him, and the child was kissing her hand to him. all about this swinging half of the window was nothingness; he, leaning out, and partly closing this half of the window, could see that behind the amiable picture was nothingness: it was only in the old glass of ageus that his wife and child appeared to live and move. dom manuel laughed, shortly. "hah, then," says he, "that tedious dear nagging woman and that priceless snub-nosed brat may not be real. they may be merely happy and prosaic imaginings, hiding the night which alone is real. to consider this possibility is troubling. it makes for even greater loneliness. none the less, i know that i am real, and certainly the grayness before me is real. well, no matter what befell ruric yonder, it must be that in this grayness there is some other being who is real and dissatisfied. i must go to seek this being, for here i become as a drugged person among sedate and comfortable dreams which are made doubly weariful by my old master's whispering of that knowledge which was my father's father's." then in the gray dusk was revealed a face that was not human, and the round toothless mouth of it spoke feebly, saying, "i am lubrican, and i come to guide you if you dare follow." "i have always thought that 'dare' was a quaint word," says manuel, with the lordly swagger which he kept for company. so he climbed out of the third window of ageus. when later he climbed back, a lock had been sheared from the side of his gray head. now the tale tells that thereafter dom manuel was changed, and his attendants gossiped about it. dame niafer also was moved to mild wonderment over the change in him, but did not think it very important, because there is never any accounting for what a husband will do. besides, there were other matters to consider, for at this time easterlings came up from piaja (which they had sacked) into the territories of king theodoret, and besieged megaris, and the harried king had sent messengers to dom manuel. "but this is none of my affair," said manuel, "and i begin to tire of warfare, and of catching cold by sleeping on hard-won battle-fields." "you would not take cold, as i have told you any number of times," declared niafer, "if you would eat more green vegetables instead of stuffing yourself with meat, and did not insist on overheating yourself at the fighting. still, you had better go." "my dear, i shall do nothing of the sort." "yes, you had better go, for these easterlings are notorious pagans--" "now other persons have been pagans once upon a time, dear snip--" "a great many things are much worse, manuel," says niafer, with that dark implication before which dom manuel always fidgeted, because there was no telling what it might mean. "yes, these easterlings are quite notorious pagans, and king theodoret has at least the grace to call himself a christian, and, besides, it will give me a chance to get your rooms turned out and thoroughly cleaned." so manuel, as was his custom, did what niafer thought best. manuel summoned his vassals, and brought together his nine lords of the fellowship of the silver stallion, and, without making any stir with horns and clarions, came so swiftly and secretly under cover of night upon the heathen easterlings that never was seen such slaughter and sorrow and destruction as dom manuel wrought upon those tall pagans before he sat down to breakfast. he attacked from sannazaro. the survivors therefore fled, having no choice, through the fields east of megaris. manuel followed, and slew them in the open. the realm was thus rescued from dire peril, and manuel was detained for a while in megaris, by the ensuing banquets and religious services and the executions of the prisoners and the nonsense of the king's sister. for this romantic and very pretty girl had set king theodoret to pestering manuel with magniloquent offers of what theodoret would do and give if only the rescuer of megaris would put aside his ugly crippled wife and marry the king's lovely sister. manuel laughed at him. some say that manuel and the king's sister dispensed with marriage: others accuse dom manuel of exhibiting a continence not very well suited to his exalted estate. it is certain, in any event, that he by and by returned into poictesme, with a cold in his head to be sure, but with fresh glory and much plunder and two new fiefs to his credit: and at storisende dom manuel found that his rooms had been thoroughly cleaned and set in such perfect order that he could lay hands upon none of his belongings, and that the pastry-cook had left. "it simply shows you!" says dame niafer, "and all i have to say is that now i hope you are satisfied." manuel laughed without merriment. "everything is in a conspiracy to satisfy me in these sleek times, and it is that which chiefly plagues me." he chucked niafer under the chin, and told her she should be thinking of what a famous husband she had nowadays, instead of bothering about pastry-cooks. then he fell to asking little melicent about how much she had missed father while father was away, and he dutifully kissed the two other children, and he duly admired the additions to emmerick's vocabulary during father's absence. and afterward he went alone into the room of ageus. thereafter he was used to spend more and more hours in the room of ageus, and the change in count manuel was more and more talked about. and the summer passed: and whether or no count manuel had, as some declared, contracted unholy alliances, there was no denying that all prospered with count manuel, and he was everywhere esteemed the most lucky and the least scrupulous rogue alive. but, very certainly, he was changed. xxxvii opinions of hinzelmann now the tale tells that on michaelmas morning little melicent, being in a quiet mood that time, sat with her doll in the tall chair by the third window of ageus while her father wrote at his big table. he was pausing between phrases to think and to bite at his thumb-nail, and he was so intent upon this letter to pope innocent that he did not notice the slow opening of the third window: and melicent had been in conference with the queer small boy for some while before dom manuel looked up abstractedly toward them. then manuel seemed perturbed, and he called melicent to him, and she obediently scrambled into her father's lap. there was silence in the room of ageus. the queer small boy sat leaning back in the chair which little melicent had just left. he sat with his legs crossed, and with his gloved hands clasping his right knee, as he looked appraisingly at melicent. he displayed a beautiful sad face, with curled yellow hair hanging about his shoulders, and he was dressed in a vermilion silk coat: at his left side, worn like a sword, was a vast pair of shears. he wore also a pointed hat of four interblended colors, and his leather gloves were figured with pearls. "she will be a woman by and by," the strange boy said, with a soft and delicate voice, "and then she too will be coming to us, and we will provide fine sorrows for her." "no, hinzelmann," count manuel replied, as he stroked the round straw-colored head of little melicent. "this is the child of niafer. she comes of a race that has no time to be peering out of dubious windows." "it is your child too, count manuel. therefore she too, between now and her burial, will be wanting to be made free of my sister suskind's kingdom, as you have been made free of it, at a price. oh, very certainly you have paid little as yet save the one lock of your gray hair, but in time you will pay the other price which suskind demands. i know, for it is i who collect my sister suskind's revenues, and when the proper hour arrives, believe me, count manuel, i shall not be asking your leave, nor is there any price which you, i think, will not be paying willingly." "that is probable. for suskind is wise and strange, and the grave beauty of her youth is the fulfilment of an old hope. life had become a tedious matter of much money and much bloodshed, but she has restored to me the gold and crimson of dawn." "so, do you very greatly love my sister suskind?" says hinzelmann, smiling rather sadly. "she is my heart's delight, and the desire of my desire. it was she for whom, unwittingly, i had been longing always, since i first went away from suskind, to climb upon the gray heights of vraidex in my long pursuit of much wealth and fame. i had seen my wishes fulfilled, and my dreams accomplished; all the godlike discontents which ennobled my youth had died painlessly in cushioned places. and living had come to be a habit of doing what little persons expected, and youth was gone out of me, and i, that used to follow with a high head after my own thinking and my own desires, could not any longer very greatly care for anything. now i am changed: for suskind has made me free once more of the country of the young and of the ageless self-tormenting youth of the gray depths which maddened ruric, but did not madden me." "look you, count manuel, but that penniless young nobody, ruric the clerk, was not trapped as you are trapped. for from the faith of others there is no escape upon this side of the window. world-famous manuel the redeemer has in this place his luck and prosperity to maintain until the orderings of unimaginative gods have quite destroyed the manuel that once followed after his own thinking. for even the high gods here note with approval that you have become the sort of person in whom the gods put confidence, and so they favor you unscrupulously. here all is pre-arranged for you by the thinking of others. here there is no escape for you from acquiring a little more wealth to-day, a little more meadowland to-morrow, with daily a little more applause and honor and envy from your fellows, along with always slowly increasing wrinkles and dulling wits and an augmenting paunch, and with the smug approval of everybody upon earth and in heaven. that is the reward of those persons whom you humorously call successful persons." dom manuel answered very slowly, and to little melicent it seemed that father's voice was sad. said manuel: "certainly, i think there is no escape for me upon this side of the window of ageus. a bond was put upon me to make a figure in this world, and i discharged that obligation. then came another and yet another obligation to be discharged. and now has come upon me a geas which is not to be lifted either by toils or by miracles. it is the geas which is laid on every person, and the life of every man is as my life, with no moment free from some bond or another. heh, youth vaunts windily, but in the end nobody can follow after his own thinking and his own desire. at every turn he is confronted by that which is expected, and obligation follows obligation, and in the long run no champion can be stronger than everybody. so we succumb to this world's terrible unreason, willy-nilly, and helmas has been made wise, and ferdinand has been made saintly, and i have been made successful, by that which was expected of us, and by that which none of us had ever any real chance to resist in a world wherein all men are nourished by their beliefs." "and does not success content you?" "ah, but," asked manuel slowly, just as he had once asked horvendile in manuel's lost youth, "what is success? they tell me i have succeeded marvelously in all things, rising from low beginnings, to become the most lucky and the least scrupulous rogue alive: yet, hearing men's applause, i sometimes wonder, for i know that a smaller-hearted creature and a creature poorer in spirit is posturing in count manuel's high cushioned places than used to go afield with the miller's pigs." "why, yes, count manuel, you have made endurable terms with this world by succumbing to its foolishness: but do you take comfort, for that is the one way open to anybody who has not rightly seen and judged the ends of this world. at worst, you have had all your desires, and you have made a very notable figure in count manuel's envied station." "but i starve there, hinzelmann, i dry away into stone, and this envied living is reshaping me into a complacent idol for fools to honor, and the approval of fools is converting the heart and wits of me into the stony heart and wits of an idol. and i look back upon my breathless old endeavors, and i wonder drearily, 'was it for this?'" "yes," hinzelmann said: and he shrugged, without ever putting off that sad smile of his. "yes, yes, all this is only another way of saying that béda has kept his word. but no man gets rid of misery, count manuel, except at a price." they stayed silent for a while. count manuel stroked the round straw-colored head of little melicent. hinzelmann played with the small cross which hung at hinzelmann's neck. this cross appeared to be woven of plaited strings, but when hinzelmann shook the cross it jingled like a bell. "yet, none the less," says hinzelmann, "here you remain. no, certainly, i cannot understand you, count manuel. as a drunkard goes back to the destroying cask, so do you continue to return to your fine home at storisende and to the incessant whispering of your father's father, for all that you have but to remain in suskind's low red-pillared palace to be forever rid of that whisper and of this dreary satiating of human desires." "i shall of course make my permanent quarters there by and by," count manuel said, "but not just yet. it would not be quite fair to my wife for me to be leaving storisende just now, when we are getting in the crops, and when everything is more or less upset already--" "i perceive you are still inventing excuses, count manuel, to put off yielding entire allegiance to my sister." "no, it is not that, not that at all! it is only the upset condition of things, just now, and, besides, hinzelmann, the stork is to bring us the last girl child the latter part of next week. we are to call her ettarre, and i would like to have a sight of her, of course--in fact, i am compelled to stay through mere civility, inasmuch as the queen of philistia is sending the very famous st. holmendis especially to christen this baby. and it would be, hinzelmann, the height of rudeness for me to be leaving home, just now, as though i wanted to avoid his visit--" hinzelmann still smiled rather sadly. "last month you could not come to us because your wife was just then outworn with standing in the hot kitchen and stewing jams and marmalades. dom manuel, will you come when the baby is delivered and this saint has been attended to and all the crops are in?" "well, but hinzelmann, within a week or two we shall be brewing this year's ale, and i have always more or less seen to that--" still hinzelmann smiled sadly. he pointed with his small gloved hand toward melicent. "and what about your other enslavement, to this child here?" "why, certainly, hinzelmann, the brat does need a father to look out for her, so long as she is the merest baby. and naturally, i have been thinking about that of late, rather seriously--" hinzelmann spoke with deliberation. "she is very nearly the most stupid and the most unattractive child i have ever seen. and i, you must remember, am blood brother to cain and seth as well as to suskind." but dom manuel was not provoked. "as if i did not know the child is in no way remarkable! no, my good hinzelmann, you that serve suskind have shown me strange dear things, but nothing more strange and dear than a thing which i discovered for myself. for i am that manuel whom men call the redeemer of poictesme, and my deeds will be the themes of harpers whose grandparents are not yet born; i have known love and war and all manner of adventure: but all the sighings and hushed laughter of yesterday, and all the trumpet-blowing and shouting, and all that i have witnessed of the unreticent fond human ways of great persons who for the while have put aside their state, and all the good that in my day i may have done, and all the evil that i have certainly destroyed,--all this seems trivial as set against the producing of this tousled brat. no, to be sure, she is backward as compared with emmerick, or even dorothy, and she is not, as you say, an at all remarkable child, though very often, i can assure you, she does things that would astonish you. now, for instance--" "spare me!" said hinzelmann. "well, but it really was very clever of her," dom manuel stipulated, with disappointment. "however, i was going to say that i, who have harried pagandom, and capped jests with kings, and am now setting terms for the holy father, have come to regard the doings of this ill-bred, selfish, ugly, little imp as more important than my doings. and i cannot resolve to leave her, just yet. so, hinzelmann, my friend, i think i will not thoroughly commit myself, just yet. but after christmas we will see about it." "and i will tell you the two reasons of this shilly-shallying, count manuel. one reason is that you are human, and the other reason is that in your head there are gray hairs." "what, can it be," said the big warrior, forlornly, "that i who have not yet had twenty-six years of living am past my prime, and that already life is going out of me?" "you must remember the price you paid to win back dame niafer from paradise. as truth, and not the almanac, must estimate these things you are now nearer fifty-six." "well," manuel said, stoutly, "i do not regret it, and for niafer's sake i am willing to become a hundred and six. but certainly it is hard to think of myself as an old fellow on the brink of the scrap-pile." "oho, you are not yet so old, count manuel, but that suskind's power is greater than the power of the child: and besides, there is a way to break the power of the child. death has merely scratched small wrinkles, very lightly, with one talon, to mark you as his by and by. that is all as yet: and so the power of my high sister suskind endures over you, who were once used to follow after your own thinking and your own desire, for there remains in you a leaven even to-day. yes, yes, though you deny her to-day, you will be entreating her to-morrow, and then it may be she will punish you. either way, i must be going now, since you are obstinate, for it is at this time i run about the september world collecting my sister's revenues, and her debtors are very numerous." and with that the boy, still smiling gravely, slipped out of the third window into the gray sweet-smelling dusk, and little melicent said, "but, father, why did that queer sad boy want me to be climbing out of the window with him?" "so that he might be kind to you, my dear, as he estimates kindness." "but why did the sad boy want a piece of my hair?" asked melicent; "and why did he cut it off with his big shiny shears, while you were writing, and he was playing with me?" "it was to pay a price," says manuel. he knew now that the alf charm was laid on his loved child, and that this was the price of his junketings. he knew also that suskind would never remit this price. then melicent demanded, "and what makes your face so white?" "it must be pale with hunger, child: so i think that you and i had better be getting to our dinner." [illustration] xxxviii farewell to suskind but after dinner dom manuel came alone into the room of ageus, and equipped himself as the need was, and he climbed out of the charmed window for the last time. his final visit to the depths was horrible, they say, and they relate that of all the deeds of dom manuel's crowded lifetime the thing that he did on this day was the most grim. but he won through all, by virtue of his equipment and his fixed heart. so when dom manuel returned he clasped in his left hand a lock of fine straw-colored hair, and on both his hands was blood let from no human veins. he looked back for the last time into the gray depths. a crowned girl rose beside him noiselessly, all white and red, and she clasped her bloodied lovely arms about him, and she drew him to her hacked young breasts, and she kissed him for the last time. then her arms were loosed from about dom manuel, and she fell away from him, and was swallowed by the gray sweet-scented depths. "and so farewell to you, queen suskind," says count manuel. "you who were not human, but knew only the truth of things, could never understand our foolish human notions. otherwise you would never have demanded the one price i may not pay." "weep, weep for suskind!" then said lubrican, wailing feebly in the gray and april-scented dusk; "for it was she alone who knew the secret of preserving that dissatisfaction which is divine where all else falls away with age into the acquiescence of beasts." "why, yes, but unhappiness is not the true desire of man," says manuel. "i know, for i have had both happiness and unhappiness, and neither contented me." "weep, weep for suskind!" then cried the soft and delicate voice of hinzelmann: "for it was she that would have loved you, manuel, with that love of which youth dreams, and which exists nowhere upon your side of the window, where all kissed women turn to stupid figures of warm earth, and all love falls away with age into the acquiescence of beasts." "oh, it is very true," says manuel, "that all my life henceforward will be a wearying business because of long desires for suskind's love and suskind's lips and the grave beauty of her youth, and for all the high-hearted dissatisfactions of youth. but the alf charm is lifted from the head of my child, and melicent will live as niafer lives, and it will be better for all of us, and i am content." from below came many voices wailing confusedly. "we weep for suskind. suskind is slain with the one weapon that might slay her: and all we weep for suskind, who was the fairest and the wisest and the most unreasonable of queens. let all the hidden children weep for suskind, whose heart and life was april, and who plotted courageously against the orderings of unimaginative gods, and who has been butchered to preserve the hair of a quite ordinary child." then said the count of poictesme: "and that young manuel who was in his day a wilful champion, and who fretted under ordered wrongs, and who went everywhither with a high head a-boasting that he followed after his own thinking and his own desire,--why, that young fellow also is now silenced and dead. for the well-thought-of count of poictesme must be as the will and the faith and as the need of others may dictate: and there is no help for it, and no escape, and our old appearances must be preserved upon this side of the window in order that we may all stay sane." "we weep, and with long weeping raise the dirge for suskind--!" "but i, who do not weep,--i raise the dirge for manuel. for i must henceforward be reasonable in all things, and i shall never be quite discontented any more: and i must feed and sleep as the beasts do, and it may be that i shall even fall to thinking complacently about my death and glorious resurrection. yes, yes, all this is certain, and i may not ever go a-traveling everywhither to see the ends of this world and judge them: and the desire to do so no longer moves in me, for there is a cloud about my goings, and there is a whispering which follows me, and i too fall away into the acquiescence of beasts. meanwhile no hair of the child's head has been injured, and i am content." "let all the hidden children, and all else that lives except the tall gray son of oriander, whose blood is harsh sea-water, weep for suskind! suskind is dead, that was unstained by human sin and unredeemed by christ's dear blood, and youth has perished from the world. oh, let us weep, for all the world grows chill and gray as oriander's son." "and oriander too is dead, as i well know that slew him in my hour. now my hour passes; and i pass with it, to make way for the needs of my children, as he perforce made way for me. and in time these children, and their children after them, pass thus, and always age must be in one mode or another slain by youth. now why this should be so, i cannot guess, nor do i see that much good comes of it, nor do i find that in myself which warrants any confidences from the most high controlling gods. but i am certain that no hair of the child's head has been injured; and i am certain that i am content." thus speaking, the old fellow closed the window. and within the moment little melicent came to molest him, and she was unusually dirty and disheveled, for she had been rolling on the terrace pavement, and had broken half the fastenings from her clothing: and dom manuel wiped her nose rather forlornly. of a sudden he laughed and kissed her. and count manuel said he must send for masons to wall up the third window of ageus, so that it might not ever be opened any more in count manuel's day for him to breathe through it the dim sweet-scented air of spring. [illustration] xxxix the passing of manuel then as dom manuel turned from the window of ageus, it seemed that young horvendile had opened the door yonder, and after an instant's pensive staring at dom manuel, had gone away. this happened, if it happened at all, so furtively and quickly that count manuel could not be sure of it: but he could entertain no doubt as to the other person who was confronting him. there was not any telling how this lean stranger had come into the private apartments of the count of poictesme, nor was there any need for manuel to wonder over the management of this intrusion, for the new arrival was not, after all, an entire stranger to dom manuel. so manuel said nothing, as he stood there stroking the round straw-colored head of little melicent. the stranger waited, equally silent. there was no noise at all in the room until afar off a dog began to howl. "yes, certainly," dom manuel said, "i might have known that my life was bound up with the life of suskind, since my desire of her is the one desire which i have put aside unsatisfied. o rider of the white horse, you are very welcome." the other replied: "why should you think that i know anything about this suskind or that we of the léshy keep any account of your doings? no matter what you may elect to think, however, it was decreed that the first person i found here should ride hence on my black horse. but you and the child stand abreast. so you must choose again, dom manuel, whether it be you or another who rides on my black horse." then manuel bent down, and he kissed little melicent. "go to your mother, dear, and tell her--" he paused here. he queerly moved his mouth, as though it were stiff and he were trying to make it more supple. says melicent, "but what am i to tell her, father?" "oh, a very funny thing, my darling. you are to tell mother that father has always loved her over and above all else, and that she is always to remember that and--why, that in consequence she is to give you some ginger cakes," says manuel, smiling. so the child ran happily away, without once looking back, and manuel closed the door behind her, and he was now quite alone with his lean visitor. "come," says the stranger, "so you have plucked up some heart after all! yet it is of no avail to posture with me, who know you to be spurred to this by vanity rather than by devotion. oh, very probably you are as fond of the child as is requisite, and of your other children too, but you must admit that after you have played with any one of them for a quarter of an hour you become most heartily tired of the small squirming pest." manuel intently regarded him, and squinting manuel smiled sleepily. "no; i love all my children with the customary paternal infatuation." "also you must have your gesture by sending at the last a lying message to your wife, to comfort the poor soul against to-morrow and the day after. you are--magnanimously, you like to think,--according her this parting falsehood, half in contemptuous kindness and half in relief, because at last you are now getting rid of a complacent and muddle-headed fool of whom, also, you are most heartily tired." "no, no," says manuel, still smiling; "to my partial eyes dear niafer remains the most clever and beautiful of women, and my delight in her has not ever wavered. but wherever do you get these curious notions?" "ah, i have been with so many husbands at the last, count manuel." and manuel shrugged. "what fearful indiscretions you suggest! no, friend, that sort of thing has an ill sound, and they should have remembered that even at the last there is the bond of silence." "come, come, count manuel, you are a queer cool fellow, and you have worn these masks and attitudes with tolerable success, as your world goes. but you are now bound for a diversely ordered world, a world in which your handsome wrappings are not to the purpose." "well, i do not know how that may be," replies count manuel, "but at all events there is a decency in these things and an indecency, and i shall never of my own free will expose the naked soul of manuel to anybody. no, it would be no pleasant spectacle, i think: certainly, i have never looked at it, nor did i mean to. perhaps, as you assert, some power which is stronger than i may some day tear all masks aside: but this will not be my fault, and i shall even then reserve the right to consider that stripping as a rather vulgar bit of tyranny. meanwhile i must, of necessity, adhere to my own sense of decorum, and not to that of anybody else, not even to the wide experience of one"--count manuel bowed,--"who is, in a manner of speaking, my guest." "oh, as always, you posture very tolerably, and men in general will acclaim you as successful in your life. but do you look back! for the hour has come, count manuel, for you to confess, as all persons confess at my arrival, that you have faltered between one desire and another, not ever knowing truly what you desired, and not ever being content with any desire when it was accomplished." "softly, friend! for i am forced to gather from your wild way of talking that you of the léshy indeed do not keep any record of our human doings." the stranger raised what he had of eyebrows. "but how can we," he inquired, "when we have so many matters of real importance to look after?" candid blunt dom manuel answered without any anger, speaking even jovially, but in all maintaining the dignity of a high prince assured of his own worth. "that excuses, then, your nonsensical remarks. i must make bold to inform you that everybody tells me i have very positive achievements to look back upon. i do not care to boast, you understand, and to be forced into self-praise is abhorrent to me. yet truthfulness is all important at this solemn hour, and anyone hereabouts can tell you it was i who climbed gray vraidex, and dealt so hardily with the serpents and other horrific protectors of miramon lluagor that i destroyed most of them and put the others to flight. thereafter men narrate how i made my own terms with the terrified magician, according him his forfeited life in exchange for a promise to live henceforward more respectfully and to serve under me in the war which i was already planning against the northmen. yes, and men praise me, too, because i managed to accomplish all these things while i was hampered by having to look out for and protect a woman." "i know," said the lean stranger, "i know you somehow got the better of that romantic visionary half-brother of mine, and made a warrior out of him: and i admit this was rather remarkable. but what does it matter now?" "then they will tell you it was i that wisely reasoned with king helmas until i turned him from folly, and i that with holy arguments converted king ferdinand from his wickedness. i restored the magic to the robe of the apsarasas when but for me its magic would have been lost irrevocably. i conquered freydis, that woman of strange deeds, and single-handed i fought against her spoorns and calcars and other terrors of antiquity, slaying, to be accurate, seven hundred and eighty-two of them. i also conquered the misery of earth, whom some called béda, and others kruchina, and yet others mimir, after a very notable battle which we fought with enchanted swords for a whole month without ever pausing for rest. i went intrepidly into the paradise of the heathen, and routed all its terrific warders, and so fetched hence the woman whom i desired. thus, friend, did i repurchase that heroic and unchanging love which exists between my wife and me." "yes," said the stranger, "why, that too is very remarkable. but what does it matter now?" "--for it is of common report among men that nothing has ever been able to withstand dom manuel. thus it was natural enough, men say, that, when the lewd and evil god whom nowadays so many adore as sesphra of the dreams was for establishing his power by making an alliance with me, i should have driven him howling and terrified into the heart of a great fire. for myself, i say nothing; but when the very gods run away from a champion there is some adequate reason: and of this exploit, and of all these exploits, and of many other exploits, equally incredible and equally well vouched for, all person hereabouts will tell you. as to the prodigies of valor which i performed in redeeming poictesme from the oppression of the northmen, you will find documentary evidence in those three epic poems, just to your left there, which commemorate my feats in this campaign--" "nobody disputes this campaign also may have been remarkable, and certainly i do not dispute it: for i cannot see that these doings matter a button's worth in my business with you, and, besides, i never argue." "and no more do i! because i abhor vainglory, and i know these affairs are now a part of established history. no, friend, you cannot destroy my credit in this world, whereas in the world for which i am bound, you tell me, they make no account of our doings. so, whether or not i did these things, i shall always retain, in this world and in the next, the credit for them, without any need to resort to distasteful boasting. and that, as i was going on to explain, is precisely why i do not find it necessary to tell you about these matters, or even to allude to them." "oh, doubtless, it is something to have excelled all your fellows in so many ways," the stranger conceded, with a sort of grudging respect: "but, i repeat, what does it matter now?" "and, if you will pardon my habitual frankness, friend, that query with so constant repetition becomes a trifle monotonous. no, it does not dishearten me, i am past that. no, i once opened a window, the more clearly to appraise the most dear rewards of my endeavors--that moment was my life, that single quiet moment summed up all my living, and"--here manuel smiled gravely,--"still without boasting, friend, i must tell you that in this moment all doubt as to my attested worth went out of me, who had redeemed a kingdom, and begotten a king, and created a god. so you waste time, my friend, in trying to convince me of all human life's failure and unimportance, for i am not in sympathy with this modern morbid pessimistic way of talking. it has a very ill sound, and nothing whatever is to be gained by it." the other answered shrewdly: "yes, you speak well, and you posture handsomely, in every respect save one. for you call me 'friend.' hah, manuel, from behind the squinting mask a sick and satiated and disappointed being spoke there, howsoever resolutely you keep up appearances." "there spoke mere courtesy, grandfather death," says manuel, now openly laughing, "and for the rest, if you again will pardon frankness, it is less with the contents of my heart than with its continued motion that you have any proper concern." "truly it is no affair of mine, count manuel, nor do any of your doings matter to me. therefore let us be going now, unless--o most unusual man, who at the last assert your life to have been a successful and important business,--unless you now desire some time wherein to bid farewell to your loved wife and worshipped children and to all your other fine works." dom manuel shrugged broad shoulders. "and to what end? no, i am manuel. i have lived in the loneliness which is common to all men, but the difference is that i have known it. now it is necessary for me, as it is necessary for all men, to die in this same loneliness, and i know that there is no help for it." "once, manuel, you feared to travel with me, and you bid niafer mount in your stead on my black horse, saying, 'better she than i.'" "yes, yes, what curious things we do when we are boys! well, i am wiser now, for since then i have achieved all that i desired, save only to see the ends of this world and to judge them, and i would have achieved that too, perhaps, if only i had desired it a little more heartily. yes, yes, i tell you frankly, i have grown so used to getting my desire that i believe, even now, if i desired you to go hence alone you also would obey me." grandfather death smiled thinly. "i reserve my own opinion. but take it what you say is true,--and do you desire me to go hence alone?" "no," says manuel, very quietly. thereupon dom manuel passed to the western window, and he stood there, looking out over broad rolling uplands. he viewed a noble country, good to live in, rich with grain and metal, embowered with tall forests, and watered by pleasant streams. walled cities it had, and castles crowned its eminences. very far beneath dom manuel the leaded roofs of his fortresses glittered in the sunset, for storisende guarded the loftiest part of all inhabited poictesme. he overlooked, directly, the turrets or ranec and of asch; to the south was nérac; northward showed perdigon: and the prince of no country owned any finer castles than were these four, in which lived manuel's servants. "it is strange," says dom manuel, "to think that everything i am seeing was mine a moment since, and it is queer too to think of what a famous fellow was this manuel the redeemer, and of the fine things he did, and it is appalling to wonder if all the other applauded heroes of mankind are like him. oh, certainly, count manuel's achievements were notable and such as were not known anywhere before, and men will talk of them for a long while. yet, looking back,--now that this famed count of poictesme means less to me,--why, i seem to see only the strivings of an ape reft of his tail, and grown rusty at climbing, who has reeled blunderingly from mystery to mystery, with pathetic makeshifts, not understanding anything, greedy in all desires, and always honeycombed with poltroonery. so in a secret place his youth was put away in exchange for a prize that was hardly worth the having; and the fine geas which his mother laid upon him was exchanged for the common geas of what seems expected." "such notions," replied grandfather death, "are entertained by many of you humans in the light-headed time of youth. then common-sense arises like a light formless cloud about your goings, and you half forget these notions. then i bring darkness." "in that quiet dark, my friend, it may be i shall again become the manuel whom i remember, and i may get back again my own undemonstrable ideas, in place of the ideas of other persons, to entertain me in that darkness. so let us be going thither." "very willingly," said grandfather death; and he started toward the door. "now, pardon me," says manuel, "but in poictesme the count of poictesme goes first in any company. it may seem to you an affair of no importance, but nowadays i concede the strength as well as the foolishness of my accustomed habits, and all my life long i have gone first. so do you ride a little way behind me, friend, and carry this shroud and napkin, till i have need of them." then the count armed and departed from storisende, riding on the black horse, in jeweled armor, and carrying before him his black shield upon which was emblazoned the silver stallion of poictesme and the motto _mundus vult decipi._ behind him was grandfather death on the white horse, carrying the count's grave-clothes in a neat bundle. they rode toward the sunset, and against the yellow sunset each figure showed jet black. and thereafter count manuel was seen no more in poictesme, nor did anyone ever know certainly whither he journeyed. there was a lad called jurgen, the son of coth of the rocks, who came to storisende in a frenzy of terror, very early the next morning, with a horrific tale of incredible events witnessed upon upper morven: but the child's tale was not heeded, because everybody knew that count manuel was unconquerable, and--having everything which men desire,--would never be leaving all these amenities of his own will, and certainly would never be taking part in any such dubious doings. therefore little jurgen was spanked, alike for staying out all night and for his wild lying: and they of poictesme awaited the return of their great dom manuel; and not for a long while did they suspect that manuel had departed homeward, after having succeeded in everything. nor for a long while was the whole of little jurgen's story made public. xl colophon: da capo now some of poictesme--but not all they of poictesme, because the pious deny this portion of the tale, and speak of an ascension,--some narrate that after the appalling eucharist which young jurgen witnessed upon upper morven, the redeemer of poictesme rode on a far and troubling journey with grandfather death, until the two had passed the sunset, and had come to the dark stream of lethe. "now we must ford these shadowy waters," said grandfather death, "in part because your destiny is on the other side, and in part because by the contact of these waters all your memories will be washed away from you. and that is requisite to your destiny." "but what is my destiny?" "it is that of all loving creatures, count manuel. if you have been yourself you cannot reasonably be punished, but if you have been somebody else you will find that this is not permitted." "that is a dark saying, only too well suited to this doubtful place, and i do not understand you." "no," replied grandfather death, "but that does not matter." then the black horse and the white horse entered the water: and they passed over, and the swine of eubouleus were waiting for them, but these were not yet untethered. so in the moment which remained dom manuel looked backward and downward, and he saw that grandfather death had spoken truly. for all the memories of manuel's life had been washed away from him, so that these memories were left adrift and submerged in the shadowy waters of lethe. drowned there was the wise countenance of helmas, and the face of st. ferdinand with a tarnished halo about it, and the puzzled features of horvendile; and glowing birds and glistening images and the shimmering designs of miramon thronged there confusedly, and among them went with moving jaws a head of sleek white clay. the golden loveliness of alianora, and the dark splendor of freydis and, derisively, the immortal young smile of sesphra, showed each for a moment, and was gone. then niafer's eyes displayed their mildly wondering disapproval for the last time, and the small faces of children that in the end were hers and not manuel's passed with her: and the shine of armor, and a tossing heave of jaunty banners, and gleaming castle turrets, and all the brilliancies and colors that manuel had known and loved anywhere, save only the clear red and white of suskind's face, seemed to be passing incoherently through the still waters, like bright broken wreckage which an undercurrent was sweeping away. and manuel sighed, almost as if in relief. "so this," he said, "this is the preposterous end of him who was everywhere esteemed the most lucky and the least scrupulous rogue of his day!" "yes, yes," replied grandfather death, as slowly he untethered one by one the swine of eubouleus. "yes, it is indeed the end, since all your life is passing away there, to be beheld by your old eyes alone, for the last time. thus i see nothing there but ordinary water, and i wonder what it is you find in that dark pool to keep you staring so." "i do not very certainly know," said manuel, "but, a little more and more mistily now, i seem to see drowned there all the loves and the desires and the adventures i had when i wore another body than this dilapidated gray body i now wear. and yet it is a deceiving water, for there, where it should reflect the remnants of the old fellow that is i, it shows, instead, the face of a young boy who is used to following after his own thinking and his own desires." "certainly it is queer you should be saying that; for that, as everybody knows, was the favorite by-word of your namesake the famous count manuel who is so newly dead in poictesme yonder.... but what is that thing?" manuel raised from looking at the water just the handsome and florid young face which manuel had seen reflected in the water. as his memories vanished, the tall boy incuriously wondered who might be the snub-nosed stranger that was waiting there with the miller's pigs, and was pointing, as if in mild surprise, toward the two stones overgrown with moss and supporting a cross of old worm-eaten wood. for the stranger pointed at the unfinished, unsatisfying image which stood beside the pool of haranton, wherein, they say, strange dreams engender.... "what is that thing?" the stranger was asking, yet again.... "it is the figure of a man," said manuel, "which i have modeled and remodeled, and cannot get exactly to my liking. so it is necessary that i keep laboring at it, until the figure is to my thinking and my desire." thus it was in the old days. explicit [illustration] none none [ transcriber's notes: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation. some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. they are listed at the end of the text. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. ] the story of a doctor's telephone--told by his wife by ellen m. firebaugh author of "the physician's wife" boston, mass.: the roxburgh publishing company (incorporated) copyrighted, by ellen m. firebaugh all rights reserved to my husband to the reader. the telephone has revolutionized the doctor's life. in the old days when a horse's galloping hoofs were heard people looked out of their windows and wondered if that wasn't someone after a doctor! the steed that franklin harnessed bears the message now, and comments and curiosity are stilled. in the old days thunderous knocks came often to the doctor's door at night; they are never heard now, or so rarely as to need no mention. neighbors have been awakened by these importunate raps: they sleep on undisturbed now. the doctor's household enjoys nothing of this sweet immunity. a disturbing factor is within it that makes the thunderous knocks of old pale into insignificance. when the telephone first came into the town where our doctor lived he had one put in his office of course, for if anyone in the world needs a 'phone it is the doctor and the people who want him. by and by he bethought him that since his office was several blocks from his residence he had better put one in there, too, because of calls that come in the night. so it was promptly installed. the doctor and his wife found their sleep disturbed far oftener than before. people will not dress and go out into the night to the doctor's house unless it is necessary. but it is an easy thing to step to the 'phone and call him from his sleep to answer questions--often needless--and when several people do the same thing in the same night, as frequently happens, it is not hard to see what the effect may be. one day the doctor had an idea! he would connect the two 'phones. it would be a handy thing for mary to be able to talk to him about the numberless little things that come up in a household without the trouble of ringing central every time, and it would be a handy thing for him, too. when he had to leave the office he could just 'phone mary and she could keep an ear on the 'phone till he got back. about this time another telephone system was established in the town--the farmers'. now a doctor's clientele includes many farmers, so he put one of the new 'phones into his office. by and by he reflected that farmers are apt to need to consult a physician at night--he must put in a farmers' 'phone at home, too. and he did. then he connected it with the office. when the first 'phone went up mary soon accustomed herself to its call--three rings. when her husband connected it with the office the rings were multiplied by three. one ring meant someone at the office calling central. two rings meant someone calling the office. three rings meant someone calling the residence, as before. mary found the three calls confusing. when the farmers' 'phone was installed and the same order of rings set up, she found the original ring multiplied by six. this was confusion worse confounded. to be sure the bell on the farmers' had a somewhat hoarser sound than that on the citizens' 'phone, but mary's ear was the only one in the household that could tell the difference with certainty. the clock in the same room struck the half hours which did not tend to simplify matters. when a new door-bell was put on the front door mary found she had eight different rings to contend with. but it is the bells of the telephone with which we are concerned and something of their story will unfold as we proceed. when the doctor was at home and the 'phone would ring he would start toward the adjoining room where the two hung and stop at the first. mary would call "farmers'!" and he would move on to the next. perhaps at the same instant the tall boy of the household whose ear was no more accurate than that of his father would shout "citizens'!" and the doctor would stop between the two. "_farmers'!_" the wife would call a second time, with accrued emphasis. then she would laugh heartily and declare: "any one coming in might think this a sort of forum where orations were being delivered," and sometimes she would go on and declaim: "friends, romans, countrymen, lend me your ears--my husband has borrowed mine." so the telephone in the doctor's house--so great a necessity that we cannot conceive of life without it, so great a blessing that we are hourly grateful for it, is yet a very great tyrant whose dominion is absolute. i had a pleasing picture in my mind in the writing of this chronicle, of sitting serene and undisturbed in a cosy den upstairs, with all the doors between me and the 'phone shut tight where no sound might intrude. in vain. without climbing to the attic i could not get so far away that the tintinnabulation that so mercilessly wells from those bells, bells, bells did not penetrate. i hope my readers have not got so far away from their poe as to imagine that ringing sentence to be mine. and i wonder if a still greater glory might not crown his brow if there had been telephone bells to celebrate in poe's day. so i gave up the pleasant dream, abandoned the cosy den and came down stairs to the dining room where i can scatter my manuscript about on the big table, and look the tyrants in the face and answer the queries that arise, and can sandwich in a good many little odd jobs besides. through a doctor's telephone how many glimpses of human nature and how many peeps into the great story of life have been mine; and if, while the reader is peeping too, the scene suddenly closes, why that is the way of telephones and not the fault of the writer. and knowing how restful a thing it has been to me to get away from the ringing of the bell at times, i have devised a rest for the reader also and have sent him with the doctor and his wife on an occasional country drive where no telephone intrudes. e. m. f. robinson, ill. the story of a doctor's telephone chapter i. the hands of the clock were climbing around toward eleven and the doctor had not returned. mary, a drowsiness beginning to steal over her, looked up with a yawn. then she fell into a soliloquy: to bed, or not to bed--that is the question: whether 'tis wiser in the wife to wait for a belated spouse, or to wrap the drapery of her couch about her and lie down to pleasant dreams? to dream! perchance to sleep! and by that sleep to end the headache and the thousand other ills that flesh is heir to, the restoration of a wilted frame,-- wilted by loss of sleep on previous nights-- a consummation devoutly to be wished. to dream! perchance to sleep!--aye, there's the rub; for in that somnolence what peals may come must give her pause. there is the telephone that makes calamity of her repose. her spouse may not have come to answer it, which means that she, his wife, must issue forth all dazed and breathless from delicious sleep, and knock her knees on intervening chairs, and bump her head on a half open door, and get there finally all out of breath, and take the receiver down and say: "hello?" the old, old question: "is the doctor there?" comes clearly now to her awakened ear. then, tentatively, she must make reply: "the doctor was called out an hour ago, but i expect him now at any time." good patrons should be held and not escape to other doctors that may lie in wait; for in this voice so brusque and straight and clear she recognizes an old friend and true, whose purse is ever ready to make good, and she hath need of many, many things. but then, again, the message of the 'phone may be that of some stricken little child whose mother's voice trembles with love and fear. then must the listener earnestly advise: "don't wait for him! get someone else to-night." perchance again the message may be that of colics dire and death so imminent that she who listens, tho' with 'customed ear, shrinks back dismayed and knows not what to say, lacking the knowledge and profanity of him who, were he there, would settle quick this much ado about much nothingness. and so these anticipatory peals reverberate through fancy as she sits, and make her rather choose to bear the ills she has than fly to others she may meet; to wait a little longer for her spouse, that, when at last she does retire to rest, she may be somewhat surer of her sleep. and so she sits there waiting for the step and the accompanying clearing of the throat which she would know were she in zanzibar. and by-and-by he comes and fate is kind and lets them slumber till the early dawn. chapter ii. ten p.m. the 'phone is ringing and the sleepy doctor gets out of bed and goes to answer it. "hello." no response. "hello!" silence. "hello!!" "is this doctor blank?" "yes." "i want you to come out to my house--my wife's sick." "who is it?" "jim warner. come just as--" a click in the receiver. the doctor waits a minute. then he says "hello." no answer. he waits another minute. "_hell-o!!_" silence. "damn that girl--she's cut us off." he hangs up the receiver and rings the bell sharply. he takes it down and hears a voice say leisurely, "d'ye get them?" "yes! what in h-ll did you cut us off for?" "wait a minute--i'll ring 'em again," says the voice, hasty and obliging, so potent a thing is a man's unveiled wrath. she rings 'em again. soon the same voice says, "are you there yet, doctor?" "yes, _now_ what is it!" the voice proceeds and the doctor listens putting in an occasional "yes" or "no." then he says, "all right--i'll be out there in a little bit." he hangs up the receiver and his wife falls asleep again. the doctor dresses and goes out. the house is in darkness. all is still. in about five minutes mary is suddenly, sharply awake. a slight noise in the adjoining room! she listens with accelerated heart-beats. the doctor has failed to put on the night latch. some thief has been lying in wait watching for his opportunity, and now he has entered. what can she do. muffled footsteps! she pulls the sheet over her head, her heart beating to suffocation. the footsteps grope their way toward her room! great heaven! a hand fumbles at the door knob. she shrieks aloud. "what on earth is the matter!" o, brusque and blessed is that voice! "john, you have nearly scared me to death," she says, sitting up in bed, half laughing and half crying. "but i heard you tell that man you were coming out there." "yes. i told him i was." "well, why didn't you go?" "i _did_ go." "you don't mean to tell me you have been a mile and back in five minutes." the doctor flashed on the light and looked at his watch,--"just an hour since i left home," he said. mary gasped. "well, it only proves how soundly i can sleep when i get a chance," she said. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. it is the office ring but mary hurries at once to answer it. "is this dr. blank's office?" "this is mrs. blank. but the doctor telephoned me about twenty minutes ago that he would be out for half an hour. call him again in ten or fifteen minutes and i think you will find him." in about fifteen minutes the call is repeated. mary would feel better satisfied to know that the doctor received the message so she goes to the 'phone and listens. silence. she waits a minute. shall she speak? she hesitates. struggle as she will against the feeling, she can't quite overcome it--it seems like "butting in." but that long silence with the listening ear at the other end of it is too much for her. very pleasantly, almost apologetically she asks, "what is it?" "the doctor hasn't come yet?" says a plainly disappointed voice. "no--not yet. there are often unexpected things to delay him--if you will give me your number or your name i will have him call _you_." "no, i'll just wait and call him again." the inflection says plainly, "i don't care to admit the doctor's wife into my confidences." "very well. i am sure it can't be long now till he returns." mary goes back to her chair and ponders a little. of what avail to multiply words. no use to tell the woman 'phoning that she was willing to take the waiting and the watching, the seeing that the doctor received the message upon herself rather than that the other should be again troubled by it. no use to let her gently understand that she doesn't care for any confidences which belong only to her husband, but fate has placed her in a position where she has oftentimes to seem unduly interested. that these messages which are only occasional with the one calling are constant with her and that she is only mindful of them when she must be. * * * * * "watch the 'phone." how thoroughly instilled into mary's consciousness that admonition was! she did not heed the office ring when it came, but if it came a second time she always went to explain that the doctor had just stepped over to the drug store probably and would be back in a very few minutes. often, as she stood explaining, the doctor himself would break into the conversation, having been in another room when the first call came, and getting there a little tardily for the second. but occasions sometimes arose which made mary feel very thankful that she had been at the 'phone. one winter morning as she stood explaining to some woman that the doctor would be in in a few minutes, her husband's "hello" was heard. "there he is now," she said. usually after this announcement she would hang up the receiver and go about her work. today a friendly interest in this pleasant voice kept it in her hand a moment. mary would not have admitted idle curiosity, and perhaps she had as little of it as falls to the lot of women, but sometimes she lingered a moment for the message, to know if the doctor was to be called away, so that she might make her plans for dinner accordingly. the pleasant voice spoke again, "this is dr. blank, is it?" "yes." "we want you to come out to henry ogden's." "that's about five miles out, isn't it. who's sick out there?" "mrs. ogden." "what's the matter?" no reply. "how long has she been sick?" "she began complaining last night." "all right--i'll be out some time today." "come right away, please, if you can." this is an old, old plea. the doctor is thoroughly inured to it. he would have to be twenty men instead of one to respond to it at all times. he answers cheerfully, "all right," and mary takes alarm. that tone means sometime in the next few hours. she feels sure he ought to go _now_. somebody else can wait better than this patient. there was a kind of hesitancy in that voice that mary had heard before. a woman's intuitions are much safer guides than a man's slow reasoning. she must speak to john. she rings the office. "hello." "say, john," she says in a low voice, "i came to the 'phone thinking you were out and heard that message. i think you ought to go out there right _away_." "well, i'm going after a little." "but i don't think you ought to wait. i'm sure it's--_you_ know." "well,--maybe i had better go right out." "i wish you would. i know they'll be looking for you every minute." a few minutes later mary saw him drive past and was glad. half an hour later the office ring sounded. she did not wait for the second peal. true, john had not said, "watch the 'phone," today, but that was understood. occasionally he got an old man who lived next door to the office to come in and stay during his absence. possibly he might have done so today. but even if he were there the telephone and its ways were a dark mystery to him and besides, his deafness made him of little use in that direction. mary took down the receiver and put it to her ear. a lady's voice was asking, "who _is_ this?" mary knew from her inflection that she had asked something before and was not satisfied with the reply. "_this_ is dr. blank's office?" announced the old man in a sort of interrogative. "well, where is the _doctor_?" "the doctor," said the old man meditatively, as if wondering that anybody should be calling for him--"the doctor--you mean dr. blank, i reckon?" "i certainly do." "good heavens," thought mary, "why _don't_ he go on!" "why, he's out." "where _is_ he?" "he went to the country." mary shut her lips tight. "_well_, when will he be back?" "he 'lowed he'd be back in about an hour or so." "how long has he been _gone_? maybe i'll get some information after a while." mary longed to speak. why hadn't she done so at first. if she thrust herself in now it would make her out an eavesdropper. but this was unbearable. she opened her mouth to speak when the old man answered. "he's been gone over an hour now, i reckon." "then he'll soon be back. will you be there when he comes?" "yes ma'am." "then tell him to come up to mrs. dorlan's." "to mrs. who's?" "mrs. _dorlan's_." "i didn't ketch the name." "_mrs. dorlan's_, on brownson street." "mrs. torren's?" "miss-es--dor-lan's!" shouted the voice. mary sighed fiercely and clinched her teeth unconsciously. "i _will_ speak," she thought, when the old voice ventured doubtingly, "mrs. dorlan's?" "that's it. mrs. dorlan's on brownson street, will you remember it?" "mrs. dorlan's, on brownson street." "that's right. please tell him just as soon as he comes to come right up." "all right--i'll tell him." "poor old fellow!" said mary as she turned from the 'phone, "but i don't want to go through any more ordeals like that. it was a good deal harder for me than for the other woman." the doctor came down late to dinner. "you got mrs. dorlan's message did you?" "yes, i'll go up there right after dinner." he looked at his wife with peculiar admiration. "how did you know what was wanted with me out in the country?" he asked. with a little pardonable pride she replied: "oh, i just felt it. women have ways of understanding each other that men never attain to. is it a boy or a girl added to the world today?" "neither," said the doctor placidly, helping himself to a roll. chagrin overspread her face. "well," she said with an embarrassed smile, "i erred on mercy's side, and it _might_ have happened in just that way, john, and you know it." the doctor laughed. "there was mighty little the matter out there--they didn't need a doctor." "are they good pay?" "good as old wheat." "then there are compensations." * * * * * some hours later when the 'phone rang, mary went to explain that the doctor had 'phoned her he would be out about twenty minutes. but she found no chance to speak. a spirited dialogue was taking place between a young man and a maid: "where _are_ you, jack?" "i'm right here." "smarty! where _are_ you!" "in dr. blank's office." "what are you there for?" "i'm waiting for the doctor and to while away the time thought i'd call you up." then it was his ring that mary had answered. "i ought to hang this receiver right up," thought she, but instead she held it, her face beaming with a sympathetic smile. "are you feeling better today, dolly?" "yes, i'm better." "able to go to the show then, tonight?" "_yes_, i'm able to go." here a thin small voice put in, "no, you're not able! you're not going." "mamma says,--" began a pouting voice. "i heard what she said," said jack, laughing. "have you been up all day?" "most of the day." "can you eat anything?" "i ate an egg, some toast and some fruit for dinner." "that's fine. i'll bring you a box of candy then pretty soon--i'm coming down in a little bit." "that will be lovely." "which, the candy or the coming down?" "the candy, goose, of course." a laugh at both ends of the wire. then jack's voice. "well, here comes the doctor. i've got to have my neck amputated now. goodbye." "good-bye." "all's fair in love and war," said mary, "and it's plain to see what this is." then she hung up the receiver without a qualm. * * * * * there were other times when the doctor's wife was glad she had gone to the 'phone, as in this instance. she had taken down the receiver when a man's voice said, "the doctor just stepped out for a few minutes. if you will tell me your name, madam, i'll have him call you when he comes in." disinterested courtesy spoke in his voice, but mary was not in the least surprised to hear the curt reply, "it won't be necessary. i'll call _him_ when he comes." "i dare say that gentleman, whoever he may be, is wondering what he has done," thought mary. but it was not altogether unpleasant to her to hear somebody else squelched, too! * * * * * there came a day when the doctor's wife rebelled. when her husband came home and ate his supper hastily and then rose to depart, she said, "you'd better wait at home a few minutes, john." "why?" he put the question brusquely, his hat in his hand. "because i think someone will ring here for you in a minute or two. some man rang the office twice so i went to the 'phone to explain that you must be on your way to supper and he could find you here." "who was it?" "i do not know." "thunder! why didn't you find out?" mary looked straight at her husband. "how many times have i told you, john, that many people decline to give their names or their messages to any one but you. i think i should feel that way about it myself. for a long time i have dutifully done your bidding in the matter, but now i vow i will not trample my pride under my feet any longer--especially when it is all in vain. i will watch the 'phone as faithfully as in the past, but i will not ask for any name or any message. they will be given voluntarily if at all." "all right, mary," said the doctor, gently, seeing that she was quite serious. "i do not mean to say that most of the people who 'phone are grouchy and disagreeable--far from it. indeed the majority are pleasant and courteous. but it is those who are not who have routed me, and made me vow my vow. don't ask me to break it, john, for i will not." and having delivered this declaration, mary felt almost as free and independent as in ante-telephone days. the doctor had seated himself and leaning forward was swinging his hat restlessly between his knees. he waited five minutes. "i'll have to get back to the office," he exclaimed, starting up. "i'm expecting a man to pay me some money. waiting for the 'phone to ring is like watching for the pot to boil." when he had been gone a minute or two, the ring came. with a new step mary advanced to it. "has the doctor got there yet?" the voice had lost none of its grouch. "he has. and he waited for your message which did not come. he could not wait longer. he has just gone to the office. if you will 'phone him there in two or three minutes, instead of waiting till he is called out again, you will find him." "thank you, mrs. blank." the man was surprised into courtesy. the clear-cut, distinct sentences were very different from the faltering, apologetic ones, when she had asked for his name or his message twenty minutes before. mary's receiver clicked with no uncertain sound and a smile illumined her face. * * * * * one day when the snow was flying and the wind was blowing a gale the doctor came hurrying in. "where is the soapstone?" he asked, with small amenity. his wife flew to get it and laid it on the hearth very close to the coals. "oh dear! how terrible to go out in such a storm. do you _have_ to?" she asked. "i certainly do. do you think i'd choose a day like this for a pleasure trip?" "aren't you glad you got that galloway?" she asked, hurrying to bring the big, hairy garment from its hook in the closet. she helped her husband into it, turned the broad collar up--then, when the soapstone was hot, she wrapped it up and gave it to him. "this ought to keep your feet from freezing," she said. the doctor took it, hurried out to the buggy, pulled the robes up around him and was gone. "eight miles in this blizzard!" thought mary shivering, "and eight miles back--sixteen miles. it will take most of the day." two hours after the doctor had gone the telephone rang. "is dr. blank there?" "no, he is in the country, about eight miles southwest." "this is drayton. we want him at john small's as soon as possible. how soon do you think he will be back?" "not for several hours, i am afraid." "well, will you send him down as soon as he comes? we want him _bad_." mary assured him she would do so. "poor john," she thought as she put up the receiver. in a few minutes she went hurriedly back. when she had called central, she said, "i am very anxious to get dr. blank, central. he is eight miles southwest of here--at the home of thomas calhoun. is there a 'phone there?" silence for a few seconds then a voice, "no, there is no 'phone at thomas calhoun's." disappointed, mary stood irresolute, thinking. then she asked, "is there a 'phone at mr. william huntley's?" "yes, william huntley has a 'phone." "thank you. please call that house for me." in a minute a man's voice said, "hello." "is this mr. huntley?" "yes." "mr. huntley, this is mrs. blank. you live not far from thomas calhoun's, do you not?" "about half a mile." "dr. blank is there, or will be very soon, and there is an urgent call for him to go on to drayton. i want to save him the long drive home first. i find there is no 'phone at mr. calhoun's so i have called you hoping you might be able to help me out. perhaps someone of your family will be going down that way and will stop in." "i'll go, myself." "it's too bad to ask any one to go out on a day like this--" "that's all right, mrs. blank. doc's been pretty clever to me." "tell him, please, to go to john small's at drayton. i am very deeply obliged to you for your kindness, mr. huntley," she said, hanging the receiver in its place. "eight miles back home, six miles from here to drayton, six miles back--twenty miles in all. four miles from calhoun's to drayton, six miles from drayton home--ten miles saved on a blizzardy day," she thought in the thankfulness of her heart. a few minutes later she was again at the 'phone. "please give me john small's at drayton." when the voice came she said, "i wanted to tell you that the doctor will be there perhaps in about an hour now. i got your message to him so that he will go directly to your house." "i'm mighty glad to know it. thank you, mrs. blank, for finding him and for letting us know." a terrible drive saved and some anxious hearts relieved. that dear 'phone! how thankful she was for it and for the country drives she had taken with her husband which had made her familiar with the homes and names of many farmers. otherwise she could not have located her husband this morning. one day like this covered a multitude of tyrannies from the little instrument on the wall. * * * * * it was about half past seven. the doctor had thought it probable that he could get off early this evening and then he and mary and the boys would have a game of whist. he had been called in consultation to w., a little town in an adjoining county, but he would be home in a little bit--in just ten minutes the train would be due. "o, there goes that 'phone," said the small boy wrathfully. "now, i s'pose papa can't get here!" his mother was already there with the receiver at her ear. "this is dr. blank's residence." "no, but he will be here in fifteen or twenty minutes." "to drayton?" "very well. i will give him your message as soon as he gets home. i'm afraid that ends the game for tonight, boys," putting the receiver up. "why, does papa have to go away?" "yes, he has to drive six miles." "gee-mi-nee--this dark night in the mud!" here a thought flashed into mary's mind--drayton was on the same railroad on which the doctor was rapidly nearing home--the next station beyond. she flew to the telephone and rang with nervous haste. "hello." "is this the big four?" "yes." "this is mrs. blank. dr. blank is on the train which is due now. he is wanted at drayton. when he gets off, will you please tell him?" "to go on to drayton?" "yes, to alfred walton's." "all right. i'll watch for him and see that he gets aboard again." "thank you very much." the train whistled. "just in time," said mary. "but how'll papa get back?" asked the smaller boy. "he's got a tie-ticket," said his brother. "yes, papa would rather walk back on the railroad than drive both ways through this deep mud," said their mother. "i have heard him say so." another ring. "is the doctor there?" "he has just gone on the train to drayton." "how soon will he be back?" "in an hour and a half, i should think." mary heard the 'phoner say in an aside, "he won't be back for an hour and a half. do you want to wait that long?" another voice replied, "yes, i'll wait. tell 'em to tell him to come just as quick as he gets back, though." this message was transmitted. "and where is he to go?" "to henry smith's, down by the big four depot." a few minutes later mary had another idea. she went to the 'phone and asked central to give her drayton, mr. walton's house. in a minute a voice said, "what is it?" it was restful to mary to have the usual opening varied. perhaps eight out of ten began with, "hello!" the other two began, "yes," "well," "what is it?" and very rarely, "good morning," or "good evening." "is this the home of mr. walton at drayton?" "yes." "dr. blank is there just now, isn't he?" "yes, but he's just going away." "will you please ask him to come to the 'phone?" in a minute her husband's voice was heard asking what was wanted. "i want to save you a long walk when you get home, john. you're wanted at henry smith's down by the big four depot." "all right. i'll go in to see him when i get there. much obliged." "a mile walk saved there," mused the doctor's wife, as she joined the two boys, mildly grumbling because they couldn't have their game, and never could have it just when they wanted it. but a few chapters from ivanhoe read to them by their mother made all serene again. * * * * * the citizens' 'phone was ringing persistently. the doctor's wife had been upstairs and could not get to it in less than no time! but she got there. "do you know where dr. blank is?" the words hurled themselves against her ear. "i don't know just at this minute--but he's here in town. i'm sure of that." "why don't he _come_ then!" the sentence came as from a catapult. "i don't know anything about it. where was he to go?" a scornful "_huh!_" came over the wire--"i guess you forgot to tell 'im." "i have not been asked to tell him anything this morning." there was heated silence for an instant, then a voice big with wrath: "you told me not fifteen minutes ago that you would send him right down." "you are mistaken," said mary gently but firmly. "this is the first time i have been at the 'phone this morning." "well, what do you think of that!" this was addressed to someone at the other end of the line, but it came clearly to mary's ear and its intonation said volumes. "you're the very identical woman that told me when i 'phoned awhile ago that you'd send him right down. it's the very same voice." "there is a mistake somewhere," reiterated mary, patiently, "but i'll send the doctor as soon as he gets in if you will give me your name." "i'll tell ye agin, then, that he's to come to lige thornton's." "very well. i'll send him," and mary left the 'phone much mystified. "she was in dead earnest--and so was i. i can't understand it." glancing out of the window she saw her tall, young daughter coming up the walk. the solution came with lightning quickness--strange she didn't think of that, gertrude had answered. she remembered now that others had thought their voices very much alike, especially over the 'phone. "if the woman had not talked in such a cyclonic way i would have thought of it," she reflected. when the young girl entered the room her mother said, "gertrude, you answered the 'phone awhile ago, didn't you?" "about twenty minutes ago. some woman was so anxious for father to come right away that i just ran down to the office to see that he _went_." "that was very thoughtful of you, dear, but it's little credit we're getting for it." she related the dialogue that had just taken place and mother and daughter laughed in sympathy. "why, mamma, we couldn't forget if we wanted to. that telephone is an old man of the sea to both of us--is now and ever shall be, world without end." "but did you find your father at the office?" "yes, and waited till he fixed up some medicine for two patients already waiting, then shooed him out before some more came in. i wanted to get it off _my_ mind." "i'm glad he is on his way. now stay within hearing of the 'phone, dearie, till i finish my work up-stairs." "all right, mamma, i'm going to make a cake now, but i can hear the 'phone plainly from the kitchen." it wasn't long till a ring was heard. gertrude dusted the flour from her hands and started. "which 'phone was it?" she asked the maid. "i think it was the farmers'," said mollie, hesitating. so to the farmers' 'phone went gertrude. "hello." no answer. "hello." silence. she clapped the receiver up and hurried to the citizens' 'phone. "hello." "is this dr. blank's?" "yes." "is he there?" "no, he was called--" here a loud ring from the other 'phone sounded. "he was called down to--" said gertrude rapidly, then paused, unable to think of the name at the instant. "if you will tell me where he went, i'll just 'phone down there for him," said the voice. a second peal from the other 'phone. "_yes, yes!_" said gertrude impatiently. "o, i didn't mean that for you," she hurried apologetically. "the other 'phone is calling, and i'm so confused i can't think. will you excuse me just an instant till i see what is wanted?" "certainly." she flew to the farmers' 'phone. "is this dr. blank's?" "yes." "good while a-answerin'," grumbled a voice. "i did answer but no one answered _me_." "where's the doctor?" "he's down in the east part of town--will be back in a little bit." "well, when he comes tell him--just hold the 'phone a minute, will you, till i speak to my wife." "all right." but she put the receiver swiftly up and rushed back to the waiting man. she could answer him and get back by the time the other was ready for her. "hello, still there?" "yes." "i've thought of the name--father went to elijah thornton's." "thornton's--let's see--have you a telephone directory handy--could you give me their number?" "wait a minute, i'll see." she raced through the pages,--"yes, here it is." a violent peal from the farmers' 'phone. "he'll think i'm still hunting for the number," she thought, letting the receiver hang and rushing to the other 'phone. "hello." "thought you was a-goin' to hold the 'phone. i've had a turrible time gittin' any answer." "i've had a turrible time, too," thought poor gertrude. "tell the doctor to call me up," and he gave his name and his number. "all right, i'll tell him." she clapped the receiver up lest there might be more to follow and sped back. "here it is," she announced calmly, "elijah thornton, number  ." "thank you, i'm afraid i've put you to a good deal of trouble." "not at all." as she went back to her cake she said to herself, "two telephones ringing at once can certainly make things interesting." * * * * * one day in mid winter mary sat half dreaming before the glowing coals. snow had fallen all through the previous night and today there had been good coasting for the boys and girls. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. she started up and went to answer it. "is this you, mary?" "yes." "i'll be out of the office about twenty minutes." "very well." sometimes mary wished her husband would be a little more explicit. she had a vague sort of feeling that central, or whoever should chance to hear him make this announcement to her so often, might think she requested or perhaps demanded it; might think she wanted to know every place her husband went. in about half an hour the 'phone rang again, two rings. john ought to be back. should she take it for granted? it would be safer to put the receiver to her ear and listen for her husband's voice. "hello." "hello." "is this you dr. blank?" "looks like it." "we want ye to come down to our house right away." "who is this?" "w'y, this is mrs. peters." "mrs. peters? oh yes," said the doctor, recognizing the voice now. "what's the matter down there, grandmother?" "w'y--my little grandson, johnny, was slidin' down hill on a board and got a splinter in his setter." "he did, eh?" "yes, he did, and a big one, too." "well, i'll be down there right away. have some boiled water." mary turned away from the telephone that it might not register her low laughter as she put the receiver in its place. the next instant she took it down again with twinkling eyes and listened. yes, the voices were silent, it would be safe. she rang two rings. "hello," said her husband's voice. "john," said mary, almost in a whisper, "for english free and unadorned, commend me to a little boy's grandmother!" two laughs met over the wire, then two receivers clicked. * * * * * one day mary came in from a walk and noticed at once, a vacant place on the wall where the farmers' 'phone had hung. she had heard rumors of a merger of the two systems and had fervently hoped that they might merge soon and forever. "look! mamma," said gertrude, pointing to the wall. "oh frabjous day! callooh! callay! one telephone is taken away!" she chortled in her joy. (the small boy of the household had been reading "alice" and consequently declaiming the jabberwock from morning till night, till its weird strains had become fixed in the various minds of the household and notably in gertrude's.) "it will simplify matters," said her mother, smiling, "but liberty is not for us. _that_ tuneful peal will still ring on," and as she looked at the citizens' 'phone the peal came. chapter iii. one monday evening the doctor and his wife sat chatting cosily before the fire. in the midst of their conversation, mary looked up suddenly. "i had a queer little experience this morning, john, i want to tell you about it." "tell ahead," said john, propping his slippered feet up on the fender. "well, i got my pen and paper ready to write a letter to mrs. e. i wanted to write it yesterday afternoon and tell her some little household incidents just while they were taking place, as she is fond of the doings and sayings of boys and they are more realistic if reported in the present tense. but i couldn't get at it yesterday afternoon. when i started to write it this morning it occurred to me to date the letter sunday afternoon and write it just as i would have done yesterday--so i did. when i had got it half done or more i heard the door-bell and going to open it i saw through the large glass--" ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. the doctor went to the 'phone. "yes." "yes." "where do you live?" "i'll be right down." he went back, hastily removed his slippers and began putting on his shoes. mary saw that he had clean forgotten her story. very well. it wouldn't take more than a minute to finish it--there would be plenty of time while he was getting into his shoes--but if he was not enough interested to refer to it again she certainly would not. in a few minutes the doctor was gone and mary went to bed. an hour or two later his voice broke in upon her slumber. "back again," he said as he settled down upon his pillow. in a minute he exclaimed, "say, mary, what was the rest of that story?" "o, don't get me roused up. i'm _so_ sleepy," she said drowsily. "well, i'd like to hear it." the interest in her little story which had not been exhibited at the proper time was being exhibited now with a vengeance. she sighed and said, "i can't think of it now--tell you in the morning. good night," and turned away. when morning came and they were both awake, the doctor again referred to the unfinished story. "it's lost interest for me. it wasn't a story to start with, just a little incident that seemed odd--" "well, let's have it." "well, then," said mary, "i was writing away when the door-bell rang. i went to open it and saw through the glass the laundry man--" ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "go on!" exclaimed her husband, hurriedly, "i'll wait till you finish." "i'll not _race_ through a story in any such john gilpin style," said mary, tartly. "go, john!" the doctor arose and went. "no." "i think not." "has she any fever?" "all right, i'll be down in a little bit." then he went back. "now you can finish," he said. "finis is written _here_," said mary. "don't say story to me again!" so mary's story remained unfinished. but a few days later, when she was in the buggy with her husband she relented. "now that the 'phone can't cut me short, john, i will finish about the odd incident just because you wanted to know. but it will fall pretty flat now, as all things do with too many preliminary flourishes." "go on," said the doctor. "well, you know i told you i dated my letter back to sunday afternoon, and was writing away when i heard the door-bell ring. as i started toward the door i saw the laundry man standing there. i was conscious of looking at him in astonishment and in a dazed sort of way as i walked across the large room to open the door. i am sure he must have noticed the expression on my face. when i opened the door he asked as he always does, 'any laundry?'" "'any laundry _today_?' the words were on my tongue's end but i stopped them in time. you see it was really sunday to me, so deep into the spirit of it had i got, and it was with a little shock that i came back to monday again in time to answer the man in a rational way. and now my story's done." "not a bad one, either," said john, "i'm glad you condescended to finish it." * * * * * the doctor came home at ten o'clock and went straight to bed and to sleep. at eleven he was called. "what is it?" he asked gruffly. "it's time for silas to take his medicine and he won't do it." "won't, eh?" "no, he vows he won't." "well, let him alone for a while and then try again." about one came another ring. "we've both been asleep, doctor, but i've been up fifteen minutes trying to get him to take his medicine and he won't do it. he says it's too damned nasty and that he don't need it anyhow." "tell him i say he's a mighty good farmer, but a devilish poor doctor." "i don't know what to do. i can't make him take it." "you'll have to let him alone for awhile i guess, maybe he'll change his mind after awhile." at three o'clock the doctor was again at the telephone. "doctor, he just will _not_ take it," the voice was now quite distressed. "i can't manage him at all." "you _ought_ to manage him. what's a wife for? well, go to bed and don't bother him or me any more tonight." but early next morning silas' wife telephoned again. "i thought i ought to tell you that he hasn't taken it yet." "he'll get well anyway. don't be a bit uneasy about _him_," said the doctor, laughing, as he rung off. * * * * * "it's time to go, john." mary was drawing on her gloves. she looked at her moveless husband as he sat before the crackling blaze in the big fireplace. "this is better than church," he made reply. "but you promised you would go tonight. come on." "it isn't time yet, is it?" "the last bell will ring before we get there." "well, let's wait till all that singing's over. that just about breaks my back." mary sat down resignedly. if they missed the singing perhaps john would not look at his watch and sigh so loud during the sermon. and it might not be a bad idea to miss the singing for another reason. the last time john had gone to church he had astonished her by sliding up beside her, taking hold of the hymn-book and singing! it happened to be his old favorite, "sweet fields beyond the swelling flood." of course it was lovely that he should want to sing it with her--but the _way_ he sang it! he was in the wrong key and he came out two or three syllables behind on most of the lines, but undismayed by the sudden curtailment went boldly ahead on the next. and mary had been much relieved when the hymn was ended and the book was closed. so now she waited very patiently for her husband to make some move toward starting. by and by he got up and they went out. no sooner was the door closed behind them than the "ting-a-ling-ling-ling" was heard. the doctor threw open the door and went back. mary, waiting at the threshold, heard one side of the dialogue. "yes." "down where?" "shake up your 'phone. i can't hear you." "that's better. now what is it?" "swallowed benzine, did she? how much?... that won't kill her. give her some warm water to drink. and give her a spoonful of mustard--anything to produce vomiting...... she has? that's all right. tell her to put her finger down her throat and vomit some more..... no, i think it won't be necessary for me to come down..... you would? well, let me hear again in the next hour or two, and if you still want me i'll come. good-bye." they walked down the street and as they drew near the office they saw the figure of the office boy in the doorway silhouetted against the light within. he was looking anxiously in their direction. suddenly he disappeared and the faint sound of a bell came to their ears. they quickened their pace and as they came up the boy came hurriedly to the door again. "is that you, doctor?" he asked, peering out. "yes." "i told a lady at the 'phone to wait a minute, she's 'phoned twice." mary waited at the door while her husband went into the office and over to the 'phone. "yes. what is it?.... no. no. _no!_.... listen to me..... be _still_ and listen to _me_! she's in no more danger of dying than _you_ are. she couldn't die if she tried..... be still, i say, and listen to me!" he stamped his foot mightily. mary laughed softly to herself. "now don't hang over her and _sympathize_ with her; that's exactly what she don't need. and don't let the neighbors hang around her either. shut the whole tea-party out..... well, tell 'em _i_ said so..... i don't care a damn _what_ they think. your duty and mine is to do the very best we can for that girl. now remember..... yes, i'll be down on the nine o'clock train tomorrow morning. good-bye." he joined his wife at the door. "if anybody wants me, come to the church," he said, turning to the boy. mary laid her hand within her husband's arm and they started on. they met a man who stopped and asked the doctor how soon he would be at the office, as he was on his way there to get some medicine. "i'd better go back," said the doctor and back they went. it seemed to mary that her husband might move with more celerity in fixing up the medicine. he was deliberation itself as he cut and arranged the little squares of paper. still more deliberately he heaped the little mounds of white powder upon them. she looked on anxiously. at last he was ready to fold them up! no, he reached for another bottle. he took out the cork, but his spatula was not in sight. nowise disturbed, he shifted bottles and little boxes about on the table. "can't you use your knife, doctor?" asked mary. "o, i'll find it--it's around here somewhere." in a minute or two the missing spatula was discovered under a paper, and then the doctor slowly, _so_ slowly, dished out little additions to the little mounds. then he laid the spatula up, put the cork carefully back in the bottle, turned in his chair and put two questions to the waiting man, turned back and folded the mounds in the squares with the most painstaking care. in spite of herself mary fidgeted and when the powders with instructions were delivered and the man had gone, she rose hastily. "_do_ come now before somebody else wants something." the singing was over and the sermon just beginning when they reached the church. it progressed satisfactorily to the end. the doctor usually made an important unit in producing that "brisk and lively air which a sermon inspires when it is quite finished." but tonight, a few minutes before the finale came, mary saw the usher advancing down the aisle. he stopped at their seat and bending down whispered something to the doctor, who turned and whispered something to his wife. "no, i'll stay and walk home with the rands. i see they're here," she whispered back. the doctor rose and went out. "who's at the office?" he asked, as he walked away with the boy. "she's not there yet, she telephoned. i told her you was at church." "did she say she couldn't wait?" "she said she had been at church too, but a bug flew in her ear and she had to leave, and she guessed you'd have to leave too, because she couldn't stand it. she said it felt _awful_." "where is she?" "she was at a house by the methodist church, she said, when she 'phoned to see if you was at the office. when i told her i'd get you from the other church, she said she'd be at the office by the time you got there." and she was, sitting uneasily in a big chair. "doctor, i've had a flea in my ear sometimes, but this is a different proposition. ugh! please get this creature out _now_. it feels as big as a bat. ugh! it's crawling further in, hurry!" "maybe we'd better wait a minute and see if it won't be like some other things, in at one ear and out at the other." "o, hurry, it'll get so far in you can't reach it." "turn more to the light," commanded the doctor, and in a few seconds he held up the offending insect. "o, you only got a little of it!" "i got it all." "well, it certainly felt a million times bigger than that," and she departed radiantly happy. chapter iv. one day in early spring the doctor surprised his wife by asking her if she would like to take a drive. "in march? the roads are not passable yet, surely." but the doctor assured her that the roads were getting pretty good except in spots. "i have such a long journey ahead of me today that i want you to ride out as far as centerville and i can pick you up as i come back." "that's seven or eight miles. i'll go. i can stop at dr. parkin's and chat with mrs. parkin till you come." accordingly a few minutes later the doctor and mary were speeding along through the town which they soon left far behind them. about two miles out they saw a buggy down the road ahead of them which seemed to be at a stand-still. when they drew near they found a woman at the horses' heads with a broken strap in her hand. she was gazing helplessly at the buggy which stood hub-deep in mud. she recognized the doctor and called out, "dr. blank, if ever i needed a doctor in my life, it's now." "stuck fast, eh?" the doctor handed the reins to his wife and got out. "i see--a broken single-tree. well, i always unload when i get stuck, so the first thing we do we'll take this big lummox out of here," he said picking his way to the buggy. the lummox rose to her feet with a broad grin and permitted herself to be taken out. she was a fat girl about fourteen years old. "my! i'll bet she weighs three hundred pounds," observed the doctor when she was landed, which was immediately resented. then he took the hitching-rein and tied the tug to the broken end of the single-tree; after which he went to the horses' heads and commanded them to "come on." they started and the next instant the vehicle was on terra firma. mother and daughter gave the doctor warm thanks and each buggy went its separate way. mary was looking about her. "the elms have a faint suspicion that spring is coming; the willows only are quite sure of it," she said, noting their tender greenth which formed a soft blur of color, the only color in all the gray landscape. no, there is a swift dash of blue, for a jay has settled down on the top of a rail just at our travelers' right. soon they were crossing a long and high bridge spanning a creek which only a week before had been a raging torrent; the drift, caught and held by the trunks of the trees, and the weeds and grasses all bending in one direction, told the story. but the waters had subsided and now lay in deep, placid pools. "stop, john, quick!" commanded mary when they were about half way across. the doctor obeyed wondering what could be the matter. he looked at his wife, who was gazing down into the pool beneath. "i suppose i'm to stop while you count all the fish you can see." "i was looking at that lovely concave sky down there. see those two white clouds floating so serenely across the blue far, far below the tip-tops of the elm trees." the doctor drove relentlessly on. "another mudhole," said mary after a while, "but this time the travelers tremble on the brink and fear to launch away." when they came up they found a little girl standing by the side of the horse holding up over its back a piece of the harness. she held it in a very aimless and helpless way. "see," said mary, "she doesn't know what to do a bit more than i should. i wonder if she can be alone." the doctor got out and went forward to help her and discovered a young man sitting cozily in the carriage. he glanced at him contemptuously. "your harness is broken, have you got a string?" he asked abruptly. "n-n-o, i haven't," said the youth feeling about his pockets. "take your shoe-string. if you haven't got one i'll give you mine," and he set his foot energetically on the hub of the wheel to unlace his shoe. "why, i've got one here, i guess," and the young man lifted a reluctant foot. the doctor saw and understood. the little sister was to fix the harness in order to save her brother's brand new shoes from the mud. "you'd better fix that harness yourself, my friend, and fix it strong," was the doctor's parting injunction as he climbed into the buggy and started on. "i don't like the looks of this slough of despond," said mary. the next minute the horses were floundering through it, tugging with might and main. now the wheels have sunk to the hubs and the horses are straining every muscle. "merciful heaven!" gasped mary. at last they were safely through, and the doctor looking back said, "that is the last great blot on our civilization--bad roads." after a while there came from across the prairie the ascending, interrogative _boo-oo-m_ of a prairie chicken not far distant, while from far away came the faint notes of another. and now a different note, soft, melodious and mournful is heard. "how far away do you think that dove is?" asked the doctor. "it sounds as if it might be half a mile." "it is right up here in this tree in the field." "is it," said mary, looking up. "yes, i see, it's as pretty and soft as its voice. but i'm getting sunburned, john. how hot a march day can get!" "only two more miles and good road all the way." a few minutes more and mary was set down at centerville, "i'll be back about sunset," announced her husband as he drove off. a very pleasant-faced woman answered the knock at the door. she had a shingle in her hand and several long strips of muslin over her arm. she smilingly explained that she didn't often meet people at the door with a shingle but that she was standing near the door when the knock came. mary, standing by the bed and removing hat and gloves, looked about her. "what are you doing with that shingle and all this cotton and stuff, mrs. parkin?" she asked. "haven't you ever made a splint?" "a splint? no indeed, i'm not equal to that." "that's what i'm doing now. there's a boy with a broken arm in the office in the next room." "oh, your husband has his office here at the house." "yes, and it's a nuisance sometimes, too, but one gets used to it." "i'll watch you and learn something new about the work of a doctor's wife." "you'll learn then to have a lot of pillow slips and sheets on hand. old or new, dr. parkin just tears them up when he gets in a hurry--it doesn't matter to him what goes." the doctor's wife put cotton over the whole length of the shingle and wound the strips of muslin around it; then taking a needle and thread she stitched it securely. mary sat in her chair watching the process with much interest. "you have made it thicker in some places than in others," she said. "yes; that is to fit the inequalities of the arm." mary looked at her admiringly. "you are something of an artist," she observed. just as mrs. parkin finished it her husband appeared in the doorway. "is it done?" he asked. "it's just finished." "may i see you put it on, doctor?" asked mary, rising and coming forward. "why, good afternoon, mrs. blank. i'm glad to see you out here. yes, come right in. how's the doctor?" "oh, he is well and happy--i think he expects to cut off a foot this afternoon." a boy with a frightened look on his face stood in the doctor's office with one sleeve rolled up. the doctor adjusted the fracture, then applied the splint while his wife held it steady until he had made it secure. when the splint was in place and the boy had gone a messenger came to tell the doctor he was wanted six miles away. about half an hour afterward a little black-eyed woman came in and said she wanted some more medicine like the last she took. "the doctor's gone," said mrs. parkin, "and will not be back for several hours." "well, you can get it for me, can't you?" "do you know the name of it?" "no, but i believe i could tell it if i saw it," said the patient, going to the doctor's shelves and looking closely at the bottles and phials with their contents of many colors. she took up a three-ounce bottle. "this is like the other bottle and i believe the medicine is just the same color. yes, i'm sure it is," she said, holding it up to the light. mary looked at her and then at mrs. parkin. "i wouldn't like to risk it," said the latter lady. "oh, i'm not afraid. i don't want to wait until the doctor comes and i know this must be like the other. it's exactly the same color." "my good woman," said mary, "you _certainly_ will not risk that. it might kill you." "no, mrs. dawson, you must either wait till the doctor comes or come again," said mrs. parkin. the patient grumbled a little about having to make an extra trip and took her leave. when the door had closed behind her mary asked the other doctor's wife if she often had patients like that. "oh, yes. people come here when the doctor is away and either want me to prescribe for them or to prescribe for themselves." "you don't do it, do you?" "sometimes i do, when i am perfectly sure what i am doing. having the office here in the house so many years i couldn't help learning a few things." "i wouldn't prescribe for anything or anybody. i'd be afraid of killing somebody." about an hour later mary, looking out of the window, saw a wagon stopping at the gate. it contained a man and a woman and two well-grown girls. "hello!" called the man. "people call you out instead of coming in. that is less trouble," observed mary. the doctor's wife went to the door. "is doc at home?" "no, he has gone to the country." "how soon will he be back?" "not before supper time, probably." the man whistled, then looked at his wife and the two girls. "well, sally," he said, "i guess we'd better git out and wait fur 'im." "w'y, pa, it'll be dark long before we git home, if we do." "i can't help that. i'm not agoin' to drive eight miles tomorry or next day nuther." "if ye'd 'a started two hour ago like i wanted ye to do, maybe doc'd 'a been here and we c'd 'a been purty nigh home by this time." "shet up! i told ye i wasn't done tradin' then." "it don't take _me_ all day to trade a few aigs for a jug o' m'lasses an' a plug o' terbacker." for answer the head of the house told his family to "jist roll out now." they rolled out and in a few minutes they had all rolled in. mrs. parkin made a heroic effort not to look inhospitable which made mary's heroic effort not to look amused still more heroic. when at last the afternoon was drawing to a close mary went out into the yard to rest. she wished john would come. hark! there is the ring of horses' hoofs down the quiet road. but these are white horses, john's are bays. she turns her head and looks into the west. out in the meadow a giant oak-tree stands between her and the setting sun. its upper branches are outlined against the grey cloud which belts the entire western horizon, while its lower branches are sharply etched against the yellow sky beneath the grey. what a calm, beautiful sky it was! she thought of some lines she had read more than once that morning ... a bit from george eliot's journal: "how lovely to look into that brilliant distance and see the ship on the horizon seeming to sail away from the cold and dim world behind it right into the golden glory! i have always that sort of feeling when i look at sunset. it always seems to me that there in the west lies a land of light and warmth and love." a carriage was now coming down the road at great speed. mary saw it was her husband and went in to put on her things. in a few minutes more she was in the buggy and they were bound for home. it was almost ten o'clock when they got there. the trip had been so hard on the horses that all the spirit was taken out of them. the doctor, too, was exceedingly tired. "forty-two miles is a long trip to make in an afternoon," he said. "i hope jack and maggie are not up so late." "it would be just like them to sit up till we came." the buggy stopped; the door flew open and jack and maggie stood framed in the doorway with the leaping yellow firelight for a background. chapter v. once in a while sympathy for a fellow mortal kept the doctor's wife an interested listener at the 'phone. going, one morning, to speak to a friend about some little matter she heard her husband say: "what is it, doctor?" a physician in a little town some ten or twelve miles distant, who had called dr. blank in consultation a few days before, was calling him. "i think our patient is doing very well, but her heart keeps getting a little faster." "how fast is it now?" "about ." "but the disease is pretty well advanced now--that doesn't mean as much as it would earlier. but you might push a little on the brandy, or the strychnine--how much brandy have you given her since i saw her?" "i have given her four ounces." "four ounces!" "yes." "four ounces in three days? i think you must mean four drachms." "_yes._ it _is_ drachms. four ounces _would_ be fixing things up. i've been giving her digitalis; what do you think about that?" "that's all right, but i think that strychnine would be a little better." "would you give her any aromatic spirits of ammonia?" "does she rattle?" "a little." "then you might give her a little of that. and keep the room open and stick right to her and she ought to get along. don't give her much to eat." "is milk all right?" "yes. you bet it is." "all right then, doctor, i believe that's all. good-bye." on another occasion, mary caught this fragment: "she's so everlastin' sore that she just hollers and yells every time i go near her. would you give her any more morphine?" "morphine's a thing you can't monkey with you know, doctor. you want to be mighty careful about that." "yes. i know. how long will that morphine last?" "that depends on how you use it. it won't last long if you use too much and neither will she." "i mean how long will it last in the system?" "o! why, three or four hours." "well, i think she don't need no more medicine." mary smiled at the double negative and when she laughingly spoke of it that night her husband assured her that that doctor's singleness of purpose more than offset his doubleness of negative. that he was a fine fellow and a good physician just the same. * * * * * one morning in march just as the doctor arose from the breakfast table he was called to the 'phone. "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "doctor, will it hurt the baby to bathe it every morning? i've been doing that but some of the folks around here say i oughtn't to do it; they say it isn't good for a baby to bathe it so often." the doctor answered solemnly, "the baby's fat and healthy isn't it?" "yes, sir." "and pretty?" "yes, _sir_." "likes to see its mamma?" "you _know_ it." "likes to see its papa?" "he does that!" said the young mother. "then ask me next fall if it will hurt to bathe the baby every morning." "all right, doctor," laughed the baby's mamma. "the fools are not all dead yet," said john, as he took his hat and departed. on the step he turned back and put his head in at the door. "keep an ear out, mary. i'm likely to be away from the office a good bit this morning." an hour later a call came. mary put the ear that was "out" to the receiver: "it's on north adams street." "all right. i'll be out there after awhile," said her husband's placid voice. "don't wait too long. he may die before you git here." "no, he won't. i'll be along pretty soon." "well, come just as quick as you can." "all right," and the listener knew that it might be along toward noon before he got there. about eleven o'clock the 'phone rang sharply. "is this dr. blank's house?" "yes." "is he there?" "i saw him pass here about twenty minutes ago. i'm sure he'll be back to the office in a little bit." "my land! i've been here three or four times. looks like i'd ketch him _some_ time." "you are at the office then? if you will sit down and wait just a little while, he will be in." "i come six miles to see him. i supposed of course he'd be in _some_ time," grumbled the voice (of course a woman's). "but when he is called to visit a patient he must go, you know," explained mary. "y-e-s," admitted the voice reluctantly. "well, i'll wait here a little while longer." ten minutes later mary rang the office. her husband replied. "how long have you been back, john?" "o, five or ten minutes." "did you find a woman waiting for you?" "no." "well, i assured her you'd be there in a few minutes and she said she'd wait." "do you know who she was?" "no. some one from the country. she said she came six miles to see you and she supposed you'd be in your office _some_ time, and that sometime was mightily emphatic." "o, yes, i know now. she'll be in again," laughed the doctor and mary felt relieved, for in the querulous tones of the disappointed woman she had read disapproval of the doctor and of herself too, as the partner not only of his joys and sorrows, but of his laggard gait as well. the people who wait for a doctor are not apt to consider that a good many more may be waiting for him also at that particular moment of time. chapter vi. one of the most discouraging things i have encountered is a great blank silence. the doctor asks his wife to keep a close watch on the telephone for a little while, and leaves the office. pretty soon it rings and she goes to answer it. "hello?" silence. "what is it?" more silence. she knows that "unseen hands or spirits" did not ring that bell. she knows perfectly well that there is a listening ear at the other end of the line. but you cannot converse with silence any more than you can speak to a man you meet on the street if he purposely looks the other way. mary knew that the listening ear belonged to someone who recognized that it was the wife who answered instead of the doctor, and therefore kept silent. she smiled and hung up the receiver--sorry not to be able to help her husband and to give the needed information to the patient. but when this had happened several times she thought of a more satisfactory way of dealing with the situation. she would take down the receiver and ask, "what is it?" she would wait a perceptible instant and then say distinctly and pleasantly, "doctor blank will be out of the office for about twenty minutes. he asked me to tell you." that never failed to bring an answer, a hasty, shame-voiced, "oh, i--well--thank you, mrs. blank, i'll call again, then." * * * * * the doctor's absence from town has its telephonic puzzles. one day during dr. blank's absence his wife was called to the 'phone. "mrs. blank, a telegram has just come for the doctor. what must i do with it?" it was the man at the office who put the question. "do you know what it is, or where it's from?" "i asked the operator and he says it's from mr. slocum, who is in cincinnati. he telegraphed the doctor to go and see his wife who is sick." "well, take it over to dr. brown's office and ask him to go and see her." about half an hour later the thought of the telegram came into her mind. "i wonder if he found dr. brown in. i'd better find out." she rang the office. "did you find dr. brown in?" "yes, he was there." "and you gave the message to him?" "yes, he took it." "i hope he went right down?" "no, he said he wouldn't go." "wouldn't go!" exclaimed mary, much astonished. "he said he knew slocum and he was in all probability drunk when he sent the message." "why, what a queer conclusion to arrive at. the doctor may be right but i think we ought to know." "i called up their house after i came back from dr. brown's office, but nobody answered. so she can't be very sick or she'd be at home." mary put up the receiver hesitatingly. she was not satisfied about this matter. she went about her work, but her thoughts were on the message and the sick wife. suddenly she thought of something--the slocum children were in school. the mother had not been able to get to the 'phone to answer it. the thought of her lying there alone and helpless was too much. mary went swiftly to the telephone and called the office. "johnson, you have to pass mrs. slocum's on your way to dinner. i think she may have been too ill to go to the 'phone. please stop and find out something definite." "all right." "and let me know as soon as you can. if she isn't sick don't tell her anything about the telegram. think up some excuse as you go along for coming in, in case all is well." in about twenty minutes the expected summons came. "well, i stopped, mrs. blank." "what did you find?" "well, i found a hatchet close to slocum's gate." "how lucky!" "i took it in to ask if it was theirs." "was it?" "no, it wasn't." "who told you so?" "mrs. slocum, herself, and she's about the healthiest looking invalid i've seen lately." "i'm much relieved. thank you, johnson." and as she left the 'phone she meditated within herself, "verily, the tender thoughtfulness of the husband drunk exceedeth that of the husband sober." when night came and mary was preparing for bed she thought, "it will be very unpleasant to be called up only to tell people the doctor is not here." she rose, went to the 'phone and called central. "this is mrs. blank, central. if anyone should want the doctor tonight, or for the next two nights, please say he is out of town and will not be home until saturday." then with a delicious sense of freedom she went to bed and slept as sweetly as in the long-ago when the telephone was a thing undreamed of. * * * * * the ting-a-ling-ling-ling--came as mary was pouring boiling water into the teapot, just before six on a cool july evening. the maid was temporarily absent and mary had been getting supper in a very leisurely way when she saw her husband step up on the porch. then her leisure was exchanged for hurry. the doctor's appearance before meal time was the signal to which she responded automatically--he had to catch a train--someone must have him right away, or what not? she must not keep him waiting a minute. she pushed the teapot back on the stove and went swiftly to the 'phone. "is this dr. blank's office?" asked a disturbed feminine voice. "no, his residence. he is here. wait a minute, please, and i will call him." she hurried out to the porch, "isn't papa here?" she asked of her small boy sitting there. "he _was_." "well, where is he now?" "i don't know where he is." provoking! she hurried back. he must be in the garden. an occasional impulse to hoe sometimes came over him (especially if the day happened to be sunday). in the kitchen her daughter stood at a table cutting the bread for supper. "go quick, and see if papa's in the garden. tell him to come to the 'phone at once." then she hurried back to re-assure the waiting one. but what could she tell her? perhaps the doctor was not in the garden. she rushed out and beat her daughter in the race toward it. she sent her voice ahead, "john!" she called. "yes." "come to the 'phone this minute." back she ran. would she still be waiting? "hello." "hello." "yes, the doctor's here. he's in the garden but will be in in just a minute. hold the 'phone please." "very well, thank you." it was a minute and a half before the doctor got there. "hello." no answer. "hello!" silence. "_hello!_" still no reply. the doctor rang sharply for central. "who was calling me a minute ago." "i don't know--we can't keep track of everybody who calls." the doctor hung up the receiver with an explosive monosyllable. mary's patience was giving out too. "she couldn't wait one half minute. i told her you would be here in a minute and it took you a minute and a half." "she may be waiting at the office, i'll go down there." "i wouldn't do it," said mary, warmly. "it's much easier for her to stay a half minute at the 'phone than for you to tramp back to the office." but he went. as his wife went back to the kitchen her daughter called, "mother, did you take the loaf of bread in there with you?" "why, no." "well, it's not on the table where i was cutting it when you sent me after father." "it's on the floor!" shouted the small boy, peering through the window. "_i_ won't eat any of it!" "don't, exquisite child," said his sister, stooping over to recover the loaf, dropped in her haste. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. mary went. "isn't the doctor coming?" "he came. he called repeatedly, but got no reply." "i was right here with my ear to the 'phone the whole time." "he concluded it might be someone waiting for him at the office, so he has gone down there." "i'm not there. i'm here at home." "hello," broke in the doctor's voice. "o, here you are!" "doctor, i've been taking calomel today and then i took some salts and i thoughtlessly dissolved them in some lemonade i had handy!" a solemn voice asked, "have you made your will?" a little giggle before the patient said "no." "you'll have plenty of time. you needn't hurry about it." "you don't think it will hurt me then?" "no. not a bit." "i was afraid the acid might salivate me." "yes, that's an old and popular idea. but it won't." "that sounds good, doctor. i was awfully scared. much obliged. good-bye." * * * * * a week or two after the above incident the doctor was seated at his dinner, a leisurely sunday dinner. the telephone called and he rose and went to it. the usual hush fell upon the table in order that he might hear. "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "well, doctor, this is mrs. abner. would it be too much trouble for you to step into hall's and ask them to send me up a quart of ice-cream for dinner?" "certainly not. a quart?" "yes, please. i'm sorry to bother you with it. they ought to have a 'phone." "no trouble." the doctor hung up the receiver and reached for his hat. "why, john, you surely can finish your dinner before you go!" exclaimed mary. "then i'd spoil mrs. abner's dinner." "mrs. abner!" "yes, she wants a quart of ice-cream for dinner." "i'd like to know what _you've_ got to do with it," said mary tartly. "she thinks i'm at the office." "and the office is next door to hall's and hall's have no 'phone," said mary smiling. "of course you must go. wouldn't mrs. abner feel mortified though if she knew you had to leave your home in the midst of dinner to order her ice-cream. but do hurry back, john." "maybe i'd better stay there till the dinner hour is well over," laughed john. "every now and then someone wants me to step into hall's and order up something." he went good-naturedly away and his wife looked after him marveling, but withal admiring. * * * * * the doctor and his wife had been slumbering peacefully for an hour or two. then came a loud ring and they were wide awake at once. "that wasn't the telephone, john, it was the door-bell." the doctor got into his dressing-gown and went to the door. his wife heard a man's voice, then her husband reply, then the door shut. she lay back on her pillow but it was evident john was not coming back. she must have dozed, for it seemed to her a long time had gone by when she started to hear a noise in the other room. john had not yet got off. "you have to go some place, do you?" she called. "yes,--just a little way. look out for the 'phone, mary. i think i'll have to go down to hanson's tonight, to meet the stork." "but how can i get word to you? they have no 'phone or that man wouldn't have come after you." "well, i have promised hanson and i'll have to go there. if he 'phones before i get back tell him he'll have to come down to stetson's after me. or, you might wake one of the boys and send him over." "i'd rather try to wake rip van winkle," said mary, in a tone that settled it. in about an hour the doctor was back and snuggling down under the covers. "they've got a fine boy over to stetson's," he announced to his sleepy wife. "they have!" she exclaimed, almost getting awake. again they slept. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "that's hanson," exclaimed the doctor springing up and groping his way to the 'phone. "yes." "out where?" "smith's on parks avenue?.... _not_ smith's?.... i understand--a little house farther down that street..... yes, i'll come..... o, as soon as i can dress and get there." mary heard, but when he had gone, was soon in a deep sleep. by and by she found herself flinging off the covers and hurrying guiltily toward the summoning tyrant, her subconscious self telling her that this was the third peal. "hello." "is the doctor there, mrs. blank?" "no, he is over at stetson's. he said if you 'phoned to tell you you would have to come there as they have no 'phone." "wait a minute, mrs. blank," said the voice of central, "some one is trying to speak--" "what have i said!" thought mary suddenly, thoroughly awake. "he got back from stetson's and went to another place. but i don't know what place nor where it is." the kindly voice of central went on: "it's the doctor who is talking, mrs. blank. i understand now. he says if that message comes you are to 'phone him at james smith's on parks avenue." mary looked at the clock. "so he's been there all this time. that stork is a little too busy tonight," she thought as she went shivering back to bed. toward daylight she was roused by the return of her husband, who announced a new daughter in the world and then they went to sleep. the next morning she said, "john, i've just thought of something. why didn't you have central 'phone you at smith's if hanson called and save me all that bother?" "i guess it's because i'm so used to bothering you mary, that i didn't think of it." * * * * * mary was upstairs cleaning house most vigorously when the ring came. she stopped and listened. it came again--three. she set the dust pan down and went. "i'll have to be out for an hour or more, mary," said the doctor. "i heard that sigh," he laughed, "but it won't be very hard to sort of keep an ear on the 'phone, will it? johnson may get in soon and then it won't be necessary." "very well, then, john," and she went upstairs, leaving the doors open behind her. she had just reached the top when she had to turn about and retrace her steps. "hello." no answer. "is someone calling dr. blank's house or office?" "i rang your 'phone by mistake," said central. mary trudged up the stairs again. "this is more tiresome than cleaning house," she said to herself as she went along. in twenty minutes the summons came. she leaned her broom against the wall and went down. "o, this is mrs. blank. i'm very sorry to have put you to this trouble--i wanted the doctor." she recognized the voice of her old pastor for whom she had a most kindly regard. "he is out, but will be back within half an hour now, mr. rutledge." "thank you, i'll call again, but i wonder that you knew my voice." mary laughed. "i haven't heard it for awhile, but maybe i'll be at church next sunday, if minding the telephone doesn't make me feel too wicked." "it's the wicked that church is for--come by all means." "i didn't mean to detain you, mr. rutledge. it is restful, though, after dragging one's weary feet down to the 'phone to hear something beside all the ills that flesh is heir to. come to see us soon--one day next week." once more she wended her way upstairs and in about fifteen minutes came the ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling. "i surrender!" she declared. when she had gone down and put the receiver to her ear her husband's voice spoke kindly, "i'm back, mary, you're released." "thank you, john, you are very thoughtful," and she smiled as she took off her sun-bonnet and sat herself down. "not another time will i climb those stairs this morning." * * * * * mary sat one evening dreamily thinking about them--these messages that came every day, every day! doctor, will it hurt jennie to eat some tomatoes this morning--she craves them so? will is a great deal better. can he have some ice-cream for dinner? i can hardly manage henry any longer, doctor, he's determined he _will_ have more to eat. can i begin giving him a little more today? lemonade won't hurt helen, will it? she wants some. doctor, i forget how many drops of that clear medicine i am to give..... ten, you say? thank you. dr. blank, is it after meals or before that the dark medicine is to be given..... i thought so, but i wanted to be sure. we are out of those powders you left. do you think we will need any more?.... then i'll send down for them. how long will you be in the office this morning, doctor?...... very well, i'll be down in about an hour. i want you to see my throat. you wanted me to let you know how johnny is this morning. i don't think he has any fever now and he slept all night, so i guess you won't need to come down today. dr. blank, i've got something coming on my finger. do you suppose it's a felon?.... you can tell better when you see it?.... well, i suppose you can. i'll be down at the office pretty soon and then i want you to tell me it's _not_ a felon. mary seems a good deal better this morning, but she still has that pain in her side. doctor, i don't believe joe is as well as he was last night. i think you had better come down. as these old, old stories came leisurely into mary's thoughts the telephone rang three times. she rose from her chair before the fire and went to answer it. "is this dr. blank's office?" "no, his residence." "is the doctor there?" "no, but he will be down on the seven o'clock train." "and it's now not quite six. this is mr. andrews." mary knew the name and the man. "my wife is sick and i want to get a pint of alcohol for her." "an old subterfuge," thought mary, "i'm afraid he wants it for himself." she knew that he was often under its influence. "i can't get it without a prescription from a physician, you know. she needs it right away." "the thirst is on him," thought our listener, pityingly. the voice went on, "mrs. blank, couldn't you just speak to the druggist about it so i could get it right away?" "mr. andrews," she said hastily, "the druggist would pay no attention to me. i'm not a physician, you know. the doctor will be here in an hour--see him," and she hurried the receiver into its place, anxious to get away from it. this was a story that was entirely new to her. never before had she been asked to procure a prescription for alcohol or any of its attendant spirits. she liked the old stories best. * * * * * the doctor had been to the city and had got home at four o'clock in the morning. he had had to change cars in the night and consequently had had little sleep. when the door-bell rang his wife awakened instantly at the expected summons and rose to admit him. in a little while both were fast asleep. the wife, about a half hour later, found herself struggling to speak to somebody about something, she did not know what. but when the second long peal came from the 'phone she was fully awakened. how she hated to rouse the slumberer at her side. "john," she called softly. he did not move. "john!" a little louder. he stirred slightly, but slept on. "john, _john_!" "huh-h?" "the telephone." he threw back the covers, and rising, stumbled to the 'phone. "hello." the voice of a little boy came to his half-awakened ear. "_say_, pa, _i_ can't sell these papers an' git through in time fer school." "yes, you _can_!" roared a voice. "you jist want to fool around." the doctor went back to bed. "wasn't the message for you?" inquired his wife. "what a shame to rouse you from your sleep for nothing." the doctor told her what the message was and was back in slumberland in an incredibly short space of time. not so his wife. she was too thoroughly awake at last and dawn was beginning to peep around the edges of the window shades. she would not court slumber now but would lie awake with her own thoughts which were very pleasant thoughts this morning. by and by she rose softly, dressed and went out onto the veranda and looked long into the reddening eastern sky. ever since she could remember she had felt this keen delight at the aspect of the sky in the very early morning. she stood for awhile, drinking in the beauty and the peacefulness of it all. then she went in to her awakening household, glad that the little boy had 'phoned his "pa" and by some means had got her too. * * * * * one midsummer night a tiny ringing came faintly and pleasantly into mary's dreams. not till it came the second or third time did she awaken to what it was. then she sat up in bed calling her husband, who had just awakened too and sprung out of bed. dazed, he stumbled about and could not find his way. with mary's help he got his bearings and the next minute his thunderous "hello" greeted her ears. "yes." "worse tonight? in what way?" an instant's silence. "mrs. brownson?" silence. "mrs. brownson!" silence. "damn that woman! she's rung off." "well, don't swear into the 'phone, john. it's against the rules. besides, she might hear you." the doctor was growling his way to his clothes. "i suppose i've got to go down there," was all the answer he made. when he was dressed and the screen had banged behind him after the manner of screens, mary settled herself to sleep which came very soon. but she was soon routed out of it. she went to the 'phone, expecting to hear a querulous woman's voice asking, "has the doctor started yet?" and her lips were framing the old and satisfactory reply, "yes, he must be nearly there now," when a man's voice asked, "is this dr. blank's residence?" "yes." "is the doctor there?" "no, but he will be back in about twenty minutes." "will you please tell him to come to j. h. twitchell's?" "yes, i'll send him right down." "thank you." she went back to her bed room then, turning, retraced her steps. the doctor could come home by way of twitchell's as their home was not a great distance from the brownson's. she rang the brownson's and after a little while a voice answered. "is this mrs. brownson?" "yes." "may i speak to dr. blank. i think he must be there now." "he's been here. he's gone home." mary knew by the voice that its owner had not enjoyed getting out of bed. "i wonder how she would like to be in my place," she thought, smiling. she dared not trust herself to her pillow. she might fall asleep and not waken when her husband came in. she wondered what time it was. up there on the wall the clock was ticking serenely away--she had only to turn the button beside her to find out. but she did not turn it. in the sweet security of the dark she felt safe. in one brief flash of light some prowling burglar might discover her. she sat down by the open window and looked up into the starlit sky. they were out tonight in countless numbers. over there toward the northwest, lying along the tops of the trees was the great dipper. wasn't it? surely that particular curve in the handle was not to be found in any other constellation. she tried to see the dipper itself but a cherry tree near her window blotted it out. bend and peer as she might the branches intervened. it was tantalizing. she rose irresolute. should she step out doors where the cherry tree would not be in the way? not for a thousand dippers! she walked to another window. that view shut even the handle out. she looked for the pleiades. they were not in the section of sky visible from the window where she stood. she turned and listened. did she hear footsteps down the walk? she ought to be hearing her husband's by this time. he could not be walking at his usual gait. there he came! she went to the door looked through the screen and halted him as he drew near the steps. "john, you'll have to take another trip. mr. twitchell has 'phoned for you." he turned and was soon out of sight. "now! i can go to bed with a clear conscience," and mary sought her pillow. but she had better stay awake until he had time to get there lest mr. twitchell should 'phone again. in five or ten minutes the danger would be over. she waited. at last she closed her eyes to sleep. but what would be the use? in twenty minutes more her husband would come in and rouse her out of it. she had better just keep awake till he got back. and the next thing mary heard was a snore. she opened her eyes to find it was broad daylight and her husband was sleeping soundly beside her. chapter vii. one afternoon in june mary went into her husband's office. "has _the record_ come?" she asked. "yes, it's on the table in the next room." she went into the adjoining room and seated herself by the table. taking up _the record_, she turned to the editorial page, but before she could begin reading she heard a voice in the office say, "how do you do, doctor?" "how do you do, mr. jenkins. take a seat." "no, i guess i'll not sit down. i just wanted to get--a prescription." "the baby's better, isn't it?" "oh, the baby's all right, but i want a prescription for myself." "what sort of prescription?" "i have to take a long ride in the morning, driving cattle, and i want a prescription for a pint of whiskey." mary listened for her husband's reply. it came. "jenkins, i have taken many a long ride through dust and heat, through rain and snow and storm, and i never yet have had to take any whiskey along." "well, i have a little trouble with my heart and--" "the trouble's in your head. if you'd throw away that infernal pipe--" "oh, it's no use to lecture me on that any more." "very well, your tobacco may be worth more to you than your heart." "well, will you give me that prescription?" "certainly i won't. you don't need whiskey and you'll not get it from me." "go to h-ll!" "all right, i'll meet _you_ there." at which warm farewell between these two good friends, mary leaned back in her chair and laughed silently. then she mused: "people will not be saved from themselves. if only they would be, how much less of sin and sickness and sorrow there would be in the world." presently the doctor came in. "i have a trip to make tonight, mary. how would you like a star-light drive?" mary said she would like it very much indeed. accordingly, at sunset the doctor drove up and soon they were out in the open country. chatting of many things they drove along and by and by mary's eyes were attracted to a beautiful castle up in the clouds in the west, on a great golden rock jutting out into the blue. far below was a grand woman's form in yellow floating robes. she stood with face upturned and arms extended in an attitude of sorrow as if she had been banished from her father's house. there comes the father now. slowly, majestically, an old man with flowing beard of gold moves toward the edge of the great rock. now he has reached it. he bends his head and looks below. the attitude of the majestic woman has changed to that of supplication. and now the father stretches down forgiving arms and the queenly daughter bows her head against the mighty wall and weeps in gladness. now castle and rock, father and daughter slowly interchange places and vanish from her sight. the gold turns to crimson, then fades to gray. just before her up there in the clouds is a huge lion, couchant. see! he is going to spring across the pale blue chasm to the opposite bank. if he fails he will come right down into the road--"oh!" "what is it?" asked the doctor, looking around, and mary told him with a rather foolish smile. the twilight deepened into dusk and the notes of a whippoorwill came to them from a distance. "you and i must have nothing but sweet thoughts right now, john, because then we'll get to keep them for a year." she quoted: "'tis said that whatever sweet feeling may be throbbing within the fond heart, when listening to a whippoorwill s-pieling, for a twelvemonth will never depart." "spieling doesn't seem specially in the whippoorwill's line." "it's _exactly_ in his line. years ago when i was a little girl he proved it. one evening at dusk i was sitting in an arbor when he, not suspecting my presence, alighted within a few feet of me and began his song. it was wonderfully interesting to watch his little throat puff and puff with the notes as they poured forth, but the thing that astounded me was the length of time he sang without ever pausing for breath. and so he is a genuine spieler. i will add, however, that the line is 'when listening to a whippoorwill _singing_.' but my literary conscience will never let me rhyme _singing_ with _feeling_, hence the sudden change." "now i'll speak _my_ piece," announced the doctor: "de frogs in de pon' am a singin' all de night; wid de hallelujah campmeetin' tune; an' dey all seem to try wid deir heart, soul and might to tell us ob de comin' of de june." "_aren't_ they having a hallelujah chorus over in that meadow, though!" darkness settled over the earth. the willow trees, skirting the road for a little distance, lifted themselves in ghostly tracery against the starlit sky. a soft breeze stirred their branches like the breath of a gentle spirit abiding there. they passed a cozy farmhouse nestled down among tall trees. through the open door they could see a little white-robed figure being carried to bed in its father's arms, while the mother crooned a lullaby over the cradle near. for a long time they drove in silence. mary knew that her husband was in deep thought. of what was he thinking? the pretty home scene in the farm house had sent him into a reverie. he went back five or six years to a bright spring day. he was sitting alone in his office when an old man, a much respected farmer, came in slowly, closed the door behind him and sat down. the doctor who knew him quite well saw that he was troubled and asked if there was anything he could do for him. the old man leaned his head on his hand but did not reply. it seemed that no words would come in which to tell his errand. puzzled and sympathetic the doctor sat silent and waited. in a little while the farmer drew his chair very near to that of the doctor's and said in a low voice, "doctor, i'm in deep trouble. i come to you because you are one of my best friends. you have a chance to prove it now such as you never had before in all the years you've been our doctor." "tell me your trouble and if i can help you, i will certainly do so." "it's mary. she's gone wrong, and the disgrace will kill her mother if she finds it out." for an instant the doctor did not speak; then he asked, "are you sure that this is true?" "yes. she came to me last night and nestled down in my arms, just as she's done every night since she was a baby. she cried like her heart would break and then she said, 'father, i _must_ tell you, but don't tell mother'; and then she told me." the old man, white and trembling, looked beseechingly at the doctor. "doctor, this must not be. you must stop it before there is any breath of scandal. oh, for a minute last night i wanted to kill her." the doctor's face was stern. "if you had killed her your crime would have been far less hellish than the one you ask me to commit." the old man bowed his head upon his hands. "you will not help me," he groaned. the doctor rose and walked the floor. "no, sir," he said, "i will not stain my soul with murder for you or any other man." he went to the window and stood looking out upon the street below. presently he said, "mr. stirling, will you come here a minute?" the old man rose and went. "do you see that little boy skipping along down there?" "yes, i see him." "if i should go down these stairs, seize him and dash his brains out against that building, what would you think of me?" "i'd think you were a devil." "yet he would have a chance for his life. he could cry out, or the passersby might see me and interpose, while that you ask me to destroy is--" "there's one thing i'll do," said the old man fiercely. "i'll kill ben morely before this day is over!" he seized his hat and started toward the door. "wait a minute!" said the doctor quickly. "it's ben morely is it? i know him. i would not have thought him capable of this." "he's been coming to see mary steady for more than a year and they were to have been married three months ago but they quarreled and mary told me last night that he was going away the last of this week. she is as good and sweet a girl as ever lived. she never kept company with anybody else and she thought the world of him. the damned villain has got around her with his honey words and now he proposes to leave her to face it alone. but i'll kill him as sure as the sun shines." "sit down," said the doctor, laying a hand on the excited man's arm and forcing him into a chair. "let me tell you what to do. young morely's father is a good and sensible man and will take the right view of it. go straight to him and tell him all about it and my word for it, he will see that they are married right away. he is able to help them along and will make it to his son's advantage to stay here rather than go away. he will advise him right. have no fear." the old man wrung the doctor's hand in silence and went out. several days later the doctor was looking over the papers published in the town and read in the list of marriage licenses the names, "benjamin morely, aged twenty-four, mary stirling, aged eighteen." and that is why the scene in the farmhouse this summer night had sent him back into the past, for it was the home of benjamin and mary morely, and it was a happy home. these two lives had come together and flowed on in such harmony and helpfulness and rectitude before the world that the stain had been wiped out. for a merciless world can be merciful sometimes if it will only stop to remember that long ago a compassionate voice said, go and sin no more. the doctor's reverie came to an end for he had reached his destination--a large white house standing very close to the road. "don't talk to me while you are hitching the horse," mary whispered, "then they won't know there is anyone with you. i don't want to go in--i want to see the moon come up." the doctor took his case and went inside. mary sat in the buggy and listened. the neighing of a horse far down the road and the barking of a dog in the distance were the only sounds she heard. how still and cool it was after the heat of the day. a wandering breeze brought the sweet perfume of dewy clover fields. she looked across the intervening knoll to the east. the tree that crowned its summit stood outlined against the brightening sky. she was sitting very near the open kitchen window and now saw the family taking their places around the supper table. she felt a little uncomfortable and as if she were trespassing on their privacy. but they did not know of her proximity and she could only sit still in the friendly cover of the darkness. how good the ham smelled and the potatoes and the coffee. a pretty home-scene! the father at the head of the table, the mother opposite with four sturdy boys between them, two on each side. the father looked around the board. stillness settled down upon them, and then he bowed his head. the mother, too, bowed her head. the boys looked down. "our heavenly father, we thank thee for these evening blessings--" the boys looked up and four forks started simultaneously for the meat platter. every fork impaled its slice. mary gasped. she crammed her handkerchief into her mouth to shut off the laughter that almost shouted itself before she could stop it. the oldest boy, a burly fellow of fifteen, looked astonished and then sheepish. the other three looked defiance at him. each sat erect in perfect silence and held his slice to the platter with a firm hand. mary, almost suffocating with laughter which _must_ be suppressed, watched anxiously for the denouement. the blessing went on. the boys evidently knew all its stages. as it advanced there was a tightening of the tension and at the welcome "amen" there was a grand rake-off. at the commotion of the sudden swipe the father and mother looked up in amazement. "boys, boys! what do you mean!" exclaimed the mother. "we got even with mr. jake that time." it was the second boy who spoke. "we got _ahead_ of him," said the third. "he didn't get the biggest piece this time." "no, _i_ got it myself," said the fourth. "well, i'm scandalized," said the mother, looking across the table at her husband. "well, mother, i'll tell you how it was," said the second boy. "last night i looked up before father was through with the blessing and i saw jake with his fork in the biggest piece of ham. you and father didn't notice and so he was _it_. i'll bet he's been at it a good while, too." "i've not, either," said the accused. "i told bob and jim about it and we concluded _we'd_ take a hand in it tonight." "well, let this be the last of it," said the father with mild sternness. "we'll try to have ham enough for all of you without sneaking it. if not, jacob can have his mother's share and mine." the trio of boys grinned triumphantly at the discomfited jake, then, the little flurry over, all fell to eating with a will. the doctor's voice came to mary from the room of the patient. "you're worth a dozen dead women yet," it said. then a high pitched woman's voice, "i'll tell you what mary ann says she thinks about it." "has she been here today?" if mary ann had been there the unfavorable condition of the patient was explained. "yes, she just went away. she says she believes you're just keepin' ellen down so you can get a big bill out of her." the doctor was fixing up powders and went placidly on till he got through, then he said "mary ann has a better opinion of me than i thought she had. it takes a mighty good doctor to do that. that's a very old song but there are a few people in the world that like to sing it yet. they don't know that there isn't a doctor in the world that knows enough to do a thing like that even if he wanted to. nature would beat him every time if they gave her a chance." mary heard the doctor give his instructions and then he came out. as they drove off she asked, "you came pretty near catching a tartar, didn't you?" "oh, that one is all right. it's her sister that's always raising the devil." "look! isn't she lovely, john?" "isn't who lovely?" asked the doctor, looking back at the house in some surprise. "the gentle shepherdess of night," mary answered, her eyes on the moon just rising over the distant treetops. "she's getting ready to 'lead her flocks through the fields of blue.'" "how very poetical we are." "only an echo from a little song i used to sing when i was a little girl." "get up, my steeds," urged the doctor, "we must be getting back"; and they sped swiftly homeward through the soft summer night. chapter viii. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "hello." "is this the doctor's office?" "this is his residence." "pshaw! i wanted his _office_." "the doctor 'phoned me about ten minutes ago that he would be out for half an hour and asked me to answer the 'phone in his absence," mary explained, pleasantly. "oh," said the voice, somewhat mollified, "i'll just call him up when he gets back. you say he'll be back in half an hour?" "in about that time." she went back to her work, which happened to be upstairs this morning, leaving the doors ajar behind her that she might hear the 'phone. in two minutes she was summoned down. "what is it?" "is this the doctor's office?" "no, the residence." "i rang for the office, sorry to have troubled you, mrs. blank," said a man's voice. "we are connected and when the doctor is out he expects me to be bell-boy," said mary, recognizing the voice. "i see. will you please tell the doctor when he comes that my little boy is sick this morning and i want him to come down. will he be back soon?" "in a few minutes, i think." she sat down by the fire. no use to go back upstairs till she had delivered the message. this was a pleasing contrast to the other; mr. owen had volunteered his message as if she really had a right to know and deliver it. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. mary felt reluctant to answer it--it sounded so like the first. and it was not the house call this time, but two rings which undeniably meant the office. but she must be true to the trust reposed in her. she went to the 'phone and softly taking down the receiver, listened; perhaps the doctor had got back and would answer it himself. fervently she hoped so. but there was only silence at her ear, and the ever present far-off clack of attenuated voices. the silence seemed to bristle. but there was nothing for our listener to do but thrust herself into it. "hello," she said, very gently. "o, i've got _you_ again, have i! i _know_ i rung the office this time, for i looked in the book to see. how does it happen i get the house?" ill temper was manifest in every word. "the office and residence are connected," explained mary, patiently, "and when the 'phone rings while the doctor is out, he asks me to answer it for him." "i don't see what good _that_ does." "it doesn't do any good when people do not care to leave a message," said mary quietly. "well, i'd ruther deliver my message to _him_." "certainly. and i would much rather you would. i can at least say about what time he expects to return." "you said awhile ago he'd be back in half an hour and he's not back _yet_." the doctor's wife knew that she was held responsible for the delay. she smiled and glanced at the clock. "it is just three minutes past the half hour," she said. "well, we're in an awful hurry for him. i'll ring agin d'reckly." in five minutes a ring came again. surely he would be there now, thought his wife, but she must go to the 'phone. she listened. silence. then the bell pealed sharply forth again. she decided to change her tactics and put the other woman on the defensive: "well!" she said impatiently, "i'm _very_ sorry to have to answer you again but--" "is the doctor there?" asked a sweet, new voice. "pardon me for interrupting you, but i'm very anxious." "he will be at the office in just a few minutes," mary answered, very gently indeed. she realized now that one cannot "monkey" with the telephone. "will you please tell him to come at once?" and she gave the street and number. "i shall send him at once." "thank you, good-bye." before mary could seat herself, the expected ring came in earnest. she answered it meekly. "o, good gracious! hain't he got there yet--?" "not yet," said mary, offering nothing further. "well, i've jist _got_ to have a doctor. i'll git some one else." the threat in the tone made our listener smile. "i think it would be a good thing to do," she said. a pause. then a voice with softening accents. "but i'd lots ruther have dr. blank." no reply. "are ye there yit, mrs. blank?" "yes. i am here." "he'll surely be back in a little bit now, won't he?" "i think so." "won't _you_ tell 'im to come down to sairey tucker's? i'm her sister and she's bad sick." "if you will tell me where you live i will send him." "he knows--he's been here." "very well," and she rang off. with three messages hanging over her head and her conscience, she could not go upstairs to her work. she must dawdle about at this or that 'till the doctor returned. after awhile she went to the 'phone and called the office. no reply. how she longed to deliver those messages. she dreaded any more calls from the waiting ones. she waited a few minutes then rang again. thank fortune! her husband's response is in her ear, the messages are delivered and she goes singing up the stairs. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling. it was the telephone on the doctor's office table and a tall young fellow was ringing it. when he got the number and asked, "is this you, fanny?" his face took on an expression good to see. it was fanny, and he settled back on one elbow and asked, "what you doing, fanny?" "nothing, just now. what _you_ doing?" "something a good deal better than that." "what is it?" "it's talking to _you_." "oh!" "is that all you have to say about it?" his voice was growing tender. "now, tom, don't go to making love to me over the 'phone." "how can i help it, sweetheart?" "where are you, anyway?" "i'm in dr. blank's office." "good gracious! is _he_ there? i'll ring off--good-bye." "wait! fanny--fanny!" fanny was waiting, but how could a mere man know that. he rang the number again with vehemence. "now, tom laurence, i want you to quit going into people's offices and talking to me this way." "don't you think my way is nicer than yours--huh?" the circumflexes were irresistible. "well, tell me, tom, is dr. blank there?" "no, honey. he's away in the back room busy with another patient. he can't hear." "_another_ patient? why, tom, you're not _sick_, are you--huh?" fanny's circumflexes were quite as circumflexible as tom's and a thrill went down the young giant's spine. "no, but i wish i was!" at this juncture the man who could not hear came in with a face as grave and non-committal as the sphinx, and the young man asked through the 'phone in brisk, cheery tones, "how are you this morning?" then added in a whisper, "he's here now." "is he? don't talk foolish then. why, i'm not very well." "what's the matter?" "i burned my eye." "burned your eye! confound it! how did you _do_ it?" "with a curling iron." "throw the darned thing away." he turned from the telephone and said, "doctor, a young lady has burned her eye. i want you to go out there right away." "where shall i go?" asked the grave doctor. "i guess you know," and he grinned. "all right. i'll go pretty soon." "don't be too long. charge it to me." "fanny," he said, turning back to the 'phone, but fanny had gone. and soon with a smile that had memories in it the doctor took his case and left the office, the young man at his side. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling. mary, from the living room, heard her husband's voice: "what is it?" "yes." "they won't? o, i suppose so if nobody else will. i'll be up there in a little bit." he muttered something, took his hat and went. when he came back, he said, "this time i had to help the dead." "to help the dead!" exclaimed mary. "yes. to help a dead woman into her coffin. everybody was afraid to touch her." "why?" "the report got out that she died of smallpox. i only saw her once and could not be sure, but to be on the safe side i insisted that every precaution be taken--hence the scare." "but how could you lift the body without help?" "oh, i managed it somehow. just the same i'd rather minister to the living," said john, to which mary gave vigorous assent. * * * * * "old mr. vintner has just been 'phoning for you in a most imperious way," announced mary as the doctor came in at the door. "yes, old skinflint! the maid at his house is very sick and he's so afraid they'll have to take care of her that he's determined to send her home when she can't go. she has pneumonia. she lives miles out in the country--" ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling. "yes." "now see here, vintner. listen to me." "yes, i know. but a man's got to be _human_. i tell you you can't send her out in this cold. it's outrageous to--" "yes, i know all that, too. but it won't be long--the crisis will come in a day or two now and--" "damn it! listen. now stop that and listen. don't you attempt it! that girl will be to drag off if you do, i tell you--" "all right then. that sounds more like it," and he hung up the receiver. mary looked up. "you are not very elegant in your discourse at times, john, but i'm glad you beat," she said. * * * * * one evening the doctor came in and walked hurriedly into the dining-room. as he was passing the telephone it rang sharply in his ear. "what is it?" he asked, hastily putting up the receiver. an agitated voice said, "oh, doctor, i've just given my little girl a teaspoonful of carbolic acid! quick! what must i do!" "give her some whiskey at once; then a teaspoonful of mustard in hot water. i'll be right down," and turning he went swiftly out. when he came back an hour or two later he said: "the mother got the wrong bottle. a very few minutes would have done the work. the telephone saved the child's life. this is a glorious age in which we are living, mary." "and to think that some little children playing with tin cans with a string stretched between them, gave to the world its first telephone message." "yes, i've heard that. it may or may not be true. now let's have supper." "supper awaits mr. non-committal-here-as-ever," said mary as she laid her arm in her husband's and they went toward the dining-room together. * * * * * one evening the doctor and mary sat chatting with a neighbor who had dropped in. "i want to use your 'phone a minute, please," said a voice. "very well," said mary, and mrs. x. stepped in, nodded to the trio, walked to the telephone as one quite accustomed, and rang. "i want dr. brown's office," she said. in a minute came the hello. "is this dr. brown? my little boy is sick. i want you to come out to see him this evening. this is mrs. x. will you be right out?" "all right. good-bye." and she departed. the eyes of the visitor twinkled. "our neighbor hath need of two great blessings," she said, "a telephone and a sense of humor." mary laughed merrily, "o, we're so used to it we paid no attention," she said, "but i suppose it did strike you as rather funny." "it's a heap better than it used to be when we didn't have telephones," said the doctor, with the hearty laugh that had helped many a downcast man and woman to look on the bright side. "when i was a young fellow and first hung up my shingle it was a surprising thing--the number of people who could get along without me. i used to long for some poor fellow to put his head in at the door and say he needed me. at last one dark, rainy night came the quick, importunate knock of someone after a doctor. no mistaking that knock. i opened the door and an elderly woman who lived near me, asked breathlessly, 'mr. blank, will you do me a great favor?' 'certainly,' i answered promptly. 'my husband is very sick and i came to see if you would go down and ask dr. smithson to come and see him.' i swallowed my astonishment and wrath, put on my rubber coat and went for the doctor." "but she had the grace to come in next day," said mary, "and tell me in much confusion that she was greatly embarrassed and ashamed. it had not entered her head until that morning that my husband was a physician." "you see," put in the doctor, "she had not taken me seriously; in fact had not taken me at all." "tell us about the old man who had you come in to see if he needed a doctor," said mary. the doctor smiled, "_that_ was when i didn't count, too," he said. "this old fellow got sick one day and wanted to send for old dr. brown, but being of a thrifty turn of mind he didn't want to unless he had to. he knew me pretty well so he sent for me to come and see if he _needed_ a doctor. if i thought he did he'd send for brown. i chatted with him awhile and he felt better. next day he sent word to me again that he wished i'd stop as i went by and i did. this kept up several days and he got better and better, and finally got well _without_ any doctor, as he said." the visitor laughed, "you doctors could unfold many a tale--" "if the telephone would permit," said mary, as the doctor answered the old summons, took his hat and left. * * * * * "john," said mary one day, "i wish you would disconnect the house from the office." "no! you're a lot of help to me," protested the doctor. "well, i heard someone wrangling with central today because the house answered when it was the office that was wanted." she laughed. "i know there are people who fancy the doctor's wife enjoying to the utmost her 'sweet privilege' of answering the 'phone in her husband's absence. poor, innocent souls! if they could only know the deadly weariness of it all--but they can't." "why, i didn't know you felt quite that way about it, mary. i suppose i can disconnect it but--" "but you don't see how you can? never mind, then. we'll go on, and some sweet day you'll retire from practice. then hully-gee! won't i be free! you didn't choose the right sort of helpmeet, john. you surely could have selected one who would enjoy thrusting herself into the reluctant confidences of people far more than this one." "i'm resigned to my lot," laughed john, as he kissed his wife and departed. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this you, doctor?" "yes." "what am i ever to do with jane?" "keep her in bed! that's what to do with her." "well, i've got a mighty hard job. she's feeling so much better, she just _will_ get up." "keep her down for awhile yet." "well, maybe i can today, but i won't answer for tomorrow. she says she feels like she can jump over the house." "she can't, though." laughter. "i'll do the best i can, doctor, but that won't be much. keeping her in bed is easier said than done," and the doctor grinned a very ready assent as he hung up the receiver. * * * * * the doctor's family was seated at dinner. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. john rose, napkin in hand, and went while the clatter of knives and forks instantly ceased. "yes." "why didn't you do as i told you, yesterday?" "i _told_ you what to do." "well, did you put them in hot water?" "then do it. do it right away. have the water _hot_, now." he came back and went on with his dinner. mary admitted to herself a little curiosity as to what was to be put into hot water. in a few minutes the dinner was finished and the doctor was gone. "i bet i know what that was," spoke up the small boy. "what?" asked his sister. "diphtheria clothes. there's a family in town that's got the diphtheria." mary was relieved--not that there should be diphtheria in town, but that the answer for which her mind was vaguely groping had probably been found. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. when the doctor had answered the summons he told mary he would have to go down to a little house at the edge of town about a mile away. when he came back an hour later he sat down before the fire with his wife. "i remember a night nineteen years ago when i was called to that house--a little boy was born. i used to see the little fellow occasionally as he grew up and pity him because he had no show at all. tonight i saw him, a great strapping fellow with a good position and no bad habits. he'll make it all right now." the doctor paused for a moment, then went on. "they didn't pay me then. i remember that. i mentioned it tonight in the young fellow's presence." "john, you surely didn't!" "yes, i did. his mother said she guessed jake could pay the bill himself." mary looked at this husband of hers with a quizzical smile. "doesn't it strike you that you are going pretty far back for your bill?" "there's no good reason why this boy should not pay the bill if he wants to." "no, i suppose not. but i don't believe he was so keen to get into the world as all that." "well, it wouldn't surprise me much if that young fellow should come into my office one of these days and offer to settle that old score now that he knows about it." "don't you take it if he does!" and mary left the room quite unconscious that her pronoun was without an antecedent. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling. "is this you, doctor?" "it is." "i expect you will have to come out to our house." "who is it?" "this is mary milton." "what's the matter out there, mrs. milton?" "polly's gone and hurt her shoulder. i guess she run it into the ground." "was she thrown from a horse or a vehicle?" "no." "then how could she run it into the ground?" "polly milton can run _everything_ into the ground!" and the tone was exasperation itself. "i come purty near havin' to send for you yesterday, but i managed to get 'er out." "out of _what_?" "the clothes-wringer. she caught her stomach fast between the rollers and nearly took a piece out of it. nobody wanted her to turn it but she would do it." "well, what has she done _today_?" asked the doctor, getting impatient. "i'm plum ashamed to tell ye. she was a-playin' leap-frog." "good! i'd like to play it myself once more." "i thought you'd be scandalized. some of the girls come over to see 'er and the first thing i knowed they was out in the yard playin' leap-frog like a passel o' boys." "that's good for 'em," announced the doctor. "it wasn't very good for polly." "the shoulder is probably dislocated. i'll be out in a little while and we'll soon fix it." "but a great big girl nearly fourteen years old oughtn't--" "she's all right. don't you scold her too much." he laughed as he hung up the receiver, then ordered his horse brought round and in a few minutes was on his way to the luckless maiden. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling--three rings. "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "can you come down to james curtis's right away?" "yes--i guess so. what's the matter?" james curtis stated the matter and the doctor put up the receiver, went to the door and looked out. "gee-mi-nee! it's as dark as a stack of black cats," he said. in a little while he was off. he had to go horseback and as the horse he usually rode was lame he took billy who was little more than a colt. before mary retired she went to the door and opened it. it was fearfully dark but john had said it was only a few miles. his faithful steed could find the way if he could not. john always got through somehow. with this comforting assurance she went to bed. by and by the 'phone was ringing and she was springing up and hastening to answer it. to the hurried inquiry she replied, "he is in the country." "how soon will he be back?" she looked at the clock. nearly three hours since he left home. "i expected him before this; he will surely be here soon." a message was left for him to come at once to a certain street and number, and mary went back to bed. but she could not sleep. soon she was at the 'phone again, asking central to give her the residence of james curtis. "hello." "is this mr. curtis?" "yes, ma'am." "is dr. blank there?" "he was, but he started home about an hour ago. he ought to be there by this time." "thank you," said mary, reassured. he would be home in a little bit then and she went back to her pillow. it was well she could not know that her husband was lost in the woods. the young horse, not well broken to the roads, had strayed from the beaten path. the doctor had first become aware of it when his hat was brushed off by low branches. he dismounted, and holding the bridle on one arm, got down on hands and knees and began feeling about with both hands in the blackness. it seemed a fruitless search, but at last he found it and put it securely on his head. he did not remount, but tried to find his way back into the path. after awhile the colt stopped suddenly. he urged it on. snap! a big something was hurled through the bushes and landed at the doctor's feet with a heavy thud. the pommel of the saddle had caught on a grape vine and the girths had snapped with the strain. john made a few remarks while he was picking it up and a few more while he was getting it on the back of the shying colt. but he finally landed it and managed to get it half-fastened. he stood still, not knowing which way to turn. a dog was barking somewhere--he would go in that direction. still keeping the bridle over his arm he spread his hands before him and slowly moved on. at last he stopped. he seemed to be getting no nearer to the dog. all at once, and not a great way off, he saw a fine sight. it was a lighted doorway with the figure of a man in it. he shouted lustily, "bring a lantern out here, my friend, if you please. i guess i'm lost." "all right," the man shouted back and in a few minutes the lantern was bobbing along among the trees. "why, doctor!" exclaimed james curtis, "have you been floundering around all this time in these woods so close to the house? why didn't you holler before?" "there didn't seem to be anything to 'holler' at. until that door opened i thought i was in the middle of these woods." "your wife just telephoned to know if you were at our house and i told her you started home an hour ago." "she'll be uneasy. put me into the main road, will you, and we'll make tracks for home." when he got there and had told mary about it, she vowed she would not let him go to the country again when the night was so pitch dark, realizing as she made it, the futility of her vow. then she told him of the message that had come in his absence and straightway sent him out again into the darkness. * * * * * it was midnight. the doctor was snoring so loudly that he had awakened mary. just in time. ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling. by hard work she got him awake. he floundered out and along toward the little tyrant. he reached it. "hello. what is it?" "o! i got the wrong number." "damnation!" slumber again. after some time mary was awakened by her husband's voice asking, "what is it?" "it's time for george to take his medicine. we've been having a dispute about it. i said it was the powder he was to take at two o'clock and he said it was the medicine in the bottle. now he's mad and won't take either." "it was the powder. tell him i say for him to take it now." the answering voice sank to a whisper, but the words came very distinctly, "i'm afraid he won't do it--he's so stubborn. i wish it was the bottle medicine because i believe he would take that." the doctor chuckled. "give him that," he said. "it won't make a great deal of difference in this case, and thinking he was in the right will do him more good than the powder. good night and report in the morning." the report in the morning was that george was better! * * * * * it was a lovely sabbath in may. the doctor's wife had been out on the veranda, looking about her. everywhere was bloom and beauty, fragrance and song. long she sat in silent contemplation of the scene. at last a drowsiness stole over her and she went in and settled herself for a doze in the big easy chair. soon a tinkling fell upon her drowsy ear. "oh! that must have been the telephone. i wonder if it was two rings or three--i'd better listen," she said with a sigh as she pulled herself up. "is this dr. blank?" the voice was faint and indistinct. "hello?" said mary's husband's voice, with the rising inflection. "hello?" a more pronounced rise. no answer. "hello!" falling inflection. here mary interposed. "it's some lady, doctor, i heard her." "hello!" with a fiercely falling inflection. "dr. blank," said the faint voice, "i forgot how you said to take those red tablets." mary caught all the sentence though only the last three words came distinctly. "yes?" her husband's 'yes' was plainly an interrogation waiting for what was to follow. she understood. he had heard only the words "those red tablets." again she must interpose. "doctor, she says she forgot how you told her to take those red tablets." "o! why, take one every--" mary hung up the receiver and went back to resume her interrupted nap. she settled back on the cushions and by and by became oblivious to all about her. sweetly she slept for awhile then started up rubbing her eyes. she went hurriedly to the 'phone and put the receiver to her ear. silence. "hello?" she said. no answer. smiling a little foolishly she went back to her chair. "it isn't surprising that i dreamed it." for a few minutes she lay looking out into the snow flakes of the cherry blooms. then came the bell--three rings. "i hope it's john asking me to drive to the country," she thought as she hurried to the 'phone. it was not. it was a woman's voice asking, "how much of that gargle must i use at a time?" "oh dear," thought mary, "what questions people do ask! when a gargler is a-gargling, i should think she could _tell_ how much to use." the doctor evidently thought so too for he answered with quick impatience, "aw-enough to _gargle_ with." then he added, "if it's too strong weaken it a little." "how much water must i put in it?" mary sighed hopelessly and stayed to hear no more. again she sank back in her chair hoping fervently that no more foolish questions were to rouse her from it. when she was dozing off the bell rang so sharply she was on her feet and at the 'phone almost before she knew it. "doctor, the whole outfit's drunk again down here." a woman's voice was making the announcement. "is that so?" the doctor's voice was calm and undisturbed. "yes. the woman's out here in the street just jumpin' up and down. i think _she's_ about crazy." "she hasn't far to go." "her father's drunk too and so's her husband. will you come down?" "no, i don't think i'll come down this time." "well, then will you send an officer?" "no-o--i don't--" "i wish you _would_." "well, i'll try to send someone." * * * * * mary was at last too wide awake to think of dozing. this blot on the sweet may sabbath drove away all thought of day dreams. poor, miserable human creatures! poor, long-suffering neighbors, and poor john! "all sorts of people appeal to him in all sorts of cases, and often in cases which do not come within a doctor's province at all--he is guide, counsellor and friend," she thought as she put on her hat and went out for a walk. chapter ix. one sunday morning at the beginning of august, mary stood in the church--as it chanced, in the back row--and sang with her next neighbor from the same hymn book, john newton's good old hymn, "amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!" it was the opening hymn and they were in the midst of the third verse. "thro' many dangers, toils and snares, i have already come"; sang mary. she did not dream that another danger, toil and snare was approaching her at that instant from the rear and so her clear soprano rang out unfaltering on the next line-- "'tis grace that brought me safe thus far--" then a hand was laid upon her shoulder. she turned and started as she saw her husband's face bending to her. what had happened at home? "wouldn't you like to go to the country?" whispered the doctor. "why--i don't like to leave church to go," mary whispered back. "the carriage is right here at the door." the next instant she had taken her parasol from behind the hymn-books in front of her, where she had propped it a few minutes before, with some misgiving lest it fall to the floor during prayer, and just as the congregation sang the last line, "and grace will lead me home," she glided from the church by the side of the doctor, thankful that in the bustle of sitting down the congregation would not notice her departure. they descended the steps, entered the waiting carriage and off they sped. "i feel guilty," said mary, a little dazed over the swift transfer. the doctor did not reply. in another minute she turned to him with energy. "john, what possessed you to come to _the church_?" "why, i couldn't get you at home. i drove around there and mollie said you had gone to church so i just drove there." "you ought to have gone without me." the doctor smiled. "you didn't _have_ to go. but you are better off out here than sitting in the church." the horse switched his tail over the reins and the doctor, failing in his effort to release them, gave vent to a vigorous expletive. "yes, i certainly do hear some things out here that i wouldn't be apt to hear in there," she said. then the reins being released and serenity restored, they went on. "isn't that a pretty sight?" the doctor nodded his head toward two little girls in fresh white dresses who stood on the side-walk anxiously watching his approach. there was earnest interest in the blue eyes and the black. near the little girls stood a white-headed toddler of about two years and by his side a boy seven or eight years old. "mr. blank," called the blue-eyed little girl--all men with or without titles are _mr._ to little folks;--the doctor stopped his horse. "well, what is it, mamie?" "i want you to bring my mamma a baby." "you do!" "yes, sir, a boy baby. mamie and me wants a little brother," chimed in the little black-eyed girl. the boy looked down at the toddler beside him and then at the two little girls with weary contempt. "you don't know what you're a-gittin' into," he said. "if this one hadn't never learned to walk it wouldn't be so bad, but he jist learns _everything_ and he jist bothers me _all the time_." the doctor and mary laughed with great enjoyment. "now! what'd i tell you!" said the boy, as he ran to pick up the toddler who at that instant fell off the sidewalk. he gave him a vigorous shake as he set him on his feet and a roar went up. "don't you _git_ any baby at your house," he said, warningly. "yes, bring us one, mr. blank, please do, a little _bit_ of a one," said mamie, and the black eyes pleaded too. "well, i'll tell you. if you'll be good and do whatever your mamma tells you, maybe i _will_ find a baby one of these days and if i do i'll bring it to your house." he drove on. "if they knew what i know their little hearts would almost burst for joy. their father is just as anxious for a boy as they are, too," he added. they were soon out in the open country. it was one of those lovely days which sometimes come at this season of the year which seem to belong to early autumn; neither too warm nor too cool for comfort. a soft haze lay upon the landscape and over all the sunday calm. they turned into a broad, dusty road. mary's eyes wandered across the meadow on the right with its background of woods in the distance. a solitary cow stood contentedly in the shade of a solitary tree, while far above a vulture sailed on slumbrous wings. the old rail fence and the blackberry briars hugging it here and there in clumps; small clusters of the golden-rod, even now a pale yellow, which by and by would glorify all the country lanes; the hazel bushes laden with their delightful promise for the autumn--mary noted them all. they passed unchallenged those wayside sentinels, the tall mullein-stalks. the venus looking-glass nodded its blue head ever so gently as the brown eyes fell upon it and then they went a little way ahead to where the blossoms of the elderberry were turning into tiny globules of green. mary asked the doctor if he thought the corn in the field would ever straighten up again. a wind storm had passed over it and many of the large stalks were almost flat upon the earth. the doctor answered cheerfully that the sun would pull it up again if aesop wasn't a fraud. after a while they stopped at a big gate opening into a field. "hold the reins, please, till i see if i can get the combination of that gate," and the doctor got out. mary took a rein in each hand as he opened the gate. she clucked to the horse and he started. "whoa! john, come and get my mite. it's about to slip out of my glove." the doctor glanced at the coin mary deposited in his palm. "they didn't lose much." "the universal collection coin, my dear. now open the gate wider and i'll drive through." "don't hit the gate post!" she looked at him with disdain. "i never drove through a gate in my life that somebody didn't yell, 'don't hit the gate post' and yet i never _have_ hit a gate post." at this retort the doctor had much ado to get the gate fastened and pull himself into the buggy, and his laughter had hardly subsided before they drew up to the large farm house in the field. mary did not go in. in about twenty minutes the doctor came out. the door-step turned, almost causing him to fall. "here's a fine chance for a broken bone and some of you will get it if you don't fix this step," he growled. "i'll fix that tomorrow," said the farmer, "but i should think you'd be the last one to complain about it, doctor." "some people seem to think that doctors and their wives are filled with mercenary malice," said mary laughing. "yesterday i was walking along with a lady when i stopped to remove a banana skin from the sidewalk. she said she would think a doctor's wife wouldn't take the trouble to remove banana skins from the walk." "i believe in preventive medicine," said the doctor, "and mending broken steps and removing banana peeling belong to it." "do you think it will ever be an established fact?" asked mary as they drove away. "i do indeed. it will be the medicine of the future." "i'm glad i'm not a woman of the future, then, for i really don't want to starve to death." "i have to visit a patient a few miles farther on," said the doctor when they came out on the highway. soon they were driving across a knoll and fields of tasseled corn lay before them. a little farther and they entered the woods. "ah, mary, i would not worry about leaving church. the groves were god's first temples." after a little he said, "i was trying to think what beecher said about trees--it was something like this: 'without doubt better trees there might be than even the most noble and beautiful now. perhaps god has in his thoughts much better ones than he has ever planted on this globe. they are reserved for the glorious land.'" "see this, john!" and mary pointed to a group of trees they were passing, "a ring cut around every one of them!" "yes, the fool's idea of things is to go out and kill a tree by the roadside--often standing where it can't possibly do any harm. how often in my drives i have seen this and it always makes me mad." they drove for a while in silence, then mary said, "nature seems partial to gold." she had been noting the spanish needles and black-eyed susans which starred the dusty roadside and filled the field on the left with purest yellow, while golden-rod and wild sunflowers bloomed profusely on all sides. "yes, that seems to be the prevailing color in the wild-flowers of this region." "that reminds me of something. a few months ago a little girl said to me, 'mrs. blank, don't you think red is god's favorite color?' 'why, dear, i don't think i ever thought about it,' i answered, quite surprised. 'well, i think he likes _red_ better than any color.' 'why i don't know, but when we look around and see the grass and the trees and the vines growing everywhere, it seems to me that _green_ might be his favorite color. but what makes you think it is red?' 'because he put _blood_ into everybody in the world.' quite staggered by this reasoning and making an effort to keep from smiling, i said, 'but we can't see that. if red is his favorite color why should he put it where it can't be seen?' the child looked at me in amazement. '_god_ can see it. he can see clear _through_ anybody.' the little reasoner had vanquished me and i fled the field." a little way ahead lay a large snake stretched out across the road. "the boy that put it there couldn't help it," said the doctor, "it's born in him. when i was a lad every snake i killed was promptly brought to the road and stretched across it to scare the passers-by." "and yet i don't suppose it ever did scare anyone." "occasionally a girl or woman uttered a shriek and i felt repaid. i remember one big girl walking along barefooted; before she knew it she had set her foot on the cold, slimy thing. the way she yelled and made the dust fly filled my soul with a frenzy of delight. i rolled over and over in the weeds by the roadside and yelled too." a sudden turn in the road brought the doctor and his wife face to face with a young man and his sweetheart. mary knew at a glance they were sweethearts. they were emerging into the highway from a grassy woods-road which led down to a little church. the young man was leading two saddled horses. "why do you suppose they walk instead of riding?" asked the doctor. "hush! they'll hear you. isn't she pretty?" the young man assisted his companion to her seat in the saddle. she started off in one direction, while he sprang on his horse and galloped away in the other. "here! you rascal," the doctor called, as he passed, "why didn't you go all the way with her?" "i'll go back tonight," the young fellow called back, dashing on at so mad a pace that the broad rim of his hat stood straight up. "do you know him?" "i know them both." after another mile our travelers went down one long hill and up another and stopped at a house on the hilltop where lived the patient. here, too, mary chose to remain in the buggy. a wagon had stopped before a big gate opening into the barnyard and an old man in it was evidently waiting for someone. he looked at mary and she looked at him; but he did not speak and just as she was about to say good morning, he turned and looked in another direction. when he finally looked around it seemed to mary it would be a little awkward to bid him good morning now, so she tried to think what to say instead, by way of friendly greeting; it would be a little embarrassing to sit facing a human being for some time with not a word to break the constraint. but the more she cudgeled her brain the farther away flew every idea. she might ask him if he thought we were going to have a good corn crop, but it was so evident that we were, since the crop was already made that that remark seemed inane. the silence was beginning to be oppressive. her eye wandered over the yard and she noticed some peach trees near the house with some of the delicious fruit hanging from the boughs. she remarked pleasantly, "i see they have some peaches here." her companion looked at her and said, "hey?" "i said, 'i see they have some peaches here,'" she rejoined, raising her voice. he curved one hand around his ear and said again, "hey?" "o, good gracious," thought mary, "i wish i had let him alone." she shrieked this time, "i only said, '_i see they have some peaches here._'" when the old man said, "i didn't hear ye yet, mum," she leaned back in the carriage, fanning herself vigorously, and gave it up. she had screamed as loud as she intended to scream over so trivial a matter. looking toward the house she saw a tall young girl coming down the walk with something in her hand. she came timidly through the little gate and handed a plate of peaches up to the lady in the carriage, looking somewhat frightened as she did so. "i didn't hear ye," she explained, "but jim came in and said you was a-wantin' some peaches." mary's face was a study. jim and his sister had not seen the deaf old man in the wagon, as a low-branched pine stood between the wagon and the house. and this was the way her politeness was interpreted! the comicality of the situation was too much. she laughed merrily and explained things to the tall girl who seemed much relieved. "i ought to 'a' brought a knife, but i was in such a hurry i forgot it." eating peaches with the fuzz on was quite too much for mary so she said, "thank you, but we'll be starting home in a moment, i'll not have time to eat them. but i am very thirsty, might i have a glass of water?" the girl went up the walk and disappeared into the house. mary did so want her to come out and draw the water, dripping and cool, from the old well yonder. she came out, went to the well, stooped and filled the glass from the bucket sitting inside the curb. mary sighed. the tall girl took a step. then, to the watcher's delight, she threw the water out, pulled the bucket up and emptied it into the trough, and one end of the creaking well-sweep started downward while the other started upward. the bucket was on its way to the cool depths and mary grew thirstier every second. the doctor appeared at the door and looked out. then he came, case in hand, with swift strides down the walk. the gate banged behind him and he untied the horse in hot haste, looking savagely at his wife as he did so. "i suppose you've asked that girl to bring you a drink." "yes, i did. i'm very thirsty." "you ought to have more sense than to want to drink where people have typhoid fever." the girl started down the walk with the brimming glass. the doctor climbed into the buggy and turned around. "for pity's sake! what will she think?" a vigorous cut from the whip and the horse dashed off down the road. mary cast a longing, lingering look behind. the girl stood looking after them with open mouth. "that girl has had enough today to astonish her out of a year's growth," thought mary as the buggy bumped against a projecting plank and tore over the bridge at the foot of the hill. "john, one of the rules of good driving is never to drive fast down hill." her spouse answered never a word. after a little he said, "i didn't mean to be cross, mary, but i didn't want you to drink there." "you should have warned me beforehand, then," she said chillingly. "i couldn't sit in the buggy and _divine_ there was typhoid fever there," she continued. "'a woman's intuitions are safe guides' but she has to have _something_ to go on before she can _have_ intuitions." "hadn't you better put your ulster on, dear?" inquired the doctor in such meaning tones, that mary turned quickly and looked off across the fields. a black-eyed susan by the roadside caught the smile in her eyes and nodded its yellow head and smiled mischievously back at her. it was a feminine flower and they understood each other. when they had driven three or four miles mary asked the doctor if there was any typhoid fever in the house they were approaching. "how do i know?" "i thought you might be able to divine whether there is or not." "we'll suppose there isn't. we'll stop and get a drink," he answered indulgently. they stopped, mary took the reins and the doctor went to reconnoiter. "nobody at home and not a vessel of any kind in sight," he announced coming back. of course her thirst was now raging. "maybe there's a gourd hanging inside the curb. if there is do break it loose and bring it to me heaping full." "i looked inside the curb--nothing there." here mary's anxious eyes saw a glass fruit jar turned upside down on a fence paling. blessings on the woman who put it there! the doctor filled and brought it to her. after a long draught she uttered a sigh of rich content. "now," she said, "i'm ready to go home." chapter x. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "hello." "is this the doctor?" "it's one of 'em," said john, recognizing the voice of a patient. "well, doctor, the _other_ side of my throat is sore _now_!" "is it? well, i told your husband it might be." "why?" "why? well, because i'm running short of coffee and a few things like that." a little laugh. "_i_ don't want to keep you in coffee and things like that." "nobody does. but the poor doctors have to live and you must contribute your share." laughter. "all right, doctor, but i don't want to have to contribute too much." "don't be alarmed about your throat, mrs. channing. when i looked at it yesterday, i saw indications that the other side might be affected, but it will soon be well." "that sounds better. thank you, good-bye." when he came back to the table his wife said, "john, i shouldn't think you'd say things like that to people." "why?" "well, they might believe 'em." the doctor laughed, swallowed his cup of tea and departed. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. three times. "hello." "is dr. blank at home?" "he has just this minute left for the office. 'phone him there in two minutes and you will get him." mary went back, took two bites and when the third was suspended on her fork the 'phone rang. "somebody else," she thought, laying the fork down and rising. "oh! i've got you again, mrs. blank. you said to ring in two minutes and i'd get the doctor." "but you didn't wait _one_ minute." "it seemed lots longer. all right, i'll wait." "people expect a doctor to get there in less than no time," thought mary. "john walks so fast i felt safe in telling her to 'phone him in two minutes." _buzz-z-z-z-z_, as if all the machinery of the universe were let loose in her ear. she had held the receiver till her husband could reach the office so she might feel assured the anxious one had found him. yes, that was his voice. "dr. blank, you're president of the board of health, ain't ye?" "yes--guess so." "this is jack johnson's. there's a dead horse down here by our house an' i want you to come down here an' bury it." our listener heard the woman's teeth snap together. "all right. i'll get a spade and come right along." "what do they take my husband for," thought mary. buzz-z-z-z at her ear again. now it was her husband's voice saying, "give me number forty-five." in a minute a gentlemanly voice said, "hello." "is this you, warner?" "yes." "there's a dead horse down by jack johnson's. go down there and bury it." "all right, doc. i'll be right along." a burst of laughter from the doctor was echoed by warner. mary knew that warner was the newly elected alderman and she smiled as she pictured the new officer leaving his elegant home and going down to perform the obsequies. nevertheless her heart leaned toward jack johnson's wife, for it was plain to be seen that neither the new president of the board of health nor the new alderman had a realizing sense of his duties. half an hour later three rings sounded. "is this dr. blank's office?" "no, his residence." "well, i see by the paper he's on the board of health and we want this manure-pile taken away from here." "please 'phone your complaints to the doctor," said mary, calmly replacing the receiver and shutting off the flood. "john's existence will be made miserable by this new honor thrust upon him," she thought. when he came home that evening she asked if the second complainant had found him. "yes, she found me all right." "they're going to make day hideous and night lamented, aren't they?" "o, no. i'll just have a little fun and then send someone to look after their complaints." just before bed-time the doctor was called to the 'phone. "doctor, this is the nurse at the hotel. what had i better do with this polish girl's hand?" "doesn't it look all right?" "yes, it's doing fine." "just let it alone, then." "she won't be satisfied. she thinks we ought to be doing something to it. and i've got to do something or she'll go off upstairs and wash it in dirty water." "tell her not to do anything of the kind." "she can't understand a word i say and i don't know what to do with her. she's had the bandage off once already." "the devil she has! well, then you'll have to unwrap it, i guess, and pretend to do something. but it would be better to let it alone." "i know that." "how is the other patient tonight?" "doing fine, doctor." "good! good-bye." * * * * * there was a spacious, airy, upper chamber opening out on a balcony at the doctor's house which the doctor and mary claimed for theirs. not now; o no! but in the beautiful golden sometime when the telephone ceased from troubling and the weary ones might rest. this meant when the doctor should retire from night practice. until that happy time they occupied a smaller room on the first floor as it was near the telephone. mary had steadfastly refused to have the privacy of her upper rooms invaded by the tyrant. one warm summer night when bed-time came she made the announcement that she was going upstairs to sleep in the big room. "but what if i should be called out in the night?" asked her husband, with protest in his voice. "then i'd be safer up there than down here," said mary, calmly. "but i mean you couldn't hear the 'phone." "that is a consummation devoutly to be wished." "now don't go off up there," expostulated john. "you always hear it and i sort of depend on you to get me awake." "exactly. but it's a good thing for a man to depend on himself once in awhile. i was awake so often last night that i'm too tired and sleepy to argue. but i'm going. good night." "thunder!" "it doesn't ring _every_ night," said mary, comfortingly from the landing. "let us retire in the fond belief that curfew will not ring tonight." when she retired she fell at once into deep sleep. for two hours she slept sweetly on. then she was instantly aroused. the figure of a man stood by her side. in the moonlight she saw him plainly, clad in black. her heart was coming up into her throat when a voice said, "mary, i have to go two miles into the country." "why didn't you call me, john, instead of standing there and scaring me to death?" "i did call you but i couldn't get you awake." "then you ought to have let me be. if a woman hasn't a right to a night's sleep once in awhile what _is_ she entitled to?" this petulance was unusual with his wife. "well, come on down now, mary," he said, kindly. "i'm not going down there this night." "but you can't hear the 'phone up here and i'm expecting a message any minute that must be answered." "i'll--hear--that--'phone," said mary. "i'll sleep with one ear and one eye open." "have it your own way," said the doctor as he started down the stairs. "i intend to. but when i tell you i'll watch the 'phone, john, you know i'll do it." he was gone and she lay wide awake. it seemed very hard to be ruthlessly pulled from a sleep so deep and delicious and so much needed. by and by her eye-lids began to feel heavy and her thoughts went wandering into queer places. "this won't do," she said aloud, sitting up in bed. then she rose and went out on to the balcony. seating herself in an arm chair, she looked about her on the silvery loveliness. the cricket's chirr and the occasional affirmations of the katy-did were the only sounds she heard. "i didn't say you didn't. don't be so spiteful about it." the moon, shining through the branches of the big oak tree made faintly-flickering shadows at her feet. the white hammock, stirring occasionally as a breeze touched it, invited her. she went over to it and lay for many minutes looking up, noting how fast the moon glided from one branch of the tree to another. now it neared the trunk. now a slice was cut off its western rim. now it was only a half moon--"a bweak-moon on the sky," as her little boy had called it. now there was a total eclipse. when it began peeping out on the other side of the trunk our watcher's dreamful eyes took no note of it. a dog barked. she sprang up and seated herself in the chair again. she dare not trust herself to the hammock. it was too seductive and too delightful. so she sat erect and waited for the ring which might not come but which must be watched for just the same. her promise had gone forth. far up the street she heard horses' hoofs--it must be john returning. the buggy-top shining in the moonlight came into view. no, it was a white horse. her vigil was not yet ended. a quarter of an hour later she discerned a figure far down the walk. she followed it with her eyes. it moved swiftly on. would it turn at the corner and come up toward their house? yes, it was turning. then it turned into the yard. it was john. she went forward and leaning over the railing called down to him, "a good chance to play romeo now, john." john only grunted--after the manner of husbands. "nobody rang. i'm going to bed again. good night--i mean good morning." * * * * * the next night was hotter than ever and mary made up her mind she would sleep up in the hammock. she had had a delicious taste of it which made her wish for more. to avoid useless discussion she would wait till john retired and was asleep, then she would quietly steal away. but when this was accomplished and she had settled herself comfortably to sleep she found herself wide awake. she closed her eyes and gently wooed slumber, but it came not. ah, now she knew! the night before she had shaken off all responsibility for the 'phone. therefore she could sleep. tonight her husband lay unconscious of her absence and the burden of it was upon her shoulders again. well, she must try to sleep anyway, this was too good a chance to lose. she fell asleep. after awhile dinner was ready. mollie had rung the little bell for the boys. now she was ringing it again. where can the boys have got to? ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. mary sat up in the hammock and rubbed her eyes. "oh!" she sprang out and rushed to the stairs. "doctor!" "john!" the snores continued. ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling! "oh, dear!" gasped mary, hurrying down as fast as her feet could take her. straight to the 'phone she went. it must be appeased first. "hello?" "hell-_o_! where's the doctor?" "he is very fast asleep." "i've found that out. can you get him awake?" sharp impatience was in the man's voice. "hold the 'phone a minute, please, and i'll rouse him." she went into the bedroom and calling, "john! john!" shook him soundly by the shoulders. he sat up in bed with a wild look. "go to the 'phone, quick!" commanded mary. "eh?" "go to the _'phone_. it's been ringing like fury. hurry." at last he was there and his wife knew by his questions and answers that he would be out for the rest of the night. she crept into bed. after he was gone she would go upstairs. when he was dressed he came to the door and peered in. "that's right, mary," he said, with such hearty satisfaction in his tones that she answered cheerfully, "all right--i'll stay this time." and when he was gone she turned her face from the moonlit window and slept till morning, oblivious to the thieves and murderers that did not come. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is the doctor there?" "he was called out awhile ago; will be back in perhaps twenty minutes." "this is mr. cowan. i only wanted to ask if my wife could have some lemonade this morning. she is very thirsty and craves it--but i can call again after awhile." how discouraging to the feverish, thirsty wife to have her husband come back and tell her he would 'phone again after awhile. and if, after waiting, he still failed to find the doctor? mary knew the cowans quite well so she made bold to say, hastily, "i think the doctor would say _yes_." "you think he would?" asked mr. cowan, hopefully. "i think he would, but don't let her have too much, of course." "all right. thank you, mrs. blank." an uneasy feeling came into mary's mind and would not depart as she went about her work. really, what right had she to prescribe for a sick woman even so harmless a thing as lemonade. how did she know that it was harmless. perhaps in this case there was some combination of symptoms which would make that very thing the thing the patient ought not to have. in about fifteen minutes there came a ring--three. mary started guiltily. it sounded like the doctor's ring. was he going to reprimand her? but it was the voice of a friend and it surprised mary with this question: "mrs. blank, if you were me would you have your daughter operated upon?" "operated upon for what?" "for appendicitis." "nettie, let me tell you something: if i had no more sense than to give you advice on such a question as that, i certainly hope you would have more sense than to take it. advice about a thing with no sort of knowledge of that thing is as worthless as it is common." "why--i thought since you are a doctor's wife you would know about it." "can you draw up a legal will because you happen to be the wife of a lawyer?" "no-o, but--" "but me no buts," quoth mary. "we're even now." "well, i've heard it said a doctor's wife knows even less than many others about ills and their remedies because she is so used to depending on her husband that she never has to think of them herself. i guess i'd better talk to the doctor. i just thought i'd see what you said first. good-bye." "my skirts are clear of any advice in that direction," thought mary, her mind reverting again to the lemonade. "nettie couldn't have 'phoned me at a more opportune minute to get the right answer. but i wonder if john is back. i'll see." she rang. "hello." "say, john, mr. cowan 'phoned awhile ago, and his wife was very thirsty and craved lemonade and--don't scold--i took the liberty of saying--it's awful for a thirsty person to have to wait and wait you know--and so i said i thought _you_ would say she might have it." "i hope you weren't this long about it," laughed her husband. "then it was all right?" "certainly." much relieved mary hung up the receiver. "what needless apprehension assails us sometimes," she thought, as she went singing to her broom. "just the same, i won't prescribe very often." chapter xi. it was five o'clock in the morning when the doctor heard the call and made his way to it. his wife was roused too and was a passive listener. "yes." "yes." "down where? i don't understand you." "on what street?.... down near dyre's? i don't know any such family." here mary called out, "maybe they mean dye's." "dye's? yes, i know where that is..... galliver--that's the name is it? very well, mrs. galliver, i'll be down in a little while.... yes, just as soon as i can dress and get there." he proceeded to clothe himself very deliberately, but years of repression had taught mary resignation. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. three rings. the doctor went with shoe in hand and again his wife was a listener. "yes..... yes..... i'm just getting ready to go to see a patient...... it's a hurry call, is it? all right then, i'll come there first...... yes, right away." as he put up the receiver he said to his wife, "somebody else was trying to get me then, too, but couldn't make it." mary thought it well he couldn't since her husband was only one and indivisible. "but he will probably try again after a little," she thought, "and john will be gone and i won't know just where to find him." ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling. collar in hand the doctor went. "yes..... who is this?.... come where?.... jackson street. right next to wilson's mill?.... on which side? i say on which side of wilson's mill?.... west? all right, i'll be down there after awhile...... no, not right away; i have to make two other visits first, but as soon as i can get there." when at last he was dressed and his hand was on the door-knob the 'phone called him back. "you say i needn't come..... very well. i'll come if you want me to though, mrs. galliver. i'm just starting now. i have to see another patient first."-- "why john," interposed mary from the bedroom, "she called you first." "it will be about half an hour before i can get there..... all right, i'll be there." then mary remembered that no.  was the hurry call and was silent. when the doctor was gone she fell asleep but only for two minutes. she went to answer the call. "has the doctor started yet?" "yes, he is on his way." "all right then," and the relief in the tone was a pleasant thing to hear. "now, if i go to sleep again i can feel no security from no.  or no.  or both." nevertheless she did go to sleep and neither no.  nor no.  called her out of it. * * * * * "i must be going," said mary, rising from her chair in a neighbor's house. "have you something special on hand?" asked her neighbor. "yes, it's clock-winding day at our house, for one thing." "why, how many clocks do you have to wind?" inquired the little old lady with mild surprise. "only one, thank heaven!" ejaculated mary as she departed. when she had sped across the yard and entered her own door she threw off her shawl and made ready to wind the clock. first, she turned off the gas in the grate so that her skirts would not catch fire. second, she brought a chair and set it on the hearth in front of the grate. third, she went into the next room and got the big unabridged dictionary, brought it out and put it on the chair. fourth, she went back and got the oldest and thickest family bible and the fat bible dictionary, brought them out and deposited them on the unabridged. fifth, she mounted the chair. sixth, she mounted the volumes--which brought her up to the height she was seeking to attain. seventh, she wound the clock; that is, she usually did. today, when she had inserted the key and turned it twice round--the 'phone rang. oh, dear! thank goodness it stopped at two rings. she would take it for granted the doctor was in the office. she wound on. then she took the key out and inserted it on the opposite side. a second peal. that settled it. if it were a lawyer's or a merchant's or any other man's 'phone she could wind the other side first--but the doctor's is in the imperative mood and the present tense. she must descend. slowly and cautiously she did so, went to the 'phone and put the receiver to her ear. "hello, is this dr. blank's office?" "this is his--" "hello, what is it?" said her husband's voice. "now why couldn't he have come a minute sooner," thought mary, provoked. "doctor," said an agitated voice, "my little boy has swallowed a penny." "was it a good one?" inquired the doctor, calmly. "why--ye-es," said the voice, broken with a laugh, "guess it was." "just let him alone. it will be all right after awhile." "it was worth getting down to hear so comforting an assurance," said mary as she ascended again the chair and the volumes. she finished her weekly task, then slowly and cautiously descended, carried the big books back to their places, set the chair in its corner and lighted the gas. she stood for a moment looking up at this clock. the space over the mantel-piece was just the place for it and it was only after it had been firmly anchored to the wall that the thought had arisen, "how can i ever get up there to wind it?" she smiled as she thought of a social gathering a few days before, when a lady had called to her across the room, "mrs. blank, tell us that clock story again." and she had answered: "it isn't much of a story, but it serves to show the manner in which we computed the time. one night the doctor woke me up. 'mary,' he said in a helpless sort of way, 'it struck _seven_--what _time_ is it?' 'well--let me see,' i said. 'if it struck seven it meant to strike three, for it strikes four ahead of time. and if it meant to strike three it's just a quarter past two, for it's three quarters of an hour too fast.'" ting-a-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. mary recognized her husband's ring. "yes, what is it john?" "i'm going out for twenty minutes, watch the 'phone, please." she laughed in answer to this most superfluous request, then sat her down near by. * * * * * "john, mrs. b. said a pretty good thing last night." "that's good." "i've a notion not to tell you, now that the good thing was about you." "that's better still. but are good things about me so rare that you made a note of it?" "i don't know but what they are," said mary, reflectively. "there was mrs. c., you know, who said she didn't see how in the world doc blank's wife ever lived with him--he was so mean." "i wonder about that myself, sometimes." "the way i manage it is to assert myself when it becomes necessary--and it does. you're a physician to your patients but to me you're a mere man." "i feel myself shrivelling. but how about mrs. b.'s compliment?" "i was over at the church where a social program of some sort was being given and 'between acts' everybody was moving about chatting. an elderly woman near me asked, 'mrs. blank, do you know who the hammell's are?' i told her that i did not, and she went on, 'i see by the paper that a member of their family died today, and i thought you, being a doctor's wife, might know something about it.' "mrs. b. spoke up promptly, 'why, mrs. blank wouldn't know anything about the _dead_ people--her husband gets 'em _well_.'" the doctor laughed, "and she believes it too," he said. "no doubt of it. so a compliment like that offsets one of mrs. c.'s kind." "o, no. the c.'s have it by a big majority. don't you know i have the reputation of being the meanest man in the county?" "no, i don't." "well, i have. do you remember that drive we took a week or two ago up north?" "that long drive?" "yes. when i went in the man who was a stranger to me, said, 'i'll tell you why i sent for you. i've had two or three doctors out here, recommended as _good_ doctors, and they haven't done me a darned bit of good. yesterday i heard you was the meanest doctor in this county and i said to myself, "he's the man i want."'" "i heard you laughing and wondered what it was about. the man's wife came out to the buggy and talked to me. she said they were strangers and didn't know anything about the doctors around here--they had thought of sending down to this town for a doctor but she had spoken to a woman--a neighbor--and she had said there wasn't _any_ of 'em any account down there. but her husband kept getting worse so they finally sent for dr. blank and she hoped he'd cure 'im. are you doing it? i hope so for i assured her that the physicians of this town are recognized throughout the state as being men of exceptional ability, and she went in, comforted." "yes, he got better as soon as he struck the road to health," laughed john. he took out his watch. "jove! i haven't any time to spare if i catch that train." for several days he had been taking the train to a little station some miles out of town, where he would get off and walk a mile to the home of his patient, make his visit and walk back in time to catch the train for home. just after the doctor left the house the telephone rang twice. his wife answered it, knowing he had not yet reached the office. "is the doctor there?" "he left the house just a minute ago." "well, he's coming down today isn't he?" "is this mrs. shortridge?" "yes." "yes, he just said he must make that train." "he'll go to the office first won't he?" "yes, to get his case, i think." "will you please telephone him there to bring a roast with him?" "to bring what?" "a roast." mary was nonplussed. her husband had the reputation of "roasting" his patients and their attendants on occasion. had an occasion arisen now? "why, ye-es," she began, uncertainly, when the voice spoke again. "i mean a roast of beef, mrs. blank. i thought as the doctor was coming he wouldn't mind stopping at the butcher's and bringing me a roast--tell him a good-sized one." the receiver clicked. mary still held hers. then she rang the office. "what _is_ it?" great haste spoke in the voice. "john, mrs. shortridge wants you to bring her a roast of beef when you go down." "the devil she does!" "the market is right on your way. hurry. don't miss the train!" she put up the receiver, then she snatched it and rang again violently. "_now_ what!" thundered john's voice. "she said to get a good-sized one." standing with the receiver in her hand and shaking with laughter she heard the office-door shut with a bang and knew that he was off. she knew that if he had been going in the buggy he would have been glad to do mrs. s.'s bidding. he often carried ice and other needful things to homes where he visited. mary pictured her husband picking his way along a muddy country road, his case in one hand and the "roast" in the other, and thought within herself, "he'll be in a better mood for a roast when he arrives than when he started." * * * * * mary was out in the kitchen making jelly. at the critical moment when the beaded bubbles were "winking at the brim" came the ring. she lifted the kettle to one side, wiped her hands and went. "is this you, mary?" "yes." "watch the 'phone a little bit, please. i have to be out about half an hour." "i'm always watching the 'phone, john, always, _always_!" she went back to her jelly. she put it back on the fire, an inert mass with all the bubbles died out of it. scarcely had she done so when the 'phone rang--two rings. surely the doctor had not got beyond hearing distance. he would answer. but perhaps he had--he was a very swift walker. the only way to be sure of it was to go to the telephone and listen. she went hastily back and as she put the receiver to her ear there came a buzz against it which made her jump. "hello," she said. "i wanted the doctor, mrs. blank, do you know where he is?" "he just 'phoned me that he--" an unmistakable sound arose from the kitchen stove. the jelly was boiling over! instinct is older than the telephone. the receiver dangled in air while mary rushed madly to the rescue. "i might have known it," she said to herself, as she pushed the kettle aside and rushed back to the 'phone. "i guess they cut us off," said the voice. "i was just saying," said mary, "that the doctor 'phoned me a few minutes ago he would be out for half an hour." "will you please tell him when he comes in to call up ?" the man goes on his way, relieved of further responsibility in the matter. it will be a very easy thing for the doctor's wife to call up her husband and give him the message. let us see. when the jelly was done, and mary had begun to fill the waiting glasses she thought, "i'd better see if john is back. he may go out again before i can deliver that message." so she set the kettle on the back of the stove and went to ascertain if her husband had returned. no answer to her ring. she had better ring again to be sure of it. no answer. she went back to the kitchen. when the glasses were all filled and she had held first one and then another up to get the sunlight through the clear beautiful redness of them, she began setting them back to cool. the telephone! she hurried in and rang again to see if john had got back. silence. she sighed and hung up the receiver. "i'd like to get it off my mind." as she started toward the kitchen again the door-bell rang. she went to open the door, and wonder of wonders--an old friend she had not seen for years! "i am passing through town, mary, and have just three quarters of an hour till my train goes. now sit down and _talk_." and the pair of them did talk, oblivious to everything about them. how the minutes did fly and the questions too! the 'phone rang in the next room--two rings. on mary's accustomed ear it fell unheeded. she talked on. again two rings. she did not notice. "isn't that your 'phone?" asked the visitor. "o, _yes_! you knocked it clean out of my head, alice. excuse me a minute," and she vanished. "did you give that message to the doctor?" "he is not back yet." "i saw him go into the office not ten minutes ago." "i have 'phoned twice and failed to find him." "i hoped when i saw him leave the office that he had started down to see my little boy, but of course he hasn't if he didn't get the message." "i am sorry. an old friend i had not seen for years came in and of course it went out of my mind for a few minutes, though i 'phoned twice before she came. i am sure he will be back in a few minutes and i will send him right down, mr. nelson." "why do you do that?" asked her friend, pointedly as she came in. "why take upon yourself the responsibility of people's messages being delivered." "it _is_ an awful responsibility. i don't know why i do it--so many people seem to expect it as a matter of course--" "it's a great deal easier for each person to deliver his own message than for you to have a half dozen on your mind at once. i wouldn't do it. you'll be a raving lunatic by the next time i see you." "at least i'll have ample time in which to become one," laughed mary. "i'm going," announced her friend, suddenly rising. "i could spare five or ten minutes more but if i sit here you'll forget that 'phone again. but take my advice, mary, and institute a change in the order of things." when she had gone mary sat for a few minutes lost in thought. then, remembering, she sprang up and went to the 'phone. no answer to her ring. "dear me! will i _never_ get that message delivered and off my mind." soon a ring came. "isn't he back _yet_?" "i 'phoned about three minutes ago and failed to get him. by the way, mr. nelson, will you just 'phone the doctor at the office, please? that will be a more direct way to get him as i seem to fail altogether this morning. i am sure that he can't be gone much longer," she said very pleasantly and hung up the receiver. the responsibility had been gracefully shifted and she was free for a while. other occasions would arise when she could not be free, but in cases of this kind her friend's clear insight had helped her out. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "hello." "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "my husband has just started for your office. he says he's going to send you down. i don't need a doctor. will you tell him that?" "i'll tell him you _said_ so." "well, i don't. so don't you come!" "all right. i haven't got time to be bothered with you anyway. the sick people take my time." in a few minutes the 'phone rang again. "dr. blank, can you come over to the woolson hotel?" "right away?" "yes, if you can. there's a case here i've treated a little that i'm not satisfied about." "all right, doctor, i'll be there in a few minutes." when he reached the hotel and had examined the patient he said, "he has smallpox." "i began to suspect that." "not a bit of doubt of it." "the hotel is full of people--i'm afraid there'll be a panic." "we must get him out of here. we'll have to improvise a pest-house at once. i'll go and see about it." that evening about an hour after supper the doctor's daughter came hurriedly into the room where her mother was sitting. "mother," she exclaimed, "there's an awful lot of people in the office, a regular mob and they're as mad as fury." "what about?" exclaimed her mother, startled. "they're mad at father for putting the tent for a smallpox patient down in their neighborhood." "is he in the office now?" "he was there when i first went in but he isn't there just now. father wasn't a bit disturbed, but i am. i got out of there. the mayor went into the office just as i came out." uneasy, in spite of herself, mary waited her husband's return. ten o'clock, and he had not come. she went to the 'phone and called the office. the office man answered. "where is the doctor?" "he was in here a few minutes ago, but there's a big fuss down at the smallpox tent and i think he's gone down there." mary rang off and with nervous haste called the mayor's residence. "is this mr. felton?" "yes." "this is mrs. blank. i am very uneasy about the doctor, mr. felton. i hear he has just started down to the smallpox tent. won't you please see that someone goes down at once?" "yes, mrs. blank. i came from there a little while ago but they're mad at the doctor and i'll go right back. i'm not going to bed until i know everything's quieted down." "and you'll take others with you?" she pleaded, but the mayor was gone. again she waited in great anxiety. the tent was too far away for her to go out into the night in search of him. between eleven and twelve o'clock she heard footsteps. she rose and went to the door. almost she expected to see her husband brought home on a stretcher. but there he came, walking with buoyant step. when he came in he kissed his anxious wife and then broke into a laugh. "my! how good that sounds! i heard of the mob and have been frightened out of my wits." "they've quieted down now. there wasn't a bit of sense in what they did." "well, i don't know that one can really blame them for not wanting smallpox brought into the neighborhood. couldn't you have taken the tent farther out?" "yes, if we had had time. but we had a sick man on our hands--he had to be got out of the hotel and he had to be taken care of right away. he had to have a nurse. there must be water in the tent and the nurse can't be running out of a pest-house to get it. neither can anyone carry it to such a place. so we couldn't put it beyond the water- and gas-pipes--there must be heat, too, you know. we have done the very best we could without more time. the nearest house is fifty yards away and there's absolutely no danger if the people down there will just get vaccinated and then keep away from the tent." "they surely will do that." "some of them may. one fool said to me awhile ago when i told them that, 'oh, yes! we see your game. you want to get a lot of money out of us.'" "what did you say to that ancient charge," asked mary, smiling. "i said, 'my man, i'll pay for the virus, and i'll vaccinate everyone of you, and everyone in that neighborhood and it won't cost you a cent'." "did he look ashamed?" "i didn't wait to see. i had urgent business out just then." "is the patient in the tent now?" "yes, all snug and comfortable with a nurse to take care of him. that was my urgent business. i went into the back room of the office in the midst of their jabber, slipped out the door, got into the buggy hitched back there, drove to the hotel and with dr. collins' help, got the patient down the ladder waiting for us, into the buggy, then got the nurse down the ladder and in, too, then away we drove lickety-cut for the tent while the mob was away from there. then i went back to the office and attended the meeting," added the doctor, laughing heartily. his wife laughed too, but rather uneasily. "were they still there when you got back?" "every mother's son of 'em. they didn't stay long though. i advised them to go home, that the patient was in the tent and would stay there. they broke for the tent--vowed they'd set fire to it with him in it and i think they intended to hang _me_," and the doctor laughed again. "john, don't _ever_ get into such a scrape again. i 'phoned mr. felton and begged him to go down there and take someone with him." "you did? well, he came, and it happened there was a member of the state board of health in town who had got on to the racket. he came, too, and you ought to have heard him read the riot act to those fellows: "'we've got a sick man here--a stranger, far from his home. you are in no danger whatever. every doctor in town has told you so. we're going to take care of this man _and don't you forget it_. we have the whole state of illinois behind us, and if this damned foolishness don't stop right here, i'll have the militia here in a few hours' time and arrest every one of you.' that quieted them. they slunk off home and won't bother us any more." * * * * * three or four days after the above conversation mary stood at the window looking out at the storm which was raging. the wind was blowing fearfully and the rain coming down in torrents. "i do hope john will not be called to the country today," she thought. ting-a-ling-ling-ling--three rings. "is this dr. blank's office?" asked a feminine voice. "no, his residence." "mrs. blank, this is the nurse at the smallpox tent. will you 'phone the office and tell the doctor it's raining in down here terribly. i'm in a hurry, must spread things over the patient." "very well, i'll 'phone him," and she rang twice. no reply. again. no reply. "too bad he isn't in. i'll have to wait a few minutes." in five minutes she rang again, but got no reply. in another minute she was called to the 'phone. "didn't you get word to the doctor, mrs. blank?" asked a voice, full of anxiety. "i'm afraid we'll drown before he gets here." "i have been anxiously watching for him, but he must be visiting a patient. hold the 'phone please till i ring again." this time her husband answered. "doctor, here's the nurse at the tent to speak to you." she waited to hear what he would say. "doctor, please come down here and help us. the roof is leaking awfully and we are about to drown." "all right, i'll be down after a little." "don't wait too long." mary's practised ear caught something beginning with a capital d as the receiver clicked. "poor old john," she murmured, "it's awful--the things you have to do." the doctor got into his rubber coat and set out for his improvised pest-house. when he came home mary asked, "did you stop the leak?" "i did. but i had a devil of a time doing it." "i'm curious to know how you would go about it." "the roof was double and i had to straighten out and stretch the upper canvas with the wind blowing it out of my hands and nobody to help me hold it." "was there nobody in sight?" "that infernal coward of a watchman, but i couldn't get him near the tent--he's _had_ smallpox, too." "i should think the nurse could have helped a little, that is if she knew where to take hold of it, and what to do with it when she got hold." "o, she sputtered around some and imagined she was helping." "poor thing," said mary, laughing, "i know just how bewildered she was with you storming commands at her which she couldn't understand--women can't." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. the doctor helloed gruffly. "is this you, doc?" "looks like it." "we want ye to come down here an' diagnosis these cases." "_what_ cases!" "there's two down here." "down _where_?" "down here at my house." "well, who the devil _are_ you?" "bill masters. we're afraid maybe it's smallpox." "yes, _yes_!" snarled the doctor, "every _pimple_ around here for the next three months will be smallpox." "well, we want ye to diagnosis it, doc." "all right. i'll 'diagnosis' it the first time i'm down that way--maybe this evening or tomorrow," and he slammed the receiver up and went to bed. * * * * * one evening the doctor was waiting for the stork at a farmhouse some miles from home. he concluded to telephone his wife as it might be several hours before he got in. he rang and put the receiver to his ear: "did you put your washin' out today?" "no, did you?" "no, i thought it looked too rainy." "so did i. i hope it'll clear up by mornin'." "have you got your baby to sleep yet?" "land! yes. he goes to sleep right after supper." "mine's not that kind of a kid. he's wider awake than any of us this minute." "got your dress cut out?" "no, maybe i'll git around to it tomorrow afternoon, if i don't have forty other things to do." "did ye hear about--" seeing no chance to get in the doctor retreated. half an hour later he rang again. a giggle and a loud girlish voice in his ear asking, "is this you, nettie?" "this is me." "do you know who this is?" "course i do." "bet ye don't." "bet i do." "who?" "it's mollie, of course." "you've guessed it. i tried to change my voice so you wouldn't know me." "what fer?" "oh, cat-fur to make kitten breeches." mild laughter. "i heard that you gave jake the mitten last night." "who told ye?" "oh, a little bird." "say! who _did_ tell ye?" "you'll never, never tell if i do?" the clock near the patiently waiting doctor struck nine quick short strokes. "did you hear that?" asked the first voice, startled. "whose clock _is_ that?" "johnson's haven't got one like that." "miller's haven't neither." "i'll tell you--it's gray's--their clock strikes quick like that." "then there's somebody at their 'phone listenin'!" "goodness! maybe it's jake, just like him!" "jake gray, if that's you, you're a mean eavesdroppin' sneak an' that's what i think of _you_! good-bye, nettie." and as the receiver slammed into its place the doctor shook with laughter. "this seems to be my opportunity," he thought, then rang and delivered the message to his wife. often these dialogues kept him from hearing or delivering some important message and then he fumed inwardly, but tonight he had time to spare and to laugh. * * * * * after a little the 'phone rang. "it's someone wanting you, doctor," said the man of the house who answered it. the doctor went. "is this you, doctor blank?" "yes." "i want you--" the doctor heard no more. this was a party line and every receiver on it came down. a dozen people were listening to find out who wanted the doctor and what for. all on the line knew that doctor blank had been at the gray farmhouse for hours. the message being private, there was silence. the doctor waited a minute then his wrath burst forth. "damn it! hang up your receivers, all you eavesdroppers, so i can get this message!" click, click, click, click, and lots of people mad, but the doctor got the message. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this mrs. blank?" "yes." "i telephoned the office and couldn't get the doctor so i'll tell you what i wanted and you can tell him. his patient down here in the country, mrs. miller, is out of powders and she wants him to send some down by mrs. richards, if he can find her." "where is mrs. richards?" "she's up there in town somewhere." "does she know that the powders are to be sent by her and will she call at the office?" "no, i don't think she knows anything about it. mrs. miller didn't know she was out till after she left. that's all," and she was gone. "all!" echoed mary. in a few minutes when she thought her husband had had time to return she went to the 'phone and told him he must go out and hunt up mrs. richards. "what for?" "because mrs. miller wants you to find her and send some powders down by her." an explosion came and mary retired laughing and marvelling to what strange uses telephones--and doctors--are put. chapter xii. it was a lovely morning in late september. the sun almost shone through the film of light gray clouds which lay serenely over all the heavens. there was a golden gleam in the atmosphere, "and a tender touch upon everything as if autumn remembered the days of spring." the doctor and his wife were keenly alive to the beauty of the day. after they had driven several miles they stopped before a little brown house. the doctor said he would like mary to go in and she followed him into the low-ceiled room. "here, you youngsters, go out into the yard," said the mother of the children. "there ain't room to turn around when you all get in." they went. a baby seven or eight months old sat on the floor and stared up at mary as she seated herself near it. two women of the neighborhood sat solemnly near by. the doctor approached the bed on which a young woman of eighteen or twenty years was lying. "my heart hain't beat for five minutes," she said. "is that so?" said the doctor, quite calm in the face of an announcement so startling. "well, we'll have to start it up again." "that's the first time she has spoke since yesterday morning," said one of the solemn women in a low tone to the doctor. "it didn't hurt her to keep still. she could have spoken if she had wanted to." the two women looked at each other. "no, she couldn't speak, doctor," said one of them. "oh, yes she could," replied the doctor with great nonchalance. "i _couldn't_!" said the patient with much vigor. this was just what he wanted. he examined her carefully but said not a word. "how long do you think i'll live?" she asked after a little. "well, that's a hard question to answer--but you ought to be good for forty or fifty years yet." the patient sniffed contemptuously. "huh, i guess you don't know it all if you _are_ a doctor." "i know enough to know there's mighty little the matter with _you_." he turned to one of the women. "i would like to see her mother," he said. the mother had left the room on an errand; the woman rose and went out. there was a pause which mary broke by asking the baby's name. "we think we'll call her orient." "why not occident?" thought mary, but she kept still. not so the doctor. "_that's_ no name. give her a good sensible _name_--one she won't be ashamed of when she's a woman." here mary caught sight of a red string around the baby's neck, and asked if it was a charm of some sort. the mother took hold of the string and drew up the charm. "it's a blind hog's tooth," she said simply, "to make her cut her teeth easy." the mother of the patient came into the room. "how do you think she is, doctor?" "oh, she's not so sick as you thought she was, not near." the mother looked relieved. "she had an awful bad spell last night. do you think she won't have any more?" "no, she won't have any more." the look on the patient's face said plainly, "we'll see about that." it did not escape the doctor. "but in case you should see any signs of a spell coming on, and if she gets so she can't speak again, then you must--but come into the next room," he said in a low voice. they went into an adjoining room, the doctor taking care to leave the door ajar. then in a voice ostensibly low enough that the patient might not hear and yet so distinct that she could hear every word, he delivered his instructions: "now, if she has any more spells she must be blistered all the way from her neck down to the end of her spine." the mother looked terrified. "and if she gets so she can't speak again, it will be necessary to put a seton through the back of her neck." "what _is_ a seton?" faltered the woman. "oh, it's nothing but a big needle six or eight inches long, threaded with coarse cord. it must be drawn through the flesh and left there for a while." then in a tone so low that only the mother could hear, he said, "don't pay much attention to her. she'll never have those spells unless there is somebody around to see her." he walked into the other room and took up his hat and case. "i left some powders on the table," he said to the mother. "you may give her one just before dinner and another tonight." "will it make any difference if she doesn't take it till tonight?" "not a bit." "pa's gone and i didn't 'low to git any dinner today." at this announcement mary heard something between a sigh and a groan and turning, saw a rosy-cheeked boy in the doorway. there was a look of resigned despair on his face and mary smiled sympathetically at him as she went out. how many lads and lassies could have sympathized with him too, having been victims to that widespread feeling among housewives that when "pa" is gone no dinner need be got and sometimes not much supper. as the doctor and his wife started down the walk they heard a voice say, "ma, don't you ever send for that smart-aleck doctor agin. i won't _have_ him." the doctor shook with laughter as he untied the horse. "they won't need to send for me 'agin.' i like to get hold of a fine case of hysterics once in a while--it makes things lively." "the treatment you prescribed was certainly heroic enough," said mary. they had driven about a mile, when, in passing a house a young man signaled the doctor to stop. "mother has been bleeding at the nose a good deal," he said, coming down to the gate. "i wish you would stop and see her. she'll be glad to see you, too, mrs. blank." they were met at the door by a little old woman in a rather short dress and in rather large ear-rings. her husband, two grown daughters and three children sat and stood in the room. "so you've been bleeding at the nose, mrs. haig?" said the doctor, looking at his patient who now sat down. "yes, sir, and it's a-gittin' me down. i've been in bed part of the day." "it's been bleedin' off and on for two days and nights," said the husband. "did you try pretty hard to stop it?" "yes, sir, i tried everything i ever heerd tell of, and everything the neighbors wanted me to try, but it didn't do no good." "open the door and sit here where i can have a good light to examine your nose by," the doctor said to the patient. she brought her chair and the young man opened the door. as he did so there was a mad rush between the old man and his two daughters for the door opposite. "shet that door, quick!" the old man shouted, and it was instantly done. mary looked around with frightened eyes. had some wild beast escaped from a passing menagerie and was it coming in to devour the household? there was a swirl of ashes and sparks from the big fireplace. "this is the blamedest house that ever was built," said mr. haig. "who built it?" queried the doctor. "i built it myself and like a derned fool went an' put the fireplace right between these two outside doors, so if you open one an' the other happens to be open the fire and ashes just flies." the doctor took an instrument from his pocket and proceeded with his examination. "but there's a house back here on the hill about a mile that beats this," said the old man. "that is a queer-looking house," said mary. "it has no front door at all." "no side door, neither. when a feller wants to get in _that_ house there's just one of three ways: he has to go around and through the kitchen, or through a winder, or down the chimney." "if he was little enough he might go through the cat-hole," suggested the young man, at which they all laughed. "and what may that be?" asked the mystified mary. "it's a square hole cut in the bottom of the door for the cat to go in and out at. the man that owns the place said he believed in having things handy." "now, let me see your throat," said the doctor. the patient opened her mouth to such an amazing extent that the doctor said, "no, i will stand on the outside!" which made mary ashamed of him, but the old couple laughed heartily. they had known this doctor a good many years. "what have you been doing to stop the bleeding?" he asked. "i've been a-tryin' charms and conjurin', mostly." mary saw that there was no smile on her face or on any other face in the room. she spoke in a sincere and matter-of-fact way. "old uncle peter, down here a piece, has cured many a case of nose-bleed but he hain't 'peared to help mine." "how does he go about it?" asked mary. "w'y, don't you know nothin' 'bout conjurin'?" "nothing at all." "i thought you bein' a doctor's wife would know things like that." "i don't believe my husband practises conjuring much." "well, uncle peter takes the bible, and opens it, and says some words over it, and pretty soon the bleedin' stops." "which stops it, the bible or the words?" "w'y--both i reckon, but the words does the most of it. they're the charm and nobody knows 'em but him." "where did he learn them?" "his father was a conjurer and when he died he tol' the words to uncle peter an' give the power to him." "did he come up here to conjure you?" asked the doctor. "no, he says he can do it just as well at home." "he can. but i think we can stop the bleeding without bothering uncle peter any more. i'd like a pair of scissors," he said, meaning to cut some papers for powders. "they won't do no good. i've tried 'em." "what do you think i want with them?" "i 'lowed you wanted to put 'em under the piller. that'll cure nose-bleed lots of times. maybe you don't believe it, but it's so." "can uncle peter cure other things?" asked mary. "he can _that_. my nephew had the chills last year and shook and shook. at last he went to uncle peter an' he cured _him_." "he shot 'em," said mr. haig. "yes, he told him to take sixteen shot every mornin' for sixteen days and by the time he got through he didn't shake a bit." "by jings! he was so heavy he couldn't," said mr. haig, and in the laugh that followed the doctor and his wife rose to go. a neighboring woman with a baby in her arms had come in and seated herself near the door. as he passed out the doctor stopped to inquire, "how's that sore breast? you haven't been back again." "it's about well. william found a mole at last and when i put the skin of it on my breast it cured it. i knowed it would, but when we wanted a mole there wasn't none to be found, so i had to go and see _you_ about it." "i thought it would soon be well. good for the mole-skin," laughed the doctor, as they took their leave. when they had started homeward they looked at each other, the doctor with a smile in his eyes--he had encountered this sort of thing so often in his professional life that he was quite accustomed to it. but mary's brown eyes were serious. "john," she said, "when will the reign of ignorance and superstition end?" "when time shall be no more, my dear." "so it seems. those people, while lacking education, seem to be fairly intelligent and yet their lives are dominated by things like these." "yes, and not only people of fair intelligence but of fair education too. while they would laugh at what we saw and heard back there they are holding fast to things equally senseless and ridiculous. then there are thoroughly educated and cultured people holding fast to little superstitions which had their birth in ignorance away back in the past somewhere. how many people do you know who want to see the new moon over the left shoulder? and didn't i hear you commanding jack just the other day to take the hoe right out of the house and to go out the same door he came in?" "o, ye-es, but then _nobody_ wants to have a _hoe_ carried through the house, john. it's such a bad sign--" the doctor laughed. "this thing is so widespread there seems to be no hope of eliminating it entirely though i believe physicians are doing more than anybody else toward crushing it out." "can they reason and argue people out of these things?" "not often. good-natured ridicule is an effective shaft and one i like to turn upon them sometimes. they get so they don't want to say those things to me, and so perhaps they get to see after a while that it is just as well not to say them too often to other people, too." "don't drive so fast, john, the day is too glorious." yellow butterflies flitted hither and thither down the road; the corn in the fields was turning brown and out from among it peeped here and there a pumpkin; the trees in apple orchards were bending low with their rosy and golden treasures. they passed a pool of water and saw reflected there the purple asters blooming above it. by and by the doctor turned down a grassy road leading up to a farmhouse a short distance away. "are you to make another call today?" asked his wife. "yes, there is a very sick child here." when he had gone inside three or four children came out. a curly-headed little girl edged close and looked up into mary's face. "miss' blank, _you_ know where mr. blank got our baby, _don't_ you?" mary, smiling down at the little questioner, said, "the doctor didn't tell me anything about it." the little faces looked surprised and disappointed. "we thought you'd know an' we come out to ask you," said another little girl. "you make all the babies' dresses, don't you?" "dear me, no indeed!" laughed the doctor's wife. "does he keep all the babies at your house?" asked the little boy. "i think not. i never see them there." "didn't he ever bring any to your house?" "oh, yes, five of them." "i'd watch and see where he _gets_ 'em," said the little fellow stoutly. "jimmie brown said mr. blank found their baby down in the woods in an old holler log." the doctor came out, and the little boy looking up at him asked, "is they any more babies down in the woods?" "yes, yes, 'the woods is full of 'em,'" laughed the doctor as he drove off leaving the little group quite unsatisfied. when they had gone some distance two wagons appeared on the brow of the hill in front of them. "hold on, doctor," shouted the first driver, as the doctor was driving rapidly by, "i want to sell you a watermelon." "will you take your pay in pills?" "don't b'lieve i have any use for pills." "don't want one then, i'm broke this morning," and he passed the second wagon and pulled his horse into the road again. "wait a minute! _i'll_ trade you a melon for some pills," called the driver. he spread the reins over the dashboard and clambered down; the man in front looked back at him with a grin. "i've got two kinds here, the cyclone and the monarch, which would you rather have?" "oh, i don't care," said the doctor. "let us have a monarch, please," said mary. monarch was a prettier name than cyclone, and besides there was no sense in giving so violent a name to so peaceful a thing as a watermelon. so the monarch was brought and deposited in the back of the buggy. the doctor opened his case. "take your choice." "what do you call this kind?" "i call that kind little devils." "how many of 'em would a feller dare take at once?" "well, i wouldn't take more than three unless you have a lawyer handy to make your will." "why, will they hurt me?" "they'll bring the answer if you take enough of 'em." the man eyed the pills dubiously,--"i believe i'll let that kind alone. what kind is this?" "these are podophyllin pills." "gee, the _name's_ enough to kill a feller." "well, morning-glories is a good name. if you take too many you'll be wafted straight to glory in the morning, and the road will be a little rough in places." "confound it, jake," called the first driver, "don't you take _none_ of 'em. don't monkey with 'em." but jake had agreed to trade a melon for pills. he held out his big hand. "pour me out some of them little devils. i'll risk 'em." the doctor emptied the small bottle into jake's hand, replaced it in the case and drove off. "john, why in the world didn't you give him some instructions as to how to take them?" asked mary, energetically. "he didn't ask me to prescribe for him, my dear. he wanted to trade a watermelon for pills and we traded." "for pity's sake," said mary indignantly, "and you're going to let that man kill himself while you strain at a point of professional etiquette!" she was gazing back at the unfortunate man. "don't you worry, he'll be too much afraid of them to hurt himself with them," said the doctor, laughing. "i sincerely hope he will." as they came in sight of home the doctor, who had been silent for some time, sighed heavily. "i am thinking of that little child out there. i tell you, mary, a case of meningitis makes a man feel his limitations." chapter xiii. a long, importunate peal. the doctor rose and went swiftly. mary listened with interest to what was to come: "?" "yes." "?" "yes." "?" "yes." "?" "yes." "?" "yes." he rang off. "that was decided in the affirmative," said mary. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "doctor, do you think the baby will cut any more teeth this summer?" "you'd better ring up solomon and ask that." "well--if he gets through teething--don't you think he'll be all right?" "if he gets through with the way you _feed_ him he'll be all right." "well, his teething has lots to do with it." "no, it don't--not a darned bit. if you'll take care of his stomach his teeth will take care of themselves. it's what goes _between_ the teeth that does the mischief. i keep telling people that every day, and once in a while i find someone with sense enough to believe it. but a lot of 'em know too much--then the baby has to pay for it." "well, i'll be awful careful, doctor." "all right then. and stick right to the baby through the hot months. let me hear from it. good-bye." * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling--three times. mary rose and went. an agitated voice said, "come and see the baby!" and was gone. "she is terribly frightened," thought mary, as she rang central. "some one rang dr. blank. can you find out who it was?" "i'm afraid not." "will you please try?" "yes, but people ought to do their own talking and not bother us so much." "i know," said mary gently, "but this is a mother badly frightened about her baby--she did not think what she was doing and left the 'phone without giving me her name." central tried with such good result that mary was soon in possession of the name and number. she telephoned that she would send the doctor down as soon as she could find him, which she thought would be in a few minutes. then she telephoned a house where he had been for several days making evening visits. "is dr. blank there?" "he _was_ here. he's just gone." "is he too far away for you to call him?" "run and see, tommy." silence. then, "yes, he's got too far to hear. i'm sorry." "very well. thank you." "let me see," she meditated, "yes, i think he goes there." she got the house. "is dr. blank there?" "he's just coming through the gate." "please ask him to come to the 'phone." after a minute his voice asked what was wanted and mary delivered her message. when her husband came home that night, she said, "john, there's one more place you're to go and you're to be there at nine o'clock." "the deuce!" he looked at his watch, "ten minutes to nine now. where is it?" "i don't know." "don't know?" "no. i haven't the slightest idea." "why didn't you find out," he asked, sharply. mary arched her brows. "suppose _you_ find out." john rang central. with twinkling eyes his wife listened. "hello, central. who was calling dr. blank a while ago?" "a good many people call, dr. blank. i really cannot say." the voice was icily regular, splendidly null. it nettled the doctor. "suppose you try to find out." "people who need a doctor ought to be as much interested as we are. i don't know who it was." and the receiver went up. "damned impudence!" said the doctor, slamming up his receiver and facing about. "wait, john. that girl has had to run down the woman with the sick baby. she didn't give _her_ name either. central had lots of trouble in finding her. it's small wonder she rebelled when i came at her the second time. so all i could do was to deliver the message just as it came, 'tell the doctor to come down to our house and to be here at nine o'clock.'" "consultation, i suppose. they'll ring again pretty soon, i dare say, and want to know why i don't hurry up." but nothing further was heard from the message or the messenger that night or ever after. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. can we move henry out into the yard? it's so hot inside. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. can we move jennie into the house? it gets pretty cold along toward morning. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. doctor, you know those pink tablets you left? i forget just how you said to take 'em. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. the baby's throwing up like everything. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. johnny's swallowed a nickel!.... you say it won't?.... and not give him anything at all? well, i needn't have been so scared, then. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. the baby pulled the cat's tail and she scratched her in the face. i'm afraid she's put her eye out..... no, the _baby's_ eye. i'm afraid she can't see..... no, she's not crying. she's going to sleep..... well, i guess she _can't_ see very well with her eyes shut..... then you won't come down?.... all right, doctor, you know best. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this the doctor?" "yes." "the baby has a cold and i rubbed her chest with vaseline and greased her nose. is that all right?" "all right." "and i am going to make her some onion syrup, if i can remember how it's made. how do you make it?" "why--o, _you_ remember how to make it." the truth is the doctor was not profoundly learned in some of the "home remedies" and was more helpless than the little mother herself, which she did not suspect. "you slice the onions and put sugar on them, don't you?" "yes, that'll be all right," he said, hastily putting up the receiver. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "doctor, when you come down, bring something for my fever--" "yes, i will!" "and for my nervousness--" "yes, yes." the doctor turned quickly from the 'phone, but it rang again. "and for my back, doctor--" "yes. _yes!_" he put the receiver up with a bang and seizing his hat rushed away before there should be any more. * * * * * three rings. "is this dr. blank's?" "yes." "is he there?" "no, but i expect him very soon." "when he comes will you tell him to come out to frank tiller's?" "does he know where that is?" "he was here once." "lately?" "no, some time ago." "please tell me what street you live on, so the doctor will know where to go." mary heard a consultation of a minute. "it's on oak street." "east oak or west?" another consultation. "north." "very well. i'll tell the doctor as soon as he comes." "tell him to come as quick as he possibly can." five minutes later the office ring came. mary went obediently lest her husband might not be in. she heard the same voice ask, "is this you, doctor?" "yes." "we want you to come out to frank tiller's as quick as you possibly can." "where is that?" "_you've_ been here." "_where do you live?_" "we live on oak street." "east or west?" "north." "that street runs east and west!" "ma, he says the street runs east and west." "well, maybe it does. i've not got my directions here yet--then it must be west." "it's on west oak street, doctor." the doctor was not quite able to locate the place yet. "is it the house where the girl had the sore throat?" "ma, he says, is it the place where the girl had the sore throat?" "it's just in front of that house." "she says it's just in front of that house and come just as quick as you possibly can." "what does she mean by 'in front of it'?" "why, it's just across the street, and come just as quick as you possibly--" "yes. i'll _run_." mary smiled, but she was glad to hear her husband add a little more pleasantly, "i'll be out there after a little." when he came home he said, laughing, "that girl up there took the medicine i gave her and pounded the bottle to flinders before my eyes." "what for?" "o, she was mad." "what did you do then?" "reached down in my pocket and took out another one just like it and told them to give it according to directions." "nothing like being prepared." "i knew pretty well what i was up against before i went. the old complaint," said john, drawing on his slippers as he spoke. chapter xiv. mary had been down the street, shopping. "i'll drop in and visit with john a few minutes," she thought, as she drew near the office. when she entered her husband was at the telephone with his back toward her. "hello. what is it?" "shake up your 'phone, i can't hear a word you're saying." "who?" "oh, yes, _i_ know." exasperation was in every letter of every word. "take one every six months and let me hear from you when they're all gone." slam! "there's always _some_ damned thing," he muttered, and turning faced his wife. "a surprising prescription, john. what does it mean?" "it means that she's one of these everlasting complainers and that i'm tired of hearing her. she's been to chicago and st. louis and cincinnati. she's had three or four laparotomies and every time she comes back to me with a longer story and a worse one. they've got about everything but her appendix and they'll get that if she don't watch out." "why, i thought they always got that the first thing." "you have no idea how it tires a man to have people come to him and complain, complain, _complain_. the story is ever new to them but it gets mighty old to the doctor. then they go away to the city and some surgeon with a great name does what may seem to him to be best. sometimes they come back improved, sometimes not, and sometimes they come back worse than when they went. in all probability the operator never sees the patient again and so the last chapters of the story must be told to the home doctor over and over again." mary gave a little sigh. the doctor went on: "in many cases it isn't treatment of any kind that is needed. it is occupation--occupation for the mind and for the hands. something that will make people forget themselves in their work or in their play." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this you, doctor?" "yes." "i wanted to see if you were at the office. i'll be over there right away." in a few minutes the door opened and a gentleman about thirty-five years of age entered. his manner was greatly agitated and he did not notice mrs. blank at the window near the corner of the room. "good morning, mr. blake," said the doctor, shaking hands with him, "back again, are you?" mr. blake had been to c--, his native city. he had not been well for some time and had evinced a desire to go back and consult his old physician there, in which dr. blank had heartily concurred. "how long do you think i can live?" mr. blake asked now. "what do you mean?" replied the doctor, regarding him closely. "i want to know how much time i have. i want to get my business fixed up before--" "blake, you couldn't die if you wanted to. you're not a sick enough man for that." the patient took a letter from his pocket and handed it in silence to the doctor. the latter took it, looked carefully at the superscription, read it slowly through, then folded it with cool deliberation and put it back into the envelope. "i thought you were going to your old physician," he said. "dr. kenton was out of the city so i went to the great specialist." "did he tell you what was in this letter he sent to me?" "no, but the letter was not sealed and i read it. i was so anxious to know his opinion that i couldn't help it. tuberculosis of the larynx--" his voice faltered. "yes," said the doctor, calmly, "that is a thing a man may well be frightened about. but listen to me, blake. you've not got tuberculosis of the larynx." "do you think a great physician like dr. wentworth doesn't know what he is talking about?" "dr. wentworth is a great physician; i know him well. but he is only a man like the rest of us and therefore liable to err in judgment sometimes. he knew you half an hour, perhaps, before he pronounced upon your case. i have known you and watched you for fifteen years. i say you have not got tuberculosis _and i know i am right_." mary saw mr. blake grasp her husband's hand with a look in his face that made her think within herself, "blessings on the country doctor wherever he may be, who has experience and knowledge and wisdom enough to draw just and true conclusions of his own and bravely state them when occasion demands." when the patient had gone mary said to her husband, "one gets a kaleidoscopic view of life in a doctor's office. what comes through the ear at home comes before the eye here. the kaleidoscope turned a bright-colored bit into the place of a dark one this time, john. i am glad i was here to see." as she spoke footsteps were heard on the stairs. slow and feeble steps they were, but at last they reached the landing and paused at the open door. looking out mary saw a poorly clad woman perhaps forty years of age, carrying in her hands a speckled hen. she was pale and trembling violently, and sank down exhausted into the chair the doctor set for her. he took the hen from her hands and set it on the floor. its feet were securely tied and it made no effort to escape. the doctor had never seen the woman before but noting the emaciated form and the hectic flush on the cheek he saw that consumption was fast doing its work. mary took the palm leaf fan lying on the table and stood beside her, fanning her gently. when the woman could speak she said, "i oughtn't to 'a' tried to walk, doctor, but there didn't seem to be anyone passin' an' this cough is killin' me. i want something for it." "how far did you walk?" asked mary, kindly. "four mile." "four miles!" she looked down at the trembling form with deep pity in her brown eyes. "i didn't have any money, doctor, but will the hen pay for the medicine?" her eyes were raised anxiously to his face and mary's eyes met the look in the eyes of her husband. "i don't want the hen. we haven't any place to keep her. besides my wife, here, is afraid of hens." a little smile flitted across the wan face. he told her how to take the medicine and then said, "whenever you need any more let me know and i'll send it to you. you needn't worry about the pay." "i'm very much obleeged to you, doctor." "just take the hen back home with you." "i wonder if i couldn't sell her at the store," she said, looking at the doctor with a bright, expectant face. "wait here and rest awhile and then we'll see about it. i'll go down and perhaps i can find some one in town from out your way that you can ride home with. where do you live?" she told him and he went down the stairs. in a little while he came back. "one of your neighbors is down here now waiting for you. he's just starting home," he said. he took the hen and as they started down the stairs mary came out and joined them. at the foot of the stairway he said to the grocer standing in front of his establishment, "here, keller, i want you to give me a dollar for this hen." "she ain't worth it." "she _is_ worth it," said the doctor so emphatically that keller put his hand in his pocket and handed out the dollar. the poor woman did not see the half dollar that passed from the doctor's hand to the grocer's, but mary saw and was glad. the doctor laid the dollar in the trembling palm, helped the feeble woman into the wagon and they drove off. mary turned to her husband and said with a little break in her voice, "i'm going home, john. i want to get away from your kaleidoscope." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "and i must go for another peep into it. good-bye. come again." * * * * * "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "this is jim sampson, doctor, out at sampson's mill. my boy fell out of a tree a while ago and broke his leg, and i'm sort o' worried about it." "it don't have to _stay_ broke, you know." "that's just the point. i'm afraid it will--for a while at least." "what do you mean?" "why, my wife says she won't have it set unless the signs are right for setting a broken bone. she's great on the almanac signs." "the devil! you have that bone _set_--_today_! do you understand?" "yes, but mary's awful set in her way." "i'm a darned sight more set. that boy's not going to lie there and suffer because of a fool whim of his mother's. where is she? send her to the 'phone and i'll talk to _her_." "she couldn't find her almanac and ran across to the neighbor's to get one." "call me when she gets back." ten minutes passed and the call came. "it's all right, doctor, the signs says so." a note of humor but of unmistakable relief vibrated in the voice. "come right out." "all right, jim, i'll be out as soon as i make my round here in town. tell your wife to have that almanac handy. i may learn something from it." an hour or two later he was starting out to get into the buggy, with splints and other needful things when the 'phone called him back. hastily cramming them under the seat he went. "hello." "is this dr. blank?" "this is millie hastings. do you remember me?" "no-o--i don't believe i do." "you doctored me." "yes, i've 'doctored' several people." "i had typhoid fever two years ago up in the country at my uncle's." "what's your uncle's name?" "henry peters." "yes, i remember now." "i wanted to find out what my bill is." "wait here a moment till i look at the book." in a minute he had found it: millie hastings--so many visits at such and such a date, amounting to thirty-six dollars. he went back to the 'phone. "do you make your money by working by the week?" "yes, sir." "have you learned how to save it?" "yes, sir, i had to. i have to help mother." "your bill is eighteen dollars." he heard a little gasp, then a delighted voice said: "i was afraid it would be a good deal more. and now dr. blank, i want to ask a favor of you." "ask away." "i brought four dollars to town with me today to pay on my bill, but i want a rocking chair _so_ bad--i'm over here at the furniture store now--and there's such a nice one here that just costs four dollars and i thought maybe you'd wait a----" "_certainly_ i will. get the rocking chair by all means," and he laughed heartily as he went out to the buggy. he climbed in and drove away, the smile still lingering on his face. at the outskirts of the town a tall girl hailed him from the sidewalk. he stopped. "i was just going to your office to get my medicine," she said. "i left it with the man there. he'll give it to you." "must i take it just like the other?" "yes. laugh some, though, just before you take it." "why?" "because you won't feel like it afterward." the girl looked after him as he drove on. "he's laughing," she said to herself and a grin overspread her face as she pursued her leisurely way. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling!!! "must be something unusual," thought mary as the doctor went to the 'phone. "doctor, is this you?" "yes." "come out to john lansing's quick!" "what's the matter?" "my wife swallowed poison. hurry, doctor, for god's sake!" in a few minutes the doctor was on his horse (the roads being too bad for a buggy) and was off. we will follow him as he plunges along through the darkness. because of the mud the horse's progress was so slow that the doctor pulled him to one side, urged him on to the board walk, much against his inclination, and went clattering on at such a pace that the doors began to fly open on both sides of the street and heads, turned wonderingly after the fleeting horseman, were framed in rectangles of light. "what _is_ the matter out there?" the angle of the heads said it so plainly that the doctor laughed within himself as he thundered on. now it chanced that one of the heads belonged to a meddlesome matty who, next day, stirred the matter up, and that evening two officers of the law presented themselves at dr. blank's office and arrested him. "i don't care anything about the fine. all i wanted was to get there," he said, handing out the three dollars. after the horse left the board walk the road became more solid and in about ten minutes the doctor arrived at his destination. before he could knock the door was opened. the patient sat reclining in a chair, motionless, rigid, her eyes closed. "what has she taken?" asked the doctor of the woman's husband. "laudanum." "how much?" "she told me she took this bottle full," and he held up a two ounce bottle. "i think she's lying," thought the doctor as he laid his fingers upon her pulse. then he raised the lids and looked carefully at the pupils of the eyes. "not much contraction here," he thought. turning to the husband who stood pale and trembling beside him, he said, "don't be alarmed--she's in no more danger than you are." he watched the patient's face as he spoke and saw what he expected--a faint facial movement. "to be on the safe side we'll treat the case as if she had taken two ounces." he gave her a hypodermic emetic then called for warm water. "how much?" asked the husband. "o, a half gallon will do." a big fat woman came panting through the doorway. "i got here as quick as i could," she gasped. "we don't need you at all," said the doctor quietly. "better go back home to your children, mrs. johnson." mrs. johnson, not liking to be cheated out of a sensation which she dearly loved, stood still. mr. lansing came back with the warm water. a faint slit appeared under the eyelids of the patient. the doctor took the big cup and said abruptly, "here! drink this!" no response. "mrs. lansing!" he said so sharply that her eyes opened. "drink this water." "i ca-an't," she murmured feebly. "yes, you can." "i won't," the voice was getting stronger. "you will." "you'll see." "yes, i'll see." he held the big vessel to her mouth. when the water began to pour down her neck she sprang to her feet fighting it off. he held the cup in his left hand while with his right he reached around her neck and took her firmly by the nose. then he held the cup against her mouth and when it opened for breath he poured the life-saving fluid forcefully down. great gulps of it were swallowed while a wide sheet of water poured down her neck and over her night-dress to the floor. "that was very well done. better sit down now." the husband stood in awed silence. the fat woman shook her fist at the doctor's back which he beheld, nothing daunted, in the looking-glass on the wall. the patient herself sat down in absolute quiet. in a minute she began retching and vomited some of the water. the doctor inspected it carefully. then he went to his overcoat on a chair, felt in the pocket and drew out a coil of something. it looked like red rubber and was about half an inch in diameter. he slowly unwound it. it was five or six feet in length. a subdued voice asked, "what are you going to do now, doctor?" "i am going to turn on the hose." "wha-a-t?" "i am going to put this tube down into your stomach. you haven't thrown up much of that laudanum yet." she opened her mouth to speak and the doctor inserted one end of the tube and began ramming it down. "unfasten a button or two here," he said to her husband and rammed some more. she gagged and gurgled and tried to push his hands away. "hold on, we're not down yet--we're only about to the third button." he began ramming the tube again when she looked up at her husband so imploringly that he said, "hold on a minute, doctor, she wants to say something." the doctor withdrew the tube and waited. "i'm sure i threw it all up." "oh no," he said beginning to lift it again. "i--only--took--two--or three drops." "why the devil didn't you say so at the start?" "i wish i had. i just told _jim_ that." "to get even with him for something," announced the doctor quietly. "how can he know so much," mused jim's wife. "now i advise you not to try this game again," said the doctor as he wound up the stomach tube and put it into his pocket. "you can't fool jim all the time, and you can't fool me any of the time. good night." and he rode home and found mary asleep in her chair. * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this you, dr. blank?" "yes." "i wanted to ask you about an electric vibrator." "about what?" "an electric vibrator." "an electric something--i didn't get the last word." a little laugh, then "v-i-b-r-a-t-o-r." "oh! vibrator." "yes. do you think it would help my aunt?" "not a durned bit." another little laugh, "you don't think it would?" "no!" "i had a letter today from my cousin and she said she knew a lady who had had a stroke and this vibrator helped her more than anything." "it didn't. she imagined it." "well, i didn't know anything about it and i knew you would, so i thought i'd 'phone you before going any further. much obliged, doctor." it would save much time and money and disappointment if all those who don't know would pause to put a question or two to those who do. but so it is _not_, and the maker of worthless devices and the concocter of nostrums galore cometh oft to fortune by leaps and bounds, while the poor, conscientious physician who sticks to the truth of things, arriveth betimes at starvation's gate. (i was startled a few days ago to learn that the average income of physicians in the united states does not exceed six hundred dollars.) * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "tell papa he's wanted at the 'phone," said mary. "where is he?" "isn't he there in the dining room?" "no, he isn't here." "he must be in the kitchen then; go to the door and call him." the small boy obeyed. "he's not out here either," he announced from the door-way. "why, where can he be!" cried mary, springing up and going swiftly to the 'phone. "hello." "is the doctor there?" "yes. wait just a minute and i will call him." she hurried through the dining room, then through the kitchen and out into the yard. no doctor to be seen. "he passed through the house not three minutes ago," she said to herself. "john!" "doctor!" "doc-_tor_!" "o, dear! i don't see how he could disappear from the face of the earth in three minutes' time!" she hurried around a projecting corner through a little gate and called again. "what is it?" asked a placid voice as its owner emerged from his new auto garage. "hurry to the 'phone for pity's sake!" and he hurried. mary, following, all out of breath, heard this: "two teaspoonfuls." then the doctor hung up the receiver. he turned to mary and laughed as he quoted emerson on the mountain and the mouse. "i chased you all over the place this afternoon, john, when the 'phone was calling you, and couldn't find you at all. some people have days to 'appear' but this seems to be your day to disappear. where were you then?" "out in the garage." "fascinating spot! i'll know where to look next time. now come to supper." chapter xv. it was october--the carnival time of the year, when on the ground red apples lie in piles like jewels shining, and redder still on old stone walls are leaves of woodbine twining. when comrades seek sweet country haunts, by twos and twos together, and count like misers, hour by hour, october's bright blue weather. on a lovely afternoon our travelers were driving leisurely along through partially cleared woodland. the doctor had proposed that they take this trip in the new automobile. but mary had declined with great firmness. "i will not be hurled along the road in october of all months. what fools these mortals be," she went on. "last year while driving slowly through the glorious austrian tyrol fairly holding my breath with delight, one machine after another whizzed by, the occupants fancying they were 'doing' the tyrol, i dare say." mary looked about her, drinking in deep draughts of the delicious air. the beautifully-tinted leaves upon every tree and bush, the blue haze in the distance and the dreamful melancholy over all, were delightful to her. the fragrance of wild grapes came to them as they emerged from the woods and mary said, "couldn't you wait a minute, john, until i go back and find them? i'll bring you some." "if you were sick and had sent for a doctor would you like to have him fool around gathering grapes and everything else on his way?" "no, i wouldn't. i really wouldn't." they laughed as they sped along the open country road, skirted on either side by a rail fence. from a fence corner here and there arose tall sumac, like candelabra bearing aloft their burning tapers. the poke-weed flung out its royal purple banners while golden-rod and asters were blooming everywhere. suddenly mary exclaimed, "i'm going to get out of the buggy this minute." "what for?" "to gather those brown bunches of hazelnuts." "mary, i positively will not wait for you." "john, i positively don't want you to wait for me," said mary, putting her foot on the step, "i'm going to stay here and gather nuts till you come back. see how many there are?" and she sprang lightly to the ground. "it will be an hour or more before i can get back. i've got to take up that pesky artery." "it won't seem long. you know i like to be alone." "good-bye, then," and the doctor started off. "wait! john," his wife called after him. "i haven't a thing to put the nuts in, please throw me the laprobe." the doctor crushed the robe into a sort of bundle and threw it to her. she spread the robe upon the ground and began plucking the bunches. her fingers flew nimbly over the bushes and soon she had a pile of the brown treasures. dear old times came trooping back. she thought of far-off autumn days when she had taken her little wagon and gone out to the hazel bushes growing near her father's house, and filled it to the top and tramped it down and filled it yet again. then a gray october day came back when three or four girls and boys, all busy in the bushes, talked in awed tones of the great fire--chicago was burning up! big, big chicago, which they had never seen or dreamed of seeing--all because a cow kicked over a lamp. mary moved to another clump of bushes. as she worked she thought if she had never known the joy of gathering nuts and wild grapes and persimmons, of wandering through woods and meadows, her childhood would have lost much that is beautiful and best, and her womanhood many of its dearest recollections. "you're the doctor's wife, ain't ye?" mary looked around quite startled. a tall woman in a blue calico dress and a brown gingham sunbonnet was standing there. "i didn't want to scare ye, i guess you didn't see me comin'." "i didn't know you were coming--yes, i am the doctor's wife." "we saw ye from the house and supposed he'd gone on to see old man benning and that you had stopped to pick nuts." "you guessed it exactly," said mary with a smile. "we live about a quarter mile back from the road so i didn't see the doctor in time to stop him." "is some one sick at your house, then?" "well, my man ain't a doin' right, somehow. he's been ailin' for some time and his left foot and leg is a turnin' blue. i come to see if you could tell me somethin' i could do for it. i'm afraid it's mortifyin'." mary's brown eyes opened wide. "why, my dear woman, i couldn't tell you anything to do. i don't know anything at all about such things." "i supposed bein' a doctor's wife you'd learnt everything like that." "i have learned many things by being a doctor's wife, very many things, but what to do with a leg and foot that are mortifying i really could not tell you." mary turned her face away to hide a laugh that was getting near the surface. "i will have the doctor drive up to the house when he gets back if you wish," she said, turning to her companion. "maybe that would be best. your husband cured me once when i thought nothing would ever get me well again. i think more of him than any other man in the world." "thank you. so do i." she started off and mary went on gathering nuts, her face breaking into smiles at the queer errand and the restorative power imputed to herself. "if it is as serious as she thinks, all the doctors in the world can't do much for it, much less one meek and humble doctor's wife. but they could amputate, i suppose, and i'm sure i couldn't, not in a scientific way." thus soliloquizing, she went from clump to clump of the low bushes till they were bereft of their fruitage. she looked down well-pleased at the robe with the nuts piled upon it. she drew the corners up and tied her bundle securely. this done she looked down the road where the doctor had disappeared. "i'll just walk on and meet him," she thought. she went leisurely along, stopping now and then to pluck a spray of goldenrod. when she had gathered quite a bunch she looked at it closely. "you are like some people in this world--you have a pretty name and at a little distance _you_ are pretty: but seen too close you are a disappointment, and more than that you are coarse. i don't want you," and she flung them away. she saw dust rising far down the road and hoped it might be the doctor. yes, it was he, and bucephalus seemed to know that he was traveling toward home. when her husband came up and she was seated beside him, she said, "you are wanted at that little house over yonder," and she told him what had taken place in the hazel bushes. "you're second choice though, they came for me first," she said laughing. "i wish to thunder you'd gone. they owe me a lot now they'll never pay." "at any rate, they hold you in very high esteem, john." "oh, yes, but esteem butters no bread." "well, you'll go, won't you? i told the woman you would." "yes, i'll go." he turned into a narrow lane and in a few minutes they were at the gate. the doctor handed the reins to mary and went inside. a girl fourteen or fifteen years old with a bald-headed baby on her arm came out of the house and down the path. "won't you come in?" "no, thank you. we will be going home in a minute." the girl set the baby on the gate-post. "she's the smartest baby i ever saw," she said. "she's got a whole mouthful of teeth already." "and how old is she?" "she was ten months old three weeks ago last saturday." as today was thursday, mary was on the point of saying, "she will be eleven months old in a few days then," but checked herself--she understood. it would detract from the baby's smartness to give her eleven months instead of only ten in which to accomplish such wonders in the way of teeth. the doctor came out and they started. just before they came out to the main road they passed an old deserted house. no signs of life were about it except the very luxuriant life in the tall jimsons and ragweeds growing about it and reaching almost to the top of the low doorway, yawning blackly behind them. "i think the longest night of my life was spent in that house about sixteen years ago. it's the only house i was ever in where there was nothing at all to read. there wasn't even an almanac." mary laughed. "an almanac is a great deal better than nothing, my dear. i found that out once upon a time when i had to stay in a house for several hours where there was just one almanac and not another printed page. i read the jokes two or three times till they began to pall and then set to work on the signs. i'll always have a regard for them because they gave me a lift through those tedious hours." they were not far from the western edge of the piece of woodland they were traversing and all about them was the soft red light of the setting sun. they could see the sun himself away off through the straight and solemn trunks of the trees. a mile farther on mary uttered a sudden exclamation of delight. "see that lovely bittersweet!" "i see, but don't ask me to stop and get you some." "i won't, but i'll ask you to stop and let _me_ get some." "i wouldn't bother about it. you'll have to scramble over that ditch and up the bank--" "i've scrambled over worse things in my life," she said, springing from the buggy and picking her way down the intervening ditch. the bright red berries in their flaring yellow hoods were beautiful. she began breaking off the branches. when she had gathered a large bunch and was turning toward the buggy she saw a vehicle containing two women approaching from the opposite direction. there was a ditch on either side of the road which, being narrow at this point, made passing a delicate piece of work. the doctor drew his horse to one side so that the wheels of the buggy rested on the very brink and waited for them to pass; he saw that there was room with perhaps a foot or two to spare. on came the travelers and--the front wheels of the two vehicles were locked in a close embrace. for a minute the doctor did some vigorous thinking and then he climbed out of the buggy. it was a trying position. he could not say all of the things he wanted to--it would not be polite; neither did he want to act as if it were nothing because mary might not understand the extent of the mischief she had caused and how much out of humor he was with her. it would be easier if she were only out of hearing instead of looking at him across the ditch with apologetic eyes. the doctor's horse began to move uneasily but the other stood perfectly still. "he's used to this sort of thing, perhaps," said the doctor with as little sarcasm as possible. "yes, we have run into a good many buggies and things," said one of the women, cheerfully. "women beat the devil when it comes to driving," thought the doctor within himself. "they'll drive right over you and never seem to think they ought to give part of the road. and they do it everywhere, not only where there are ditches." he restrained his speech, backed the offending vehicle and started the travelers on. while he was doing so his own steed started on and he had a lively run to catch him. mary had thought of turning back to break off another spray of the bittersweet but john's profanity was rising to heaven. diplomacy required her to get to the buggy and into it at once. this she did and the doctor plunged in after her. "forgive me for keeping you waiting," she said gently. she held the bittersweet out before her. "isn't it lovely, john?" a soft observation turneth away wrath. the doctor's was oozing away sooner than he wished. they drove on for a while in silence. the soft, still landscape dotted here and there with farm houses and with graceful elm and willow trees, was lit up and glorified by the after-glow. the evening sky arching serenely over a quiet world, how beautiful it was! and as mary's eyes caught a glittering point of light in the blue vault above them, she sang softly to herself: "o, thou sublime, sweet evening star, joyful i greet thee from afar." for a while she watched the stars as one by one they twinkled into view, then drawing her wraps more closely about her, she leaned back in the carriage and gave herself up to pleasant reflection, and before she realized it the lights of home were twinkling cheerily ahead. chapter xvi. "you are not going out tonight, john, no matter how often the 'phone rings. i positively will not let you." mary spoke with strong emphasis. all the night before he had been up and today had been a hard day for him. she had seldom seen him so utterly weary as he was tonight. he had come home earlier than usual and now sat before the fire, his head sunk on his breast, half asleep. "go right to bed, dear, then you can really rest." the doctor, too tired to offer any resistance, rose and went to the bedroom. in a few minutes his wife heard regular sonorous sounds from the bed. (when she spoke of these sounds to john, mary pronounced it without the first _o_.) glad that he had so soon fallen into deep sleep she settled back in her chair. "i'll protect him tonight," she thought, "though fiery darts be hurled." she thought of many things. the fire-light gleamed red upon the hearth. all was still. the sounds from the adjoining room had ceased. something stirred within her and she rose and went softly to the bedside of her sleeping husband. in the half-light she could see the strong, good face. dear john so profane yet so patient, so severe yet so tender, what would it be to face life without him. she laid her hand very lightly on the hand which lay on the counterpane, then took it away lest it disturb the sleeper. she went back to her chair and opening a little volume took from it a folded sheet. twice before today had she read the words written within it. a dear friend whose husband had recently died had written her, inclosing them. she read them again now: in memoriam,--a prayer. "o god! the father of the spirits of all flesh, in whatsoever world or condition they be,--i beseech thee for him whose name, and dwelling place, and every need thou knowest. lord, vouchsafe him peace and light, rest and refreshment, joy and consolation in paradise, in the ample folds of thy great love. grant that his life, so troubled here, may unfold itself in thy sight, and find employment in the spacious fields of eternity.--if he hath ever been hurt or maimed by any unhappy word or deed of mine, i pray thee, of thy great pity, to heal and restore him, that he may serve thee without hindrance. "tell him, o gracious father, if it may be,--how much i love him and miss him, and long to see him again; and if there may be ways in which he may come, vouchsafe him to me as guide and guard, and grant me such sense of his nearness as thy laws permit. if in aught i can minister to his peace, be pleased of thy love to let this be; and mercifully keep me from every act which may deprive me of the sight of him, as soon as our trial time is over, or mar the fullness of our joy when the end of the days hath come." mary brushed away a tear from her cheek. "this letter has awakened unusual thoughts. i will--" a sharp peal from the telephone. "what is it?" "is the doctor at home?" "yes. he has gone to bed and is fast asleep." "oh! we wanted him to come down to see my sister." "he was up all last night and is not able to come--" "can i just talk to him about her?" mary sighed. to rouse him from his sorely needed sleep was too cruel. then she spoke. "i must not disturb him unless it is absolutely necessary. i shall be sitting here awake--call me again in a little while if you think it necessary." "a--l--l r--i--g--h--t--" and a sob came distinctly to the listener's ear. this was too much for mary. "i'll call him," she said hurriedly and went to the bedroom. with much difficulty she roused him. he threw back the covers, got up and stumbled to the 'phone. "hello..... yes..... they didn't? is she suffering much?.... all right, i'll be down in a little bit." mary groaned aloud. she had vowed to protect him though fiery darts be hurled. but the sob in the voice of a frightened young girl was more potent than any fiery dart could have been and had melted her at once. slowly but surely the doctor got himself into his clothes. "i don't think there's any use of my going down there again, but i suppose i'll have it to do." when he returned an hour later, he said, "just as i thought--they were badly scared over nothing. i shouldn't wonder if they'd rout me out again before morning." "no, they won't," said mary to herself, and when her husband was safe in bed again, she walked quietly to the telephone, took down the receiver and _left_ it down. "extreme cases require extreme measures," she thought as she, too, prepared for her night's rest. but there was a haunting feeling in her mind about the receiver hanging there. suppose some one who really did need the doctor should call and call in vain. she would not think of it. she turned over and fell asleep and they both slept till morning and rose refreshed for another day. * * * * * a few weeks later circumstances much like those narrated above arose, and the doctor's wife for the second and last time left the receiver down. about two o'clock there came a tragic pounding at the door and when the doctor went to open it a voice asked, "what's the matter down here?" "why?" "central's been ringing you to beat the band and couldn't get you awake." "strange we didn't hear. what's wanted?" he had recognized the messenger as the night clerk at the hotel not far from his home. "a man hurt at the railroad--they're afraid he'll bleed to death. central called me and asked me to run over here and rouse you." when the doctor was gone mary rose tremblingly and hung up the receiver. she would not tell john what she had done. he would be angry. she had felt that the end justified the means--that he was tired out and half sick and sorely needed a night's unbroken rest--but if the end should be the bleeding to death of this poor man-- she dared not think of it. she went back to bed but not to sleep. she lay wide awake keenly anxious for her husband's return. and when at last he came her lips could hardly frame the question, "how is he, john?" "pretty badly hurt, but not fatally." "thank heaven!" mary whispered, and formed a quick resolve which she never broke. this belonged to her husband's life--it must remain a part of it to the end. chapter xvii. one lovely morning in april, mary was called to the telephone. "i want you to drive to the country with me this morning," said her husband. "i'll be delighted. i have a little errand down town and i'll come to the office--we can start from there." accordingly half an hour later she walked into the office and seated herself in a big chair to wait till john was ready. the door opened and a small freckle-faced boy entered. "good morning, governor," said the doctor. the governor grinned. "what can i do for you today?" "how much will ye charge to pull a tooth?" "well, i'll pull the tooth and if it don't hurt i won't charge anything. sit down." the boy sat down and the doctor got out his forceps. the tooth came hard but he got it. the boy clapped his hand over his mouth but not a sound escaped him. "there it is," said the doctor, holding out the offending member. "do you want it?" a boy's tooth is a treasure to be exhibited to all one's friends. he took it and put it securely in his pocket. "how much do i have to pay?" "did it hurt?" "nope." "nothing at all." the boy slid from the chair and out of the door, ecstasy overspreading all the freckles. "that boy has a future," said mary looking after him with a smile. "i see they have brought the horse. we must be starting." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "they want ye down at pete jansen's agin." "what's the matter there now?" "o, that youngun's been _drinkin'_ somethin' agin." "into the lye this time, too?" "no, it's coal oil and bluin' this time and i don't know what else." "i'll be down right away," said the doctor, taking up his hat. "get into the buggy and drive down with me, mary, it's just at the edge of town and then we can drive on into the country." when they stopped at the house, an unpainted little frame structure, mary held the horse while her husband went in. "where's the boy?" he asked, looking around. "he's out in the back yard a-playin' now, i guess," his mother replied from the bed. "then what in thunder did you send for me for?" "why, i was scared for fear it would kill him." the doctor turned to go then paused to ask, "how's the baby?" "she's doin' fine." "she's just about a week old now, isn't she?" "a week yesterday. don't you want to see how much she's growed?" the doctor went to the bed and looked down at the wee little maiden. "great god!" he exclaimed, so fiercely that the woman was frightened. "why haven't you let me know about this baby's eyes?" "w'y, we didn't think it'd 'mount to anything. we thought they'd git well in a day or two." "she'll be blind in less than a week if something isn't done for them." "grandmother's been a doctorin' 'em some." "well, there's going to be a change of doctors right straight. i'm going to treat this baby's eyes myself." "we don't want any strong medicine put in a baby's eyes." "it don't make a bit of difference what you want. i'm going to the drug store now to get what i need and i want you to have warm water and clean cloths ready by the time i get back. is there anyone here to do it?" "there's a piece of a girl out there in the kitchen. she ain't much 'count." the doctor went to the kitchen door and gave his orders. "i'd ruther you'd let the baby's eyes alone. i'm afraid to have strong medicine put in 'em." for answer he went out, got into the buggy and drove rapidly back to town where he procured what he needed and in a few minutes was back. "you'd better come in this time, mary, you'll get tired of waiting and besides i want you to see this baby. i want you to know something about what every father and mother ought to understand." they went in and the doctor took the baby up and seated himself by the chair on which stood a basin of water. the mother, with very ungracious demeanor, looked on. mary, shocked and filled with pity, looked down into the baby's face. the inflammation in the eyes was terrible. the secretion constantly exuded and hung in great globules to the tiny lids. never in her life had she seen anything like it. "let me hold it for you," she said, sitting down and taking the baby in her lap. the doctor turned the little head toward him and held it gently between his knees. he took a pair of goggles from his pocket and put them over his eyes to protect them from the poison, then tenderly as any mother could have done, he bathed and cleansed the poor little eyes opening so inauspiciously upon the world. he thought as he worked of this terrible scourge of infancy, producing one-third of all the blindness in the world. he thought too, that almost all of this blindness was preventable by prompt and proper treatment. statistics had proven these two things beyond all doubt. he thought of the earnest physicians who had labored long to have some laws enacted in regard to this stupendous evil but with little result.[ ] [ ] . ophthalmia neonatorum . there has been legislation for the prevention of blindness in the states of new york, maine, rhode island and illinois. when they were in the buggy again mary said, "but what if the baby goes blind after all? of course they would say that you did it with your 'strong medicine.'" "of course they would, but that would not disturb me in the least. but it will not go blind now. i'll see to that." soon they had left the town behind them and were fairly on their way. the soft, yet bracing, air of the april morning was delightful. the sun shone warm. birds carolled everywhere. the buds on the oak trees were swelling, while those on the maples were bursting into red and furzy bloom. far off to the left a tall sycamore held out white arms in welcome to the springtime and perfect stillness lay upon the landscape. "i am so glad the long reign of winter and bad roads is ended, john, so i can get out with you again into the blessed country." "and i am glad to have good company." "thanks for that gallant little speech. ask me often, but i won't go every time because you might get tired of me and i'd be sure to get tired of you." "thanks for that gracious little speech." * * * * * that evening when the doctor and mary were sitting alone, she said, "john, that baby's eyes have haunted me all day long. and you say one-third of the blindness of the world is due to this disease." "yes." "that seems to me a terrific accusation against you doctors. what have you been doing to prevent it?" "everything that has been done--not very much, i'm afraid. speaking for myself, i can say that i have long been deeply interested. i have written several papers on the subject--one for our state medical society." "so far so good. but i'd like to know more about it." "write to the secretary of the state board of health for all the information that he can give you." the next day mary wrote. three days later she received the following letter: springfield, nov. , . my dear mrs. blank: several states of the union have laws in relation to the prevention of blindness, some good, some bad, and some indifferent, and i fear that the last applies to the manner in which the laws are enforced in the majority of the states. in the december, , _bulletin_ of this board, a copy of which i send you under separate cover, you will find the illinois law, which, as you can readily see, is very difficult of enforcement. but, as i said, much can be done in its enforcement if the state board of health can secure the co-operation of the physicians of the state. however, in this connection you will note that i have made an appeal to physicians, on page  . yet, to the best of my knowledge, the board has not received one inquiry in regard to the enforcement of this law, except from the committee on the prevention of ophthalmia neonatorum. in regard to the other states, it will take me some time to look up the laws, but i will advise you in a few days. sincerely yours, j. a. egan. after reading it carefully through, mary's eye went back to the sentence, "much can be done if the state board of health can secure the co-operation of the physicians of the state." she rose and walked the floor. "if i were a voice--a persuasive voice," she thought, "i would fly to the office of every physician in our great state and then to every physician in the land and would whisper in his ear, 'it is your glorious privilege to give light to sightless eyes. it is more: it is your sacred duty. o, be up and doing!'" "to think, john," she said, turning impetuously toward her husband, "that i, all these years the wife of a man who knows this terrible truth, should just be finding it out. then think of the thousands of men and women who know nothing about it. how are they to know? who is to tell them? who is to blame for the blindness in the first place? who can--" ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this dr. blank?" "yes." "this is mr. ardmore. can you come up to my house right away?" "right away." when he arrived at his destination he was met at the door by a well-dressed, handsome young man. "just come into this room for a few minutes, doctor. my wife says they are not quite ready for you in there." "who is the patient?" asked the doctor as he walked into the room indicated. "the baby boy." "the baby boy!" exclaimed the doctor. "i didn't know the little rascal had got here." "yes, you were out of town. my wife and i thought that ended the matter but he got here just the same." "mighty glad to hear it. how old is he?" "just ten days." "pretty fine, isn't he?" "you bet! i wouldn't take all the farms in these united states for him." "to be sure. to be sure," laughed the doctor. he picked up a little volume lying open on the table. "do you like omar?" he asked, aimlessly turning the pages. "very much. i don't always get the old persian's meaning exactly. take this verse," he reached for the book and turning back a few pages read: "the moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on; nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it. that sounds pretty but it has something in it that almost scares a fellow--he doesn't know why." the nurse appeared in the doorway and announced that the doctor might come in now. both men rose and went across the hall into the bedroom. the doctor shook hands with the baby's mother. "where did you get this?" he asked, laying his hand on the downy little head. "he came out of the everywhere into the here," she quoted, smiling. "nurse, turn the baby's face up so the doctor can see his eyes. they're greatly inflamed, doctor," she said. the doctor started. "bring a light closer," he said sharply. while the light was being brought he asked, "did this inflammation begin when the baby was about three days old?" "he was exactly three days old." "and been growing worse ever since?" "yes. dr. brown was with me when he was born. he came in the next day and everything was all right. then he was called to chicago and i didn't know enough about babies to know that this might be serious." "_you_ ought to have known," said the doctor sternly, turning to the nurse. "i am not a professional nurse. i have never seen anything like this before." the light was brought and the nurse took the baby in her arms. the doctor, bending over it, lifted the swollen little lids and earnestly scrutinized the eyes. _the cornea was entirely destroyed!_ "o god!" the words came near escaping him. sick at heart he turned his face away that the mother might not see. she must not know the awful truth until she was stronger. he gave some instructions to the nurse, then left the room followed by the baby's father. "stop for a few minutes, doctor, if you please. i'd like to ask you something about this," and both resumed their seats, after mr. ardmore had closed the door. "do you think the baby's eyes have been hurt by too much light?" "no by darkness--egyptian darkness." the young man looked at him in wonder. "what is the disease?" "it is ophthalmia neonatorum, or infantile sore eyes." "what is the nature of it?" "it is always an infection." "how can that be? there has been nobody at all in the room except dr. brown and the nurse." the doctor did not speak. there came into his mind the image of mary as she had asked so earnestly, "how are they to know? who is to tell them?" leaning slightly forward and looking the young man in the face he said, "i do not know absolutely, but _you_ know!" "know what?" "whether or not your child's eyes have had a chance to be infected by certain germs." "what do you mean, doctor?" asked the young father in vague alarm. slowly, deliberately, and with keen eyes searching the other's face the doctor made reply: "i mean that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children." there was bewildered silence for an instant then a wave of crimson surged over neck, cheek and brow. it was impossible to meet the doctor's eyes. the young man looked down and made no attempt to speak. by and by he said in a low voice, "it's no use for me to deny to you, doctor, that i have been a fool and have let my base passions master me. but if i had dreamed of any such result as this they wouldn't have mastered me--i know that." "the man that scorns these vile things because of the eternal wrong in them will never have any fearful results rising up to confront him." "all that has been put behind me forever, doctor; i feel the truth and wisdom of what you say. just get my boy's eyes well and he shall never be ashamed of his father." the doctor looked away from the handsome, intelligent face so full at that moment of love and tenderness for this new son which had been given into his care and keeping, and a wave of pity surged over him. but he must go on to the bitter end. "you have not understood this old persian's verse," he said, taking up the little book again. "tonight his meaning is to be made plain to you." slowly he read: "the moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on; nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it." he laid the volume gently down and turning, faced the younger man. "listen: in those licentious days the moving finger was writing a word for the future to reveal. it wrote blind in the eyes of your helpless child." "my god! you don't mean it!" "it is true. the cornea is destroyed." a deathly pallor overspread the young man's face. he bowed his head in his hands and great sobs shook his frame. "my god! my god!" he gasped over and over again. accustomed as the doctor was to suffering and sorrow this man's anguish was too much for him. the tears rolled down his cheeks and he made no effort to restrain them. after a long time the younger man raised his head and spoke in broken words, "doctor, i must not keep you here. you are needed elsewhere. leave me to remorse. i am young and you are growing old, doctor, but will you take this word from me? you and all in your profession should long ago have told us these things. the world should not lie in ignorance of this tremendous evil. if men will not be saved from themselves they will save their unborn children, if they only know. god help them." the doctor went slowly homeward, his mind filled with the awful calamity in the household he had left. "it is time the world is waking," he thought. "we must arouse it." * * * * * ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "is this mrs. blank?" it was a manly voice vibrating with youth and joy. "i want to tell you that your husband has just left a sweet little daughter at our house." "oh, has he! i'm very glad, mr. farwell. thank you for telephoning. father, mother and baby all doing well?" "fine as silk. i had to tell _somebody_ right away. now i'm off to send some telegrams to the folks at home. goodbye." ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. "this is mrs. blank is it not?" "yes." "will you please tell the doctor that father is dead. he died twenty minutes ago." "the doctor was expecting the message, mr. jameson," said mary gently. this, too, was the voice of a young man, but quiet, subdued, bringing tidings of death instead of life. and mary, going back to her seat in the twilight, thought of the words of one--life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. the eternity before the baby came, the eternity after the old man went, were solemnly in her thoughts. but they were not cold and barren peaks to her. they were crowned with light and warmth and love. and into her thoughts came, too, the never-ending story of the 'phone as it was unfolding itself to her throughout the years. humor and pathos, folly and wisdom, tragedy and comedy, pain, anguish, love, joy, sorrow--all had spoken and had poured their brief story into the listening ear of the helper. and when he was not there, into the ear of one who must help in her own poor way. o countless, countless messages stored in her memory to await his coming! only she could know how faithfully she had guarded and delivered them. only she could-- ting-a-ling. ting-a-ling. ting-a-ling-ling-ling. [ transcriber's note: the following is a list of corrections made to the original. the first line is the original line, the second the corrected one. "that's about five miles out, isn't it. whose sick out there?" "that's about five miles out, isn't it. who's sick out there?" well, where is the _doctor_?" "well, where is the _doctor_?" small's at drayton. when the voice came she said, "i wanted to tell you small's at drayton." when the voice came she said, "i wanted to tell you "mary heard the 'phoner say in an aside, "he won't be back for an hour mary heard the 'phoner say in an aside, "he won't be back for an hour asked central to give her drayton, mr. walton's house." asked central to give her drayton, mr. walton's house. she flew to the farmers' phone. she flew to the farmers' 'phone. "wait a minute, i'll see." she raced through the pages,--yes, here it "wait a minute, i'll see." she raced through the pages,--"yes, here it "thought you was a-goin' to hold the' phone. i've had a turrible time "thought you was a-goin' to hold the 'phone. i've had a turrible time "shake up your 'phone. i can't hear you. "shake up your 'phone. i can't hear you." interested listener at the phone. going, one morning, to speak to a interested listener at the 'phone. going, one morning, to speak to a "doctor, will it hurt the baby to bathe it every morning?" i've been "doctor, will it hurt the baby to bathe it every morning? i've been "likes to see it's mamma?" "likes to see its mamma?" my land! i've been here three or four times. looks like i'd ketch him "my land! i've been here three or four times. looks like i'd ketch him was mightly emphatic." was mightily emphatic." that sounds good, doctor. i was awfully scared. much obliged. "that sounds good, doctor. i was awfully scared. much obliged. "wait a minute, mrs. blank," said the voice of central, some one is "wait a minute, mrs. blank," said the voice of central, "some one is "yes, you _can_!" roared a voice. you jist want to fool around." the "yes, you _can_!" roared a voice. "you jist want to fool around." the it's _exactly_ in his line. years ago when i was a little girl he "it's _exactly_ in his line. years ago when i was a little girl he would break and then she said, "father, i _must_ tell you, but don't would break and then she said, 'father, i _must_ tell you, but don't tell mother; and then she told me." tell mother'; and then she told me." "the doctor was fixing up powders and went placidly on till he got the doctor was fixing up powders and went placidly on till he got "oh," said the voice, somewhat mollified, i'll just call him up when he "oh," said the voice, somewhat mollified, "i'll just call him up when he number again with vehemence." number again with vehemence. the circumflexes were irresistible." the circumflexes were irresistible. him this evening. this is mrs. x. will you be right out? him this evening. this is mrs. x. will you be right out?" "when i yas a young fellow and first hung up my shingle it was a "when i was a young fellow and first hung up my shingle it was a "certainly," i answered promptly. 'certainly,' i answered promptly. "my husband is very sick and i came to see if you would go down and ask 'my husband is very sick and i came to see if you would go down and ask dr. smithson to come and see him." i swallowed my astonishment and dr. smithson to come and see him.' i swallowed my astonishment and sweet day you'll retire from practise. then hully-gee! won't i be free! sweet day you'll retire from practice. then hully-gee! won't i be free! "then do it. do it right away. have the water _hot_, now. "then do it. do it right away. have the water _hot_, now." if they knew what i know their little hearts would almost burst for "if they knew what i know their little hearts would almost burst for there," she continued. "a woman's intuitions are safe guides' but she there," she continued. "'a woman's intuitions are safe guides' but she table his wife, said, "john, i shouldn't think you'd say things like that table his wife said, "john, i shouldn't think you'd say things like that "hell-_o_!" where's the doctor?" "hell-_o_! where's the doctor?" "yes. when i went in the man who was a stranger to me, said, "i'll tell "yes. when i went in the man who was a stranger to me, said, 'i'll tell said to myself, "he's the man i want." said to myself, "he's the man i want."'" "very well thank you." "very well. thank you." the voice was icily regular, spendidly null. it nettled the doctor. the voice was icily regular, splendidly null. it nettled the doctor. "_where do you live!_" "_where do you live?_" "well maybe it does. i've not got my directions here yet--then it must "well, maybe it does. i've not got my directions here yet--then it must "my wife swallowed poison. hurry, doctor, for god's sake! "my wife swallowed poison. hurry, doctor, for god's sake!" chapter xvi. chapter xvii. "i'll be down right away," said the doctor, taking up his hat." "i'll be down right away," said the doctor, taking up his hat. "why haven't you let me know about this baby's eyes." "why haven't you let me know about this baby's eyes?" inauspiciously upon the world. he thought as he worked of this terribe inauspiciously upon the world. he thought as he worked of this terrible "thanks for that gracious little speech. "thanks for that gracious little speech." nor all your tears wash out a word of it. nor all your tears wash out a word of it." ] this simian world by: clarence day jr. "how i hate the man who talks about the 'brute creation,' with an ugly emphasis on _brute_.... as for me, i am proud of my close kinship with other animals. i take a jealous pride in my simian ancestry. i like to think that i was once a magnificent hairy fellow living in the trees, and that my frame has come down through geological time via sea jelly and worms and amphioxus, fish, dinosaurs, and apes. who would exchange these for the pallid couple in the garden of eden?" w. n. p. barbellion. i last sunday, potter took me out driving along upper broadway, where those long rows of tall new apartment houses were built a few years ago. it was a mild afternoon and great crowds of people were out. sunday afternoon crowds. they were not going anywhere,--they were just strolling up and down, staring at each other, and talking. there were thousands and thousands of them. "awful, aren't they!" said potter. i didn't know what he meant. when he added, "why, these crowds," i turned and asked, "why, what about them?" i wasn't sure whether he had an idea or a headache. "other creatures don't do it," he replied, with a discouraged expression. "are any other beings ever found in such masses, but vermin? aimless, staring, vacant-minded,--look at them! i can get no sense whatever of individual worth, or of value in men as a race, when i see them like this. it makes one almost despair of civilization." i thought this over for awhile, to get in touch with his attitude. i myself feel differently at different times about us human-beings: sometimes i get pretty indignant when we are attacked (for there is altogether too much abuse of us by spectator philosophers) and yet at other times i too feel like a spectator, an alien: but even then i had never felt so alien or despairing as potter. "let's remember," i said, "it's a simian civilization." potter was staring disgustedly at some vaudeville sign-boards. "yes," i said, "those for example are distinctively simian. why should you feel disappointment at something inevitable?" and i went on to argue that it wasn't as though we were descended from eagles for instance, instead of (broadly speaking) from ape-like or monkeyish beings. being of simian stock, we had simian traits. our development naturally bore the marks of our origin. if we had inherited our dispositions from eagles we should have loathed vaudeville. but as cousins of the bandarlog, we loved it. what could you expect? ii if we had been made directly from clay, the way it says in the bible, and had therefore inherited no intermediate characteristics,--if a god, or some principle of growth, had gone that way to work with us, he or it might have molded us in much more splendid forms. but considering our simian descent, it has done very well. the only people who are disappointed in us are those who still believe that clay story. or who--unconsciously--still let it color their thinking. there certainly seems to be a power at work in the world, by virtue of which every living thing grows and develops. and it tends toward splendor. seeds become trees, and weak little nations grow great. but the push or the force that is doing this, the yeast as it were, has to work in and on certain definite kinds of material. because this yeast is in us there may be great and undreamed of possibilities awaiting mankind; but because of our line of descent there are also queer limitations. iii in those distant invisible epochs before men existed, before even the proud missing link strutted around through the woods (little realizing how we his greatgrandsons would smile wryly at him much as our own descendants may shudder at us, ages hence) the various animals were desperately competing for power. they couldn't or didn't live as equals. certain groups sought the headship. many strange forgotten dynasties rose, met defiance, and fell. in the end it was our ancestors who won, and became simian kings, and bequeathed a whole planet to us--and have never been thanked for it. no monument has been raised to the memory of those first hairy conquerors; yet had they not fought well and wisely in those far-off times, some other race would have been masters, and kept us in cages, or show us for sport in the forest while they ruled the world. so potter and i, developing this train of thought, began to imagine we had lived many ages ago, and somehow or other had alighted here from some older planet. familiar with the ways of evolution elsewhere in the universe, we naturally should have wondered what course it would take on this earth. "even in this out-of-the-way corner of the cosmos," we might have reflected, "and on this tiny star, it may be of interest to consider the trend of events." we should have tried to appraise the different species as they wandered around, each with its own set of good and bad characteristics. which group, we'd have wondered, would ever contrive to rule all the rest? and how great a development could they attain to thereafter? iv if we had landed here after the great saurians had been swept from the scene, we might first have considered the lemurs or apes. they had hands. aesthetically viewed, the poor simians were simply grotesque; but travelers who knew other planets might have known what beauty may spring from an uncouth beginning in this magic universe. still--those frowsy, unlovely hordes of apes and monkeys were so completely lacking in signs of kingship; they were so flighty, too, in their ways, and had so little purpose, and so much love for absurd and idle chatter, that they would have struck us, we thought, as unlikely material. such traits, we should have reminded ourselves, persist. they are not easily left behind, even after long stages; and they form a terrible obstacle to all high advancement. v the bees or the ants might have seemed to us more promising. their smallness of size was not necessarily too much of a handicap. they could have made poison their weapon for the subjugation of rivals. and in these orderly insects there are obviously a capacity for labor, and co-operative labor at that, which could carry them far. we all know that they have a marked genius: great gifts of their own. in a civilization of super-ants or bees, there would have been no problem of the hungry unemployed, no poverty, no unstable government, no riots, no strikes for short hours, no derision of eugenics, no thieves, perhaps no crime at all. ants are good citizens: they place group interests first. but they carry it so far, they have few or no political rights. an ant doesn't have the vote, apparently: he just has his duties. this quality may have something to do with their having groups wars. the egotism of their individual spirits is allowed scant expression, so the egotism of the groups is extremely ferocious and active. is this one of the reasons why ants fight so much? we have seen the same phenomenon occur in certain nations of men. and the ants commit atrocities in and after their battles that are--i wish i could truly say--inhuman. but conversely, ants are absolutely unselfish within the community. they are skilful. ingenious. their nests and buildings are relatively larger than man's. the scientists speak of their paved streets, vaulted halls, their hundreds of different domesticated animals, their pluck and intelligence, their individual initiative, their chaste and industrious lives. darwin said the ant's brain was "one of the most marvelous atoms in the world, perhaps more so than the brain of man"--yes, of present-day man, who for thousands and thousands of years has had so much more chance to develop his brain.... a thoughtful observer would have weighed all these excellent qualities. when we think of these creatures as little men (which is all wrong of course) we see they have their faults. to our eyes they seem too orderly, for instance. repressively so. their ways are more fixed than those of the old egyptians, and their industry is painful to think of, it's hyper-chinese. but we must remember this is a simian comment. the instincts of the species that you and i belong to are of an opposite kind; and that makes it hard for us to judge ants fairly. but we and the ants are alike in one matter: the strong love of property. and instead of merely struggling with nature for it, they also fight other ants. the custom of plunder seems to be a part of most of their wars. this has gone on for ages among them, and continues today. raids, ferocious combats, and loot are part of an ant's regular life. ant reformers, if there were any, might lay this to their property sense, and talk of abolishing property as a cure for the evil. but that would not help for long unless they could abolish the love of it. ants seem to care even more for property than we do ourselves. we men are inclined to ease up a little when we have all we need. but it no so with ants: they can't bear to stop: they keep right on working. this means that ants do not contemplate: they heed nothing outside of their own little rounds. it is almost as though their fondness for labor had closed fast their minds. conceivably they might have developed inquiring minds. but this would have run against their strongest instincts. the ant is knowing and wise; but he doesn't know enough to take a vacation. the worshipper of energy is too physically energetic to see that he cannot explore certain higher fields until he is still. even if such a race had somehow achieved self-consciousness and reason, would they have been able therewith to rule their instincts, or to stop work long enough to examine themselves, or the universe, or to dream of any noble development? probably not. reason is seldom or never the ruler: it is the servant of instinct. it would therefore have told the ants that incessant toil was useful and good. "toil has brought you up from the ruck of things." reason would have plausibly said, "it's by virtue of feverish toil that you have become what you are. being endlessly industrious is the best road--for you--to the heights." and, self-reassured, they would then have had orgies of work; and thus, by devoted exertion, have blocked their advancement. work, and order and gain would have withered their souls. vi let us take the great cats. they are free from this talent for slave-hood. stately beasts like the lion have more independence of mind than the ants,--and a self-respect, we may note, unknown to primates. or consider the leopards, with hearts that no tyrant could master. what fearless and resolute leopard-men they could have fathered! how magnificently such a civilization would have made its force tell! a race of civilized beings descended from these great cats would have been rich in hermits and solitary thinkers. the recluse would not have been stigmatized as peculiar, as he is by us simians. they would not have been a credulous people, or easily religious. false prophets and swindlers would have found few dupes. and what generals they would have made! what consummate politicians! don't imagine them as a collection of tigers walking around on their hind-legs. they would have only been like tigers in the sense that we men are like monkeys. their development in appearance and character would have been quite transforming. instead of the small flat head of the tiger, they would have had clear smooth brows; and those who were not bald would have had neatly parted hair--perhaps striped. their mouths would have been smaller and more sensitive: their faces most dignified. where now they express chiefly savageness, they would have expressed fire and grace. they would have been courteous and suave. no vulgar crowding would have occurred on the streets of their cities. no mobs. no ignominious subway-jams. imagine a cultivated coterie of such men and women, at a ball, dancing. how few of us humans are graceful. they would have all been pavlowas. like ants and bees, the cat race is nervous. their temperaments are high-strung. they would never have become as poised or as placid as--say--super-cows. yet they would have had less insanity, probably, than we. monkeys' (and elephants') minds seem precariously balanced, unstable. the great cats are saner. they are intense, they would have needed sanitariums: but fewer asylums. and their asylums would have been not for weak-minded souls, but for furies. they would have been strong at slander. they would have been far more violent than we, in their hates, and they would have had fewer friendships. yet they might not have been any poorer in real friendships than we. the real friendships among men are so rare than when they occur they are famous. friends as loyal as damon and pythias were, are exceptions. good fellowship is common, but unchanging affection is not. we like those who like us, as a rule, and dislike those who don't. most of our ties have no better footing than that; and those who have many such ties are called warm-hearted. the super-cat-men would have rated cleanliness higher. some of us primates have learned to keep ourselves clean, but it's no large proportion; and even the cleanest of us see no grandeur in soap-manufacturing, and we don't look to manicures and plumbers for social prestige. a feline race would have honored such occupations. j. de courcy tiger would have felt that nothing _but_ making soap, or being a plumber, was compatible with a high social position; and the rich vera pantherbilt would have deigned to dine only with manicures. none but the lowest dregs of such a race would have been lawyers spending their span of life on this mysterious earth studying the long dusty records of dead and gone quarrels. we simians naturally admire a profession full of wrangle and chatter. but that is a monkeyish way of deciding disputes, not feline. we fight best in armies, gregariously, where the risk is reduced; but we disapprove usually of murderers, and of almost all private combat. with the great cats, it would have been just the other way round. (lions and leopards fight each other singly, not in bands, as do monkeys.) as a matter of fact, few of us delight in really serious fighting. we do love to bicker; and we box and knock each other around, to exhibit our strength; but few normal simians are keen about bloodshed and killing; we do it in war only because of patriotism, revenge, duty, glory. a feline civilization would have cared nothing for duty or glory, but they would have taken a far higher pleasure in gore. if a planet of super-cat-men could look down upon ours, they would not know which to think was the most amazing: the way we tamely live, five million or so in a city, with only a few police to keep us quiet, while we commit only one or two murders a day, and hardly have a respectable number of brawls; or the way great armies of us are trained to fight,--not liking it much, and yet doing more killing in wartime and shedding more blood than even the fiercest lion on his cruelest days. which would perplex a gentlemanly super-cat spectator the more, our habits of wholesale slaughter in the field, or our spiritless making a fetish of "order," at home? it is fair to judge peoples by the rights they will sacrifice most for. super-cat-men would have been outraged, had their right of personal combat been questioned. the simian submits with odd readiness to the loss of this privilege. what outrages him is to make him stop wagging his tongue. he becomes most excited and passionate about the right of free speech, even going so far in his emotion as to declare it is sacred. he looks upon other creatures pityingly because they are dumb. if one of his own children is born dumb, he counts it a tragedy. even that mere hesitation in speech, known as stammering, he deems a misfortune. so precious to a simian is the privilege of making sounds with his tongue, that when he wishes to punish severely those men he calls criminals, he forbids them to chatter, and forces them by threats to be silent. it is felt that his punishment is entirely too cruel however and even the worst offenders should be allowed to talk part of each day. whatever a simian does, there must always be some talking about it. he can't even make peace without a kind of chatter called a peace conference. super-cats would not have had to "make" peace: they would have just walked off and stopped fighting. in a world of super-cat-men, i suppose there would have been fewer sailors; and people would have cared less for seaside resorts, or for swimming. cats hate getting wet, so men descended from them might have hated it. they would have felt that even going in wading was sign of great hardihood, and only the most daring young fellows, showing off, would have done it. among them there would have been no antivivisection societies: no young cat christian associations or red cross work: no vegetarians: no early closing laws: much more hunting and trapping: no riding to hounds; that's pure simian. just think how it would have entranced the old-time monkeys to foresee such a game! a game where they'd all prance off on captured horses, tearing pell-mell through the woods in gay red coats, attended by yelping packs of servant-dogs. it is excellent sport--but how cats would scorn to hunt in that way! they would not have knighted explorers--they would have all been explorers. imagine that you are strolling through a super-cat city at night. over yonder is the business quarter, its evening shops blazing with jewels. the great stock-yards lie to the east where you hear those sad sounds: that twittering as of innumerable birds, waiting slaughter. beyond lie the silent aquariums and the crates of fresh mice. (they raise mice instead of hens in the country, in super-cat land.) to the west is a beautiful but weirdly bacchanalian park, with long groves of catnip, where young super-cats have their fling, and where a few crazed catnip addicts live on till they die, unable to break off their strangely undignified orgies. and here where you stand is the sumptuous residence district. houses with spacious grounds everywhere: no densely-packed buildings. the streets have been swept up--or lapped up--until they are spotless. not a scrap of paper is lying around anywhere: no rubbish, no dust. few of the pavements are left bare, as ours are, and those few are polished: the rest have deep soft velvet carpets. no footfalls are heard. there are no lights in these streets, though these people are abroad much at night. all you see are stars overhead and the glowing eyes of cat ladies, of lithe silken ladies who pass you, or of stiff-whiskered men. beware of those men and the gleam of the split-pupiled stare. they are haughty, punctilious, inflammable: self-absorbed too, however. they will probably not even notice you; but if they do, you are lost. they take offense in a flash, abhor strangers, despise hospitality, and would think nothing of killing you or me on their way home to dinner. follow one of them. enter this house. ah what splendor! no servants, though a few abject monkeys wait at the back-doors, and submissively run little errands. but of course they are never let inside: they would seem out of place. gorgeous couches, rich colors, silken walls, an oriental magnificence. in here is the ballroom. but wait: what is this in the corner? a large triumphal statue--of a cat overcoming a dog. and look at this dining-room, its exquisite appointments, its--daintiness: faucets for hot and cold milk in the pantry, and a gold bowl of cream. some one is entering. hush! if i could but describe her! languorous, slender and passionate. sleepy eyes that see everything. an indolent purposeful step. an unimaginable grace. if you were _her_ lover, my boy, you would learn how fierce love can be, how capricious and sudden, how hostile, how ecstatic, how violent! think what the state of the arts would have been in such cities. they would have had few comedies on their stage; no farces. cats care little for fun. in the circus, superlative acrobats. no clowns. in drama and singing they would have surpassed us probably. even in the state of arrested development as mere animals, in which we see cats, they wail with a passionate intensity at night in our yards. imagine how a caruso descended from such beings would sing. in literature they would not have begged for happy endings. they would have been personally more self-assured than we, far freer of cheap imitativeness of each other in manners and art, and hence more original in art; more clearly aware of what they really desired; not cringingly watchful of what was expected of them; less widely observant perhaps, more deeply thoughtful. their artists would have produced less however, even though they felt more. a super-cat artist would have valued the pictures he drew for their effects on himself; he wouldn't have cared a rap whether anyone else saw them or not. he would not have bothered, usually, to give any form to his conceptions. simply to have had the sensation would have for him been enough. but since simians love to be noticed, it does not content them to have a conception; they must wrestle with it until it takes a form in which others can see it. they doom the artistic impulse to toil with its nose to the grindstone, until their idea is expressed in a book or a statue. are they right? i have doubts. the artistic impulse seems not to wish to produce finished work. it certainly deserts us half-way, after the idea is born; and if we go on, art is labor. with the cats, art is joy. but the dominant characteristic of this fine race is cunning. and hence i think it would have been through their craftiness, chiefly, that they would have felt the impulse to study, and the wish to advance. craft is a cat's delight: craft they never can have too much of. so it would have been from one triumph of cunning to another that they would have marched. that would have been the greatest driving force of their civilization. this would have meant great progress in invention and science--or in some fields of science, the economic for instance. but it would have retarded them in others. craft studies the world calculatingly, from without, instead of understandingly from within. especially would it have cheapened the feline philosophies; for not simply how to know but how to circumvent the universe would have been their desire. mankind's curiosity is disinterested; it seems purer by contrast. that is to say, made as we are, it seems purer to us. what we call disinterested, however, super-cats might call aimless. (aimlessness is one of the regular simian traits.) i don't mean to be prejudiced in favor of the simian side. curiosity may be as debasing, i grant you, as craft. and craft might turn into artifices of a kind which would be noble and fine. just as the ignorant and fitful curiosity of some little monkey is hardly to be compared to the astronomer's magnificent search, so the craft and cunning we see in our pussies would bear small relation to the high-minded planning of some ruler of the race we are imagining. and yet--craft _is_ self-defeating in the end. transmute it into its finest possible form, let it be as subtle and civilized as you please, as yearning and noble, as enlightened, it still sets itself over against the wholeness of things; its role is that of the part at war with the whole. milton's lucifer had the mind of a fine super-cat. that craft may defeat itself in the end, however, is not the real point. that doesn't explain why the lions aren't ruling the planet. the trouble is, it would defeat itself in the beginning. it would have too bitterly stressed the struggle for existence. conflict and struggle make civilizations virile, but they do not by themselves make civilizations. mutual aid and support are needed for that. there the felines are lacking. they do not co-operate well; they have small group-devotion. their lordliness, their strong self-regard, and their coolness of heart, have somehow thwarted the chance of their racial progress. vii there are many other beasts that one might once have thought had a chance. some, like horses and deer, were not bold enough; or were stupid, like buffaloes. some had over-trustful characters, like the seals; or exploitable characters, like cows, and chickens, and sheep. such creatures sentence themselves to be captives, by their lack of ambition. dogs? they have more spirit. but they have lost their chance of kingship through worshipping us. the dog's finer qualities can't be praised too warmly; there is a purity about his devotion which makes mere men feel speechless: but with all love for dogs, one must grant they are vassals, not rulers. they are too parasitic--the one willing servant class of the world. and we have betrayed them by making under-simians of them. we have taught them some of our own ways of behaving, and frowned upon theirs. loving us, they let us stop their developing in tune with their natures; and they've patiently tried ever since to adopt ways of ours. they have done it, too; but of course they can't get far: it's not their own road. dogs have more love than integrity. they've been true to us, yes, but they haven't been true to themselves. pigs? the pig is remarkably intelligent and brave,--but he's gross; and grossness delays one's achievement, it takes so much time. the snake too, though wise, has a way of eating himself into stupors. if super-snake-men had had banquets they would have been too vast to describe. each little snake family could have eaten a herd of cattle at christmas. goats, then? bears or turtles? wolves, whales, crows? each had brains and pride, and would have been glad to rule the world if they could; but each had their defects, and their weaknesses for such a position. the elephant? ah! evolution has had its tragedies, hasn't it, as well as its triumphs; and well should the elephant know it. he had the best chance of all. wiser even than the lion, or the wisest of apes, his wisdom furthermore was benign where theirs was sinister. consider his dignity, his poise and skill. he was plastic, too. he had learned to eat many foods and endure many climates. once, some say, this race explored the globe. their bones are found everywhere, in south america even; so the elephants' columbus may have found some road here before ours. they are cosmopolitans, these suave and well-bred beings. they have rich emotional natures, long memories, loyalty; they are steady and sure; and not narrow, not self-absorbed, for they seem interested in everything. what was it then, that put them out of the race? could it have been a quite natural belief that they had already won? and when they saw that they hadn't, and that the monkey-men were getting ahead, were they too great-minded and decent to exterminate their puny rivals? it may have been their tolerance and patience that betrayed them. they wait too long before they resent an imposition or insult. just as ants are too energetic and cats too shrewd for their own highest good, so the elephants suffer from too much patience. their exhibitions of it may seem superb,--such power and such restraint, combined, are noble,--but a quality carried to excess defeats itself. kings who won't lift their scepters must yield in the end; and, the worst of it is, to upstarts who snatch at their crowns. i fancy the elephants would have been gentler masters than we: more live-and-let-live in allowing other species to stay here. our way is to kill good and bad, male and female and babies, till the few last survivors lie hidden away from our guns. all species must surrender unconditionally--those are our terms--and come and live in barns alongside us; or on us, as parasites. the creatures that want to live a life of their own, we call wild. if wild, then no matter how harmless we treat them as outlaws, and those of us who are specially well brought up shoot them for fun. some might be our friends. we don't wish it. we keep them all terrorized. when one of us conquering monkey-men enters the woods, most animals that scent him slink away, or race off in a panic. it is not that we have planned this deliberately: but they know what we're like. race by race they have been slaughtered. soon all will be gone. we give neither freedom nor life-room to those we defeat. if we had been as strong as the elephants, we might have been kinder. when great power comes naturally to people, it is used more urbanely. we use it as parvenus do, because that's what we are. the elephant, being born to it, is easy-going, confident, tolerant. he would have been a more humane king. a race descended from elephants would have had to build on a large scale. imagine a crowd of huge, wrinkled, slow-moving elephant-men getting into a vast elephant omnibus. and would they have ever tried airships? the elephant is stupid when it comes to learning how to use tools. so are all other species except our own. isn't it strange? a tool, in the most primitive sense, is any object, lying around, that can obviously be used as an instrument for this or that purpose. many creatures use objects as _materials_, as birds use twigs for nests. but the step that no animal takes is learning freely to use things as instruments. when an elephant plucks off a branch and swishes his flanks, and thus keeps away insects, he is using a tool. but he does it only by a vague and haphazard association of ideas. if he once became a conscious user of tools he would of course go much further. we ourselves, who are so good at it now, were slow enough in beginning. think of the long epochs that passed before it entered our heads. and all that while the contest for leadership blindly went on, without any species making use of this obvious aid. the lesson to be learned was simple: the reward was the rule of a planet. yet only one species, our own, has ever had that much brains. it makes you wonder what other obvious lessons may still be unlearned. it is not necessarily stupid however, to fail to use tools. to use tools involves using reason, instead of sticking to instinct. now, sticking to instinct has its disadvantages, but so has using reason. whichever faculty you use, the other atrophies, and partly deserts you. we are trying to use both. but we still don't know which has the more value. a sudden vision comes to me of one of the first far-away ape-men who tried to use reason instead of instinct as a guide for his conduct. i imagine him, perched in his tree, torn between those two voices, wailing loudly at night by a river, in his puzzled distress. my poor far-off brother! viii we have been considering which species was on the whole most finely equipped to be rulers, and thereafter achieve a high civilization; but that wasn't the problem. the real problem was which would _do_ it:--a different matter. to do it there was need of a species that had at least these two qualities: some quenchless desire, to urge them on and on; and also adaptability of a thousand kinds to their environment. the rhinoceros cares little for adaptability. he slogs through the world. but we! we are experts. adaptability is what we depend on. we talk of our mastery of nature, which sounds very grand; but the fact is we respectfully adapt ourselves first, to her ways. "we attain no power over nature till we learn natural laws, and our lordship depends on the adroitness with which we learn and conform." adroitness however is merely an ability to win; back of it there must be some spur to make us use our adroitness. why don't we all die or give up when we're sick of the world? because the love of life is reenforced, in most energized beings, by some longing that pushes them forward, in defeat and in darkness. all creatures wish to live, and to perpetuate their species, of course; but those two wishes alone evidently do not carry any race far. in addition to these, a race, to be great, needs some hunger, some itch, to spur it up the hard path we lately have learned to call evolution. the love of toil in the ants, and of craft in cats, are examples (imaginary or not). what other such lust could exert great driving force? with us is it curiosity? endless interest in one's environment? many animals have some curiosity, but "some" is not enough; and in but few is it one of the master passions. by a master passion, i mean a passion that is really your master: some appetite which habitually, day in, day out, makes its subjects forget fatigue or danger, and sacrifice their ease to its gratification. that is the kind of hold that curiosity has on the monkeys. ix imagine a prehistoric prophet observing these beings, and forecasting what kind of civilizations their descendants would build. anyone could have foreseen certain parts of the simians' history: could have guessed that their curiosity would unlock for them, one by one, nature's doors, and--idly--bestow on them stray bits of valuable knowledge: could have pictured them spreading inquiringly all over the globe, stumbling on their inventions--and idly passing on and forgetting them. to have to learn the same thing over and over again wastes the time of a race. but this is continually necessary, with simians, because of their disorder. "disorder," a prophet would have sighed: "that is one of their handicaps; one that they will never get rid of, whatever it costs. having so much curiosity makes a race scatter-brained. "yes," he would have dismally continued, "it will be a queer mixture: these simians will attain to vast stores of knowledge, in time, that is plain. but after spending centuries groping to discover some art, in after-centuries they will now and then find it's forgotten. how incredible it would seem on other planets to hear of lost arts. "there is a strong streak of triviality in them, which you don't see in cats. they won't have fine enough characters to concentrate on the things of most weight. they will talk and think far more of trifles than of what is important. even when they are reasonably civilized, this will be so. great discoveries sometimes will fail to be heard of, because too much else is; and many will thus disappear, and these men will not know it."[ ] [ ] we did rescue mendel's from the dust heap; but perhaps it was an exception. let me interrupt this lament to say a word for myself and my ancestors. it is easy to blame us as undiscriminating, but we are at least full of zest. and it's well to be interested, eagerly and intensely, in so many things, because there is often no knowing which may turn out important. we don't go around being interested on purpose, hoping to profit by it, but a profit may come. and anyway it is generous of us not to be too self-absorbed. other creatures go to the other extreme to an amazing extent. they are ridiculously oblivious to what is going on. the smallest ant in the garden will ignore the largest woman who visits it. she is a huge and most dangerous super-mammoth in relation to him, and her tread shakes the earth; but he has no time to be bothered, investigating such-like phenomena. he won't even get out of her way. he has his work to do, hang it. birds and squirrels have less of this glorious independence of spirit. they watch you closely--if you move around. but not if you keep still. in other words, they pay no more attention than they can help, even to mammoths. we of course observe everything, or try to. we could spend our lives looking on. consider our museums for instance: they are a sign of our breed. it makes us smile to see birds, like the magpie, with a mania for this collecting--but only monkeyish beings could reverence museums as we do, and pile such heterogeneous trifles and quantities in them. old furniture, egg-shells, watches, bits of stone.... and next door, a "menagerie." though our victory over all other animals is now aeons old, we still bring home captives and exhibit them caged in our cities. and when a species dies out--or is crowded (by us), off the planet--we even collect the bones of the vanquished and show them like trophies. curiosity is a valuable trait. it will make the simians learn many things. but the curiosity of a simian is as excessive as the toil of an ant. each simian will wish to know more than his head can hold, let alone ever deal with; and those whose minds are active will wish to know everything going. it would stretch a god's skull to accomplish such an ambition, yet simians won't like to think it's beyond their powers. even small tradesmen and clerks, no matter how thrifty, will be eager to buy costly encyclopedias, or books of all knowledge. almost every simian family, even the dullest, will think it is due to themselves to keep all knowledge handy. their idea of a liberal education will therefore be a great hodge-pod only. he who narrows his field and digs deep will be viewed as an alien. if more than one man in a hundred should thus dare to concentrate, the ruinous effects of being a specialist will be sadly discussed. it may make a man exceptionally useful, they will have to admit; but still they will feel badly, and fear that civilization will suffer. one of their curious educational ideas--but a natural one--will be shown in the efforts they will make to learn more than one "language." they will set their young to spending a decade or more of their lives in studying duplicate systems--whole systems--of chatter. those who thus learn several different ways to say the same things, will command much respect, and those who learn many will be looked on with awe--by true simians. and persons without this accomplishment will be looked down on a little, and will actually feel quite apologetic about it themselves. consider how enormously complicated a complete language must be, with its long and arbitrary vocabulary, its intricate system of sounds; the many forms that single words may take, especially if they are verbs; the rules of grammar, the sentence structure, the idioms, slang and inflections. heavens, what a genius for tongues these simians have![ ] where another race, after the most frightful discord and pains, might have slowly constructed one language before this earth grew cold, this race will create literally hundreds, each complete in itself, and many of them with quaint little systems of writing attached. and the owners of this linguistic gift are so humble about it, they will marvel at bees, for their hives, and at beavers' mere dams. [ ] you remember what kipling says in the jungle books, about how disgusted the quiet animals were with the bandarlog, because they were eternally chattering, would never keep still. well, this is the good side of it. to return, however, to their fear of being too narrow, in going to the other extreme they will run to incredible lengths. every civilized simian, every day of his life, in addition to whatever older facts he has picked up, will wish to know all the news of all the world. if he felt any true concern to know it, this would be rather fine of him: it would imply such a close solidarity on the part of this genus. (such a close solidarity would seem crushing, to others; but that is another matter.) it won't be true concern, however, it will be merely a blind inherited instinct. he'll forget what he's read, the very next hour, or moment. yet there he will faithfully sit, the ridiculous creature, reading of bombs in spain or floods in thibet, and especially insisting on all the news he can get of the kind our race loved when they scampered and fought in the forest, news that will stir his most primitive simian feelings,--wars, accidents, love affairs, and family quarrels. to feed himself with this largely purposeless provender, he will pay thousands of simians to be reporters of such events day and night; and they will report them on such a voluminous scale as to smother or obscure more significant news altogether. great printed sheets will be read by every one every day; and even the laziest of this lazy race will not think it labor to perform this toil. they won't like to eat in the morning without their papers, such slaves they will be to this droll greed for knowing. they won't even think it is droll, it is so in their blood. their swollen desire for investigating everything about them, including especially other people's affairs, will be quenchless. few will feel that they really are "fully informed"; and all will give much of each day all their lives to the news. books too will be used to slake this unappeasable thirst. they will actually hold books in deep reverence. books! bottled chatter! things that some other simian has formerly said. they will dress them in costly bindings, keep them under glass, and take an affecting pride in the number they read. libraries --store-houses of books,--will dot their world. the destruction of one will be a crime against civilization. (meaning, again, a simian civilization.) well, it is an offense to be sure--a barbaric offense. but so is defacing forever a beautiful landscape; and they won't even notice that sometimes; they won't shudder anyway, the way they instinctively do at the loss of a "library." all this is inevitable and natural, and they cannot help it. there even are ways one can justify excesses like this. if their hunger for books ever seems indiscriminate to them when they themselves stop to examine it, they will have their excuses. they will argue that some bits of knowledge they once had thought futile, had later on come in most handy, in unthought of ways. true enough! for their scientists. but not for their average men: they will simply be like obstinate housekeepers who clog up their homes, preserving odd boxes and wrappings, and stray lengths of string, to exult if but one is of some trifling use ere they die. it will be in this spirit that simians will cherish their books, and pile them up everywhere into great indiscriminate mounds; and these mounds will seem signs of culture and sagacity to them. those who know many facts will feel wise! they will despise those who don't. they will even believe, many of them, that knowledge is power. unfortunate dupes of this saying will keep on reading, ambitiously, till they have stunned their native initiative, and made their thoughts weak; and will then wonder dazedly what in the world is the matter, and why the great power they were expecting to gain fails to appear. again, if they ever forget what they read, they'll be worried. those who _can_ forget--those with fresh eyes who have swept from their minds such facts as the exact month and day that their children were born, or the numbers on houses, or the names (the mere meaningless labels) of the people they meet,--will be urged to go live in sanitariums or see memory doctors! by nature their itch is rather for knowing, than for understanding or thinking. some of them will learn to think, doubtless, and even to concentrate, but their eagerness to acquire those accomplishments will not be strong or insistent. creatures whose mainspring is curiosity will enjoy the accumulating of facts, far more than the pausing at times to reflect on those facts. if they do not reflect on them, of course they'll be slow to find out about the ideas and relationships lying behind them; and they will be curious about those ideas; so you would suppose they'd reflect. but deep thinking is painful. it means they must channel the spready rivers of their attention. that cannot be done without discipline and drills for the mind; and they will abhor doing that; their minds will work better when they are left free to run off at tangents. compare them in this with other species. each has its own kind of strength. to be compelled to be so quick-minded as the simians would be torture, to cows. cows could dwell on one idea, week by week, without trying at all; but they'd all have brain-fever in an hour at a simian tea. a super-cow people would revel in long thoughtful books on abstruse philosophical subjects, and would sit up late reading them. most of the ambitious simians who try it--out of pride--go to sleep. the typical simian brain is supremely distractable, and it's really too jumpy by nature to endure much reflection. therefore many more of them will be well-informed than sagacious. this will result in their knowing most things far too soon, at too early a stage of civilization to use them aright. they will learn to make valuable explosives at a stage in their growth, when they will use them not only in industries, but for killing brave men. they will devise ways to mine coal efficiently, in enormous amounts, at a stage when they won't know enough to conserve it, and will waste their few stores. they will use up a lot of it in a simian habit[ ] called travel. this will consist in queer little hurried runs over the globe, to see ten thousand things in the hope of thus filling their minds. [ ] even in a wild state, the monkey is restless and does not live in lairs. their minds will be full enough. their intelligence will be active and keen. it will have a constant tendency however to outstrip their wisdom. their intelligence will enable them to build great industrial systems before they have the wisdom and goodness to run them aright. they will form greater political empires than they will have strength to guide. they will endlessly quarrel about which is the best scheme of government, without stopping to realize that learning to govern comes first. (the average simian will imagine he knows without learning.) the natural result will be industrial and political wars. in a world of unmanageable structures, wild smashes must come. x inventions will come so easily to simians (in comparison with all other creatures) and they will take such childish pleasure in monkeying around, making inventions, that their many devices will be more of a care than a comfort. in their homes a large part of their time will have to be spent keeping their numerous ingenuities in good working order--their elaborate bell-ringing arrangements, their locks and their clocks. in the field of science to be sure, this fertility in invention will lead to a long list of important and beautiful discoveries: telescopes and the calculus, radiographs, and the spectrum. discoveries great enough, almost, to make angels of them. but here again their simian-ness will cheat them of half of their dues, for they will neglect great discoveries of the truest importance, and honor extravagantly those of less value and splendor if only they cater especially to simian traits. to consider examples: a discovery that helps them to talk, just to talk, more and more, will be hailed by these beings as one of the highest of triumphs. talking to each other over wires will come in this class. the lightning when harnessed and tamed will be made to trot round, conveying the most trivial cacklings all day and night. huge seas of talk of every sort and kind, in print, speech, and writing, will roll unceasingly over their civilized realms, involving an unbelievable waste in labor and time, and sapping the intelligence talk is supposed to upbuild. in a simian civilization, great halls will be erected for lectures, and great throngs will actually pay to go inside at night to hear some self-satisfied talk-maker chatter for hours. almost any subject will do for a lecture, or talk; yet very few subjects will be counted important enough for the average man to do any _thinking_ on them, off by himself. in their futurist books they will dream of an even worse state, a more dreadful indulgence in communication than the one just described. this they'll hope to achieve by a system called mental telepathy. they will long to communicate wordlessly, mind impinging on mind, until all their minds are awash with messages every moment, and withdrawal from the stream is impossible anywhere on earth. this will foster the brotherhood of man. (conglomerateness being their ideal.) super-cats would have invented more barriers instead of more channels. discoveries in surgery and medicine will also be over-praised. the reason will be that the race will so need these discoveries. unlike the great cats, simians tend to undervalue the body. having less self-respect, less proper regard for their egos, they care less than the cats do for the casing of the ego,--the body. the more civilized they grow the more they will let their bodies deteriorate. they will let their shoulders stoop, their lungs shrink, and their stomachs grow fat. no other species will be quite so deformed and distorted. athletics they will watch, yes, but on the whole sparingly practise. their snuffy old scholars will even be proud to decry them. where once the simians swung high through forests, or scampered like deer, their descendants will plod around farms, or mince along city streets, moving constrictedly, slowly, their litheness half gone. they will think of nature as "something to go out and look at." they will try to live wholly apart from her and forget they're her sons. forget? they will even deny it, and declare themselves sons of god. in spite of her wonders they will regard nature as somehow too humble to be the true parent of such prominent people as simians. they will lose all respect for the dignity of fair mother earth, and whisper to each other she is an evil and indecent old person. they will snatch at her gifts, pry irreverently into her mysteries, and ignore half the warnings they get from her about how to live. ailments of every kind will abound among such folk, inevitably, and they will resort to extraordinary expedients in their search for relief. although squeamish as a race about inflicting much pain in cold blood, they will systematically infect other animals with their own rank diseases, or cut out other animals' organs, or kill and dissect them, hoping thus to learn how to offset their neglect of themselves. conditions among them will be such that this will really be necessary. few besides impractical sentimentalists will therefore oppose it. but the idea will be to gain health by legerdemain, by a trick, instead of by taking the trouble to live healthy lives. strange barrack-like buildings called hospitals will stand in their cities, where their trick-men, the surgeons, will slice them right open when ill; and thousands of zealous young pharmacists will mix little drugs, which thousands of wise-looking simians will firmly prescribe. each generation will change its mind as to these drugs, and laugh at all former opinions; but each will use some of them, and each will feel assured that in this respect they know the last word. and, in obstinate blindness, this people will wag their poor heads, and attribute their diseases not to simian-ness but to civilization. the advantages that any man or race has, can sometimes be handicaps. having hands, which so aids a race, for instance, can also be harmful. the simians will do so many things with their hands, it will be bad for their bodies. instead of roaming far and wide over the country, getting vigorous exercise, they will use their hands to catch and tame horses, build carriages, motors, and then when they want a good outing they will "go for a ride," with their bodies slumped down, limp and sluggish, and losing their spring. then too their brains will do harm, and great harm, to their bodies. the brain will give them such an advantage over all other animals that they will insensibly be led to rely too much on it, to give it too free a rein, and to find the mirrors in it too fascinating. this organ, this outgrowth, this new part of them, will grow over-active, and its many fears and fancies will naturally injure the body. the interadjustment is delicate and intimate, the strain is continuous. when the brain fails to act with the body, or, worse, works against it, the body will sicken no matter what cures doctors try. as in bodily self-respect, so in racial self-respect, they'll be wanting. they will have plenty of racial pride and prejudice, but that is not the same thing. that will make them angry when simians of one color mate with those of another. but a general deterioration in physique will cause much less excitement. they will _talk_ about improving the race--they will talk about everything--but they won't use their chances to _do_ it. whenever a new discovery makes life less hard, for example, these heedless beings will seldom preserve this advantage, or use their new wealth to take more time thereafter for thought, or to gain health and strength or do anything else to make the race better. instead, they will use the new ease just to increase in numbers; and they will keep on at this until misery once more has checked them. life will then be as hard as ever, naturally, and the chance will be gone. they will have a proverb, "the poor ye have always with you,"--said by one who knew simians. their ingenious minds will have an answer to this. they will argue it is well that life should be spartan and hard, because of the discipline and its strengthening effects on the character. but the good effects of this sort of discipline will be mixed with sad wreckage. and only creatures incapable of disciplining themselves could thus argue. it is an odd expedient to get yourself into trouble just for discipline's sake. the fact is, however, the argument won't be sincere. when their nations grow so over-populous and their families so large it means misery, that will not be a sign of their having felt ready for discipline. it will be a sign of their not having practised it in their sexual lives. xi the simians are always being stirred by desire and passion. it constantly excites them, constantly runs through their minds. wild or tame, primitive or cultured, this is a brand of the breed. other species have times and seasons for sexual matters, but the simian-folk are thus preoccupied all the year round. this super-abundance of desire is not necessarily good or bad, of itself. but to shape it for the best it will have to be studied--and faced. this they will not do. some of them won't like to study it, deeming it bad--deeming it bad yet yielding constantly to it. others will hesitate because they will deem it so sacred, or will secretly fear that study might show them it ought to be curbed. meantime, this part of their nature will be coloring all their activities. it will beautify their arts, and erotically confuse their religions. it will lend a little interest to even their dull social functions. it will keep alive degrading social evils in all their great towns. through these latter evils, too, their politics will be corrupted; especially their best and most democratic attempts at self-government. self-government works best among those who have learned to self-govern. in the far distant ages that lie before us what will be the result of this constant preoccupation with desire? will it kill us or save us? will this trait and our insatiable curiosity interact on each other? that might further eugenics. that might give us a better chance to breed finely than all other species. we already owe a great deal to passion: more than men ever realize. wasn't it darwin who once even risked the conjecture that the vocal organs themselves were developed for sexual purposes, the object being to call or charm one's mate. hence--perhaps--only animals that were continuously concerned with their matings would be at all likely to form an elaborate language. and without an elaborate language, growth is apt to be slow. if we owe this to passion, what follows? does it mean, for example, that the more different mates that each simian once learned to charm, the more rapidly language, and with it civilization, advanced? xii a doctor, who was making a study of monkeys, once told me that he was trying experiments that bore on the polygamy question. he had a young monkey named jack who had mated with a female named jill; and in another cage another newly-wedded pair, arabella and archer. each pair seemed absorbed in each other, and devoted and happy. they even bugged each other at mealtime and exchanged bits of food. after a time their transports grew less fiery, and their affections less fixed. archer got a bit bored. he was decent about it, though, and when arabella cuddled beside him he would more or less perfunctorily embrace her. but when he forgot, she grew cross. the same thing occurred a little later in the jack and jill cage, only there it was jill who became a little tired of jack. soon each pair was quarreling. they usually made up, pretty soon, and started loving again. but it petered out; each time more quickly. meanwhile the two families had become interested in watching each other. when jill had repulsed jack, and he had moped about it awhile, he would begin staring at arabella, over opposite, and trying to attract her attention. this got jack in trouble all around. arabella indignantly made faces at him and then turned her back; and as for jill, she grew furious, and tore out his fur. but in the next stage, they even stopped hating each other. each pair grew indifferent. then the doctor put jack in with arabella, and archer with jill. arabella promptly yielded to jack. new devotion. more transports. jill and archer were shocked. jill clung to the bars of her cage, quivering, and screaming remonstrance; and even blase archer chattered angrily at some of the scenes. then the doctor hung curtains between the cages to shut out the view. jill and archer, left to each other, grew interested. they soon were inseparable. the four monkeys, thus re-distributed, were now happy once more, and full of new liveliness and spirit. but before very long, each pair quarreled--and made up--and quarreled--and then grew indifferent, and had cynical thoughts about life. at this point, the doctor put them back with their original mates. and--they met with a rush! gave cries of recognition and joy, like faithful souls re-united. and when they were tired, they affectionately curled up together; and hugged each other even at mealtime, and exchanged bits of food. this was as far as the doctor had gotten, at the time that i met him; and as i have lost touch with him since, i don't know how things were afterward. his theory at the time was, that variety was good for fidelity. "so how can _we_ help being that way? it's in the blood," he concluded. "some creatures, such as wolves, are more serious; or perhaps more cold-blooded. never mate but once. well--we're not wolves. we can't make wolves our models. if we want to know how to behave, according to the way nature made us, if we want to know what is good for our instincts, we must study the monkeys." to be sure, these particular monkeys were living in idleness. this corresponds to living in high social circles with us, where men do not have to work, and lack some of the common incentives to home-building. the experiment was not conclusive. still, even in low social circles-- xiii are we or are we not simians? it is no use for any man to try to think anything else out until he has decided first of all where he stands on that question. it is not only in love affairs: let us lay all that aside for the moment. it is in ethics, economics, art, education, philosophy, what-not. if we are fallen angels, we should go this road: if we are super-apes, that. "our problem is not to discover what we ought to do if we were different, but what we ought to do, being what we are. there is no end to the beings we can imagine different from ourselves; but they do not exist," and we cannot be sure they would be better than we if they did. for, when we imagine them, we must imagine their entire environment; they would have to be a part of some whole that does not now exist. and that new whole, that new reality, being merely a figment of our little minds, "would probably be inferior to the reality that is. for there is this to be said in favor of reality: that we have nothing to compare it with. our fantasies are always incomplete, because they are fantasies. and reality is complete. we cannot compare their incompleteness with its completeness."[ ] [ ] from an anonymous article entitled "tolstoy and russia" in the london times, sept. , . too many moralists begin with a dislike of reality: a dislike of men as they are. they are free to dislike them--but not at the same time to be moralists. their feeling leads them to ignore the obligation which should rest on all teachers, "to discover the best that man can do, not to set impossibilities before him and tell him that if he does not perform them he is damned." man is moldable; very; and it is desirable that he should aspire. but he is apt to be hasty about accepting any and all general ideals without figuring out whether they are suitable for simian use. one result of his habit of swallowing whole most of the ideals that occur to him, is that he has swallowed a number that strongly conflict. any ideal whatever strains our digestions if it is hard to assimilate: but when two at once act on us in different ways, it is unbearable. in such a case, the poets will prefer the ideal that's idealest: the hard-headed instinctively choose the one adapted to simians. whenever this is argued, extremists spring up on each side. one extremist will say that being mere simians we cannot transcend much, and will seem to think that having limitations we should preserve them forever. the other will declare that we are not merely simians, never were just plain animals; or, if we were, souls were somehow smuggled in to us, since which time we have been different. we have all been perfect at heart since that date, equipped with beautiful spirits, which only a strange perverse obstinacy leads us to soil. what this obstinacy is, is the problem that confronts theologians. they won't think of it as simian-ness; they call it original sin. they regard it as the voice of some devil, and say good men should not listen to it. the scientists say it isn't a devil, it is part of our nature, which should of course be civilized and guided, but should not be stamped out. (it might mutilate us dangerously to become under-simianized. look at mrs. humphry ward and george washington. worthy souls, but no flavor.) in every field of thought then, two schools appear, that are divided on this: must we forever be at heart high-grade simians? or are we at heart something else? for example, in education, we have in the main two great systems. one depends upon discipline. the other on exciting the interest. the teacher who does not recognize or allow for our simian nature, keeps little children at work for long periods at dull and dry tasks. without some such discipline, he fears that his boys will lack strength. the other system believes they will learn more when their interest is roused; and when their minds, which are mobile by nature, are allowed to keep moving. or in politics: the best government for simians seems to be based on a parliament: a talk-room, where endless vague thoughts can be warmly expressed. this is the natural child of those primeval sessions that gave pleasure to apes. it is neither an ideal nor a rational arrangement, of course. small executive committees would be better. but not if we are simians. or in industry: why do factory workers produce more in eight hours a day than in ten? it is absurd. super-sheep could not do it. but that is the way men are made. to preach to such beings about the dignity of labor is futile. the dignity of labor is not a simian conception at all. true simians hate to have to work steadily: they call it grind and confinement. they are always ready to pity the toilers who are condemned to this fate, and to congratulate those who escape it, or who can do something else. when they see some performer in spangles risk his life, at a circus, swinging around on trapezes, high up in the air, and when they are told he must do it daily, do they pity _him?_ no! super-elephants would say, and quite properly, "what a horrible life!" but it naturally seems stimulating to simians. boys envy the fellow. on the other hand whenever we are told about factory life, we instinctively shudder to think of enduring such evils. we see some old work-man, filling cans with a whirring machine; and we hear the humanitarians telling us, indignant and grieving, that he actually must stand in that nice, warm, dry room every day, safe from storms and wild beasts, and with nothing to do but fill cans; and at once we groan: "how deadly! what monotonous toil! shorten his hours!" his work would seem blissful to super-spiders,--but to us it's intolerable. "grind and confinement?" that's the strong monkey-blood in our veins. our monkey-blood is also apparent in our judgments of crime. if a crime is committed on impulse, we partly forgive it. why? because, being simians, with a weakness for yielding to impulses, we like to excuse ourselves by feeling not accountable for them. elephants would have probably taken an opposite stand. they aren't creatures of impulse, and would be shocked at crimes due to such causes; their fault is the opposite one of pondering too long over injuries, and becoming vindictive in the end, out of all due proportion. if a young super-elephant were to murder another on impulse, they would consider him a dangerous character and string him right up. but if he could prove that he had long thought of doing it, they would tend to forgive him. "poor fellow, he brooded," they would say. "that's upsetting to any one." as to modesty and decency, if we are simians we have done well, considering: but if we are something else--fallen angels--we have indeed fallen far. not being modest by instinct we invent artificial ideals, which are doubtless well-meaning but are inherently of course second-rate, so that even at our best we smell prudish. and as for our worst, when we as we say let ourselves go, we dirty the life-force unspeakably, with chuckles and leers. but a race so indecent by nature as the simians are would naturally have a hard time behaving as though they were not: and the strain of pretending that their thoughts were all pretty and sweet, would naturally send them to smutty extremes for relief. the standards of purity we have adopted are far too strict--for simians. xiv we were speaking a while ago of the fertility with which simians breed. this is partly due to the constant love interest they take in each other, but it is also reenforced by their reliance on numbers. that reliance will be deep, since, to their numbers, they will owe much success. it will be thus that they will drive out other species, and garrison the globe. such a race would naturally come to esteem fertility. it will seem profane not to. as time goes on, however, the advantage of numbers will end; and in their higher stages, large numbers will be a great drawback. the resources of a planet are limited, at each stage of the arts. also, there is only a limited space on a planet. yet it will come hard to them to think of ever checking their increase. they will bring more young into existence than they can either keep well or feed. the earth will be covered with them everywhere, as far as eye can see. north and south, east and west, there will always be simians huddling. their cities will be far more distressing than cities of vermin,--for vermin are healthy and calm and successful in life. ah, those masses of people--unintelligent, superstitious, uncivilized! what a dismal drain they will be on the race's strength! not merely will they lessen its ultimate chance of achievement; their hardships will always distress and preoccupy minds,--fine, generous minds,--that might have done great things if free: that might have done something constructive at least, for their era, instead of being burned out attacking mere anodyne-problems. nature will do what it can to lessen the strain, providing an appropriate remedy for their bad behavior in plagues. many epochs will pass before the simians will learn or dare to control them--for they won't think they can, any more than they dare control propagation. they will reverently call their propagation and plagues "acts of god." when they get tired of reverence and stop their plagues, it will be too soon. their inventiveness will be--as usual--ahead of their wisdom; and they will unfortunately end the good effects of plagues (as a check) before they are advanced enough to keep down their numbers themselves. meanwhile, when, owing to the pressure of other desires, any group of primates does happen to become less prolific, they will feel ashamed, talk of race suicide, and call themselves decadent. and they will often be right: for though some regulation of the birth-rate is an obvious good, and its diminution often desirable in any planet's history, yet among simians it will be apt to come from second-rate motives. greed, selfishness or fear-thoughts will be the incentives, the bribes. contrivances, rather than continence, will be the method. how audacious, and how disconcerting to nature, to baffle her thus! even into her shrine they must thrust their bold paws to control her. another race viewing them in the garlanded chambers of love, unpacking their singular devices, might think them grotesque: but the busy little simians will be blind to such quaint incongruities. still, there is a great gift that their excess of passion will bestow on this race: it will give them romance. it will teach them what little they ever will learn about love. other animals have little romance: there is none in the rut: that seasonal madness that drives them to mate with perhaps the first comer. but the simians will attain to a fine descrimination in love, and this will be their path to the only spiritual heights they can reach. for, in love, their inmost selves will draw near, in the silence of truth; learning little by little what the deepest sincerity means, and what clean hearts and minds and what crystal-clear sight it demands. such intercommunication of spirit with spirit is at the beginning of all true understanding. it is the beginning of silent cosmic wisdom: it may lead to knowing the ways of that power called god. xv not content with the whole of a planet and themselves too, to study, this race's children will also study the heavens. how few kinds of creatures would ever have felt that impulse, and yet how natural it will seem to these! how boundless and magnificent is the curiosity of these tiny beings, who sit and peer out at the night from their small whirling globe, considering deeply the huge cold seas of space, and learning with wonderful skill to measure the stars. in studies so vast, however, they are tested to the core. in these great journeys the traveller must pay dear for his flaws. for it always is when you most finely are exerting your strength that every weakness you have most tells against you. one weakness of the primates is the character of their self-consciousness. this useful faculty, that can probe so-deep, has one naive defect--it relies too readily on its own findings. it doesn't suspect enough its own unconfessed predilections. it assumes that it can be completely impartial--but isn't. to instance an obvious way in which it will betray them: beings that are intensely self-conscious and aware of their selves, will also instinctively feel that their universe is. what active principle animates the world, they will ask. a great blind force? it is possible. but they will recoil from admitting any such possibility. a self-aware purposeful force then? that is better! (more simian.) "a blind force can't have been the creator of all. it's unthinkable." any theory _their_ brains find "unthinkable" cannot be true. (this is not to argue that it really is a blind force--or the opposite. it is merely an instance of how little impartial they are.) a second typical weakness of this race will come from their fears. they are not either self-sufficing or gallant enough to travel great roads without cringing,--clear-eyed, unafraid. they are finely made, but not nobly made,--in that sense. they will therefore have a too urgent need of religion. few primates have the courage to face--alone--the still inner mysteries: infinity, space and time. they will think it too terrible, they will feel it would turn them to water, to live through unearthly moments of vision without creeds or beliefs. so they'll get beliefs first. ah, poor creatures! the cart before the horse! ah, the blasphemy (pitiful!) of their seeking high spiritual temples, with god-maps or bibles about them, made below in advance! think of their entering into the presence of truth, declaring so loudly and boldly they know her already, yet far from willing to stand or fall by her flames--to rise like a phoenix or die as an honorable cinder!--but creeping in, clad in their queer blindfolded beliefs, designed to shield them from her stern, bright tests! think of truth sadly--or merrily--eyeing such worms! xvi imagine you are watching the bandarlog at play in the forest. as you behold them and comprehend their natures, now hugely brave and boastful, now full of dread, the most weakly emotional of any intelligent species, ever trying to attract the notice of some greater animal, not happy indeed unless noticed,--is it not plain they are bound to invent things called gods? don't think for the moment of whether there are gods or not; think of how sure these beings would be to invent them. (not wait to find them.) having small self-reliance they can not bear to face life alone. with no self-sufficingness, they must have the countenance of others. it is these pressing needs that will hurry the primates to build, out of each shred of truth they can possibly twist to their purpose, and out of imaginings that will impress them because they are vast, deity after deity to prop up their souls. what a strange company they will be, these gods, in their day, each of them an old bearded simian up in the sky, who begins by fishing the universe out of a void, like a conjurer taking a rabbit out of a hat. (a hat which, if it resembled a void, wasn't there.) and after creating enormous suns and spheres, and filling the farthest heavens with vaster stars, one god will turn back and long for the smell of roast flesh, another will call desert tribes to "holy" wars, and a third will grieve about divorce or dancing. all gods that any groups of simians ever conceive of, from the woodenest little idol in the forest to the mightiest spirit, no matter how much they may differ, will have one trait in common: a readiness to drop any cosmic affair at short notice, focus their minds on the far-away pellet called earth, and become immediately wholly concerned, aye, engrossed, with any individual worshipper's woes or desires,--a readiness to notice a fellow when he is going to bed. this will bring indescribable comfort to simian hearts; and a god that neglects this duty won't last very long, no matter how competent he may be in other respects. but one must reciprocate. for the maker of the cosmos, as they see him, wants noticing too; he is fond of the deference and attention that simians pay him, and naturally he will be angry if it is withheld;--or if he is not, it will be most magnanimous of him. hence prayers and hymns. hence queer vague attempts at communing with this noble kinsman. to desire communion with gods is a lofty desire, but hard to attain through an ignobly definite creed. dealing with the highest, most wordless states of being, the simians will attempt to conceive them in material form. they will have beliefs, for example, as to the furnishings and occupations in heaven. and why? why, to help men to have religious conceptions without themselves being seers,--which in any true sense of "religious" is an impossible plan. in their efforts to be concrete they will make their creeds amusingly simian. consider the simian amorousness of jupiter, and the brawls on olympus. again, in the old jewish bible, what tempts the first pair? the tree of knowledge, of course. it appealed to the curiosity of their nature, and who could control _that!_ and satan in the bible is distinctly a simian's devil. the snake, it is known, is the animal monkeys most dread. hence when men give their devil a definite form they make him a snake. a race of super-chickens would have pictured their devil a hawk. xvii what are the handicaps this race will have in building religions? the greatest is this: they have such small psychic powers. the over-activity of their minds will choke the birth of such powers, or dull them. the race will be less in touch with nature, some day, than its dogs. it will substitute the compass for its once innate sense of direction. it will lose its gifts of natural intuition, premonition, and rest, by encouraging its use of the mind to be cheaply incessant. this lack of psychic power will cheat them of insight and poise; for minds that are wandering and active, not receptive and still, can seldom or never be hushed to a warm inner peace. one service these restless minds however will do: they eventually will uncritically through the religions they themselves have invented. but ages will be thrown away in repeating this process. a simian creed will not be very hard thus to pierce. when forming a religion, they will be in far too much haste, to wait to apply a strict test to their holy men's visions. furthermore they will have so few visions, that any will awe them; so naturally they will accept any vision as valid. then their rapid and fertile inventiveness will come into play, and spin the wildest creeds from each vision living dust ever dreamed. they will next expect everybody to believe whatever a few men have seen, on the slippery ground that if you simply try believing it, you will then feel it's true. such religions are vicarious; their prophets alone will see god, and the rest will be supposed to be introduced to him by the prophets. these "believers" will have no white insight at all of their own. now, a second-hand believer who is warmed at one remove--if at all --by the breath of the spirit, will want to have exact definitions in the beliefs he accepts. not having had a vision to go by, he needs plain commandments. he will always try to crystallize creeds. and that, plainly, is fatal. for as time goes on, new and remoter aspects of truth are discovered, which can seldom or never be fitted into creeds that are changeless. over and over again, this will be the process: a spiritual personality will be born; see new truth; and be killed. his new truth not only will not fit into too rigid creeds, but whatever false finality is in them it must contradict. so, the seer will be killed. his truth being mighty, however, it will kill the creeds too. there will then be nothing left to believe in--except the dead seer. for a few generations he may then be understandingly honored. but his priests will feel that is not enough: he must be honored uncritically: so uncritically that, whatever his message, it must be deemed the whole truth. some of his message they themselves will have garbled; and it was not, at best, final; but still it will be made into a fixed creed and given his name. truth will be given his name. all men who thereafter seek truth must find only his kind, else they won't be his "followers." (to be his co-seekers won't do.) priests will always hate any new seers who seek further for truth. their feeling will be that their seer found it, and thus ended all that. just believe what he says. the job's over. no more truth need be sought. it's a comforting thing to believe cosmic search nicely settled. thus the mold will be hardened. so new truths, when they come, can but break it. then men will feel distraught and disillusioned, and civilizations will fall. thus each cycle will run. so long as men interwine falsehoods with every seer's visions, both perish, and every civilization that is built on them must perish too. xviii if men can ever learn to accept all their truths as not final, and if they can ever learn to build on something better than dogma, they may not be found saying, discouragedly, every once in so often, that every civilization carries in it the seeds of decay. it will carry such seeds with great certainty, though, when they're put there, by the very race, too, that will later deplore the results. why shouldn't creeds totter when they are jerry-built creeds? on stars where creeds come late in the life of a race; where they spring from the riper, not cruder, reactions of spirit; where they grow out of nobly developed psychic powers that have put their possessors in tune with cosmic music; and where no cheap hallucinations discredit their truths; they perhaps run a finer, more beautiful course than the simians', and open the eyes of the soul to far loftier visions. xix it has always been a serious matter for men when a civilization decayed. but it may at some future day prove far more serious still. our hold on the planet is not absolute. our descendants may lose it. germs may do them out of it. a chestnut fungus springs up, defies us, and kills all our chestnuts. the boll weevil very nearly baffles us. the fly seems unconquerable. only a strong civilization, when such foes are about, can preserve us. and our present efforts to cope with such beings are fumbling and slow. we haven't the habit of candidly facing this danger. we read our biological history but we don't take it in. we blandly assume we were always "intended" to rule, and that no other outcome could even be considered by nature. this is one of the remnants of ignorance certain religions have left: but it's odd that men who don't believe in easter should still believe this. for the facts are of course this is a hard and precarious world, where every mistake and infirmity must be paid for in full. if mankind ever is swept aside as a failure however, what a brilliant and enterprising failure he at least will have been. i felt this with a kind of warm suddenness only today, as i finished these dreamings and drove through the gates of the park. i had been shutting my modern surroundings out of my thoughts, so completely, and living as it were in the wild world of ages ago, that when i let myself come back suddenly to the twentieth century, and stare at the park and the people, the change was tremendous. all around me were the well-dressed descendants of primitive animals, whizzing about in bright motors, past tall, soaring buildings. what gifted, energetic achievers they suddenly seemed! i thought of a photograph i had once seen, of a ship being torpedoed. there it was, the huge, finely made structure, awash in the sea, with tiny black spots hanging on to its side--crew and passengers. the great ship, even while sinking, was so mighty, and those atoms so helpless. yet, it was those tiny beings that had created that ship. they had planned it and built it and guided its bulk through the waves. they had also invented a torpedo that could rend it asunder. it is possible that our race may be an accident, in a meaningless universe, living its brief life uncared-for, on this dark, cooling star: but even so--and all the more--what marvelous creatures we are! what fairy story, what tale from the arabian nights of the jinns, is a hundredth part as wonderful as this true fairy story of simians! it is so much more heartening, too, than the tales we invent. a universe capable of giving birth to many such accidents is--blind or not--a good world to live in, a promising universe. and if there are no other such accidents, if we stand alone, if all the uncountable armies of planets are empty, or peopled by animals only, with no keys to thought, then we have done something so mighty, what may it not lead to! what powers may we not develop before the sun dies! we once thought we lived on god's footstool: it may be a throne. this is no world for pessimists. an amoeba on the beach, blind and helpless, a mere bit of pulp,--that amoeba has grandsons today who read kant and play symphonies. will those grandsons in turn have descendants who will sail through the void, discover the foci of forces, the means to control them, and learn how to marshal the planets and grapple with space? would it after all be any more startling than our rise from the slime? no sensible amoeba would have ever believed for a minute that any of his most remote children would build and run dynamos. few sensible men of today stop to feel, in their hearts, that we live in the very same world where that miracle happened. this world, and our racial adventure, are magical still. xx yet although for high-spirited marchers the march is sufficient, there still is that other way of looking at it that we dare not forget. our adventure may satisfy _us:_ does it satisfy nature? she is letting us camp for awhile here among the wrecked graveyards of mightier dynasties, not one of which met her tests. their bones are the message the epochs she murdered have left us: we have learned to decipher their sickening warning at last. yes, and even if we are permitted to have a long reign, and are not laid away with the failures, are we a success? we need so much spiritual insight, and we have so little. our telescopes may some day disclose to us the hills of arcturus, but how will that help us if we cannot find the soul of the world? is that soul alive and loving? or cruel? or callous? or dead? we have no sure vision. hopes, guesses, beliefs--that is all. there are sounds we are deaf to, there are strange sights invisible to us. there are whole realms of splendor, it may be, of which we are heedless; and which we are as blind to as ants to the call of the sea. life is enormously flexible--look at all that we've done to our dogs,--but we carry our hairy past with us wherever we go. the wise st. bernards and the selfish toy lap-dogs are brothers, and some things are possible for them and others are not. so with us. there are definite limits to simian civilizations, due in part to some primitive traits that help keep us alive, and in part to the mere fact that every being has to be something, and when one is a simian one is not also everything else. our main-springs are fixed, and our principal traits are deep-rooted. we cannot now re-live the ages whose imprint we bear. we have but to look back on our past to have hope in our future: but--it will be only _our_ future, not some other race's. we shall win our own triumphs, yet know that they would have been different, had we cared above all for creativeness, beauty, or love. so we run about, busy and active, marooned on this star, always violently struggling, yet with no clearly seen goal before us. men, animals, insects--what tribe of us asks any object, except to keep trying to satisfy its own master appetite? if the ants were earth's lords they would make no more use of their lordship than to learn and enforce every possible method of foiling. cats would spend their span of life, say, trying new kinds of guile. and we, who crave so much to know, crave so little but knowing. some of us wish to know nature most; those are the scientists. others, the saints and philosophers, wish to know god. both are alike in their hearts, yes, in spite of their quarrels. both seek to assuage to no end, the old simian thirst. if we wanted to _be_ gods--but ah, can we grasp that ambition? history of english humour with an introduction upon ancient humour. by the rev. a. g. l'estrange, author of "the life of the rev. william harness," "from the thames to the tamar," etc. in two volumes. vol. i. london: hurst and blackett, publishers, , great marlborough street. . all rights reserved. contents of the first volume. preliminary observations. subjective character of the ludicrous--the subject little studied--obstacles to the investigation--evanescence--mental character of the ludicrous--distinction between humour and the ludicrous introduction. part i. origin of humour. pleasure in humour--what is laughter?--sympathy--first phases--gradual development--emotional phase--laughter of pleasure--hostile laughter--is there any sense of the ludicrous in the lower animals?--samson--david--solomon--proverbs--fables part ii. greek humour. birth of humour--personalities--story of hippocleides--origin of comedy--archilochus--hipponax--democritus, the laughing philosopher--aristophanes--humour of the senses--indelicacy--enfeeblement of the drama--humorous games--parasites, their position and jests--philoxenus--diogenes--court of humour--riddles--silli part iii. roman humour. roman comedy--plautus--acerbity--terence--satire--lucilius--horace --humour of the cæsar family--cicero--augustus--persius--petronius --juvenal--martial--epigrammatist--lucian--apuleius--julian the apostate--the misopogon--symposius' enigmas--macrobius--hierocles and philagrius english humour. chapter i. middle ages. relapse of civilization in the middle ages--stagnation of mind--scarcity of books--character of reviving literature--religious writings--fantastic legends--influence of the crusades--romances--sir bevis of hamptoun--prominence of the lower animals--allegories chapter ii. anglo-saxon humour--rhyme--satires against the church--the brunellus--walter mapes--goliardi--piers the ploughman--letters of obscure men--erasmus--the praise of folly--skelton--the ship of fools--doctour doubble ale--the sak full of nuez--church ornamentation--representations of the devil chapter iii. origin of modern comedy--ecclesiastical buffoonery--jougleurs and minstrels--court fools--monks' stories--the "tournament of tottenham"--chaucer--heywood--roister doister--gammer gurton chapter iv. robert greene--friar bacon's demons--the "looking glasse"--nash and harvey chapter v. donne--hall--fuller chapter vi. shakespeare--ben jonson--beaumont and fletcher--the wise men of gotham chapter vii. jesters--court of queen elizabeth--james i.--the "counterblasts to tobacco"--puritans--charles ii. --rochester--buckingham--dryden--butler chapter viii. comic drama of the restoration--etheridge--wycherley chapter ix. tom brown--his prose works--poetry--sir richard blackmore--d'urfey--female humorists--carey chapter x. vanbrugh--colley cibber--farquhar chapter xi. congreve--lord dorset history of english humour. preliminary observations. subjective character of the ludicrous--the subject little studied--obstacles to the investigation--evanescence--mental character of the ludicrous--distinction between humour and the ludicrous. the ludicrous is in its character so elusive and protean, and the field over which it extends is so vast, that few have ever undertaken the task of examining it systematically. many philosophers and literary men have made passing observations upon it, but most writers are content to set it down as one of those things which cannot be understood, and care not to study and grapple with a subject which promises small results in return for considerable toil. moreover, the inquiry does not seem sufficiently important to warrant the expenditure of much time upon it, and there has always been a great tendency among learned men to underrate the emotional feelings of our nature. thus it comes to pass that a much larger amount of our labour has been expended upon inquiring into physical and intellectual constitution than upon the inner workings of our passions and sentiments, for our knowledge of which, though affecting our daily conduct, we are mostly indebted to the representations of poets and novelists. beattie well observes that nothing is below the attention of a philosopher which the author of nature has been pleased to establish. investigations of this kind would not be unrewarded, nor devoid of a certain amount of interest; and i think that in the present subject we can, by perseverance, penetrate a little distance into an almost untrodden and apparently barren region, and if we cannot reach the source from whence the bright waters spring, can at least obtain some more accurate information about the surrounding country. notwithstanding all the obstructions and discouragements in the way of this investigation a few great men have given it a certain amount of attention. aristotle informs us in his "rhetoric" that he has dealt fully with the subject in his poetics, and although the treatise is unfortunately lost, some annotations remain which show that it was of a comprehensive character. cicero and quintilian in their instructions in oratory, made the study of humour a necessary part of the course, and in modern days many ingenious definitions and descriptions of it are found among the pages of general literature. most philosophers have touched the subject timidly and partially, unwilling to devote much time to it, and have rather stated what they thought ought to be in accordance with some pet theories of their own, than drawn deductions from careful analysis. they generally only looked at one phase of the ludicrous, at one kind of humour, and had not a sufficient number of examples before them--probably from the difficulty of recalling slight turns of thought in widely scattered subjects. add to this, that many of them--constantly immersed in study--would have had some little difficulty in deciding what did and did not deserve the name of humour. most of their definitions are far too wide, and often in supporting a theory they make remarks which tend to refute it. the imperfect treatment, which the subject had received, led dugald stewart to observe that it was far from being exhausted. the two principal publications which have appeared on humour, are flögel's "geschichte der komischen litteratur" ( ), and léon dumont's "les causes du rire." the former is voluminous, but scarcely touches on philosophy, without which such a work can have but little coherence. the latter shows considerable psychological knowledge, but is written to support a somewhat narrow and incomplete view. mr. wright's excellent book on "the grotesque in literature and art," is, as the name suggests, principally concerned with broad humour, and does not so much trace its source as the effects it has produced upon mankind. mr. cowden clark's contributions on the subject to the "gentleman's magazine," are mostly interesting from their biographical notices. to analyse and classify all the vagaries of the human imagination which may be comprehended under the denomination of humour, is no easy task, and as it is multiform we may stray into devious paths in pursuing it. but vast and various as the subject seems to be, there cannot be much doubt that there are some laws which govern it, and that it can be brought approximately under certain heads. it seems to be as generally admitted that there are different kinds of humour as that some observations possess none at all. moreover, when remarks of a certain kind are made, especially such as show confusion or exaggeration, we often seem to detect some conditions of humour, and by a little change are able to make something, which has more or less the character of a jest. there is in this investigation a very formidable "dweller on the threshold." we contend with great disadvantages in any attempts to examine our mental constitution. when we turn the mind in upon itself, and make it our object, the very act of earnest reflection obscures the idea, or destroys the emotion we desire to contemplate. this is especially the case in the present instance. the ludicrous, when we attempt to grasp it, shows off its gay and motley garb, and appears in grave attire. it is only by abstracting our mind from the inquiry, and throwing it into lighter considerations, that we can at all retain the illusion. a clever sally appears brilliant when it breaks suddenly upon the mental vision, but when it is brought forward for close examination it loses half its lustre, and seems to melt into unsubstantial air. humour may be compared to a delicate scent, which we only perceive at the first moment, or to evanescent beauty-- "for every touch that wooed its stay has brushed its brightest hues away." this last simile is especially in point here, and the quotations in this book will scarcely be found humorous, so long as they are regarded as mere illustrations of the nature of humour. we need not--taking these matters into consideration--feel much surprised that some people say the ludicrous cannot be defined; as for instance, buckingham, "true wit is everlasting like the sun, describing all men, but described by none;" and addison:--"it is much easier to decide what is not humorous than what is, and very difficult to define it otherwise than cowley has done, by negatives"--the only meaning of which is that the subject is surrounded with rather more than the usual difficulties attending moral and psychological researches. similar obstacles would be encountered in answering the question, "what is poetry?" or "what is love?" we can only say that even here there must be some surroundings by which we can increase our knowledge. humour is the offspring of man--it comes forth like minerva fully armed from the brain. our sense of the ludicrous is produced by our peculiar mental constitution, and not by external objects, in which there is nothing either absurd or serious. as when the action of our mind is imperceptible--for instance, in hearing and seeing with our "bodily" senses--we think what we notice is something in the external world, although it is only so far dependent upon it that it could not exist without some kind of outer influence, so the result of our not recognising the amusing action of the mind in the ludicrous is that we regard it as a quality resident in the persons and things we contemplate.[ ] but it does not belong to these things, and is totally different from them in kind. thus, the rose is formed of certain combinations of earth, air, and water; yet none of these dull elements possess the fragrance or beauty of the flower. these properties come from some attractive and constructive power. not only are there no types or patterns in things of our emotions, but there are none even of our sensations; heat and cold, red or blue, are such only for our constitution. this truth is beautifully set forth by addison in a passage in which, as dugald stewart justly remarks, "we are at a loss whether most to admire the author's depth and refinement of thought, or the singular felicity of fancy displayed in its illustration." "things," he observes, "would make but a poor appearance to the eye, if we saw them only in their proper figures and motions. and what reason can we assign for their exciting in us many of those ideas which are different from anything that exists in the objects themselves (for such are light and colours) were it not to add supernumerary ornaments to the universe, and make it more agreeable to the imagination? we are everywhere entertained with pleasing shows and apparitions. we discover imaginary glories in the heavens and on the earth, and see some of this visionary beauty poured out over the whole creation. but what a rough, unsightly sketch of nature should we be entertained with, did all her colouring disappear, and the several distinctions of light and shade vanish! in short, our souls are delightfully lost and bewildered in a pleasing delusion, and we walk about like the enchanted hero of a romance, who sees beautiful castles, woods, and meadows, and at the same time hears the warbling of birds and the purling of streams; but upon the finishing of some secret spell, the fantastic scene breaks up, and the disconsolate knight finds himself on a barren heath, or in a solitary desert." i have introduced these considerations, because it is very difficult for us to realize that what we behold is merely phenomenal, that "things are not what they seem;" but that we are looking into the mirror of nature at our own likeness. when we speak of a ludicrous occurrence, we cannot avoid thinking that the external events themselves contain something of that character. thus, the ludicrous has come in our ideas and language to be separated from the sense in which alone it exists, and it is desirable that we should clearly understand that the distinction is only logical and not real. when the cause of our laughter--be it mind, matter, or imaginary circumstance--is merely regarded as something incongruous and amusing, we name it the ludicrous, and a man is called ludicrous as faulty or contemptible. but when the cause of it is viewed as something more than this, as coming from some conscious power or tendency within us--a valuable gift and an element in our mental constitution--we call it humour, a term applied only to human beings and their productions; and a man is called humorous as worthy of commendation. both are in truth feelings--we might say one feeling--and although we can conceive humour to exist apart from the ludicrous, and to be a power within us creating it, there is a difficulty in following out the distinction. the difference between them is in our regard. as soon as in course of time it became plainly evident that gay creations might emanate from man, and not only from the outer world, the fact was marked by the formation of a distinctive name, and by degrees several names--among which the most comprehensive in english is humour. this kind of gift became gradually known as more or less possessed by all, and when the operations of the mind came to be recognised, we were more enlightened on the subject, and acknowledged it to be a mental and creative power. such admissions would not be made by men in general without some very strong evidence, and therefore a humorous man was not merely one who had an internal sense of the ludicrous, but one who employed it for the delectation of others. hence, also, though there is no consciousness of being amusing in the man who is ludicrous, there is in one that is humorous. a wit must always be pleasant intentionally. a man who in sober seriousness recounts something which makes us laugh is not humorous, although his want of discrimination may not be sufficient to make him ludicrous. children are not regarded as humorous, for, although they enjoy such simple humour as toys afford, they very seldom notice what is merely ludicrous, and do not reproduce it in any way; and the same may be said of many grown persons, who require to be fed as it were, and although they can enjoy what is embellished by others, have no original observation. thus, although herbert mayo is substantially correct in saying that "humour is the sentiment of the ludicrous," he might have added that there is a difference between the two in our knowledge of them. in the former, the creative mind is more marked, and, a man though he laughs much, if he be dull in words is only considered to have mirth, _i.e._, joyousness or a sense of the ludicrous, not humour. the gift can only be brought prominently forward in speech or writing, and thus humour comes to be often regarded as a kind of ingredient or seasoning in a speech or book, if not actually synonymous with certain sentences or expressions. still we always confine the name to human productions, as, for instance, gestures, sayings, writings, pictures, and plays. the recognition of the mental character of humour did not necessarily imply any knowledge as to the authority, instability, or constancy of the feeling--that could only be acquired by philosophical investigation. nor have we yet so far ascertained its character as to be able to form humorous fancies upon any fixed principle. we are guided by some sense of the ludicrous which we cannot analyse; or we introduce into new and similar cases relationships in things which we have observed to be amusing. some forms are so general that they will produce a vast number of jests, and we thus seem to have some insight into the influences that awaken humour, but we see only approximately and superficially, and can merely produce good results occasionally--rather by an accident than with any certainty. introduction. part i. origin of humour. pleasure in humour--what is laughter?--sympathy--first phases--gradual development--emotional phase--laughter of pleasure--hostile laughter--is there any sense of the ludicrous in the lower animals?--samson--david--solomon--proverbs--fables. few of the blessings we enjoy are of greater value than the gift of humour. the pleasure attendant upon it attracts us together, forms an incentive, and gives a charm to social intercourse, and, unlike the concentrating power of love, scatters bright rays in every direction. that humour is generally associated with enjoyment might be concluded from the fact that the genial and good-natured are generally the most mirthful, and we all have so much personal experience of the gratification it affords, that it seems superfluous to adduce any proofs upon the subject. "glad" is from the greek word for laughter, and the word "jocund" comes from a latin term signifying "pleasant." but we can trace the results of this connection in our daily observation. how comes it to pass that many a man who is the life and soul of social gatherings, and keeps his friends in delighted applause, sits, when alone in his study, grave and sedate, and seldom, if ever, smiles in reading or meditation? is it not because humour is a source of pleasure? we are not joyously disposed when alone, whereas in society we are ready to give and receive whatever is bright and cheering. the first question which now presents itself is what is laughter? and our answer must be that it is a change of countenance accompanied by a spasmodic intermittent sound--a modification of the voice--but that we cannot trace its physical origin farther than to attribute it to some effect produced upon the sympathetic nerve, or rather the system of nerves termed respiratory. these communicate with every organ affected in mirth, but the ultimate connection between mind and body is hidden from our view. in all laughter there is more or less pleasure, except in that of hysteria, when by a sudden shock the course of nature is reversed, and excessive grief will produce the signs of joy, as extravagant delight will sometimes exhibit those of sorrow. we should also exclude the laughter caused by inhalation of gas, and that of maniacs, which arising from some strange and unaccountable feeling is abnormal and imperfect, and known by a hollow sound peculiar to itself. none of these kinds of laughter are primary, they are but imperfect reflections of our usual modes of expression, and, excepting such cases, we may agree that m. paffe is correct in observing that "joy is an indispensable condition of laughter." dr. darwin refers to the laughter of idiots to prove that it may be occasioned by pleasure alone. strangely enough, he quotes as an instance in point the fact of an idiot boy having laughed at receiving a black eye. proceeding onwards, we next come to inquire why the sense of humour is expressed by voice and countenance, and does not merely afford a silent and secret delight? the answer may be given, that one object, at least, is to increase social communication and multiply pleasure. the well-being of the animal world largely depends upon the power of each member of it to communicate with others of the same species. they all do so by sound and gesture, probably to a larger extent than we generally imagine. a celebrated physician lately observed to me that "all animals have some language." how far mere signs deserve so high a name may be questioned. but man has great powers of intercourse, and it is much owing to his superior faculties in this respect that he holds his place so high above the rest of creation. orators, who make it their study to be impressive, give full importance to every kind of expression, and say that a man should be able to make his meaning understood, even when his voice is inaudible. it has been lately discovered that the mere movement of the lips alone, without sound, is sufficient to convey information.[ ] facial expression has been given us as a means of assisting communication, and smiles and laughter have become the distinctive manifestations of humour. thus the electric spark passes from one to another, and the flashing eye and wreathed lip lights up the world. profit also accrues--fear of being laughed at leads us to avoid numerous small errors, and by laughing at others we are enabled to detect shortcomings in ourselves. sympathetic laughter does not arise from any contemplation of ludicrous circumstances, but is only a sort of reflection of the feelings of others. there seems to be little intelligence in it, but something almost physical, just as yawning is infectious, or as on seeing a person wounded in a limb we instinctively shrink ourselves in the same part of the body. even a picture of a man laughing will have some effect upon us, and so have those songs in which exuberant mirth is imitated. thus we often laugh without feeling just cause, as we often feel cause without laughing. all exhibitions of emotion are infectious. we feel sad at seeing a man in grief, although the source of his sorrow is unknown to us; and we are inclined to be joyous when surrounded by the votaries of mirth. not unfrequently we find a number of persons laughing, when the greater part of them have no idea what is the cause of the merriment. sometimes we cannot entirely resist the impulse, even when we ourselves are the object of it, so much are we inclined to enter into the feelings and views of those who surround us. in this, as well as in many other cases, the sight and proximity of others exercise over us a great influence, and sometimes almost a fascination. to this sympathy we are largely indebted for the diffusion of high spirits. it is pleasant to laugh and see others laughing, and thus the one leads to the other. "laugh and be fat," is a proverb, and it has been well observed that "we like those who make us laugh," because they give us pleasure. we may add that we like to see others joyous, because we feel that we are surrounded by kindly natures. a gallant writer tells us that he hopes to be rewarded for his labours in the field of literature by "the sweetest of all sounds in nature--the laughter of fair women." macready, speaking of this influence, says: "the words of milman would have applied well to mrs. jordan, 'oh, the words laughed on her lips!' mrs. nesbitt, the charming actress of a late day, had a fascinating power in the sweetly-ringing notes of her hearty mirth; but mrs. jordan's laugh was so rich, so apparently irrepressible, so deliciously self-enjoying, as to be at all times irresistible." the agreeable influence of smiles is so well known that many are tempted to counterfeit them, and assume an expression in which the eye and lip are in unhappy conflict.[ ] on the other hand, painful thoughts are inimical to mirth. no sally of humour will brighten the countenance of a man who has lately suffered a severe loss, and even mental reflection will extinguish every sparkle. but the bed of sickness can often be better cheered by some gay efflorescence, some happy turn of thought, than by expressions of condolence. galen says that Æsculapius wrote comic songs to promote circulation in his patients; and hippocrates tells us that "a physician should have a certain ready humour, for austerity is repulsive both to well and ill." the late sir charles clark recognised this so far that one of his patients told me that his visits were like a bottle of champagne; and sir john byles observes, "cheerfulness eminently conduces to health both of body and mind; it is one of the great physicians of nature. "il y a trois médecins qui ne se trompent pas, la gaité, le doux exercice, et le modeste repas. every hour redeemed from despondency and melancholy, and bathed in the sunshine of cheerfulness, is an hour of true life gained." our views with regard to the first appearance of laughter depend on whether we consider that man was gradually developed from the primeval oyster, or that he came into the world much in the same condition as that in which we find him now. if we adopt the former opinion, we must consider that no outward expressions of feeling originally existed; if the latter, that they were from the first almost as perfect as they are at present. but i think that we shall be on tolerably safe ground, and have the support of probability and history, if we say that, in his earliest condition, the mental endowments of man were of the very humblest description, but that he had always a tendency to progress and improve. this view obtains some little corroboration from the fact that the sounds animals utter in the early stages of their lives are not fully developed, and that the children of the poor are graver and more silent than those of the educated classes. but a certain predisposition to laughter there always was, for what animal has ever produced any but its own characteristic sound? has not everyone its own natural mode of expression? does not the dog show its pleasure by wagging its tail, and the cat by purring? we never find one animal adopting the vocal sounds of another--a bird never mews, and a cat never sings. some men have been called cynics from their whelpish ill-temper, but none of them have ever adopted a real canine snarl, though it might express their feelings better than human language. laughter, so far as we can judge, could not have been obtained by any mere mental exercise, nor would it have come from imitation, for it is only found in man, the yelping of a hyena being as different from it as the barking of a dog, or the cackling of a goose. we may, however, suppose that the first sounds uttered by man were demonstrative of pain or pleasure, marking a great primary distinction, which we make in common with all animals. but our next expression showed superior sensibility and organism: it denoted a very peculiar perception of the intermingling of pain and pleasure, a combination of opposite feelings not possessed by other animals, or not distinct enough in them to have a specific utterance. there might seem to be something almost physical in the sensation, as it can be excited by tickling, or the inhalation of gas. similar results may be produced by other bodily causes. homer speaks of the chiefs laughing after a sumptuous banquet, and of a man "laughing sweetly" when drunk. bacon's term _titillatio_, would seem very appropriate in such cases. there was an idea, in olden times, that laughter emanated from a particular part of the body. tasso, in "jerusalem delivered," describing the death of ardonio, who was slain by a lance, says that it "pierced him through the vein where laughter has her fountain and her seat, so that (a dreadful bane) he laughed for pain, and laughed himself to death." this idea probably arose from observing the spasmodic power of laughter, which was greater formerly than now, and to the same origin we may attribute the stories of the fatal consequences it has, at times, produced; of zeuxis, the painter, having expired in a fit brought on by contemplating a caricature he had made of an old woman, and of franciscus cosalinus, a learned logician, having thus broken a blood-vessel, which led to his dying of consumption. wolfius relates "that a country bumpkin, called brunsellius, by chance seeing a woman asleep at a sermon fall off her seat, was so taken that he laughed for three days, which weakened him so that he continued for a long time afterwards in an infirm state." we must suppose that laughter has always existed in man, at least as long as he has been physically constituted as he is now, for it might always have been produced by tickling the papillæ of the nerves, which are said to be more exposed in man than in other animals. when we have stated the possibility of this pleasurable sensation being awakened under such circumstances, we have, in fact, asserted that it was in course of time thus called into existence. but the enjoyment might have been limited to this low phase, for the mind might have been so vacant, so deficient in emotion and intelligence that the moral and intellectual conditions necessary for a higher kind of laughter might have been wanting. this seems to be the case among some savages at the present day, such as the new zealanders and north american indians. the earliest laughter did not arise from what we call the ludicrous, but from something apparently physical--such as touch--though it does not follow that it would never otherwise have existed at all, for, as the mind more fully developed itself, facial expressions would flow from superior and more numerous causes. nor can we consider that what is properly called mirth was shown in this primitive physical laughter, which was such as may be supposed to have existed when darkness was on the face of the intellectual world. how great, and of what continuance, was this primeval stagnation must be for ever unknown to us, but it was not destined to prevail. light gradually dawned upon the mental wastes, and they became productive of beauty and order. as greater sensibility developed itself, emotion began to be expressed; first, probably at an adult period of life, by the sounds belonging to the corresponding feelings in the bodily constitution. tears and cries betoken mental as well as physical anguish, and laughter denoted a mixed pleasurable feeling either in mind or body. there is a remarkable instance of this transference from the senses to the emotional feelings in the case of what is called sardonic laughter, in which a similar contortion of countenance to that caused by the pungency of a sardinian herb is considered to denote a certain moral acerbity. here there is an analogy established between the senses and emotions in their outward manifestation, just as there is in language in the double meaning of such terms as bitter and sweet. when we consider the fact that matter is that which gives, and mind that which receives impressions, or that our perceptions do not teach the nature of external things, but that of our own constitution, we shall admit that there is not such a fundamental difference between feelings derived from the sense of touch, and those coming through our other senses. but we must observe that there is a great practical difference between them, inasmuch as the one sense remains in its original primitive state, and is not cultivated as are the others. physical laughter requires no previous experience, no exercise of judgment, and therefore has no connection with the intellectual powers of the mind. the lowest boor may laugh on being tickled, but a man must have intelligence to be amused by wit. the senses which are the least discriminating are the least productive of humour, little is derived from that of smell or of taste, though we may talk sometimes of an educated palate and an acquired taste. the finer organs of sight and hearing are the chief mediums of humour, but the sense of touch might by education be rendered exquisitely sensitive, and dickens mentions the case of a girl he met in switzerland who was blind, deaf, and dumb, but who was constantly laughing. among infants, also, where very slight complication is required, the sense of humour can be excited by touch. thus nurses will sing, "brow brinky, eye winkey, nose noppy, cheek cherry, mouth merry," and greatly increase the little one's appreciation by, at the same time, touching the features named. contact with other bodies occasions a sensation, and might, by degrees, awaken an emotion; and we might thus have such a sense of the ludicrous as that obtained through eye and ear, which is sometimes almost intuitive, and but slightly derived from reflection or experience. of this kind is that aroused by the rapid changes of form and colour of the kaleidoscope, and those pantomimic representations which amuse the young and uneducated, and others who live mostly in the senses. we have now arrived at the emotional phase of laughter, that in which emotion far exceeds intellectual action. at this stage, we have a kind of laughter which we may call that of pleasure, inasmuch as it is the first that deserves a distinct name. this laughter of pleasure required very little complication of thought, contained no unamiable feeling, and expressed the mildest sense of the ludicrous. at the same time, it did not flow from any mere constitutional joyousness, but only arose upon certain occasions, in consequence of some remarkable and unusual occurrence--such as the reception of glad tidings, or the sudden acquisition of some good fortune. this ancient laughter, now no longer existing, is alluded to in early writings. thus we read in gen. xxi. , that sarah, on the birth of isaac, said "god hath made me to laugh, so that all that hear will laugh with me," and in ps. cxxvi., "when the lord turned again the captivity of zion, we were like them that dream. then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with singing." and in proverbs we find, "there is a time to weep, and a time to laugh," contrasting the expression of sorrow with that of pleasure. passing into greek literature, we find laughter constantly termed "sweet." in iliad xxi, "saturn smiled sweetly at seeing his daughter;" in xxiii. "the chiefs arose to throw the shield, and the greeks laughed, _i.e._, with joy." in odyssey, xx. , they prepare the banquet with laughter. od. xxii., , penelope laughs at telemachus sneezing, when she is talking of ulysses' return; she takes it for a good omen. and in the homeric hymns, which, although inferior in date to the old bard, are still among the earliest specimens of literature, we find, in that to mercury, that the god laughs on beholding a tortoise, "thinking that he will make a beautiful lyre out of its shell;" and a little further on, apollo laughs at hearing the sound of the lyre. in the hymn to aphrodite, the laughter-loving venus laughed sweetly when she thought of men and mortals being intermarried. the fact that this and the preceding kinds of laughter were not necessarily regarded as intellectual, is evident from the ancient poets attributing them to vegetable and inorganic life. considerable licence in personification must no doubt be conceded to those who went so far as to deify the elements, and to imagine a sort of soul in the universe, and no doubt language as well as feeling was not at the time strictly limited. but it must be remarked that, while they rarely attribute laughter to the lower animals, they also never ascribe any other sign of emotion, nor even that in its higher kinds, to insensate matter. in all these passages it is of a physical, or merely pleasurable description. in iliad xiv. , speaking of the grecian host, homer says that "the gleam of their armour was reflected to heaven, and all the earth around laughed at the brazen refulgence." in hesiod's theogony, v. , we read that when the muses are singing "the palace of loud-thundering jove laughs (with delight) at their lily voice;" and in the hymn to ceres we find proserpine beholding a narcissus, from the root of which a hundred heads sprang forth "and the whole heavens were scented with its fragrance, and the whole earth laughed and the briny wave of the sea." theognis writes that delos, when apollo was born, "was filled with the ambrosial odour, and the huge earth laughed." the poets seemed scarcely to have advanced beyond such a bold similitude, and we may conclude that while they saw in laughter something above the powers of the brute creation, they did not consider that it necessarily expressed the smallest exercise of intellect. this laughter of pleasure, which cheered the early centuries of the world, now no longer exists except perhaps in childhood. it belongs to simpler if not happier natures than our own. if a man were now to say that his friends laughed on hearing of some good fortune having come to him, we should suppose that they disbelieved it, or thought there was something ridiculous in the occurrence. in these less emotional ages, in which the manifestations of joy and sorrow are more subdued, it is mute, and has subsided into a smile. it is difficult to say when the change took place, but our finding smiles mentioned in homer, though not in scripture, might suggest their greek origin, if they were at first merely a modification of the early laughter of pleasure, betokening little more than kindly or joyous emotions. although not always now genial, the smile continues to be used for the symbol of pleasure, even in reference to inanimate nature, as where milton writes "old ocean smiled." the smile may have preceded laughter, as the bud comes before the blossom, but it may, on the other hand, have been a reduction of something more demonstrative. we have still a kind of laughter approaching very nearly to that of pleasure, which contains little reflection, but cannot be regarded as simply physical. this description seems to be that alluded to in the book of ecclesiastes, "i said of laughter, it is mad, and of mirth, what good doeth it?" of the same nature is that to which some excitable and joyous persons are constitutionally inclined. their perpetual merriment seems to us childish and silly. thus steele observes to an hilarious friend, "sir, you never laughed in your life," and farther on he remarks, "some men laugh from mere benevolence." the pleasure accompanying the perception of the ludicrous has been by some attributed to the exercise of certain muscles in the face, and by others to the acquisition of new ideas. but we may safely discard both theories, for the former derives the enjoyment from physical instead of mental sources, and the latter gives us credit for too great a delight in knowledge, even were it thus generally obtained. the enjoyment seems partly to arise from stimulation and activity of mind, excitement being generally agreeable, whereas inaction is monotonous and wearisome. but it seems also partly to be derived from sources which are, or appear to be, collateral. thus, in the early laughter of pleasure, some solid advantage or gratification, present or future, was always in view, and from men being delighted at their own success, which must often have been obtained at the expense of others, it was an easy transition to rejoice at the failure of rivals. in those primitive times, when people felt themselves insecure, and one tribe was constantly at war with another, there was nothing that gave them so much joy as the misfortunes of their enemies. they exhibited their exultation by indulging in extravagant transports, in shouting, in singing and dancing, and when there appeared some strangeness or peculiarity, something sudden or unaccountable in such disasters, laughter broke forth of that rude and hostile character which we may occasionally still hear among the uneducated classes. it accorded with the age in which it prevailed--a period when men were highly emotional and passionate, while their intellectual powers were feeble and inactive. the two early phases of the ludicrous--those of pleasure and of hostility--containing small complexity, and a large proportion of emotion, are to a certain extent felt by the lower animals. dr. darwin has observed an approximation to the laughter of pleasure in monkeys, but he does not connect it with intelligence, and would not, i believe, claim for them any sense of the ludicrous. i have, however, seen a dog, on suddenly meeting a friend, not only wag his tail, but curl up the corners of his lips, and show his teeth, as if delighted and amused. we may also have observed a very roguish expression sometimes in the face of a small dog when he is barking at a large one, just as a cat evidently finds some fun in tormenting and playing with a captured mouse. i have even heard of a monkey who, for his amusement, put a live cat into a pot of boiling water on the fire. these animals are those most nearly allied to man, but the perception of the ludicrous is not strong enough in them to occasion laughter. the opinion of vives that animals do not laugh because the muscles of their countenances do not allow them, can scarcely be regarded as philosophical. milton tells us that, "smiles from reason flow, to brutes denied;" a statement which may be taken as generally correct, although we admit that there may be some approximation to smiling among the lower animals, and that it does not always necessarily proceed from reason. the pleasure found in hostile laughter soon led to practical jokes. although now discountenanced, they were anciently very common, and formed the first link between humour and the ludicrous. they were not imitative, and did not show any actual power to invent what was humorous, but a desire to amuse by doing something which might cause some ludicrous action or scene, just as people unable to speak would point to things they wish to designate. these early jokes had severer objects coupled with amusement, and were what we should call no joke at all. the first character in the records of antiquity that seems to have had anything quaint or droll about it is that of samson. standing out amid the confusion of legendary times, he gives us good specimens of the fierce and wild kind of merriment relished in ancient days; and was fond of making very sanguinary "sport for the philistines." he was an exaggeration of a not very uncommon type of man, in which brute strength is joined to loose morals and whimsical fancy. people were more inclined to laugh at sufferings formerly, because they were not keenly sensitive to pain, and also had less feeling and consideration for others. that samson found some malicious kind of pleasure and diversion in his reprisals on his enemies, and made their misfortunes minister to his amusement, is evident from the strange character of his exploits. "he caught three hundred foxes, and took fire-brands, and turned tail to tail, and put a fire-brand in the midst between two tails, and when he had set the brands on fire, he let them go into the standing corn of the philistines, and burnt up both the shocks and also the standing corn of the philistines, with the vineyards and olives." on another occasion he allowed himself to be bound with cords, and thus apparently delivered powerless into the hands of his enemies; he then broke his bonds "like flax that was burnt with fire," and taking the _jaw-bone of an ass_, which he found, slew a thousand men with it. his account of this massacre shows that he regarded it in a humorous light: "with the jaw-bone of an ass heaps upon heaps, with the jaw of an ass i have slain a thousand men." we might also refer to his carrying away the gates of gaza to the top of a hill that is before hebron, and to his duping delilah about the seven green withes. in the above instances it will be observed that destruction or disappointment of enemies was the primary, and amusement the secondary object. it must be admitted that all such jokes are of a very poor and severe description. they have not the undesigned coincidence of the ludicrous nor the fanciful invention of true humour. samson was evidently regarded as a droll fellow in his day, but beyond his jokes the only venture of his on record is a riddle, which showed very little ingenuity, and can not be regarded as humorous now, even if it were so then. it would, perhaps, be going too far to assert that no laughter of a better kind existed before the age at which we are now arrived; some minds are always in advance of their time, as others are behind it, but they are few. the only place in which there is any approach in early times to what may be called critical laughter is recorded where abraham and sarah were informed of the approaching birth of isaac. perhaps this laughter was mostly that of pleasure. sarah denied that she laughed, and abraham was not rebuked when guilty of the same levity.[ ] with the exception of the above-mentioned riddle, and rough pranks of samson, we have no trace of humour until after the commencement of the monarchy. the reigns of david and solomon seemed to have formed the brightest period in the literary history of the jews. the sweet psalmist of israel was partly the pioneer to deeper thought, partly the representative of the age in which he lived. it is the charm of his poetry that it is very rich and recondite--a mine of gold, which the farther it is worked, the more precious its yield becomes. but it everywhere bears the stamp of passion and religious ardour, and does not bespeak the critical incisiveness of a highly civilised age. argumentative acumen would have been as much below the poetic mind of david in one respect as it was above it in another, and while his rapturous language of admiration and faith seems above the range of human genius; his bitter denunciations of his enemies remind us of his date, and the circumstances by which he was surrounded. such immaturity would be sufficient to account for the non-existence of humour. it may be urged that david had no tendency in that direction. his thoughts were turned towards the sublime, and his religious character, his royal estate, and the vicissitudes of his early life, all inclined him to serious reflection. but we do not find that david was invariably grave and solemn. he indulged in laughter at the misfortunes of his adversaries, as we may conclude from a passage in psalm lii, . "god shall likewise destroy thee for ever; he shall take thee away and pluck thee out of thy dwelling-place, and root thee out of the land of the living. selah. the righteous also shall see and fear, and shall laugh at him." he also considered that, in turn, his enemies would deride him, if he were unsuccessful. psalm xxii, --"all they that see me laugh me to scorn; they shoot out the lip and shake the head, saying, 'he trusted in the lord.'" he evidently thought there was nothing wrong in such laughter, for he even considers it compatible with divine attributes,[ ] psalm ii, , "he that sitteth in heaven shall laugh; the lord shall have them in derision;" and psalm xxxvii, , "the lord shall laugh at him, for he seeth that his day is coming." nothing can make it more certain than such expressions that the prophets interpreted the intimations they received from above by clothing them with their own mundane similitudes. on the other hand, although david laughed at his enemies, he never seems to have done so at anything else. he frequently mentions fools, but always with detestation. to him the term did not convey any idea of frivolity or eccentricity, but of crime and wickedness. all these considerations tend to convince us that we can see in the writings of david a fairly good reflection of the mirth common in his day. add to this that there is no trace in any contemporary work of an attempt beyond the emotional phases of the ludicrous, and we do not at this time read of any performance of jewish plays, or of any kind of amusing representations. a more advanced, but less faithful age is represented by another man. the soldier-king passed away to make room for one educated under milder influences. he inherited not the piety or warlike virtues of his father, but turned the same greatness of mind into a more luxurious and learned channel. in his writings we find little that approaches the sublime, but much that implies analytical depth and complexity of thought. his tone bespeaks a settled and civilized period favourable to art and philosophy, in which subtlety was appreciated, while the old feelings of acerbity had become greatly softened. in the intellectual and moral state at this date, there were many conditions favourable to the development of humour. but we do not find it yet actually existing, although we must suppose that a mind capable of forming proverbs could not have been entirely insensible to it. we may define a proverb to be a moral statement, instructive in object, and epigrammatically expressed. it is always somewhat controversial, and when it approaches a truism scarcely deserves the name. a great many of solomon's proverbs may be regarded in two lights, and i think a comparison between some of them will show that he was aware of the fact, and if so he could scarcely have avoided feeling some sense of the ludicrous, and even of having a slight idea of humour in its higher phases. i shall allude in illustration of this to a proverb often quoted ironically at the present day. "in the multitude of counsellors there is wisdom," and which we have combated and answered by a common domestic adage. again solomon is rather hard upon the failings of the ladies, "the contentions of a wife," he says, "are a continual dropping." "it is better to dwell in the corner of a housetop than with a brawling woman in a wide house." "it is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and angry woman." the meaning of all these sayings must be that women are of a very irritable and vexatious character. but did solomon really believe in the strong terms he used towards them. we should say not to judge by his life, for he had "seven hundred wives, and three hundred concubines;" and although he says that, "as a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman that is without discretion"--a very strong comparison--we may be sure that he had a great many of these despicable creatures domiciled in his own palace. solomon's strictures with regard to money may also be regarded as of somewhat uncertain value:--"how much better is it to get wisdom than gold," sounds very well, although solomon must have known that many men would prefer the latter, and history seems to say that he was not averse from it himself. "he that is despised and hath a servant is better than he that honoureth himself, and lacketh bread," shows at least some appreciation of the usefulness of wealth. ecclesiastes makes a more decided statement. "money answereth all things." i should imagine solomon was as much alive to the two sides of the question, as was the greek who on being asked scoffingly "why philosophers followed rich men, but rich men never followed philosophers," replied, "because philosophers know what they want, but rich men do not." in one place solomon shows his consciousness that his proverbs may be viewed as true or false. he gives two opposite propositions--"answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him," and, "answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit." shortly afterwards, he observes, as if the idea of perverting and turning proverbs was in his mind, "the legs of a lame man are not equal, so is a parable in the mouth of fools." there was another form besides that of proverbs, in which during earlier ages moral and political teachings were expressed. one of the first comparisons man learned to draw was that between himself and the lower animals; and the separation between reason and instinct would not appear to be at first so clearly defined as it is at present. before the growth of cities, and the increased intercourse and accumulated experience resulting from their formation, the mental development of man was so small as not to offer any very strong contrast to the sagacity of other animals. the greatest men of ancient times were merely nomad chiefs living on the wild pasture plains, often tending their own flocks, and, no doubt, like the arabs of the present day, making companions of their camels and horses. by the rivers and in the jungles, they often encountered beasts of prey, became familiar with their habits, and formed a higher opinion of their intelligence than we generally hold. at that time, when strength was more esteemed than intellectual gifts, there was sometimes a tendency to consider them as rather above than below the human race. the lion, the eagle, and the stag possessed qualities to which it was man's highest ambition to aspire, and, in some cases, he even went so far as to worship them. in the ancient civilisation of egypt we find the most numerous traces of this culture and feeling--gods, kings, rulers, and disembodied spirits being represented entirely or partially under the forms of what we call the lower animals. the strange allegorical figures found at nineveh may also be considered illustrations in point. there was evidently no caricature intended in these representations, and it is worthy of notice that such as are grotesque are not earlier than roman times. it is unnecessary to recapitulate the beautiful comparisons of this character which are profusely scattered through holy writ, but we should especially notice the blessing given by jacob to his sons on his death-bed; in which we seem almost to discover the first origin of heraldry. another remarkable comparison is that of nathan, aptly made, and likely to sink with weight into the heart of the shepherd-king. the same respect for animals survived in the time of the earliest greek writers. homer in his solemn epic has numerous instances of it:--hector in "iliad" xi, , is setting the trojans on "like dogs at a wild boar or lion." in xi, , ajax retreating slowly from the trojans is compared to an ass who has gone to feed in a field, and whom the boys find great difficulty in driving out, "though they belabour him well with cudgels." agamemnon is compared to a bull, sarpedon and patroclus in deadly combat to two vultures, and diomed and ulysses pursue dolon as two fleet hounds chase a hare. all these were evidently intended to be most poetical, if not elevating similes; their dignity would have been lost could they possibly have been regarded as humorous. simonides of amorgos in the seventh century b.c., is remarkable for this kind of illustration. after some lamentations about human life, he observes that nothing is better than a good wife, or worse than a bad one, and he proceeds to compare women to various animals. he is also evidently very serious over the subject, and regards it as no joke at all. perhaps there was also something to be said on the other side, for he remarks that a gadding wife cannot be cured, even if you "knock out her teeth with a stone." he likens them to pigs and polecats, horses and apes; and only praises the descendant of the bee. in a passage undoubtedly of early date, and attributed to xenophanes, the founder of the eleatic school of philosophy, ( - ) the writer enumerates the various ways, in which other animals are superior to man. "if by the will of god there were an equality and community in life, so that the herald of the olympian games should not only call men to the contest, but also bid all animals to come, no man would carry off a prize; for in the long race the horse would be the best; the hare would win the short race; the deer would be best in the double race. no man's fleetness would count for anything, and no one since hercules would seem to have been stronger than the elephant or lion; the bull would carry off the crown in striking, and the ass in kicking, and history would record that an ass conquered men in wrestling and boxing." but the light in which the lower animals were regarded, produced other fanciful combinations. not only were men given the attributes of animals, but animals were endowed with the gifts peculiar to man. all things were then possible. standing as he seemed in the centre of a plain of indefinite or interminable extent, how could any man limit the productions or vagaries of nature, even if he possessed far more than the narrow experience of those days? moreover, the boundary lines were vague between the natural and supernatural, and the latter was supposed to be constantly interposing in the ordinary affairs of life. among other beliefs then prevalent, was one in the existence of a kind of half nature, such as that in centaurs, dragons, and griffins. in the assyrian cuneiform inscriptions lately deciphered, we read, of one heabani, a semi-bovine hermit, supposed to have lived , b.c. thus the accounts in scripture of the serpent accosting eve, and of balaam arguing with his ass, would not have seemed so remarkable then as they do to us. in an egyptian novel--the oldest extant, cir. , b.c.--a cow tells bata that his elder brother is standing before him with his dagger ready to kill him. he understood, we are told, the language of animals, and was afterwards transformed into a bull. greek tradition as recorded by plato, xenophon, babrius, and others, speaks of an early golden age in which men and animals held colloquies together "as in our fables;" whence we should conclude this much--that there was a time when poets very commonly introduced them as holding conversations, and when philosophers illustrated their doctrines from the animal world. the fable, we are told, was "an invention of ancient assyrian men in the days of ninus and belus," and in confirmation of its eastern origin, we may observe that the apologues of lokman are of indian derivation. he is supposed, by arabian writers, to have been either a nephew of abraham or job, or a counsellor of david or solomon. the first specimen we have of an ordinary fable, _i.e._, of one in which the interlocutors are lower animals, is found in hesiod, who is placed about a century after homer. it runs thus:-- "now i will tell the kings a fable, which they will understand of themselves. thus spake the hawk to the nightingale, whom he was carrying in his talons high in air, 'foolish creature! why dost thou cry out? one much stronger than thou hath seized thee, though thou art a songster. i can tear thee to pieces, or let thee go at my pleasure.'" but fables do not come fully under our view until they are connected with the name of Æsop, who is said to have introduced them into greece. in general his fables pretend to nothing more than an illustration of proverbial wisdom, but in some cases they proceed a step farther, and show the losses and disappointments which result from a neglect of prudent considerations. it cannot be denied that there is something fanciful and amusing in these fables, still there is not much in them to excite laughter--they are not sufficiently direct or pungent for that. the losses or disappointments mentioned, or implied, give a certain exercise to the feelings of opposition in the human breast, and if they are supposed to be such as could not easily have been foreseen, we should regard the narratives as humorous. but this is scarcely the case; the mishaps arise simply and directly from the situations, and are related with a view to the inculcation of truth, rather than the exhibition of error. hence the basis is different from that in genuine humour, and the complication is small. still the object evidently was to allure men into the paths of wisdom through the pleasure grounds of imagination. addison has justly observed that fables were the first kind of humour. as the days of athenian civilization advanced, their light chaff was thought more of than their solid matter. two hundred years of progress in man caused the animals to be truly considered "lower," natural distinctions were better appreciated, and there seemed to be something absurd in the idea of their thinking or talking. hence Æsop's fables are spoken of by aristophanes as something laughable, and the fabulist came to be regarded as a humorist. this feeling gained ground so much afterwards that lucian makes Æsop act the part of a buffoon in "the isles of the blessed." such views no doubt influenced the traditions with regard to the condition and characteristics of their composer. there was the more field for this, inasmuch as even the fables were only handed down orally. some biographer, formerly supposed to have been planudes the monk, seems to have fertilized with his own inventive genius many tales which had themselves no better foundation than the conjectures derived from the tone and nature of the fables. Æsop was represented as droll, as a sort of wit, and by a development of the connection in the mind between humour and the ludicrous, they gave him an infirm body, hesitating speech, and servile condition. improving the story, they said his figure frightened the servants of the merchant who bought him. at the same time many clever tricks and speeches were attributed to him. what we really glean from such stories is, that animal fables soon came to be regarded as humorous. it is probable that some fabulist of the name of Æsop at one time existed, but we know nothing with certainty about his life, and many of the fables attributed to him were perhaps of older date. the advance in the direction of humour, which was manifested in Æsop's fictions, was also found in the opulent ionian sybaris. this city, situated on the lovely bay of tarentum, was now at the height of its fame, the acknowledged centre of greek luxury and civilization. a reflection of oriental splendour seems to have been cast upon it, and we read of all kinds of extravagant and curious arrangements for the indulgence of ease and indolence. amid all this luxury and leisure, fancy was not unemployed. we find that, like the former leaders of fashion in this country, they kept a goodly train of monkeys,[ ] and anticipated our circus performances by teaching their horses to dance on their hind legs, an advance above practical joking and below pictorial caricature. moreover, intellectual entertainment was required at their sumptuous feasts, and genius was tasked to find something light and racy, maxims of deep significance interwoven with gay and fanciful creations. there was not sufficient subtlety about these inventions to entitle them to the name of humour in our modern sense of the word; much complication was not then required, nor much laughter expected. the "fables" of sybaris seem to have been of a similarly philosophical cast to those of Æsop. the following specimen is given in the vespæ, . "a man of sybaris fell from a chariot, and, as it happened, had his head broken--for he was not well acquainted with driving--and a friend who stood by, said, 'let every man practise the craft, which he understands.'" we observe that these fables are not carried on through the assistance of our four-footed friends. at sybaris, conversation between men and the lower animals had begun to appear not only absurd, but to be improved upon and made with the evident intention of being humorous. hence, inanimate things were sometimes made to speak, and in succeeding fictions birds and beasts were given such special characteristics and requirements of men as could least have belonged to them. as an example of this, we may refer to the batrachomyomachia--a production called homeric but proved by the very length of its name to belong to a later date. it is ascribed by plutarch to pigres, the brother of the halicarnassian queen, artemisia, contemporary with the persian war. this poem, which is a parody on homer, reminds us, in its microscopic representation of human affairs, of the travels of gulliver in lilliput. a frog offers to give a mouse a ride across the water on his back. unfortunately, a water-snake lifts up its head when they are in the middle passage, and the frog diving to avoid the danger, the mouse is drowned. from this trifling cause there arises a mighty war between the frogs and the mice. the contest is carried on in true homeric style; the mice-warriors are armed with bean-pods for greaves, lamp-bosses for shields, nutshells for helmets, and long needles for spears. the frogs have leaves of willow on their legs, cabbage leaves for shields, cockle-shells for helmets, and bulrushes for spears. their names are suggestive, as in a modern pantomime. among the mice we have crumb-stealer, cheese-scooper, and lick-dish; among the frogs, puff-cheeks, loud-croaker, muddyman, lovemarsh, &c. part ii. greek humour. birth of humour--personalities--story of hippocleides--origin of comedy--archilochus--hipponax--democritus, the laughing philosopher--aristophanes--humour of the senses--indelicacy--enfeeblement of the drama--humorous games--parasites, their position and jests--philoxenus--diogenes--court of humour--riddles--silli. there is every reason to suppose that a very considerable period elapsed before any progress was made in advance of the ludicrous, but at length by those who appreciated it strongly, and saw it in things in which it did not appear to others, humorous devices were invented from a growing desire to multiply the occasions for enjoyment. observation and our power of imitation provided the means, and men of humour employed themselves in reproducing some ludicrous situations; and thus, instead of things derided being as previously wholly separate from those who derided them, a man could laugh, and yet be the cause of laughter to others. this discovery was soon improved upon, and by aid of imagination and memory, as opportunities offered, certain connections and appearances were represented under a great variety of forms. as the mind enlarged, the exciting causes of laughter were not mainly physical or emotional, but assumed a higher and more rational character. at the period at which we have now arrived, we find humour dawning through various channels. we have traced approximations towards it in proverbs and fables, and, in a coarse form, in practical jokes; and as from historical evidences we are ready to admit that civilization had an eastern origin, so we shall feel little difficulty in assigning greece as the birthplace of humour. a greater activity of mind now begins to prevail, reflection has gradually given distinctness to emotion, and the ludicrous is not only recognised as a source of pleasure, but intentionally represented in literature. before the time of Æsop, though not perhaps of his fables, homer related a few laughable occurrences of so simple a character as to require little ingenuity. in this respect he is not much better than a man who recounts some absurd incident he has witnessed without adding sufficient to it to show that he has a humorous imagination. his mirth, except when merely that of pleasure, is of the old hostile character. in iliad, xi, , paris, having hit diomed, from behind a pillar with an arrow in the foot, springs forth from his concealment and laughs at him, saying he wished he had killed him. in iliad, xxi, , where the gods descend into the battle, minerva laughs at mars when she has struck him with a huge stone so that he fell, his hair was draggled in the dust, and his armour clanged around him. in the odyssey, ulysses speaks of his heart laughing within him after he had put out polyphemus' eye with a burning stick without being discovered. and in book xviii, ulysses strikes irus under the ear and breaks his head, so that blood pours from his mouth, and he falls gnashing and struggling on the ground, at which, we are told, the suitors "die with laughter." from this hostile phase the transition was easy to ridiculing personal defects, and so homer tells us that when the gods at their banquet saw vulcan, who was acting as butler, "stumping about on his lame leg," they fell into "unextinguishable laughter." thersites is described as "squint-eyed, lame-legged, with bent shoulders pinched over his chest, a pointed head, and very little hair on it." homer may merely have intended to represent the reviler of kings as odious and despicable, but there seems to be some humour intended. ridicule of personal defects must always be of an inferior kind, being a matter of sight, and of small complexity. as the first advance of the ludicrous was from the hostile to the personal, so the beginning of humour seems to have been the representation of personal defects.[ ] in accordance with this, we find that the only mention of laughter made by simonides of amorgos is where he says that some women may be compared to apes, and then gives a very rude description of their persons. this subservience to the eye can also be observed in the appreciation of monkeys and dancing horses, already mentioned, the latter forming a humorous exhibition, as the animals were trained with a view to amuse. we have marks of the same optical tendencies in the appreciation of antics and contortions of the body, either as representing personal deformity, or as a kind of puzzling and disorderly action. a little contemporary story related by herodotus shows that these pantomimic performances were now becoming fashionable in athens. cleisthenes, tyrant of sicyon, was even at this date so much in favour of competitive examinations, that he determined to give his daughter to the most proficient and accomplished man. on the appointed day the suitors came to the examination from every quarter, for the fair agariste was heiress to great possessions. among them was one hippocleides, an athenian, who proved himself far superior to all the rest in music and dissertation. afterwards, when the trial was over, desiring to indulge his feelings of triumph and show his skill, he called for a piper, and then for a table, upon which he danced, finishing up by standing on his head and kicking his legs about. cleisthenes, who was apparently one of the "old school," and did not appreciate the manners and customs of young athens, was much offended by this undignified performance of his would-be son-in-law, and when he at last saw him standing on his head, could no longer contain himself, but cried out, "son of tisander, thou hast danced away thy marriage." to which the other replied with characteristic unconcern: "it's all the same to hippocleides,"--an expression which became proverbial. in this story we see the new conception of humour, though of a rude kind, coming into collision with the old philosophic contests of ingenuity, which it was destined to survive if not to supersede. we have another curious instance about this date of an earnest-minded man being above the humour of the day, (which, no doubt, consisted principally of gesticulation), and he was probably voted an unsociable, old-fashioned fellow. anacharsis, the great scythian philosopher, when jesters were introduced into his company maintained his gravity, but when afterwards a monkey was brought in, he burst into a fit of laughter, and said, "now this is laughable by nature; the other by art." that amusement should be thus excited by natural objects denotes a very eccentric or primitive perception of the ludicrous, seldom now found among mature persons, but it is such as diodorus, quoting no doubt from earlier histories, attributed to osiris--"to whom," he says, "when in ethiopia, they brought satyrs, (who have hair on their backs,) for he was fond of what was laughable." but a further development of humour was in progress. as people were at that time easily induced to regard sufferings as ludicrous, the idea suggested itself of creating mirth by administering punishment, or by indulging in threats and gross aspersions. a very slight amount of invention or complexity was here necessary. the origin of the comic drama furnishes an illustration of this. it commenced in the harvest homes of greece and sicily--in the festivals of the grape-gatherers at the completion of the vintage. they paraded the villages, crowned with vine-leaves, carrying poles and branches, and smeared with the juice of grapes. their aim was to provoke general merriment by dancing, singing, and grotesque attitudes, and by giving rein to their coarse and pugnacious propensities. spectators and passers by were assailed with invectives, pelted with missiles, and treated to all that hostile humour which is associated with practical joking. so vile was their language and conduct that "comedy" came to signify abuse and vilification. as the taste for music and rhythm became general in that sunny clime, even these rioters adopted a kind of verse, by which rustic genius could give additional point to scurrility. thus arose the iambic measure used at the festivals of ceres and bacchus, and afterwards fabled to have been invented by iambe, the daughter of the king of eleusis. hence, also, came the jesting used in celebrating the rites of ceres in sicily, and the custom for people to post themselves on the bridge leading to eleusis in attica, and to banter and abuse those going to the festivals. the story of iambe only marks the rural origin of the metre, and its connection with ceres, the goddess of harvest. eleusis was her chosen abode, and next in her favour was paros; and here we accordingly find the first improvement made upon these uncouth and virulent effusions. about the commencement of the th century, archilochus, a native of this place, harnessed his ribaldries better, and put them into a "light horse gallop." he raised the iambic style and metre so as to obtain the unenviable notoriety of having been the first to dip his pen in viper's gall. good cause had he for his complaints, for a young lady's father, one lycambes, refused to give him his daughter's hand. there was apparently some difficulty about the marriage gifts--the poet having nothing to give but himself. rejected, he took to writing defamatory verses on lycambes and his daughters, and composed them with so much skill and point that the whole family hanged themselves. allusions, which led to such a catastrophe, could not now be regarded as pleasantries; but at that time he obtained a high reputation, and perhaps the suicide of the wretched lycambes was considered the best joke of all.[ ] the fragments which remain to us of archilochus' productions seem melancholy enough, and the only place where he speaks of laughter is where he calls charilaus "a thing to be laughed at,"--an expression which would seem to point to some personal deformity--we are told, however, by later writers, that he was a glutton. in another remaining passage archilochus says that "he is not fond of a tall general walking with his legs apart, with his hair carefully arranged, and his chin well shaven;" where we still detect the same kind of caricature, and in default of any adequate specimen of his "gall," we may perhaps be excused for borrowing an illustration from alcæus, who lived slightly later; and who, speaking of his political opponent pittacus, calls him a "bloated paunch-belly," and a "filthy splay-footed, crack-footed, night fellow." archilochus lived in the fable age, and the most perfect of the small fragments remaining of his works are of that allegorical description. but he may be regarded as a representative of the dull and bitter humour of his time--a large proportion of which, as in his writings, and those of simonides and hesiod, was ungallantly directed against the "girls of the period."[ ] but archilochus' humour, though rude and simple, opened a new mine of wealth, and if it was not at first very rich, it was enough to indicate the golden treasure beneath. sonorous narratives about heroes and demi-gods were to be gradually supplanted by the bright contrasts of real life. archilochus' ingenuity had introduced light metres suited for flippant and pointed allusions. the conceit was generally approved, and though the new form could not exactly be called humorous, it occurred to hipponax, in the next century, that he could make it so by a slight alteration. perhaps this "father of parody" intended to mimic archilochus; at any rate, by means of a change in termination, he manufactured "limping" iambics. we must suppose that he produced something better than this, but look in vain into his lines for any instances of real pungency. he was a sort of greek samson, his best jokes seem to have been connected with great strength, and to judge from what remains of his works, we should conclude that he was more justly famous for "tossing an oil cruise" than for producing anything which we should call humour. but, were we asked whether in that age his sayings would have been amusing, we may reply in the affirmative; they certainly had severity, for his figure having been caricatured by the sculptors of chios, bupalus and anthermus, he repaid them so well in their own coin, that they also duly hanged themselves. it must be admitted that the fact of the same kind of death having been chosen by them, and by the objects of archilochus' derision, does not increase greatly the credibility of the stories. we now come to consider what we may call a serious source of humour. already we have noticed the tendency in ancient times to exercises of ingenuity in answering hard questions. these led to deeper thought, to the aphoristic wisdom of the seven wise men, and the speculations of those who were in due time to raise laughter at the follies of mankind. this introduces the era of the philosophers--a remarkable class of men, who grew up in the mercurial atmosphere of greece. one of the most distinguished of them was democritus, born b.c. he came of noble descent, and belonged to so wealthy a family of abdera that his father was able to entertain xerxes on his return to asia. the king left some chaldean magi to instruct his son, who, early in life, evinced a great desire for the acquisition of knowledge, and after studying under leucippus, travelled to egypt, persia, and babylon. he almost seemed a compound of two different characters, uniting the intellectual energy of the sage with the social feelings of a man of the world. living in ease and opulence, he was not inclined to be censorious or morose; having mingled much in society, he was not very emotional or sympathetic; not tempted to think life a melancholy scene of suffering, but callous enough to find amusement in the ills he could not prevent. he regarded man, generally, as a curious study, as remarkable for not exercising the intellect with which he was endowed--not so much from censurable causes as from some obliquity in mental vision. not that he regarded him as unaccountable--a fool in the ordinary acceptation of the word, is always a responsible being, and not synonymous with an idiot. the humour of this laughing sage, grounded upon deep philosophy, was so little understood in his day that none were able to join in his merriment, nor did he expect that they should be; if he was humorous to himself, he was not so, and did not aim at being so, to others. on the contrary, he was thought to be mad, and hippocrates was directed to inquire into his disorder, but the learned physician returned answer that not he, but his opponents were deranged. whether this story be a fabrication or not, we may regard it as a testimony that wise men saw much truth in his philosophy. montaigne, in his essay on democritus and heraclitus, gives his preference to the former, "because," he observes, "men are more to be laughed at than hated," showing that he regarded him as imputing folly to men rather than vice. even socrates, whom we are accustomed to regard as the most earnest of philosophers was by no means a melancholy man. fully aware of the influence exercised by humour, he often put his teachings into an indirect form, and he seems to have first thus generally attracted attention. he introduced what is called irony[ ]--the using expressions which literally mean exactly the opposite to what is intended. a man may be either praised or blamed in this way, but socrates' intention was always sarcastic. he put questions to men, as if merely desiring some information they could easily give him, while he knew that his inquiries could not be answered, without overthrowing the theories of those he addressed. thus, he gave instruction whilst he seemed to solicit it. in various other ways he enlivened and recommended his doctrines by humorous illustration. it is said that he even went to the theatre to see himself caricatured, laughed as heartily as any, and stood up to show the audience how correctly his ill-favoured countenance had been reproduced. this story may be questioned, and it has been observed that he was not insensible to ridicule, for he said shortly before his death that no one would deride him any longer. we are told that he spent some of his last days in versifying the fables of Æsop. we now return from theoretical to practical life, from the philosophers to the public. nothing exhibits more forcibly the variable character of humour than that, while philosophers in their "thinking shops" were laughing at the follies of the world, the populace in the theatre were shaking their sides at the absurdities of sages. ordinary men did not appreciate abstract views, nor understand abstruse philosophic humour, indeed it died out almost as soon as it appeared, and was only contemporary with a certain epoch in the mental history of greece. every popular man is to a great extent a reflection of the age in which he lives, "a boat borne up by a billow;" and what, in this respect is true generally, is especially so with regard to the humorist, who seeks a present reward, and must be in unison with the characters of those he has to amuse. he depends much on hitting the current fancies of men by small and subtle allusions, and he must have a natural perception of fitness, of the direction in which he must go, and the limits he must not transgress. the literature of an epoch exhibits the taste of the readers, as well as that of the authors. we shall thus be prepared to find that the mind of aristophanes, although his views were aristocratic, harmonized in tone with that of the people, and that his humour bears the stamp of the ancient era in which he lived. the illustrations from the animal world in which he constantly indulges remind us of the conceits of old times, when marvellous stories were as much admired as the monstrous figures upon the persian tapestry. would any man at the present day produce comedies with such names as "the wasps," "the frogs," and "the birds."[ ] but we here meet with our feathered and four-footed companions at every corner. the building of the bird's city is a good illustration of this. thirty thousand cranes brought stones for the foundations from libya, and ten thousand storks made bricks, the ducks with aprons on carried the bricks, and the swallows flew with trowels behind them like little boys, and with mortar in their beaks. we also notice in aristophanes a simple and rude form of the ludicrous, scarcely to be called humour, much in favour with his immediate predecessors. i refer to throwing fruits and sweatmeats among the audience. trygæus (vintner), celebrating a joyous country festival in honour of the return of peace and plenty, takes occasion to throw barley among the spectators. in another place dicæpolis, also upon pacific deeds intent, establishes a public treat, and calls out, "let some one bring in figs for the little pigs. how they squeak! will they eat them? (throws some) bless me! how they do munch them! from what place do they come? i should say from eaton." in this scrambling fun there would be good and bad fortune, and much laughter would be occasioned, but mostly of an emotional character. some of the jokes of hegemon, who first introduced dramatic parody, were of a similar description, but more unpleasant. on one occasion he came into the theatre with his robe full of stones, and began to throw them into the orchestra, saying, "these are stones, and let those who will throw them." aristophanes makes great use of that humour which is dependent upon awakening hostile and combative feelings. personal violence and threats are with him common stage devices. we have here as much "fist sauce," and shaking of sticks, and as many pommellings, boxings of ears, and threats of assault and battery as in any modern harlequinade. next in order, we come to consider some of the many instances in aristophanes of what may be called optical humour--that in which the point principally depends upon the eye. thus he makes hercules say he cannot restrain his laughter on seeing bacchus wearing a lion's skin over a saffron robe. a megarian reduced to extremities, determines to sell his little daughters as pigs, and disguises them accordingly.[ ] in the thesmophoriazusæ, there is a shaving scene, in which the man performed upon has his face cut, and runs away, "looking ridiculous with only one side of his face shaven." in another play where the ladies have stolen the gentlemen's clothes, the latter come on the stage in the most ludicrous attire, wearing saffron-coloured robes, kerchiefs, and persian slippers. in another, the chorus is composed of men representing wasps, with waists pinched in, bodies striped with black and yellow, and long stings behind. the piece ends with three boys disguised as crabs, dancing a furious breakdown, while the chorus encourages them with, "come now, let us all make room for them, that they may twirl themselves about. come, oh famous offsprings of your briny father!--skip along the sandy shore of the barren sea, ye brothers of shrimps. twirl, whirl round your foot swiftly, and fling up your heels in the air like phrynicus, until the spectators shout aloud! spin like a top, pass along in circle, punch yourself in the stomach, and fling your leg to the sky, for the king himself, who rules the sea, approaches, delighted with his children!" the greater the optical element in humour, the lower and more simple it becomes, the complexity being more that of the senses than of intellect. it may be said there is always some appeal to both, but not in any equal proportions, and there is manifestly a great difference between the humour of a plough-boy grinning through a horse-collar, and of a sage observing that "when the poor man makes the rich a present, he is unkind to him." caricature drawings produce little effect upon educated people, unless assisted by a description on which the humour largely depends. we can see in a picture that a man has a grotesque figure, or is made to represent some other animal; by gesticulation we can understand when a person is angry or pleased, or hungry or thirsty; but what we gain merely through the senses is not so very far superior to that which is obtained by savages or even the lower animals, except where there has been special education. next to optical humour may be placed acoustic--that of sound--another inferior kind. the ear gives less information than the eye. in music there is not so much conveyed to the mind as in painting, and although it may be lively, it cannot in itself be humorous. we cannot judge of the range of hearing by the vast store of information brought by words written or spoken, because these are conventional signs, and have no optical or acoustic connection with the thing signified. we can understand this when we listen to a foreign language. hipponax seems to have been the first man who introduced acoustic humour by the abrupt variation in his metre. exclamations and strange sounds were found very effective on the stage, and were now frequently introduced, especially emanating from slaves to amuse the audience. aristophanes commences the knights with a howling duet between two slaves who have been flogged, "oh, oh--oh, oh--oh, oh--oh, oh--" in another play, there is a constant chorus of frogs croaking from the infernal marshes. "brekekekex, coax, coax, brekekekex, coax, coax." in "the birds," the songsters of the woods are frequently heard trilling their lays. as they were only befeathered men, this must have been a somewhat comic performance. the king of birds, transformed from tereus, king of thrace, twitters in the following style. "epopopopopopopopopopoi! io! io! come, come, come, come, come. tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio! trioto, trioto, totobrix! torotorotorotorolix! ciccabau, ciccabau! torotorotorotorotililix." rapidity of utterance was also aimed at in some parts of the choruses, and sometimes very long words had to be pronounced without pause--such as green-grocery-market-woman, and garlic-bread-selling-hostesses. at the end of the ecclesiazusæ, there is a word of twenty-seven syllables--a receipt for a mixture--as multifarious in its contents as a yorkshire pie. we may conclude that there was a humour in tone as well as of rhythm in fashion before the time of aristophanes, and we read that there was a certain ventriloquist named eurycles; but aristophanes must be content to bear the reproach of having been the first to introduce punning. he probably had accomplices among his contemporaries, but they have been lost in obscurity. playing with words seems to have commenced very early. the organs of speech are not able to produce any great number of entirely different sounds, as is proved by the paucity of the vowels and consonants we possess. to increase the vocabulary, syllables are grouped together by rapid utterance, and distinctions of time were made. similarities in the length and flow of words began soon to be noticed, and hence arose the idea of parallelism, that is of poetry--a similarity of measure. a likeness in the tone of words, in the vowel and consonant sounds, was afterwards observed, and became the foundation of punning. the difference between rhythm and puns is partly that of degree--and the latter were originally regarded as poetical. simonides of ceos called jupiter aristarchus, _i.e._, the best of rulers; and Æschylus spoke of helen as a "hell,"[ ] but neither of them intended to be facetious. aristotle ranked such conceits among the ornaments of style; and we do not until much later times find them regarded as ludicrous. with aristophanes they are humorous, and his ingenuity in representing things as the same because their names were so, would not have been unworthy of a modern burlesque writer. they, perhaps, were more appreciated at that time from their appearing less common and less easily made. but there is a worse direction than any above mentioned, in which aristophanes truckled to the low taste of his day. the modern reader is shocked and astounded at the immense amount of indelicacy contained in his works. it ranges from the mild impropriety of saying that a girl dances as nimbly as a flea in a sheepskin, or of naming those other industrious little creatures he euphemistically calls "corinthians," to a grand exhibition of the blessings of peace under the form of a young lady, the liberal display of whose charms would have petrified a modern chamberlain. in one place, trygæus is riding to heaven on a dung-beetle, and of course a large fund of amusement is obtained from the literal and metaphorical manipulation of its food. socrates' disciples are discovered in a kneeling posture, with their heads on the ground. "what are they doing?" inquires the visitor. "they are in search of things below the earth." "and why are their backs up in the air?" "with them they are studying astronomy." these passages will give some faint idea, though not an adequate one, of the coarseness of aristophanes' humour. the primitive character of it is marked by the fact that the greater portion has no reference to the sexes. it is a crumb of comfort to know that women were not generally present at performances of comedies, and aristotle says that young men should not be allowed to attend them until they are old enough to sit at table and get drunk. moreover, to be humorous the comedian must necessarily have exceeded the bounds of ordinary usage. aristophanes occasionally deplores the degeneracy of his times,--the youth of the period making "rude jests," but his own writings are the principal evidence of this depravity. his allusions are not excusable on the ground of ignorance; they are intentionally impure. there was once an age of innocence--still reflected in childhood, and among some unprogressive races--in which a sort of natural darkness hung over the thoughts and actions of men,--but it was in reality an age of ignorance. when light broke forth delicacy sprang up, and when by degrees one thing after another had been forbidden and veiled from sight by the common consent of society, there was a large borderland formed outside immorality upon which the trespasser could enter and sport; and much could be said which was objectionable without giving serious offence. before the days of aristophanes and the comic performances for which he wrote, very little genius or enterprise was directed into the paths of humour, but now every part of them was explored. indelicacy would here afford great assistance, from the attraction it possesses for many people and the ease with which it is understood. something perhaps is due to the fact that greece had now reached the highest point of her prosperity, and that a certain amount of lawlessness prevailed as her brilliancy began to tremble and fade. from whatever cause it arose, aristophanes stands before us as one of the first to introduce this base ornamentation. the most remarkable circumstance connected with it is that he assigns a large part of his coarse language to women. his object was to amuse a not very refined audience, and one that relished something preposterous. thus aristophanes lowered his style to the level of his audience, but in his brighter moments, forgetting his failings and exigencies, he disowns expedients unworthy of the comic art. he says he has not like "phrynicus, lycis, and amisias" introduced slaves groaning beneath their burdens, or yelping from their stripes; he comes away, "a year older from hearing such stage tricks." "it is not becoming," he observes in another place for a dramatic poet to throw figs and sweetmeats to the spectators to force a laugh, and "we have not two slaves throwing nuts from a basket." in _his_ plays "the old man does not belabour the person next him with a stick." he claims that he has made his rivals give up scoffing at rags and lice, and that he does not indulge in what i have termed optical humour. he has not, like some of his contemporaries, "jeered at the bald head," and not danced the cordax. he seems in the following passage even to despise animal illustrations-- _bdelycleon._ tell me no fables, but domestic stories about men. _philocleon._ then i know that very domestic story, "once on a time there was a mouse and a weazel." _bdel._ "oh, thou lubberly and ignorant fellow," as theogenes said when he was abusing the scavenger. are you going to tell a story of mice and weazels among men? like most humorists he blames in one place what he adopts in another. plato had so high an opinion of aristophanes that, in reply to dionysius of syracuse, he sent him a copy of his plays as affording the best picture of the commonwealth of athens. this philosopher is also said to have introduced mimes--a sort of minor comedy--from sicily, and to have esteemed their composer sophron so highly that he kept a copy of his works under his pillow. plato appreciated humour, was fond of writing little amatory couplets, and among the epigrams attributed to him is the following dedication of a mirror by a fading beauty, thus rendered by prior:-- "venus, take this votive glass, since i am not what i was! what i shall hereafter be, venus, let me never see!" plato objected to violent laughter as indicative of an impulsive and ill-regulated temper, observing "that it is not suitable for men of worth, much less for the gods," the first part of which remark shows that he was not emotional, and the second that a great improvement in critical taste had taken place since the early centuries of homer and david. as youth is romantic, and old age humorous, so in history sentiment precedes criticism and poetry attained a high degree of excellence, while humour was in its infancy. comedy is said to have been produced first in sicily by susarion in b.c., but we have only two or three lines by which to judge of his work, and they are on the old favourite topic. "a wife is an evil, but you can't live in a house without one." as it is said his wife left him, it must be considered doubtful whether this was not meant seriously. he was succeeded by epicharmus, whose humour seems to have been of a very poor description. his subjects were mostly mythological, and he was fond of representing the gluttony of hercules, and bacchus making vulcan drunk. in the more intellectual direction his taste was entirely philosophical, so much so that plato adopted many of his views. we may safely assert that no comic performance worthy of the name took place until towards the end of the fifth century,[ ] though in the meantime the tragic drama had reached its highest point of excellence. one _satyric_ play, so called because the chorus was formed of satyrs, was put on the stage with three tragedies by those competing for the dramatic prize. it seems to have been mythological and grotesque rather than comic, but in the cyclops of euripides, the only specimen extant, we have feasting and wine drinking, the chorus tells polyphemus he may swallow any milk he pleases so that he does not swallow them--which the cyclops says he would not do because they might be dancing in his stomach--and silenus recommends the cyclops to eat ulysses' tongue, as it will make him a clever talker. after the time of aristophanes, the literary, and, we may say, the social humour of greece altered. it grew less political as liberty became more restricted, and men's minds were gradually diverted by business and foreign trade from that philosophical and artistic industry, which had made athens the centre of the world. the brighter part of the country's genius descended to effeminate pursuits, and employed itself in the development of amorous fancies. in the comedies which came into favour, the dramatis personæ represented a strange society of opulent old men, spendthrift sons, intriguing slaves, and courtezans. if we did not know what temptation there is to make literary capital out of the tender passion, we might suppose that the youth of that day were entirely occupied in clandestine amours, and in buying and selling women as if they were dogs and parrots. no wonder that "to live like the greeks" became a by-word and reproach. beyond this, the authors throw the whole force of their genius into the construction of the plot, upon the strength and intricacy of which their success depends; and the management of the various threads of the story so as to meet together in the conclusion, shows a great improvement in art since the days of aristophanes. advancing time seems also to have brought a greater refinement in language. the indelicacy we now meet with is almost entirely of an amatory character, and not quite of so low a description as that previously in use. but in quantity it was greater. philemon, who is said to have died from a fit of laughter caused by seeing an ass eat figs, wrote much that was objectionable; and diphilus was probably little better. philemon found coarseness answer, and was more often crowned, and a greater favourite than menander, who is reported to have said to him, "do you not blush to conquer me?" but it may be doubted whether even the latter was as free from indelicacy as is generally supposed. plautus and terence both complain that they cannot find a really chaste greek play. the age of greek fables, that is the period when they were in common use in writing and conversation, was now drawing to a close. a few remain in callimachus, and suidas quotes some of perhaps the same date. at this time demetrius phalareus made a prose collection of what were called Æsop's fables--as we seek to perpetuate the memory of that which is passing away. babrius, also, who performed the same charitable office in "halting iambics," like those of hipponax, may be supposed to have flourished about this period, although it has been contended that he was a roman and lived in the augustan age. however this may be, fabular illustrations began to drop out of fashion soon after this time, and by degrees were so far disallowed, that the man, who would have related such stories, would have been regarded as ludicrous rather than humorous. although phædrus romanized Æsop's fables, and gave them a poetical meaning, he never gained any fame or popularity by them. martial calls him "improbus," _i.e._, a rascal. in these and earlier days, besides the humour exhibited in comedies, a considerable amount was displayed at public festivals and private entertainments. in the homeric hymn to mercury, we read that the god extemporized a song, "just as when young men at banquets slily twit each other." when the cups flowed, and the conversation sparkled, men indulged in repartee, or capped each other in verses. one man, for instance, would quote or compose a line beginning and ending with a certain letter, and another person was called upon for a similar one to complete the couplet. sometimes the line commenced with the first syllable of a word, and ended with the last, and a corresponding conceit was to be formed to answer it. the successful competitors at these games were to be kissed and crowned with flowers; the unsuccessful to drink a bowl of brine. these verbal devices were too simple and far-fetched to be humorous, but were, to a certain extent, amusing, and no doubt the forfeits and rewards occasioned some merriment. a coarser kind of humour originated in the market-place, where professed wags of a low class were wont to congregate, and amuse themselves by chaffing and insulting passers-by. such men are mentioned centuries afterwards by st. paul as "lewd fellows of the baser sort,"--an expression which would be more properly rendered "men of the market-place." such centres of trade do not seem to have been improving to the manners, for we read of people "railing like bread-women," and of the "rude jests" of the young men of the market.[ ] lysistratus was one of these fellows in aristophanes' days, and his condition seems to have been as miserable as his humour, for his garment had "shed its leaves,"[ ] and he was shivering and starving "more than thirty days in the month." by degrees, as wealth increased, there came a greater demand for amusement. jesters obtained patrons, and a distinct class of men grew up, who, having more humour than means were glad to barter their pleasantries for something more substantial. wit has as little tendency to enrich its possessor as genius--the mind being turned to gay and idle rather than remunerative pursuits, and into a destructive rather than a constructive channel. talent does not imply industry, and where the stock in trade consists of luxuries of small money value, men make but a precarious livelihood. one of them says that he will give as a fortune to his daughter "six hundred _bon mots_--all pure attic," which seems to suggest that they were to be puns. no doubt it was the demand that led to the supply, for jesters were in request at convivial meetings, and the jealousy of their equally poor, but less amusing neighbours, not improbably led to some of the ill-natured reflections upon them. society was to blame for encouraging the parasite, who seems to have become an institution in greece. he is not mentioned by aristophanes, but figures constantly in the plays of later writers, where he is a smooth-tongued witty varlet, whose aim is to make himself agreeable, and who is ready to submit to any humiliation in order to live at other people's expense. thus gelasimus--so called, as he avers, because his mother was a droll--laments the changed times. he liked the old forms of expression, "come to dinner--make no excuse;" but now it is always, "i'd invite you, only i'm engaged myself." in another place a parasite's stomach is called a "bottomless pit," and they are said to "live on their juices" while their patrons are away in the country. their servility was, of course, exaggerated in comedy to make humorous capital, but as they were poor and of inferior social standing to those with whom they consorted, they were sure occasionally to suffer indignities varying in proportion to the bad taste and insolence of their patrons. thus we read that they not only sat on benches at the lower end of the table, but sometimes had their faces daubed and their ears boxed. in the ambiguous position they occupied, they were no doubt exposed to temptations, but we are not to suppose that they were generally guilty of such short-sighted treachery as that attributed to them by the dramatists. still, they certainly were in bad repute in their generation, and hence we are enabled to understand aristotle's observation that he who is deficient in humour is a boor, but he who is in culpable excess is a _bomolochos_, or thorough scoundrel. he would connect the idea of great jocosity with unprincipled designs. philoxenus, had a more independent spirit than most parasites, and the history of his sojourn in syracuse gives us an amusing insight into the state of court life in sicily years b.c. he was an athenian dithyrambic poet and musician; and as dionysius affected literature, he was welcomed at his palace, where he wrote a poem entitled "the banquet," containing an account of the luxurious style of living there adopted. philoxenus was probably the least esteemed guest at these feasts, of which, but for him no record would survive. he was a man of humour, and some instances of his quaintness remain. on one occasion, when supping with the tyrant, a small mullet was placed before him, and a large one before dionysius. he thereupon took up his fish and placed it to his ear. dionysius asked him why he did so, to which he replied that he was writing a poem, called "galatæa," and wanted to hear some news from the kingdom of nereus. "the fish given to him," he added, "knew nothing about it, because it had been caught so young; but no doubt that set before dionysius would know everything." the tyrant, we are told, laughed and sent him his mullet. as might have been anticipated, he soon greatly offended dionysius, who actually sent him to work in the stone-quarries; but the cause of his misfortune is uncertain. athenæus attributes it to his falling in love with a favourite "flute-girl" of dionysius, and says that in his "galatæa," he caricatured his rival as the cyclops. according to another account, his disgrace was owing to his having, when asked to revise one of dionysius' poetical compositions, crossed out the whole of it from beginning to end. he was, however, restored to favour, and seated once more at the royal table; but, unfortunately, the tyrant had again been perpetrating poetry, and recited some of his verses, which were loudly applauded by all the courtiers. philoxenus was called upon to join in the commendation, but instead of complying, he cried out to the guards, "take me back to the quarries." dionysius, took the joke and pardoned him. he afterwards left the syracusan court, and went to his native place, cythera; and it was characteristic of his bluntness and wit, that, on being invited by the tyrant to return, he replied by only one letter of the alphabet signifying "no." and now a most grotesque figure stands before us--it is that of diogenes, who was a youth at the time of aristophanes' successes, and was, no doubt by many, classed with those rude idlers of the market-place of whom we have already spoken. some people have questioned his claim to be regarded as a philosopher. he does not appear to have been learned, or deeply read; but he was meditative and observant, and that which in an anchorite, or hermit, would have been a mere sentiment, and in an ordinary man a vague and occasional reflection, expanded in his mind into a general and practical view of life. observing that the things we covet are not only difficult of attainment, but unsatisfactory in possession, he thought to solve the problem of life by substituting contempt for admiration. he was, probably, somewhat influenced by his own condition in this vain attempt to draw sweetness from sour grapes. he was poor, and we find that this despiser of the goods of this world, who considered money to be the "metropolis of all evils"--in his youth coined false money, and was banished to sinope in consequence. among his recorded sayings, he expresses his surprise that the slaves attending at banquets could keep their hands off their master's dainties. but we should be doing diogenes an injustice, if we set him down as a mere discontented misanthrope. in giving due weight to unworthy motives, we have looked only at one side--and that the worst--of his character. his mind was of an inquiring speculative cast, and in youth he aspired to join the disciples of zeno. so persistent indeed was he that the stoic, unwilling to have such a questionable pupil, one day forgot his serene philosophy, and set upon him with a cudgel. such arguments did not tend to soften diogenes' disposition, and although he accused man of folly rather than malignity, he went so far to say that a man should have "reason or a rope." he probably thought it easier than democritus to follow wisdom, because he did not see quite so far. still he showed that he took an interest in social life, and had he been less of a moralist, he would have had better claims to be regarded as a "wit" than any other character in grecian history. many examples could be adduced in which his principal object was evidently to be amusing:-- entering a school in which he saw many statues of the muses, but few pupils, "you have many scholars among the gods," he said to the master. on being asked at what time it was proper to dine, "if you are rich, when you will; if poor, when you can," he replied, perhaps a little sadly; and to "what wine do you like to drink?" he quickly responded "another man's." meeting one, anaximenes, a very fat man, he called out, "give us poor fellows some of your stomach; it will be a great relief to you, and an advantage to us." that diogenes recognised humour as a means of drawing attention and impressing the memory, is shown by the story that on one occasion, when he was speaking seriously and found no one attending, he began to imitate the singing of birds, and when he had thus collected a crowd, told them they were ready to hear folly but not wisdom. there was also, probably, in adopting this form a desire to preclude the possibility of his being contradicted. he was thus proof against criticism--if his statements were said to be false--well, they were intended to be so; while, if they raised a laugh, there was an admission that they contained some seeds of truth. the following are examples of his disguised wisdom:-- on being asked when a man should marry, "a young man not yet; an old man not at all," he replied. "why men gave money to beggars and not to philosophers?" "because they think they may themselves become blind and lame, but never philosophers." when perdiccas threatened that unless he came to him he would kill him, "you would do no great thing," he replied, "even a beetle or a spider could do that." we can scarcely suppose that all the sayings attributed to diogenes are genuine. there has always been a tendency to attribute to great men observations made in accordance with their manner. philosophers have generally been to a certain extent destructive, and seldom spared the religion of their times. diogenes, who was called "socrates gone mad," was no exception to this rule. humour, which is seasoned with profanity, is most telling when there is not too large an amount either of faith or scepticism; very few could find any amusement in the sneers of an utter infidel. diogenes was almost as deficient in ordinary religious belief as in most other kinds of veneration. sometimes he may have had the good effect of checking the abuse of sacerdotal power, as when he observed to some who were admiring the thank offerings at samothracia, "there would have been many more, had those made them, who had not been cured." he also said that the dionysian festival was a great sight for fools, and that when he heard prophets and interpreters of dreams, he thought nothing was so silly as man. his blaming men for making prayers, because they asked not that which was good, but only what seemed desirable to them, may be taken in a favourable sense. before the end of diogenes' life fanciful conceits became so much appreciated in greece, that a regular "court of humour" was held at heracleum, a village near athens, and it is to be feared that many of the racy sayings attributed to eminent men, originated in the sessions of this jocund assembly. it was composed of sixty members, and their sayings came forth with the stamp of "the sixty" upon them. their reputation became so great, that philip of macedon gave them a talent to write out their jokes, and send them to him. he was himself fond of gaiety, invented some musical instruments, and kept professed jesters. soon after this time, we read of amateur jesters or rather practical jesters called _planoi_. chrysippus, who was not only a philosopher, but a man of humour--a union we are not surprised to find common at that date--and who is said, perhaps with equal truth, to have died like philemon in a fit of laughter, on seeing an ass eat figs off a silver plate--mentions a genius of this kind, one pantaleon, who, when at the point of death told each of his sons separately that he confided to him alone the place where he had buried his gold. when he was dead, they all betook themselves to the same spot, where they laboured for some time, before discovering that they had all been deceived. from this period we are mostly indebted to epigrams for any knowledge of greek humour. they originated in inscriptions or offerings in temples; afterwards came to be principally epitaphial or sarcastic; and grew into a branch of literature. we can scarcely understand some of the fancies indulged in at the time, which contain no salt at all--"sports," hephæstio calls them. of these devices may be mentioned the "wings of love" by simmias, a rhodian, who lived before b.c. the verses are graduated so as to form a pair of wings. "the first altar," written by dosiadas of rhodes, is the earliest instance of a greek acrostic, or of any one which formed words. an acrostic is a play upon spelling, as a pun is upon sound; and in both cases the complication is too slight for real humour. they are rather to be considered as ingenious works of fancy. the first specimens are those in the psalms--twelve of which have twenty-two verses beginning with the twenty-two letters of the hebrew alphabet. the th psalm is a curious specimen of this conceit; it is divided into twenty-two stanzas, and a letter of the alphabet in regular order begins each of them. the initial letters of "the first altar" of dosiadas of rhodes, form four words, and seem to be addressed to some "olympian," who, the dedicator hopes "may live to offer sacrifice for many years." the altar states that it is not stained with the blood of victims, nor perfumed with frankincense, that it is not made of gold and silver; but formed by the hand of the graces and the muses. in the "second altar," also usually attributed to dosiadas of rhodes, we find not only a fanciful outline formed by long and short verses, but also a studious avoidance of proper names. not one is mentioned, although thirteen persons are designated. it is evident that this "altar" was a work of ingenuity, and intended to be enigmatical. probably the substitutions were also considered to be somewhat playful and amusing, as in antiphanes--a comic poet, said to have died from an apple falling on his head--we read, _a._ shall i speak of rosy sweat from bacchic spring? _b._ i'd rather you'd say wine. _a._ or shall i speak of dusky dewy drops? _b._ no such long periphrasis--say plainly water. _a._ or shall i praise the cassia breathing fragrance that scents the air. _b._ no, call it myrrh. another conceit in the form of a sphinx or pandean pipe has been attributed to theocritus--perhaps without good foundation. in the "egg" there is not only the form of the lines, which gradually expand and then taper downwards, but there is also a great amount of similitude--the literary egg being compared to a real egg, and the poet to the nightingale that laid it. there is also a remarkable involution in form--the last line succeeding the first, and so on; and this alternation of the verses is compared to the leaping of fawns. the axe or hatchet is apparently a sort of double axe, being nearly in the form of wings; and is supposed to be a dedicatory inscription written to minerva on the axe of epeus, who made the wooden horse by which troy was taken. the ancient riddles seem to have been generally of a descriptive character, and not to have turned upon quibbles of words, like those of the present day. they more corresponded to our enigmas--being emblematic--and in general were small tests of ingenuity, some being very simple, others obscure from requiring special knowledge or from being a mere vague description of things. of the learned kind were doubtless those hard questions with which the queen of sheba proved solomon, and those with which, on the authority of dius and menander, josephus states solomon to have contended with hiram. the riddle of samson also required special information; and the same characteristics which marked the early riddles of asia, where the conceit seems to have originated, is also found in those of greece. who could have guessed the following "griphus" from simonides of ceos, without local knowledge, or with it, could have failed, "i say that he who does not like to win the grasshopper's prize, will give a mighty feast, to the panopeiadean epeus." this means, we are told, that when simonides was at carthea he used to train choruses, and there was an ass to fetch water for them. he called the ass "epeus," after the water-carrier of the atridae; and if any member of the chorus was not present to sing, _i.e._, to win the grasshopper's prize, he was to give a choenix of barley to the ass. well might clearchus say "the investigation of riddles is not unconnected with philosophy, for the ancients used to display their erudition in such things." somewhat of the same character is found in the following from aristophanes. _people._ how is a trireme a "dog fox?" _sausage seller._ because the trireme and the dog are swift. _people._ but why fox? _sausage seller._ the soldiers are little foxes, for they eat up the grapes in the farms. the simplicity of some of the ancient riddles may be conjectured from the fact that the same word "griphus" included such conceits as verses beginning and ending with a certain letter or syllable. an instance of the emblematic character of early riddles is seen in that proposed by the sphinx to oedipus. "what is that which goes on four legs in the morning, on two in the middle of the day, and on three in the evening?" and in the riddle of cleobulus, one of the seven wise men: "there was a father, and he had twelve daughters; each of his daughters had thirty children; some were white and others black, and though immortal they all taste of death." also in the following griphi, which are capable of receiving more than one answer. the first two are respectively by eubulus and alexis--writers of the "new comedy"--who flourished in the first half of the th century, b.c. "i know a thing, which while it's young is heavy, but when it's old, though void of wings, can fly, with lightest motion out of sight of earth. "it is not mortal or immortal either but as it were compounded of the two, so that it neither lives the life of man nor yet of god, but is incessantly new born again, and then again of this its present life invisible, yet it is known and recognised by all." from hermippus:-- "there are two sisters, one of whom brings forth, the other and in turn becomes her daughter." diphilus, in his theseus, says, there were once three samian damsels, who on the day of the festival of adonis delighted themselves with riddles. one of them proposed, "what is the strongest of all things?" another answered, "iron, because it is that with which men dig and cut." the third said, "the blacksmith, for he bends and fashions the iron." but the first replied, "love, for it can subdue the blacksmith himself." the following is from theadectes, a pupil of isocrates, who lived about b.c., and wrote fifty tragedies--none of which survive. "nothing which earth or sea produces, nought among mortals hath so great increase. in its first birth the largest it appears, small in its prime, and in old age again, in form and size it far surpasses all."[ ] to make a riddle, that is a real test of ingenuity for all, and which but one answer satisfies, shows an advanced stage of the art. the ancient riddles were almost invariably symbolical, and either too vague or too learned. they seem to us not to have sufficient point to be humorous, but no doubt they were thought so in their day. it may not be out of place here to advert to those light compositions called silli, about which we have no clear information, even with regard to the meaning of the name. from the fragments of them extant, we find that they were written in verse, and contained a considerable amount of poetical sentiment; indeed, all that has come down to us of xenophanes, the first sillographer, is of this character. we are told that he used parody, but his pleasantry, probably, consisted much of after-dinner jests and stories, for we find that although he praises wisdom, and despises the fashionable athletic games, he rejoiced in sumptuous banquets, and said that the water should first be poured into the cup, then the wine. but the most celebrated sillographer was timon the phliasian--intimate with antigonus and ptolemy philadelphus--who wrote three books of silli, two in dialogues, and one in continuous narrative. he was a philosopher, and the principal object of his work was to bring other sects into ridicule and discredit. a few reflections of general application are scattered through it, but they are in general quite subsidiary and suggested by the subject matter. part iii. roman humour. roman comedy--plautus--acerbity--terence--satire--lucilius--horace--humour of the cæsar family--cicero--augustus--persius--petronius--juvenal --martial--epigrammatist--lucian--apuleius--julian the apostate--the misopogon--symposius' enigmas--macrobius--hierocles and philagrius. the light of genius which shone in greece was to some extent reflected upon rome, where there was never an equal brilliancy. as for humour, such as was indigenous in the country, it was only represented by a few saturnian snatches, some fescennine banterings at weddings and harvest-homes, and rude pantomimic performances also originating in etruria. intellectual pleasantry was unknown, except as an exotic, and flourished almost exclusively among those who were imbued with the literature of greece. about the date at which we arrived at the end of the last chapter--the middle of the third century, b.c.--the first regular play was introduced at rome by livius andronicus. he was a greek slave, having been taken prisoner at the capture of tarentum. scarcely anything remains by which to judge of his writings, but we know that he copied from greek originals. his plays were, no doubt, mostly appreciated by the better educated classes of the audience. he had a rival in noevius, a campanian by birth, who also copied from the greek, but retained something of the fescennine licence, or rather, we should say, had much of the hostile humour common to the earlier periods of greece and rome. so violent were his attacks upon the leading men of the day, that he was imprisoned, and finally died in exile at utica. this early connection of comedy with abuse and buffoonery was probably one cause of professional actors being held in contempt in rome. we read that they were frequently slaves, who were whipped if they came late. at the same time native scurrility was allowed. freeborn romans might act for amusement in the atellane plays, which were considered to be italian, and were accompanied by broad "exodia" or pantomimic interludes containing regular characters such as maccus the clown, buccones the chatterers, pappus the pantaloon, and simus, the ape. but these productions came from campania, and it is probable that the better parts of them were greek in spirit, though not in form. some fifty years later brings us to plautus--the most remarkable of the roman comic writers. little is known of his origin, except that he was born in umbria. there is a story that at one time he was in so humble a position that he was employed in grinding corn for a baker; but, if so, he must have possessed extraordinary ability and perseverance to acquire such a thorough knowledge of greek and latin. the fact of his adopting the stage as a profession, and acting in his own dramas, proves that he was not encumbered with rank or wealth. his plays were numbered among the classics, and were produced upon the stage till the time of diocletian, five hundred years after his death; he generally copied from the greek, often naming the author to whom he was indebted. plautus is interesting, not only as giving us an insight into the greek mode of life before his time, and preserving many of the works of philemon, diphilus, and others, but as being the only latin writer of his date whose productions have survived. he wrote one hundred and thirty plays, of which thirty are extant, and show an orthography very different from that of the augustan age. his style was forcible, and like that of all the latin comic writers, highly complex. he sometimes coins words, (such as trifurcifur, gugga,[ ] parenticida,) and he is constantly giving new metaphorical senses to those already in use--as when he speaks of a man being a "hell of elms," _i.e._, severely flogged with elm-rods--calls cooks "briars," because they take fast hold of everything they touch, and threatens a slave with "memorials of oxen," _i.e._, a thrashing that will make him remember the thong. we may possibly trace the greek original in a few references to conversations of animals--although no plays are now called after them--and the names, places, and money he introduces are generally greek. still, we cannot regard him as a mere servile imitator--much of his own genius is doubtless preserved in the plays. in some, we can clearly recognise his hand, as where he alludes to roman customs, or indulges in puns. for instance, where a man speaks of the blessing of having children, (liberi,) another observes he would rather be _free_ (liber). in "the churl," we read that it is better to fight with minæ than with menaces, and a lover says that phronesium has expelled her own name (wisdom) from his breast. an old man says he has begun to go to school again, and learn his letters. "i know three already," he continues, "what three?" is asked, "a m o." while we are glad to mark an advancement in less pleasures being derived from personal threats and conflicts on the stage, we are pained to find such an entire want of sympathy with the sufferings of those in a servile condition. the severity with which slaves were treated in previous times was not mitigated under the roman rule, and at the present day it is difficult to realise the moral state of those who could derive amusement from hearing men threatened with bull-hidings, and flogged on the stage. such terms as "whip-knave" became stale from repetition, and so many jokes were made even about crucifixion, that we might suppose it to be a very trifling punishment. chrysalus, a slave, facetiously observes, that when his master discovers he has spent his gold, he will make him "cruscisalus" _i.e._ "cross jumper." in "the haunted house," tranio, who, certainly seems to have been a great scamp, soliloquises as follows on hearing of his master's return:-- "is there any one, who would like to gain a little money, who could endure this day to take my place in being tortured? who are those fellows hardened to a flogging, who wear out iron chains, or those who for three didrachmas[ ] would get beneath besieging towers, where they might have their bodies pierced with fifteen spears? i'll give a talent to that man who shall be the first to run to the cross for me, but on condition that his feet and arms are doubly fastened there. when that is done, then ask the money of me." acoustic humour appears not only in puns, but under the form of long names of which plautus was especially fond, periplecomenus, polymacharoplagides, and thesaurochrysonicocræ are specimens of his inventive genius in this direction. in the "three coins," charmides asks the sharper's name. _sh._ you demand an arduous task. _charmides._ how so? _sh._ because if you were to begin before daylight at the first part of my name 'twould be dead of night before you could reach the end of it. i have another somewhat less, about the size of a wine cask. in the "persian," toxilus gives his name as follows, "vaniloquidorus virginisvendonides nugipolyloquides argentiexterebronides tedigniloquides nummorumexpalponides quodsemelarripides nunquamposteareddides." there are a few other cases in which there is a playing upon sound, as where demipho remarks that if he had such a good-looking girl as pasicompsa for a servant, all the people would be "staring, gazing, nodding, winking, hissing, twitching, crying, annoying, and serenading." the failings of the fair seems always to have been a favourite subject for men's attack, but reflections of this kind have decreased in number and acerbity since the days of aristophanes. we find, however, some in plautus, such as the following:-- "love is a fawning flatterer. for he that is in love, soon as ever he has been smitten with the kisses of the object he loves, forthwith his substance vanishes out of doors, and melts away. 'give me this, my honey, if you love me.' and then gudgeon says, 'oh apple of my eye, both that and still more, if you wish.' he who plunges into love perishes more dreadfully than if he leapt from a rock. away with you, love, if you please." he is fully alive to the power of this destructive passion. in one place philolaches half mad with love and jealousy sees his mistress looking into a mirror. "ah, wretched me," he exclaims passionately, "she gave the mirror a kiss. i wish i had a stone to break the head of that mirror."[ ] the love of money has always been a stock subject with humorists. this common weakness of human nature can be played upon even by those who can produce no other wit, and many worse jokes have been made on it than the following,-- calidorus asks his servant, pseudolus, to lend him a drachma. _p._ what for? _c._ to buy a rope to hang myself. _p._ who then will pay me back? do you wish to hang yourself to cheat me out of my drachma? the "concealed treasure" turns on an old man having found a pot of gold. he conceals it, and his nervousness lest some one should discover it is brought out with excellent humour. he drives the cooks out of the place with his stick. he has a battle-royal with a dunghill cock, who, he imagines is trying to scratch for it, then thinks strobilus has stolen it, and calls on him to show one hand, and the other, and then the third. we are the more inclined to lament the utter destruction of ancient african literature on finding that the most refined roman dramas were placed upon the stage by a carthaginian, when plautus, whose enterprize and perseverance had given the great impetus to latin comedy, was approaching the end of his long life. terence was born the last, and as some think the greatest master in this branch of art. he was at one time a slave, but his literary talent was so remarkable that his master set him free, and he became the friend of distinguished men, especially of scipio the younger. it must seem strange that this brilliancy should have flashed up for a moment, and then been for ever quenched, but it was derived from greece and not in its nature enduring. the genius of menander fed the flame of terence, as that of diphilus and others gave power to plautus, and it may well be supposed that men of their talent appropriated all that was most excellent, and left their successors to draw from inferior sources. it may, moreover, be doubted, whether the regular drama was ever popular among the lower classes in rome, who preferred the more exciting scenes of the circus. such plays as were intended for them were coarser and more sensational. terence has not the rough power and drollery of plautus; his whole attraction lies in the subtlety of his amorous intrigues. steele, speaking of one of the plays, "the self-tormentor," observes, "it is from the beginning to the end a perfect picture of human life, but i did not observe in the whole one passage that could possibly raise a laugh." it was for this reason, no doubt, that cæsar spoke of him as only "half a menander," and as deficient in comic force. ingenious complexity is so exclusively his aim, that we have neither the coarseness nor the sparkle of earlier writers. he was the first to introduce comedies, which were not comic, and whatever humour he introduces is that of situation. we now come to consider a kind of humour of which the romans claim to have been the originators, and which they certainly developed into a branch of literature. satire first signified a basket of first fruits offered to ceres; then a hotchpot or olla podrida, then a medley; and so the name was given to poems written without any definite design. we might therefore conclude that they possessed no uniform character, but merely contained a mixture of miscellaneous matter. but we find in them no allusions to politics or war, and but few to the literature and philosophy of the day--their variety being due to their social complexion. one feeling and character pervades them all--they were called forth by a scornful indignation at the degeneracy of the age as represented by the rich and powerful, or even by certain leading individuals. the appearance of such a kind of literature denoted greater activity in society, an increase of profligacy among some, and of moral sensibility among others. satire was a social scourge. it was not a philosophical investigation into the nature and origin of vice, but a denunciation of it as inimical to the interests of society. it was practical not theoretical--and sought to bring vice into contempt, by making it both odious and ridiculous. in the latter attempt, the satirists may have had more success than we credit them with, for in our day such virulent attacks would be distasteful, immorality being regarded as essentially a matter for grave and serious condemnation. satire differs from abuse, not only in being declamatory, but in being deserved. the amusement in it mostly depends upon the deformity of the sensual, the failures of the wicked, and the exposure of guilt in a kind of moral pillory. it did not aim at mere accidental losses or imperfections, and made no fanciful accusations merely to amuse, but it was often lightened by metaphor, by coined words, and especially by exaggeration. the satire of rome, though in a certain sense new, seems to have been somewhat derived from greece. ennius, who commenced it, a man younger than plautus and older than terence, was himself half a greek. he wrote epic poems and comedies, and also introduced this comic literature for private reading. lucilius, who was the first eminent roman satirist, is said to have imitated the old greek comedies. his attacks are very severe and personal, reminding us a little of archilochus, though apparently not written to gratify any private spleen. the tendency to personalities marked a time when the range of society and the tone of thought were equally narrow. moral depravity was considered to be centred in a few individuals, and in the broken fragments of lucilius' rage, which have descended to us, we find a man stigmatised as an "ulcer," "gangrene," a "poison," "jibber," "shuffler," "a hard-mouthed obstinate brute." sometimes he ridicules the bodily infirmities of the depraved; but lucilius' attacks seem less ill-natured and more justly humorous from being always directed against the vicious and demoralised. occasionally he indulges in such uncomplimentary expressions as "there is no flummery-maker equal to you," while some are hailed with "long life to you, glutton, gormandizer, and belly-god." he might truly say in his metaphorical language, "i seize his beak and smash his lips, zopyrus' fashion, and knock out all his front teeth." the satire of horace was exceptionally mild; with him its social character was much more marked than its acerbity. in many places he shows greek reflections, for he had received a liberal education, duly completed at athens. but his philosophy did not consist of dreamy theories and arbitrary rules--it was directed to practical ends, to the harmonizing of the feelings, and the elevation of society. as a man of the world, he was not carried away by fancies, nor given to exaggerated views; and as a companion of the great, he was not inclined to inveigh bitterly against the degeneracy of the times. on the contrary, so kindly were his feelings, that he tells us that we should overlook the vices of our friends. his teaching, both in spirit and range, was broader than that of his predecessors; his shafts were directed against classes rather than individuals, and wherever he is more pointed, his object is not to gratify personal spite, but to make his warning more forcible by illustration. moreover, his names are generally unreal. in this way he attacks nasidienus on the excessive luxury of the table, and his advice was applicable not only to the rich and great, but to more ordinary men. thus, he shows the bad tendencies of avarice and love-intrigues, and the meanness of sycophantism and legacy-hunting. many of the faults he condemns are rather errors in taste than serious moral delinquencies. sometimes he criticises merely trivial matters, such as a costume or a scent. "rufillus smells all perfumes, gorgonius like a goat," and the most humorous of his pieces is that in which he ridicules the ignorance and impudence of a manoeuvring chatterer. but in this line he is not very successful, and his contests of rival jesters are as much beneath the notice of any good writer of the present day, as his account is of porcius, the jack-pudding "swallowing cakes whole." horace says that men are more impervious to slashing reproach than to fine ridicule, and he was unusually adroit in hitting foibles without inflicting pain. he was not a man who held strong opinions on subjects. this is especially evident where he speaks of his own fickleness; and while he reiterates his dislike of rome, with its noise and bustle, he makes his slave say that this is but affectation, and when an invitation comes from mecænas, "mulvius and the 'scurræ' are turned out," from which we learn that parasites had their parasites, and that horace in the country played the patron to the rustic wits. although the romans generally have no claim to be called a humorous people, many of them became celebrated for their talent in repartee. scipio africanus Æmilianus above mentioned, was remarkable in this way, as was crassus, granius, vargula, and others. there was a good old joke that nasica having called at the house of the poet ennius, and the maid-servant having told him that ennius was not at home, he perceived she had said so by her master's order; and when, a few days afterwards, ennius called at nasica's house, and inquired for him, nasica cried out that he was "not at home." "what!" says ennius, "do i not know your voice?" "you are an impudent fellow," replied nasica, "i believed your servant when she said you were not at home, and you will not believe me." a vein of humour seems to have run through the cæsar family. caius julius cæsar strabo vopiscus was so noted for the gift that cicero in his work on oratory makes him deliver his observations on the subject. julius cæsar himself was as remarkable for pleasantry as for clemency. his "veni, vidi, vici," in which his enemies saw so much arrogance, was no doubt intended and understood by his friends to be humorous. in his youth he was accused of effeminate habits, and when on his obtaining the entire command of gaul, he said that he would now make his enemies his suppliants, and a senator replied sarcastically, "that will not be an easy task for a woman." he rejoined with gaiety, "semiramis reigned in assyria, and the amazons possessed a great part of asia." we have already seen him lamenting over the loss of comic force in terence as compared with menander, and in the triumphal games given in his honour in the year , he commanded decimus laberius, though a man of sixty, to appear on the stage in the contest of wit. this knight was a composer of mimes--a light kind of comedy, somewhat to be compared to the "entertainments" given by humorists at the present day. julius cæsar obliged him to perform in person--an act of degradation--but afterwards gave him , sesterces, and restored him to his rank. this act of cæsar's has been regarded as having a political significance, but it may merely have shown his love of humour. he may have wished to bring out the talent of the new mime, publius, a young syrian, who had acquired great celebrity both for beauty and wit. it is said that when his master first took publius to see his patron, the latter observed one of his slaves, who was dropsical, lying in the sunshine, and asking him angrily what he was doing there, publius answered for him "warming water." on the same visit, in jesting after supper, the question was asked, "what is a disagreeable repose?" when many had attempted answers, publius replied, "that of gouty feet." some of the sayings of publius, have been preserved. "he receives a benefit who gives to a worthy person." "he to whom more than is just is allowed, wishes for more than he gets." "a man who talks well on the road is as good as a carriage." "he unjustly accuses neptune who is ship-wrecked twice." "by overlooking an old injury you invite a new one." these sayings are of a worldly-wise and proverbial character, and, therefore, as has been already observed, although not actually humorous, are easily capable of being so regarded. cæsar awarded the prize to publius instead of laberius, because, as it is supposed, of some reflections the latter made upon him. but it may have been that cæsar was right, and publius' wit was the most salient. scarcely any specimens remain of laberius' talent. aulus gellius says that he coined many strange words, and he seems to have made considerable use of alliteration. we may suppose that the humour of cicero was somewhat hereditary, for he records a saying of his grandfather that "the men of our time are like syrian slaves; the more greek they know, the greater knaves they are!" it is fortunate the grandson inherited the old man's wit without his plebeian prejudices, and became as celebrated for his culture as for his readiness. in his work entitled "the orator," he commends humour as a means of gaining influence, and a vehicle for moral instruction. "orators," he says, "joke with an object, not to appear jesters, but to obtain some advantage." but we may feel sure he did not keep this dry and profitable end always in view, for he wrote a jest-book, and was nick-named by his enemies "scurra consularis,"[ ] the consular buffoon. a man can scarcely have a talent for humour without being conscious of its fascination, and being sometimes led away by it--as cicero says, "it pleases the listeners"--but he need not therefore descend to buffoonery. we should not be inclined to accuse a man of that, who tells us that "a regard to proper times, moderation and forbearance in jesting, and a limitation in the number of jokes, will distinguish the orator from the buffoon;" who says that "indelicacy is a disgrace, not only to the forum, but to any company of well-bred people," and that neither great vice nor great misery is a subject for ridicule. from all this we may gather that cicero was full of graceful and clever jocosity, but did not indulge in what was vapid and objectionable. both by precept and practice he approved good verbal humour. the better class of puns was used in the literature of the time, as we find by st. paul and others, not in levity, but merely as embellishments.[ ] cicero replied to vibius curius, who was telling a falsehood about his age: "then when we declaimed at the schools together, you were not born;" and to fabia, dolabella's wife, who said she was thirty, "no doubt, for i have heard you say so twenty years." when he saw lentulus, his cousin--a little man girt with a big sword: "who," he asked, "has fastened my cousin to that sword?" and on being shown a colossal bust of his brother, who was also small, he exclaimed, "the half of my brother is greater than the whole." one day cicero had supped with damasippus, and his host had said--putting some inferior wine before him--"drink this falernian, it is forty years old!" "it bears its age well," replied cicero. we have a most interesting collection of good sayings in "the orator," which although not spoken by cicero himself, were those which he had from time to time noticed, and probably jotted down. here is one of cæsar's (strabo). a sicilian, when a friend made lamentation to him that his wife had hanged herself upon a fig tree: "i beseech you," he said, "give me some shoots of that tree that i may plant them." some one asked crassus whether he should be troublesome if he came to him before it was light. crassus said, "you will not." the other rejoined, "you will order yourself to be awakened then." to which crassus replied, "surely, i said that you would not be troublesome." to return to the cæsars. the humorous vein which we have traced in the family descended to augustus--the great nephew of julius. some of his sayings, which have survived, show him to have been as pleasant in his wit as he was proverbially happy in his fortunes. when the inhabitants of tarraco made him a fulsome speech, telling him that they had raised an altar to him as their presiding deity, and that, marvellous to relate, a splendid palm tree had grown up on it: "that shows," replied the emperor, "how often you kindle a fire there." to galba, a hunchback orator, who was pleading before him, and frequently saying, "set me right, if i am wrong," he replied, "i can easily correct you, but i cannot set you right." the following will give a slight idea of the variety of his humour. when he heard that, among the children under two years old whom herod had ordered to be slain, his own son had been killed, he said, "it is better to be herod's pig than his son." being entertained on one occasion with a very poor dinner, and without any ceremony, as he was passing out he whispered in the ear of his host, "i did not know that i was such a friend of yours." a roman knight having died enormously in debt, augustus ordered them to buy him his bed-pillow at the auction, observing: "the pillow of a man who could sleep when he owed so much must be truly soporific." a man who had been removed from a cavalry command and asked for an allowance, "not from any mercenary motive, but that i may seem to have resigned upon obtaining the grant from you," he dismissed with the words: "tell everybody you have received it. i will not deny it." augustus kept a jester, gabba, and patronised mimes, and among other diversions with which he amused himself and his friends, was that of giving presents by lottery; each drew a ticket upon which something was named, but on applying for the article a totally different thing was received, answering to a second meaning of the name. this occasioned great merriment, a man who thought he was to get a grand present was given a little sponge, or rake, or a pair of pincers; another who seemed to have no claim whatever, obtained something very valuable. the humour was not great, but a little refreshing distraction was thus obtained from the cares of state. there is no loss in light literature so much to be deplored as that of the correspondence between augustus and mecænas. the latter prided himself upon his skill in poetry and humour, and we may be sure that he sent some of his choicest productions to augustus, who in turn exerted himself to send something worthy of the eye of so celebrated a critic. it is not impossible that the emperor showed himself equal, if not superior to the friend of horace. those who succeeded to the imperial purple proved very different from their illustrious predecessor, and in persius the severity of roman satire re-appears. we could scarcely expect a man who lived under nero, and after the reigns of tiberius, caligula, and claudius to write with the mild placidity of the augustan poet. moreover, the satires of persius were written at an early age--twenty-eight, and youth always feels acutely, and expresses strongly. some of his attacks are evidently aimed at nero, but his principal object is to denounce the vices of the times. hence, indolence and prurient literature are stigmatised. he ridicules the extremes of extravagance, and of that parsimony by which it is usually accompanied. "am i on a festive day to have a nettle dressed for me, and a smoked pig's cheek with a hole in its ear, in order that that grandson of yours may be surfeited with goose liver, and indulge in patrician amours. am i to be a living anatomy that his pope's stomach may shake with fat."[ ] alluding to the absurdity of the prayers generally offered up, he uses language worthy of a christian. "you ask for vigour, but rich dishes and fat sausages prevent the gods from granting your behest. you ask what your fleshly mind suggests. what avails gold in sacrifice? offer justice to god and man--generous honour, and a soul free from pollution." in persius we miss the light geniality of horace and the pure language of the augustan age, but we mark the complexity and finesse of a later date, a form of thought bespeaking a comprehensive grasp, and suitable to subtle minds. but as regards his humour it depends much on exaggeration, and is proportionably weak, and beyond this we have little but the coining of some words,[ ] the using others in unaccustomed senses, and a large seasoning of severity. he evidently aimed rather at being corrective than amusing, and his covert attacks upon nero were, no doubt, well understood. humour of a poor kind was evidently fashionable at the day--the emperor himself wrote satires and was so fond of comic performances that he first encouraged and rewarded a celebrated pantomimic actor named paris, and then put him to death for being his rival in the mimetic art. even seneca could not resist the example of his contemporaries, and we find the sedate philosopher attacking his enemy with severe ridicule. claudius had him sent into exile for eight years to the picturesque but lonely island of corsica; and seneca who liked something more social and luxurious, held him up in a satire bordering upon lampoon. the fanciful production was called the apolokokyntosis of claudius; that is his apotheosis, except that, instead of the emperor being deified, he is supposed to be "gourdified," changed not into a god, but into a pumpkin. seneca, after deriding claudius' bodily defects, accuses him of committing many atrocities, and finally sends him down from heaven to the nether world, where a new punishment is invented for him--he is to be always trying to throw dice out of an empty box. one of the most remarkable characters in the reign of nero was titus petronius arbiter. he was a great favourite with the emperor, and held some official appointment--the duties of which he is said to have discharged with ability. in his writings he is supposed to condemn immorality, but he enlarges so much upon what he disapproves that we doubt whether he does not promote the vice he pretends to condemn.[ ] his "satyricon" is not intended to be a satire, but an imitation of one of those old greek comedies which treated of the doings of satyrs and grotesque country deities. it is the first comic prose work, for in early times verse was thought as necessary to humour as to poetry. the whole work is enveloped in a voluptuous atmosphere; it is written in a gay roystering style, but although the indelicacy is great the humour is small. occasionally it is interesting, as giving an insight into private life in the days of nero. here we find trimalchio, a rich man, providing for the amusement of his guests, as well as for their sumptuous entertainment. one dish was a wild boar, which was placed on the table with a cap of liberty on its head. petronius asked the meaning of this. "why," said he, "your servant could explain that, it is no riddle. this boar escaped from yesterday's dinner where it was dismissed by the guests, and he now returns to table as a freedman." afterwards a much larger hog was brought in. "what!" cried trimalchio, looking closely at it, "is not his inside taken out? no! it is not; call the cook, call the cook." the cook being brought in, excused himself saying that he forgot. "forgot!" cried trimalchio, "why, he talks as if it were only a pinch of pepper omitted. strip him." in a moment the cook was stripped to be flogged. all interceded for him, but petronius felt somewhat indignant at such an oversight, and said he must be a careless rascal to forget to disembowel a hog. trimalchio with a pleasant look said, "come, you with the short memory, see if you can bowel him before us." the cook slashed with his knife, and out tumbled a load of puddings and sausages. all the servants raised a shout, and the cook was presented with a cup of wine, and a silver crown. petronius shared the fate of seneca. he was suspected of conspiring against the emperor, and his life being demanded, he preferred to suffer by his own hand rather than by that of the executioner. he caused his veins to be opened, but strangely whimsical to the last, and wishing to die slowly, he had them closed at intervals. in his dying state he was daily carried about the streets of cumæ, and received his friends, made love verses and humorous epigrams, and endeavoured to withdraw his thoughts from the sad reality by indulging in all kinds of amusing caprices. at length he expired--another distinguished victim of nero's cruelty. juvenal, who wrote under domitian, a little later than persius, equalled him in severity--due either to his natural disposition or to the spectacle presented by the ever increasing demoralization of rome. like persius, he makes use of much metaphor and involution in his works--showing the literary taste and intellectual acumen of a settled state of society, but an early age is impressed upon his pages in the indelicacy with which he is frequently chargeable. his depiction of guilt was appreciated at that day, but under the christian dispensation vice is thought too sinful, and in a highly civilised state too injurious to be laughable. the views then held were different, and tacitus considered it a mark of great superiority in the germans that they did not laugh at crimes. juvenal tells us that the romans jeered at poverty. there was much in the character of this satirist to raise him in the estimation of right-minded men. his tastes were simple, he loved the country and its homely fare, and although devoid of ambition, was highly cultivated. no doubt he was rather austere than genial: his aim was to instruct and warn rather than amuse; and where he approaches humour it is merely from complexity of style, in coining words and barbarisms, or in comparisons mostly dependent upon exaggeration. the following is one of his best specimens, though over-weighted with severity. it gives an idea of the state of rome at the time. a drunken magnate and his retinue stop a citizen in the street, and insolently demand-- "with whose vinegar and beans are you blown out? what cobbler has been eating leeks and sheepshead with you? answer, or be kicked." "this," says juvenal "is a poor man's liberty. when pummelled, he begs that he may be allowed to escape with a few of his teeth remaining." juvenal longs for the sword of lucilius, and the lamp of horace, that he may attack the vices of rome, but he himself is more severe than either. forgers, gamblers and profligates are assailed, and names are frequently given, though we often cannot now decide whether they belonged to real persons. laughing at those who desire length of years without remembering the concomitant infirmities of age, he says: "all kinds of disease dance around the aged in a troop, of which if you were to ask the names i could sooner tell you how many lovers hippia had, how many patients themison killed in one autumn, or how many allies basilus and hirrus defrauded." he condemns the increased desire for luxury. "do not," he warns, "long for a mullet, when you have only a gudgeon in your purse." the rule of the day was to purchase sensual indulgence at any cost, "greediness is so great that they will not even invite a parasite." excessive selfishness leads to every kind of dishonesty. "a man of probity is as rare as a mule's foal, or as a shower of stones from a cloud." "what day is so sacred that it fails to produce thieving, perfidy, fraud, gain sought through every crime, and money acquired by bowl and dagger. the good are so scarce that their number is barely as great as that of the gates of thebes, or the mouths of the fertilizing nile." he attacks every kind of social abuse, and does not even spare the ladies--some are too fast, some are learned and pedantic, some cruel to their slaves--even scourging them with cowhides. "what fault," he asks, "has the girl committed, if your own nose has displeased you?" as to religion, that has disappeared altogether. "what a laugh your simplicity would raise in public, if you were to require of anyone that he should not perjure himself, but believe that there was some deity in the temple, or at the ensanguined altar! that the souls of the departed are anything, and the realms below, and the punt-pole and frogs of the stygian pool, and that so many thousands pass over in one boat, not even the boys believe, except those who are too young to pay for their bath." the language used in the last passage is no doubt an example of the profane manner in which some men spoke at that day, but in general, we must remember that these pictures are humorous and overdrawn. still, some of the offences spoken of with horror by juvenal were treated almost as lightly by contemporary poets as they had been by aristophanes. there is a slightly foreign complexion about the productions of martial, which reminds us that he was a spaniard. even at this time there seems to have been a sparkle and richness in the thoughts that budded in that sunny clime. martial was a contemporary of juvenal, and addressed two or three of his epigrams to him. his works consisted of fourteen books, containing altogether more than fifteen hundred of these short poems. the appearance of such works may be taken as indicative of the condition of rome at the time. the calls of business had become more urgent from the increase of the population and development of commerce, while the unsatisfactory state of the government and of foreign affairs kept men's minds in agitation and suspense. martial himself observes that those were no times for poems of any length, and that some of his friends would not even read his longer pieces, though they never exceeded thirty lines. the period demanded something light and short--a book which could be taken up and laid down without any interruption of the narrative. but the swifter current of affairs had also produced a keener or more active turn of mind, so that it was necessary not only to be short, but also pithy. it was not necessary to be humorous, but it was essential to be concise and interesting, and thus martial gave to the epigram that character for point which it has since maintained. nothing could be more attractive than allusions to contemporary men, passing scenes, or novelties of the day, and when we read his works we seem to be transported by magic into the streets and houses of ancient rome. on one page we have the sanguinary scenes of the circus; in another we see the ladies waving their purple fans, and hear them toasted in as many glasses as they have letters to their names. from this kind of gaiety martial graduates into another--that of pleasantry. in an epitaph on his barber, he bids the earth lie light upon him, adding, "it could not be lighter than his artistic hand." from his censure of bad wit, it is evident that he drew great distinctions between broad and subtle humour. "every man," he says, "has not a _nose_," _i.e._, a keen perception--cannot smell a fault. he is very seldom guilty of a pun, and says in one place that he has not adopted verbal tricks, imitating echoes, or making lines which can be read backwards or forwards.[ ] nor has he any intention to indulge in bitter reflections; he says,-- "my page injures not those it hates, and no reputation obtained at the expense of another is pleasing to me. some versifiers wish publications which are but darts dipped in the blood of lycambus to be mine, and vomit forth the poison of vipers under my name. my sport is harmless." but he well saw that some little severity was necessary for humour, for he chides a dull poet: "although the epigrams which you write are always sweetness itself, and more spotless than a white-leaded skin, and although there is in them neither an atom of salt, nor a drop of bitter gall, yet you expect, foolish man, that they will be read. why, not even food is pleasant if wholly destitute of acid seasoning, nor is a face pleasing which shows no dimples. give children your honey, apples, and luscious figs--the chian fig, which has sharpness, pleases my taste." following this view we find him often sarcastic, but not personal, the names being fictitious, or if not, those of well known public men. in a few instances he is a little ill-natured, and writes, "laugh, if thou art wise, girl, laugh, said ovid, but he did not say this to all girls, not, for instance, to maximina, who has only three teeth, and those the colour of pitch and boxwood. avoid the pantomimes of philistion and gay feasts. it befits you to sit beside an afflicted mother, and a wife lamenting her husband. weep, if thou art wise, girl, weep." martial often uses the figure called by the greek grammarians "contrary to expectation." the point of the whole epigram lies in the last word or line, which changes the drift of the whole. "his funeral pile was strewn with reed, his tearful wife brought fragrant myrrh, the bier, the grave, the ointment were prepared, he named me as his heir, and he--got well." "sorry is athenagoras not to send the gifts, which in mid-winter he is wont to send; whether he be sorry i shall shortly see, but sorry he has certainly made me." "you feast so often without me, lupercus, i've found a way by which to pay you out, i am incensed, and if you should invite me, what would i do, you ask me? why--i'd come." the growing appreciation of this kind of writing had already led meleager, a cynic philosopher of gadara, to form the first collection of greek epigrams, which he prettily termed the anthology or bouquet. martial has been commended at the expense of the greeks, but he borrowed considerably from them in form and matter. his epigrams were more uniformly suggestive and concentrated than those of any previous writer, and he largely contributed to raise such compositions from being merely inscriptive into a branch of literature. he opened a new field, and the larger portion of these productions in greek were written about this time. they are not generally humorous, with the exception of a few from philo and leonidas of alexandria who lived about b.c., from ammianus in b.c., and from lucilius, a great composer of this kind, of whose history nothing is known but that he lived in the reign of nero. the following are from the last-mentioned. "some say, nicylla, that thou dyest thy hair, which thou boughtest most black at the market." "all the astrologers prophesied that my uncle would be long-lived except hermocleides, who said he would not be so. this, however, was not until we were lamenting his death." the following are free translations from the same writer. "poor cleon out of envy died, his brother thief to see nailed near him to be crucified upon a higher tree." on a bad painter. "you paint deucalion and phaeton, and ask what price for each you should require; i'll tell you what they're worth before you've done, one deserves water, and the other fire." the works of lucian are generally regarded as forming a part of roman literature, although they were written in greek by a native of samosata in syria. in them we have an intermingling of the warm imagination of the east with the cold sceptical philosophy of the west. lucian was originally brought up to be a stone-cutter, but he had an insatiable desire for learning, and in his "dream" he tells us how he seemed to be carried aloft on the wings of pegasus. he became a pleader at the bar, but soon found that "deceit, lies, impudence, and chicanery" were inseparable from that profession. in disgust he betook himself to philosophy, but could not restrain his indignation when he found so many base men throwing the blame of their conduct on plato, chrysippus, pythagoras, and other great men. "a fellow who tells you that the wise man alone is rich, comes the next moment and asks you for money--just as if a person in regal array should go about begging." he says they pay no more attention to the doctrines they teach than if their words were tennis balls to play with in schools. "there is," he continues, "a story told of a certain king of egypt, who took a fancy to have apes taught to dance. the apes, as they are apt to mimic human actions, came on in their lessons and improved very fast, and were soon fit to appear on the public stage, and display their skill, dressed in purple robes, with masks on their faces. the spectators were much pleased with them for a considerable time, when a wag who was present, having brought with him a quantity of nuts, threw a handful amongst them. the dance was immediately forgotten, and the performers from pyrrhic dancers, relapsed into apes, who went chattering and snapping at one another, and fighting for nuts; so that in a few moments the masks were crumpled, the clothes torn to rags, and the ape dance, which had been so much extolled, terminated amidst peals of laughter. such is the history of mock philosophers." the above story may serve to exhibit lucian's views, and his love of humorous illustration. he indulges in many fancies, such as the complaint of the letter s against t, which had in attic been substituted for it. another kind of pleasantry which he brings forward is interesting, inasmuch as after having been in fashion among the grammarians, and reviving among the monks in the middle ages it has now fallen entirely out of use. it may be regarded as being a kind of continuation of the philosophical "hard questions" of ancient times, originated with the sophists, and was entirely confined to logical subtleties affording diversion, but not awakening any emotion sufficient to cause laughter. lucian makes a parasite ask his host after dinner to solve such riddles as "the sorites and the reaper," and the "horned syllogism." the latter proposition was, "what you have not lost that you still have. you have not lost horns, therefore you have horns." in "the sale of the philosophers," in which jupiter puts them all up to auction to see what will be bid for them, chrysippus gives some similar examples. "a stone is a substance, is it not?" "certainly." "a living being is also a substance." "yes." "and you are a living being--therefore you are a stone." chrysippus then offers to turn him back into a man. "is every substance a living being?" "no." "is a stone a living being?" "no." "but you are a substance?" "yes." "and a living being; then, although you are a substance you are not a stone, because you are a living being." lucian's crusade against vice is of so general a kind as to remind us more of some of the old philosophers than of the roman satirists. at the same time he says he has only spoken against impostors, and is only the enemy of false pretence, quackery, lies, and puffing. but we may suppose that he would not be sparing of his lash in any direction, for in the "resuscitated philosophers," he observes, "philosophy says that ridicule can never make anything worse than it is in itself, and whatever is beautiful and good comes out with more lustre from it, and, like gold, is rendered splendid by the strokes of the hammer." following this view, he makes pretty sport of the parasites, whom he represents as forming a large and educated class. patroclus he counts as achilles' parasite, and includes several philosophers, who, he says, sponged upon dionysius of syracuse, "but plato failed in the art." he commends them in merry irony, and describes the parasite as stout and robust--bold, with an eye full of fire and spirit. who could venture a bet against a parasite, whether in jesting or feasting? who could contribute more to the diversion of the company? a parasite is obliged to be strict in his conduct. he has an annual salary, but is always beaten down in it. he does not receive the same food as the chief people, and in travelling he is put with the servants. jokes are made at his expense by the company, and when he receives a present of his patron's old clothes, he has to fee the servants for them. of philosophers, some are poisoned, some are burned alive. none ever tell of a parasite who came to such an end--he dies gently and sweetly, amidst loaded dishes and flowing bowls, and should one of them come to a violent death, it is merely from indigestion. the parasite does honour to the rich man--not the rich man to the parasite. lucian's "true history" deserves especial notice as having been the first extravagant story written under the form of a circumstantial narration of travels. it was the precursor of "the voyage to the moon," baron münchausen, and various utopias. we must therefore allow it the merit of originality, and it evinces talent, for mere exaggeration would not be entertaining. the intention was to ridicule the marvellous travellers' stories then current. much of this history is merely florid, and we may compare it to a waving line, in which the fable is constantly undulating between humour and poetry. lucian says he is going to write about what never can be. he sets sail on a voyage of discovery for the western ocean, and reaches a beautiful island. there they find a river of wine, navigable in many places. he could not trace the source of it, but near the place where it seemed to rise, were several vines full of grapes, and at the root of every one wine flowed out. they found fish in the stream, and after eating some, felt intoxicated; when they cut them up, they found grape-stones in them. passing the river, they found a most wonderful species of vine; the lower parts, which touched the ground, were green and thick, the upper formed the most beautiful women, from the top of whose fingers branches sprang forth full of grapes; and on their heads, instead of hair, they had leaves and tendrils. two of his companions, going up to embrace them, became so entangled that they could not again disengage themselves. after this, they left the island, and were caught in such a violent storm that the vessel was lifted out of the water, so high that it could not come down again. then they came to another island, round and shining. here they found hippogypi, men riding upon vultures--birds so large that each of their feathers was like the mast of a ship. the voyagers join the hippogypi in a battle against the inhabitants of the sun, and have various allies--some mounted on fleas about the size of twelve elephants, and spiders, each as big as one of the cyclades islands. the travellers were taken prisoners, and conveyed to the sun, but he returned to the moon, of which he gives a description. the inhabitants there make use of their stomachs--which are empty and lined with hair--as bags or pockets to put away things. they take their eyes in and out, and borrow them. "whoever does not believe me, had better go and see." returning from the air to the earth and sea, they saw several enormous whales, one of whom swam up to them with its mouth wide open. coming near he swallowed them up--ship and all. it was dark inside, until he opened his mouth again. there was a large extent of land inside, and hills and woods, in which birds were building nests. from this last fancy, we might conclude that lucian had read the book of jonah, and a description he afterwards gives of the isles of the blessed, seems to be written in imitation of the revelation. the age in which lucian lived was marked by theological contests between pagans, jews, and christians, and such times have generally caused an increase of scepticism and profanity. lucian was a follower of democritus, and his confabulations consist of a succession of squibs and satires on the mythological legends of the gods and goddesses. he laughs at curing diseases by charms and incantations. people pretended to fly, walk on water and through fire--they are called babylonians and hyperboreans. a syrian from palestine professes to drive devils out of people (perhaps alluding to the exorcists of the early church.) he makes eucrates speak of one pancrates, who would take a broom or the pestle of a wooden mortar, and upon saying a couple of magical words, it appeared to become a man, drew water, and ordered food. when pancrates had no further need of him, he spoke a couple of words, and the man was a pestle again. eucrates tried this himself, but having made the pestle a man, and told him to bring water, he forgot how to change him back again. so he kept on bringing water. eucrates then split the pestle in two, and both halves still continued to bring water. demonax, the friend of lucian, was as remarkable for his wit and repartee as for his kindly nature. a man who over-rated his austerity, expressed one day his surprise at seeing him eat sweet-cakes. "do you think," he replied, "that the bees make their honey only for fools?" he seems to have had as little respect as lucian for the idolatry of his day, for on one of his companions saying to him "let us go to the temple of Æsculapius to pray for my son," he answered, "is the god then so deaf that he cannot hear us where we are?" he lived and died a bachelor, and we are told that on being blamed by epictetus, with whom he studied, for not marrying and having a family as a philosopher should, he replied "very well, give me one of your daughters." epictetus was an old bachelor. he counselled a bad orator to practise and exercise himself in the art of speaking, and on his replying, "i am always doing so--to myself," he added, "it is therefore not surprising you speak as you do--having a fool for your audience." when the sophist sidonius, delivering a long panegyric on himself, said that he was acquainted with all the tenets of the philosophers: "if aristotle calls me to the lyceum, i obey; if plato to the academy, i come; zeno to the stoa, i take up my abode there; if pythagoras calls, i am silent:" demonax jumped up in the middle of the assembly and cried out, "pythagoras calls you." his humour was purely genial and jocose, as when, on the point of setting sail in winter, he replied to a friend who asked him whether he was not afraid he should be ship-wrecked and go to feed the fishes, "should i not be ungrateful were i unwilling to be devoured by fishes, when i have feasted on so many myself?" but there is one speech of his which must ever make his memory dear to all good men. when the athenians wished to emulate the corinthians by exhibiting a gladiatorial combat, he said, "do not vote this, athenians, before ye have taken down the altar of mercy." demonax lived to a ripe old age, and we are told that he was so much beloved in athens that, as he passed the bread-shops, the bakers would run out to beg his acceptance of a loaf, and thought it a good omen if he complied; and that the little children called him father, and would bring him presents of fruit. apuleius wrote in latin in the second century. he was a native of carthage--not the celebrated carthage of terence, but that of cyprian--a new city. he travelled like many of the learned men of his time to athens and alexandria, and thus, most probably, became acquainted with his contemporary lucian. at any rate, his "golden ass" seems taken from the work by that author. bishop warburton has seen in his production a subtle attack upon christianity, but we may take it as intended to ridicule magical arts, and those who believed in them. he was likely to feel keenly on this subject, for having married a rich widow, pudentilla, her relatives accused him of having obtained her by witchcraft, and even dragged him into a court of justice. lucian ridiculed the religion of his day, apuleius its superstitions. apuleius speaks of his "book of jests," but it is lost--the few lines he gives out of it are a somewhat matter-of-fact recommendation of tooth-powder. his enemies thought that tooth-powder was something magical and unholy--at any rate, they made his mention of it a charge against him. in reply, he says that perhaps a man who only opens his mouth to revile ought not to have tooth-powder. in the "golden ass," apuleius gravely supposes that transformations take place between men and the lower animals. he makes aristomenes tell a story in which a witch appears, "able to drag down the firmament, to support the world on her shoulders, crumble mountains, raise the dead, dethrone gods, extinguish the stars, and illuminate hell." she changed one of her lovers, of whom she was jealous, into a beaver, and persecuted him with hunters. she punished the wife of another of them, who was about to increase her family, by condemning her to remain in that condition. "it is now eight years since she has been growing larger and larger, and seems as though about to produce an elephant." lucius goes to thessaly, celebrated for its witches, and a good story is told how returning late from supper he finds three men battering against his door. taking them for robbers he draws his dagger, and stabs them, and the ground is covered with blood. next day he is tried for murder, and about to be crucified, when the corpses are brought into court, and are found to be three wine-skins. he is told that this was a trick played on him upon the day when they usually celebrated the festival of the god of laughter, but it seems to have been really owing to an incantation. he sees pamphile, his hostess, change herself into an owl, thinks he also will transform himself into a bird, and anoints himself with some of the witch's preparations. by mistake, taking the wrong ointment, he transforms himself into a donkey. he then goes to look for his horse, who, thinking he is coming to eat his food, kicks him out, and soon afterwards he is well thrashed by his servant boy. he is told that eating fresh roses will restore him to his former self, but for various reasons he cannot get any. being hungry he goes into a kitchen garden, and makes a good meal of the vegetables, for which transgression he is nearly killed by the gardener. to prevent this he kicks the man over, whereupon a general outcry was raised, and great dogs rush upon him. after this persecution he is in danger of dying of starvation--"spiders began to spin their webs on his lips," but becoming instrumental in saving a young girl, he receives better treatment. he is then bought by vagrants, who go about playing cymbals, and carrying an image of the syrian goddess. he is accompanied by a troop of fanatical priests, who dance and scourge themselves. while the priests are being royally entertained by one of their votaries, a dog runs off with a haunch of venison, and the cook, not knowing what to do, conceives the project of killing the ass, and dressing one of his haunches instead. to avoid this the donkey breaks loose, and gallops into the supper room. after the band of priests is dispersed, owing to their thieving propensities, the donkey is sold to a baker, and by him to a gardener, and nearly dies of cold and exposure. then he becomes the property of the servants of a very rich man, and is found eating up the remains of their supper. this greatly amuses them all, and their lord orders him to be brought to his table. a buffoon, or parasite, who sat among the guests, exclaims "give him a cup of wine," and he was taught various tricks. his fame increases so that his master only admits people to see him on payment. finally being taken to the circus, and afraid that some of the wild beasts might eat him by mistake, he slips away and gallops to cenchroea, where he prays to the goddess iris, and is by her restored to his human form. the descriptions in this work are often very beautiful, and the humour in describing the misfortunes of the ass is excellent. in contrast to the humour of lucian and apuleius, we may place that of the emperor julian, an ascetic and devotee, who was nephew of constantine the great, and brought up a christian. julian's early life was spent in terror, for constantius, constantine's son, imprisoned him at milan, after having put his elder brother to death. perhaps this treatment at the hands of a christian may have prejudiced him against the new religion, or his mild disposition may have been scandalized at the fierceness of theological controversies, or at the lives of many of the converts. his early education and experiences of life were more inclined to imbue him with principles of toleration than to make him a zealous christian, and, finally, when he arrived at the age of twenty, he determined to return back into paganism. this retrograde movement, not altogether out of keeping with his quaint character and love of antiquity, has stamped him with the opprobrious title of the "apostate," but in moral excellence he was superior to the age in which he lived. many of his writings show a sense of humour, such as that he wrote in lutetia (paris) on "barley wine" the drink of the gauls. "who and whence art thou, dionyse? for, by true bacchus i know thee not, but jove's great son alone, he smells of nectar, thou of goats, truly the celts for want of grapes made thee of ears of corn; wherefore thou shouldst be cereal called, not bacchus, pyrogenes and bromos, not bromion."[ ] julian's principal work is on the cæsars. he commences it by saying that he is not addicted to jesting, but he will relate a sort of fable in which all the gods and cæsars are called to a great banquet. accordingly, he introduces various characters. julius cæsar seems in his pride to wish to dispute the throne even with jupiter. augustus he compares to a chameleon, sometimes one colour, sometimes another; one moment a visage full of sorrow, another smiling. tiberius has a fierce countenance, and shows the marks of intemperance and debauchery. "take care he does not pull your ear," says bacchus, "for thus he treated a grammarian." "he had better," returned silenus, "bemoan himself in his solitary island, and tear the face of some miserable fisherman."[ ] constantine, not finding among the gods any type of his character, betook himself to the goddess of pleasure. she, receiving him softly and embracing him, trimmed him up and adorned him, dressed him in a shining and many-coloured woman's gown, and led him away to demoralization. with her he found one of his sons, who loudly proclaimed to all, "whosoever is a seducer, a murderer, or shameless, let him advance boldly, for by washing him with water i will immediately make him pure; and if he should be again guilty of such things, i will grant him to be pure on striking his breast, or beating his head."[ ] at the end of this "fable," the emperors are called upon to speak in their defence. constantine being asked what object he had in view, replied "to amass great riches and spend them on myself and friends." silenus burst into a fit of laughter, and retorted "you now wish to pass for a banker, but how can you forget your living like a cook, or a hair-dresser?" alluding to his luxurious feastings, and his wearing gold-flowered stuffs, and a diadem of jewels. gibbon calls this work on the cæsars one of the most agreeable and instructive productions of ancient wit. julian prided himself on his primitive and severe life, and made himself ridiculous by wearing a long unfashionable beard--either in imitation of the gauls, or of the ancient philosophers. it is probable that he persisted in this habit to discountenance the effeminacy of the times. he says that soon after he entered constantinople, he had occasion to send for a barber. an officer, magnificently dressed, presented himself. "it is a barber," said the prince, "that i want, and not a minister of finance." he questioned the man about his profits, and was informed that besides a large salary and some valuable perquisites, he enjoyed a daily allowance of twenty servants and as many horses! not only was julian strongly opposed to luxury, but he was, as far as his light went, a religious man, and was strict in observing the feasts and festivals of the heathen deities. all his antiquated peculiarities are brought strongly before us on the occasion of his visit to antioch. strabo tells us that this was one of the largest cities in the world--little inferior in extent to alexandria and seleucia. it was noted for its gaieties, and seems now to have been the centre of fashion. the new religion had been, at least nominally, adopted, and also the new costumes, as well as every kind of luxury and dissipation. chrysostom bears witness to the same effect. the town was full of dancers, pipers, and players, camels "adorned like brides" stalked through the porticos, and fish and poultry had come to be considered as necessaries of life. there were here many people of leisure and cultivation, fond of light and fanciful pursuits, and among others of forming verbal conceits. hence, we find that the disciples were first called _christians_ at antioch, no doubt, derisively,[ ] and in julian's time they had a cant saying that they had suffered nothing from the x or the k (christ or constantius). a celebrated school of rhetoric was established here, and no doubt some of the effusions penned at this time, abounded with rich and epigrammatic humour. it must have been a rare sight for these polished and satirical christians of antioch to behold julian celebrating the festivals of the pagan gods. to view the procession of venus--a long line of all the dissolute women in the town, singing loose songs--followed by the lean, uncouth roman emperor, with his shaggy beard, and terminated by a military train. no wonder they hooted him, and wrote lampoons upon him. but julian thought he was performing a solemn duty; he by no means intended to countenance immorality. "far from us," he says, "be all licentious jests and scurrilous discourse--let no priest read archilochus or hipponax." he gives an amusing account of his reception at the celebrated grove of daphnæ, near antioch, which he visited at the time of the annual festival. he expected to see a profusion of wealth and splendour. he pictured to himself the solemn pomp, the victims, the libations, the dancers, the incense, the children in white robes. when he entered the temple, full of such elevated thoughts, he found there neither incense, cake, nor victims. much surprised, he could only suppose that the people were waiting at the gate, by way of respect, for a signal from the sovereign pontiff. he therefore asked the priest what offering the city was about to make on this great anniversary; to which he replied, "the city has furnished nothing, but i have brought the god a goose from my own house." julian says the people of antioch had transfixed him with sarcasms, as with arrows. in accordance, however, with his peaceful disposition, he only retaliated by writing the misopogon or "beard-hater." "no law," he says, "forbids me to satirise myself." he begins with his face and says, "although naturally good-looking, moroseness and bad manners have led me to wear a long beard for no apparent reason but that nature has not made it handsome. therefore, i allow lice to run about in it like wild beasts in a wood, nor have i the power of eating or drinking much, for i must be cautious, lest i eat hairs along with bread. about being kissed, or kissing, i do not much care; still a beard has this inconvenience among others, that it does not allow us to join pure lips to those that are pure, and, therefore, the sweeter. you say that ropes should be twisted out of it, and i would willingly grant this, if only you were able to draw out the bristles, so that your soft and delicate hands should not suffer from their roughness." he says that he never goes to the theatre, and hates horse-races. as to domestic matters, "i pass sleepless nights upon a bed of straw, and insufficient food makes my manners severe and offensive to a luxurious city. do not think that i do this on your account--a great and senseless mistake has led me from my childhood to wage war with my stomach." he is not at all surprised that they should follow the dissolute habits of the founder of their city, antiochus, and that they think of nothing but dressing, bathing, and love-making--charges which could not be brought against himself. he esteems dancers and players "no more than the frogs of the lakes," and tells a story, that when cato came into the city of antioch, seeing all the young men under arms, and the magistrates in their robes, he thought the parade was in his honour. he blamed his friends for having told them he was coming, and advanced with some hesitation, when the master of the ceremonies came up and asked, "stranger, how far off is demetrius?" a man who had been a slave of pompey, but had become immensely rich. cato made no reply, but exclaimed, "o, miserable city!" and departed. the misopogon is unique as a mock disparagement of self. although written in condemnation of the antiochians, a vein of pleasantry runs through it, which shows that julian was not vindictive, and had a considerable gift of humour. had he lived to mature age, he would probably have left some brilliant literary work. but shortly after his visit to antioch, he led an expedition into persia, and with his usual disregard of danger, entered the battle without his armour, and was mortally wounded. we read that the roman girls were very fond of amusing themselves in their leisure hours by making "scirpi" or riddles. they do not seem to have indulged much in puns, or to have attempted anything very intricate, but rather to have aimed at testing knowledge and memory. we have few specimens remaining of their art, but such as we have are of that early kind, which demand some special information for their solutions. aulus gellius has preserved one "old by hercules," which turns on the legend that when tarquinius superbus was installing jupiter at the capitol, all the other gods were ready to leave except terminus, who being by his character immovable, and having no legs, refused to depart.[ ] two other specimens are found in virgil's bucolics:-- "say in what lands grow flowers inscribed with names of kings--and phyllis shall be yours alone," referring to the hyacinth, on whose petals the word ajax was supposed to be found. the responding couplet runs:-- "say, and my great apollo thou shalt be, where heaven's span extends but three ells wide;" the answer to which is not known. probably some riddles of an earlier date may be incorporated in the book of symposius. nothing is known of the life of this author, and it has been suggested that the word should be symposium or the "banquet"--these enigmas being supposed to be delivered after dinner. but most authorities consider symposius to have lived in the fourth century, although an examination of his prosody might lead us to place him not earlier than the fifth. very few of the riddles are really ingenious; among the best we may reckon:-- "letters sustain me--yet i know them not, i live on books, and yet i never read, the muses i've devoured and gained no knowledge." this is tolerably self-evident, but some require special information as:-- "you can behold what you can scarce believe there is but one eye, yet a thousand heads, who sells what he has, whence shall he get what he has not?" few would ever guess that this referred to a one-eyed man selling garlic. but the greater number of these conceits are merely emblematic descriptions of well-known things, and are more vague than epigrammatic, as, "i am the purple of the earth suffused with lovely tints and girt, lest i be wronged with pointed spears. happy indeed! had i but length of life." "there's a new capture of some well-known game, that what you catch not, you bear off with you." "hoarsely amidst the waves i raise my voice it sounds with praise with which it lauds itself, and though i ever sing, no one applauds." "spontaneous coming, i show various forms, i feign vain fears, when there is no true conflict, but no one can see me till he shuts his eyes." "by art four equal sisters run as if in contest, though the labour's one, and both are near, nor can each other touch."[ ] we know little of macrobius except that he was a greek, and lived in the fifth century. his principal work was his "saturnalia," and he selected for it this title and plan, because, as he tells us, men were in his day so much occupied with business, that it was only in the annual festival of misrule that they had any time for reflection or social intercourse. the "saturnalia," occupied the greater part of december, and macrobius represents a company of magnates and wits agreeing to meet daily to discuss in the morning topics of importance, and to spend the evening in light and jocund conversation. his work treats of astronomy, mythology, poetry and rhetoric, but it is most interesting with regard to our present subject, where he brings before us one of those scenes of convivial merriment of which we have often heard. the party are to relate humorous anecdotes in turn. avienus says that they should be intellectual not voluptuous, to which the president, prætextatus, replies, that they will not banish pleasure as an enemy, nor consider it to be the greatest good. after these suggestions they commence:-- prætextatus records a saying of hannibal. antiochus, to whom he had fled, showed him in a plain a vast army he had collected to make war with the romans; the men were adorned with gold and silver, there were chariots with scythes, elephants with towers, cavalry shining with ornamental bits and housings. then turning to hannibal, he asked him if he thought they would be enough for the romans. the carthaginian, smiling at the weakness and cowardice of the gaudily accoutred host, replied, "certainly, i think they will be enough for them, however greedy they may be." furius albinus says that after the flight at mutina, on some lady asking what antony was doing, one of his friends replied, "what the dogs do in egypt--drink and run!" "it is well known," he adds, "that there the dogs run while they drink, for fear of the crocodiles." avenienus says that the sister of faustus, the son of sylla, had two lovers--one of them, fulvius, the son of a fuller; the other pomponius, nick-named spot. "i wonder," he said, "that my sister should have a spot, when she has a fuller." the remaining guests speak more at length, and their discourses occupy a considerable portion of the book. the example set by martial gradually led to a considerable development of epigrammatic literature. a humorous epigram survives, written by trajan on a man with a large nose: "by placing your nose and gaping mouth opposite the sun you will tell wayfarers the hour." justinian in the sixth century is supposed to have assisted paul the silentiary--a sort of master of the ceremonies--in his compositions; but it may be hoped that the emperor was not an accomplice in producing the impurities with which they are disfigured. here and there, however, a few sweet flowers are found in his poisonous garland. we may hope that he often received such a cool welcome as that he commemorates in his "drenched lover." hierocles and philagrius are supposed to have lived in the fifth century, but the jests and stories which bear their names seem to be much later. they are based upon violations of the primary laws of nature and mind, but have not the subtlety of the syllogistic quibbles, which were the work of learned grammarians or the logicians of a better period. being little more than bulls, they excite scarcely any emotion and no laughter, although evincing a certain cleverness. the hero is generally a "scholastic," who is represented as a sort of fool. a friend of scholasticus going abroad asks him to buy him some books. scholasticus forgets all about it, and when he meets his friend on his return, says, "by the way, i never received that letter you wrote about the books." a man meeting scholasticus says, "the slave you sold me died." "did he? by the gods," replied the other, "he never played me that trick." scholasticus meeting a friend exclaims, "why, i heard you were dead!" the other replies, "well, i tell you that i'm alive." "yes," persists scholasticus, "but the man who told me so was more veracious than you!" a promising son apostrophizes his father, "base varlet! don't you see how you have wronged me? if you had never been born and stood in the way i should have come into all my grandfather's money." the humour which has come to us from classic times, brings the life of ancient greece and rome near to our own firesides. it is not that of a primitive or decaying civilization, but of one advanced and matured, resembling our own, in which density of population has brought a clashing of interests, and enlarged knowledge has produced a variety of thought upon a great multiplicity of home and foreign subjects. we can thus bridge over two thousand years, and obtain, as it were, a grasp of the past, in which we find men so very like ourselves, not only in their strong emotions, but in their little conceits and vanities, and their opinions of each other. english humour. chapter i. middle ages. relapse of civilization in the middle ages--stagnation of mind--scarcity of books--character of reviving literature--religious writings--fantastic legends--influence of the crusades--romances--sir bevis of hamptoun--prominence of the lower animals--allegories. those ancient philosophers who believed in a mundane year and a periodical repetition of the world's history, would have found a remarkable corroboration of their theory in the retrogression of learning during the middle ages, and its subsequent gradual revival. this re-birth contained all the leading characteristics of the original development of thought, although, amid the darkness, the torch handed down from the past afforded occasionally some flickering light. the great cause of the disappearance of literature and civilization was, of course, the sword of the goths, which made the rich countries of southern europe, a wilderness and desolation. a lesser cause was the intolerance of the ecclesiastics, who, in their detestation of pagan superstition and immorality endeavoured to destroy all classical writings which touched upon mythological subjects, or contained unseemly allusions. but, although we regret its action in this respect, and the intellectual stagnation thus generally produced, we must admit that we are indebted to the church for the preservation of many valuable works. there were many men of learning in the monasteries, and some of sufficient enlightenment to be able to venerate the relics of greek and latin literature. we find that in the east the works of aristophanes were so much admired by st. chrysostom that he slept with them under his pillow. perhaps the saint enjoyed the reflections of the comedian upon the superstitions of his day, or he may have had a secret liking for the drama, and in one place he observes how much the world resembles a stage. there seems to have been a conflict in his breast, as no doubt there was in many at the time, between love of the classics and religious scruples; he tells us that he dreamed one night that he was being whipped by the devil for reading cicero. we may observe that the eastern world was not at this time in such a benighted state. theodosius the younger founded in a.d. , an academy and library at constantinople, which, when it was destroyed by the turks contained , volumes. nothing brings before us more forcibly the state of ignorance in which the western world was now sunk than the scarcity of books. the price of them in the middle ages was so great that a man who presented one to a monastery, thought he merited eternal salvation. documents were drawn up and duly signed when a book passed from one person to another--and in the eighth century a library of volumes was regarded as something magnificent.[ ] the state of ignorance among the saxons may be imagined from the fact that alfred was twelve years old before he could get a master capable of teaching him the alphabet, and even after the invention of paper in the eleventh century books were very scarce. the cause of the scanty supply of literature was not only the general destruction which had taken place, but also that there was no demand for it. archbishop lanfranc, with a view to improve education in england, directed in that a book should be given to each of the monks, who were to be allowed a year to read it, and what follows gives us some idea of the indolence of these representatives of learning, for it was ordered that if the monk has not then read it he is to prostrate himself, and ask pardon of the abbot. the monks of winchester were probably not much troubled in this way, for some time afterwards the library of the bishop of that diocese only consisted of seven books. what must then have been the ignorance of the masses of the population! we should scarcely believe that such a relapse could have taken place had we not seen the centres of civilization in the world successively succumbing, and the greatest cities becoming desolate, and did we not reflect that, but for such vicissitudes, mankind must have attained a far greater degree of excellence than has been reached at the present day. the first kind of composition attempted by the mind of man is that which expresses religious feelings, and the idea that there exists a being greater than himself. that dim searching after something beyond experience could seldom confine itself to its legitimate direction, but by dreams and hopes, and by the love of the marvellous--that early source of idealism--strayed into a variety of fabulous and legendary mazes. hence arose all the strange and grotesque myths about heathen gods and christian saints which occupy the shadowy borders between chaos and history. the stories which were current in this country in early times spoke of miracles worked by the virgin, represented st. christopher as a giant twenty-four feet high, and related how "seynt pateryk" banished the "wormes" from ireland; or sometimes would draw from the rich mine of rabbinical tradition such allegorical fictions as that, when noah planted the vine, satan was present and sacrificed a sheep, a lion, an ape, and a sow, representing the different stages of inebriety.[ ] but man's awakening thoughts turn not only to his protector above, but also to his enemies below, and thus the exploits of warlike heroes, who generally combine the religious with the military character, easily became tempting themes for the exercise of fancy. there is reason to believe that the earliest british legends recorded the glories of king arthur--the defender of christianity against the worshippers of odin. the origin of these accounts have been traced by some to scandinavian, by some to arabian sources, but we may suppose them to have arisen among those ancient british people who inhabited wales and cornwall,[ ] and passed over in the fifth and sixth centuries to brittany (armorica). it matters little for our present purpose whence they came, they were full of extravagant and supernatural occurrences. the names of two shadowy warriors, sir bevis and sir guy, seem to have been handed down from saxon times, probably by oral tradition; the former is said to have performed prodigies of valour in the south, and the latter in the north of england. the literature which has come down to us from this date (with the exception of an ode of triumph) is purely of a religious character, and adorned with a variety of miraculous circumstances--a considerable part of it consists of the hymns of cædmon, an ignorant cowherd, who was inspired to sing by an angel appearing to him in a vision. bede's ecclesiastical history is full of strange stories, and although acca, his contemporary, adorned his cathedral of hexham in northumberland with what was then considered to be a magnificent library, it was entirely composed of histories of the apostles and martyrs to whose relics he had dedicated the altars of his church.[ ] meanwhile, the glorification of charlemagne and his paladins, the great champions of christendom, exercised the invention of the minstrels of france. but activity of mind increasing, additional subjects for entertainment were demanded, and the old pagan kings and heroes appeared in entirely new characters. the marvellous and magnificent career of alexander the great seemed to invite a little additional ornamentation, and the roman emperors were introduced in very fantastic habiliments. it would seem that traditional accounts of roman times had been preserved in some of the western monasteries, as well as portions of the old homeric and mythological history in latin translations[ ]--greek had been fading out of europe since the time of theodosius. no doubt there were still here and there a few genuine classical books, and we hear of aristotle being prized--the obscurity and subtlety of his works having led to his being now regarded as a magician. the following will give some idea of the kind of stories then appreciated. a beautiful princess, nourished with poison, was sent as a present to alexander. aristotle discovered the danger, and a slave was ordered to kiss her, who immediately fell down dead. the gigantic body of pallas, the son of evander, was found at rome. it exceeded in height the walls of the city, and had remained uncorrupted, and accompanied with a burning lamp for two hundred and forty years. his wound was fresh, and we may suppose caused instant death, for it was four feet and a half long. magical rings are often mentioned. there is some pretty sentiment in the story of vespasian and a wife whom he had married in a distant country. she refuses to return home with him, and yet declares that she will kill herself if he leaves her. the emperor orders two rings to be made, one bearing the image of oblivion, the other that of memory. the former he gives to the empress, the latter he wears himself. virgil, who is represented as an enchanter, places a magical image in the centre of rome, which every day communicates to the emperor titus all the secret offences committed in the city. from such fanciful sources, and with a discrimination such as they display, geoffrey of monmouth drew up in the eleventh century a fabulous history of england. his story of gogmagog, the british giant, supposed to have been destroyed by brutus, the great grandson of Æneas, on his landing in this country, is said to have been derived from that of two arabian giants gog and magog. the stones which compose stonehenge, each containing some medicinal virtue, are fabled to have been transported by giants from the deserts of africa to ireland, and to have been carried thence by merlin's enchantment to form a monument over the british slain by hengist. the state of criticism existing at this time may be imagined from the fact that even afterwards, in the reign of edward i., the descent of the britons from the trojans through brutus was solemnly alleged in a controversy of great importance concerning the subjection of the crown of england to that of scotland, showing an amount of credulity which might almost have credited the legend that st. james, mounted on horseback, led the christian armies in spain in their battles against the moors, or that there was in that country a golden image of mahomet as high as a bird could fly, in which the false prophet had sealed up a legion of devils. but the imaginative powers were soon to be developed upon more attractive themes. war and religion were about to be blended in the grand drama of the crusades, prompted alike by zeal for the faith, by hatred of the moslem, and by thirst for military glory. the first nobles of the west arrayed themselves in their armour, collected their retainers, and set out for the lands of the rising sun. here they came into contact with an eastern civilization, ornate and dazzling, superior to their own, but still in a state of childhood, and revelling in the fanciful creations which please the infantine mind.[ ] foremost among the christian knights went the barons of provence, accompanied by troops of minstrels--troubadours to sing their praises; and we might well suppose that some of the wonders of the dreaming east would now find their way into europe, interwoven with the doughty deeds of the christian heroes. this view is corroborated by the fact that almost all our early romances recount some great exploits performed against the saracens; but the marvels they relate, from whatever source they come, were in accordance with the times in which they were written, for as alchemy preceded chemistry, so romance-writing was the commencement of literature. some of the arabian stories had considerable grace and beauty, and are even now attractive to the young. but whether our poets borrowed from this prolific source or not, it is certain that about this time they became more ambitious, and produced regular tales of considerable length, in which the northern gallantry towards the fair sex was combined with extravagances resembling those of eastern invention. not until this time were the early heroic legends of this country developed, and committed to writing, and as they appeared first in french, some writers--among whom is ritson--have concluded that they were merely the offspring of our neighbours' fertile imagination. but although the poets who recounted these stories wrote in french, they were in attendance at the english court, in which, even before the conquest, french was the language used, while latin was that of the learned, and saxon that of the country-people. henry the first, the great patron of letters, sometimes held his court at caen, so that the norman poets who were competing for his favour, were doubtless familiar with the legendary history of england. the first important works in the french language seem to have come from normandy, and it is not improbable that some of them were written in england. they were called romances, because they were composed in one of the languages of southern europe, containing a large element of the roman, which we find was still used among the soldiery as late as the seventh century. it has been supposed that all our early anglo-norman romances were translations from the french, except the "squyr of lowe degre," and of some the originals are still extant. these productions, from whatever source they came, were the kind of literature most acceptable at the time. there seemed then nothing harsh or contemptibly puerile in stories we should now relegate to the nursery, and no doubt people derived an amusement from them, for which that of humour was afterwards gradually substituted. examples of such stories are found in that of robert, king of sicily, who for his pride was changed, like nebuchadnezzar, into one of the lower animals, and in that of richard "coeur de lion," who rode a horse possessed by the devil, and whose wife flew away like a bird. in the romance of sir bevis of hamtoun, (earl of southampton,) he is represented as a kind of infant hercules, who, when fifteen, killed sixty saracen knights. he afterwards was imprisoned at damascus in a den with two dragons, but destroyed them. he was kept in a dungeon, however, and "rats and mice, and such small deer, was his meat that seven year." during this time he was cheered by an angel visiting him. an adversary shortly appears in ascapard: "this geaunt was mighty and strong, and full thirty foot was long, he was bristled like a sow; a foot he had between each brow. his lips were great, and hung aside, his eyen were hollow, his mouth was wide, lothy he was to look on than, and liker a devil than a man." he was overcome, and became page to sir bevis. ascapard is very useful, as he is able to take bevis, josyan, and even the horse arundel under his arm. an attempt at humour is introduced here, which is said to have amused the people of cologne. the bishop prepared to christen the giant, "for ascapard was made a tun, and when he should therein be done, he lept out upon the brench (brink) and said, 'churl! wilt thou me drench? the devil of hell mote fetche thee! i am too much (big) christened to be!'" we will finish this sketch of the romancing tendencies of our early literature by a description of a dragon from "sir degoré:" "there was a dragon great and grymme, full of fyre, and also venymme, wyth a wyde throte, and tuskes grete, uppon that knygte fast gan he bete, and as a lyon then was hys feete, hys tayle was long, and full unmeete; between hys head and hys tayle was xxii fote withouten fayle; his body was lyke a wyne tonne, he shone ful bryght agaynst the sunne; hys eyen were bryght as any glasse, hys scales were hard as any brasse: and thereto he was necked lyke a horse, he bore hys hed up wyth grete force; the breth of hys mouth that did not blow as yt had been a fyre on lowe. he was to loke on, as i you telle as yt had been a fiende of helle." these romances were often called "gestes," from the great "gesta" or exploits they recorded. the author of "cursor mundi," a book of religious legends, says, "men lykyn jestis for to here and romans rede in divers manere of alexandre the conquerour, of julius cæsar the emperour, &c." it may be doubted whether such tales as the above were ever regarded as true, but it was not until thought became more active that the falsity of them was fully appreciated, and "jests" gradually acquired their present signification. the word romance has also come to be used not only for a pleasant poetical narrative, but especially for something utterly devoid of truth. "story" is used in the same sense, but not "novel," for in our present works of fiction there is seldom so much improbability as to be offensive in our day, though it may be so to our successors. in the above extracts it may have been observed that there is a prominence and importance given to the lower animals which we should not find in writings of the present day. as civilization fell back into barbarism, fables re-appeared, and some indifferent literature of this kind was produced in the fourth century by aphthonius in greek, and afterwards by flavius avianus in latin. in the saxon ode on the victory of athelstan, a very particular account is given of the beasts of prey present at the carnage. theodosius, the blind emperor, is said to have been restored to sight by a serpent, whom he had benefited, coming in while he was asleep, and placing a precious stone upon his eyes. in one of the early romances of marie, a baron is transformed into a bisclaveret,[ ] or wolf, for three days every week, much to his wife's discomfort; in another a falcon changes into a knight, who is finally caught in a bird-trap; in another a lady falls into a trance, and is supposed to be dead, until her rival, seeing a weasel restore another one by placing a vermilion flower in its mouth, she places it in the lady's mouth and thus awakens her. the same element is largely present in the other romances. alexander neckam, who lived in the latter part of the twelfth century, shows how fond our forefathers were of animals, and how they kept them in their houses. the castles were often full of them, some roving about, others necessarily in confinement. monkeys were in high favour. some of them were taught to fight as in a tournament, which we are told caused great laughter. in mediæval times there was a love of all kinds of hybrid animals, and there was a certain amount of belief that all sorts of monsters came from the east or north. giraldus cambrensis tells us that there were in ireland such mixtures as half ox and half man, half dog and half monkey. all these stories remind us of the fabular period in old greek history, and bespeak a time, when both taste and knowledge were in their infancy; but when, at the same time, the rays of the ideal were breaking upon the mind, and "men appeared as trees walking." allied to a love of fabling was that of allegory, which, as soon as literary activity began to appear in the early church, produced an abundant harvest. this tendency exhibited itself in the first progress of thought in england. philippe de than, one of the most ancient anglo-norman poets, wrote a work describing the character of each bird and beast, upon which he grounded moral reflections. robert grosseteste, bishop of lincoln, who died in , was celebrated for a copious dissertation on mystical divinity, and a poem is extant ascribed to him, called the "castle of love" by leland, in which the creation and redemption are represented as an allegory--our lord being supposed to enter a magnificent castle, the body of the virgin. the "gesta romanorum" strongly exhibits the want of discrimination at this time, for although the dramatis personæ are generally roman emperors, the deepest christian mysteries are supposed to be shadowed forth by their actions. some of the stories are evidently invented to enforce religious teaching. we read of an angel accompanying a hermit on his wanderings, the angel robs or murders all who receive him, but explains afterwards that it is for their good. he gives a golden goblet to a rich man who refuses to entertain them, to comfort him in this world, as he will go to hell in the next. vincent of beauvais, a learned dominican of france, who flourished in the thirteenth century, observes that it was a practice of preachers to rouse their congregation by relating a fable of Æsop. in the british museum there is a collection of two hundred and fifteen stories, romantic, allegorical, and legendary, evidently compiled for the use of monastic preachers. mystic similitudes were at this time greatly affected in all branches of learning. in the "romaunt of the rose," the difficulties of a lover are represented under the form of a man seeking a rose in an inaccessible garden. this flower, alchemists considered to be emblematic of the philosopher's stone, while theologians referred it to the white rose of jericho--a state of grace into which the wicked could not enter. chapter ii. anglo-saxon humour--rhyme--satires against the church--the brunellus--walter mapes--goliardi--piers the ploughman--letters of obscure men--erasmus--the praise of folly--skelton--the ship of fools--doctour doubble ale--the sak full of nuez--church ornamentation--representations of the devil. the rude character of the anglo-saxon humour may be gathered from our having derived from it the word _fun_. this term which we often apply to romping and boisterous games, refers principally to the sense of feeling, and always implies some low kind of amusement connected with the senses. we also discover among the anglo-saxons an unamiable tendency to give nicknames to people from their personal peculiarities. but if we look for anything better, we can find only a translation of the latin riddles of symposius by aldhelm, bishop of shirburn. this prelate, who was a relation of ina, king of the west saxons, was in attainments far superior to his age. he was celebrated as a harper, poet, and theologian, and wrote several works, especially one in praise of virginity. his translations from symposius were probably intended for the post-prandial delectation of the monks. aristophanes seems to have made the first approach to rhyming, for he introduced some repetitions of the same word at the end of lines. he probably thought the device had an absurd effect and used it as a kind of humour. aulus gellius blames isocrates, who lived about b.c., for introducing jingles into his orations, and as he also refers to lucilius' condemnation of them, he would probably have objected to them in poetry. classic latin versification is supposed to have died out with fortunatus, bishop of poitiers in the sixth century, but an advance was made towards playing with words by the introduction of rhymes in the church hymns. some trace of them is found in the verses of hilary in the fourth century, but we find them first regularly adopted in a latin panegyric written for clotaire ii. in france at the commencement of the seventh. some suppose that "leonine verses" were invented shortly afterwards by pope leo ii. as in the days of greece and rome, the development of poetry was accompanied by a considerable activity in the fabrication of metres. this did not limit itself to a distich or alternate rhyme called "tailed" or "interlaced," but included the "horned," "crested," and "squared" verses--the last forming double acrostics. sometimes half a dozen lines were made to rhyme together. this movement, pedantic as it was, showed an advance in finding similarities in things dissimilar, a change in the appreciation of the harmony. previously rhymes were considered ludicrous, as they seem to us now in prose, and even in the french drama. the old welsh poetry depended merely upon alliteration--as in the words ascribed to the british queen-- "ruin seize thee, ruthless king." and among our old proverbs we have "many men of many minds." "fools build houses, for wise men to live in." "first come, first served." the motto of the duke of athole runs "furth fortune and fill the fetters." the "exeter book," presented to his cathedral by leofric, first bishop of exeter in deserves notice, as indicative of the course of early anglo-saxon literature. here we have first religious meditations and legends of saints, then proverbial, or as they are called "gnomic" verses, next allegorical descriptions by means of animals, and finally riddles. the last are very long, and generally consist of emblematic descriptions. it is a part of the great system of compensation under which we live, that those who are most highly praised are most exposed to the attacks of the envious, and that those who stand on an eminence above others should have their bad as well as their good deeds recorded. and thus we find that the earliest shafts of censure were directed against princes and priests, and the first norman satires of which we hear were some songs called sirventois, against arnould, who was chaplain to robert courthose in the time of william rufus. he was apparently an excellent man, established schools at caen, and was afterwards promoted to be patriarch of jerusalem. the next attack of which we have any record was that made by luc de la barr against henry i. the nature of the imputations it contained may be conjectured from the fact, that the king ordered the writer's eyes to be put out. another satire was directed against richard, "king of the romans," who was taken prisoner at lewes. it was written to triumph over him, and taunt him with his defeat, and the nearest approach to humour in it is where it speaks of his making a castle of a windmill, which is supposed to refer to his having been captured in such a building. the humour in the satires of this time was almost entirely of a hostile or optical character. we have two metrical ballads of the thirteenth century directed against the scotch and french, but containing little but animosity. there is also one complaining of heavy taxation in the reign of edward i., but generally the church was attacked, as the clergy formed a prominent mark in every parish in the country, and were safer game than the king or barons. thus, in the harleian mss., there is an ancient french poem pretending to eulogise a new conventual order for both men and women, who are to live together in great luxury and be bound to perpetual idleness. several monasteries in england are mentioned as affording instances of such a mode of living. the earliest literary assault we have on the church in this country was written probably in the thirteenth century--warton says, soon after the conquest--in a mixture of saxon and norman. a monastery, composed of various kinds of gems and delicacies, represents the luxury of the monks-- "fur in see, bi west spayngne is a lond ihote cokaygne: ther nis lond under heuen-riche of wel of godness hit iliche. "ther is a wel fair abbei, of white monkes and of grei, ther beth bowris and halles al of pasteiis beth the walles of fleis, of fisse, and rich met, the likfullist that man mai et. fluren cakes beth the schingles[ ] alle of cherche, cloister, boure, and halle. the pinnes[ ] beth fat podinges rich met to princez and kinges. "an other abbei is ther bi for soth a gret fair nunnerie; vp a riuer of sweet milke, whar is gret plente of silk." he goes on to speak of the monks and nuns as dancing together in a very indecorous manner. the clergy were often humorous themselves--nigellus wireker, a monk of canterbury, who is supposed to have lived in the time of richard i., wrote a very amusing attack on his brethren. it is in latin elegiac verse, and as being directed against ambition and discontent may be compared with the first satire of horace. but he wrote in a less advanced state of civilisation to that in which the roman poet lived, and he carries on his discourse by means of conversations of animals. the work is called the brunellus--the name of an ass. the poem is directed against passion and avarice--and especially against the monks, who, he says deserve to be called pastors, not _a pascendo_ but _a poscendo_. but he takes so much interest in the animals he introduces, that he seems to lose sight of his moral object. he delights in the speeches of a cock and crow, but his main story is that the ass, brunellus, is dissatisfied, because, having long ears he thinks he ought to have a long tail. he betakes himself to galienus to consult him, who endeavours to dissuade him from adopting any surgical or medical means, and reminds him that if he has a short tail he has a very large head. he inculcates contentment by a story of two cows, one of which, through impatience when her tail has stuck in the mud, says it is not an _honour_ but an _onus_, and so pulls it off, and becomes a laughing stock to the world. the other cow waits patiently, and makes a long speech containing references to cato and the trojan war. prescription given by galienus to the ass brunellus to make his tail grow: "some marble's fat and seven fold furnace shade the offspring of a male and female mule, a little of the milk of goose and kite a punchbowl's racing, and a wolf's alarms; of dogs and hares alliance take a drachm, and kisses which the lark gives to her hawk." the ass begs galienus to bestow upon him his blessing, which he does with mock gravity-- "may jove to thee a thousand omens give, and to thy tail ten thousand omens more; mayst thou drink water, and on thistles feed, be thy bed marble, and thy covering dew. may hail and snow and rain be ever near, ice and hoar frost thy constant comfort be!" the ass, whose extraordinary performances are narrated, is appointed the "nuntius" of a bishop. the man who showed at this time the greatest judgment in humour and insight into its nature, was john of salisbury. his polycraticus is worthy of a religious character; but he speaks in it of "court trifles" under which he places dice, music and dreams. many of his observations show a taste and knowledge in advance of his time. "our age," he says, "has fallen back to fables," and he speaks as though the jesters of the day indulged in very questionable jokes and performances. he notices the force of a jest made by a man who would himself fall under it, as when a pauper laughs at poverty. also he refers to the effect of accusing a man of the faults to which his virtues may lead, as of telling a liberal man he is a spendthrift. "so diogenes told antisthenes, his master, that he had made him a doctor instead of a rich man--a dweller in a tub, instead of in a mansion." well-timed pleasantries, he says, are of use in oratory, but convivial jesting is dangerous, remarks or personal defects are objectionable, and as lycurgus ordered, all jokes should be without bitterness. but walter mapes seems to have been the first man of note, who reconciled "divinity and wit." he was born on the borders of wales about the beginning of the twelvth century, and having studied at the university of paris became a favourite of henry ii., and was made a canon of st. paul's, and archdeacon of oxford. it may be worth notice that his name was really a monosyllable, "map," a man's appellation being not always without influence in determining his character and conduct. from being a man of humour he obtained the credit of being a man of pleasure, but as far as we can collect from the writings, which are with certainty attributed to him, he was strongly imbued with religious feelings. he delights to recount the miracles of saints. peter of tarentaise exorcised, he tells us, a devil from one possessed, and the man proved his cure by exclaiming, "mother of god, have mercy upon me!" whereupon john the bishop said of peter. "this is the only bishop--the rest of us are dogs unable to bark." mapes also reflects the credulity of the age in which he lived, by narrating extraordinary stories of infidels walking about after death, and calling people by name, who always died shortly afterwards. he gives us a collection of welsh "apparitions." we must suppose that even at that day there was something peculiarly fanciful in the mind of the man who collected such tales. but, although he commends his favourite saints as being jocund and pleasant men, we are disappointed when we look for his own wit. it is either verbal or sententious, and does not rise higher than, "few things are impossible to women." "may god omnipotent grant you not to be deceived by woman omnipotent." "the dog does not gnaw a dry bone, nor the leech stick to an empty vein." his "mirror of the church" is full of violent attacks upon the monastic orders, especially the cistercian, evidently written in serious indignation, although he sometimes indulges in a play upon words. in this he was unlike many writers, who attacked the monks merely to amuse, for which there was a good opening, as the brethren, though in some cases weak, were generally viewed with respect, and tales about them were easily regarded as humorous. there is a story of walter mapes having been called to see a cistercian abbot, when dangerously ill, and the archdeacon recommended him to quit his order, and give up avarice and rapacity. the abbot refused, and even administered to the archdeacon the rebuke, "get thee behind me, satan." shortly afterwards mapes was taken ill, and the abbot going to visit him, strongly recommended him to renounce his light jesting habits, to give up his pluralities, and take refuge in the bosom of the cistercian order--at the same time producing a gown and cowl, with which he proposed to invest him. mapes, with characteristic humour called his servants, and told them that, if ever in a fit of sickness he expressed a desire of becoming a monk, they were to consider it a sign that he had lost his senses, and keep him in close confinement. the character which mapes obtained for himself, caused a large amount of poetry of a somewhat later date to be attributed to him. it is called "goliardic," as it gives the views of a class of wild ecclesiastical or university men, who spent their time in composing lampoons, and were called goliards, from their supposed gluttony. in an epigram, one of these men is represented coming to a bishop's palace, and stating that he is "all ready to dine," somewhat in the way of the old greek parasites. the bishop tells him he does not want such disreputable company, but that as he has come, he may have his food. we may suppose, however, that he and his poorer brethren did not occupy any dignified position at the repast, as one of them complains "abbas ire sede sursum, et prioris juxta ipsum, ego semper stavi dorsum inter rascalilia." all these poems are in latin rhyme. two of them are especially attributed to mapes. one is "on not marrying;" golias here sets forth a very appalling catalogue of the miseries of matrimony. the husband is a donkey who is spurned by his wife. her tongue is a sword. he thanks heaven he has escaped from the danger he was once in from the fascinations of a beautiful lady. the other piece is the "confessions of golias," which are very frank with regard to various unclerical weaknesses. some of the stanzas may be translated as follows, "i purpose in a tavern to die, place to my dying lips the flowing bowl, may choirs of angels coming from on high sing, 'god be gracious to the toper's soul.'[ ] "the race of poets shun both drink and food, avoid disputes, withdraw from public strife, and to make verses that shall long hold good o'ercome with labour, sacrifice their life. "nature allots to each his proper course, in hunger i could never use my ink, the smallest boy then equals me in force, i hate as death the want of food and drink." in one of these poems, golias calls down every kind of misery, spiritual and temporal, upon the man who has stolen his purse. he hopes he may die of fever and madness, and be joined to judas in hell. one of the most amusing pieces is a consultation held among the priests, on account of the pope having ordered them to dismiss their women-servants. they finally come to the conclusion that parish priests should be allowed two wives, monks and canons three, and deans and bishops four or five. we are not surprised to hear that such effusions as these called down the displeasure of the heads of the church, and in , a statute was published that no clerks should be "joculatores, goliardi seu bufones." about the middle of the fourteenth century, a french monk, robert langlande, wrote the "vision of piers plowman," an account of a dream he is supposed to have had when among the malvern hills. it is possible that the sight of the grand old abbey may have suggested his theme, for he inveighs not only against the laity, but especially against the ecclesiastics for their neglect of the poor. the poem is remarkable for being without rhythm, but alliterative, such as was common in the neighbouring district of wales. it somewhat resembles one of the old "mysteries," introducing a variety of allegorical characters. some of the personifications are very strange. he says that, "dowel and dobet and dobest the thirde coth he arn thre fair vertues and ben not fer to fynde." "dobest is above bothe, and berith a bieschopis crois and is hokid on that on ende to halie men fro helle and a pike is in the poynt to putte adon the wyked." in another place, the effects of starvation are described "both the man's eiyen wattred," and "he loked like a lanterne." in another work by the same hand, "piers, the ploughman's crede," the author--a simple man--wishes to know how he is to follow christ, and betakes himself to the friars for information. but he finds that each order thinks of little beyond railing against some other. the friars preachers are thus described, "than turned i ayen whan i hadde al ytoted and fond in a freitoure a frere on a benche a greet chorl and a grym, growen as a tonne, with a face so fat, as a ful bleddere blowen bretful of breth, and as a bagge honged." all the humour of piers the ploughman seems to be more or less of this personal kind. we must here notice the humorous though scurrilous attack made upon the roman clergy in the "letters of obscure men," published in germany at the commencement of the sixteenth century. there was something novel in the idea of a series of ironical letters, and from their appearance, the steady progress of the reformation may be dated. the greater part of them seems to have been written by ulrich von hutten, and are addressed to ortuin gratius, a professor of the university of cologne, who had attacked reuchlin, a celebrated hebraist. the original quarrel was only about some translations of rabbinical works, but it extended into a contest between the church party, represented by gratius, and those desirous of reformation. doctrine is scarcely touched upon in these letters, but accusations of immorality abound. there is great variety in the plan upon which the irony and satire are conducted. for instance, the writer says he has just heard from gratius that he is sending flowers and gifts to another man's wife. "reuchlin has written a defence of himself against gratius, in which he calls him an ass. reuchlin ought to be burnt with his book. some people say the monks are grossly dishonest--it is a horrible lie. a preacher, after taking a little too much wine, has actually said that the principals of the university are given to drink and play. some profane men say that the coat of our lord at treves is not genuine, but only an old rag; he does not believe there is now any hair of the virgin in the world; and the preaching friars who sell indulgences are only a set of buffoons who deceive old apple-women. another fool says that the preaching friars committed fearful abominations at berne, and one day put poison into the consecrated elements. a great calamity has happened! a thief has stolen three hundred florins, which the preachers had gained by the sale of indulgences. the people who gave the money are in sad trouble to know whether they still have absolution--they need not be alarmed, they have as much as they had before they gave their money to the friars. query. is it a sin to play at dice in order to buy indulgences? gratius, in a letter to another father of the church, expresses his astonishment at hearing that he thinks so much about the ladies. such thoughts come from the devil; wherever they are suggested, he must make the sign of the cross on his back, and put a pinch of blessed salt on his tongue. women make him ill by employing charms and sorceries against him; it is no wonder, for he has grey hair and eyes, a red face, a large nose, and a corporation. no man should ever make use of necromancy to obtain a woman's love, for a student of theology once fell in love with a baker's daughter at leipzig, and threw an enchanted apple at her,[ ] which caused her to fall violently in love with him, and finally led to a scandal in the church." no one enjoyed these epistles more thoroughly than erasmus,[ ] who, perhaps, from being himself a monk, appreciated them the better. he is said to have laughed so immoderately over some parts of them, that he burst an abscess, which might have proved fatal to him. he was one of those few celebrated men who combine both humour and learning, and he seems to have imbibed somewhat of the spirit of lucian, whose works he translated, and who also lived in an age of religious controversy and transition. there was such a love of amusement, and so little earnestness in erasmus, that he could laugh on both sides of the question, with the reformers and against them. when the monks told him that luther had married a nun, and that the offspring of such an unholy alliance must needs be antichrist, he merely replied: "already are there many antichrists!" writing to a zealous catholic in london, he says "that he grudges the heretics their due, because that, whereas winter is approaching, it will raise the price of fagots." in another place he attacks dignities: "no situation," he says, "could be more wretched than that of the vicegerents of christ, if they endeavoured to follow christ's life." there was scarcely anything sacred or profane which was safe from the lash of his ridicule, and if, as some say, he sowed the seeds of the reformation, it was mostly because he could not resist the temptation to laugh at the clergy. he wrote a very characteristic work entitled "the praise of folly," "encomium moriæ" (a play on the name of sir thomas more), in which he maintains a sort of paradox, setting forth the value and advantages of folly, _i.e._, of indulging the light fancies and errors of imagination. with much humorous illustration he enumerates a great many conceits, and includes among them jests, but his main argument may be thus condensed.[ ] "who knows not that man's childhood is by far the most delightful period of his existence? and why? because he is then most a fool. and next to that his youth, in which folly still prevails; while in proportion as he retires from her dominion, and becomes possessed through discipline and experience of mature wisdom, his beauty loses its bloom, his strength declines, his wit becomes less pungent, until at last weary old age succeeds, which would be absolutely unbearable, unless folly, in pity for such grievous miseries, gave relief by bringing on a second childhood. nature herself has kindly provided for an abundant supply of folly in the human race, for since, according to the stoic definition, wisdom means only being guided by reason; whereas folly, on the other hand, consists in submitting to the government of the passions; jupiter wishing to make life merry, gave men far more passion than reason, banishing the latter into one little corner of his person, and leaving all the rest of the body to the sway of the former. man, however, being designed for the arrangement of affairs, could not do without a small quantity of reason, but in order to temper the evil thus occasioned, at the suggestion of folly woman was introduced into the world--"a foolish, silly creature, no doubt, but amusing, agreeable, and well adapted to mitigate the gloom of man's temper." woman owes all her advantages to folly. the great end of her existence is to please man, and this she could not do without folly. if any man doubts it, he has only to consider how much nonsense he talks to a woman whenever he wishes to enjoy the pleasures of female society." erasmus wrote an ode in honour of henry vii. and his children, and in it he recommends him to keep with him skelton, "the one light and ornament of british literature." he says that no doubt the advice is unnecessary, as he hears the king is most anxious to retain his services. he was tutor to the young prince--afterwards henry viii. skelton was born about . many of his humorous writings are lost, such as "the balade of the mustarde tarte." he became a "poet laureate," at that time a degree in grammar, rhetoric and versification, on taking which, the graduate was presented with a laurel crown. having taken orders in , he was afterwards suspended for living with a lady whom he had secretly married. this suspension was much owing to his having incurred the anger of the dominican friars, whom he had attacked in his writings. we are told that he was esteemed more fit for the stage than the pulpit. the humour of skelton consists principally of severe personal vituperation. in "colyn cloute" he assailed the clergy generally, but he wrote personal attacks on garnesche (a courtier), and on wolsey. the cardinal had been his patron at one time, and skelton had dedicated poems to him, among them "a replycacion" against the followers of wickliffe and luther--of which pious effusion the following lines will give a specimen:-- "to the honour of our blessed lady and her most blesed baby, i purpose for to reply agaynst this horryble heresy of these young heretics that stynke unbrent. "i say, thou madde marche hare, i wondre how ye dare open your ianglyng iawes, to preche in any clawes lyke pratynge poppyng dawes. "i say, ye braynless beestes, why iangle you such iestes. in your diuynite of luther's affynite to the people of lay fee raylying in your rages to worshyppe none ymages nor do pylgrymages." the cause of his quarrel with wolsey is not known, but he afterwards wrote a severe personal attack upon him entitled, "why come ye not to courte?" the tone of this effusion may be gathered from such expressions as:-- "god save his noble grace and grant him a place endlesse to dwell, with the deuyll of hell, for and he were there we nede neuer feere, of the fendys blake; for i vndertake he wolde so brag and crake, that he wolde then make the deuyls to quake, to shudder and to shake." owing to such attacks, he was obliged to flee and take sanctuary at westminster, where he died. his most entertaining pieces are "speke parrot," "phyllyt sparrowe," and "elynour rummynge." in the first a fair lady laments the death of her bird, killed by "those vylanous false cattes." she sings a "requiescat" for the soul of her dear bird, and recounts all his pretty ways-- "sometyme he wolde gaspe when he sawe a waspe; a fly or a gnat he wolde flye at that; and prytely he wold pant when he saw an ant; lord, how he wolde pry after the butterfly! lord, how he wolde hop after the gressop, and whan i said phypp, phypp, than he wolde lepe and skyp, and take ane by the lyp. alas it will me slo that phillyp is gone we fro!" she gives a long list of birds, who are to attend at his funeral, from which our nursery story of cock-robin may be taken. skelton seems to have been fond and observant of birds. in speke parrot, he thus describes "with my beeke bent, my lyttyl wanton eye, my fedders freshe as is the emrawde grene, about my neck a cyrculet lyke the ryche rubye my lyttyl leggys, my feet both fete and clene, i am a mynyon to wayt uppon a quene; my proper parrot my lyttyl prety foole, with ladyes i lerne and go with them to scole." it will be observed that the humour in the above pieces is little separated from poetry. in elynour rummynge however, we have something undoubtedly jocose, and proportionally rustic and uncouth. skelton adopted, as we have seen, a quick, short metre, somewhat analogous to the "swift iambics," of the greek humorists. sometimes also he alternated latin with english in a conceit not very uncommon towards the end of the fourteenth and in the fifteenth century as-- "freeres, freeres, wo ye be! ministri malorum, for many a mannes soul bringe ye, ad poenas infernorum." no work became more popular than the ship of fools by sebastian brandt. it was published in germany in , and was speedily translated into latin and french. alexander barclay altered it so considerably in the rendering as almost to make a new work, especially applicable to the state of things existing in this country. ersch and grüber speak of brandt's fools as contemptible and loathsome, and say what he calls follies might be better described as sins and vices. but here and there we meet with touches of humour in the mishaps and absurd actions of those he censures. the whole work is rather of a moral and religious complexion, as the following heading of the poem will suggest-- "of newe fassions and disgised garmentes. of avaryce and prodygalyte. of vnprofytable stody. of lepynges and dauncis and folys that pas theyr tyme in suche vanyte. of pluralitees, of flatterers, and glosers. of the vyce of slouth. of usurers and okerers. of the extorcion of knyghtis. of follisske, cokes, and buttelers." literature increased greatly in the fifteenth century, and began to take that general form it afterwards bore. one of the satires on the fashions of the period, which in every age seem to have afforded materials for mirth, begins as follows-- "ye prowd gallonttes hertlesse with your hyghe cappis witlesse, and youre schort gownys thriftlesse, have brought this londe in gret hevynesse. with youre longe peked schone. therfor your thrifte is almost don, and with youre long here into your eyen have brought this londe to gret pyne." there is a good satire written on a priest about the time of the reformation, showing considerable humour both in matter, language and versification. it is called "doctor doubble ale." a little episode is given arising from the priest's ignorance-- "his learning is exceeding ye may know by his reading, yet coulde a cobbler's boy him tell that he red a wrong gospell wherfore in dede he served him well, he turned himselfe as round as a ball, and with loud voyce began to call, 'is there no constable among you all to take this knave that doth me troble?' with that all was on a hubble shubble, there was drawing and dragging, there was lugging and lagging, and snitching and snatching, and ketching and catching, and so the pore ladde, to the counter they had, some wolde he should be hanged, or else he shulde be wranged; some sayd it were a good turne such an heretyke to burn." a great many of the humorous poems written against the church were republished at the time of the reformation to show that for centuries the misdoings of the clergy had been a source of comment. in "the sak full of nuez"--a rare book[ ] referred to in , containing a collection of humorous pieces of a rough and rude character--we find several hits at the expense of the church. "a friar used to visit the house of an old woman, who, when he was coming, very prudently hid whatever she had to eat. one day coming with some friends, he asked her if she had not some meat. and she said, 'nay.' 'well,' quoth the friar, 'have you not a whetstone?' 'yea,' quoth the woman, 'what will you do with it?' 'marry,' quoth he, 'i would make meat thereof.' then she brought a whetstone. he asked her likewise if she had not a frying-pan. 'yea,' said she, 'but what the divil will ye do therewith?' 'marry,' said the fryer, 'you shall see by and by what i will do with it;' and when he had the pan, he set it on the fire, and put the whetstone therein. 'cocks-body,' said the woman, 'you will burn the pan.' 'no, no,' quoth the fryer, 'if you will give me some eggs, it will not burn at all.' but she would have had the pan from him, when that she saw the pan was in danger; but he would not let her, but still urged her to fetch him some eggs, which she did. 'tush,' said the fryer, 'here are not enow, go fetch ten or twelve.' so the good wife was constrayned to fetch more, for feare that the pan should burn, and when he had them he put them in the pan. 'now,' quoth he, 'if you have no butter, the pan will burn and the eggs too.' so the good-wife, being very loth to have her pan burnt, and her eggs lost, she fetcht him a dish of butter, the which he put into the pan and made good meat thereof, and brought it to the table, saying, 'much good may it do you, my hostess, now may you say you have eaten of a buttered whetstone.'" another story runs as follows:-- "there was a priest in the country, which had christened a child; and when he had christened it, he and the clerk were bidden to the drinking that should be there, and being there, the priest drank and made so merry that he was quite foxed, and thought to go home before he laid him down to sleep; but, having gone a little way, he grew so drousie that he could go no further, but laid him down by a ditch-side, so that his feet did hang in the water, and lying on his back, the moon shined in his face; thus he lay till the rest of the company came from drinking, who, as they came home, found the priest lying as aforesaid, and they thought to get him away, but do what they could, he would not rise, but said, 'do not meddle with me, for i lie very well, and will not stir hence before morning, but i pray lay some more cloathes on my feet, and blow out the candle.'" at first it occasions us no little surprise to find the clergy of the early centuries so prone to attack and ridicule one another, but we must remember that there was then no reading public, and that the few copies of books in existence were mostly within the walls of the monasteries. thus, the object of these writers would be like that of st. jerome in his letters, not so much to disgrace the church as to improve its discipline. we can also, perhaps, understand how the conflicts between the parish priests and monks led them sometimes to caricature each other in the grotesque heads of corbels and gargoyles; nor does it surprise us that luther, indignant and rude, should portray the pope to the public under the form of a jackass. but how can we account for the strange and profane caricatures which are so numerous in the stone and wood carvings of our cathedrals? in the scriptural ornamentation of the thirteenth century in strasburg cathedral, there was the representation of a funeral performed by animals--a hare carried the taper, a wolf the cross, and a bear the holy water--while in another place a stag was celebrating mass, and an ass reading the gospel. we often find carvings in which foxes are habited as ecclesiastics, sometimes accompanied by geese, who represent their flock, and thus we can understand the significance of the design in sherborne minster and wellingborough, where two geese are hanging a fox. in st. mary's, beverley, are two foxes dressed as ecclesiastics, each holding a pastoral staff, while a goose's head is peeping out of his hood. at boston church we find a fox in a cope and episcopal vestments, seated on a throne, and holding a pastoral staff, while on the right is an ass holding a book for the bishop to read. the fact was that no means were left untried by the church to make converts and to obtain a hold on the people. they wished to render religion as attractive as possible, and perhaps to direct and control tendencies which they could not destroy. it was then a favourite doctrine that the end justified the means--the roman church instituted persecutions, adopted heathen rites, and ordained fasts and festivals to impress the mind. it is recorded that theophylact of constantinople introduced into the church, in the tenth century, the licentious "feast of fools," to wean the people from the revels of their old religion, and have we not until late years celebrated the nativity of our lord, not only by games and frolics, but gluttony and drunkenness, and riotous proceedings, under pagan misletoe! i believe that among the masses of the people the roman saturnalia still survive. we need not then be surprised that the early christians tried to recommend religion by unsuitable ornamentation. they adopted all kinds of floral designs, they represented fables and romances. in the old church of budleigh, in devonshire--which sir walter raleigh attended, and where his head is buried--all kinds of devices are represented on the pews, from a pair of scissors to a man-of-war, including a cook holding a sheep by the tail. it was only a step from this to introduce humour, and as men's feelings had not then been chastened or brought into order by reflection, they probably overlooked the lowering tendencies of levity. those who came to laugh, might remain to pray, and so a strange crop of incongruities germinated upon the sacred soil. thus, in beverley minster, we have a monkey riding upon a hare--a bedridden goat, with a monkey acting as doctor; and at winchester a boar is playing on the fiddle, while a young pig is dancing.[ ] even scenes of drunkenness and immorality are not always excluded. but the principal representations attributed human actions to birds and beasts--people who could laugh at stories of this kind, could also at depictions of them. it may be maintained that men were then highly emotional, and demanded but little complexity or truth in humour, so that they could see something amusing in a boar playing upon the bagpipes, or in such a device as a monster composed of two birds, with the head of a lion, or another with a human head on a lion's body! but there must have been something more than this--some peculiar estimation of animals to account for such numerous representations. they were common in the secular ornamentation of the day, for instance, in a ms. copy of froissart of the fifteenth century, there is a drawing of a pig walking upon stilts, playing the harp, and wearing one of the tall head-dresses then in fashion. this love of the comic seems to have been fostered by the leisure and the lively turn of some ecclesiastics. in the injunctions given to the british church in the year , no bishop is to allow tricks or jocosities (ludos vel jocos) to be exhibited before him, and later we read of two monks, near oxford, receiving a man hospitably, thinking he was a "jougleur," and could perform tricks, but kicking him out on finding themselves mistaken. we find some of the monks amusing themselves with "cloister humour," consisting principally of logical paradoxes; while others indulged in verbal curiosities, such as those of tryphiodorus, the lipogrammatist, who wrote an odyssey in twenty-four books without once using the letter a. some were more fond of pictorial designs, and carved great figures on the chalk downs, such as the giant of cerne abbas, in dorsetshire, and the long man of wilmington, in sussex. as we found reason to believe that the earliest kind of laughter was that of pleasure, so in this revival of civilization, we often see humour regarded as having no influence beyond that of ministering to amusement. the mind was scarcely equal to regarding things in more than one light. a jest was often viewed as entirely unimportant, its levity and depreciatory character being altogether overlooked. to this and to the hostile element then very prominent, we may attribute the caricatures of the devil, formerly so common. before the tenth century, the devil was thought too dreadful to be portrayed, but afterwards, as the church made a liberal exhibition of the torments of hell, the idea occurred of deterring offenders by representing evil spirits in as frightful a form as possible. some think that such figures were suggested by the roman satyrs, but they may have come from jewish or runic sources. there is a mediæval story of a monk having carved an image of the devil so much more repulsive than he really was, that the sable gentleman called upon him one night to expostulate. the monk, however, was inexorable. but the story says further that, although the holy man was proof against the entreaties of the devil, he was not so well armed against the fascinations of the fair, and owing to his suffering a defeat at the hands of the latter came afterwards to be shut up in prison. the original of his portrait again called upon him, and the monk agreed that, if he would obtain his release, he would represent him as a handsome fellow. as times advanced, people began to fear the devil less, and to be amused at these strange carvings. from regarding them as ludicrous, it was only a step to make humorous caricatures--and there could be little harm in ridiculing the devil. thus we frequently find imps and demons brought in to perform the comic parts in the church mysteries. it was a short advance from the ludicrous to the humorous, and thus we find the devil a merry fellow, playing all kinds of practical jokes on mankind. such representations would now appear rather ludicrous than humorous, and are seldom seen, except to amuse children on valentine's day. chapter iii. origin of modern comedy--ecclesiastical buffoonery--jougleurs and minstrels--court fools--monks' stories--the "tournament of tottenham"--chaucer--heywood--roister doister--gammer gurton. as the early drama of greece arose from the celebration of religious rites, so that of modern times originated in the church. this does not seem so strange when we remember that religion is in connection with abstract thought, and with an exercise of the representative powers of the mind. and if we ask how comedy could have been thus introduced, the reply must be that the ideal of former ages was very different from our own. in the days when the mind was dull and inactive, striking illustrations were very necessary to awaken interest in moral and spiritual teaching. they changed in accordance with the progress of the times and country--sometimes the medium was fables or other such impossible fictions, sometimes it was similitudes from nature, as parables, and sometimes dramatic performances. whatever drama the jews had was of a religious character. it is supposed by some that the words--"when your children shall say unto you, 'what mean ye by this service,'" refers to some commemorative representation. however this may be, we know that about the year b.c., ezekiel, an alexandrian jew, wrote a play in greek on the exodus, which somewhat resembled a "mystery." luther thought that the books of judith and tobit were originally in a dramatic form; and, even among the jews, a comic element was sometimes introduced--as in the ancient ahasuerus' play at the feast of purim--with a view of attracting attention at a time when people had little reflection, and were not very particular about the intermingling of utterly incongruous feelings, whether religion and cruelty, or religion and humour. we have traced the gradual decline of the drama in rome, until it consisted but of buffooneries and mimes; and so its revival in modern times commenced with performances in dumb show, the low intellectual character of the age being reflected in popular exhibitions. the mimi were people who performed barefooted, clothed in skins of animals, with shaven heads, and faces smeared with soot. the italians gradually came to relish nothing but a sort of pantomime, and it seems to have occurred to the roman church, always enterprising and fond of adaptation, that they might turn this taste of the people to some account. accordingly, we read of religious mummings in spain as early as the sixth century, and in the brotherhood of the gonfalone was founded in italy to represent the sufferings of christ in dumb show and processions.[ ] in france the performance of holy plays, termed mysteries, dates from the conclusion of the fourteenth century, when a company of pilgrims from the holy land, with their gowns hung with scallop shells and images, assisted at the marriage of charles vi. and isabella of bavaria. they were incorporated as a society in paris to give dramatic entertainments, and were known as the "fraternity of the passion." originally the intention was to represent scenes in scripture history, but gradually they introduced "moralities"--fanciful pieces in which god, the devil, the virtues, &c., were the dramatis personæ. in one of these, for instance, the devil invites the follies to a banquet on their arrival in hell. when they sit down the table seems hospitably spread, but as soon as they begin to touch the food it all bursts into flame, and the piece concludes with fireworks. we can see that a comic element might easily be introduced into such performances. but charles vi., who seems to have been fond of all mimetic exhibitions, formed another company named "l'institution joyeuse," composed of the sons of the best families in paris, who, under the name of the "enfans sans souci," and presided over by the "prince des sots," made france laugh at the follies of the day, personal and political. the above mentioned religious fraternity joined these gay performers without apparently seeing anything objectionable in such a connection, and under the name of the "clercs de la bazoche," or clerks of the revels, acted with them alternately. even in the mysteries, an occasional element of humour was evidently introduced, although many things which would appear ludicrous to us did not so affect the people of that day. a tinge of buffoonery was thought desirable. thus in the "massacre of the holy innocents," a good deal of scuffling takes place on the stage, especially where the women attack with their distaffs a low fool, who has requested herod to knight him that he may join in the gallant adventure. in france there was "the feast of asses," in which the priests were attired like the ancient prophets, and accompanied by virgil! balaam, armed with a tremendous pair of spurs, rode a wooden ass, in which a man was enclosed. robert grosseteste, bishop of lincoln, forbade the celebration in churches of the "feast of fools," in which the clergy danced and gesticulated in masks. the "mysteries" seem sometimes to have been of extraordinary length, for there was a play called "the creation," performed at clerkenwell which lasted eight days. pageantry as well as humour--devices appealing to the senses--were largely employed to enliven the exhibitions of early times. in the christmas games in the reign of edward i., we find they made use of eighty tunics of buckram of various colours, forty-two vizors, fourteen faces of women, fourteen of men, and the same number of angels, as well as imitations of dragons, peacocks, and swans. the taking of constantinople in scattered the men of learning throughout the west, and led to a revival of literature. the drama recommenced with representations of the old plays of plautus. they were performed at the universities, and on state occasions, as in , when henry viii. had a stage erected in his great hall at greenwich. but the first development seems to have been in spain, where the old romans had left their impress, and where the cruel games of the circus still survive in the form of bull-fights. lopez de reuda, of seville, first brought comedy on the stage, but cervantes tells us that then the whole wardrobe of an actor consisted of four sheep-skins, trimmed with gilt leather, four beards, four wigs, and four shepherds' crooks. nevertheless, after the classical period, spain became the repertory for the comedians of europe. so far we have traced the origin of comedy as to public performance. we now come to consider what tendencies of disposition opened the way for it, and led to its becoming a branch of literature. the love of amusement, which is so strong in man, induced the patronage, which in early times was extended to the various kinds of professors of light arts. in the days of greece, as in those of rome, there were ball-players, and mountebanks, and we may remember an occasion on which terence complained that a rope-dancer had enticed away his audience. in sparta there were men who represented the tricks of thieves and impostors in dances, and whose entertainments, though poor, were superior to that of mere mountebanks. the mimes were a still greater improvement, in which a certain amount of amusing narrative was illustrated by dances, songs, contortions, and as the name implies by mimicry. we have seen plato introducing mimi from greece, and julius cæsar interesting himself in such performers. our mediæval fool has been traced to the roman mime, who continued to please the country-people with coarse and debased representations after rome had fallen, and comedy had perished. some have even given a classic origin to our pantomime, considering harlequin to be mercury, the clown momus, pantaloon charon, and columbine psyche. the roman sannio and manducus certainly somewhat corresponded to our fool and clown, the latter especially in his gormandising propensities. but it is scarcely necessary to travel so far back, for the desire for amusement has in all countries produced an indigenous supply. court-jesters are heard of as early as the reign of philip of macedon, but they seem to have been at first little more than parasites of inferior rank and education. in roman times they were little more than buffoons,[ ] and not very different from the mediæval fools. they seem to have received nicknames, and petronius describes a very low buffoon performing antics in a myrtle robe with a belt round his waist. as in ancient times we find achilles singing to his lyre, so the english musicians and story-tellers were originally amateurs of high rank. we read of king alfred charming the danes with his minstrelsy. so also in the arthurian legends sir kaye is represented as amusing the company; but at the time of hoel dha's welsh laws, the bard was paid, for we read that the king was to allow him a horse and a woollen garment, and the queen to give him a linen robe; the prefect of the palace is privileged to sit near him on festivals and to hand him his harp. canute seems to have treated his scalds with less ceremony, for he threatened to put one of them to death because he recounted his exploits in too short a poem, but the man escaped by producing thirty strophes on the subject next day. the saxon gleemen were generally of humble origin and not only performed music, but exhibited tricks. so also among the normans we find the barons originally amusing one another with "gabs," _i.e._ boastful and exaggerated accounts of their achievements. but soon a greater amount of leisure and luxury led them to pay for amusement; professed musicians and story-tellers were introduced, and were classed with the _ministri_ or servants, whence came the name minstrel, which was soon confined to them alone. we find talliefer going before william the conqueror at the battle of hastings chanting the brave deeds of charlemagne and making a display of skill in tossing and catching his sword and spear. this union of tricks and music became so common that the words minstrel and jougleur were soon synonymous, though there was originally a distinction between them. the word jougleur, sometimes by mistake written jongleur, is derived from the latin _joculator_. this class of people were conjurers, as their name suggests, and often went about the country with performing animals, especially bears and monkeys. they gradually added songs to their accomplishments, which more assimilated them to the minstrels, and they became connected with, and were sometimes called "troubadours." in these minstrels or jougleurs, though sometimes strolling independently, being often attached to great households, we find an element of the domestic, or as he is called, court fool, and we find another in their performances being of that primitive character, which appeals chiefly to the perception of the senses. for although the "jocular" part, originally subordinate, had been increased, it took so rude a form that the ludicrous was not always easily distinguished from the humorous. the fool was a strange mixture of both, varying from a mere idiot and butt to a man of genius, far superior to his masters. he made shrewd remarks, and performed senseless antics, the city fool, on lord mayor's day, was to jump clothes and all into a large bowl of custard. to a certain extent he generally corresponded with his name in having some mental weakness or eccentricity, and it was a recommendation if he were dwarfish or deformed. he wore a "motley" suit of discordant colours to make him ridiculous, and correspond with the incongruity of his mind and actions--a dress similar to the hundred patched _paniculus centunculus_ of the roman mimes. sometimes he wore a petticoat or calf-skin to resemble an idiot. finally, he had his head shaved and wore a cowl to make him like a monk, as his buffooneries would thus have a stranger character, and the nobles had no great affection for the church.[ ] the domestic fool was common in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries up to the time of louis xiv.; but it is said that there were such men at the court of louis le débonnaire. giraldus cambrenses writes that when he was preaching for the crusades in south wales, one john spang "who by simulating fatuity, and having a quick tongue was wont to be a great comfort to the court," said to resus, the king: "you should be greatly indebted to your relative the archdeacon for sending a hundred of your men to day to follow christ, and if he had spoken welsh i do not believe that one of all your people would remain to you." this was towards the end of the twelfth century, but it does not seem clear that john spang was a court jester. we may fairly consider that the institution of the domestic fools, the employment of men, who professed jocularity as a branch of art distinct from music and legerdemain increased mental activity, and a growing desire for humour. but the men who made jesting their profession were generally regarded with contempt, and an act of parliament in the reign of edward iii. ordered strollers of this kind to be whipped out of the town. an old satire written at the time of the reformation brings together actors, dustmen, jugglers, conjurers, and sellers of indulgences. but we want something more than wits and drolleries, and even public performances, to complete our idea of comedy. we must have literary composition and artistic construction. from songs of warlike achievements such as were chanted by the old scalders to cheer their chiefs over the bowl, there arose by degrees fanciful tales with which the saxons and their successors amused themselves after their dinner, and round the blazing hearth. in the tenth century the clergy found stories to amuse the post-prandial hour--extravagant, indelicate, or profane--such were the times, but marking improved activity of thought. thus they enjoyed such a tale as that a "prophet" went to heriger (archbishop of mayence about ) and told him he had been to the nether world, a place, he said, surrounded by woods. the archbishop replied that, if that was the case, he would send his lean swine there to eat acorns. the prophet added that afterwards he went to heaven, and saw christ and his saints sitting at table and eating; john the baptist was the butler, and served the wine, and st. peter was the cook. the archbishop asked the stranger how he fared himself, and on his saying that he sat in the corner and stole a piece of liver--heriger instead of praising his sanctity ordered him to be tied to a stake, and flogged for theft. the "supper," as old as the tenth century, is another humorous description. a grave assembly of scriptural characters, from adam and eve downwards, are invited, cain sits on a plough, abel on a milk-pail &c.; two, paul and esau, are obliged to stand for want of room, and job complains of having nothing to sit on but a dunghill. jonah is here the butler. samson brings honey to the dessert, and adam apples-- "tunc adam poma ministrat, samson favi dulcia. david cytharum percussit, et maria tympana, judith choreas ducebat et jubal psalteria asael metra canebat, saltabat herodias."[ ] thus stories, by degrees, began to be not only composed, but written, and although not intended for acting, to be dignified with the old name of "comedies." such poems were written by robert baston, who accompanied edward ii. to scotland. the tournament of tottenham is a merry story of this kind, written in the reign of henry vi. it is full of a rough kind of hostile humour, and shows the sort of things which amused at that time. here we have a burlesque upon the deeds of chivalry. a mock tournament is held, the prize is to be the reve of tottenham's daughter, a brood hen, a dun cow, a grey mare, and a spotted sow. the combatants--clowns and rustics--provide themselves with flails, and poles, and sheep skins "they armed tham in mattes; they set on ther nollys (heads) for to kape ther pollys, gode blake bollys (bowls) for t' batryng of battes (cudgels)." the fierceness of the combat is described: "and fewe wordys spoken, there were flayles al to-slatered, ther were scheldys al to-flatred, bollys and dysches al to-schatred, and many hedys brokyn." we find some specimen of the kind of tales called comedies, which preceded acted comedy, in the works of chaucer, who died in . scarcely any part of chaucer's writings would raise a laugh at the present day, though they might a blush.[ ] but he was by no means a man who revelled in indelicacy. we may suppose that he was moderate for the time in which he lived, and when he makes an offensive allusion, he usually adds some excuse for it. the antiquated language in which his works are written prevents our now appreciating much of the humour they contained; generally, there is more refinement and grace in his writings. no doubt at the time he was thought witty, and his tendency in this direction is shown by his praise of mirth in the "romaunt of the rose." "full faire was mirth, full long and high, a fairer man i never sigh: as round as apple was his face, full roddie and white in every place, fetis he was and well besey, with meetly mouth and eyen gray, his nose by measure wrought full right, crispe was his haire, and eke full bright, his shoulderes of large trede and smallish in the girdlestede: he seemed like a purtreiture, so noble was he of his stature, so faire, so jolly, and so fetise with limmes wrought at point devise, deliver smart, and of great might; ne saw thou never man so light of berd unneth had he nothing, for it was in the firste spring, full young he was and merry of thought, and in samette with birdes wrought and with golde beaten full fetously his bodie was clad full richely. wrought was his robe in straunge gise and all slitttered for queintise in many a place, low and hie, and shode he was with great maistrie with shoone decoped and with lace, by drurie and by solace his leefe a rosen chapelet had made, and on his head it set." he speaks in equally high terms of "dame gladnesse." we can appreciate chaucer's address to his empty purse-- "to you my purse, and to none other wight complaine i, for ye be my lady dere, i am sorry now that ye be light, for certes ye now make me heauy chere me were as lefe laid vpon a bere, for which vnto your mercy thus i crie be heauy againe or els mote i die. "now vouchsafe this day or it be night that i of you the blissful sowne may here, or see your colour like the sunne bright that of yelowness had neuer pere; ye be my life, ye be my hertes stere queen of comfort, and good companie be heauy againe, or els mote i die. "now purse that art to me my liues delight and sauiour, as downe in this world here, out of this towne helpe me by your might sith that you woll not be my treasure, for i am shave as nere as any frere, but i pray vnto your curtesie be heauy againe, or els mote i die." chaucer was very fond of allegory. this is especially visible not only in the "romaunt of the rose," but in the "court of love," "flower and leaf," the "house of fame," and the "cuckoo and nightingale." in the "assembly of fowls" we have a fable. chaucer was attached to the service of john of gaunt, which may have led to his attacking the clergy, but in his youth he was fined two shillings for beating a franciscan friar in fleet street. he favoured wickliffe, and was for this reason eventually obliged to flee the country; but he returned and obtained remunerative appointments. it is said that on his death-bed he lamented the encouragement which vice might receive from his writings, but their indelicacy was not really great for the age in which he lived. henry heywood has been called the "father of english comedy," and he was certainly one of the first that wrote original dramas, representing the ordinary social life of this country. his pieces, which all appeared before , were short and simple, and seem to us very deficient in delicacy and humour. but in his day he was considered a great wit, and as a court-jester drew many a lusty laugh from old king hal, and could even soothe the rugged brow of the fanatical mary. one of his best sayings was addressed to her. when the queen told heywood that the priests must forego their wives, he answered. "then your grace must allow them _lemans_, for the clergy cannot live without sauce." he was called the epigrammatist, but the greater part of his jests seem to have little point. some of them have been attributed to sir thomas more. one of the earliest english comedies written by nicholas udall, and found entered in the books of the stationers' company in the year, , is royster doister. "which against the vayne glorious doth invey whose humour the roysting sort continually doth feede." the play turns on ralph royster doister--a conceited fool--thinking every woman must fall in love with him. much of the humour is acoustic, and depends on repetitions-- "then twang with our sonnets, and twang with our dumps, and hey hough for our heart, as heavie as lead lumps. then to our recorder with toodle doodle poope, as the howlet out of an yvie bushe should hoope anon to our gitterne, thrumpledum, thrumpledrum thrum, thrumpledum, thrumpledum, thrumpledum, thrumpledum, thrum." royster is duped into sending custance a love-letter, telling her that he seeks only her fortune, and that he will annoy her in every way after marriage. on discovering the deception, he determines to take vengeance on the scribbler who wrote the love-letter for him:-- "yes, for although he had as many lives as a thousande widowes and a thousande wives, as a thousande lyons and a thousande rattes, a thousande wolves and a thousande cattes, a thousande bulles, and a thousande calves and a thousande legions divided in halves, he shall never 'scape death on my sworde's point though i shoulde be torne therefore joynt by joynt." where he prepares to punish custance and her friends for refusing him, there is a play on the word "stomacke"--used for courage: _ralph royster._ yea, they shall know, and thou knowest i have a stomacke. _m.m._ a stomacke (quod you) you, as good as ere man had. _r. royster._ i trowe they shall finde and feele that i am a lad. _m.m._ by this crosse i have seene you eate your meat as well. as any that ere i have seene of, or heard tell, a stomacke quod you? he that will that denie, i know was never at dynner in your companie. _r. royster._ nay, the stomacke of a man it is that i meane. _m.m._ nay, the stomacke of a horse or a dogge i weene. _r. royster._ nay, a man's stomacke with a weapon mean i. _m.m._ ten men can scarce match you with a spoon in a pie. "gammer gurton's needle" was acted in . it bears marks of an early time in its words being coarsely indelicate, but not amatory. the humour is that of blows and insults and we may observe the great value then attached to needles. it is "a right pithy, pleasant and merry comedy"--a country story of an old dame who loses her needle when sewing a patch on the seat of her servant hodge's breeches. the cat's misdoings interrupt her, and her needle is lost. the hunt for the needle is amusing, and gammer gurton and dame chat, whom she suspects of having stolen it, abuse and call each other witches. hodge, the man with the patched breeches encourages gammer gurton, who seems little to require it. "smite, i say gammer, bite, i say gammer, where be your nails? claw her by the jawes pull me out both her eyen. hoise her, souse her, bounce her, trounce her, pull out her thrott." on some one giving hodge a good slap, the needle runs into him, and is thus happily found. at the opening of the second act of gammer gurton there is a drinking song, which deserves notice as it was the first written in english,-- "i cannot eat but little meat my stomack is not good: but sure i think that i can drink with him that wears a hood. though i go bare, take ye no care i nothing am a colde; i stuff my skin so full within of ioly good ale and olde. backe and side go bare, go bare, booth foot and hand go colde; but belly, god send thee good ale inoughe, whether it be new or olde; "i love no rost, but a nut browne toste and a crab laid in the fire; a little bread shall do me stead moche bread i noght desire. no frost, no snow, no wind i trowe can hurt me if i wolde. i am so wrapt and throwly lapt of ioly good ale and olde. backe and side, &c. "and tib my wife, that as her life loveth well good ale to seeke, full oft drinkes shee, till ye may see the teares run downe her cheeke. then doth she trowle to me the bowle even as a mault-worm sholde, and saith 'sweet heart i tooke my part of this ioly good ale and olde.' backe and side, &c. "now let them drinke, till they nod and winke, even as good fellows should do; they shall not misse to have the blisse good ale doth bring men to. and al goode sowles that have scoured bowles, or have them lustely trolde, god save the lives of them and their wives whether they be yong or olde. backe and side, &c." chapter iv. robert greene. robert greene--friar bacon's demons--the "looking glasse"--nash and harvey. one of the principal humorists at this time was robert greene, born at norwich about . he was educated at cambridge, and was generally styled "robert greene, maister of artes." early in life he became, as he tells us, "an author of playes and a penner of love pamphlets." from the titles of some of them, and from his motto, "_omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci_," it is evident that they were intended to be humorous. thus, his "euphues" professes to contain "mirth to purge melancholy;" his "quips for an vpstart courtier" is "a quaint dispute between velvet-breeches and cloth-breeches," and his "notable discovery of coosnage" has "a delightfull discourse of the coosnage of colliers;" his "second and last part of conny-catching" has "new additions containing many merry tales of all lawes worth the reading, because they are worthy to be remembered. discoursing strange cunning coosnage, which if you reade without laughing, ile give you my cap for a noble." but in all these works there is but little humour, and what we learn in reading them is, that a very small amount of it was then thought considerable, and that stories, which we should think slightly entertaining, appeared in that simple age to be very ingenious and even comic. in the "comicall historie of alphonsus, king of arragon," we do not find anything that could have possibly been humorous, unless the speaking of a brazen head, and the letting venus down from heaven and drawing her up again, could have been so regarded. greene is characteristic of his time in his love of introducing magic and enchanters, and of characters from classic and scripture history. in the "looking-glasse for london and england," in which our metropolis is compared to nineveh, we have angels and magicians brought in. "a hand out of a cloud threateneth a burning sword," and "jonas is cast out of the whale's belly upon the stage." greene is fond of introducing devils. in "the honourable historie of frier bacon and frier bongay," ralph says, "why, sirrah ned we'll ride to oxford to friar bacon. o! he is a brave scholar, sirrah; they say he is a brave necromancer, that he can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into coster-mongers." further on in the same play a devil and miles, bacon's servant, enter. _miles._ a scholar, quoth you; marry, sir, i would i had been a bottle maker, when i was made a scholar, for i can get neither to be a deacon, reader, nor schoolmaster. no, not the clerk of the parish. some call me dunce, another saith my head is full of latin, as an egg's full of oatmeal: thus i am tormented that the devil and friar bacon haunt me. good lord, here's one of my master's devils! i'll go speak to him. what master plutus, how cheer you? _d._ dost know me? _m._ know you, sir? why are not you one of my master's devils, that were wont to come to my master, doctor bacon at brazen-nose? _d._ yes, marry am i. _m._ good lord, master plutus, i have seen you a thousand times at my master's; and yet i had never the manners to make you drink. but, sir, i am glad to see how comformable you are to the statutes. i warrant you he's as yeomanly a man as you shall see; mark you, masters, here's a plain honest man without welt or guard. but i pray you sir, do you come lately from hell? _d._ ay, marry, how then? _m._ faith, 'tis a place i have desired long to see: have you not good tippling houses there? may not a man have a lusty fire there, a good pot of ale, a pair of cards, a swinging piece of chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat on a cup of good drink. _d._ all this you may have there. _m._ you are for me, friend, and i am for you. but i pray you, may i not have an office there? _d._ yes, a thousand; what wouldst thou be? _m._ by my troth, sir, in a place where i may profit myself. i know hell is a hot place, and men are marvellous dry, and much drink is spent there. i would be a tapster. in one play greene introduces a court-fool, and he mixes with the stupidity and knavery of his clowns, a sort of artificial philosophy and argumentative ingenuity, which savours much of the old jesters. in "james the fourth" slipper says:-- o mistress, mistress, may i turn a word upon you? _countess._ friend, what wilt thou? _slipper._ o! what a happy gentlewoman be you truly; the world reports this of you, mistress, that a man can no sooner come to your house, but the butler comes with a black-jack, and says, "welcome, friend, here's a cup of the best for you," verily, mistress, you are said to have the best ale in all scotland. _countess._ sirrah, go fetch him drink [_an attendant brings drink._] how likest thou this? _slip._ like it mistress! why this is quincy quarie, pepper de watchet, single goby, of all that ever i tasted. i'll prove in this ale, and toast the compass of the whole world. first, this is the earth; it ties in the middle a fair brown toast, a goodly country for hungry teeth to dwell upon; next this is the sea, a fair pool for a dry tongue to fish in; now come i, and seeing the world is naught, i divide it thus: and because the sea cannot stand without the earth, as aristotle saith, i put them both into their first chaos, which is my belly, and so, mistress, you may see your ale is become a miracle. further on slipper again shows his readiness in dialogue-- _sir bartram._ ho, fellow! stay and let me speak with thee. _slip._ fellow! friend thou dost abuse me: i am a gentleman. _sir b._ a gentleman! how so? _slip._ why, i rub horses, sir. _sir b._ and what of that? _slip._ o simple-witted! mark my reason. they that do good service in the commonweal are gentlemen, but such as rub horses do good service in the commonweal, _ergo_, tarbox, master courtier, a horse-keeper is a gentleman. _sir b._ here is over much wit in good earnest. but, sirrah, where is thy master? _slip._ neither above ground nor under ground; drawing out red into white, swallowing that down without chawing, which was never made without treading. _sir b._ why, where is he then? _slip._ why in his cellar, drinking a cup of neat and brisk claret in a bowl of silver. oh, sir, the wine runs trillill down his throat, which cost the poor vintner many a stamp before it was made. but i must hence, sir, i have haste. sir bertram intimates that he wants his assistance, and will pay him. _slip._ a good word, thou hast won me; this word is like a warm caudle to a cold stomach. _sir b._ sirrah, wilt thou for money and reward convey me certain letters, out of hand, from out thy master's pocket? _slip._ will i, sir? why were it to rob my father, hang my mother, or any such like trifles, i am at your commandment, sir. what will you give me, sir? _sir b._ a hundred pounds. _slip._ i am your man; give me earnest. i am dead at a pocket, sir; why i am a lifter, master, by occupation. _sir b._ a lifter! what is that? slip. why, sir, i can lift a pot as well as any man, and pick a purse as soon as any thief in the country. these humorous characters remind us a little of the slaves and parasites in roman comedy, of whom, no doubt, greene had read. his amusing fellows are free livers, and fond of wine like himself. in the "looking-glasse" above mentioned, nineveh represents london, and a fast being proclaimed, we find adam, a smith's journeyman, trying to evade it. (_enter adam solus, with a bottle of beer in one slop (trouser) and a great piece of beef in the other._) _adam._ well, goodman jonas, i would you had never come from jewry to this country; you have made me look like a lean rib of roast beef, or like the picture of lent, painted upon a red-herring's cob. alas! masters, we are commanded by the proclamation to fast and pray! by my troth, i could prettily so, so away with praying, but for fasting, why 'tis so contrary to my nature, that i had rather suffer a short hanging than a long fasting. mark me, the words be these: thou shalt take no manner of food for so many days. i had as lief he should have said, thou shalt hang thyself for so many days. and yet, in faith, i need not find fault with the proclamation, for i have a buttery and a pantry and a kitchen about me; for proof, _ecce signum_! this right slop is my pantry, behold a manchet; this place is my kitchen, for lo! a piece of beef. o! let me repeat that sweet word again!--for lo! a piece of beef. this is my buttery, for see, see, my friends, to my great joy a bottle of beer. thus, alas! i make shift to wear out this fasting; i drive away the time. but there go searchers about to seek if any man breaks the king's command. o, here they be; in with your victuals, adam. (_enter two searchers._) _ st searcher._ how duly the men of nineveh keep the proclamation! how they are armed to repentance! we have searched through the whole city, and have not as yet found one that breaks the fast. _ nd sear._ the sign of the more grace; but stay, there sits one, methinks at his prayers; let us see who it is. _ st sear._ 'tis adam, the smith's man. how, now, adam? _adam._ trouble me not; thou shalt take no manner of food, but fast and pray. _ st sear._ how devoutly he sits at his orisons! but stay, methinks i feel a smell of some meat or bread about him. _ nd sear._ so thinks me too. you, sirrah, what victuals have you about you? _adam._ victuals! o horrible blasphemy! hinder me not of my prayer, nor drive me not into a choler. victuals? why heardest thou not the sentence, thou shalt take no food, but fast and pray? _ nd sear._ troth, so it should be; but, methinks, i smell meat about thee. _adam._ about me, my friends? these words are actions in the case. about me? no! no! hang those gluttons that cannot fast and pray. _ st sear._ well, for all your words we must search you. _adam._ search me? take heed what you do! my hose are my castles; 'tis burglary if you break ope a slop; no officer must lift up an iron hatch; take heed, my slops are iron. _ nd sear._ o, villain! see how he hath gotten victuals--bread, beef and beer, where the king commanded upon pain of death none should eat for so many days, not the sucking infant. _adam._ alas! sir, this is nothing but a _modicum non nocet ut medicus daret_; why, sir, a bit to comfort my stomach. _ st sear._ villain! thou shalt be hanged for it. _adam._ these are your words, i shall be hanged for it; but first answer me this question, how many days have we to fast still? _ nd sear._ five days. _adam._ five days! a long time; then i must be hanged. _ st sear._ ay, marry must thou. _adam._ i am your man, i am for you, sir, for i had rather be hanged than abide so long a fast. what! five days! come, i'll untruss. is your halter, and the gallows, the ladder, and all such furniture in readiness. _ st sear._ i warrant thee thou shalt want none of these. _adam._ but hear you, must i be hanged? _ st sear._ ay, marry. _adam._ and for eating of meat. then, friends, know ye by these presents, i will eat up all my meat, and drink up all my drink, for it shall never be said, i was hanged with an empty stomach. it has been supposed that greene was very indelicate in his language, as well as reckless in his life. but we cannot find in his plays anything very offensive, considering the date at which he wrote, and in the tract called "greene's funeralls," we read:-- his gadding muse, although it ran of love, yet did he sweetly morralize his song; ne ever gaue the looser cause to laugh ne men of judgement for to be offended. greene died in "most woefull and rascall estate" at the house of a poor shoemaker near dowgate. he had previously written his "groat's-worth of wit bought with a million of repentance;" in which he warns his former companions and "gentlemen who spend their wits in making playes," to take warning by his fate. he could get none of his friends to visit him at the last but mistress appleby, and the mother of "his base sonne infortunatus greene." he gave the following note for his wife--whom he had not seen for six years--to the shoemaker: "doll, i charge thee by the love of our youth, and by my soule's rest, that thow wilte see this man paide; for if hee and his wife had not succoured me, i had died in the streetes. "robert greene." gabriel harvey writes, "my next businesse was to inquire after the famous author who was reported to lye dangerously sicke in a shop neere dowgate, not of plague, but of a surfett of pickle herringe and rennish wine." thomas nash was one of greene's jolly companions at this fatal banquet. after greene's death harvey replied to some reflections made upon him by greene, and called him in accordance with the amenities of the times, "a wilde head, ful of mad braine and a thousand crotchets; a scholler, a discourser, a courtier, a ruffian, a gamester, a lover, a souldier, a trauailer, a merchant, a broker, an artificer, a botcher, a pettifogger, a player, a coosener, a rayler, a beggar, an omnium-gatherum, a gay-nothing, a stoare-house of bald and baggage stuffe, unworth the answering or reading, a triuall and triobular autor for knaves and fooles," &c., &c. nash, although he seems to have forsaken greene in his last distress, became the defender of his character after his death, and answered this vituperation by still coarser abuse and invective, saying, "had hee lived, gabriel, and thou shouldest vnartifically and odiously libel against him as thou hast done, he would have made thee an example of ignominy to all ages that are to come, and driven thee to eate thy owne booke buttered, as i saw him make an appariter once in a tavern eate his citation, waxe and all, very handsomely served 'twixt two dishes.'" from this he proceeds to caricature gabriel's person. "that word complexion is dropt forth in good time, for to describe to you his complexion and composition entred i with this tale by the way. it is of an adust swarth chollericke dye, like restie bacon, or a dried scate-fish; so leane and so meagre, that you wold thinke (with the turks) he observed lents in a yere, or take him for a gentleman's man in the courtier, who was so thin-cheeked, and gaunt, and starv'd, that as he was blowing the fire with his mouth the smoke took him up like a light strawe, and carried him to the top or funnell of the chimney, wher he had flowne out god knowes whither if there had not been crosse barres overthwart that stayde him; his skin riddled and crumpled like a piece of burnt parchment; and more channels and creases he hath in his face than there be fairie circles on salsburie plaine, and wrinckles and frets of old age, than characters on christ's sepulcher in mount calvarie, on which euerie one that comes scrapes his name, and sets his marke to shewe that hee hath been there; so that whosoever shall behold him "esse putet boreæ triste furentis opus," will sweare on a book i have brought him lowe, and shrowdly broken him; which more to confirme, look on his head, and you shall find a gray haire for euery line i have writ against him; and you shall have all his beard white too, by that time he hath read over this booke. for his stature, he is such another pretie jacke-a-lent as boyes throw at in the streete, and lookes in his blacke sute of veluet, like one of these jet-droppes which divers weare at their eares instead of a iewell. a smudge peice of a handsome fellow it hath been in his dayes, but now he is olde and past his best, and fit for nothing but to be a nobleman's porter, or a knight of windsor." nash was so full of invective and personal abuse that he scarcely deserved the name of a satirist, and so great was the animosity with which the quarrel between him and gabriel harvey was conducted, that the archbishop of canterbury and bishop of london issued an order in that all such books "be taken wheresoever they be found, and that none of the said books be ever printed hereafter." his humour was remarkable, as it largely consisted of coining long and almost unintelligible words. this he laid great store by, and he speaks wrathfully of one who translated his "piers penniless," into what he calls "maccaronical language." in his "lenten stuffe or praise of the red herring," _i.e._, of great yarmouth, he calls those who despised homer in his life-time "dull-pated pennifathers," and says that "those grey-beard huddle-duddles and crusty cum-twangs were strooke with stinging remorse of their miserable euchonisme and sundgery." peele was one of the gay play-writers to whom greene addressed his warning. they seem at this time to have united the professions of dramatist and actor, and to have been infected with that dissipation which has since been attributed with more or less justice to the stage. peele is as fond as greene of surprises and miraculous interventions. in the "arraignment of paris" a golden tree grows up, and in the "old wives tale," the most humorous of his works, the head of huanebango rises from a well. he is fond of dealing in phonetic words latinisms and barbarisms; in one place he makes corebus say: "o _falsum latinum_ the fair maid is _minum_ _cum apurtinantibus gibletis_ and all." peele was very popular in his day, and was often called upon to write pieces for the lord mayor and for royal receptions. he sometimes used hexameter lines such as: "dub, dub-a-dub bounce, quoth the guns with a sulphurous huff shuff." gabriel harvey first introduced this metre into english, and he tried to induce spenser to adopt it. nash calls it "that drunken staggering kind of verse which is all vp hill and downe hill, like the way betwixt stamford and beechfeild, and goes like a horse plunging through the mire in the deep of winter, now soust vp to the saddle and straight aloft on his tip-toes." chapter v. donne--hall--fuller. already we have seen that some of our earliest humorists were ecclesiastics, and it would be unfitting that we should here overlook three eminent men, donne, hall, and fuller. pleasantry was with them little more than a vehicle of instruction; the object was not to entertain, but to enforce and illustrate their moral sentiments. hence their sober quaintness never raises a laugh, much less does it border upon the profane or indelicate. donne was born in , in london, and was educated, as was not then uncommon, first at oxford, and then at cambridge. his ability in church controversy attracted the attention of james, and he was made chaplain to the king. he became preacher at lincoln's inn, and afterwards was made dean of st. paul's. he lived to be fifty-eight. his sermons are full of antitheses and epigrammatic diction. there is an airy lightness in his letters and poems, but he scarcely ever actually reaches humour. the following poem, an epistle to sir edmund herbert at juliers, will give an idea of his style. "man is a lump, where all beasts kneaded be, wisdom makes him an ark where all agree; the fool in whom these beasts do live at jar, is sport to others, and a theatre. nor scapes he so, but is himself their prey, all which was man in him is eat away, and now his beasts on one another feed, yet couple in anger, and new monsters breed. how happy's he, which hath due place assigned to his beasts, and disaforested his mind! empaled himself to keep them out, not in, can sow, and dares trust corn where they've been; can use his horse, goat, wolf, and every beast, and is not ass himself to all the rest." bishop hall was born in , and commenced his extensive literary labours by writing when twenty-three years of age, at emmanuel college, cambridge, three books of satires called virgidemiæ. these books he calls "_toothless_ satyres, _poetical_, _academical_, _and moral_," and he attacks bad writers, astrologers, drunkards, gallants, and others. alluding to the superabundance of indifferent poetry in his days, he says:-- "let them, that mean by bookish business to earn their bread, or holpen to profess their hard-got skill, let them alone for me busy their brains with deeper bookery. great gains shall bide you sure, when ye have spent a thousand lamps, and thousand reams have rent of needless papers; and a thousand nights have burned out with costly candle-lights." in the following year, he produced three books of "byting satyres." in these he laughs at the effeminacy of the times--the strange dresses and high heels. "when comely striplings wish it were their chance for cænis' distaff to exchange their lance, and wear curled periwigs, and chalk their face and still are poring on their pocket-glass; tired with pinned ruffs and fans and partlet strips and busks and verdingales about their hips; and tread on corked stilts, a prisoner's pace, and make their napkin for a spitting place, and gripe their waist within a narrow span, fond cænis that wouldst wish to be a man!" the most severe is against the pope:-- "to see an old shorn lozel perched high crossing beneath a golden canopy; the whiles a thousand hairless crowns crouch low to kiss the precious case of his proud toe; and for the lordly fasces borne of old to see two quiet crossed keys of gold; but that he most would gaze and wonder at to the horned mitre and the bloody hat, the crooked staff, the cowl's strange form and store save that he saw the same in hell before; to see the broken nuns, with new shorn heads in a blind cloister toss their idle heads." although bishop hall wrote learnedly and voluminously on theological subjects, this light medley is now more esteemed than his graver works. he claimed upon the strength of it to be the earliest english satirist, and perhaps none of our writings of this kind had as yet been of equal importance. the work was one of those condemned to the flames by whitgift and bancroft. fuller was born in northamptonshire, in . he became a distinguished man at cambridge, where he obtained a fellowship at sidney sussex college. he was also an eminent preacher in london, and a prebendary of salisbury. in the civil war, being a stanch royalist, he was driven from place to place, and held at one time the interesting post of "infant lady's chaplain" to the princess henrietta. in his "worthies of england," fuller not only enumerates the eminent men for which each country is distinguished, but gives an account of its products and proverbs. "a proverb is much matter decocted into few words. six essentials are wanting to it--that it be short, plain, common, figurative, ancient, true." the most ordinary subject is enlivened by his learned and humorous mind. thus, in bedfordshire, under the head of "larks," he tells us, "the most and best of these are caught and well-dressed about dunstable in this shire. a harmless bird while living, not trespassing on grain, and wholesome when dead, then filling the stomach with meat, as formerly the ear with music. in winter they fly in flocks, probably the reason why _alauda_ signifieth in latin both a lark and a legion of soldiers; except any will say a legion is so called because helmeted on their heads and crested like a lark, therefore also called in latin _galerita_. if men would imitate the early rising of this bird, it would conduce much unto their healthfulness." fuller abounds with figures and illustrations in which learning and humour are excellently intermingled. "they that marry where they do not love, will love where they do not marry." "he knows little, who will tell his wife all he knows." speaking of children, he says that a man complained that never father had so undutiful a child as he. "yes," said the son, "my grandfather had." alluding to servants, and saying that the emperor charles the fifth being caught in a tempest had many horses thrown overboard to save the lives of the slaves--which were not of so great market-value--he asks, "are there not many that in such a case had rather save jack the horse than jockey the keeper?" of widows' evil speaking he observes, "foolish is their project who, by raking up bad savours against their former husbands, think thereby to perfume their bed for a second marriage." of celibacy he says, "if christians be forced to run races for their lives, the unmarried have the advantage of being lighter by many ounces!" speaking of the "controversial divine," he says, "what? make the muses, yea the graces scolds? such purulent spittle argues exulcerated lungs. why should there be so much railing about the body of christ, when there was none about the body of moses in the act kept betwixt the devil and michael, the archangel?" on schoolmasters he wrote, "that schoolmaster deserves to be beaten himself, who beats nature in a boy for a fault. and i question whether all the whipping in the world can make their parts, that are naturally sluggish, rise one minute before the hour nature hath appointed." the following are some good sayings that have been selected from his works by an eminent humorist:-- _virtue in a short person._ "his soul had but a short diocese to visit, and therefore might the better attend the effectual informing thereof." _intellect in a very tall one._ "oft times such, who are built four storeys high, are observed to have little in their cock-loft." _mr. perkins, the divine._ "he would pronounce the word damn with such an emphasis, as left a doleful echo in his auditor's ears a good while after." _memory._ "philosophers place it in the rear of the head; and it seems the mine of memory lies there, because men there naturally dig for it, scratching it when they are at a loss." to this we may add something from his "holy state,"--a pleasant and profitable work, in which fuller is happy in making his humour subserve the best ends:--of "the good wife," he says, "she never crosseth her husband in the spring-tide of his anger, but stays till it be ebbing-water. and then mildly she argues the matter, not so much to condemn him as to acquit herself. surely men, contrary to iron, are worst to be wrought upon when they are hot, and are far more tractable in cold blood. it is an observation of seamen, 'that if a single meteor or fire-ball falls on their mast, it portends ill-luck; but if two come together (which they count castor and pollux) they presage good success.' but sure in a family it bodeth most bad when two fire balls (husband's and wife's anger) both come together." in speaking of good parents, he says, "a father that whipt his son for swearing, and swore at him while he whipt him, did more harm by his example than good by his correction." chapter vi. shakespeare--ben jonson--beaumont and fletcher--the wise men of gotham. greene, in his admonition to his brother sinners of the stage, tells them that "there is an vpstart crow beautified with our feathers an absolute johannes factotum, in his own conceyt the onely shake-scene in a countrey," and in truth these olden writers are principally interesting as having laid the foundations upon which shakespeare built some of his earliest plays. the genius of our great dramatist was essentially poetic, and some of his plays, which we now call comedies, were originally entitled "histories." how seldom do we hear any of his humorous passages quoted, or find them reckoned among our household words! from some of his observations we might think he was altogether averse from jocosity. henry v. says "how ill gray hairs become a fool--a jester!" in "much ado about nothing," beatrice speaks as follows-- "why, he is the prince's jester; a very dull fool, only his gift is in devising unprofitable slanders; none but libertines delight in him, and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany, for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him." but notwithstanding all this condemnation beatrice is herself the liveliest character in shakespeare, and her lady's wit is some of the best he shows-- _beatrice._ for hear me, hero; wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a scotch jig, a measure and a cinque-pace; the first suit is hot and hasty, like a scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding mannerly-modest, as a measure full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and with his bad legs, falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sinks into his grave. _leonato._ cousin, you apprehend shrewdly. _beat._ i have a good eye, uncle; i can see a church, by daylight. in the "merchant of venice" lorenzo thus answers launcelot-- "how every fool can play upon the word. i think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none but parrots." again lorenzo-- "oh, dear discretion, how his words are suited, the fool hath planted in his memory an army of good words: and i do know a many fools that stand in better place garnished like him, that for a tricksie word defie the matter." comedians from aristophanes downwards have been wont to complain in one place of that which they adopt in another--their object not being to adopt fixed principles so much as to show the varying shades of human thought. shakespeare required something light to bring his deep reflections into bolder relief, and therefore frequently had recourse to humour. we are not surprised that he had no very high estimate of it, when we find him so much dependant upon "the alms-basket of words." there is so much of this in his plays, that it is almost superfluous to quote, but a few instances may be taken at random. falstaff to poins-- "you are straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your back--call you that backing your friends? a plague upon such backing; give me a man who will face me." falstaff to prince henry. act i. scene ii. i prythee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as god save thy grace--majesty, i should say, for grace thou wilt have none-- _p. hen._ what! none? _fal._ no, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. in love's labour lost. act i. scene ii. _armado._ comfort me, boy. what great men have been in love? _inoth._ hercules, master. _arm._ most sweet hercules! more authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage. _inoth._ samson, master; he was a man of good carriage, for he raised the town gates on his back like a porter, and he was in love. in the musicians scene, in romeo and juliet, act iv. scene v. we find-- _musician._ pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit. _peter._ then have at you with my wit. i will dry beat you with my iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. answer me like: when griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind oppress, then music with her silver sound-- why _silver_ sound? why music with her silver sound? what say you, simon catling? _first mins._ marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. _peter._ pretty. what say you, hugh rebeck? _sec. mins._ i say "silver sound," because musicians sound for silver. _peter._ pretty, too! what say you, james soundpost? _third mins._ faith! i know not what to say. _peter._ o! i cry for mercy; you are the singer; i will say for you. it is music with her silver sound, because musicians have no gold for sounding. we may here observe that the puns of shakespeare are never of the "atrocious" class; there is always something to back them up, and give them a shadow of probability. the tournaments of humour which he is fond of introducing, although good in effect upon the stage, are not favourable for any keen wit. such conflicts must be kept up by artifice, cannot flow from natural suggestion, and degenerate into a mere splintering of words. one cause of the absence of "salt" in his writings is that he was not of a censorious or cynical spirit; another was that his turn of mind was rather sentimental than gay. shakespeare evidently knew there might be humour among men of attainments, for he writes,-- "none are so surely caught, when they are catched, as wit turned fool; folly is wisdom hatched, hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school and wits' own grace to grace a learned fool." but with him, those who indulge in it are clowns, simpletons, and profligates. few of his grand characters are witty. perhaps he was conscious of the great difficulty there would be in finding suitable sayings for them. indelicacy and hostility would have to be alike avoided, and thus when the sage gonzalo is to be amusing, he sketches a utopian state of things, which he would introduce were he king of the island on which they are cast. he would surpass the golden age. sebastian and antonio laugh at him, and cry "god save the king," alonzo replies "prythee, no more, thou dost talk nothing (_i.e._ nonsense) to me." gonzalo replies that he did so purposely "to minister occasion to those gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing." they retort that they were not laughing at his humour, but at himself. "who," he replies, "in this merry fooling am nothing to you" meaning, apparently, that he is acting the fool intentionally and out of his real character. hamlet, when his mind is distraught, "like sweet bells jangled," is allowed to indulge in a little punning, and biron is humorous, for which he is reproached by rosalind, who tells him that he is one "whose influence is begot of that loose grace which shallow laughing hearers give to fools;" that only silly thoughtless people admire wit, and that "a jest's prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it--never in the tongue of him that makes it." here the variable character of humour is recognised, but it is not to be supposed that rosalind's arguments were intended to be strictly correct. very much must depend upon the form in which a jest is produced, and without the tongue of the utterer, it cannot exist though the sympathy of the listener is required for its appreciation. in shakespeare's plays, and in most comedies we find humour in the representation of ludicrous characters. words, which would be dull enough in ordinary cases, become highly amusing when coming from men of peculiar views. sometimes people are represented as perpetually riding their hobby, or harping on one favourite subject. we have an instance of this in holophernes and his pedantry; and the conversation between the two gravediggers in hamlet, is largely indebted for its relish to the contrast between the language of the men and their occupation. in the same way, the ignorance and misrepresentations of rustics in play acting, which shakespeare had probably often observed in the provinces--gives zest to the exaggerated caricature in "midsummer night's dream."-- _bottom._ there are things in this comedy of pyramus and thisbe that will never please. first, pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself, which ladies cannot abide. how answer you that? _snout._ by'r lakin a parlous fear. _starveling._ i believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done. _bottom._ not a whit. i have a device to make all well. write me a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say, we will not do harm with our swords, and that pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the more better assurance, tell them that i, pyramus, am not pyramus, but bottom the weaver; this will put them out of fear. * * * * * _snout._ will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? _sta._ i fear it, i promise you. _bottom._ masters, you ought to consider with yourselves to bring in--god shield us! a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wildfowl than your lion living, and we ought to look to it. _snout._ therefore another prologue must tell, he is not a lion. _bottom._ nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he must himself speak through, saying thus, or to the same effect--"ladies," or "fair ladies, i would wish you," or "i would request you," or "i would entreat you not to fear, nor to tremble: my life for yours. if you think i come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life: no, i am no such thing. i am a man as other men are," and there then let him name his name and tell them plainly he is snug the joiner. when the play comes on for performance and snug the joiner roars "like any sucking dove," the duke theseus remarks-- a very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. _demetrius._ the very best as a beast, my lord, that e'er i saw. _lysander._ this lion is a very fox for his valour. _theseus._ true, and a goose for his discretion. _demetrius._ not so, my lord, for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the fox carries the goose. _theseus._ his discretion, i am sure, cannot carry his valour, for the goose carries not the fox. the enigmas and logical quibbles, which he occasionally intermingles with his verbal conceits, remind us of the old philosophic paradoxes. sometimes a riddle is attempted; thus, he asks--"what was a month old at cain's birth, that's not five weeks old now?" answer--"the moon." taken generally, there is such a remarkable uniformity in shakespeare's humour as must acquit him of all charge of plagiarism in this respect, and may go some way towards proving the general originality of his plays. certainly, verbal conceits were then in high favour, and the character of shakespeare's humour is only one of many proofs that pleasantry had not at this time reached its highest excellence. to shakespeare's kindness and discretion ben jonson owed his first introduction to dramatic fame. the young poet had presented "every man in his humour," to one of the leading players of the company to which shakespeare belonged, and the comedian upon reading it, determined to refuse it. jonson's fate was trembling in the balance; he was a struggling man, and, had he been unsuccessful, might have eventually, returned to his bricklayer's work, but he was destined to be raised up for his own benefit and that of others. shakespeare was present when his play was about to be rejected, asked to be allowed to look over it, and, at once recognising the poet's talent, recommended it to his companions. from that moment jonson's career was secured. but he was never destined to acquire the lasting fame of shakespeare. with him the stream of comedy was losing its deep and strong reflections, and beginning to flow in a swifter and shallower current, meandering through labyrinths of court and city life. perhaps, also, his large amount of humorous illustration, which must have been mostly ephemeral, tended to cut short his fame. the best of it is interwoven with his several designs and plots, as where, in "the alchemist," a gentleman leaves his house in town, and his housekeeper fills it with fortune-tellers vagabonds, who carry on their trade there; and in "the fox" a rich and childless man is courted by his friends, from whom he obtains presents under the pretence that he will leave them his property. in this last play a parasite is introduced, and in general these plays abound with classical allusions, sometimes very incongruously intermixed with modern concerns. an indiscriminating admiration of ancient literature and art was as much one of the features of the day, as was its crude humour--a cleverness joined to folly and attributed to boobies and simpletons. much of this jocosity scarcely deserves the name of humour, and we may remark that in jonson's time it did not receive it. with him humour is thus defined-- "to be a quality of air or water, and in itself holds these two properties, moisture and fluxure.... now thus far it may by metaphor apply itself unto the general disposition: as when some one peculiar quality doth so possess a man, that it doth draw all his affects, his spirits, and his power." the social peculiarities of the day are frequently alluded to by jonson. in "every man out of his own humour," we have complete directions for the conduct of a gentleman of the time. smoking, then lately introduced, is especially mentioned as one of the necessities of foppery. cob, a water-bearer says, "ods me, i marle what pleasure or felicity they have in taking this roguish tobacco. it's good for nothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke and embers: there were four died out of one house last week with taking of it, and two more the bell went for yesternight; one of them they say will never 'scape it: he cast up a bushel of soot yesterday." in cynthia's revels a courtier is thus described-- "he walks most commonly with a clove or toothpick in his mouth: he is the very mint of compliment, all his behaviours are pointed: his face is another volume of essays, and his beard is aristarchus. he speaks all cream skimmed, and more affected than a dozen waiting women. the other gallant is his zany, and doth most of these tricks after him, sweats to imitate him in everything to a hair, except his beard, which is not yet extant." but the stamp of the age is especially prominent in the constant recurrence of verbal conceits. jonson was fond of coining words, and of using such as are long and little known. he evidently found this a successful kind of humour, and may have partly imitated plautus-- lady politick would-be, to volpone, supposed sick-- seed pearl were good now, boiled with syrup of apples, tincture of gold, and coral, citron pills, your elicampane root, myrobalanes-- _volpone (tired with her talk)_ ah me! i have ta'en a grasshopper by the wing. in "the alchemist" subtle says to face, sirrah my varlet, stand you forth and speak to him like a philosopher: answer in the language, name the vexations and the martyrizations of metals in the work. face. sir, putrefaction, solution, ablution, sublimation, cohabation, calcination, ceration and fixation. from "every man out of his humour." _macilente._ pork! heart! what dost thou with such a greasy dish? i think thou dost varnish thy face with the fat on't, it looks so like a glue-pot. _carlo._ true, my raw-boned rogue, and if thou wouldst farce thy lean ribs with it too, they would not like rugged laths, rub out so many doublets as they do; but thou knowest not a good dish thou. no marvel though, that saucy stubborn generation, the jews, were forbidden it, for what would they have done, well pampered with fat pork, that durst murmur at their maker out of garlick and onions? 'slight! fed with it--the strummel-patched, goggle-eyed, grumbledones would have gigantomachized.-- the following extracts will give a slight idea of ben jonson's varied talent. at the conclusion of a play directed against plagiarists and libellers, he sums up-- "blush, folly, blush! here's none that fears the wagging of an ass's ears, although a wolfish case he wears. detraction is but baseness varlet and apes are apes, though clothed in scarlet." from "the alchemist." _tribulation._ what makes the devil so devilish, i would ask you. sathan our common enemy, but his being perpetually about the fire, and boiling brimstone and arsenic?... _fastidious._ how like you her wit. _macilente._ her ingenuity is excellent, sir. _fast._ you see the subject of her sweet fingers there (_the viol_) oh, she tickles it so that--she makes it laugh most divinely--i'll tell you a good jest just now, and yourself shall say it's a good one. i have wished myself to be that instrument, i think a thousand times, and not so few by heaven. the two following are from "bartholomew fair." _littlewit._ i envy no man my delicates, sir. _winwife._ alas, you have the garden where they grow still. a wife here with a strawberry breath, cherry lips, apricot cheeks, and a soft velvet head like a melicotton. _lit._ good i' faith! now dulness upon us, that i had not that before him, that i should not light on't as well as he! velvet head!... _knockem._ sir, i will take your counsel, and cut my hair, and leave vapours. i see that tobacco and bottle ale, and pig and whit, and very ursula herself is all vanity. _busy._ only pig was not comprehended in my admonition--the rest were: for long hair, it is an ensign of pride, a banner: and the world is full of those banners--very full of banners. and bottle ale is a drink of satan's, a diet-drink of satan's devised to puff us up, and make us swell in this latter age of vanity; as the smoke of tobacco to keep us in mist and error: but the fleshly woman, which you call ursula, is above all to be avoided, having the marks upon her of the three enemies of man--the world, as being in the fair, the devil, as being in the fire;[ ] and the flesh as being herself. ben jonson has a strange, and i believe original conceit of introducing persons to explain their plays, and make remarks on the characters. sometimes many interruptions of this kind occur in the course of a drama, affording variety and amusement to the audience, or the reader. in "midsummer's night's dream" we have the insertion of a play within a play. the following taken from jonson's epigrams have fine complexity, and show a certain tinge of humour. the hour glass. "consider this small dust here in the glass, by atoms moved: could you believe that this the body was of one that loved; and in his mistress' flame, playing like a fly, was turned to cinders by her eye: yes; and in death as like unblest, to have't exprest, ev'n ashes of lovers find no rest." my picture.--left in scotland. i now think love is rather deaf than blind, for else it could not be that she, whom i adore so much, should so slight me, and cast my suit behind; i'm sure my language to her was as sweet, and every close did meet in sentence of as subtle feet, as hath the youngest, he, that sits in shadow of apollo's tree. oh! but my conscious fears that fly my thoughts between tell me that she hath seen my hundreds of gray hairs, told seven and forty years, read so much waste, as she cannot embrace my mountain belly, and my rocky face, and all these through her eyes have stopt her ears. although fond of indulging in strong language, jonson is scarcely ever guilty of any really coarse allusion--he expresses his aversion from anything of the kind, and this in the age in which he lived, argued great refinement of feeling. in fletcher we mark a progress in humour. ben jonson was so personal that he made enemies, and was suspected of attacking inigo jones and others, but fletcher was general in his references, and merely ridiculed the manners of the age. the classic element disappears, and quibbling and playing with words--so fashionable in shakespeare's time--is not found in this author, whose humour has more point, and generally more sarcasm, but of a refined character. the name of fletcher is invariably connected with beaumont. the two young men lived together in the same house, and it is even said wore each other's clothes. but beaumont only lived to be twenty-nine, and has left little in comparison with the voluminous works of fletcher. they were both born in a good position, and, mingling in the fashionable society of their day, filled their pages with love intrigues, in colours not then offensive. fletcher never married, and those who look for contrasts between fathers and children may learn that his father, who was bishop of london, was suspended by elizabeth for taking a second wife. our author is said to have been himself a comedy, and his death, if we can believe the story, was consistent with his gay life, for we are told that, through waiting in london for a new suit of clothes, he died of cholera, which was raging there at the time. here is a specimen of his sketches--the character of a rich usurer-- _sanchio._ thou'art very brave. _cacafogo._ i've reason; i have money. _san._ is money reason? _cac._ yes, and rhyme too, captain. if you've no money you're an ass. _san._ i thank you. _cac._ you've manners! ever thank him that has money. _san._ wilt thou lend me any? _cac._ not a farthing, captain; captains are casual things. _san._ why, so are all men: thou shalt have my bond. _cac._ nor bonds, nor fetters, captain: my money is my own; i make no doubt on't. _juan._ what dost thou do with it? _cac._ put it to pious uses-- buy wine-- _juan._ are you for the wars, sir? _cac._ i am not poor enough to be a soldier, nor have i faith enough to ward a bullet; this is no living for a trench, i take it. _juan._ you have said wisely. _cac._ had you but money you'd swear it, colonel. i'd rather drill at home a hundred thousand crowns, and with more honour, than exercise ten thousand fools with nothing; a wise man safely feeds, fools cut their fingers. the prurient coarseness of fletcher is due to the peculiar licentiousness of the period. in his plays, although kissing is sometimes provocative of jealousy, it is generally regarded, even by persons of rank, as of less importance than it is now by boys and girls, who play "kiss in the ring." in "rule a wife and have a wife" margarita says to the duke "i may kiss a stranger, for you must be so now." this lady is desirous of obtaining a very easy husband, who will let her do whatever she likes. a friend says she has found one for her in leon, who is forthwith introduced. margarita puts some questions to him to ascertain his docility, and then says-- "let me try your kisses-- how the fool shakes!--i will not eat you, sir. beshrew my heart, he kisses wondrous manly! you must not look to be my master, sir, nor talk i' th' house as though you wore the breeches, no, nor command in anything. . . you must not be saucy, no, nor at any time familiar with me; scarce know me when i call not." after trying and approving his kisses again, she tells him that he is not to start or be offended if he sees her kissing anyone else. he is to keep in the cellar, when not wanted. the proposed husband promises to be most obedient and accommodating in everything, but as soon as he is accepted and the ceremony performed, he appears in a totally different character. he informs his wife, in whose magnificent house he goes to live-- you've nothing to do here, madam, but as a servant to sweep clean the lodgings, and at my farther will to do me service. _margarita_ (_to her servants._) get me my coach! _leon._ let me see who dare get it till i command; i'll make him draw your coach and eat your couch, (which will be hard duty). on cacafogo making some slighting remark, this gentle individual exclaims-- "peace! dirt and dunghill! i will not lose mine anger on a rascal; provoke me more,--i will beat thy blown body till thou rebound'st again like a tennis-ball." in "monsieur thomas" we have the following jovial passage-- _francisco._ what hast thou there? a julep? _hylas._ he must not touch it; 'tis present death. _thomas._ you are an ass, a twirepipe, a jeffery john bo-peep! thou minister? thou mend a left-handed pack-saddle? out! puppy! my friend, frank, but a very foolish fellow. dost thou see that bottle? view it well. _fran._ i do, tom. _tho._ there be as many lives in it as a cat carries; 'tis everlasting liquor. _fran._ what? _tho._ old sack, boy. old reverend sack; which for ought that i can read yet was the philosopher's stone the wise king ptolomus did all his wonders by. _fran._ i see no harm, tom. drink with a moderation. _tho._ drink with sugar, which i have ready here, and here a glass, boy. * * * * * hang up your juleps, and your portugal possets, your barley broths and sorrel soups; they are mangy and breed the scratches only: give me sack! the devil now becomes a constant resource for humour. in "the chances" antonio has lost his jewels. his servant suggests that the thieves have "taken towards the ports." _ant._ get me a conjurer, one that can raise a water-devil. i'll port 'em. play at duck and drake with my money? take heed, fiddler, i'll dance ye by this hand: your fiddlestick i'll grease of a new fashion, for presuming to meddle with my de-gambos! get me a conjurer, inquire me out a man that lets out devils. beaumont and fletcher were great conversationalists, their racy raillery is said to have been as good as their plays. they were members of the celebrated mermaid club in fleet street, a centre where the wits of the day sharpened their humour in friendly conflict. in his epistle to ben jonson, beaumont writes-- "what things have we seen done at the 'mermaid!' heard words that have been so nimble and so full of subtle flame, as if that every one from whom they came had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, and had resolved to live a fool the rest of his dull life." here it was that shakespeare and jonson often contended, the former like "a light english man-of-war" the latter like "a high-built spanish galleon." to some portion of the seventeenth century, we must attribute those curious stories called "the merry tales of the wise men of gotham" although by some they have been attributed to andrew gotham, a physician of henry viii. they are said to have been suggested by a circumstance which occurred in the time of king john. he intended to pass through gotham, a village in northamptonshire, but the inhabitants placed some difficulties in his way. on his expressing his determination to carry out his project, and sending officers to make inquiries about the opposition offered, the inhabitants were seized with a panic and pretended to have lost their senses. this was the tradition upon which, in after-times, these tales were founded, and being unobjectionable they are well adapted for the nursery, but being mere exercises of ingenuity they afford but very slight pleasure to older minds. although aimless, there is something clever in them. the wise men determine to hedge round a cuckoo to keep it in so that it should sing all the year. the bird seeing the hedge flies away. "a vengeance on her," say the wise men, "we made not the hedge high enough." there is the story of the young man, whose mother told him to throw sheep's eyes at his sweetheart, and who, literally, performed her bidding. one good friday the men of gotham consulted what to do with their red herrings, and other salt fish, and agreed to cart them into a pond that the number might increase next year. at the beginning of the next summer they drag the pond, and only find a great eel. "a mischief on him," they say, "he hath eaten up our fish." some propose to chop him in pieces, but the rest think it would be best to drown him, so they throw him into another pond. twelve men of gotham go to fish, and some stand on dry land, and some in the water. and one says "we have ventured wonderfully in wading; i pray that none of us come home drowned." so they begin to count, and as each omits himself he can only count eleven, and so they go back to the water, and make great lamentation. a courtier, who meets them, convinces them of their mistake by laying his whip on each of them, who calls out in turn "here's one," until twelve are counted. the minister of gotham preaches that men should not drink in lent. a man, who comes for absolution, and confesses to having been drunk in lent, replies that fish should swim. "yes," returns the priest, "but in water." "i cannot enjoin your prayer," he adds, "for you cannot say your paternoster. it is folly to make you fast because you never get meat. labour hard, and get a dinner on sunday, and i will come and dine with you." chapter vii. jesters--court of queen elizabeth--james i.--the "counterblasts to tobacco"--puritans--charles ii.--rochester--buckingham--dryden--butler. professed fools seem to have been highly appreciated in the time of shakespeare. they do not correspond to our modern idea of a fool, because there was intention in their actions, and yet we could not have considered them to be really sensible men. nor had they great talent, their gifts being generally lower than those of our professed wits. addison observes that, "when a man of wit makes us laugh, it is by betraying some oddness or infirmity in his own character," and at the present day, not only do those who indulge much in humour often say things approaching nonsense, and make themselves in other ways ridiculous, but their object, being entirely idle diversion and pleasantry, appears foolish and puerile. those who cultivate humour are not generally to be complimented on their success, and a popular writer has thus classified fools--"first, the ordinary fool; secondly the fool who is one, and does not know it; thirdly, the fool who is not satisfied with being one in reality, but undertakes in addition to play the fool." thus, to a certain extent we may always regard a professed wit as a silly fellow, but still at the present day the acts or sayings of an absolute idiot or lunatic, would be depressing and offensive, and could afford little amusement in any way except accidentally.[ ] they would resemble the incongruities in dreams which although strange are not generally laughable. and if we are not amused with a fool, neither are we with a man who imitates him, although cicero says that humour consists in a man who is not a fool, speaking as though he were one. some mistake supposed to be made by an ordinary man is what amuses us, and although humorous sayings originated in an imitation of ludicrous things, and quintilian's observation sometimes holds good that the same things, which if they drop from us unintentionally are foolish, if we imitate them are humorous; still humour is not confined to this; there is generally no such imitation, and the witty sayings of the present day are seldom representations of such things as anyone would utter in earnest, whether he were a fool or not. we must not confuse folly and wit, though they may exist in the same person and in close relationship. the latter requires intelligence and intention. if a humorous man ever purposely enacts the dullard, the impersonation is always modified--he is like snug, the joiner, who does not "fright the ladies." there is always some peculiar point in his blunders; if he acted the fool to the life we should not laugh with him. we always see something clever and admirable in him, and to be successful in this way, a man should possess considerable mental gifts, and be able to gauge the feelings of others. still we can hardly assent to the proposition that "it takes a wise man to make a fool." a man may be witty without having any constructive power of mind. it is easier to find fault than to be faultless, to see a blemish than to produce what is perfect--a pilot may point out rocks, but not be able to steer a safe course. at the time of which we are now speaking, the double character of the court fool corresponded with that early and inferior humour which was always on the verge of the ludicrous. the connection thus established, long remained and led to witty observations being often spoken of as "foolerie." upon this conceit or confusion shakespeare founded the speech of jaques in "as you like it." act ii. scene iv. _jaques._ a fool! a fool!--i met a fool i' the forest, a motley fool:--a miserable fool!-- as i do live by food, i met a fool: who laid him down, and basked him in the sun, and railed on lady fortune in good terms. in good set terms--and yet a motley fool. "good morrow, fool," quoth i. "no, sir," quoth he, "call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune." and then he drew a dial from his poke, and looking on it with lack lustre eye, says very wisely, "it is ten o'clock;" "thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags; 'tis but an hour ago since it was nine, and after one hour more t'will be eleven, and so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, and then from hour to hour we rot and rot, and thereby hangs a tale." there is nothing very laughable in the above reflections, but they contain a deep satire, and afford a beautiful example of shakespearian complexity. from the mixture of wisdom and folly compounded in the "fool" of the day--who was then, it must be remembered, the monitor of the great--it is here implied that in his awkward way he sometimes arrived at truth better than the sage. as supremely wise men are often regarded as fools, so what seems folly may be the highest wisdom--"motley's your only wear." the fool is generally represented in shakespeare as saying things which have a certain wit and shrewdness. _clown._ god bless thee, lady. _olivia._ take the fool away. _clo._ do you not hear, fellows? take away the lady. * * * * * good madonna, why mournest thou? _oli._ good fool, for my brother's death. _clo._ i think his soul is in hell, madonna. _oli._ i know his soul is in heaven, fool. _clo._ the more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. take away the fool, gentlemen. in king lear. _fool._ dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one? _lear._ no, lad, teach me. _fool._ that lord that counselled thee to give away thy land, come place him here by me-- do thou for him stand: the sweet and bitter fool will presently appear, the one in motley here, the other found out there. _lear._ dost thou call me fool, boy? _fool._ all thy other titles thou hast given away that thou wast born with. _kent._ this is not altogether a fool, my lord. the fact was that wit was now gradually improving, and was being wielded by so called fools in such a way that it could not be confounded with fatuity. the time was approaching when the humour manufactured by professed jesters would not be appreciated. something higher and keener, such as shakespeare has here shadowed forth would be required. this was not reached in ben jonson's time, but fools and their artifices are by him discarded for something more natural, for country bumpkins and servants, ludicrous in their stupidity, knavery and drunkenness. as civilization advanced, jugglers and clowns were relegated to country fairs. henry the eighth, at the commencement of his reign was a great patron of men of wit and learning, and probably the humour of more, as well as his virtue, recommended him to the king. we read that at cardinal morton's entertainments of his christmas company, the future chancellor, then a boy, would often mount the stage and extemporize with so much wit and talent as to surpass all the professional players. during his university course, and shortly afterwards, he wrote many neat latin epigrams of which the two following rough translations will give some idea-- "a thief about to be accused, implored advice, and sent his counsel many a pound, the counsel, when o'er mighty tomes he'd pored, replied, 'if you'd escape, you must abscond.' "once in the loving cup, a guest saw flies, removed them, drank, and then put back a few. and, being questioned, sagely thus replies, 'i like them not--but cannot speak for you.'" he was to the last fond of pleasantry and kept a jester. the daughter of henry the eighth and anne boleyn[ ] could scarcely have been deficient in mirthfulness, and we find that the dangers through which she passed in her youth were not able to extinguish elizabeth's love of humour. according to the custom of the day she exhibited this not only in her sayings, but, as comedians were then often received in great houses, she ordered in that twelve of them should be made grooms of the chamber, be sworn the queen's servants, and be arrayed in her livery. the most remarkable of these was tarlton. he came of humble origin. fuller says that, while tending his father's swine, a servant of robert, earl of leicester, passing by was so pleased with his _happy unhappy_ answers that he took him to court. but tarlton's humour was often that of the common fool, and depended generally upon action, look, and voice. his face was in this respect his fortune, for he had a flat nose and squinting eyes. nash mentions that on one occasion he "peept out his head," probably with a grimace, at the audience, which caused a burst of laughter, and led one of the justices, who did not understand the fun, to beat the people on the bare pates, inasmuch as they, "being farmers and hinds, had dared to laugh at the queen's men." he was celebrated for his jigs, _i.e._ extempore songs accompanied with tabor and pipe, and sometimes with dancing. fuller says he had great influence with elizabeth, and could "undumpish" her at pleasure. her favourites were wont to go to him to prepare their access to her, and "he told the queen more of her faults than most of her chaplains, and cured her melancholy better than all her physicians." bohun says that, "at supper she would divert herself with her friends and attendants, and if they made no answer she would put them upon mirth and pleasant discourse with great civility. she would then also admit tarlton, a famous comedian and pleasant talker, and other men to divert her with stories of the town, and the common jests or accidents, but so that they kept within the bounds of modesty." tarlton, on one occasion, cast reflections upon leicester; and said of raleigh, "the knave commands the queen," at which she was so much offended that she forbade any of her jesters to approach her table. the jests of scogan, or rather those attributed to him, were very popular in elizabeth's time. this man was court-fool to henry vii., and is said to have been "of pleasant wit and bent to merrie devices." he was fond of practical jokes, and often attacked the clergy. elizabeth seems to have had a natural gift of humour, and we read of many of her witty sayings. on one occasion, upon an archbishop finding fault with some of her actions, and quoting scripture to prove she had acted more as a politician than a christian. "i see, my lord," she replied, "that you have read the scriptures, but not the book of kings." she was so well acquainted with proverbs, that on being presented with a collection of english aphorisms, and told by the author that it contained them all, she answered, "nay, where is 'bate me an ace, quoth bolton.'" among the sayings, good for the period, which have been attributed to her, we read that when the archduke raised the siege of grave, the queen who heard of it before her secretary, said to him, "wot you that the archduke is risen from the grave." when at lord burleigh's she promised to make seven knights, and the gentlemen to be so honoured were placed in a line as the queen was going out. the least worthy of them, however, were through interest with lord burleigh placed first, so that they might have precedence of creation. but the queen passed down the row and took no notice of them; but when she had reached the screen, turned, and observing, "i had almost forgotten my promise," proceeded to knight from the lower end. on one of her privy council saying "your majesty was too politic for my lord burleigh," she replied, "i have but followed the scripture--'the first shall be last and the last first.'" the cares of sovereignty, and the opposition of her roman catholic subjects led elizabeth's humour to assume a somewhat severe complexion. her thoughts gradually became more earnest, and her jests cynical. moreover, as seen in shakespeare, the age in which she lived was reflective, and the budding activity of mind was directed towards great interests. there was not that impression of the vanity of all things, which grows up with the extension and maturity of society, and attracts the mind to more fanciful and less grave considerations. a good contrast between elizabeth's position, and that of james i. may be seen in the following occurrences. when henry iv. had given the order of st. michael to nicolas clifford and anthony shirley, she commanded them to return it. "i will not," she said, "have my sheep follow the pipe of a strange shepherd;"[ ] but when james i. was told that several noblemen of his court and council, received pensions from spain, the king replied that he knew it well, and only wished the king of spain would give them ten times as much, as it would render him less able to make war upon him. james was a man of a very eccentric and grotesque fancy, combined with a considerable amount of intelligence and learning. he was particularly fond of religious controversy, and wrote what he considered to be an important work on "demonologie." from one passage we might suppose that he thought it sinful to laugh, as he says that man can only laugh, because he can only sin. but he kept two clowns for his amusement, and also appreciated ben jonson, to whom he gave the direction of the court masques. he occasionally made some caustic remarks, which have come down to us, such as, "who denys a thing he even now spake, is like him that looks in my face and picks my pocket." "a travelling preacher and a travelling woman never come to any good at all." sir henry wooton told him how the prince of condé sued for the title of altesse from the synod of venice. the king replied, "the prince had good reason to sue for it, and that the seigniory had done ill to deny it him, considering that the world knew how well he deserved it; it being his custom to raise himself upon every man's back, and to make himself the higher by every man's tail he could get upon. and for that cause he hoped to see him elevated by the just justice of god to as high a dignity as the gallows at last." james the first's writings were mostly of a religious character, and some of them were sufficiently ludicrous. but in his "counterblaste to tobacco," his indignation is often mixed with humour. he observes that smoking came from the indians, and continues-- "and now, good countreymen let vs (i pray you) consider what honour or policy can move vs to imitate the barbarous and beastly maneres of the wilde, godlesse and slavish indians, especially in so vile and stinking a custome? shall wee that disdaine to imitate the manners of our neighbour france.... shall wee, i say without blushing abase ourselves so farre as to imitate these beastly indians, slaves to the spaniards, refuse to the world, and as yet aliens from the holy covenant of god? why doe wee not as well imitate them in walking naked as they doe? in preferring glasses, feathers, and such toyes to gold and precious stones, as they doe? yea, why do wee not deny god, and adore the divel as they doe?" he proceeds to combat the theory, "that the braines of all men beeing naturally cold and wet, all drie and hote things should be good for them." "it is," he says, "as if a man, because the liver is hote, and as it were an oven to the stomache, would therefore apply and weare close upon his liver and stomache a cake of lead; he might within a short time (i hope) bee susteined very cheape at an ordinarie, besides the clearing of his conscience from that dreadful sinne of gluttonie." towards the end he gives some medical testimony-- "surely smoke becomes a kitchin farre better than a dining chamber, and yet it makes a kitchin also oftentimes in the inward parts of men, soyling and infecting them with an vnctuous and oily kind of soote, as hath been found in some great tobacco takers, that after their death, were opened." addison, speaking of james' love of jesting, observes:--"the age in which the pun chiefly flourished was in the reign of king james the first. that learned monarch was himself a tolerable punster, and made very few bishops or privy-councillors that had not sometime or other signalized themselves by a clinch or a conundrum. it was therefore in this age that the pun appeared with pomp and dignity. it had been before admitted into merry speeches and ludicrous compositions, but was now delivered with great gravity from the pulpit, or pronounced in the most solemn manner at the council-table." verbal humour continued to be admired for its ingenuity in the reign of charles i. the childish taste of the time in this respect is prominently exhibited in the "fames roule," written by a mrs. mary fage, in honour of the royal family and principal peers of the realm. it consists of short poems, and each one forms an acrostic, and commences with an anagram of the name. the following will give specimens of this ridiculous composition:-- "to the high and mighty. princesse mary, eldest daughter of our soveraigne lord king charles. mary stvarte. anagramma. a merry statv. "m irth may with princes very well agree, a merry statv then faire madam be; r ightly 'twill fit your age, your vertues grace; y eelding a merry statv in your face. "s mile then, high lady, while of mirth write i, t hat so my muse may with alacrity, u nto your highness sing without all feare, a nd a true statv of your vertues reare: r eaching whereto, that she may higher flee, t hus humbly beg i on my bended knee, e ver a merry statv be to me." george manners. anagramma. nor as green gem. "g reat honoured peere, and _rutland's_ noble earle, e ven in vertue shining like a pearle o ver all _europe_, adding to your birth, r adiant bright beames of your true honoured worth: g em great and precious, see you are remaining e ver the rayes of vertue's beames retaining. "m aking all _europe_ stand amazed quite, a nd wonder much at _rutland's_ glorious light, n or _as_ a _green gem_ let your lustre be, n o, _greenness_ here betokens _levity_, e ver more as a precious gem remain you, r ed or some orient colour still retaine you; s o _nor as green gem_, will the world proclaime you." the jester still remained in office in charles the first's reign and archee assumed the old prerogative of the motley in telling home truths to his master. on one occasion he was ordered by the king to say grace, as the chaplain was away, upon which the jester pronounced it, "all glory be to god on high, and little laud to the devil." at which all the courtiers smiled, because it reflected upon the archbishop of canterbury, who was a little man. the king said he would tell laud, and what would he do then? "oh!" said archee, "i will hide me where he will never find me." "where is that?" asked the king. "in his pulpit," answered archee, "for i am sure he never goes there." the rebellion against charles the first and the success of the puritans led to a remarkable development of religious feeling. men seemed for the moment to think more of the next world than of the present, seasoned their language with texts, and from scripture adopted new names suitable to a new life. their usual tone of conversation is thus humorously described by harrison ainsworth. captain stelfax pays colonel maunsel a domiciliary visit, and an old royalist retainer tells the redoubtable roundhead that he looks more like a roystering cavalier than a puritan, to which the latter replies-- "go to, knave, and liken me not to a profane follower of jehoram. take heed that thou answerest me truthfully. thou art newly returned from the battle-field whereat the young man charles stuart was utterly routed, and where our general, like pekah the son of remaliah slew many thousands of men in one day, because they had forsaken the lord god of their fathers. didst thou bear arms in the service of ahaz?" one increase micklegift soon afterwards fell into the captain's bad graces-- "i begin to suspect it was by thy instrumentality that he hath escaped." "how could that be seeing i was with thee in the closet." micklegift rejoined. "it might easily be, since it was by thy devise that i was led into the snare. bitterly shalt thou rue it, if i find thee leagued with the amalekites." all this affords a good idea of the phraseology of these men, some of whom indulged in such names as "nehemiah, lift-up-hand" and "better-late-than-never," and it must be remembered, to their credit, that there never was a more orderly army than that of cromwell. in accordance with the sentiments then entertained all theatrical exhibitions were prohibited. such austerity and self-denial could not be of long continuance--it was kept up by an effort, and led to an inevitable reaction, and so we find that the court of the "merry monarch" became notorious in history for its dissipation. humour proportionally changed from what it had been under charles i., and we read that that the old earl of norwich, who had been esteemed the greatest wit, was now quite out of fashion. barbarous nations have little idea of delicacy of any kind; and civilisation finds it hard entirely to change nature, so that where-ever the ground is allowed to lie fallow, the old weeds appear in their noisesome rankness. hence from time to time we find indelicacy springing up, and made to serve the purposes of those who know that the evil plant is not radically extirpated. one of the most offensive men in this respect was peter aretinus, an italian adventurer, who became a great favourite with the emperor charles v. he is said to have died from falling back over his chair in a fit of laughter, on hearing some indelicate joke. but modes of death have often been invented to accord with the lives of those who suffered them, just as dithyrambic anacreon is said to have been choked by a grape stone. louis xi. was also addicted to this jesting which is not convenient. we read that he told edward iv. in a jocose way that he was right glad to see him at paris, and that if he would come and divert himself with the gay ladies there, he would assign for his confessor, the cardinal of bourbon, who, he knew, would grant him easy absolution for peccadilloes of love and gallantry. edward was much pleased with this raillery, for he knew the cardinal was a gay man. louis was afterwards in great alarm upon edward's acceptance of his invitation. the humour of charles ii. and his court consisted more of jollity than wit. the king was always ready to laugh outright, even in church at the sermon. he encouraged and led the way in an indelicate kind of jesting, which he seems to have learned during his travels in france. on his telling lord shaftesbury, "i believe shaftesbury, that thou art the wickedest dog in england," the statesman humbly replied, "may it please your majesty, of a subject, i believe i am." we should not expect too much from the son of henrietta maria. it is related that one morning when at exeter, pressing her hand to her head she said to her physician, "mayerne, i am afraid i shall go mad some day." "nay," he replied, "your majesty need not fear _going_ mad; you have been so some time." but charles owed much to his gay and easy manner. notwithstanding his faults "he was so pleasant a man that no one could be sorrowful under his government." he sometimes dined at the annual civic banquet, and one of the company present on the occasion when sir robert viner was lord mayor, refers to it as follows. "sir robert was a very loyal man, and if you will allow the expression, very fond of his sovereign, but what with the joy he felt at heart for the honour done him by his prince and through the warmth he was in with continual toasting healths of the royal family, his lordship grew a little fond of his majesty, and entered into a familiarity not altogether so graceful in so public a place. the king understood very well how to extricate himself in all kinds of difficulties, and with a hint to the company to avoid ceremony, stole off and made towards his coach which stood ready for him in guildhall yard. but the mayor liked his company so well, and was grown so intimate, that he pursued him hastily and catching him fast by the hand, cried out with a vehement oath and accent, 'sir, you shall stay and take t'other bottle.' the airy monarch looked kindly at him over his shoulder, and with a smile and graceful air (for i saw him at the time and do now) repeated this line of the old song 'he that's drunk is as great as a king,' and immediately turned back and complied with his request." tom killegrew was the last of his cloth; forced and constant jesting becoming less and less appreciated. as the jesters approached their end, they had more of the moralist and politician in them than of the mountebank. we may judge of killegrew's wit, when we read that one day on his appearance charles said to his gay companions, "now we shall hear our faults." "no," replied the jester, "i don't care to trouble my head with that which all the town talks of."[ ] killegrew must have had fine scope for his sarcasm. in these times the character of the monarch gave the tone to society, and was reflected in the dramatists. thus we find the earnestness of elizabeth in shakespeare, the whimsicality of james in jonson, and the licentiousness of charles ii. in the poets of the restoration. the deterioration of men and of humour in the last reign is marked by the fact that ridicule was mostly directed not against vice as in roman satire, but against undeserved misfortunes. even virtue and learning did not afford immunity; bishop warburton writes: "this weapon (in the dissolute times of charles ii.) completed the ruin of the best minister of that age. the historians tell us that chancellor hyde was brought into his majesty's contempt by this court argument. they mimicked his walk and gesture with a fire-shovel and bellows for the mace and purse." the indelicacy of which charles and his companions was guilty, was not of a primitive and ignorant kind, but always of an amatory character, and at the expense of the fair sex; jests formerly so common as to obtain the name of "japes." the writers of that day are objectionable not merely for coarseness of this kind, but for the large amount of it, as one artiste in complimentary attire might be tolerated where a crowd of seminude performers could not. the poems of sedley and rochester are as abundant in indelicacy as they are deficient in humour. the epigram of sedley to "julius" gives a more correct idea of his character than of his usual dullness. "thou swearest thou'll drink no more; kind heaven send me such a cook or coachman, but no friend." rochester might have produced something good. his verses have more traces of poetry and humour than we should expect from a man who out of the thirty-four years of his life, was for five of them continually drunk. he nearly always attunes his harp to the old subject, so as to become hopelessly monotonous. inconstancy has great charms for him, and he consequently imputes it also to the ladies-- "womankind more joy discovers making fools, than keeping lovers." again: "love like other little boys, cries for hearts as they for toys, which when gained, in childish play, wantonly are thrown away." he seems to have been oppressed by a disbelief in any kind of good in the world. his philosophy, whenever he ventured upon any, was sceptical and irreverent. his best attempt in this direction was a poem "upon nothing," which commences: "nothing! thou elder brother ev'n to shade, that had'st a being 'ere the world was made, and (well fixt) art alone of ending not afraid. ere time and place were, time and place were not, when primitive nothing, something straight begot, then all proceeded from the great united--what?" sometimes he amused himself writing libels on the king, and some of his satires contain more or less truth, as-- "his father's foes he does reward, preserving those that cut off's head, old cavaliers, the crown's best guard, he lets them starve for want of bread. never was a king endued with so much grace and gratitude." buckingham does not appear to have agreed with rochester about charles, for he writes, "he was an illustrious exception to all the common rules of physiognomy, for with a most saturnine and harsh sort of countenance, he was both of a merry and merciful disposition." buckingham's humour was of a very poor description, but he wrote a comedy "the rehearsal," which was highly approved, mostly, however, because aimed at dryden, and the heroic drama. from one passage in it, we observe that he noticed the difference between the effect of humour in the plot, and in the dialogue of the play-- _prettyman._ well, tom, i hope shortly we shall have another coin for thee; for now the wars are coming on, i shall grow to be a man of metal. _bayes._ o, you did not do that half enough. _johnson._ methinks he does it admirably. _bayes._ i, pretty well, but he does not hit me in't, he does not top his part. _thimble._ that's the way to be stamped yourself, sir, i shall see you come home like an angel for the king's evil, with a hole bored through you. _bayes._ there he has hit it up to the hilt. how do you like it now, gentlemen? is not this pure wit? _smith._ 'tis snip snap, sir, as you say, but methinks not pleasant nor to the purpose, for the play does not go on. the plot stands still. _bayes._ why, what the devil is the plot good for but to bring in fine things. dryden could scarcely be expected to remain silent under the blow here aimed at his plays. an opportunity for revenge soon presented itself, when he undertook to compose a political satire upon monmouth and his intrigues. some say that this remarkable poem was written at the command of charles. it had a great success, five editions being sold within the year--one cause of its popularity being its novel character. the idea of introducing scriptural impersonations into a poem was new or nearly so, and very successful. monmouth had already been called absalom, and as the king (david) was very fond of him, it was desirable to place his shortcomings to the account of his advisers, represented by achitophel. the way in which dryden handled his adversaries may be understood from such passages as:-- "levi, thou art a load: i'll lay thee down and show rebellion bare, without a gown; poor slaves in metre, dull and addle-pated who rhime below e'en david's psalms translated." doeg is another enemy:-- "'twere pity treason at his door to lay who makes heaven's gate a lock to its own key. let him rail on, let his invective muse have four and twenty letters to abuse, which, if he jumbles to one line of sense indict him of a capital offence." this satire led to some replies, which dryden crushed in his "mac flecnoe," a poem named after an irish priest--an inferior poet--who, but for this notice, would never have been known to posterity. shadwell was the man really aimed at; mac flecnoe exclaims:-- "shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he who stands confirmed in full stupidity, the rest to some faint meaning make pretence but shadwell never deviates into sense."[ ] after much in the same strain, he finishes with:-- "thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame in keen iambics, but mild anagram. leave writing plays, and choose for thy command some peaceful province in acrostic land, there thou mayest wings display and altars raise, and torture one poor world ten thousand ways." dryden calls this kind of satire varronian, as he weaves a sort of imaginary story into which he introduces the object of his attack. he was under the impression that this was the first piece of ridicule written in heroics, and his claim seemed correct as far as england was concerned, but boileau and tassoni had preceded him. willmot says, "dryden is wanting in the graceful humour of tassoni, and exquisite power of boileau. his wit has more weight than edge--it beat in armour, but could not cut gause." the greater part of dryden's satire could not cut anything, nor be distinguished from elaborate vituperation. he wrote an essay on satire, in which he shows a much better knowledge of history than of humour. his best passages are in the "spanish friars," but they are weak and mainly directed against the profligacy of the church. the servant says of the friar, "there's a huge, fat religious gentleman coming up, sir. he says he's but a friar, but he's big enough to be a pope; his gills are as rosy as a turkey-cock's; his great belly walks in state before him like an harbinger, and his gouty legs come limping after it. never was such a ton of devotion seen." samuel butler affords one of the many examples of highly gifted literary men who have died in great poverty. his works, recommended by lord dorset, were read largely, and even by the king himself; but there was then no great demand for books, and authors had to look to patrons, and eat the uncertain bread of dependence. we may suppose, however, that he was an improvident man, for during his life he held several offices, and was at one time steward of ludlow castle. butler possessed a real gift of humour, and an astonishing fertility of invention. to us there seems to be still too much indelicacy in his writings, though less than heretofore, and there is a considerable amount of bear-fighting, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. this rough and cruel pastime was very common in that day. we read of bear-baiting at kenilworth to amuse queen elizabeth, and alleyn, the munificent founder of dulwich college, was not only a dramatic author and manager, but "master of the bears and dogs," which seems to have been a post of honour. to the present day, a ring for such sports is to be seen outside the principal gate of battle abbey. we have already observed that the drama of spain became the model for that of modern europe, and we are not therefore surprised to find that the main design in sir hudibras is to produce an english don quixote. all the accessories of the work point to this imitation; there is a long account of his arms, his squire, and horse. but beyond this, he aimed at several well-known rogues of his day, especially those pretending to necromancy and prophetic powers, who seem to have been numerous.[ ] this gave the poem an interest at that day which it cannot have now, and it was increased by the amusing hits he makes at the puritans, who had lately convulsed the state, and whom he had been able to gauge when he was employed by sir samuel luke.[ ] the lines are well known in which he speaks of the time:-- "when pulpit, drum, ecclesiastic, was beat with fist, instead of a stick;" and the general outcry against dignitaries is thus represented:-- "the oyster women locked their fish up and trudged away to cry 'no bishop'; botchers left old clothes in the lurch, and fell to turn and patch the church; some cry'd the covenant, instead of pudding, pies, and gingerbread!" sir hudibras is a presbyterian "true blue." "such as do build their faith upon the holy test of pike and gun; decide all controversies by infallible artillery: and prove their doctrine orthodox by apostolic blows and knocks. "rather than fail, they will defy that which they love most tenderly; quarrel with minced pies, and disparage. their best and dearest friend, plum porridge; fat pig and goose itself oppose, and blaspheme custard through the nose." sir hudibras was learned in controversy:-- "for he a rope of sand could twist as tough as learned sorbonist and weave fine cobwebs fit for skull that's empty when the moon is full, such as take lodgings in a head that's to be let unfurnished." he had been at the siege of "bullen," by henry viii., and his breeches were lined "with many a piece of ammunition, bread and cheese, and fat black puddings, proper food for warriors that delight in blood. for as he said he always chose to carry victual in his hose, that often tempted rats and mice the ammunition to surprise." hudibras speaking of men fighting with an unworthy enemy, says:-- "so th' emperor caligula that triumphed o'er the british sea, took crabs and oysters prisoners, and lobsters 'stead of cuirassiers; engaged his legions in fierce bustles with periwinkles, prawns, and mussels, and led his troops with furious gallops to charge whole regiments of scallops; not like their ancient way of war, to wait on his triumphal car; but, when he went to dine or sup, more bravely ate his captives up." butler begins one canto with "ah me! what perils do environ the man that meddles with cold iron." his political views are seen in the following: "for as a fly that goes to bed rests with its tail above its head, so in this mongrel state of ours the rabble are the supreme powers. that horsed us on their backs to show us a jadish trick at last, and throw us." several minor poems have been attributed to butler, but most of them have been considered spurious. some, however, are admitted--one of which is a humorous skit against the royal society, who were supposed at that day to be too minutely subtle. it is called "an elephant in the moon." "some learned astronomers think they have made a great discovery, but it is really owing to a mouse and some gnats having got into their telescope." the light, short metre in which butler composed his comic narrative was well suited to the subject, and corresponded to the "swift iambics" of archilochus. dryden says that double rhymes are necessary companions of burlesque writing. addison, however, is of opinion that hudibras "would have made a much more agreeable figure in heroics," to which cowden clarke replies, "why, bless his head! the whole and sole intention of the poem is _mock_ heroic, and the structure of the verse is burlesque," and he also tells us that butler's rhymes constitute one feature of his wit. certainly he had some strange terminations to his lines. hudibras speaking of hanging sidrophel and whackum says:-- "i'll make them serve for perpendiclars as true as e'er were used by bricklayers." one of the bear-baiting mob annoys rapho's steed, who "began to kick, and fling, and wince, as if he'd been beside his sense, striving to disengage from thistle that gall'd him sorely under his tail." again we have:-- "an ancient castle that commands th' adjacent parts, in all the fabric you shall not see one stone, nor a brick." the astrologers made an instrument to examine the moon to "tell what her diameter per inch is; and prove that she's not made of green cheese." by the interchange which often takes place between the poetical and ludicrous, this roughness of versification, then allowable, appears now so childish, that lamb and cowden clark mistook it for humour. but we might extract from the writers of that day many ridiculous rhymes, evidently intended to be serious. the humour of butler was in his time more popular than the sentiment of milton, but he obtained no commensurate remuneration. wycherley kindly endeavoured to interest buckingham on his behalf, and had almost succeeded, when two handsome women passed by, and the duke left him in pursuit of them. john wesley's father has written butler's epitaph in imperishable sarcasm:-- "see him when starved to death and turned to dust, presented with a monumental bust; the poet's fate is here in emblem shown, he asked for bread, and he received--a stone." chapter viii. comic drama of the restoration--etherege--wycherley. the example set by beaumont and fletcher seems to have been much followed by their immediate successors. decker wrote conjointly with webster and middleton, and it is sometimes difficult to distinguish his work. his power of invective was well known; and in his humour there is such straining after strong words and effective phrases, as to seem quite unnatural. his "gull's hornbook" is written against coxcombs, and he says their "vinegar railings shall not quench his alpine resolutions." etherege and wycherley ushered in the comic drama of the restoration. they were both courtiers, and the successful writers of this period took their tone from that of "the quality." george, (afterwards sir george) etherege was born in . he was known as "gentle george" or "easy etherege," and it is said that he was himself a fop, and painted the character of dorimant in sir fopling flutter from himself. in his principal plays there is very little humour, though he gives some amusing sketches of the affectations of the metropolis. _mistress loveit._ you are grown an early riser, i hear. _belinda._ do you not wonder, my dear, what made me abroad so soon? _lov._ you do not use to do so. _bel._ the country gentlewomen i told you of (lord! they have the oddest diversions) would never let me rest till i promised to go with them to the markets this morning, to eat fruit and buy nosegays. _lov._ are they so fond of a filthy nosegay? _bel._ they complain of the stinks of the town, and are never well but when they have their noses in one. _lov._ there are essences and sweet waters. _bel._ o, they cry out upon perfumes they are unwholesome, one of 'em was falling into a fit with the smell of these narolii. _lov._ methinks, in complaisance, you should have had a nosegay too. _bel._ do you think, my dear, i could be so loathsome to trick myself up with carnations and stock-gilly flowers? i begged their pardon, and told them i never wore anything but orange-flowers and tuberose. that which made me willing to go was a strange desire i had to eat some fresh nectarines. wycherley was the son of a shropshire gentleman who being a royalist, and not willing to trust him to the puritans, sent him to be educated in france. he became a roman catholic, but afterwards recanted. wycherley was remarkable for his beauty, and stalwart proportions, he was called "manly" or "brawny" wycherley; and the notorious duchess of cleveland was so captivated by his appearance, that she made his acquaintance when passing in her carriage by jocosely calling out at him some abusive epithets. afterwards, we are told that she often visited wycherley at the temple, disguised as a country girl in a straw hat, with pattens on her feet, and a basket on her arm. later, he had the misfortune to make the acquaintance of the countess of drogheda on the pantiles at tunbridge wells, and by secretly marrying her incurred the king's displeasure. he was finally reduced to great distress, but james ii., recognising his talent, gave him a pension, and saved him from destitution in his old age. wycherley wrote his first play in . in comparing him with shakespeare we find the same difference as existed between the old and new comedy in greece. political characters have disappeared together with hostility and combats on the stage, while amorous intrigue is largely developed. there is at the same time considerable sprightliness in the dialogue, and the tricks, deceptions and misadventures of lovers fill the pages with much that is ingenious and amusing. in the "gentleman dancing master," a young spark pretends to a rich father that he is only visiting his daughter to teach her to dance. a rival lover--a frenchified puppy--is made unconsciously to co-operate in his own discomfiture, while the duped father jokes with the supposed "dancing master," and asks him whether he is not engaged to one of his rich pupils, laughing heartily at the picture he draws to himself of her father's indignation. again, in "a country wife," a jealous husband obliges his spouse to write a disdainful letter to a gallant, but the lady slyly substitutes one of quite a different character, which the husband duly and pompously delivers to him. the humour of wycherley is almost entirely of this kind. here are no verbal quips, no sallies of professed fools, no stupidities of country boobies. these have passed away from good comedy. speaking of the change, he says that formerly they were contented to make serving-men fools on the stage, "but now you shall scarcely see a fool on the stage who is not a knight." the fact was that a higher kind of humour was required, and accordingly we now, for the first time, hear of "wits"--men of good birth and position, who prided themselves on their talent. they were generally remarkable for their manners and address, and affected a superiority in acuteness, but not always in humour. wycherley speaks of wits not exactly in the sense of humorists, but rather as coxcombs, endued with a certain cunning: "your court wit is a fashionable, insinuating, flattering, cringing, grimacing fellow, and has wit enough to solicit a suit of love; and if he fail he has malice enough to ruin the woman with a dull lampoon; but he rails still at the man that is absent, for all wits rail; and his wit properly lies in combing perukes, matching ribbons, and being severe, as they call it, upon other peoples' clothes." _lydia._ now, what is your coffee wit? _dapperwit._ he is a lying, censorious, gossiping, quibbling wretch, and sets people together by the ears over that sober drink--coffee; he is a wit as he is a commentator upon the gazette; and he rails at the pirates of algiers, the grand signior of constantinople, and the christian grand signior. _lydia._ what kind of wit is your pollwit? _dap._ he is a fidgetting, busy, dogmatical, hot-headed fop, that speaks always in sentences and proverbs, and he rails perpetually against the present government. his wit lies in projects and monopolies, and penning speeches for parliament men-- he goes on to speak of the scribble wit, and judge wit or critic, but in general wits were regarded as rakes and not long afterwards we find it debated whether a woman can be witty and virtuous. wycherley did not aim much at facetiousness, nor introduce many humorous episodes, but passages incidentally occur which show he had considerable talent in that direction. the first from "love in a wood," is an ironical conflict between one gripe, a rich but parsimous alderman, and a mrs. joyner, a sly, designing old woman. _gripe._ i am full of your praise, and it will run over. _joyner._ nay, sweet sir, you are---- _gripe._ nay, sweet mrs. joyner, you are---- _joy._ nay, good your worship, you are---- (_stops her mouth with his handkerchief_) _gripe._ i say you are---- _joy._ i must not be rude with your worship. _gripe._ you are a nursing mother to the saints; through you they gather together, through you they fructify and increase, and through you the child cries out of the hand-basket. _joy._ through you virgins are married, or provided for as well; through you the reprobate's wife is made a saint; and through you the widow is not disconsolate, nor misses her husband. _gripe._ through you---- _joy._ indeed you will put me to the blush. _gripe._ blushes are badges of imperfection--saints have no shame. you are the flower of matrons, mrs. joyner. _joy._ you are the pink of courteous aldermen. _gripe._ you are the muffler of secrecy. _joy._ you are the head-band of justice. _gripe._ thank you, sweet mrs. joyner; do you think so indeed? you are--you are the bonfire of devotion. _joy._ you are the bellows of zeal. _gripe._ you are the cupboard of charity. _joy._ you are the fob of liberality. _gripe._ you are the rivet of sanctified love or wedlock. _joy._ you are the pick-lock and dark-lantern of policy; and in a word a conventicle of virtues. _gripe._ your servant, your servant, sweet mrs. joyner! you have stopped my mouth. _joy._ your servant, your servant, sweet alderman! i have nothing to say. indelicacy in words has by this time become very much reduced, although here and there we find some cant expressions of the day which shock our sensibilities. much refinement in this respect could not be expected at a period where a young lady of fortune could be represented as calling her maid, and afterwards herself, a "damned jade," and a lady from the country as saying she had not yet had "her bellyful of sights" in london. "the plain dealer" is a naval captain in the time of the dutch war. olivia says, "if he be returned, then shall i be pestered again with his boisterous sea-love; have my alcove smell like a cabin, my chamber perfumed with his tarpaulin brandenburgh, and hear volleys of brandy-sighs, enough to make a fog in one's room. foh! i hate a lover that smells like thames street." the plain dealer, _i.e._, the sea-captain manly, meets with a lawyer, and they converse in this way, _manly._ here's a lawyer i know threatening us with another greeting. _lawyer._ sir! sir! your very servant; i was afraid you had forgotten me. _man._ i was not afraid you had forgotten me. _law._ no, sir; we lawyers have pretty good memories. _man._ you ought to have by your wits. _law._ o, you are a merry gentleman, sir; i remember you were merry when i was last in your company. _man._ i was never merry in your company, mr. lawyer, sure. _law._ why i am sure you joked upon me, and shammed me all night long. _man._ shammed! prithee what barbarous law-term is that? _law._ shamming! why, don't you know that? 'tis all our way of wit, sir. _man._ i am glad i don't know it, then. shamming! what does he mean by it, freeman? _free._ shamming is telling an insipid dull lie with a dull face, which the sly wag, the author, only laughs at himself; and making himself believe 'tis a good jest, puts the sham only upon himself. manly meets an alderman. _man._ here's a city-rogue will stick as hard upon us as if i owed him money. _ald._ captain, noble sir, i am yours heartily, d'ye see; why should you avoid your old friends? _man._ and why should you follow me? i owe you nothing. _ald._ out of my hearty respects to you; for there is not a man in england---- _man._ thou wouldst save from hanging at the expense of a shilling only. _ald._ nay, nay, but captain, you are like enough to tell me---- _man._ truth, which you wont care to hear; therefore you had better go talk with somebody else. _ald._ no, i know nobody can inform me better of some young wit or spendthrift, who has a good dipped seat and estate in middlesex, hertfordshire, essex, or kent; any of these would serve my turn; now if you know of such an one, and would but help---- _man._ you to finish his ruin. _ald._ i' faith you should have a snip---- _man._ of your nose, you thirty in the hundred rascal; would you make me your squire-setter? (_takes him by the nose._) two lovers, lord plausible and novel, have the following dialogue about their chances of success with a certain lady who is wooed by both. _novel._ prithee, prithee, be not impertinent, my lord; some of you lords are such conceited, well assured impertinent rogues. _plausible._ and you noble wits are so full of shamming and drollery, one knows not where to have you seriously. _nov._ prithee, my lord, be not an ass. dost thou think to get her from me? i have had such encouragements-- _plau._ i have not been thought unworthy of 'em. _nov._ what? not like mine! come to an éclaircissement, as i said. _plau._ why, seriously then; she told me viscountess sounded prettily. _nov._ and me, that novel was a name she would sooner change hers for, than any title in england. _plau._ she has commended the softness and respectfulness of my behaviour. _nov._ she has praised the briskness of my raillery in all things, man. _plau._ the sleepiness of my eyes she liked. _nov._ sleepiness! dulness, dulness. but the fierceness of mine she adored. _plau._ the brightness of my hair she liked. _nov._ brightness! no the greasiness, i warrant! but the blackness and lustre of mine she admires. _plau._ the gentleness of my smile. _nov._ the subtilty of my leer. _plau._ the clearness of my complexion. _nov._ the redness of my lips. _plau._ the whiteness of my teeth. _nov._ my jaunty way of picking them. _plau._ the sweetness of my breath. _nov._ ha! ha! nay there she abused you, 'tis plain; for you know what manly said: the sweetness of your pulvillio she might mean; but for your breath! ha! ha! ha! your breath is such, man, that nothing but tobacco can perfume; and your complexion nothing could mend but the small-pox. chapter ix. tom brown--his prose works--poetry--sir richard blackmore--d'urfey--female humorists--carey. whether it was owing to the commotions of the civil war in which "fears and jealousies had soured the people's blood, and politics and polemics had almost driven mirth and good humour out of the nation," or whether it was from a dearth of eminent talent, humour seems to have made little progress under the restoration. the gaiety of the merry monarch and his companions had nothing intellectual in it, and although "tom" brown[ ] tells us that "it was during the reign of charles ii. that learning in general flourished, and the muses, like other ladies, met with the civilest sort of entertainment," his own works show that the best wits of the day could not soar much above the attempts of sedley and rochester. had brown not acquired in his day the character of a humorist, we should think that he equally well deserved that of a man of learning, for whereas he shows an acquaintance with the classics and modern languages, his writings, which are of considerable length, contain little attic salt. he was born in , the son of a substantial shropshire farmer, and was sent to christ church, oxford, where he became as remarkable for his quickness and proficiency, as for the irregularity of his conduct. on one occasion, owing to his having been guilty of some objectionable frolic, he was about to be expelled, when, upon his writing a penitential letter, the dean, who seems to have known his talent, promised to forgive him on his translating extempore the epigram of martial. "non amo te, zabidi, nec possum dicere quare; hoc tantum possum dicere non amo te." the young delinquent replied in words now better known than the original, "i do not love you, dr. fell, but why i cannot tell, but this i know full well, i do not love you, dr. fell." at this period he occasionally indulged in such silly effusions as the "adverbial declaration," which he first wrote in latin, on "mother warner's bellows at oxford." brown was finally obliged to leave the university, and went up to london to seek his fortune. the unpromising and reckless spirit in which he set out, is probably reflected in one of his pieces entitled "a dialogue between two oxford scholars." _a._ well, i see thou art resolved to leave us. i will not say, "go, and be hanged," but go and turn country parson. _b._ that's almost as bad, as the world goes now. but thanks to my stars, i know a better trick than that. _a._ it may be thou art fallen out with mankind, and intendest to turn quack; or as they call it in the country, doctor. _b._ no such matter; the _french_ can kill men fast enough, and for women thou knowest my kindness. _a._ but some of them have lived too long; and there are others so miserable, that even compassion will incline thee to help them out of the world. i can assure thee 'tis a profitable calling; for whether thou dost kill or cure, thy fees will be put in thy hand. _b._ yes, when they are found. but, prithee, speak no more of it, for i am resolved against it. _a._ what, then, art thou resolv'd for the law? methinks thou should'st have too much university learning and wit for that profession-- _b._ and too much honesty. but i'll spare thee the pains of guessing, and tell thee in short what my condition is, and what i design. my portion is all spent--save fifty pounds; and with that i am resolved for london or some other wealthy place, where conventicles abound: and as a man of tender conscience and infinitely dissatisfied with several things in the church of england, i will endeavour by some means or other to force myself into an acquaintance with some of their leading men, and more especially with some of the most zealous and wonderful women among them; and this point once gained, i doubt not, but before my stock is half spent, i shall receive a call to be pastor or holder-forth in some congregation or other--why dost smile? _a._ at my friend's design. and i cannot but admire how it came into thy head. thy ability to manage such a design i know very well; but how thou wilt dispense with the knavery of it, i am yet to learn. _b._ that's a small matter. as the world goes one must practise a little knavery, or resolve to leave the world. dost thou know that religious cheats are licensed by a law? and shall i live and die without taking advantage of it? believe me, friend, nature has fitted me pretty well to be one of these godly mountebanks, and a little art, together with a few months' conversation with that sort of people will supply all natural defects. cannot i put on, when i please, a grave and serious countenance, and with head depending on one shoulder a little more than on the other, sigh for the iniquities of the time and corruptions of the church? cannot i wipe mine eyes with the fair pocket-cloth, as if i wept for all your abominations? cannot i grieve in spirit as if ready to burst with grief and compassion. and cannot i likewise, when time serves, and company is disposed to be kindly affected with it, smile and fleer as takingly? and what hurt is there in this? sure i may use my own face as i please. we need scarcely say that brown failed in his shrewd scheming; and he was soon fain to take the humble position of a schoolmaster at kingston upon thames, for which his acquirements qualified him. but his literary ambition would not allow him to remain long at this drudgery, and we soon find him wandering up again to town, where he was again unfortunate. at this time, men of letters expected little from the sale of books; but often obtained patrons who conferred valuable appointments upon them. brown's temper and position rendered him ineligible for this sort of promotion. not being a gentleman by birth, he had no good introductions, nor would he have been very acceptable in the houses of the great. his coarseness in writing--excessive even in that day--was probably reflected in his manners and language, and he had so little prudence that he ridiculed not only the clergy, but was always ready to lose a friend rather than a joke. mere literary talent will not procure success in society. brown wrote a variety of essays, generally rather admonitory than humorous. his "pocket-book of common places" resembles a collection of proverbs or good sayings. it commences, "to see the number of churches and conventicles open every sunday, a stranger would fancy london all religion. but to see the number of taverns, ale-houses, &c., he would imagine bacchus was the only god that is worshipped there. if no _trades_ were permitted but those which were useful and necessary, lombard street, cheapside, and the exchange might go a-begging. for more are fed by our _vanities_ and _vices_ than by our virtues, and the necessities of nature." but his favourite and characteristic mode of writing was under the form of letters. we have "letters serious and comical," "diverting letters to gentlemen." one letter is to four ladies with whom the author was in love at the same time. he probably took his idea of "letters from the dead to the living," from lucian. he never spares dissenters, and comically makes a quaker relate his warm reception in the lower world:-- "a parcel of black spiritual janissaries saluted me as intimately as if i had been resident in these parts during the term of an apprenticeship; at last, up comes a swinging, lusty, overgrown, austere devil, armed with an ugly weapon like a country dung-fork, looking as sharp about the eyes as a wood street officer, and seemed to deport himself after such a manner that discovered he had ascendancy over the rest of the immortal negroes, and as i imagined, so 'twas quickly evident; for as soon as he espied me leering between the diminutive slabbering-bib and the extensive rims of my coney-wood umbrella, he chucks me under the chin with his ugly toad-coloured paw, that stunk as bad of brimstone as a card-match new-lighted, saying, 'how now, honest jones, i am glad to see thee on this side the river styx, prithee, hold up thy head, and don't be ashamed, thou art not the first quaker by many thousands that has sworn allegiance to my government; besides, thou hast been one of my best benefactors on earth, and now thou shalt see, like a grateful devil, i'll reward thee accordingly.' 'i thank your excellence kindly,' said i, 'pray, what is it your infernal protectorship will be pleased to confer upon me?' to which his mighty ugliness replied, 'friend naylor, i know thou hast been very industrious to make many people fools in the upper world, which has highly conduced to my interest.' then turning to a pigmy aërial, who attended his commands as a running footman, 'haste, _numps_,' says he, 'and fetch me the painted coat,' which was no sooner brought, but by lucifer's command i was shoved into it, neck and shoulders, by half a dozen swarthy _valets de chambre_, and in a minute's time found myself tricked up in a rainbow-coloured coat, like a merry-andrew. 'now, friend,' says the ill-favoured prince of all the hell-born scoundrels, 'for the many fools you have made above, i now ordain you mine below;' so all the reward truly of my great services was to be made lucifer's jester, or fool in ordinary to the devil; a pretty post, thought i, for a man of my principles, that from a quaker in the outer world i should be metamorphosed into a jack-adam in the lower one." the occupation of people in the nether world is described after rabelais, thus:--"cardinal mazarin keeps a nine-holes; mary of medicis foots stockings; and katharine of sweden cries 'two bunches a penny card-matches--two bunches a penny!' henry the fourth of france carries a raree-show, and mahomet sells mussels. seneca keeps a fencing-school, and julius cæsar a two-penny ordinary." at the present day it is rather amusing to read, "a comical view of london and westminster"--a weekly prophecy intended to ridicule the increasing use of barometers and other scientific instruments for predicting changes of weather. "wednesday october th. cloudy, foggy weather at garraway's and jonathan's, and at most coffee-houses at about twelve. crowds of people gather at the exchange by one; disperse by three. afternoon, noisy and bloody at her majesty's bear-garden at _hockly-in-the-hole_. night--sober with broken chaplains and others that have neither credit nor money. this week's transactions censured by the virtuosos at _child's_ from morning till night. "thursday th. coffee and water-gruel to be had at the rainbow and nando's at four. hot furmity at bride-bridge at seven. justice to be had at _doctor's commons_, when people can get it. a lecture at pinner's hall at ten. excellent pease-pottage and tripe in baldwin's gardens at twelve. a constable and two watchmen killed, or near being so in _westminster_; whether by a lord or lord's footman, planets don't determine. "friday. damsels whipped for their good nature at _bridewell_ about ten. several people put in fear of their lives by their god-fathers at the _old bailey_ at eleven. great destruction of herrings at one. much swearing at three among the horse-coursers at smithfield; if the oaths were registered as well as the horses, good lord, what a volume 'twould make! several tails turned up at st. paul's school, merchant taylors, &c. for their repetitioning. night very drunk, as the two former. "saturday th. twenty butchers' wives in leadenhall and newgate markets overtaken with sherry and sugar by eight in the morning. shop-keepers walk out at nine to count the trees in moorfields, and avoid duns. people's houses cleansed in the afternoon, but their consciences we don't know when. evening pretty sober. "sunday. beggars take up their posts in lincoln's inn fields and other places by seven, that they may be able to praise god in capon and march beer at night. great jingling of bells all over the city from eight to nine. parish clerks liquor their throats plentifully at eight, and chaunt out hopkins most melodiously about ten. sextons, men of great authority most part of the day, whip dogs out of the church for being obstreperous. great thumping and dusting of the cushion at salter's hall about eleven; one would almost think the man was in earnest he lays so furiously about him. a most refreshing smell of garlic in spittlefield's and soho at twelve. country fellows staring at the two wooden men at st. dunstan's from one to two, to see how notably they strike the quarters. the great point of predestination settled in russell-court about three; and the people go home as wise as they came. afternoon sleepy in most churches. store of handkerchiefs stolen at st. paul's. night, not so sober as might be wished...." the following are some of the best specimens of brown's poems--squibs on the fashions and occurrences of the day-- "the _emblem of the nation_, so grave and precise, on the _emblem of wisdom_ has laid an excise; pray tell me, grave sparks, and your answer don't smother, why one representative taxes another? the _commons_ on _salt_ a new impost have laid to tax _wisdom_ too, they most humbly are pray'd; for tell me ye patrons of woollen and crape, why the _type_ should be fined and the substance escape?" a song in ridicule of a famous musician, who was caught serenading his mistress with his bass-viol on a very frosty night:-- look down, fair garreteer bestow one glance upon your swain, who stands below in frost and snow. and shaking sings in pain. thaw with your eyes the frozen street, or cool my hot desire, i burn within, altho' my feet are numbed for want of fire. _chorus_. thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum, come, come, come, come, my dearest be not coy, for if you are (zit, zan, zounds) i must without your favour die. the sentiment in the following is easily appreciated, but is there not also some slight essence of humour? on flowers in a lady's bosom. behold the promised land, where pleasures flow! see how the milk-white hills do gently rise, and beat the silken skies! behold the valley spread with flowers below! the happy flowers, how they allure my sense! the fairer soil gives them the nobler hue her breath perfumes them too: rooted i' th' heart they seem to spring from thence, tell, tell me why, thou fruitful virgin breast, why should so good a soil lie unpossest? brown's humour partook of the coarseness of most of the writers of his times, and scandalized the more religious and decent muse of sir richard blackmore, who endeavoured to correct this general failing in his "satire upon wit." this called forth many sarcastic replies, and critiques on blackmore's works; such as brown's "epigram occasioned by the news that sir r----d b----e's paraphrase upon job was in the press--" "when job contending with the devil i saw it did my wonder, not my pity draw; for i concluded that without some trick, a saint at any time could match old nick. next came a fiercer fiend upon his back, i mean his spouse, stunning him with her clack, but still i could not pity him, as knowing a crab tree cudgel soon would send her going. but when the quack engaged with job i spy'd, the lord have mercy on poor job i cry'd. what spouse and satan did attempt in vain the quack will compass with his murdering pen, and on a dunghill leave poor job again, with impious doggrel he'll pollute his theme, and make the saint against his will blaspheme." upon the knighting of sir r----d b----e. "be not puffed up with knighthood, friend of mine, a merry prince once knighted a sir-loin, and if to make comparisons were safe an ox deserves it better then a calf. thy pride and state i value not a rush thou that art now knight phyz, wast once king ush." blackmore, who was successively physician to william iii. and queen anne, had been once a schoolmaster. tom brown died at the early age of forty. his life was full of misfortunes, but we can scarcely say that he was unhappy, for nothing could conquer his buoyant spirit. at one time he was actually in prison, for what was deemed a libellous attack, but we are told that he obtained his "enlargement" from it, upon his writing the following pindaric petition to the lords in council. "should you order tho' brown to be whipped thro' the town for scurvy lampoon, grave _southern_ and _crown_ their pens wou'd lay down; even d'urfey himself, and such merry fellows that put their whole trust in tunes and trangdillioes may hang up their harps and themselves on the willows; for if poets are punished for libelling trash john dryden, tho' sixty, may yet fear the lash. no pension, no praise, much birch without bays, these are not right ways our fancy to raise, to the writing of plays and prologues so witty that jirk at the city, and now and then hit some spark in the pit, so hard and so pat till he hides with his hat his monstrous cravat. the pulpit alone can never preach down the fops of the town then pardon tho' brown and let him write on; but if you had rather convert the poor sinner his foul writing mouth may be stopped with a dinner. give him clothes to his back, some meat and some drink then clap him close prisoner without pen and ink and your petitioner shall neither pray, write, or think." unfortunately his pecuniary difficulties were not removed, but accompanied him through life. what a strange mixture of gaiety, learning and destitution is brought before us, when on a clamorons dun vowing she would not leave him until she had her money, he exclaimed in an extempore version of two lines of martial-- "sextus, thou nothing ow'st, nothing i say! he something owes, that something has to pay." in an imitation of another epigram of martial he gives an account of the unpromising position of his affairs:-- "without formal petition thus stands my condition, i am closely blocked up in a garret, where i scribble and smoke, and sadly invoke the powerful assistance of claret. four children and a wife 'tis hard on my life, besides myself and a muse to be all clothed and fed, now the times are so dead, by my scribbling of doggrel and news; and what i shall do, i'm a wretch if i know so hard is the fate of a poet, i must either turn rogue, or what's as bad--pedagogue, and so drudge like a thing that has no wit." how much are we indebted to the pecuniary embarrassments of poets for the interest we take in them. who could read sentiment written by a man faring sumptuously every day? towards the end of his life, brown became acquainted with lord dorset, and we read of his once dining with that nobleman and finding a note for fifty pounds under his plate. tom brown seems to have regarded with great contempt his contemporary tom d'urfey--best known as a composer of sonnets--words and music. he addresses to him "upon his incomparable ballads, called by him pindaric odes," the following acrimonious lines-- "thou cur, half french half english breed, thou mongrel of parnassus, to think tall lines, run up to seed, should ever tamely pass us. "thou write pindaricks and be damned write epigrams for cutlers, none with thy lyricks can be shammed but chambermaids and butlers. "in t'other world expect dry blows; no tears can wash thy stains out, horace will pluck thee by the nose and pindar beat thy brains out." such unworthy attacks are not unfrequently made by ill-natured literary men. brown was no doubt jealous of his rival, but addison's generous heart formed a very different estimate of d'urfey's talent. he says that after having "made the world merry he hopes they will make him easy" in his pecuniary affairs, for that although "tom" had written more odes than horace, and four times as many comedies as terence, he was reduced to great difficulties by a set of men who had furnished him with the accommodations of life, and would not, as we say, "be paid with a song." "as my friend," he continues, "after the manner of all the old lyrics, accompanies his works with his own voice, he has been the delight of the most polite companies and conversations from the beginning of king charles ii.'s reign to our present times. many an honest gentleman has got a reputation in his country by pretending to have been in company with tom d'urfey." "i myself remember king charles ii. leaning on tom d'urfey's shoulder more than once, and humming over a song with him. it is certain that monarch was not a little supported by 'joy to great cæsar,' which gave the whigs such a blow as they were not able to recover that whole reign. my friend afterwards attacked popery with the same success--he has made use of italian tunes and sonatas for promoting the protestant interest, and turned a considerable part of the pope's music against himself." little need be added to this eloquent commendation, except that it was written to obtain patronage for a benefit in behalf of an aged poet and friend. d'urfey wrote through the reigns of charles ii., james ii., william and anne, into that of george i. his plays, which were thought attractive at the time, contained much that was gross, and were deficient in humour and power. thus, they were soon forgotten, and neither he nor his rival brown were able to reach a point, which would give them a permanent position in literature. the following description would have led us to expect something better of him, at least in farcical talent[ ]-- "mr. d'urfey generally writes state-plays, and is wonderfully useful to the world in such representations. this method is the same that was used by the old athenians, to laugh out of countenance or promote opinions among the people. my friend has therefore against this play is acted for his own benefit, made two dances which may be also of an universal benefit. in the first he has represented absolute power in the person of a tall man with a hat and feathers, who gives his first minister who stands just before him a huge kick; the minister gives the kick to the next before; and so to the end of the stage. in this moral and practical jest you are made to understand that there is in an absolute government no gratification, but giving the kick you receive from one above you to one below you. this is performed to a grave and melancholy air; but on a sudden the tune moves quicker, and the whole company fall into a circle and take hands; and then, at a certain sharp note, they move round and kick as kick can. this latter performance he makes to be the representation of a free state; where, if you all mind your steps, you may go round and round very jollily, with a motion pleasant to yourselves and them you dance with: nay, if you put yourselves out, at the worst you only kick and are kicked by friends and equals." but d'urfey's short songs and poems were his most successful productions--sometimes he breathed martial strains in honour of marlborough's victories, sometimes formed adulatory addresses to members of the royal family. his "pills to purge melancholy," at times approached humour. the following is taken from the "banquet of the gods," and refers to hermes visiting the infernal regions-- "fierce cerberus, who the gate did keep, first with a sop he lays asleep, then forward goes to th' room of state, where on a lofty throne of jet, the grizly king of terrors sate, discoursing with his proserpine on things infernally divine. to him the winged ambassador his message tells, then adds to her how much her mother ceres mourns in sicily, till she returns; that now she hoped (the long half-year being ended) she would see her there, and that instead of shrieks and howls, the harmony of par-boiled souls, she'd now divert with tunes more gay, and go with her to see a play." d'urfey often introduces fresh and pleasing glimpses of country life. he is more happy in this direction than in his humour, which generally drifted away into maudlin and indelicate love-making between pseudo-roman corydons and phyllises. the following effusion is very characteristic of the times,-- "one _april_ morn, when from the sea _phoebus_ was just appearing! damon and celia young and gay, long settled love indearing; met in a grove to vent their spleen, on parents unrelenting; he bred of _tory_ race had been, she of the tribe _dissenting_. "celia, whose eyes outshone the god, newly the hills adorning, told him mamma wou'd be stark mad, she missing prayers that morning; damon, his arm around her waist, swore tho' nought should 'em sunder, shou'd my rough dad know how i'm blest, t'would make him roar like thunder. "great ones whom proud ambition blinds, by faction still support it, or where vile money taints the mind, they for convenience court it; but mighty love, that scorns to show, party should raise his glory; swears he'll exalt a vassal true, let it be _whig_ or _tory_." the following is a song from "the country miss and her furbelow." "celladon, when spring came on, woo'd sylvia in a grove, both gay and young, and still he sung the sweet delights of love. wedded joys in girls and boys, and pretty chat of this and that, the honey kiss, and charming bliss that crowns the marriage bed; he snatched her hand, she blushed and fanned and seemed as if afraid, 'forbear!' she crys, 'youre fawning lyes, i've vowed to die a maid.' "celladon at that began to talk of apes in hell, and what was worse, the odious curse of growing old and stale. loss of bloom, when wrinkles come, and offers kind when none will mind, the rosie joy, and sparkling eye grown faded and decayed, at which, when known, she changed her tone, and to the shepherd said, 'dear swain, give o'er, i'll think once more, before i'll die a maid.'" d'urfey was a disciple of the "gentle art." addison says "i must not omit that my friend angles for a trout, the best of any man in england. mayflies come in late this season, or i myself should have had one of his hooking." we can thus understand his enthusiastic commendation of fishing-- "of all the world's enjoyments, that ever valu'd were, there's none of our employments, with fishing can compare; some preach, some write, some swear, some fight, all golden lucre courting, but fishing still bears off the bell for profit or for sporting. "_chorus._--then who a jolly fisherman, a fisherman will be? his throat must wet, just like his net, to keep out cold at sea. "the country squire loves running a pack of well-mouthed hounds, another fancies gunning for wild ducks in his grounds; this hunts, that fowls, this hawks, dick bowls, no greater pleasure wishing, but tom that tells what sport excels, gives all the praise to fishing. then who, &c. "a good _westphalia gammon_ is counted dainty fare; but what is't to a salmon just taken from the ware; wheat-ears and quailes, cocks, snipes and rayles, are prized while season's lasting, but all must stoop to crawfish soup, or i've no skill in casting. then who, &c. "and tho' some envious wranglers, to jeer us will make bold, and laugh at patient anglers, who stand so long i' th' cold; they wait on miss, we wait on this, and think it easie labour; and if you know, fish profits too, consult our _holland_ neighbour. then who, &c." d'urfey was a favourite with queen anne, and many of his poems were written at knole, penshurst, and other seats of the nobility. up to the time we have now reached, we have not had the opportunity of enrolling the name of a lady among our humorists. although in society so many of the fair sparkle and overflow with quick and graceful raillery, we find that when they come to impress their thoughts upon paper they are invariably sentimental. authors are often a contrast to their writings, but no doubt the female mind is generally of a poetical complexion. thus, in the early part of the last century we meet with only three lady humorists, mrs. manley, mostly noted for her scandalous stories: mrs. behn, whose humour was crude, chiefly that of rough harlequinade and gross immorality, and mrs. centlivre. early opportunities of study were afforded to the last in a remarkable way. when flying from the anger of her stepmother, she met anthony hammond, then at cambridge, and went to live with him at the university, disguised in boy's clothes. remarkable for her beauty, she married, when only fifteen, a nephew of sir stephen fox, and upon his death at sixteen, a captain carrol, who was killed in a duel. it was then partly owing to pecuniary embarrassments that she went on the stage and wrote plays--the first of her dramas appearing in her twentieth year. so great was the prejudice then against lady writers, that at her publisher's suggestion her first production was anonymous. but those, who began by deriding her pretensions, ended by acknowledging her merit; she became a great favourite and constant writer for the stage, and an intimate friend of farquhar and steele. there is an absence of indelicacy in her plays, but not a little farcical humour, especially in the character of "marplot" in "the busybody," and of rich "mrs. dowdy" with her vulgarity and admirers in "the platonic lady." she often adopts the tone of the day in ridiculing learned ladies. in one place she speaks as if even at that time the founding of a college for ladies was in contemplation-- _lady reveller._ why in such haste, cousin valeria? _valeria._ oh! dear cousin, don't stop me; i shall lose the finest insect for dissection, a huge flesh fly, which mr. lovely sent me just now, and opening the box to try the experiment, away it flew. _lady._ i am glad the poor fly escaped; will you never be weary of these whimsies? _val._ whimsies! natural philosophy a whimsy! oh! the unlearned world! _lady._ ridiculous learning! _mrs. alpiew._ ridiculous indeed for women. philosophy suits our sex as jack-boots would do. _val._ custom would bring them as much in fashion as furbelows, and practice would make us as valiant as e'er a hero of them all; the resolution is in the mind. nothing can enslave that. _lady._ my stars! this girl will be mad--that's certain. _val._ mad! so nero banished philosophers from _rome_, and the first discoverer of the _antipodes_ was condemned for a heretic. _lady._ in my conscience, alpiew, this pretty creature's spoiled. well, cousin, might i advise you should bestow your fortune in founding a college for the study of philosophy, where none but women should be admitted; and to immortalize your name, they should be called _valerians_;--ha! ha! ha! _val._ what you make a jest of, i'd execute, were fortune in my power. her notices of married life are interesting, as she had great experience, having taken for her third husband mr. centlivre, cook to queen anne. in "the wonder, a woman keeps a secret," we have the following dialogue upon this important subject: _col. britton._ 'egad, i think i must e'en marry, and sacrifice my body for the good of my soul; wilt thou recommend me to a wife, then--one that is willing to exchange her moydores for english liberty--ha friend? _fred._ she must be very handsome, i suppose? _col._ the handsomer the better, but be sure she has a nose. _fred._ ay! ay! and some gold. _col._ oh, very much gold. i shall never be able to swallow the matrimonial pill, if it be not well gilded. _fred._ puh, beauty will make it slide down nimbly. _col._ at first, perhaps it may, but the second or third dose will choke me. i confess, frederick, women are the prettiest playthings in nature; but gold, substantial gold gives 'em the air, the mien, the shape, the grace and beauty of a goddess. _fred._ and has not gold the same divinity in their eyes, colonel? _col._ too often--money is the very god of marriage, the poets dress him in a saffron robe by which they figure out the golden deity, and his lighted torch blazons those mighty charms, which encourage us to list under his banner. in "the artifice" we have a matrimonial contention: _lucy._ if you two are one flesh, how come you to have different minds, pray, sir? _watchit._ because the mind has nothing to do with the flesh. _mrs. w._ that's your mistake, sir; the body is governed by the mind. so much philosophy i know. _wat._ yes, yes; i believe you understand natural philosophy very well, wife; i doubt not the flesh has got the better of the spirit in you. look ye, madam! every man's wife is his vineyard; you are mine, therefore i wall you in. ods budikins, ne'er a coxcomb in the kingdom shall plant as much as a primrose in my ground. _mrs. w._ i am sure your management will produce nothing but thorns. _wat._ nay, every wife is a thorn in her husband's side. your whole sex is a kind of sweet-briar, and he who meddles with it is sure to prick his fingers. _lucy._ that is when you handle us too roughly. _mrs. w._ you are a kind of rue: neither good for smell nor taste. _wat._ but very wholesome, wife. _mrs. w._ ay, so they say of all bitters, yet i would not be obliged to feed on gentian and wormwood. some subjects are peculiarly suitable for light female humour. in "the beau's duel, or a soldier for the ladies," we have the following soliloquy by sir william mode, a fop, as he stands in his night-gown looking into his glass: this rising early is the most confounded thing on earth, nothing so destructive to the complexion. blister me, how i shall look in the side box to-night, wretchedly upon my soul. [_looking in the glass all the while._] yet it adds something of a languishing air, not altogether unbecoming, and by candle light may do mischief; but i must stay at home to recover some colour, and that may be as well laid on too; so 'tis resolved i will go. oh 'tis unspeakable pleasure to be in the side box, or bow'd to from the stage, and be distinguished by the beaux of quality, to have a lord fly into one's arms, and kiss one as amorously as a mistress. then tell me aloud, that he dined with his grace and that he and the ladies were so fond of me, they talked of nothing else. then says i, "my lord, his grace does me too much honour." then, my lord, "this play 'tis not worth seeing; we havn't been seen at t'other house to-night; and the ladies will be disappointed not to receive a bow from sir william." "he, he, he," says i, "my lord, i wait upon your lordship." "then," says my lord, "lead the way sir william." "o, pray my lord, i beg your lordship's pardon." "nay, sir william." "pray my lord," (_enter la riviere, sir w's valet_). "pray sir william." "pray my lord." (_as he says this several times la riviere enters behind him, but as he designs to pass by him, is still prevented by his turning from one side to t'other, as he acts himself for the lord._) _la riv._ hey! what the devil is he conjuring and talking with invisible lords? he's in his airs, some pleasing imagination hurries him out of his senses. but i must to my cue. hem! hem! sir, dere be one two gentlemen below come to wait upon you dis morning, sal i show dem up? _sir. w._ no, my lord, by no means, i know better things-- _la riv._ what then am i a lord? egad i never knew my quality before. (_aside._) _sir w._ pshaw! this blockhead has rous'd me from the prettiest entertainment in the world (_aside_). well, what would you, sir? _la riv._ i voo'd tell you, sir, dere be one two gentlemen wait upon you. _sir w._ and let 'em wait till i have done. i had a thousand fine things to say on that occasion, but this rude fellow has frightened 'em all out of my head. (_aside._) well, since my better diversion is over, show 'em up. in "the wonder" we have an amusing scene between lissardo, servant to felix, and flora, maid to violante. the former had been very sweet upon the latter--telling her that his "chaps watered for a kiss," and that "he would revenge himself on her lips;" but a change comes over him on his being presented by violante with a ring to be worn for his master's sake. _lissardo._ i shall, madam, (_puts on the ring._) methinks a diamond ring is a vast addition to the little finger of a gentleman. (_admiring his hand._) _flora._ that ring must be mine. well, lissardo, what haste you make to pay off arrears now? look how the fellow stands! _liss._ egad! methinks i have a very pretty hand--and very white--and the shape! faith! i never minded it so much before! in my opinion it is a very fine shaped hand, and becomes a diamond ring as well as the first grandee's in portugal. _flo._ the man's transported! is this your love? this your impatience? _liss._ (_takes snuff._) now in my mind, i take snuff with a very jaunty air. well, i am persuaded i want nothing but a coach and a title to make me a very fine gentleman. (_struts about._) _flo._ sweet mr. lissardo, (_curtseying_,) if i may presume to speak to you, without affronting your little finger-- _liss._ do so, madam, i ask your pardon. is it to me or to the ring you direct your discourse, madam? _flo._ madam! good lack! how much a diamond ring improves one! _liss._ why, tho' i say it, i can carry myself as well as anybody. but what wert thou going to say, child? _flo._ why, i was going to say, that i fancy you had best let me keep that ring; it will be a very pretty wedding-ring. _liss._ would it not? humph! ah! but--but--but--i believe i shan't marry yet a while. _flo._ you shan't, you say; very well! i suppose you design that ring for inis? _liss._ no, no, i never bribe an old acquaintance. perhaps i might let it sparkle in the eyes of a stranger a little, till we come to a right understanding. but then, like all other mortal things, it would return from whence it came. _flo._ insolent! is that your manner of dealing? _liss._ with all but thee--kiss me, you little rogue, you. (_hugging her._) _flo._ little rogue! prithee, fellow, don't be so familiar, (_pushing him away_,) if i mayn't keep your ring, i can keep my kisses. _liss._ you can, you say! spoke with the air of a chambermaid. _flo._ reply'd with the spirit of a serving-man. d'urfey is said to have been the first, and carey the last of those who at this period united the professions of musician, dramatist and song writer. the latter was the natural son of the marquis of halifax, who presented the crown to william iii. he wrote the popular song "sally in our alley," and ridiculed ambrose philips in a poem called "namby pamby." overcome either by embarrassed circumstances, or the envy of rivals, he died by his own hand in . he has much that is clever mingled with extravagant fancies. most of his songs are amorous, though never indelicate. some are for drinking bouts. "come all ye jolly bucchanals that love to tope good wine, let's offer up a hogshead unto our master's shrine, come, let us drink and never shrink, for i'll tell you the reason why, it's a great sin to leave a house till we've drunk the cellar dry. in times of old i was a fool, i drank the water clear, but bacchus took me from that rule, he thought 'twas too severe; he filled a bumper to the brim and bade me take a sup, but had it been a gallon pot, by jove i'd tossed it up. and ever since that happy time, good wine has been my cheer, now nothing puts me in a swoon but water or small beer. then let us tope about, my lads, and never flinch nor fly, but fill our skins brimfull of wine, and drain the bottles dry." many of his plays were burlesque operas, introducing songs. in one of them the "dragon of wantley," we have-- "zeno, plato, aristotle, all were lovers of the bottle; poets, painters, and musicians, churchmen, lawyers, and physicians; all admire a pretty lass, all require a cheerful glass, every pleasure has its season, love and drinking are no treason." he was fond of jocose love-ditties, such as: "pigs shall not be so fond as we; we will out-coo the turtle-dove, fondly toying, still enjoying, sporting sparrows we'll outlove." among his successful farces is the well-known chrononhotonthologos written to ridicule some bombastic tragedies of the day. chrononhotonthologos is king of queerummania, bombardinian is his general, while his courtiers are aldiborontiphoscophornio and rigdum funnidos. the following gives a good specimen of his ballad style. "o! london is a dainty place, a great and gallant city, for all the streets are paved with gold, and all the folks are witty. "and there's your lords and ladies fine, that ride in coach-and-six, who nothing drink but claret wine, and talk of politicks. "and there's your beauxs with powdered clothes, bedaubed from head to shin; their pocket-holes adorned with gold, but not one sous within." chapter x. vanbrugh--colley cibber--farquhar. vanbrugh--a man of dutch extraction as his name suggests--was one of the few whom literature led, though indirectly, to fortune. he became first known as a playwriter, but also having studied architecture conceived the idea of combining his two arts by the construction of a grand theatre on the site of the present haymarket opera house. the enterprise was doomed to be one of the many failures from which that ill-starred spot has become remarkable, and vanbrugh after vainly attempting to support his undertaking by the exertion of all his dramatic power, determined to quit literature altogether, and devoted himself to the more remunerative profession. in this he was successful--he built blenheim, castle howard, and half-a-dozen of the stately halls of england. we may suppose that he acquired wealth, for he built several houses for himself, and in them seems to have exhibited his whimsical fancy. one which he built near whitehall was called by swift "a thing like a goose pie," and he called that which he built for himself, near greenwich, "the mince pie." there is a considerable amount of rough humour in vanbrugh, and some indelicacy, more like that of aristophanes than of english writers. we find one gentleman calling another "old satan," and fashionable ladies indulging freely in oaths. a nobleman tells a lady, before her husband, that he is desperately in love with her, "strike me speechless;" to which she replies by giving him a box on the ear, and her husband by drawing his sword. everything bespeaks a low and primitive state of society; but we must also remember that while something strong was required, it was not then thought objectionable that the scenes of the drama should be very different from those of real life. the following are from the "relapse," the first play that made vanbrugh known, and which we might therefore expect to be one of his most humorous comedies. here we have a good caricature of the fops of the day. in the first, lord foppington in his fashionable twang, gives us his views, and sketches his mode of life. _amanda._ well i must own i think books the best entertainment in the world. _lord f._ i am so much of your ladyship's mind, madam, that i have a private gallery where i walk sometimes, which is furnished with nothing but books and looking glasses. madam, i have gilded 'em so prettily, before g--, it is the most entertaining thing in the world to walk and look upon 'em. _amanda._ nay, i love a neat library too, but 'tis i think the inside of a book should recommend it most to us. _lord f._ that, i must confess, i am not altogether so fond of. for to my mind the inside of a book is to entertain oneself with the forced product of another man's brain. now, i think a man of quality and breeding may be much better diverted with the natural sprouts of his own. but to say the truth, madam, let a man love reading never so well, when once he comes to know this town, he finds so many better ways of passing away the four-and-twenty hours that 'twere ten thousand pities he should consume his time in that. for example, madam, my life, my life, madam, is a perpetual stream of pleasure that glides through such a variety of entertainments, i believe the wisest of our ancestors never had the least conception of any of 'em. i rise, madam, about ten o'clock. i don't rise sooner because it is the worst thing in the world for the complexion, not that i pretend to be a beau, but a man must endeavour to look wholesome, lest he make so nauseous a figure in the side box, the ladies should be compelled to turn their eyes upon the play. so at ten o'clock i say i rise. now, if i find it a good day i resolve to take a turn in the park, and see the fine women; so huddle on my clothes and get dressed by one. if it be nasty weather i take a turn in the chocolate house, where as you walk, madam, you have the prettiest prospect in the world; you have looking glasses all round you. but i'm afraid i tire the company. _berinthia._ not at all; pray go on. _lord f._ why then, ladies, from thence i go to dinner at lacket's, where you are so nicely and delicately served that, stab my vitals! they shall compose you a dish no bigger than a saucer, shall come to fifty shillings. between eating my dinner (and washing my mouth, ladies) i spend my time till i go to the play, when till nine o'clock i entertain myself with looking upon the company; and usually dispose of one hour more in leading them out. so there's twelve of the four-and-twenty pretty well over. the other twelve, madam, are disposed of in two articles, in the first four i toast myself drunk, and t'other eight i sleep myself sober again. thus, ladies, you see my life is an eternal round o of delight. lord foppington's interview with his court artists is well described-- _tom fashion._ there's that fop now, has not by nature wherewithal to move a cook-maid, and by that time these fellows have done with him, egad he shall melt down a countess! but now for my reception; i'll engage it shall be as cold a one as a courtier's to his friend, who comes to put him in mind of his promise. _lord f._ (_to his tailor._) death and eternal tortures! sir, i say the packet's too high by a foot. _tailor._ my lord, if it had been an inch lower it would not have held your lordship's packet-handkerchief. _lord f._ rat my packet-handkerchief! have not i a page to carry it? you may make him a packet up to his chin a purpose for it; but i will not have mine come so near my face. _tailor._ 'tis not for me to dispute your lordship's fancy. _lord f._ look you, sir, i shall never be reconciled to this nauseous packet, therefore pray get me another suit with all manner of expedition, for this is my eternal salvation. mrs. calico, are not you of my mind? _mrs. cal._ o, directly, my lord! it can never be too low. _lord f._ you are positively in the right on't, for the packet becomes no part of the body but the knee. (_exit tailor._) _mrs. cal._ i hope your lordship is pleased with your steenkirk. _lord f._ in love with it, stap my vitals! bring your bill, you shall be paid to-morrow. _mrs. c._ i humbly thank your honour. (_exit._) _lord f._ hark thee, shoemaker! these shoes an't ugly but they don't fit me. _shoemaker._ my lord, methinks they fit you very well. _lord f._ they hurt me just below the instep. _shoe._ (_feeling his foot_) my lord, they don't hurt you there. _lord f._ i tell thee they pinch me execrably. _shoe._ my lord, if they pinch you i'll be bound to be hanged, that's all. _lord f._ why wilt thou undertake to persuade me that i cannot feel? _shoe._ your lordship may please to feel what you think fit; but the shoe does not hurt you. i think i understand my trade. _lord f._ now by all that's great and powerful thou art an incomprehensible coxcomb! but thou makest good shoes and so i'll bear with thee. tom fashion personates his brother, lord foppington, and goes down to the country seat of sir tunbelly clumpsey, in hope of marrying his rich daughter. the old squire at first turns out to meet him with guns and pitchforks, but changes to the utmost servility on hearing that he is a lord. it is now tom's object to have the marriage ceremony performed before he is discovered. _fashion._ your father, i suppose you know, has resolved to make me happy in being your husband, and i hope i may depend upon your consent to perform what he desires. _miss hoyden._ sir, i never disobey my father in anything but eating of green gooseberries. _fash._ so good a daughter must needs be an admirable wife; i am therefore impatient till you are mine, and hope you will so far consider the violence of my love as not to defer my happiness so long as your father designs it. _miss h._ pray, my lord, how long is that? _fash._ madam, a thousand years--a whole week. _miss h._ a week! why i shall be an old woman by that time. _fash._ and i an old man. _miss h._ why i thought it was to-morrow morning as soon as i was up, i am sure nurse told me so. _fash._ and it shall be to-morrow morning still, if you'll consent. _miss h._ if i'll consent! why i thought i was to obey you as my husband. _fash._ that's when we're married, till then i am to obey you. _miss h._ why then if we are to take it by turns it's the same thing. i'll obey you now, and when we are married you shall obey me. _fash._ with all my heart; but i doubt we must get nurse on our side, or we shall hardly prevail with the chaplain. _miss h._ o lord, i can tell you a way how to persuade her to anything. _fash._ how's that? _miss h._ why tell her she's a wholesome comely woman, and give her half-a-crown. _fash._ nay, if that will do, she shall have half a score of them. _miss h._ o gemini! for half that she'd marry you herself. i'll run and call her. _fash._ so matters go swimmingly. this is a rare girl i' faith. i shall have a fine time on't with her in london, i'm much mistaken if she don't prove a march hare all the year round. what a scampering chase will she on't, when she finds the whole kennel of beaux at her tail! hey to the park, and the play, and the church and the devil; she'll show them sport, i'll warrant 'em. but no matter, she brings me an estate that will afford me a separate maintenance. the following from "the provoked husband," gives a good specimen of social hypocrisy. _servant._ madam, here's my lady fanciful to wait upon your ladyship. _lady brute._ shield me, kind heaven! what an inundation of impertinence is here coming upon us! at the end of this unwelcome visit, we have the following hit at the ceremonious politeness then fashionable. _lady b._ what going already, madam. _lady fan._ i must beg you excuse me this once, for really i have eighteen visits to return this afternoon. so you see i am importuned by the women as well as by the men. _bel._ (_aside_). and she's quits with 'em both. _lady f._ nay, you shan't go one step out of the room. _lady b._ indeed, i'll wait upon you down. _lady f._ no sweet, lady brute, you know i swoon at ceremony. _lady b._ pray give me leave. _lady f._ you know i wont. _lady b._ indeed i must. _lady f._ indeed you shan't. _lady b._ indeed i will. _lady f._ indeed you shan't. _lady b._ indeed i will. _lady f._ indeed you shan't, indeed, indeed, indeed you shan't. (_exit running._) the aversions and disputes of husbands and wives furnish the subject of some of his humour. sir john brute says:-- "sure if women had been ready created, the devil instead of being kicked down in hell had been married." _lady brute._ are you afraid of being in love, sir? _heartfree._ i should if there were any danger of it. _lady b._ pray, why so? _heart._ because i always had an aversion to being used like a dog. _belinda._ why truly, men in love are seldom used much better. _lady b._ but were you never in love, sir? _heart._ no, i thank heaven, madam. _bel._ pray, where got you your learning then? _heart._ from other people's expense. _bel._ that's being a spunger, sir, which is scarce honest. if you'd buy some experience with your own money, as 'twould be fairlier got, so 'twould stick longer by you. * * * * * _berinthia._ ah, amanda, it's a delicious thing to be a young widow! _aman._ you'll hardly make me think so. _ber._ phu! because you are in love with your husband; but that is not every woman's case. _aman._ i hope 'twas yours at least. _ber._ mine, say ye? now i have a great mind to tell you a lie, but i should do it so awkwardly you'd find me out. _aman._ then e'en speak the truth. _ber._ shall i? then after all, i did love him, amanda, as a man does penance. _aman._ why did you not refuse to marry him, then? _ber._ because my mother would have whipped me. _aman._ how did you live together? _ber._ like man and wife--asunder. he loved the country, i the town. he hawks and hounds, i coaches and equipage. he eating and drinking, i carding and playing. he the sound of a horn, i the squeak of a fiddle. whenever we met we gave one another the spleen. _aman._ but tell me one thing truly and sincerely. _ber._ what's that? _aman._ notwithstanding all these jars, did not his death at last extremely trouble you? _ber._ o, yes. not that my present pangs were so very violent, but the after pangs were intolerable. i was forced to wear a beastly widow's band a twelvemonth for 't. in the "journey to london," written at the end of vanbrugh's life, and not finished, there is a very amusing account of the manner in which a country squire and family travelled up to london in the seventeenth century. _james._ they have added two cart-horses to the four old mares, because my lady will have it said she came to town in her coach-and-six; and ha! ha! heavy george, the ploughman, rides postilion! _uncle richard._ very well; the journey begins as it should do--james! _james._ sir! _uncle r._ dost know whether they bring all the children with them? _james._ only squire humphry and miss betty, sir; the other six are put to board at half-a-crown a week a head with joan growse, at smoke-dunghill farm. _uncle r._ the lord have mercy upon all good folks! what work will these people make! dost know when they'll be here? _james._ john says, sir, they'd have been here last night, but that the old wheezy-belly horse tired, and the two fore-wheels came crash down at once in waggon-rut lane. sir, they were cruelly loaden, as i understand. my lady herself, he says, laid on four mail trunks, besides the great deal-box, which fat tom sat upon behind. _uncle r._ so. _james._ then within the coach there was sir francis, my lady, the great fat lap-dog, squire humphry, miss betty, my lady's maid, mrs. handy, and doll tripe, the cook--but she puked with sitting backward, so they mounted her into the coach-box. _uncle r._ very well. _james._ then, sir, for fear of a famine before they should get to the baiting-place, there was such baskets of plum-cake, dutch gingerbread, cheshire cheese, naples biscuits, maccaroons, neats' tongues, and cold boiled beef; and in case of sickness, such bottles of usquebaugh, black-cherry brandy, cinnamon water, sack, tent, and strong beer, as made the old coach crack again. _uncle r._ well said! _james._ and for defence of this good cheer, and my lady's little pearl necklace, there was the family basket-hilt sword, the great turkish cimiter, the old blunder-buss, a good bag of bullets, and a great horn of gunpowder. _uncle r._ admirable! vanbrugh's friend, colley cibber, was also of foreign origin. his father was a native of holstein, and coming over to england before the restoration, is known as having executed the two figures of lunatics, for the gates of bethlehem hospital. colley commenced life as an actor and playwriter, and vanbrugh was so pleased with his "love's last shift, or the fool of fashion," that he wrote an improved version of it in "the relapse." thus sir novelty fashion was developed into lord foppington, and vanbrugh, who patronized cibber, employed him to act the character. he was an exception to the rule that a good playwriter is not a good performer. in cibber, we especially mark the spanish element, which then tinged the drama, and although somewhat prosy and sententious, he is fertile and entertaining in his love intrigues. of real humour, he seems to have no gift--some of his best attempts referring to such common failures as sometimes occur at hotels. we have in "she wou'd, and she wou'd not," _host._ did you call, gentlemen? _trapparti._ yes, and bawl too, sir. here the gentlemen are almost famished, and nobody comes near 'em. what have you in the house now that will be ready presently? _host._ you may have what you please, sir. _hypolita._ can you get us a partridge? _host._ we have no partridges; but we'll get you what you please in a moment. we have a very good neck of mutton, sir, if you please, it shall be clapt down in a moment. _hyp._ have you any pigeons or chickens? _host._ truly, sir, we have no fowl in the house at present; if you please, you may have anything else in a moment. _hyp._ then, prithee, get us some young rabbits. _host._ upon my word, sir, rabbits are so scarce, they are not to be had for money. _trap._ have you any fish? _host._ fish! sir; i dressed yesterday the finest dish that ever came upon a table; i am sorry we have none, sir; but, if you please, you may have anything else in a moment. _trap._ hast thou nothing but anything else in the house? _host._ very good mutton, sir. _hyp._ prithee, get us a breast, then. _host._ breast! don't you love the neck, sir? _hyp._ ha' ye nothing in the house but the neck? _host._ really, sir, we don't use to be so unprovided, but at present we have nothing else left. _trap._ faith, sir, i don't know but a nothing else may be very good meat, when anything else is not to be had. sometimes there is a little smartness in the dialogue, and in the "careless husband," lord foppington uses such strange expletives as "sun burn me," "stop my breath," "set my blood." but the greater part of any amusement that there is, depends, as in the roman comedy, upon the tricks of low-minded mercenary servants. although neither of the two last-named writers was english by descent, they were both so by adoption, and the same may be said of the next author, farquhar, who was born at londonderry in , but whose irish characters want the charm of the pure national comicality. he was the son of a clergyman who sent him to the university, but his taste being averse to the prescribed course of study, he left it, and became an actor. want of voice soon excluded him from the stage, and he entered the army--a profession which we might conclude, from the experiences of wycherley and vanbrugh, was somewhat favourable for the cultivation of dramatic talent. the constant companionship of men of wild and fanciful dispositions, the leisure for observing their talents and peculiarities, and the perpetual demand for the exercise of light repartee, would all tend to furnish effective materials for the stage. farquhar soon married, and his poverty, with an increasing family, led to his producing a play nearly every year from to . finally he sold out, and was in deep distress. speaking of his condition with his accustomed gaiety, he says:-- "i have very little estate, but what is under the circumference of my hat, and should i by perchance come to lose my head, i should not be worth a groat." he thus sketches his mental peculiarities:-- "as to my mind, which in most men wears as many changes as their body, so in me 'tis generally drest like my person, in black. melancholy is its every-day apparel; and it has hitherto found few holidays to make it change its clothes. in short, my constitution is very splenetic and yet very amorous, both which i endeavour to hide lest the former should offend others, and that the latter might incommode myself; and my reason is so vigilant in restraining these two failings, that i am taken for an easy-natured man with my own sex, and an ill-natured clown by yours." farquhar was very fond of jesting about his own misfortunes, and perhaps the following from "love in a bottle," exhibits a scene in which he had been himself an actor in real life. _widow bullfinch._ mr. lyric, what do you mean by all this? here you have lodged two years in my house, promised me eighteen-pence a week for your lodging, and i have never received eighteen farthings, not the value of _that_, mr. lyric, (_snaps her fingers._) you always put me off with telling me of your play, your play! sir, you shall play no more with me: i'm in earnest. _lyric._ there's more trouble in a play than you imagine, madam. _bull._ there's more trouble with a lodger than you think, mr. lyric. _lyric._ first there's the decorum of time. _bull._ which you never observe, for you keep the worst hours of any lodger in town. _lyric._ then there's the exactness of characters. _bull._ and you have the most scandalous one i ever heard.... _lyric._ (_aside_) was ever poor rogue so ridden. if ever the muses had a horse, i am he. (_aloud_) faith! madam, poor pegasus is jaded. _bull._ come, come, sir; he shan't slip his neck out of collar for all that. money i will have, and money i must have. the above is taken from farquhar's first play, and we generally find richer humour in the first attempts of genius than in their later and more elaborate productions. widow bullfinch says that "champagne is a fine liquor, which all your beaux drink to make em' witty." _mockmode._ witty! oh by the universe i must be witty! i'll drink nothing else. i never was witty in all my life. i love jokes dearly. here, club, bring us a bottle of what d'ye call it--the witty liquor. _bull._ but i thought that all you that were bred at the university would be wits naturally? _mock._ the quite contrary, madam, there's no such thing there. we dare not have wit there for fear of being counted rakes. your solid philosophy is all read there, which is clear another thing. but now i will be a wit, by the universe.... is that the witty liquor? come fill the glasses. now that i have found my mistress, i must next find my wits. _club._ so you had need, master, for those that find a mistress are generally out of their wits. (_gives him a glass._) _mock._ come, fill for yourself. (_they jingle and drink._) but where's the wit now, club? have you found it? _club._ egad! master, i think 'tis a very good jest. _mock._ what? _club._ what? why drinking--you'll find, master, that this same gentleman in the straw doublet, this same will-i'-th'-wisp is a wit at the bottom. (_fills._) here, here, master; how it puns and quibbles in the glass! _mock._ by the universe, now i have it!--the wit lies in the jingling. all wit consists most in jingling; hear how the glasses rhyme to one another. again:-- _mock._ could i but dance well, push well,[ ] play upon the flute, and swear the most modish oaths, i would set up for quality with e'er a young nobleman of 'em all. pray what are the most fashionable oaths in town? zoons, i take it, is a very becoming one. _rigadoon._ (_a dancing-master._) zoons is only used by the disbanded officers and bullies, but zauns is the beaux pronunciation. _mock._ zauns! _rig._ yes, sir; we swear as we dance; smooth and with a cadence--zauns! 'tis harmonious, and pleases the ladies, because it is soft. zauns, madam, is the only compliment our great beaux pass on a lady. _mock._ but suppose a lady speaks to me; what must i say? _rig._ nothing, sir; you must take snuff grin, and make her a humble cringe--thus: (_bows foppishly and takes snuff; mockmode imitates him awkwardly, and taking snuff, sneezes._) o lord, sir! you must never sneeze; 'tis as unbecoming after orangery as grace after meat. _mock._ i thought people took it to clear the brain. _rig._ the beaux have no brains at all, sir; their skull is a perfect snuff-box; and i heard a physician swear, who opened one of 'em, that the three divisions of his head were filled with orangery, bergamot, and plain spanish. _mock._ zauns! i must sneeze, (_sneezes._) bless me! _rig._ oh, fy! mr. mockmode! what a rustical expression that is! 'bless me!' you should upon all such occasions cry, dem me! you would be as nauseous to the ladies as one of the old patriarchs, if you used that obsolete expression. sir harry wildair gives a good sketch of a lady's waiting-woman of the time. _colonel standard._ here, here, mrs. parly; whither so fast? _parly._ oh lord! my master! sir, i was running to mademoiselle furbelow, the french milliner, for a new burgundy for my lady's head. _col. s._ no, child; you're employed about an old-fashioned garniture for your master's head, if i mistake not your errand. _parly._ oh, sir! there's the prettiest fashion lately come over! so airy, so french, and all that. the pinners are double ruffled with twelve plaits of a side, and open all from the face; the hair is frizzled all up round the head, and stands as stiff as a bodkin. then the favourites hang loose on the temples, with a languishing lock in the middle. then the caul is extremely wide, and over all is a coronet raised very high, and all the lappets behind. this lady on being questioned, says that her wages are ten pounds a year, but she makes two hundred a year of her mistress's old clothes. but farquhar is best known as the author of the "beaux stratagem." though not so full of humour, as "love in a bottle," it had more action and bolder sensational incidents. the play proved a great success, but one which will always have sad associations. it came too late. farquhar died in destitution, while the plaudits resounded in his ears. the following are specimens from his last play:-- (aimwell (a gentleman of broken fortune looking for a rich wife) goes to church in the country to further his designs.) _aimwell._ the appearance of a stranger in a country church draws as many gazers as a blazing star; no sooner he comes into the cathedral, but a train of whispers runs buzzing round the congregation in a moment: _who is he?_ _whence comes he?_ _do you know him?_ then i, sir, tips me the verger with half-a-crown; he pockets the simony, and inducts me into the best pew in the church; i pull out my snuff-box, turn myself round, bow to the bishop, or the dean, if he be the commanding officer, single out a beauty, rivet both my eyes to hers, set my nose a bleeding by the strength of imagination, and show the whole church my concern--by my endeavouring to hide it; after the sermon the whole town gives me to her for a lover, and by persuading the lady that i am a-dying for her, the tables are turned, and she in good earnest falls in love with me. _archer._ there's nothing in this, tom, without a precedent; but instead of rivetting your eyes to a beauty, try to fix 'em upon a fortune; that's our business at present. _aim._ psha! no woman can be a beauty without a fortune. let me alone, for i am a marksman. talking afterwards of dorinda, whom he observes in church, he says, _aimwell._ call me oroondates, cesario, amadis, all that romance can in a lover paint, and then i'll answer:--o, archer! i read her thousands in her looks, she looked like ceres in her harvest; corn, wine and oil, milk and honey, gardens, groves, and purling streams played in her plenteous face. chapter xi. congreve--lord dorset. the birthplace of congreve is uncertain, but he was born about , and was educated in kilkenny and dublin. he is an instance of that union of irish versatility with english reflection, which has produced the most celebrated wits. we also mark in him a considerable improvement in delicacy. "the old batchelor" was his first play, the success of which was so great that lord halifax made him one of the commissioners for licensing hackney-coaches; he afterwards gave him a place in the pipe office and custom house. belmour begins very suitably by saying-- "come come, leave business to idlers, and wisdom to fools; they have need of 'em. wit be my faculty, and pleasure my occupation; and let father time shake his glass." speaking of belinda, he says-- "in my conscience i believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers anybody else to rail at me." heartwell, an old bachelor, says-- "women's asses bear great burdens; are forced to undergo dressing, dancing, singing, sighing, whining, rhyming, flattery, lying, grinning, cringing, and the drudgery of loving to boot.... every man plays the fool once in his life, but to marry is to play the fool all one's life long." in belinda we have a specimen of one of the fast young ladies of the period, who certainly seems to have used strong language. she cries, oh, that most inhuman, barbarous, hackney-coach! i am jolted to a jelly, am i not horridly touz'd? she chides belmour, prithee hold thy tongue! lord! he has so pestered me with flowers and stuff, i think i shan't endure the sight of a fire for a twelvemonth. _belmour._ yet all can't melt that cruel frozen heart. _bel._ o, gad! i hate your hideous fancy--you said that once before--if you must talk impertinently, for heaven's sake let it be with variety; don't come always like the devil wrapped in flames. i'll not hear a sentence more that begins with, "i burn," or an "i beseech you, madam." at last she exclaims, "o! my conscience! i could find in my heart to marry thee, purely to be rid of thee." there is frequently a conflict of wit. sharper tells sir joseph willot that he lost many pounds, when he was defending him in a scuffle the night before. he hopes he will repay him. money is but dirt, sir joseph; mere dirt, sir joseph. _sir joseph._ but i profess 'tis a dirt i have washed my hands of at present. lord froth in "the double dealer" says, there is nothing more unbecoming in a man of gravity than to laugh, to be pleased with what pleases the crowd. when i laugh, i always laugh alone. _brisk._ i suppose that's because you laugh at your own jests. sir paul plyant in great wroth expresses himself as follows: the subjects of congreve's comedies would often be thought objectionable at the present day. the humour is not in the plot, but in the general dialogue. in "love for love," ben legend, a sailor, speaking of lawyers, says-- lawyer, i believe there's many a cranny and leak unstopt in your conscience. if so be that one had a pump to your bosom, i believe we should discern a foul hold. they say a witch will sail in a sieve, but i believe the devil would not venture aboard your conscience. the last play he wrote, which failed, was deficient in wit, but had plenty of inebriety in it. after singing a drinking song, sir wilful says in "the way of the world." the sun's a good pimple, an honest soaker, he has a cellar at your antipodes. if i travel, aunt, i touch at your antipodes--your antipodes are a good rascally sort of topsy-turvy fellows. if i had a bumper i'd stand on my head, and drink a health to them. * * * * * _scandal._ yes, mine (_pictures_) are not in black and white, and yet there are some set out in their true colours, both men and women. i can show you pride, folly, affectation, wantonness, inconstancy, covetousness, dissimulation, malice and ignorance all in one piece. then i can show your lying, foppery, vanity, cowardice, bragging, incontinence, and ugliness in another piece, and yet one of them is a celebrated beauty, and t'other a professed beau. i have paintings, too, some pleasant enough. _mrs. frail._ come, let's hear 'em. _scan._ why, i have a beau in a bagnio cupping for a complexion, and sweating for a shape. _mrs. f._ so---- _scan._ then i have a lady burning brandy in a cellar with a hackney coachman. _mrs. f._ oh! well, but that story is not true. _scan._ i have some hieroglyphics, too; i have a lawyer with a hundred hands, two heads, and but one face; a divine with two faces and one head; and i have a soldier with his brains in his belly, and his heart where his head should be. it has been said that congreve retired on the appearance of mrs. centlivre, but so high was the opinion entertained of his genius that he was buried in westminster abbey, and his pall was supported by noblemen. pope was one of his greatest admirers, and dedicated his translation of homer to him. dryden writes on congreve. "in easy dialogue is fletcher's praise, he moved the mind, but had not power to raise, great jonson did by strength of judgment please, yet doubling fletcher's force, he wants his ease. in differing talents both adorned their age, one for the study, t'other for the stage, but both to congreve justly shall submit, one matched in judgment, both over-matched in wit." macaulay says "the wit of congreve far outshines that of every comic writer, except sheridan, who has arisen within the last two centuries." lord dorset of whom we have above spoken deserves some passing notice. he was high in the favour of charles ii., james, and william; and was one of the most accomplished of the courtiers of that day, who, notwithwstanding their dissipation, were more or less scholars, and wrote poetry. what was better, he was a munificent supporter of real literary genius, and patronized dryden, and to judge by their commendations was not neglectful of congreve and pope. most of his poems are in the pastoral strain, but do not show any great talent. two or three of them have some humour-- "dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes united, cast too fierce a light, which blazes high, but quickly dies, pains not the heart, but hurts the sight; * * * * * "love is a calmer, gentler joy, smooth are his looks, and soft his pace; her cupid is a blackguard boy that runs his link right in your face." lord dorset was at the battle of opdam when the dutch admiral's fleet was destroyed in . the night before the engagement he wrote the well known epistle "to all you ladies now on land, we men at sea indite, and first would have you understand how hard it is to write; the muses now and neptune too, we must implore to write to you. with a fa la la la la. "for though the muses should prove kind, and fill our empty brain, yet if rough neptune raise the wind, to wave the azure main, our paper, pen and ink, and we, roll up and down our ships at sea. with a fa, la, &c. "should foggy opdam chance to throw our sad and dismal story, the dutch would scorn so weak a foe, and quit their fort at goree; for what resistance can they find from men who've left their hearts behind? with a fa, la, &c. "in justice you cannot refuse to think of our distress, when we for hope of honour lose our certain happiness; all those designs are but to prove ourselves more worthy of your love. with a fa, la, &c. "and now we've told you all our loves, and likewise all our fears, in hopes this declaration moves, some pity from your tears; let's hear of no inconstancy, we have too much of that at sea. with a fa la la la la." we can easily understand how the above lines were suggested, for in those times the same officers served both in army and navy, and many of the young sparks taken from the gaieties of london had not yet acquired their sea legs. wycherley is said to have been present at some of the engagements with the dutch. end of the first volume. * * * * * footnotes: [ ] of course this will scarcely apply in those cases in which, by abstraction, we overlook the creative action of the mind, and regard its humorous productions as ludicrous. nor does it hold good where from long exercise of ingenuity a habit has been formed and amusing fancies spring up, as it were naturally, and so involuntarily that, for the moment, we see them only as ludicrous. this view changes almost instantaneously, and beneath it we often find the best humour. it may be said that such cases should be placed entirely under the head of humour, but can we maintain that a man is unaware when he is humorous? the most telling effects are produced by the ludicrous, and where the creative action of the mind is scarcely discernible. efforts to be humorous are seldom crowned with success; we require something that appears to be real or original, either as a close rendering of actual occurrences, or a spontaneous efflorescence of genius. among the latter class we may reckon some of our most exquisite and permanent sayings. [ ] a story is told of a mr. crispe, a merchant of london, who although deaf, when sir alexander cary made a speech before his execution, followed the motion of his lips so as to be able to relate it to his friends. [ ] mrs. barbauld had such a perpetual smile that one of her friends said it made her jaws ache to look at her. [ ] st. paul, who was brought up at the feet of gamaliel, gives a different account in rom. iv. . see also heb. xi. . [ ] soame jenyns strangely imagined that a portion of the happiness of seraphim and of just men made perfect would be derived from an exquisite perception of the ludicrous; while addison mentions that a learned monk laid it down as a doctrine that laughter was the effect of original sin, and that adam could not laugh before the fall. some of the early christians felt so strongly the incompatibility of strong human emotions with the divine nature that they expunged the words "jesus wept." [ ] perhaps solomon was amused by them, for in the catalogue of the valuable things brought in his ships are apes and peacocks. [ ] i cannot see in homer any of that philosophic satire on the condition of mortals, which some have found in those passages where men are represented as being deceived and tricked by the gods. anything so deep would be beyond humour. he very probably conceived that the gods, whom he represented as similar to men, were sometimes not above playing severe practical jokes on them. the so-called irony of sophocles in like manner, is too philosophical and bitter for humour. [ ] tom brown, the humorist, says, lycambes complimented the iambics of archilochus with the most convincing proof of their wit and goodness. [ ] archilochus could not have been called a satirist in the correct sense of the word. his observations were mostly personal or philosophical. he had evidently considerable power in illustrating the moral by the physical world, and one of his sayings "speak not evil of the dead," has become proverbial. [ ] irony had previously been used in asia. the only specimens of humour in the old testament are of this character, as in job, "no doubt but ye are the people, and wisdom shall die with you;" where elijah says to the prophets of baal, "cry aloud, for he is a god," and the children call after elisha, "go up, thou bald-head." [ ] magnes and others of the day used similar titles. we read that there were once three homeric hymns extant, named "the monkeys," "the seven-times-shorn goat," and "the song on the thrushes." [ ] after disposing of his daughters for a bunch of garlic and a little salt, he exclaims, "oh, mercury, god of traffic, grant that i may sell my wife as profitably, and my mother too!" [ ] so the pun may be represented. [ ] certainly not before b.c. [ ] compare our "billingsgate." [ ] we sometimes speak of a seedy coat. [ ] the answers to the above riddles are, thistledown, sleep, night and day, shade. [ ] "gugga" seems to have corresponded with our "nigger." [ ] about three and nine pence. [ ] roman mirrors made of silver. [ ] _scurra_ originally meant a neighbour, then a gossip, then a pleasant fellow, and finally a jocose, and in those rude times a scurrilous man. [ ] there is a story of caligula having had an actor burnt alive for making an offensive pun in an atellane play. sometimes nicknames were thus made. placidus was acidus, labienus, rabienus; claudius tiberius nero was caldius biberius mero. [ ] i have been obliged to omit some of the pungent indelicacy of the original. the pope was the sacrificing priest. [ ] we meet with such words as _verrucosus_, _sanna_, a grimace, and _stloppus_, the sound made by striking the inflated cheeks. [ ] "a satirist is always to be suspected, who to make vice odious dwells upon all its acts and minutest circumstances with a sort of relish and retrospective fondness."--_lamb._ [ ] palindromes, such as "tibi subito motibus ibit." we have some in english, as where our forefather addresses his wife "madam, i'm adam." [ ] pyrogenes has a double meaning, "born of corn," and "born of fire," alluding to bacchus' mother having been burnt. bromos is a kind of cereal, bromion a name for bacchus. [ ] a man of capreæ, having caught an unusually large barbel, presented it to tiberius, who was so enraged at his being able to find him in his retreat, that he ordered his face to be scrubbed with the fish. [ ] some of the pagans put off christian baptism till the last moment under this idea. [ ] there seems to me to be several reasons for drawing this conclusion. [ ] "semel minusne, an bis minus; non sat scio, an utrumque eorum, ut quondam audivi dicier jovi ipsi regi noluit concedere." [ ] the answers to these enigmas are rose, fleas, sea-mew, visions, wheels. [ ] as late as the fourteenth century there were only four classical works in the royal library at paris. [ ] ritson characteristically observes, "there is this distinction between the heathen deities and christian saints, that the fables of the former were indebted for their existence to the flowing inspiration of the sublime poet, and the legends of the latter to the gloomy fanaticism of a lazy monk or a stinking priest." [ ] sometimes anciently called "west wales." [ ] king alfred advanced so far as to make a translation of a classical history written by orosius in ; but the object of the work was to show that christianity was not the cause of the evils which had befallen the roman empire. [ ] two of them are mentioned as superior to homer. one pretended to be derived from dares, a phrygian, who fought on the trojan side, and another from dictys, a cretan, who was with the greeks. [ ] the kind of stories prevalent in these countries may be conjectured from the two related by john of bromton, as believed by the natives. one relates that the head of a child lies at the bottom of the gulf of sataliah in asia minor, and that when the head is partly upright, such storms prevail in the gulf that no vessel can live, but when it is lying down there is a calm. the other asserts that once in every month a great black dragon comes in the clouds, plunges his head into the stream, but leaves his tail in the sky, and draws up the water, so that even ships are carried into the air. the only way for sailors to escape this monster, is to make a great noise by beating and shouting, so as to frighten him. [ ] originally an arcadian superstition. [ ] pinnacles. [ ] tiles. [ ] the following is the original. "meum est propositum in taberna mori, vinum sit appositum morientis ori, ut dicant cum venerint angelorum chori, deus sit propitius huic potatori." [ ] an idea probably borrowed from the classical writers. [ ] or the "amiable," a translation of his father's name. [ ] mr. drummond in his life of erasmus. [ ] reprinted by halliwell. [ ] see "art-journal." [ ] i remember to have seen such a procession at como in the holy week. the various accessories of the passion were borne along on the top of poles with appropriate mottoes, for example: two ladders crossed, "he bowed the heavens and came down." a stuffed cock, "the cock crew." a barber's basin, "pilate washed his hands," &c. the effect was almost ludicrous. [ ] lucian makes the father of cleanthis congratulate himself on having obtained a buffoon for his son's wedding feast. this individual was an ugly little fellow with close shaven head, except a few straggling hairs made up to resemble a cock. he began by dancing and contorting his body and spouting some Ægytian verses, then he launched all kinds of fooleries at the company. most laughed, but on his calling alcidamas a maltese puppy, he was challenged to fight or have his brains dashed out. [ ] but this may have been traditional, for the fools in classic times were sometimes shaven. [ ] wright's "history of the grotesque." [ ] such as the wife of bath's tale, and in "january and may," or the "marchante's tale." [ ] she was roasting a pig. [ ] most of the ridiculous answers said to have been made at examinations are mere humorous inventions. we almost think there must be a slight improvement made in the following, though they are upon the authority of an examiner, what are the great jewish feasts? purim, urim, and thummin. what bounded samaria on the east? the jordan. what on the west? the other side of jordan. derive an english word from the latin _necto_? necktie. nor can we doubt that a slight humorous colouring has been introduced into the following from the "memorials of archibald constable," recently published by his son.--an old deaf relation said on her death-bed to her attendant, "ann, if i should be spared, i hope my nephew will get the doctor to open my head, and see whether anything can be done for my hearing." [ ] one of anne boleyn's principal favourites was sir thomas wyatt, who was celebrated at that day as a man of humour, though at present we see nothing in his poems but a few poetical conceits. the titles of them are suggestive: "the lover sending sighs to move his suit." "of his love who pricked her finger with a needle." "the lover praiseth the beauty of his lady's hand." he wrote the following upon the queen's name:-- "what word is that, that changeth not, though it be turned and made in twain? it is mine anna, god it wot, the only causer of my pain; my love that meedeth with disdain; yet is it loved, what will you more? it is my salve and eke my sore." [ ] christina of sweden made a similar remark when the order of the garter was sent to charles gustavus. [ ] pace had said the same to queen elizabeth, and from such strokes jesters were called 'honest,' as 'honest jo,' &c. [ ] there is little humour in shadwell's works; he succeeded dryden as poet laureate, which was perhaps the cause of the above lines. rochester said, "if shadwell had burnt all he wrote, and printed all he spoke, he would have had more wit and humour than any poet." probably his wit would have been like rochester's. whether shadwell were himself a good poet or not, he made a hit at the poetasters of his day, in which he showed some genius. _poet._ o, very loftily! the winged vallance of your eyes advance shake off your canopied and downie trance: phoebus already quaffs the morning dew, each does his daily lease of life renew. now you shall hear description, 'tis the very life of poetry. he darts his beams on the lark's mossy house, and from his quiet tenement doth rouse the little charming and harmonious fowl which sings its lump of body to a soul. swiftly it clambers up in the steep air with warbling notes, and makes each note a stair. [ ] sir roger l'estrange gives the names of the people attacked. [ ] one of cromwell's principal officers. [ ] thus familiarly called, no doubt owing to the custom of giving pet names to jesters. [ ] guardian, vol. i. no. . [ ] fence. london: printed by a. schulze, , poland street. also by _clarence day_ the crow's nest thoughts without words god and my father in the green mountain country scenes from the mesozoic life with father this simian _world_ _by_ clarence day _with illustrations by the author_ _new york & london_ alfred·a·knopf copyright , by clarence day _all rights reserved. no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper._ _published may , _ _reprinted nine times_ _eleventh printing, march, _ _manufactured in the united states of america_ "how i hate the man who talks about the 'brute creation,' with an ugly emphasis on _brute_.... as for me, i am proud of my close kinship with other animals. i take a jealous pride in my simian ancestry. i like to think that i was once a magnificent hairy fellow living in the trees, and that my frame has come down through geological time via sea jelly and worms and amphioxus, fish, dinosaurs, and apes. who would exchange these for the pallid couple in the garden of eden?" w. n. p. barbellion. _this simian world_ _one_ last sunday, potter took me out driving along upper broadway, where those long rows of tall new apartment houses were built a few years ago. it was a mild afternoon and great crowds of people were out. sunday afternoon crowds. they were not going anywhere,--they were just strolling up and down, staring at each other, and talking. there were thousands and thousands of them. "awful, aren't they!" said potter. i didn't know what he meant. when he added, "why, these crowds," i turned and asked, "why, what about them?" i wasn't sure whether he had an idea or a headache. "other creatures don't do it," he replied, with a discouraged expression. "are any other beings ever found in such masses, but vermin? aimless, staring, vacant-minded,--look at them! i can get no sense whatever of individual worth, or of value in men as a race, when i see them like this. it makes one almost despair of civilization." i thought this over for awhile, to get in touch with his attitude. i myself feel differently at different times about us human-beings: sometimes i get pretty indignant when we are attacked (for there is altogether too much abuse of us by spectator philosophers) and yet at other times i too feel like a spectator, an alien: but even then i had never felt so alien or despairing as potter. i cast about for the probable cause of our difference. "let's remember," i said, "it's a simian civilization." potter was staring disgustedly at some vaudeville sign-boards. "yes," i said, "those for example are distinctively simian. why should you feel disappointment at something inevitable?" and i went on to argue that it wasn't as though we were descended from eagles for instance, instead of (broadly speaking) from ape-like or monkeyish beings. being of simian stock, we had simian traits. our development naturally bore the marks of our origin. if we had inherited our dispositions from eagles we should have loathed vaudeville. but as cousins of the bandarlog, we loved it. what could you expect? [illustration: descended from eagles] _two_ if we had been made directly from clay, the way it says in the bible, and had therefore inherited no intermediate characteristics,--if a god, or some principle of growth, had gone that way to work with us, he or it might have molded us into much more splendid forms. but considering our simian descent, it has done very well. the only people who are disappointed in us are those who still believe that clay story. or who--unconsciously--still let it color their thinking. * * * * * there certainly seems to be a power at work in the world, by virtue of which every living thing grows and develops. and it tends toward splendor. seeds become trees, and weak little nations grow great. but the push or the force that is doing this, the yeast as it were, has to work in and on certain definite kinds of material. because this yeast is in us, there may be great and undreamed of possibilities awaiting mankind; but because of our line of descent there are also queer limitations. [illustration: strange forgotten dynasties] _three_ in those distant invisible epochs before men existed, before even the proud missing link strutted around through the woods (little realizing how we his greatgrandsons would smile wryly at him, much as our own descendants may shudder at us, ages hence) the various animals were desperately competing for power. they couldn't or didn't live as equals. certain groups sought the headship. many strange forgotten dynasties rose, met defiance, and fell. in the end it was our ancestors who won, and became simian kings, and bequeathed a whole planet to us--and have never been thanked for it. no monument has been raised to the memory of those first hairy conquerors; yet had they not fought well and wisely in those far-off times, some other race would have been masters, and kept us in cages, or shot us for sport in the forests while they ruled the world. * * * * * so potter and i, developing this train of thought, began to imagine we had lived many ages ago, and somehow or other had alighted here from some older planet. familiar with the ways of evolution elsewhere in the universe, we naturally should have wondered what course it would take on this earth. "even in this out-of-the-way corner of the cosmos," we might have reflected, "and on this tiny star, it may be of interest to consider the trend of events." we should have tried to appraise the different species as they wandered around, each with its own set of good and bad characteristics. which group, we'd have wondered, would ever contrive to rule all the rest? and how great a development could they attain to thereafter? _four_ if we had landed here after the great saurians had been swept from the scene, we might first have considered the lemurs or apes. they had hands. aesthetically viewed, the poor simians were simply grotesque; but travelers who knew other planets might have known what beauty may spring from an uncouth beginning in this magic universe. still--those frowzy, unlovely hordes of apes and monkeys were so completely lacking in signs of kingship; they were so flighty, too, in their ways, and had so little purpose, and so much love for absurd and idle chatter, that they would have struck us, we thought, as unlikely material. such traits, we should have reminded ourselves, persist. they are not easily left behind, even after long stages; and they form a terrible obstacle to all high advancement. _five_ the bees or the ants might have seemed to us more promising. their smallness of size was not necessarily too much of a handicap. they could have made poison their weapon for the subjugation of rivals. and in these orderly insects there was obviously a capacity for labor, and co-operative labor at that, which could carry them far. we all know that they have a marked genius: great gifts of their own. in a civilization of super-ants or bees, there would have been no problem of the hungry unemployed, no poverty, no unstable government, no riots, no strikes for short hours, no derision of eugenics, no thieves, perhaps no crime at all. ants are good citizens: they place group interests first. but they carry it so far, they have few or no political rights. an ant doesn't have the vote, apparently: he just has his duties. this quality may have something to do with their having group wars. the egotism of their individual spirits is allowed scant expression, so the egotism of the group is extremely ferocious and active. is this one of the reasons why ants fight so much? they go in for state socialism, yes, but they are not internationalists. and ants commit atrocities in and after their battles that are--i wish i could truly say--inhuman. but conversely, ants are absolutely unselfish within the community. they are skilful. ingenious. their nests and buildings are relatively larger than man's. the scientists speak of their paved streets, vaulted halls, their hundreds of different domesticated animals, their pluck and intelligence, their individual initiative, their chaste and industrious lives. darwin said the ant's brain was "one of the most marvelous atoms in the world, perhaps more so than the brain of man"--yes, of present-day man, who for thousands and thousands of years has had so much more chance to develop his brain.... a thoughtful observer would have weighed all these excellent qualities. when we think of these creatures as little men (which is all wrong of course) we see they have their faults. to our eyes they seem too orderly, for instance. repressively so. their ways are more fixed than those of the old egyptians, and their industry is painful to think of, it's hyper-chinese. but we must remember this is a simian comment. the instincts of the species that you and i belong to are of an opposite kind; and that makes it hard for us to judge ants fairly. but we and the ants are alike in one matter: the strong love of property. and instead of merely struggling with nature for it, they also fight other ants. the custom of plunder seems to be a part of most of their wars. this has gone on for ages among them, and continues today. raids, ferocious combats, and loot are part of an ant's regular life. ant reformers, if there were any, might lay this to their property sense, and talk of abolishing property as a cure for the evil. but that would not help for long unless they could abolish the love of it. ants seem to care even more for property than we do ourselves. we men are inclined to ease up a little when we have all we need. but it is not so with ants: they can't bear to stop: they keep right on working. this means that ants do not contemplate: they heed nothing outside of their own little rounds. it is almost as though their fondness for labor had closed fast their minds. conceivably they might have developed inquiring minds. but this would have run against their strongest instincts. the ant is knowing and wise; but he doesn't know enough to take a vacation. the worshipper of energy is too physically energetic to see that he cannot explore certain higher fields until he is still. even if such a race had somehow achieved self-consciousness and reason, would they have been able therewith to rule their instincts, or to stop work long enough to examine themselves, or the universe, or to dream of any noble development? probably not. reason is seldom or never the ruler: it is the servant of instinct. it would therefore have told the ants that incessant toil was useful and good. "toil has brought you up from the ruck of things," reason would have plausibly said. "it's by virtue of feverish toil that you have become what you are. being endlessly industrious is the best road--for you--to the heights." and, self-reassured, they would then have had orgies of work; and thus, by devoted exertion, have blocked their advancement. work, and order and gain would have withered their souls. _six_ let us take the great cats. they are free from this talent for slave-hood. stately beasts like the lion have more independence of mind than the ants,--and a self-respect, we may note, unknown to primates. or consider the leopards, with hearts that no tyrant could master. what fearless and resolute leopard-men they could have fathered! how magnificently such a civilization would have made its force tell! a race of civilized beings descended from these great cats would have been rich in hermits and solitary thinkers. the recluse would not have been stigmatized as peculiar, as he is by us simians. they would not have been a credulous people, or easily religious. false prophets and swindlers would have found few dupes. and what generals they would have made! what consummate politicians! don't imagine them as a collection of tigers walking around on their hind-legs. they would have only been like tigers in the sense that we men are like monkeys. their development in appearance and character would have been quite transforming. instead of the small flat head of the tiger, they would have had clear smooth brows; and those who were not bald would have had neatly parted hair--perhaps striped. their mouths would have been smaller and more sensitive: their faces most dignified. where now they express chiefly savageness, they would have expressed fire and grace. they would have been courteous and suave. no vulgar crowding would have occurred on the streets of their cities. no mobs. no ignominious subway-jams. imagine a cultivated coterie of such men and women, at a ball, dancing. how few of us humans are graceful. they would have all been pavlovas. * * * * * like ants and bees, the cat race is nervous. their temperaments are high-strung. they would never have become as poised or as placid as--say--super-cows. yet they would have had less insanity, probably, than we. monkeys' (and elephants') minds seem precariously balanced, unstable. the great cats are saner. they are intense, they would have needed sanitariums: but fewer asylums. and their asylums would have been not for weak-minded souls, but for furies. they would have been strong at slander. they would have been far more violent than we, in their hates, and they would have had fewer friendships. yet they might not have been any poorer in real friendships than we. the real friendships among men are so rare that when they occur they are famous. friends as loyal as damon and pythias were, are exceptions. good fellowship is common, but unchanging affection is not. we like those who like us, as a rule, and dislike those who don't. most of our ties have no better footing than that; and those who have many such ties are called warm-hearted. * * * * * the super-cat-men would have rated cleanliness higher. some of us primates have learned to keep ourselves clean, but it's no large proportion; and even the cleanest of us see no grandeur in soap-manufacturing, and we don't look to manicures and plumbers for social prestige. a feline race would have honored such occupations. j. de courcy tiger would have felt that nothing _but_ making soap, or being a plumber, was compatible with a high social position; and the rich vera pantherbilt would have deigned to dine only with manicures. none but the lowest dregs of such a race would have been lawyers spending their span of life on this mysterious earth studying the long dusty records of dead and gone quarrels. we simians naturally admire a profession full of wrangle and chatter. but that is a monkeyish way of deciding disputes, not a feline. we fight best in armies, gregariously, where the risk is reduced; but we disapprove usually of murderers, and of almost all private combat. with the great cats, it would have been just the other way round. (lions and leopards fight each other singly, not in bands, as do monkeys.) as a matter of fact, few of us delight in really serious fighting. we do love to bicker; and we box and knock each other around, to exhibit our strength; but few normal simians are keen about bloodshed and killing; we do it in war only because of patriotism, revenge, duty, glory. a feline civilization would have cared nothing for duty or glory, but they would have taken a far higher pleasure in gore. if a planet of super-cat-men could look down upon ours, they would not know which to think was the most amazing: the way we tamely live, five million or so in a city, with only a few police to keep us quiet, while we commit only one or two murders a day, and hardly have a respectable number of brawls; or the way great armies of us are trained to fight,--not liking it much, and yet doing more killing in war-time and shedding more blood than even the fiercest lion on his cruelest days. which would perplex a gentlemanly super-cat spectator the more, our habits of wholesale slaughter in the field, or our spiritless making a fetish of "order," at home? * * * * * it is fair to judge peoples by the rights they will sacrifice most for. super-cat-men would have been outraged, had their right of personal combat been questioned. the simian submits with odd readiness to the loss of this privilege. what outrages him is to make him stop wagging his tongue. he becomes most excited and passionate about the right of free speech, even going so far in his emotion as to declare it is sacred. he looks upon other creatures pityingly because they are dumb. if one of his own children is born dumb, he counts it a tragedy. even that mere hesitation in speech, known as stammering, he deems a misfortune. so precious to a simian is the privilege of making sounds with his tongue, that when he wishes to punish severely those men he calls criminals, he forbids them to chatter, and forces them by threats to be silent. it is felt that this punishment is entirely too cruel however, and that even the worst offenders should be allowed to talk part of each day. whatever a simian does, there must always be some talking about it. he can't even make peace without a kind of chatter called a peace conference. super-cats would not have had to "make" peace: they would have just walked off and stopped fighting. * * * * * in a world of super-cat-men, i suppose there would have been fewer sailors; and people would have cared less for seaside resorts, or for swimming. cats hate getting wet, so men descended from them might have hated it. they would have felt that even going in wading was a sign of great hardihood, and only the most daring young fellows, showing off, would have done it. among them there would have been no anti-vivisection societies: no young cats christian associations or red cross work: no vegetarians: no early closing laws: much more hunting and trapping: no riding to hounds; that's pure simian. just think how it would have entranced the old-time monkeys to foresee such a game! a game where they'd all prance off on captured horses, tearing pell-mell through the woods in gay red coats, attended by yelping packs of servant-dogs. it is excellent sport--but how cats would scorn to hunt in that way! they would not have knighted explorers--they would have all been explorers. * * * * * imagine that you are strolling through a super-cat city at night. over yonder is the business quarter, its evening shops blazing with jewels. the great stock-yards lie to the east where you hear those sad sounds: that low mooing as of innumerable herds, waiting slaughter. beyond lie the silent aquariums and the crates of fresh mice. (they raise mice instead of hens in the country, in super-cat land.) to the west is a beautiful but weirdly bacchanalian park, with long groves of catnip, where young super-cats have their fling, and where a few crazed catnip addicts live on till they die, unable to break off their strangely undignified orgies. and here where you stand is the sumptuous residence district. houses with spacious grounds everywhere: no densely-packed buildings. the streets have been swept up--or lapped up--until they are spotless. not a scrap of paper is lying around anywhere: no rubbish, no dust. few of the pavements are left bare, as ours are, and those few are polished: the rest have deep soft velvet carpets. no footfalls are heard. [illustration: punctilious, haughty, inflammable] there are no lights in these streets, though these people are abroad much at night. all you see are stars overhead and the glowing eyes of cat ladies, of lithe silken ladies who pass you, or of stiff-whiskered men. beware of those men and the gleam of their split-pupiled stare. they are haughty, punctilious, inflammable: self-absorbed too, however. they will probably not even notice you; but if they do, you are lost. they take offense in a flash, abhor strangers, despise hospitality, and would think nothing of killing you or me on their way home to dinner. follow one of them. enter this house. ah what splendor! no servants, though a few abject monkeys wait at the back-doors, and submissively run little errands. but of course they are never let inside: they would seem out of place. gorgeous couches, rich colors, silken walls, an oriental magnificence. in here is the ballroom. but wait: what is this in the corner? a large triumphal statue--of a cat overcoming a dog. and look at this dining-room, its exquisite appointments, its daintiness: faucets for hot and cold milk in the pantry, and a gold bowl of cream. some one is entering. hush! if i could but describe her! languorous, slender and passionate. sleepy eyes that see everything. an indolent purposeful step. an unimaginable grace. if you were _her_ lover, my boy, you would learn how fierce love can be, how capricious and sudden, how hostile, how ecstatic, how violent! * * * * * think what the state of the arts would have been in such cities. they would have had few comedies on their stage; no farces. cats care little for fun. in the circus, superlative acrobats. no clowns. [illustration: one of their poets] in drama and singing they would have surpassed us probably. even in the stage of arrested development as mere animals, in which we see cats, they wail with a passionate intensity at night in our yards. imagine how a caruso descended from such beings would sing. in literature they would not have begged for happy endings. they would have been personally more self-assured than we, far freer of cheap imitativeness of each other in manners and art, and hence more original in art; more clearly aware of what they really desired, not cringingly watchful of what was expected of them; less widely observant perhaps, more deeply thoughtful. their artists would have produced less however, even though they felt more. a super-cat artist would have valued the pictures he drew for their effects on himself; he wouldn't have cared a rap whether anyone else saw them or not. he would not have bothered, usually, to give any form to his conceptions. simply to have had the sensation would have for him been enough. but since simians love to be noticed, it does not content them to have a conception; they must wrestle with it until it takes a form in which others can see it. they doom the artistic impulse to toil with its nose to the grindstone, until their idea is expressed in a book or a statue. are they right? i have doubts. the artistic impulse seems not to wish to produce finished work. it certainly deserts us half-way, after the idea is born; and if we go on, art is labor. with the cats, art is joy. * * * * * but the dominant characteristic of this fine race is cunning. and hence i think it would have been through their craftiness, chiefly, that they would have felt the impulse to study, and the wish to advance. craft is a cat's delight: craft they never can have too much of. so it would have been from one triumph of cunning to another that they would have marched. that would have been the greatest driving force of their civilization. this would have meant great progress in invention and science--or in some fields of science, the economic for instance. but it would have retarded them in others. craft studies the world calculatingly, from without, instead of understandingly from within. especially would it have cheapened the feline philosophies; for not simply how to know but how to circumvent the universe would have been their desire. mankind's curiosity is disinterested; it seems purer by contrast. that is to say, made as we are, it seems purer to us. what we call disinterested, however, super-cats might call aimless. (aimlessness is one of the regular simian traits.) i don't mean to be prejudiced in favor of the simian side. curiosity may be as debasing, i grant you, as craft. and craft might turn into artifices of a kind which would be noble and fine. just as the ignorant and fitful curiosity of some little monkey is hardly to be compared to the astronomer's magnificent search, so the craft and cunning we see in our pussies would bear small relation to the high-minded planning of some ruler of the race we are imagining. and yet--craft _is_ self-defeating in the end. transmute it into its finest possible form, let it be as subtle and civilized as you please, as yearning and noble, as enlightened, it still sets itself over against the wholeness of things; its rôle is that of the part at war with the whole. milton's lucifer had the mind of a fine super-cat. that craft may defeat itself in the end, however, is not the real point. that doesn't explain why the lions aren't ruling the planet. the trouble is, it would defeat itself in the beginning. it would have too bitterly stressed the struggle for existence. conflict and struggle make civilizations virile, but they do not by themselves make civilizations. mutual aid and support are needed for that. there the felines are lacking. they do not co-operate well; they have small group-devotion. their lordliness, their strong self-regard, and their coolness of heart, have somehow thwarted the chance of their racial progress. _seven_ there are many other beasts that one might once have thought had a chance. some, like horses and deer, were not bold enough; or were stupid, like buffaloes. some had over-trustful characters, like the seals; or exploitable characters, like cows, and chickens, and sheep. such creatures sentence themselves to be captives, by their lack of ambition. dogs? they have more spirit. but they have lost their chance of kingship through worshipping us. the dog's finer qualities can't be praised too warmly; there is a purity about his devotion which makes mere men feel speechless: but with all love for dogs, one must grant they are vassals, not rulers. they are too parasitic--the one willing servant class of the world. and we have betrayed them by making under-simians of them. we have taught them some of our own ways of behaving, and frowned upon theirs. loving us, they let us stop their developing in tune with their natures; and they've patiently tried ever since to adopt ways of ours. they have done it, too; but of course they can't get far: it's not their own road. dogs have more love than integrity. they've been true to us, yes, but they haven't been true to themselves. pigs? the pig is remarkably intelligent and brave,--but he's gross; and grossness delays one's achievement, it takes so much time. the snake too, though wise, has a way of eating himself into stupors. if super-snake-men had had banquets they would have been too vast to describe. each little snake family could have eaten a herd of cattle at christmas. goats, then? bears or turtles? wolves, whales, crows? each had brains and pride, and would have been glad to rule the world if they could; but each had their defects, and their weaknesses for such a position. the elephant? ah! evolution has had its tragedies, hasn't it, as well as its triumphs; and well should the elephant know it. he had the best chance of all. wiser even than the lion, or the wisest of apes, his wisdom furthermore was benign where theirs was sinister. consider his dignity, his poise and skill. he was plastic, too. he had learned to eat many foods and endure many climates. once, some say, this race explored the globe. their bones are found everywhere, in south america even; so the elephants' columbus may have found some road here before ours. they are cosmopolitans, these suave and well-bred beings. they have rich emotional natures, long memories, loyalty; they are steady and sure; and not narrow, not self-absorbed, for they seem interested in everything. what was it then, that put them out of the race? could it have been a quite natural belief that they had already won? and when they saw that they hadn't, and that the monkey-men were getting ahead, were they too great-minded and decent to exterminate their puny rivals? it may have been their tolerance and patience that betrayed them. they wait too long before they resent an imposition or insult. just as ants are too energetic and cats too shrewd for their own highest good, so the elephants suffer from too much patience. their exhibitions of it may seem superb,--such power and such restraint, combined, are noble,--but a quality carried to excess defeats itself. kings who won't lift their scepters must yield in the end; and, the worst of it is, to upstarts who snatch at their crowns. * * * * * i fancy the elephants would have been gentler masters than we: more live-and-let-live in allowing other species to stay here. our way is to kill good and bad, male and female and babies, till the few last survivors lie hidden away from our guns. all species must surrender unconditionally--those are our terms--and come and live in barns alongside us; or on us, as parasites. the creatures that want to live a life of their own, we call wild. if wild, then no matter how harmless we treat them as outlaws, and those of us who are specially well brought up shoot them for fun. some might be our friends. we don't wish it. we keep them all terrorized. when one of us conquering monkey-men enters the woods, most animals that scent him slink away, or race off in a panic. it is not that we have planned this deliberately: but they know what we're like. race by race they have been slaughtered. soon all will be gone. we give neither freedom nor life-room to those we defeat. if we had been as strong as the elephants, we might have been kinder. when great power comes naturally to people, it is used more urbanely. we use it as parvenus do, because that's what we are. the elephant, being born to it, is easy-going, confident, tolerant. he would have been a more humane king. * * * * * a race descended from elephants would have had to build on a large scale. imagine a crowd of huge, wrinkled, slow-moving elephant-men getting into a vast elephant omnibus. and would they have ever tried airships? the elephant is stupid when it comes to learning how to use tools. so are all other species except our own. isn't it strange? a tool, in the most primitive sense, is any object, lying around, that can obviously be used as an instrument for this or that purpose. many creatures use objects as _materials_, as birds use twigs for nests. but the step that no animal takes is learning freely to use things as instruments. when an elephant plucks off a branch and swishes his flanks, and thus keeps away insects, he is using a tool. but he does it only by a vague and haphazard association of ideas. if he once became a conscious user of tools he would of course go much further. we ourselves, who are so good at it now, were slow enough in beginning. think of the long epochs that passed before it entered our heads. and all that while the contest for leadership blindly went on, without any species making use of this obvious aid. the lesson to be learned was simple: the reward was the rule of a planet. yet only one species, our own, has ever had that much brains. it makes you wonder what other obvious lessons may still be unlearned. * * * * * it is not necessarily stupid however, to fail to use tools. to use tools involves using reason, instead of sticking to instinct. now, sticking to instinct has its disadvantages, but so has using reason. whichever faculty you use, the other atrophies, and partly deserts you. we are trying to use both. but we still don't know which has the more value. * * * * * a sudden vision comes to me of one of the first far-away ape-men who tried to use reason instead of instinct as a guide for his conduct. i imagine him, perched in his tree, torn between those two voices, wailing loudly at night by a river, in his puzzled distress. my poor far-off brother! [illustration: the first thinker.] _eight_ we have been considering which species was on the whole most finely equipped to be rulers, and thereafter achieve a high civilization; but that wasn't the problem. the real problem was which would _do_ it:--a different matter. to do it there was need of a species that had at least these two qualities: some quenchless desire, to urge them on and on; and also adaptability of a thousand kinds to their environment. the rhinoceros cares little for adaptability. he slogs through the world. but we! we are experts. adaptability is what we depend on. we talk of our mastery of nature, which sounds very grand; but the fact is we respectfully adapt ourselves first, to her ways. "we attain no power over nature till we learn natural laws, and our lordship depends on the adroitness with which we learn and conform." adroitness however is merely an ability to win; back of it there must be some spur to make us use our adroitness. why don't we all die or give up when we're sick of the world? because the love of life is reënforced, in most energized beings, by some longing that pushes them forward, in defeat and in darkness. all creatures wish to live, and to perpetuate their species, of course; but those two wishes alone evidently do not carry any race far. in addition to these, a race, to be great, needs some hunger, some itch, to spur it up the hard path we lately have learned to call evolution. the love of toil in the ants, and of craft in cats, are examples (imaginary or not). what other such lust could exert great driving force? with us is it curiosity? endless interest in one's environment? many animals have some curiosity, but "some" is not enough; and in but few is it one of the master passions. by a master passion, i mean a passion that is really your master: some appetite which habitually, day in, day out, makes its subjects forget fatigue or danger, and sacrifice their ease to its gratification. that is the kind of hold that curiosity has on the monkeys. _nine_ imagine a prehistoric prophet observing these beings, and forecasting what kind of civilizations their descendants would build. anyone could have foreseen certain parts of the simians' history: could have guessed that their curiosity would unlock for them, one by one, nature's doors, and--idly--bestow on them stray bits of valuable knowledge: could have pictured them spreading inquiringly all over the globe, stumbling on their inventions--and idly passing on and forgetting them. to have to learn the same thing over and over again wastes the time of a race. but this is continually necessary, with simians, because of their disorder. "disorder," a prophet would have sighed: "that is one of their handicaps; one that they will never get rid of, whatever it costs. having so much curiosity makes a race scatter-brained. "yes," he would have dismally continued, "it will be a queer mixture: these simians will attain to vast stores of knowledge, in time, that is plain. but after spending centuries groping to discover some art, in after-centuries they will now and then find it's forgotten. how incredible it would seem on other planets to hear of lost arts. "there is a strong streak of triviality in them, which you don't see in cats. they won't have fine enough characters to concentrate on the things of most weight. they will talk and think far more of trifles than of what is important. even when they are reasonably civilized, this will be so. great discoveries sometimes will fail to be heard of, because too much else is; and many will thus disappear, and these men will not know it."[ ] [ ] we did rescue mendel's from the dust heap; but perhaps it was an exception. * * * * * let me interrupt this lament to say a word for myself and my ancestors. it is easy to blame us as undiscriminating, but we are at least full of zest. and it's well to be interested, eagerly and intensely, in so many things, because there is often no knowing which may turn out important. we don't go around being interested on purpose, hoping to profit by it, but a profit may come. and anyway it is generous of us not to be too self-absorbed. other creatures go to the other extreme to an amazing extent. they are ridiculously oblivious to what is going on. the smallest ant in the garden will ignore the largest woman who visits it. she is a huge and most dangerous super-mammoth in relation to him, and her tread shakes the earth; but he has no time to be bothered, investigating such-like phenomena. he won't even get out of her way. he has his work to do, hang it. birds and squirrels have less of this glorious independence of spirit. they watch you closely--if you move around. but not if you keep still. in other words, they pay no more attention than they can help, even to mammoths. we of course observe everything, or try to. we could spend our lives looking on. consider our museums for instance: they are a sign of our breed. it makes us smile to see birds, like the magpie, with a mania for this collecting--but only monkeyish beings could reverence museums as we do, and pile such heterogeneous trifles and quantities in them. old furniture, egg-shells, watches, bits of stone.... and next door, a "menagerie." though our victory over all other animals is now aeons old, we still bring home captives and exhibit them caged in our cities. and when a species dies out--or is crowded (by us) off the planet--we even collect the bones of the vanquished and show them like trophies. * * * * * curiosity is a valuable trait. it will make the simians learn many things. but the curiosity of a simian is as excessive as the toil of an ant. each simian will wish to know more than his head can hold, let alone ever deal with; and those whose minds are active will wish to know everything going. it would stretch a god's skull to accomplish such an ambition, yet simians won't like to think it's beyond their powers. even small tradesmen and clerks, no matter how thrifty, will be eager to buy costly encyclopedias, or books of all knowledge. almost every simian family, even the dullest, will think it is due to themselves to keep all knowledge handy. their idea of a liberal education will therefore be a great hodge-podge; and he who narrows his field and digs deep will be viewed as an alien. if more than one man in a hundred should thus dare to concentrate, the ruinous effects of being a specialist will be sadly discussed. it may make a man exceptionally useful, they will have to admit; but still they will feel badly, and fear that civilization will suffer. * * * * * one of their curious educational ideas--but a natural one--will be shown in the efforts they will make to learn more than one "language." they will set their young to spending a decade or more of their lives in studying duplicate systems--whole systems--of chatter. those who thus learn several different ways to say the same things, will command much respect, and those who learn many will be looked on with awe--by true simians. and persons without this accomplishment will be looked down on a little, and will actually feel quite apologetic about it themselves. consider how enormously complicated a complete language must be, with its long and arbitrary vocabulary, its intricate system of sounds; the many forms that single words may take, especially if they are verbs; the rules of grammar, the sentence structure, the idioms, slang and inflections. heavens, what a genius for tongues these simians have![ ] where another race, after the most frightful discord and pains, might have slowly constructed _one_ language before this earth grew cold, this race will create literally hundreds, each complete in itself, and many of them with quaint little systems of writing attached. and the owners of this linguistic gift are so humble about it, they will marvel at bees, for their hives, and at beavers' mere dams. [ ] you remember what kipling says in the jungle books, about how disgusted the quiet animals were with the bandarlog, because they were eternally chattering, would never keep still. well, this is the good side of it. * * * * * to return, however, to their fear of being too narrow, in going to the other extreme they will run to incredible lengths. every civilized simian, every day of his life, in addition to whatever older facts he has picked up, will wish to know all the news of all the world. if he felt any true concern to know it, this would be rather fine of him: it would imply such a close solidarity on the part of this genus. (such a close solidarity would seem crushing, to others; but that is another matter.) it won't be true concern, however, it will be merely a blind inherited instinct. he'll forget what he's read, the very next hour, or moment. yet there he will faithfully sit, the ridiculous creature, reading of bombs in spain or floods in thibet, and especially insisting on all the news he can get of the kind our race loved when they scampered and fought in the forest, news that will stir his most primitive simian feelings,--wars, accidents, love affairs, and family quarrels. to feed himself with this largely purposeless provender, he will pay thousands of simians to be reporters of such events day and night; and they will report them on such a voluminous scale as to smother or obscure more significant news altogether. great printed sheets will be read by every one every day; and even the laziest of this lazy race will not think it labor to perform this toil. they won't like to eat in the morning without their papers, such slaves they will be to this droll greed for knowing. they won't even think it is droll, it is so in their blood. their swollen desire for investigating everything about them, including especially other people's affairs, will be quenchless. few will feel that they really are "fully informed"; and all will give much of each day all their lives to the news. books too will be used to slake this unappeasable thirst. they will actually hold books in deep reverence. books! bottled chatter! things that some other simian has formerly said. they will dress them in costly bindings, keep them under glass, and take an affecting pride in the number they read. libraries,--store-houses of books,--will dot their world. the destruction of one will be a crime against civilization. (meaning, again, a simian civilization.) well, it is an offense to be sure--a barbaric offense. but so is defacing forever a beautiful landscape; and they won't even notice that sometimes; they won't shudder anyway, the way they instinctively do at the loss of a "library." * * * * * all this is inevitable and natural, and they cannot help it. there even are ways one can justify excesses like this. if their hunger for books ever seems indiscriminate to them when they themselves stop to examine it, they will have their excuses. they will argue that some bits of knowledge they once had thought futile, had later on come in most handy, in unthought of ways. true enough! for their scientists. but not for their average men: they will simply be like obstinate housekeepers who clog up their homes, preserving odd boxes and wrappings, and stray lengths of string, to exult if but one is of some trifling use ere they die. it will be in this spirit that simians will cherish their books, and pile them up everywhere into great indiscriminate mounds; and these mounds will seem signs of culture and sagacity to them. those who know many facts will feel wise! they will despise those who don't. they will even believe, many of them, that knowledge is power. unfortunate dupes of this saying will keep on reading, ambitiously, till they have stunned their native initiative, and made their thoughts weak; and will then wonder dazedly what in the world is the matter, and why the great power they were expecting to gain fails to appear. again, if they ever forget what they read, they'll be worried. those who _can_ forget--those with fresh eyes who have swept from their minds such facts as the exact month and day that their children were born, or the numbers on houses, or the names (the mere meaningless labels) of the people they meet,--will be urged to go live in sanitariums or see memory doctors! * * * * * by nature their itch is rather for knowing, than for understanding or thinking. some of them will learn to think, doubtless, and even to concentrate, but their eagerness to acquire those accomplishments will not be strong or insistent. creatures whose mainspring is curiosity will enjoy the accumulating of facts, far more than the pausing at times to reflect on those facts. if they do not reflect on them, of course they'll be slow to find out about the ideas and relationships lying behind them; and they will be curious about those ideas; so you would suppose they'd reflect. but deep thinking is painful. it means they must channel the spready rivers of their attention. that cannot be done without discipline and drills for the mind; and they will abhor doing that; their minds will work better when they are left free to run off at tangents. compare them in this with other species. each has its own kind of strength. to be compelled to be so quick-minded as the simians would be torture, to cows. cows could dwell on one idea, week by week, without trying at all; but they'd all have brain-fever in an hour at a simian tea. a super-cow people would revel in long thoughtful books on abstruse philosophical subjects, and would sit up late reading them. most of the ambitious simians who try it--out of pride--go to sleep. the typical simian brain is supremely distractable, and it's really too jumpy by nature to endure much reflection. therefore many more of them will be well-informed than sagacious. this will result in their knowing most things far too soon, at too early a stage of civilization to use them aright. they will learn to make valuable explosives at a stage in their growth, when they will use them not only in industries, but for killing brave men. they will devise ways to mine coal efficiently, in enormous amounts, at a stage when they won't know enough to conserve it, and will waste their few stores. they will use up a lot of it in a simian habit[ ] called travel. this will consist in queer little hurried runs over the globe, to see ten thousand things in the hope of thus filling their minds. [ ] even in a wild state, the monkey is restless and does not live in lairs. their minds will be full enough. their intelligence will be active and keen. it will have a constant tendency however to outstrip their wisdom. their intelligence will enable them to build great industrial systems before they have the wisdom and goodness to run them aright. they will form greater political empires than they will have strength to guide. they will endlessly quarrel about which is the best scheme of government, without stopping to realize that learning to govern comes first. (the average simian will imagine he knows without learning.) the natural result will be industrial and political wars. in a world of unmanageable structures, wild smashes must come. _ten_ inventions will come so easily to simians (in comparison with all other creatures) and they will take such childish pleasure in monkeying around, making inventions, that their many devices will be more of a care than a comfort. in their homes a large part of their time will have to be spent keeping their numerous ingenuities in good working order--their elaborate bell-ringing arrangements, their locks and their clocks. in the field of science to be sure, this fertility in invention will lead to a long list of important and beautiful discoveries: telescopes and the calculus, radiographs, and the spectrum. discoveries great enough, almost, to make angels of them. but here again their simian-ness will cheat them of half of their dues, for they will neglect great discoveries of the truest importance, and honor extravagantly those of less value and splendor if only they cater especially to simian traits. to consider examples: a discovery that helps them to talk, just to talk, more and more, will be hailed by these beings as one of the highest of triumphs. talking to each other over wires will come in this class. the lightning when harnessed and tamed will be made to trot round, conveying the most trivial cacklings all day and night. huge seas of talk of every sort and kind, in print, speech, and writing, will roll unceasingly over their civilized realms, involving an unbelievable waste in labor and time, and sapping the intelligence talk is supposed to upbuild. in a simian civilization, great halls will be erected for lectures, and great throngs will actually pay to go inside at night to hear some self-satisfied talk-maker chatter for hours. almost any subject will do for a lecture, or talk; yet very few subjects will be counted important enough for the average man to do any _thinking_ on them, off by himself. in their futurist books they will dream of an even worse state, a more dreadful indulgence in communication than the one just described. this they'll hope to achieve by a system called mental telepathy. they will long to communicate wordlessly, mind impinging on mind, until all their minds are awash with messages every moment, and withdrawal from the stream is impossible anywhere on earth. this will foster the brotherhood of man. (conglomerateness being their ideal.) super-cats would have invented more barriers instead of more channels. discoveries in surgery and medicine will also be over-praised. the reason will be that the race will so need these discoveries. unlike the great cats, simians tend to undervalue the body. having less self-respect, less proper regard for their egos, they care less than the cats do for the casing of the ego,--the body. the more civilized they grow the more they will let their bodies deteriorate. they will let their shoulders stoop, their lungs shrink, and their stomachs grow fat. no other species will be quite so deformed and distorted. athletics they will watch, yes, but on the whole sparingly practise. their snuffy old scholars will even be proud to decry them. where once the simians swung high through forests, or scampered like deer, their descendants will plod around farms, or mince along city streets, moving constrictedly, slowly, their litheness half gone. they will think of nature as "something to go out and look at." they will try to live wholly apart from her and forget they're her sons. forget? they will even deny it, and declare themselves sons of god. in spite of her wonders they will regard nature as somehow too humble to be the true parent of such prominent people as simians. they will lose all respect for the dignity of fair mother earth, and whisper to each other she is an evil and indecent old person. they will snatch at her gifts, pry irreverently into her mysteries, and ignore half the warnings they get from her about how to live. ailments of every kind will abound among such folk, inevitably, and they will resort to extraordinary expedients in their search for relief. although squeamish as a race about inflicting much pain in cold blood, they will systematically infect other animals with their own rank diseases, or cut out other animals' organs, or kill and dissect them, hoping thus to learn how to offset their neglect of themselves. conditions among them will be such that this will really be necessary. few besides impractical sentimentalists will therefore oppose it. but the idea will be to gain health by legerdemain, by a trick, instead of by taking the trouble to live healthy lives. strange barrack-like buildings called hospitals will stand in their cities, where their trick-men, the surgeons, will slice them right open when ill; and thousands of zealous young pharmacists will mix little drugs, which thousands of wise-looking simians will firmly prescribe. each generation will change its mind as to these drugs, and laugh at all former opinions; but each will use some of them, and each will feel assured that in this respect they know the last word. and, in obstinate blindness, this people will wag their poor heads, and attribute their diseases not to simian-ness but to civilization. the advantages that any man or race has, can sometimes be handicaps. having hands, which so aids a race, for instance, can also be harmful. the simians will do so many things with their hands, it will be bad for their bodies. instead of roaming far and wide over the country, getting vigorous exercise, they will use their hands to catch and tame horses, build carriages, motors, and then when they want a good outing they will "go for a ride," with their bodies slumped down, limp and sluggish, and losing their spring. then too their brains will do harm, and great harm, to their bodies. the brain will give them such an advantage over all other animals that they will insensibly be led to rely too much on it, to give it too free a rein, and to find the mirrors in it too fascinating. this organ, this outgrowth, this new part of them, will grow over-active, and its many fears and fancies will naturally injure the body. the interadjustment is delicate and intimate, the strain is continuous. when the brain fails to act with the body, or, worse, works against it, the body will sicken no matter what cures doctors try. as in bodily self-respect, so in racial self-respect, they'll be wanting. they will have plenty of racial pride and prejudice, but that is not the same thing. that will make them angry when simians of one color mate with those of another. but a general deterioration in physique will cause much less excitement. they will _talk_ about improving the race--they will talk about everything--but they won't use their chances to _do_ it. whenever a new discovery makes life less hard, for example, these heedless beings will seldom preserve this advantage, or use their new wealth to take more time thereafter for thought, or to gain health and strength or do anything else to make the race better. instead, they will use the new ease just to increase in numbers; and they will keep on at this until misery once more has checked them. life will then be as hard as ever, naturally, and the chance will be gone. they will have a proverb, "the poor ye have always with you,"--said by one who knew simians. their ingenious minds will have an answer to this. they will argue it is well that life should be spartan and hard, because of the discipline and its strengthening effects on the character. but the good effects of this sort of discipline will be mixed with sad wreckage. and only creatures incapable of disciplining themselves could thus argue. it is an odd expedient to get yourself into trouble just for discipline's sake. the fact is, however, the argument won't be sincere. when their nations grow so over-populous and their families so large it means misery, that will not be a sign of their having felt ready for discipline. it will be a sign of their not having practised it in their sexual lives. _eleven_ the simians are always being stirred by desire and passion. it constantly excites them, constantly runs through their minds. wild or tame, primitive or cultured, this is a brand of the breed. other species have times and seasons for sexual matters, but the simian-folk are thus preoccupied all the year round. this super-abundance of desire is not necessarily good or bad, of itself. but to shape it for the best it will have to be studied--and faced. this they will not do. some of them won't like to study it, deeming it bad--deeming it bad yet yielding constantly to it. others will hesitate because they will deem it so sacred, or will secretly fear that study might show them it ought to be curbed. meantime, this part of their nature will be coloring all their activities. it will beautify their arts, and erotically confuse their religions. it will lend a little interest to even their dull social functions. it will keep alive degrading social evils in all their great towns. through these latter evils, too, their politics will be corrupted; especially their best and most democratic attempts at self-government. self-government works best among those who have learned to self-govern. * * * * * in the far distant ages that lie before us what will be the result of this constant preoccupation with desire? will it kill us or save us? will this trait and our insatiable curiosity interact on each other? that might further eugenics. that might give us a better chance to breed finely than all other species. * * * * * we already owe a great deal to passion: more than men ever realize. wasn't it darwin who once even risked the conjecture that the vocal organs themselves were developed for sexual purposes, the object being to call or charm one's mate. hence--perhaps--only animals that were continuously concerned with their matings would be at all likely to form an elaborate language. and without an elaborate language, growth is apt to be slow. if we owe this to passion, what follows? does it mean, for example, that the more different mates that each simian once learned to charm, the more rapidly language, and with it civilization, advanced? _twelve_ a doctor, who was making a study of monkeys, once told me that he was trying experiments that bore on the polygamy question. he had a young monkey named jack who had mated with a female named jill; and in another cage another newly-wedded pair, arabella and archer. each pair seemed absorbed in each other, and devoted and happy. they even hugged each other at mealtime and exchanged bits of food. after a time their transports grew less fiery, and their affections less fixed. archer got a bit bored. he was decent about it, though, and when arabella cuddled beside him he would more or less perfunctorily embrace her. but when he forgot, she grew cross. the same thing occurred a little later in the jack and jill cage, only there it was jill who became a little tired of jack. soon each pair was quarreling. they usually made up, pretty soon, and started loving again. but it petered out; each time more quickly. [illustration: archer felt bored] meanwhile the two families had become interested in watching each other. when jill had repulsed jack, and he had moped about it awhile, he would begin staring at arabella, over opposite, and trying to attract her attention. this got jack in trouble all around. arabella indignantly made faces at him and then turned her back; and as for jill, she grew furious, and tore out his fur. but in the next stage, they even stopped hating each other. each pair grew indifferent. then the doctor put jack in with arabella, and archer with jill. arabella promptly yielded to jack. new devotion. more transports. jill and archer were shocked. jill clung to the bars of her cage, quivering, and screaming remonstrance; and even blasé archer chattered angrily at some of the scenes. then the doctor hung curtains between the cages to shut out the view. jill and archer, left to each other, grew interested. they soon were inseparable. the four monkeys, thus re-distributed, were now happy once more, and full of new liveliness and spirit. but before very long, each pair quarreled--and made up--and quarreled--and then grew indifferent, and had cynical thoughts about life. at this point, the doctor put them back with their original mates. and--they met with a rush! gave cries of recognition and joy, like faithful souls reunited. and when they were tired, they affectionately curled up together; and hugged each other even at mealtime, and exchanged bits of food. * * * * * this was as far as the doctor had gotten, at the time that i met him; and as i have lost touch with him since, i don't know how things were afterward. his theory at the time was, that variety was good for fidelity. "so many of us feel this way, it may be in the blood," he concluded. "some creatures, such as wolves, are more serious; or perhaps more cold-blooded. never mate but once. well--we're not wolves. we can't make wolves our models. of course we are not monkeys either, but at any rate they are our cousins. perhaps wolves can be continent without any trouble at all, but it's harder for simians: it may affect their nervous systems injuriously. if we want to know how to behave, according to the way nature made us, i say that with all due allowances we should study the monkeys." to be sure, these particular monkeys were living in idleness. this corresponds to living in high social circles with us, where men do not have to work, and lack some of the common incentives to home-building. the experiment was not conclusive. still, even in low social circles-- _thirteen_ are we or are we not simians? it is no use for any man to try to think anything else out until he has decided first of all where he stands on that question. it is not only in love affairs: let us lay all that aside for the moment. it is in ethics, economics, art, education, philosophy, what-not. if we are fallen angels, we should go this road: if we are super-apes, that. "our problem is not to discover what we ought to do if we were different, but what we ought to do, being what we are. there is no end to the beings we can imagine different from ourselves; but they do not exist," and we cannot be sure they would be better than we if they did. for, when we imagine them, we must imagine their entire environment; they would have to be a part of some whole that does not now exist. and that new whole, that new reality, being merely a figment of our little minds, "would probably be inferior to the reality that is. for there is this to be said in favor of reality: that we have nothing to compare it with. our fantasies are always incomplete, because they are fantasies. and reality is complete. we cannot compare their incompleteness with its completeness."[ ] [ ] from an anonymous article entitled "tolstoy and russia" in the _london times_, sept. , . too many moralists begin with a dislike of reality: a dislike of men as they are. they are free to dislike them--but not at the same time to be moralists. their feeling leads them to ignore the obligation which should rest on all teachers, "to discover the best that man can do, not to set impossibilities before him and tell him that if he does not perform them he is damned." man is moldable; very; and it is desirable that he should aspire. but he is apt to be hasty about accepting any and all general ideals without figuring out whether they are suitable for simian use. one result of his habit of swallowing whole most of the ideals that occur to him, is that he has swallowed a number that strongly conflict. any ideal whatever strains our digestions if it is hard to assimilate: but when two at once act on us in different ways, it is unbearable. in such a case, the poets will prefer the ideal that's idealest: the hard-headed instinctively choose the one adapted to simians. whenever this is argued, extremists spring up on each side. one extremist will say that being mere simians we cannot transcend much, and will seem to think that having limitations we should preserve them forever. the other will declare that we are not merely simians, never were just plain animals; or, if we were, souls were somehow smuggled in to us, since which time we have been different. we have all been perfect at heart since that date, equipped with beautiful spirits, which only a strange perverse obstinacy leads us to soil. what this obstinacy is, is the problem that confronts theologians. they won't think of it as simian-ness; they call it original sin. they regard it as the voice of some devil, and say good men should not listen to it. the scientists say it isn't a devil, it is part of our nature, which should of course be civilized and guided, but should not be stamped out. (it might mutilate us dangerously to become under-simianized. look at mrs. humphry ward and george washington. worthy souls, but no flavor.) * * * * * in every field of thought then, two schools appear, that are divided on this: must we forever be at heart high-grade simians? or are we at heart something else? for example, in education, we have in the main two great systems. one depends upon discipline. the other on exciting the interest. the teacher who does not recognize or allow for our simian nature, keeps little children at work for long periods at dull and dry tasks. without some such discipline, he fears that his boys will lack strength. the other system believes they will learn more when their interest is roused; and when their minds, which are mobile by nature, are allowed to keep moving. or in politics: the best government for simians seems to be based on a parliament: a talk-room, where endless vague thoughts can be expressed. this is the natural child of those primeval sessions that gave pleasure to apes. it is neither an ideal nor a rational arrangement of course. small executive committees would be better. but not if we are simians. or in industry: why do factory workers produce more in eight hours a day than in ten? it is absurd. super-sheep could not do it. but that is the way men are made. to preach to such beings about the dignity of labor is futile. the dignity of labor is not a simian conception at all. true simians hate to have to work steadily: they call it grind and confinement. they are always ready to pity the toilers who are condemned to this fate, and to congratulate those who escape it, or who can do something else. when they see some performer in spangles risk his life, at a circus, swinging around on trapezes, high up in the air, and when they are told he must do it daily, do they pity _him_? no! super-elephants would say, and quite properly, "what a horrible life!" but it naturally seems stimulating to simians. boys envy the fellow. on the other hand whenever we are told about factory life, we instinctively shudder to think of enduring such evils. we see some old workman, filling cans with a whirring machine; and we hear the humanitarians telling us, indignant and grieving, that he actually must stand in that nice, warm, dry room every day, safe from storms and wild beasts, and with nothing to do but fill cans; and at once we groan: "how deadly! what monotonous toil! shorten his hours!" his work would seem blissful to super-spiders,--but to us it's intolerable. the factory system is meant for other species than ours. our monkey-blood is also apparent in our judgments of crime. if a crime is committed on impulse, we partly forgive it. why? because, being simians, with a weakness for yielding to impulses, we like to excuse ourselves by feeling not accountable for them. elephants would have probably taken an opposite stand. they aren't creatures of impulse, and would be shocked at crimes due to such causes; their fault is the opposite one of pondering too long over injuries, and becoming vindictive in the end, out of all due proportion. if a young super-elephant were to murder another on impulse, they would consider him a dangerous character and string him right up. but if he could prove that he had long thought of doing it, they would tend to forgive him. "poor fellow, he brooded," they would say. "that's upsetting to any one." as to modesty and decency, if we are simians we have done well, considering: but if we are something else--fallen angels--we have indeed fallen far. not being modest by instinct we invent artificial ideals, which are doubtless well-meaning but are inherently of course second-rate, so that even at our best we smell prudish. and as for our worst, when we as we say let ourselves go, we dirty the life-force unspeakably, with chuckles and leers. but a race so indecent by nature as the simians are would naturally have a hard time behaving as though they were not: and the strain of pretending that their thoughts were all pretty and sweet, would naturally send them to smutty extremes for relief. the standards of purity we have adopted are far too strict--for simians. _fourteen_ we were speaking a while ago of the fertility with which simians breed. this is partly due to the constant love interest they take in each other, but it is also reënforced by their reliance on numbers. that reliance will be deep, since, to their numbers, they will owe much success. it will be thus that they will drive out other species, and garrison the globe. such a race would naturally come to esteem fertility. it will seem profane not to. as time goes on, however, the advantage of numbers will end; and in their higher stages, large numbers will be a great drawback. the resources of a planet are limited, at each stage of the arts. also, there is only a limited space on a planet. yet it will come hard to them to think of ever checking their increase. they will bring more young into existence than they can either keep well or feed. the earth will be covered with them everywhere, as far as eye can see. north and south, east and west, there will always be simians huddling. their cities will be far more distressing than cities of vermin,--for vermin are healthy and calm and successful in life. ah, those masses of people--unintelligent, superstitious, uncivilized! what a dismal drain they will be on the race's strength! not merely will they lessen its ultimate chance of achievement; their hardships will always distress and preoccupy minds,--fine, generous minds,--that might have done great things if free: that might have done something constructive at least, for their era, instead of being burned out attacking mere anodyne-problems. nature will do what it can to lessen the strain, providing an appropriate remedy for their bad behavior in plagues. many epochs will pass before the simians will learn or dare to control them--for they won't think they can, any more than they dare control propagation. they will reverently call their propagation and plagues "acts of god." when they get tired of reverence and stop their plagues, it will be too soon. their inventiveness will be--as usual--ahead of their wisdom; and they will unfortunately end the good effects of plagues (as a check) before they are advanced enough to keep down their numbers themselves. meanwhile, when, owing to the pressure of other desires, any group of primates does happen to become less prolific, they will feel ashamed, talk of race suicide, and call themselves decadent. and they will often be right: for though some regulation of the birth-rate is an obvious good, and its diminution often desirable in any planet's history, yet among simians it will be apt to come from second-rate motives. greed, selfishness or fear-thoughts will be the incentives, the bribes. contrivances, rather than continence, will be the method. how audacious, and how disconcerting to nature, to baffle her thus! even into her shrine they must thrust their bold paws to control her. another race viewing them in the garlanded chambers of love, unpacking their singular devices, might think them grotesque: but the busy little simians will be blind to such quaint incongruities. still, there is a great gift that their excess of passion will bestow on this race: it will give them romance. it will teach them what little they ever will learn about love. other animals have little romance: there is none in the rut: that seasonal madness that drives them to mate with perhaps the first comer. but the simians will attain to a fine discrimination in love, and this will be their path to the only spiritual heights they can reach. for, in love, their inmost selves will draw near, in the silence of truth; learning little by little what the deepest sincerity means, and what clean hearts and minds and what crystal-clear sight it demands. such intercommunication of spirit with spirit is at the beginning of all true understanding. it is the beginning of silent cosmic wisdom: it may lead to knowing the ways of that power called god. _fifteen_ not content with the whole of a planet and themselves too, to study, this race's children will also study the heavens. how few kinds of creatures would ever have felt that impulse, and yet how natural it will seem to these! how boundless and magnificent is the curiosity of these tiny beings, who sit and peer out at the night from their small whirling globe, considering deeply the huge cold seas of space, and learning with wonderful skill to measure the stars. in studies so vast, however, they are tested to the core. in these great journeys the traveler must pay dear for his flaws. for it always is when you most finely are exerting your strength that every weakness you have most tells against you. one weakness of the primates is the character of their self-consciousness. this useful faculty, that can probe so deep, has one naïve defect--it relies too readily on its own findings. it doesn't suspect enough its own unconfessed predilections. it assumes that it can be completely impartial--but isn't. to instance an obvious way in which it will betray them: beings that are intensely self-conscious and aware of their selves, will also instinctively feel that their universe is. what active principle animates the world, they will ask. a great blind force? it is possible. but they will recoil from admitting any such possibility. a self-aware purposeful force then? that is better! (more simian.) "a blind force can't have been the creator of all. it's unthinkable." any theory _their_ brains find "unthinkable" cannot be true. (this is not to argue that it really is a blind force--or the opposite. it is merely an instance of how little impartial they are.) * * * * * a second typical weakness of this race will come from their fears. they are not either self-sufficing or gallant enough to travel great roads without cringing,--clear-eyed, unafraid. they are finely made, but not nobly made,--in that sense. they will therefore have a too urgent need of religion. few primates have the courage to face--alone--the still inner mysteries: infinity, space and time. they will think it too terrible, they will feel it would turn them to water, to live through unearthly moments of vision without creeds or beliefs. so they'll get beliefs first. ah, poor creatures! the cart before the horse! ah, the blasphemy (pitiful!) of their seeking high spiritual temples, with god-maps or bibles about them, made below in advance! think of their entering into the presence of truth, declaring so loudly and boldly they know her already, yet far from willing to stand or fall by her flames--to rise like a phoenix or die as an honorable cinder!--but creeping in, clad in their queer blindfolded beliefs, designed to shield them from her stern, bright tests! think of truth sadly--or merrily--eyeing such worms! _sixteen_ imagine you are watching the bandarlog at play in the forest. as you behold them and comprehend their natures, now hugely brave and boastful, now full of dread, the most weakly emotional of any intelligent species, ever trying to attract the notice of some greater animal, not happy indeed unless noticed,--is it not plain they are bound to invent things called gods? don't think for the moment of whether there are gods or not; think of how sure these beings would be to invent them. (not wait to find them.) having small self-reliance they can not bear to face life alone. with no self-sufficingness, they must have the countenance of others. it is these pressing needs that will hurry the primates to build, out of each shred of truth they can possibly twist to their purpose, and out of imaginings that will impress them because they are vast, deity after deity to prop up their souls. what a strange company they will be, these gods, in their day, each of them an old bearded simian up in the sky, who begins by fishing the universe out of a void, like a conjurer taking a rabbit out of a hat. (a hat which, if it resembled a void, wasn't there.) and after creating enormous suns and spheres, and filling the farthest heavens with vaster stars, one god will turn back and long for the smell of roast flesh, another will call desert tribes to "holy" wars, and a third will grieve about divorce or dancing. all gods that any groups of simians ever conceive of, from the woodenest little idol in the forest to the mightiest spirit, no matter how much they may differ, will have one trait in common: a readiness to drop any cosmic affair at short notice, focus their minds on the far-away pellet called earth, and become immediately wholly concerned, aye, engrossed, with any individual worshipper's woes or desires,--a readiness to notice a fellow when he is going to bed. this will bring indescribable comfort to simian hearts; and a god that neglects this duty won't last very long, no matter how competent he may be in other respects. but one must reciprocate. for the maker of the cosmos, as they see him, wants noticing too; he is fond of the deference and attention that simians pay him, and naturally he will be angry if it is withheld;--or if he is not, it will be most magnanimous of him. hence prayers and hymns. hence queer vague attempts at communing with this noble kinsman. to desire communion with gods is a lofty desire, but hard to attain through an ignobly definite creed. dealing with the highest, most wordless states of being, the simians will attempt to conceive them in material form. they will have beliefs, for example, as to the furnishings and occupations in heaven. and why? why, to help men to have religious conceptions without themselves being seers,--which in any true sense of "religious" is an impossible plan. * * * * * in their efforts to be concrete they will make their creeds amusingly simian. consider the simian amorousness of jupiter, and the brawls on olympus. again, in the old jewish bible, what tempts the first pair? the tree of knowledge, of course. it appealed to the curiosity of their nature, and who could control _that_! and satan in the bible is distinctly a simian's devil. the snake, it is known, is the animal monkeys most dread. hence when men give their devil a definite form they make him a snake. a race of super-chickens would have pictured their devil a hawk. _seventeen_ what are the handicaps this race will have in building religions? the greatest is this: they have such small psychic powers. the over-activity of their minds will choke the birth of such powers, or dull them. the race will be less in touch with nature, some day, than its dogs. it will substitute the compass for its once innate sense of direction. it will lose its gifts of natural intuition, premonition, and rest, by encouraging its use of the mind to be cheaply incessant. this lack of psychic power will cheat them of insight and poise; for minds that are wandering and active, not receptive and still, can seldom or never be hushed to a warm inner peace. one service these restless minds however will do: they eventually will see through the religions they themselves invented. but ages will be thrown away in repeating this process. a simian creed will not be very hard thus to pierce. when forming a religion, they will be in far too much haste, to wait to apply a strict test to their holy men's visions. furthermore they will have so few visions, that any will awe them; so naturally they will accept any vision as valid. then their rapid and fertile inventiveness will come into play, and spin the wildest creeds from each vision living dust ever dreamed. they will next expect everybody to believe whatever a few men have seen, on the slippery ground that if you simply try believing it, you will then feel it's true. such religions are vicarious; their prophets alone will see god, and the rest will be supposed to be introduced to him by the prophets. these "believers" will have no white insight at all of their own. now, a second-hand believer who is warmed at one remove--if at all--by the breath of the spirit, will want to have exact definitions in the beliefs he accepts. not having had a vision to go by, he needs plain commandments. he will always try to crystallize creeds. and that, plainly, is fatal. for as time goes on, new and remoter aspects of truth are discovered, which can seldom or never be fitted into creeds that are changeless. * * * * * over and over again, this will be the process: a spiritual personality will be born; see new truth; and be killed. his new truth not only will not fit into too rigid creeds, but whatever false finality is in them it must contradict. so, the seer will be killed. his truth being mighty, however, it will kill the creeds too. there will then be nothing left to believe in--except the dead seer. for a few generations he may then be understandingly honored. but his priests will feel that is not enough: he must be honored uncritically: so uncritically that, whatever his message, it must be deemed the whole truth. some of his message they themselves will have garbled; and it was not, at best, final; but still it will be made into a fixed creed and given his name. truth will be given his name. all men who thereafter seek truth must find only his kind, else they won't be his "followers." (to be his co-seekers won't do.) priests will always hate any new seers who seek further for truth. their feeling will be that their seer found it, and thus ended all that. just believe what he says. the job's over. no more truth need be sought. it's a comforting thing to believe cosmic search nicely settled. thus the mold will be hardened. so new truths, when they come, can but break it. then men will feel distraught and disillusioned, and civilizations will fall. thus each cycle will run. so long as men intertwine falsehoods with every seer's visions, both perish, and every civilization that is built on them must perish too. _eighteen_ if men can ever learn to accept all their truths as not final, and if they can ever learn to build on something better than dogma, they may not be found saying, discouragedly, every once in so often, that every civilization carries in it the seeds of decay. it will carry such seeds with great certainty, though, when they're put there, by the very race, too, that will later deplore the results. why shouldn't creeds totter when they are jerry-built creeds? on stars where creeds come late in the life of a race; where they spring from the riper, not cruder, reactions of spirit; where they grow out of nobly developed psychic powers that have put their possessors in tune with cosmic music; and where no cheap hallucinations discredit their truths; they perhaps run a finer, more beautiful course than the simians', and open the eyes of the soul to far loftier visions. _nineteen_ it has always been a serious matter for men when a civilization decayed. but it may at some future day prove far more serious still. our hold on the planet is not absolute. our descendants may lose it. germs may do them out of it. a chestnut fungus springs up, defies us, and kills all our chestnuts. the boll weevil very nearly baffles us. the fly seems unconquerable. only a strong civilization, when such foes are about, can preserve us. and our present efforts to cope with such beings are fumbling and slow. we haven't the habit of candidly facing this danger. we read our biological history but we don't take it in. we blandly assume we were always "intended" to rule, and that no other outcome could even be considered by nature. this is one of the remnants of ignorance certain religions have left: but it's odd that men who don't believe in easter should still believe this. for the facts are of course this is a hard and precarious world, where every mistake and infirmity must be paid for in full. * * * * * if mankind ever is swept aside as a failure however, what a brilliant and enterprising failure he at least will have been. i felt this with a kind of warm suddenness only today, as i finished these dreamings and drove through the gates of the park. i had been shutting my modern surroundings out of my thoughts, so completely, and living as it were in the wild world of ages ago, that when i let myself come back suddenly to the twentieth century, and stare at the park and the people, the change was tremendous. all around me were the well-dressed descendants of primitive animals, whizzing about in bright motors, past tall, soaring buildings. what gifted, energetic achievers they suddenly seemed! i thought of a photograph i had once seen, of a ship being torpedoed. there it was, the huge, finely made structure, awash in the sea, with tiny black spots hanging on to its side--crew and passengers. the great ship, even while sinking, was so mighty, and those atoms so helpless. yet, it was those tiny beings that had created that ship. they had planned it and built it and guided its bulk through the waves. they had also invented a torpedo that could rend it asunder. * * * * * it is possible that our race may be an accident, in a meaningless universe, living its brief life uncared-for, on this dark, cooling star: but even so--and all the more--what marvelous creatures we are! what fairy story, what tale from the arabian nights of the jinns, is a hundredth part as wonderful as this true fairy story of simians! it is so much more heartening, too, than the tales we invent. a universe capable of giving birth to many such accidents is--blind or not--a good world to live in, a promising universe. and if there are no other such accidents, if we stand alone, if all the uncountable armies of planets are empty, or peopled by animals only, with no keys to thought, then we have done something so mighty, what may it not lead to! what powers may we not develop before the sun dies! we once thought we lived on god's footstool: it may be a throne. this is no world for pessimists. an amoeba on the beach, blind and helpless, a mere bit of pulp,--that amoeba has grandsons today who read kant and play symphonies. will those grandsons in turn have descendants who will sail through the void, discover the foci of forces, the means to control them, and learn how to marshal the planets and grapple with space? would it after all be any more startling than our rise from the slime? no sensible amoeba would have ever believed for a minute that any of his most remote children would build and run dynamos. few sensible men of today stop to feel, in their hearts, that we live in the very same world where that miracle happened. this world, and our racial adventure, are magical still. _twenty_ yet although for high-spirited marchers the march is sufficient, there still is that other way of looking at it that we dare not forget. our adventure may satisfy _us_: does it satisfy nature? she is letting us camp for awhile here among the wrecked graveyards of mightier dynasties, not one of which met her tests. their bones are the message the epochs she murdered have left us: we have learned to decipher their sickening warning at last. * * * * * yes, and even if we are permitted to have a long reign, and are not laid away with the failures, are we a success? we need so much spiritual insight, and we have so little. our airships may some day float over the hills of arcturus, but how will that help us if we cannot find the soul of the world? is that soul alive and loving? or cruel? or callous? or dead? we have no sure vision. hopes, guesses, beliefs--that is all. there are sounds we are deaf to, there are strange sights invisible to us. there are whole realms of splendor, it may be, of which we are heedless; and which we are as blind to as ants to the call of the sea. life is enormously flexible--look at all that we've done to our dogs,--but we carry our hairy past with us wherever we go. the wise st. bernards and the selfish toy lap-dogs are brothers, and some things are possible for them and others are not. so with us. there are definite limits to simian civilizations, due in part to some primitive traits that help keep us alive, and in part to the mere fact that every being has to be something, and when one is a simian one is not also everything else. our main-springs are fixed, and our principal traits are deep-rooted. we cannot now re-live the ages whose imprint we bear. we have but to look back on our past to have hope in our future: but--it will be only _our_ future, not some other race's. we shall win our own triumphs, yet know that they would have been different, had we cared above all for creativeness, beauty, or love. * * * * * so we run about, busy and active, marooned on this star, always violently struggling, yet with no clearly seen goal before us. men, animals, insects--what tribe of us asks any object, except to keep trying to satisfy its own master appetite? if the ants were earth's lords they would make no more use of their lordship than to learn and enjoy every possible method of toiling. cats would spend their span of life, say, trying new kinds of guile. and we, who crave so much to know, crave so little but knowing. some of us wish to know nature most; those are the scientists. others, the saints and philosophers, wish to know god. both are alike in their hearts, yes, in spite of their quarrels. both seek to assuage, to no end, the old simian thirst. if we wanted to _be_ gods--but ah, can we grasp that ambition? a note on the type in which this book is set _the text of this book was set on the linotype in baskerville. the punches for this face were cut under the supervision of george w. jones, an eminent english printer. linotype baskerville is a facsimile cutting from type cast from the original matrices of a face designed by john baskerville. the original face was the forerunner of the "modern" group of type faces. ¶ john baskerville ( - ), of birmingham, england, a writing-master, with a special renown for cutting inscriptions in stone, began experimenting about with punch-cutting and making typographical material. it was not until that he published his first work, a virgil in royal quarto, with great-primer letters. this was followed by his famous editions of milton, the bible, the book of common prayer, and several latin classic authors. his types, at first criticized as unnecessarily slender, delicate, and feminine, in time were recognized as both distinct and elegant, and both his types and his printing were greatly admired. printers, however, preferred the stronger types of caslon, and baskerville before his death repented of having attempted the business of printing. for four years after his death his widow continued to conduct his business. she then sold all his punches and matrices to the société littéraire-typographique, which used some of the types for the sumptuous kehl edition of voltaire's works in seventy volumes.--_ composed, printed and bound by h. wolff, new york. paper made by p. f. glatfelter & co., spring grove, pa. of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) the popular series of choice novels. witty pieces by witty people a book of funny stories. at play. [illustration: "wondah ef dat bi-spi's got dun countin' yet?"] [illustration: "hey, you willie johnson! ef you don't quit taggin' so hard, i ain't gwine play wid you no mo'." --_light._] royal publishing co., locust street, philadelphia, pa. witty pieces by witty people. a collection of the funniest sayings, best jokes, laughable anecdotes, mirthful stories, etc., extant. _illustrated with many striking and amusing cuts._ copyrighted, , by crawford & co. philadelphia, pa.: royal publishing co. mr. and mrs. bowser. the former decides to give a progressive euchre party. mr. bowser suddenly looked up from his paper the other evening and asked: "why is it that we haven't given a progressive euchre party this season?" "they have been voted too much trouble," i replied. "they have, eh? did any one vote besides you? i saw half a dozen mentioned in the papers last sunday." "it's almost impossible to get thirty or forty people together on a certain evening, even if all desire to come. mrs. johnson calculated on eight tables and only had enough for five. mrs. dart calculated on----" "oh, bosh! what does a woman's calculation amount to?" "but if people can't come and don't come, what are you going to do?" "they can come, and they will come. it's all in the management." "well, i wish you'd try it." "do you? very well, mrs. bowser; i shall give a progressive euchre party next week, wednesday evening. if you'll see to the refreshments i'll see to the people." "i'll be glad to, of course, but----" "but what?" "you must prepare yourself for disappointments." "oh, i must! how kind of you to give me warning! mrs. bowser, i don't want to seem vain or egotistical, but i'll invite thirty-six people here on that night, and for every one who fails to come i'll give you a $ bill." "you are very kind--very kind. i hope the party, will be a great success. you can begin at once." during the next hour he had the use of the telephone to call up acquaintances, and when he finally hung up the trumpet he turned to me with: "anything very dismal about that, mrs. bowser? i've got ten couple without moving out of my tracks. i'll have the other eight before to-morrow night." "that is, they will promise to come." "promise! promise! do you imagine that all other people are like you? most folks know their own minds for a day or two ahead, mrs. bowser." when he came home next night he had a list of eighteen couples who had been invited and solemnly promised to come. mr. bowser had made it a point to inform each one that the playing would begin at eight sharp, and all had agreed to be on hand fifteen minutes before that hour. "voted too much trouble--can't get people enough!" sneered mr. bowser as he looked over the list. "it's in the management, mrs. bowser--all in the management." for three days he walked around on tiptoe and took every occasion to brag over me. then came the first setback. we were at dinner when the telephone rang and mr. bowser was asked for. "hello, bowser." "yes." "this is filbert." "yes." "i wanted to tell you that we can't come down to the party." "you can't?" "no. my wife has just remembered that she agreed to go over to johnson's on that night. sorry, old fellow, but i hope----" mr. bowser shut him off with a loud bang and returned to me and said: "mrs. bowser, don't you ever darken filbert's doors again--never! they are liars and dangerous people. i can fill their places in five minutes." before he got out of the house there was another ring. "hello, bowser!" "yes." "this is watkins." "yes." "when i told you the other day we'd be down wednesday evening, i forgot that our eva was to have a child's party on the same evening. that knocks us out." "and you can't come?" "of course not. sorry to disappoint you, old fellow, but of course----" "watkins is a liar, mrs. bowser--a first class, bold-faced liar!" exclaimed mr. bowser, "and you want to cut the whole family as dead as a door nail!" he went off saying he could get , , couples to take their places, and he returned at evening just as the following note came by the hands of a messenger boy: "mr. and mrs. jackson present their compliments, and regret that the death of an uncle in china will prevent them from being present on wednesday evening." mr. bowser had begun to turn white when the telephone rang. "hello, bowser!" "yes." "say, old man, this is a world of change, you know. when i told you we'd come down to that party i never thought about my sister. she's to be married that same evening. tra-la, old boy; hope you'll have a good time." "i told you it would be hard work to get so many people out," i remarked. "did you, mrs. bowser? how kind of you! but i'll show you and these liars and deceivers a thing or two before i get through." there were no more declinations until wednesday morning. then mr. bowser was called up by telephone. "that you, bowser?" "yes." "is it to-night you have that party?" "yes." "pshaw! i thought it was a week from to-night! well, that knocks us out. we've got to go to the y. m. c. a. sorry, you know, but this is a previous engagement." mr. bowser was jumping up and down when there came another ring. "hello, bowser!" "yes." "nice weather." "yes." "all well down there?" "yes." "say, bowser, my wife made a previous engagement for to-night. we've got to go to----" mr. bowser shut him off with a bang and started for the office. during the forenoon i took in two more declinations, and while he was at dinner there was a ring and the old familiar hail: "hello, bowser!" "yes." "say, bowser!" "yes." "we expect to be down early to-night." "glad of it." "but it may be that my mother-in-law will come in on the . train. if she does we can't come." mr. bowser seemed dazed as he hung up the trumpet and left the house. the last blow came at in the evening. the telephone rang and he crawled over to answer. "is this bowser's?" "yes." "where's the old man?" "i am mr. bowser." "oh! so you are. your voice seems mighty weak to-night. say, old man, the three couples of us in this terrace were coming down to-night, but we must disappoint you at this late moment. we have had free tickets sent up for the opera, and of course----" mr. bowser walked to the front door, locked it, muffled the bell and turned out the gas. then he sat down and was very quiet for a couple of hours. at last he looked up and said: "mrs. bowser, some husbands would murder a wife for this!" "but what have i done?" "what have you done? coaxed, bribed and bulldozed me into giving a progressive euchre party, and where's the party? i told you how it would come out, and here we are! mrs. bowser, i--i----" but he was too full for further utterance, and went to bed. --_detroit free press._ reasonable. postmaster--the letter is too heavy; it wants another stamp. countrywoman--why, that will make it heavier still! --_humoristische._ actors may have no end of animosities in private life, but they always make up before they appear on the stage. --_greenville advocate._ [illustration: an icy reception.] bromley--why, digsby, what's the matter? you look chilled. digsby--right you are, deah boy, the fact is, i attended a social the other evening and everything they served was iced. by h. c. r. dakota has a town named patronage. patronage is generally considered a good thing out of which to make capital. --_boston transcript._ "men who have anything in their heads find plenty to do with their hands."--_j. howard, jr., in n. y. press._ that's so. we saw a tramp the other day who evidently had something in his head, and both hands were in use. [illustration: effects of a dose of the elixir.] jones' better half had presented him with twins. when nurse brought them into the room for inspection the poor man was so bewildered at the multitudinous character of his happiness that he asked: "am i to choose?" --_judge._ a chicago man tried to commit suicide by perforating his head with a bullet. the bullet passed through his skull all right, but did not touch the brain. before a man goes gunning for his own brains, he ought to acquire the requisite skill by practicing at a pea in a peck measure for a time. --_binghamton republican._ few things boston girls don't know. he--of course you know what a garter snake is? she (from boston)--if you refer to that representative of the serpentine family with the same propensities characteristic to an elastic band used to retain hosiery in a stationery position, i do. --_binghamton democrat._ saved his honor. smith--i was sorry to hear, brown, that you had failed in business. brown--yes, i struggled hard, but i lost everything, save my honor, thank heaven, and the property i was wise enough to settle on my wife when i found myself getting into trouble. --_texas siftings._ a bricklayer. several irishmen were disputing one day about the invincibility of their respective powers when one of them remarked: "faith, i'm a brick." "and i'm a bricklayer," said another, giving the first speaker a blow that brought him to the ground. --_sunday mercury._ a business term. clara--how comfortable pants must be. wish i was a man. her mother--my dear, you shock me. you should say trousers. "i don't care. charlie always says pants." "you forget that charlie works in a clothing store." --_clothier and furnisher._ now she is thin and he is fat. the wonderful case of the mullenhausers, who bathed at coney island. the familiar figures of mr. germain mullenhauser and his wife are no longer seen daily braving the surf at coney island. they have returned to their brooklyn residence, where their ablutions are made in the bath tub, and it is very doubtful whether any of the seaside resorts will ever see them again. an estrangement has grown up between them, and they are not happy. their story is a strange eventful history. two months ago mrs. mullenhauser could readily turn the scales at pounds, while her husband weighed about the ninety pounds necessary to aggregate . they were proud of their proportions, viewed collectively, and neither was jealous of the other. but in an evil hour a friend told mr. mullenhauser that he was beginning to look like a scarecrow, and slightingly nicknamed him "praise-god bare-bones," in pointed and scornful recognition of the office of deacon in a brooklyn church. mr. mullenhauser consulted a doctor with the view of gaining flesh. about the same time an attenuated female acquaintance told mrs. mullenhauser that if she grew any fatter she would stand a chance of bursting, and would certainly become dropsical. the stout lady was alarmed, and she too, sought the advice of a medical practitioner relative to the best method of shedding some of her superfluous tissue. neither husband or wife cared to take counsel with the family physician. they stated their cases to different doctors, and only told each other what they had done when their courses had been mapped out for them. "dr. jones seems to be a very intelligent person," said the lady. "he says that by surf bathing i can reduce my weight at the rate of fourteen pounds a week." "why, he must be an imbecile," exclaimed her husband, hotly. "if you go wallowing, like a whale, in the ocean it will add just two pounds a day to your bulk. that is what dr. brown promises that sea bathing will do for me, and i am going to begin to try it to-morrow." "germain, you have been imposed upon by an ignorant quack," replied mrs. mullenhauser, severely. "if you risk your light body in those great rollers at coney island you will be swept away. be contented with your small proportions and try to show that you make up in mind what you lack in matter." "i won't," cried the small man, angrily. "i'll take dr. brown's advice, and i'll soon be as fat as you are now. though lord knows what size you'll be then, if you follow the directions of that ass, jones," he added sarcastically. thus was made between them the fissure that has since been widening daily. they went down to coney island together and engaged board and lodging. they kept up a show of friendliness before the public to save appearances, but they ate their meals in silence and bathed at different parts of the beach. the other frequenters looked at them with amazement, for a great change was soon perceptible in each. drs. brown and jones were both right. at the end of sixty days their joint weight was still pounds, but mr. mullenhauser now tipped the scales at pounds and was threatened with dropsy, while his wife could only turn them at pounds, looked like a scarecrow, and feared to breast the waves, as she had formerly done, lest they should sweep her away. they fled by different trains from the seaside and tried to consult the slighted family physician, but he refused to be consulted, and advised them, cynically, to see drs. jones and brown. mrs. mullenhauser is half a foot taller than her spouse, and much better adapted, anatomically, to carry the heavier burden of flesh. she looks like a greyhound, and he like a puncheon standing on its end. it is likely that before the bathing season returns, brown, the ignorant quack, will prescribe for the lady, and jones, the ass, for her husband. --_n. y. sun._ was qualified. "well, herr schulze, what are you going to do with your boy?" "i think i shall have to let him join the police, for i never can find him when i want him!" --_fliegende blätter._ fannie tried very hard to be polite and speak correctly. at church one day she met a little friend who had been sick for some time. in asking about her affliction fannie said: "did you enjoy much pain when you were ill?" --_youth's companion._ where they might economize. bagley--i hear that mrs. mosenthal has presented you with twins, solomon. mr. mosenthal--yes, it vas a fact, twin boys or i'm a liar. "must be quite an expense, eh?" "yes, but dere's vone good t'ing i t'ought of. de same photograph will do for little ikey or little jakey; dey look so mooch like." --_america._ just why. they lingered in the gloaming beneath the star-lit sky, yet oft unto his hearing there came from her a sigh; he marvelled at her sadness and longed to ask her why. then as he pressed her closer he lisped: "why dost thou sigh?" "ah, gus," said she, "i cannot tell unto thee a lie; the trouble is i've eaten too much spring chicken pie." --_birmingham age-herald._ she knew one when she saw it. the following is related as an actual occurrence during the presentation of "virginius" by the amateurs of macon. those who have seen the play will doubtless remember the scene where the ashes of virginia, who has been killed by her father, after which the body was cremated, are brought on the stage in an urn. a young lady in the audience turned to her escort with the remark: "that's a crematory." "no," said he, "you are mistaken; that is not a crematory." "well, i say it is," she remarked; "i guess i know a crematory when i see one." the curtain drops. --_americus recorder._ an incentive to study. "pa, where was captain anson born?" "i don't know, i'm sure." "where was john l. sullivan born?" "i don't know that either." "pa, i wish you would buy me a history of the united states." --_chicago herald._ [illustration: "we've both been there before, many a time."] connoisseurs. mrs. true genteel--good morning, mrs. carrots. going to new york to do a little shopping? mrs. gusby carrots (whose husband has hit standard oil and acquired sudden riches)--no, i've just returned. i bought a nice rubens this morning, and i declare! when i called at my husband's office he told me he had bought a rembrandt by the same artist yesterday afternoon. --_once a week._ the limekiln club. how major drawbar jones escaped expulsion on serious charges. on the opening of the meeting the secretary announced a communication from eufaula, ala., making charges against major drawbar jones, an honorary member of the club. he was charged with: . going on a rabbit hunt while his wife lay at the point of death. . putting burrs under the saddle of his old mule to get up an artificial enthusiasm. brother gardner said that it was a question for debate, and giveadam jones arose and observed that he could never vote to convict a brother on the first charge. while there might be no question that major jones went out to hunt rabbits while his wife was dying, what was his object? was it for amusement, or was it to provide her with rabbit soup? the accused should be given the benefit of the doubt. as to charge no. , that was a different matter. a man who would put burrs under his saddle, whether that saddle was on a horse or a mule, deserved the severest condemnation. waydown bebee couldn't excuse the major for going on that rabbit hunt. a dying wife does not care for soup of any sort. as to the burrs under the saddle, they might have got there by accident. even if they were put there by design, there was no evidence that the mule objected. he owned a mule, whose demeanor could not be changed one iota by all the burrs in the state of michigan. shindig watkins, elder toots, samuel shin, and others argued pro and con, and the question of whether the major should be bounced was put to a vote. the vote stood for, and against, and he thus escaped by the skin of his teeth. --_detroit free press._ a good trade. prison keeper--you will have to work here, moriarty, but you may select any trade you wish. prisoner--well, if it's all the same to you, sor, oi'd like to be a sailor. --_munsey's weekly._ a poetical cook. ferguson--so our cook is going, is she? well, i hope the next one will be of a more literary turn. mrs. ferguson--what do you mean by that? mr. ferguson--a more earnest disciple of the art of browning, don't you know. --_boston post._ knowledge is power. freddie--papa, what does "filly" mean? papa--(willing to give the boy a lift)--a young mare, freddie. freddie--well, then, what do they call a young cow, papa? papa--(slightly staggered)--oh! ah! a--er--filly de boeuf. --_columbia spectator._ a good reason for stopping a newspaper. i happened to be in the office of the _mercantile review and live stock journal_ recently in time to hear one of the best reasons ever given for stopping a newspaper. a german boy entered, removed his hat, and asked: "is mr. vepsider in?" "he is," replied charles h. webster, looking up from a mass of tissue live stock reports which he was winnowing. "vell, mister bitters don't want to take dot paber no more. he vos dedt last nide alretty." the name of the late mr. bitters, a cattle dealer, was duly erased from the delivery sheet. --_buffalo truth._ with interest. "old mr. skinner is a very charitable man, isn't he?" "oh, yes; of course. but if he ever casts his bread upon the waters, be sure he expects it to come back a meat sandwich." --_tid bits._ a paris despatch says: "sarah bernhardt is overworked." oh, well; sarah has one great advantage over all other actresses --she may be overworked, become nervous, take to her bed with a sickness nigh unto death, but she can't fall away any in flesh. --_kentucky state journal._ three periods of love. i. sighing like a furnace, over ears in love, blind in adoration of his lady's glove. thinks no girl was ever quite so sweet as she, tells you she's an angel, expects you to agree. ii. moping and repining, gloomy and morose, asks the price of poison, thinks he'll take a dose. women are so fickle, love is all a sham, marriage is a failure, like a broken dam. iii. whistling, blithe and cheerful, always bright and gay, dancing, singing, laughing, all the livelong day. full of fun and frolic caught in fashion's whirl, thinks no more of poison-- got another girl. --_somerville journal._ where hens are useful. a dozen eggs will get you a yard and a half of gingham at the cadmus grange store next week. they have secured an immense line of summer ginghams; in fact, more than they have room for, therefore this unparalleled offer. "the early bird catches the worm." --_la cygne journal._ to forget a wrong is the best revenge, particularly if the other fellow is bigger than you. --_liverpool post._ [illustration: a difficult job.] miss birdie--is this the place where you recover umbrellas? clerk--yes'sum. miss birdie--well, i wish you would recover mine. it is a real new one, with a crooked handle, and some one stole it from the church last sunday night. --_chicago liar._ there is now not a single justice on the supreme bench of the united states--they are all married. --_madelia times._ not so mad after all. physician--your husband is quite delirious and seems utterly out of his mind. has he recognized anyone to-day? wife--oh, yes. he called me a dragon this morning, and he constantly speaks of the governess as an angel. --_boston beacon._ [illustration: he surprised himself.] amateur contortionist--now, billy, when i goes in this barril, you just turn it over and i'll come out the other end.--_judge._ practical theology. two well known clergymen lately missed their train, upon which one of them took out his watch and finding it to blame for the mishap, said he would no longer have any faith in it. "but," said the other, "isn't it a question not of faith, but of works?" --_living church._ how it affects them. mrs. prim--it's dreadful the way the men drink these days; isn't it? my husband's head is so weak he can't drink. a glass of vichy makes him roaring. mrs. blim.--yes, and my husband can't read the label on a beer bottle without getting a headache. --_cincinnati commercial._ [illustration: !!!] cheap postage. "talk about cheap postal rates. i've seen pounds go for a two-cent stamp," remarked mr. keeplent. "when was that?" said mrs. k., laying down her paper. "this morning, my dear, when you went to the corner drug store for a stamp." --_chicago herald._ a modest tale. it is cheerfully told by a georgia munchausen. "i hardly feel like telling a modest tale," said another, "after the wonderful things we have heard; but i will give you a true story which was told me by a north georgia cracker." "tell it, tell it!" they said. "well, then, once upon a time a man who lived by a creek in north georgia discovered that the corn was disappearing from his crib. he watched and at length found the secret of the theft. "a squirrel came down to the edge of the creek on the opposite side, dragged a shingle to the water's edge, launched it, and jumping on himself hoisted his tail for a sail. he soon sailed across and anchored his shingle at the bank. stealing up to the crib, he got out an ear of corn and carried it to the creek, put it on the shingle and ferried it across." "how strange!" said some one. "that's only the beginning," said the narrator. "when the man saw his ear of corn disappear in a hollow tree he determined to recover his lost property, and started, ax in hand, to wade the creek. it was a little over waist deep, and he had on a heavy overcoat fastened by one big button at the top. as he came up out of the water the coat seemed exceedingly heavy, and looking down he saw that both the big side pockets were full of shad." here a chorus of laughter interrupted, but with a solemn face the story teller went on: "that was a small matter to those that follow. when the man came up out of the water the weight of the wet overcoat, further weighed with the fish, broke off the button, and it flew off to one side where a rabbit crouched in the bush. the button hit him in a tender spot behind the ear, and he keeled over, and with a few pitiful kicks expired." here the laughter was so boisterous as to interrupt the narrator for nearly a minute, and then he proceeded: "picking up the rabbit, the man concluded it was not the kind of game he wanted, and he flung it aside. it was late in the evening, and just at this moment it so happened that a covey of partridges had huddled together for the night, with their heads bunched together in the center, according to their habit." here a suppressed titter ran round the company. "oh," said the narrator, with some indignation, "it is well known that partridges huddle together in just that way." "go on," they said. "when the rabbit fell its head struck the bunch of heads and killed all the partridges." (laughter.) "when the man had picked up the partridges he went to the hollow tree and cut it down. he got back fifty bushels of corn, and it proved to be a bee tree, so that he got ten barrels of honey. not only this, but the top of the tree fell in the stream, and the creek ran sweet for twenty years." this took the cake, which will be served next sunday. p. s.--there is no space here to tell about the georgia hen that turned gray after the snakes got her chickens, or the young partridges that afterward hatched under her sitting and became the solace of her declining years. all this and much more i would tell if i had time. --_w. g. c. in atlanta constitution._ hugging the shore. i went one day to sail in a yacht with the very best girl i had, and indeed i was thankful at my lot, which you'll see was not at all bad. the sea ran high far away outside; and as, in the sea's dread lore, i was not well versed, i concluded to glide near by, so i hugged the shore. anon, as the twilight round us fell, i spooned with the lively maid, and what i did but the stars could tell, and they will not, i'm afraid. and anon again i asked her to show how a maid could a man adore; and she showed me how till i could but know, and again i hugged the show-er. --_wasp._ a night of terror. miss debut--do you know, mr. reimer, i dreamed last night that i was reading your poetry? mr. reimer--indeed! you flatter me highly, i am sure. miss debut--i don't know about that; i remember that i tried with all my might to wake up and couldn't. --_once a week._ where the gold comes from. bostone--how long do you suppose these gold mines out here will continue profitable, mr. boomer? boomer--just so long as our eastern stockholders will stand the assessments without kicking. --_lowell citizen._ his cure for sleeplessness. "do you ever want to sleep, major, when you can't?" i asked of a very convivial friend. "of course, of course, sah." "well, what do you do?" "what do i do? you blamed idiot, what would any man with a brain do? why, when i want to sleep and feel so wide awake that i could go out and read in the dark i go take a good, long drink of my customary beverage, sah. you know what that is. then, sah, if that fails, i go take anothah. if that does not kiss down my eyelids i go and take two. if morpheus refuses to lock me in his arms i go and take three more, and by that time i don't care a continental darn whether i ever go to sleep or not." --_toledo blade._ hard to believe. "pa," said a lad to his father, "i have often read of people poor but honest; why don't they sometimes say 'rich but honest?'" "tut, tut, my son, nobody would believe them," answered the father. --_liverpool post._ after a clew. methods of the modern detective illustrated by a small incident. "i'll follow him to the ends of the earth! he shall not escape me!" the tall, powerfully built man, attired in a suit of dark blue, who hissed these words through his set teeth, stood in a shadow of a one-story coal house in a dark, noisome, philadelphia-like alley, and watched with widely staring eyes a figure moving slowly along down the hong kong district of clark street. the watcher was wide awake, and the saloons had not yet closed for the night. it was evident he was not a policeman. emerging from the alley he followed stealthily the object of his pursuit like a sleuth hound on the track of its prey. moving along in the shadow of the buildings and halting now and then, but never relaxing for one instant his eager watchfulness, he kept his man in sight for nearly an hour. down clark to harrison, west on harrison to the river, across the bridge to canal, up canal to monroe, and westward on that street for many and many a weary block moved this singular--or rather plural--procession. "he little thinks he is followed," muttered the relentless pursuer. "i'll shadow him to his lair now if it takes till the next centennial!" at last the man whom he was following halted at a modest dwelling, opened the gate that afforded the entrance to the little yard in front, and as he turned to close it his face, plainly visible in the glare of a street lamp close by, was for one brief moment exposed to the hawk-like gaze of the mysterious pursuer in the dark blue suit, who had crouched in the shadow of a friendly indian cigar sign across the way. the next instant he had disappeared within the house. with a smothered cry of exultation the eager watcher took out a note book and pencil and jotted down a memorandum. his fingers trembled with excitement. "i saw his face!" he said in a hysterical whisper. "i was not mistaken. and now i have his street and number. at last i am on the trail. if he finds out anything about that mysterious disappearance i'll know just where he goes to get it. ha! at last! at last!" * * * * * he was a high-priced detective shadowing a $ -a-week newspaper reporter to see if he could find some clew to the latest mystery that was baffling the entire force. --_detroit free press._ two of a kind. a bright little girl was taken by her father out into the country to visit an uncle whom she called walsh. as the two drove along the country road, the little one spied a scarecrow in a field, and exclaimed: "oh, papa, there's uncle walsh." papa laughed hugely at the joke, but told her that she was mistaken; that what she saw was only a scarecrow. a little further along and uncle walsh's farm was reached, and way out in the field was uncle walsh at work. the little girl's eyes were the first to catch sight of him, but she wasn't to be fooled so easily this time. "oh, papa," she cried, "look at that scarecrow!" papa did look, and has not got through laughing yet. --_buffalo express._ a change of manoeuver. guide to battlefields (sure of his party, he thinks)--yes, sah, hit were jest hyer that the rebels gin to run, an'---- tourist (bantering him)--come, now! run? i was a reb myself and don't believe they ran. guide--hole on, boss; you ain't let me get through. i didn't say which way dey wuz runnin'; 'twas to'ards de enemy. --_harper's weekly._ the latest style. customer (who has brought material for a gown and trimming for a bonnet eight days before)--this costume appears to be very short and tight! did you use all the goods? modiste--great heavens! can it be that i made the gown out of the bonnet trimming and trimmed the bonnet with the dress pattern? --_fliegende blätter._ if the prince of wales' serious attack of the gout continues much longer, it will begin to affect the walk of swell young men in new york. --_kansas city journal._ [illustration] cholly--aw, fweddie, did you see her smile at me? quite angelic, doncher know. fweddie--smiled, did she? well, i cahn't blame her. youah looks sometimes make me smile, bah jove. --_chicago liar._ a number of the school-ma'ams are employing their summer vacations in educating the blind. their only pupil is a bad boy named cupid. --_chicago news._ certainly. "i understand the progressive dinner party craze has struck st. louis," said miss societie, of lucas avenue to mr. featherhide. mr. featherhide (dryly)--"yes, but such dinners are simply a matter of course." --_st. louis critic._ knew all the ladies. a street car going west on madison street last saturday afternoon was loaded with women returning from the matinee. in one corner of the car a countryman sat. when the car reached may street the conductor opened the door and called "may!" a woman left the car at this street. when he reached ann the conductor called that name and another woman got off. at elizabeth street he called out "elizabeth!" and two women got off. when he called "ada!" still another woman got up and left. the countryman went out on the platform and said to the conductor: "do you know where i want to get off?" "i do not." "do you know my name?" "no, sir; i don't." "do you know all the women in chicago?" "well, i should say not. why?" "nothing. i heerd you callin' them women that have jist been gitting off by their first names, an' you knowed jist where they wanted to stop, an' i thought you was acquainted with all the people in town." --_chicago mail._ the collar line. doddle--i say, coddle, old boy! what's the ideah of having a howid big flap on a fellah's ear? couldn't we have heard pwetty nearly as well without it? coddle--pwobably, doddle, but it dwaws the collar line, don't yer know; it sawter keeps the collar from wunning up and knocking our hats off. --_glens falls republican._ a foregone conclusion. young doctor--well, i've got a case at last. young lawyer--glad to hear it. when you get him to the point where he wants a will drawn, telephone over. --_life._ a simple fish story. a bass weighing one pound in was returned to the potomac with a small sleigh bell attached to its tail with a wire. a few days ago it was caught with the bell still attached, the fish weighing six pounds. this may seem like a fish story, but some of our readers will remember that a one-pound bass caught in the eastern branch five years ago was returned to the water with a penny tin whistle attached to its tail. three years later the bass was caught near the same spot. it still weighed a pound, but the whistle had grown into a fog horn. --_new orleans picayune._ an unwelcome invention. "i think that fellow is real mean," said marie, throwing down the paper. "what fellow?" "why, the one it speaks of here who has invented a car window that will open and shut readily by touching a spring." "well, i think it is a great thing. why do you object to it?" "simply because now i can never have, when traveling, some fascinating drummer bending over me to open or shut the window for me." --_wasp._ no balm on sunday. a certain politician holding office in washington comes from gilead, n. h. and he is proud of his native town. it is told of him that on one occasion a visiting clergyman preached in the village church and during the course of his remarks, he exclaimed: "is there no balm in gilead?" mr. blank jumped to his feet at once. "of course there is," he sung out, to the horror of the congregation, "but you can't get it on sunday." --_troy telegram._ an explanation. mrs. smith--john, has mrs. thompson done anything to offend you? she complains that you spoke very rudely to her when you came in yesterday evening. mr. s.--oh, i'm sorry for that. i'm always glad to see mrs. thompson, and wouldn't like to hurt her feelings. fact is, when i came in, the room was rather dark and i mistook her for you. --_toronto grip._ she could smell it. little johnny mcswilligen, surreptitiously sampled his mamma's brandied peaches yesterday, and soon after had occasion to use the telephone. "a little later mr. mcswilligen called his wife to the 'phone to inform her that he would be late getting home. "yes, i know why," she replied. "ah, how do you know?" "why, you're drinking again, and intend to make a night of it." "indeed i am not," protested mcswilligen. "i have not touched a drop for a year." "oh, you can't impose on me that way," insisted his wife. "i can smell your breath." and she hung up the receiver with a rattle that almost dislocated the instrument. --_pittsburgh chronicle._ offended. insulted montanian (to tenderfoot newspaper correspondent)--lookee here, young man, you want to be a little more keerful how you write things that ain't so to them newspapers back east. this is a high-toned town, by jinks, and the boys won't stand it. terrified tenderfoot--why, i--i--what have i written? "why, you writ to a chicago paper that we lynched thirteen men here last month, and it's a lie." "i--i--thought it was true, or--i----" "well, it wasn't. we didn't lynch but twelve, and we only rid the other on a rail and peppered him a little with buckshot. stick to facts, young man, that's all we ask of you." --_time._ journalistic comprehensiveness. a little fellow who was earnestly searching the columns of a certain religious journal for something in the juvenile department, found the paper rather bulky to manage and spread it upon the floor. in reply to his little sister, who was impatient at his slowness, he defended himself by saying: "well, you must remember that this paper has two parts--the religious and the sacrilegious!" it was the same boy, by the way, who announced that the scripture lesson at school one morning was from the book of collisions. --_troy times._ a fatal mistake. bliffers--what's wrong to-day, bluffers? you look blue. bluffers--i'll never forgive myself. i kicked a caller out of my house last night. "huh! i've kicked out many a one. young fellow, i suppose?" "no; past middle age." "well, these old codgers have no business to be coming around sparking young girls. i kicked out one of that sort last week." "yes, but i've found out this man wasn't courting my daughter. he was after my mother-in-law." --_philadelphia record._ successful speculation. "maria," said mr. cuteboy yesterday, "i made $ this morning." "indeed," said mrs. c. curiously. "did reading go up?" "not exactly," was the quiet rejoinder, "but your brother john asked me to lend him that sum and i didn't happen to have it at the time." --_philadelphia inquirer._ her business. old woman presents herself at the booking office and asks for a third-class ticket. "where for?" inquires the clerk. "that's my business!" is the reply. --_dictionnaire universal._ that the moon is made of green cheese is a mere idle fancy, but that the honeymoon is made of taffy is an established fact. --_terre haute express._ burdette on womankind. why am i a woman suffragist? because i am. because a woman has more good, hard, common sense than a man. because she makes less bluster about her rights, and quietly maintains them better than a man. because she won't give $ . for an article that she knows very well she can get for cents. because she does not stalk loftily away from the counter without her change if the robber behind it is a little reluctant about counting it out. because she is too independent to pay the landlord $ . for her dinner, and then pay the head-waiter $ to send her a waiter who will bring it to her for cents. because she will hold her money tightly in her own good little right hand for two hours until she first gets a receipt for it from the fellow who made her husband pay the same bill three times last year. not any "just give you credit for it" for her. because one day a pullman porter complained to me "no money on this trip; too many women aboard. don't never get nothin' out of a woman 'ceptin' just her regular fare." i had just paid him cents for blacking one of my boots and losing the other; and when he said that, when i saw for myself the heroic firmness of those women, traveling alone, paying their fare and refusing to pay the salaries of the employes of a wealthy corporation, i said: "these women have a right to vote. to vote? by all that is brave and self-reliant and sensible, they have a right to run the government!" --_new york star._ "urtication" is a new cure for rheumatism. it means pricking the skin with a bunch of fresh nettles. perhaps "hurtication" would be a better word for it. --_san francisco alta._ what a glorious world this would be if people lived up to the epitaphs on their tombstones. --_hutchison news._ it was a bad mixing up. in an english country church the curate had to give out two notices, the first of which was about baptisms and the latter had to do with a new hymn book. owing to an accident he inverted the order and gave out as follows: "i am requested to announce that the new hymn book will be used for the first time in this church sunday next, and i am requested to call attention to the delay which often takes place in bringing children to be baptized; they should be brought on the earliest day possible. this is particularly pressed on mothers who have young babies." "and for the information of those who have none," added the rector, in gentle, kindly tones and who, being deaf, had not heard what had been previously said--"and for the information of those who have none, i may state, if wished, they can be obtained on application in the vestry immediately after service to-day. limp ones, one shilling each: with stiff backs, two shillings." --_chicago chronicle._ last year's trouble. stranger--your town seems awful dead. had a scourge of any kind? citizen--no. "no small-pox or yellow fever?" "no." "no floods or famine?" "no." "well, what ails your town this year?" "nothing ails it this year, but a boom struck it last year." --_omaha world._ america is not given to jewelry, gauds or trappings, but those familiar with the business say that she has a seal ring. --_detroit free press._ some one suggests that john l. sullivan's bust be placed on the new two-cent postage stamps. but sullivan can't be licked. --_n. y. news._ at the ball. george (referring to young lady just entering, in evening dress)--ah, here is something pretty nice coming in! clarence--something coming out, i should say. --_journal amusant._ a thrilling social episode. there was a young lady named moll who purchased a new parasol, with a handle so long that she had to be strong or she couldn't have lugged it at all. she met a young man who, 'twas plain, was staggering with might and main to steady his gait 'neath the terrible weight of his dreadfully cumbersome cane. so intent was the beautiful moll in lugging her long parasol, that she passed the young swain with the cumbersome cane and never once saw him at all. what a narrow escape for that swain! had she recognized him he would fain have lifted his hat; but how could he do that and carry his cumbersome cane? --_washington post._ some of the vassar girls have organized a gum-chewing association. they meet for cul-chaw. --_burlington free press._ it is not good to take tea in the middle of the day. the man who tried it in an austin grocery store when he thought the clerk was not looking is our authority. --_texas siftings._ the irish widow. mrs. magoogin's promised donation to the world's fair committee. "did ye hear about the wurruld's fair, mrs. mcglaggerty?" "sorra's the wurrud, me frind. fwhat's there about id, mrs. magoogin?" "noo yarrick is goin' to have id." "is that so, now?" "yis, an' they're roisin' the money fur id, avourneen," said the widow magoogin. "a committay's bin appinted to go around an' ax payple fwhat they're willin' to shushcroibe an' they pits down the names an' prints thim in the papers, an' there's a hully-balloo an' jubilorum, an' uv'rybody sez noo yarrick is a fine place, an' that brings the wurruld's fair to iz, mrs. mcglaggerty. now, thin, fwhat ar' you goin' to shushcroibe fwhin the committay calls round to see ye, mrs. mcglaggerty?" "divil a cint oi have to give thim, mrs. magoogin," said the neighbor. "fy fur shame, mrs. mcglaggerty--that's no way to be afther thraiting the committay. fwhere's yer h'art, woman? have ye no sinse, at all, at all, alanna? fwhisper an' i'll tell ye fwhat berdie magoogin's goin' to say to thim fwhin they comes an' axes her to shushcroibe. 'gud mawrnin', mrs. magoogin.' they'll say to me. 'the same to ye, sors,' oi'll say to thim. 'fwhat'll ye shushcroibe to the wurruld's fair this foine mawrnin', ma'am?' they'll ax me nuxt. 'fwhat did the mcguffin's beyant give ye?' oi'll ax thim. 'nawthin',' they'll say to me. 'thin id's breakin' their h'arts they ar' intoirely givin' nawthin' to an interproise av this koind, sors,' oi'll say to thim. 'an' fwhat'll we put ye down for, ma'am?' they'll say to me. 'well, gintlemin av the committay,' oi'll say to thim, puttin' an me sunda' shmoile an' howldin' me head as proud as a paycock--'well, gintlemin,' oi'll say, 'it isn't mooch that berdie magoogin has--there's only the shanty an' the goat an' a bit av furnicher, some av fwhich is in pawn--but oi'll tell ye fwhat oi'll do, gintlemin,' oi'll say to thim. 'berdie magoogin'll agree to give twinty-noin thousan' eight hundhert an' tin dollars out av her own pocket to the wurruld's fair, aff the committay kin foind noineteen other widdy womin an cherry hill that'll do the same thing, an' how diz that praposishun shoot ye, gintlemin?' oi'll say to thim. thin they'll go away shmoiling an' they'll tell uv'rybody about id, an' uv'rybody'll say how ginerous is mrs. magoogin'v! "but sure'n ye haven't no twinty-noine thousand dollars to give thim, me frind?" the neighbor interposed. "no more has th' other noineteen widdies, mrs. mcglaggerty--so ye see there's no danger av anny av iz losin' mooch, an' ow, wow, but won't payple think that we're gin'rous. id's a byootiful bloof oi'll be afther givin' thim, mrs. mcglaggerty--nawthin', acushla, but a byootiful bloof." --john j. jennings _in sunday mercury_. his awful confession. "were you ever engaged in a train robbery?" asked the prosecuting attorney, looking at him keenly. "i was never indicted for train robbing," answered the witness, evasively. "that is not the question," said the lawyer. "i will ask you again. were you ever a train robber?" "judge," said the witness, turning imploringly to the dignitary of the bench, "must i answer that question?" "you must," answered the judge. "and remember you are under oath." the witness turned pale and his knees knocked together. "i suppose it's got to come out. i sold books and bananas on the cars for a whole year when i was a young fellow," faltered the miserable man. --_chicago tribune._ "the greatest point," writes a specialist in the treatment of obesity, "is to find the right diet." but the greatest point in these cases, after all, is the embonpoint. --_philadelphia ledger._ while there is a great variety of conditions submitted with the handsome donations made to aid the fair, it is noticeable that there is entire unanimity in one thing--the "if." v. s. an accommodating boss. a gang of men were at work on a city street, when a slight, beardless youth laid down his pick, and approaching the foreman, said to him: "can i take a fit, sir?" "take what?" asked the foreman. "a fit--i feel one coming on," replied the young man, without emotion. "why, certainly," said the foreman. so the young man walked over to a bit of grass under a leafy tree--it was a new street in the suburbs--and had a fit. then he went and washed his face, came back to his place in the line, took up his pick and struck into work. after the day's work was over the young man said to the foreman: "you don't mind my having fits?" "no--i guess not if you do a fair day's work." "well, you see i used to work for a butcher an' he wouldn't let me take fits--said it interfered with business--an' i thought you might feel the same way about it." and the young man works hard with pick and shovel and takes a fit once in a while as you or i might take a drink of water. --_pittsburgh dispatch._ high up. hollis holworthy--yes, i've been looking up some of my ancestors, and---- miss beacon--i guess you found a good many of them up a tree, didn't you? --_harvard lampoon._ a burning question among the rochester newspapers is: "have bicycles an earnest purpose?" the fellow who has just shot over the handle-bar of one is convinced that they have. --_buffalo courier._ old general debility was for a time held responsible for the allegheny baseball team's wretched work in this season's campaign, but now the blame is being divided with old john barleycorn. --_pittsburgh post._ her perennial experiences. "one day when living at beaufort, s. c.," said a gentleman the other day, "the young colored nurse in my family came in with a terribly lugubrious face. around her head was wound a white cloth, which extended fully two feet above. "'what on earth is the matter, tilly?' said my wife. "'oh! i's a-seekin'.' "'what are you seeking?' "'i'se a-seekin' 'ligion.' "'do you have to wear that when you are seeking religion?' "'oh, yes, miss. i has to wear that to mortify de flesh.' "that afternoon she came to her mistress and said: 'i cyarn't tek keer de chill'n dis afternoon. i'se got to go to de woods an' wrassle wid de sperut.' "she 'wrassled' for four days, and finally came in with a beaming countenance, and with the cloth taken from her head. she had found jesus and had been baptized. 'tilly,' i said, 'do you have to go through that performance every time you get religion?' "'yes, marse thompson!' "'how many times have you been baptized in the course of life?' "''bout leb'n times.'" --_washington post._ "kin a quack move?" there was company for dinner at dilly's house and they were enjoying the first course, which consisted of oyster soup. dilly made away with hers for some time in silence until she had nearly cleaned the plate, when she suddenly paused, and looking at her mother across the table, said, in a stage-whisper: "mamma, what you fink?--dere's a hair in my soup!" "hush, dilly," said mamma, frowning; "it's nothing but a crack in the plate." dilly moved the bowl of her spoon back and forth over the supposed crack, and then exclaimed, triumphantly: "kin a quack move?" --_philadelphia times._ the only thing that a man can borrow in this world without giving security is trouble. --_lawrence american._ sleeping with the baby. "grindstone," exclaimed kiljordan, in a tone of severe rebuke, as he leaned wearily over the aisle of the car, "why don't you get up and give that lady a seat? i would do it myself, only i've been doing the work of two men at the office for a whole week." "my wife has been away from home for two days," answered grindstone feebly, "and i've been sleeping with the baby." "madame," called out kiljordan, rising briskly, "i'm not at all tired. you may have my seat." --_chicago tribune._ out of practice. lady of the house (to tramp)--you eat as if you never had seen a meal of victuals before! tramp--madam, you must excuse me. i s'pose i do eat awkward, but the fact is i hain't had much practice lately. --_life._ what it did. "stop that!" roared the exchange reader as the dramatic editor struck into the first bars of "he's in the asylum now." "what's the matter?" mildly asked the offender. "why, when you sing your voice sours my paste," was the explanation. --_buffalo express._ as he knew them. school teacher (to boy at head of class, the lesson being philosophy)--how many kinds of force are there? boy--three, sir. "name them." "bodily force, mental force and the police force." --_punch._ needs an amendment. client (in chicago)--i want a divorce. lawyer--for what reason? "my wife cannot make good coffee." "i am sorry, but the law is not broad enough for a man to get a decree on mere coffee grounds." --_time._ the irish widow. mrs. magoogin discusses a proposed trip to paris. "oi say, mrs. mcglaggerty!" "arrah, fwhat is id, mrs. magoogin?" "war ye uver in parish, oi dunno?" "is id me in parish, mrs. magoogin?" "yis, you, mrs. mcglaggerty. 'twas to yersel' oi was shpakin'." "me in parish--the rale polly-boo-pancake paris, oi shuppose ye mane, mrs. magoogin?" "oy, the same, me frind." "well, oi was never there, thanks be to gudness." "an' no more was oi, me frind; but oi hope there was no harrum in axin' ye," said the widow magoogin. "an' how oi kem to ax ye was jisht this, d'ye see: the montmorincy mcgues acrass th' way had a fallin' out wud aich other in the back yard two noights ago lasht winsda', an' they med that mooch av a rooction that foor polaicemin was called in be the naybors, an' they had to shplit micky montmorincy mcgue's nose in three halves an' opin'd a hole in his wife cordaylia's head that ye kud pit a taycup into before they'd be quoiet an' lave the daycint payple livin' on aither soide av thim go to shleep. the polaice tuk micky to th' shtation house an' begorrah the joodge sint him to th' oisland fur noinety days. now, d'ye know fwhat the montmorincy mcgues ar' givin' out? they're tellin' ivrybody that micky's gone over to th' parish uxposition be the rekusht av the king an' queen av france, an' that he'll have a room all to himself in the palace av the tooriloories, wud wall paper an inch thick an the walls an' oice water to wash his hands in an' a naygur to loight his poipe fur him an' howld it fwhoile he shmokes. mrs. montmorincy mcgue throied to give me the sthiff about micky an' the parish uxposition, but we hear ducks, mrs. mcglaggerty. that's an owld gag av th' sassoi'ty folks, mrs. mcglaggerty, to partind they're goin' to europe fwhin they're only tin maile out in th' counthry puyin' foive dollars a waik fur boord, an' oi'm rale sarry to know that the payple av cherry hill ar' takin' to id. oi thawt oi'd pit ye an to th' gag, mrs. mcglaggerty, bekase wan of these byootiful blyue danube days mebbe ye'll be hearin' that mrs. berdie magoogin an' her accomplished daughther, mrs. arethusy dinkelshpiel, has gone to parish to intertain th' jook av rockaway cheese, an' fwhin ye do ye kin pit it down as a fact that yer frind an' naybor, the daycint widdy woman that's now shpakin' to ye, has kicked the shtuffin' out av a little banty-legged ditchman that was wanst her son-in-law, but that talked too mooch about th' koind av poi an' cake that his ould freckle-haired mother ushed to make, thet kin no more shpake th' inglish languidge c'reckly than a pig can say his pray'rs. remim'er that, now, mrs. mcglaggerty!" john j. jennings. lived on water. smudge--dr. tanner was not the first man who lived on water for forty days. fudge--no! "of course not." "who else?" "well, what's the matter with noah?" --_san francisco news letter._ unpatriotic. i always hate to tell a story out of season, but i am afraid that this one will not keep until the next fourth of july, so here goes: a woman who lives in the western part of our city was very much disturbed by the frightful noises which accompanied the celebration this year. she was old and quite ill, and she had spent a night in tossing, waiting in vain for a silence that came not and which drove sleep out of the question. it was near sunbreak, when the noise was at its wildest, when with a groan she turned over and in despair ejaculated: "goodness, gracious me. i wish the other side had licked!" --_baltimore free press._ she knew the vegetable. mrs. j. (severely)--john, there is a very strong odor about you. mr. j.--yes--hic--my dear, i've--hic--been eating onions. mrs. j.--you may have the onion breath, john, but you certainly have not the onion walk. --_life._ the wisdom of babes. ministerial friend (on a visit)--i wonder what makes your mamma so happy to-day? she is singing around all over the house. little nell--i dess she's thought of somfin' to scold papa about when he comes home. --_philadelphia record._ a cutting remark. algernon--you must not think, dearest, that because you are rich and i am poor i am anxious to marry you on account of your money. genevieve--whose are you after, pa's? --_judge._ their first season. he. i wonder now would she say yes? i'd really like to make a go of one proposal to learn how, and would, if only she'd say no. she. i wonder now will he propose? i must have one before i go, it's hard to hurt his feelings--still, can i say yes? let's see--well--no. --_wasp._ the rascal responded promptly. up in a certain town the grocers understand all the little tricks of the trade. a gentleman bought six pounds of sugar, and found it sadly adulterated with sand. the next day a notice was posted reading thus: "notice--i bought six pounds of sugar of a grocer in this village. from it i have taken one pound of sand. if the rascal will send me six pounds of sugar i will not expose him." the next day five six-pound packages of sugar were left at the gentleman's residence, there being just five grocers in the village. --_boston record._ [illustration: champion kickers.] [illustration: the invariable result.] (_with apologies to scott and pope._) oh, woman in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please; yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, we first endure, then pity, then embrace. --_town topics._ reveries of the season. [illustration] i can't seem to realize, fully, how quickly the season has flown; i've scarce had a day through the summer, to rest and to be quite alone. i've been yachting and driving and bathing, i know every horse on the track; and i've planned out a beautiful future, i'm engaged to be married to jack. from the first of july to september, is not a long courtship i know; but, then, if we wait until christmas, 'twill be half a twelvemonth, and so after telling jack "yes," on an impulse, i couldn't somehow take it back; and he says we can court all our lifetime, so i'm to be married to jack. he hasn't a very large fortune, but he's handsome and brimful of life, and he says that his prospects will brighten with me for his own little wife. how little i dreamed when i came here, how settled and staid i'd go back; not caring for flirting or dancing, for i'm to be married to jack. i thought, at the first of the season, of titles and money and style; but the charm which they hold is but trifling, when i think of his bright, tender smile. ah, me! when a girl loves her lover, of happiness there is no lack, my heart is as light as a feather, i'm engaged to be married to jack. not so tough as that. mrs. youngwife--well, harry, our first dinner party will be a great success, i think. the dinner, i am sure, will be perfect. harry--i hope so. what's the game? "roast ducks with currant jelly." "gracious, eleanor, the one thing i can't carve. they'll be tough, too, i'll bet." "oh, no, they won't. i took care not to get canvas backs." --_utica observer._ she considered it a deliberate insult. when general o. o. howard was marching down through tennessee, general whittlesey, late president of the freedmen's bank, was assistant adjutant general on his staff. whittlesey had been a clergyman down in maine, and was fully as strait-laced as howard. one day howard drove into a farm-yard from which whittlesey was just departing. a woman and her grown daughter were standing outside the door. "my good woman," said howard, "will you kindly give me a drink of water?" "no. get out of my yard. a lot of more impident yankees i never seed." "but i have done nothing and said nothing out of the way, and will severely punish any of my soldiers who should say or do anything wrong." "that sojer insulted me," said she, pointing to the retreating form of general whittlesey. "he axed me for a drink of water and when i done give it to him he sassed me." "but--but that is general whittlesey, of my staff. i am sure he wouldn't be rude to any woman." "maw," said the girl, pulling her mother's dress, "i reckon he moughtn't have meant anything misbeholden." "hush; don't i know low-down blackguard talk when i hears it? he asked me 'what was the state of my nativity?'" --_washington post._ "i climb to rest," sings lucy larwin in a recent poem. so do we, lucy. our sleeping apartment is on the first floor from the roof. --_light._ [illustration] softleigh--what is the matter with your nose? sardonicus--that is a berth mark. softleigh--i don't remember ever seeing it before. sardonicus--no: i just got it last night coming down from minneapolis. i had an upper berth in the pullman, and the train had a collision in wisconsin. --_chicago liar._ it often happens that when a young man is disappointed in life he commits suicide. when he is disappointed in marriage he either "grins and bears it," or gets a divorce. --_norristown herald._ mr. bowser on deck once more. he delivers a lecture upon the carelessness of women. in returning from a trip down town the other week i left my shopping bag in the car, and when i mentioned the fact to mr. bowser and asked him to call at the street railway office and get it, he replied: "no, ma'am, i won't! anybody careless enough to leave an article of value in a street car deserves to lose it. besides, you did not take the number of the car, and they would only laugh at me at the office." "do you take the number of every street car you ride in?" i asked. "certainly. every sensible person does. day before yesterday i came up in no. . i went back in no. . i came up to supper in no. . yesterday i made my trips in nos. , and . to-day in nos. , and . the street railways contract to carry passengers--not to act as guardians for children and imbeciles." "mr. bowser, other people have lost things on the street car." "yes--other women. you never heard of a man losing anything." i let the matter drop there, knowing that time would sooner or later bring my revenge. it came sooner than i expected. mr. bowser took his dress coat down to a tailor to get a couple of new buttons sewed on, and as he returned without it, i observed: "you are always finding fault with the procrastination of my dressmaker. your tailor doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry." "how?" "why, you were to bring that coat back with you." "that coat! thunder!" mr. bowser turned pale and sprang out of his chair. "didn't lose it going down, did you?" "i--i believe i--i----!" "you left it on the street car when you come up?" "yes." "mr. bowser, anybody careless enough to leave an article of value in a street car deserves to lose it. however, you took the number of the car, i presume?" "n--no!" "you didn't! that shows what sort of a person you are. yesterday when i went down after baby's shoes i took car no. . when i returned i took car . when i went over to mother's i took car . the conductor had red hair. one horse was brown and the other black. the driver had a cast in his left eye. there were four women and five men in the car. we passed two loads of ashes, one of dirt and an ice cream wagon. the conductor wore no. shoes, and was nearsighted. the street railways contract to carry passengers, mr. bowser, not to act as guardians for sap heads and children." "but i'll get it at the office to-morrow," he slowly replied. "perhaps, but it is doubtful. as you can't remember the number of the car they will laugh at the idea, and perhaps take you for an impostor." he glared at me like a caged animal, and made no reply, and i confess that i almost hoped he would never recover the coat. he did, however, after a couple of days, and as he brought it home he looked at me with great importance and said: "there is the difference, mrs. bowser. had you lost anything on the car it would have been lost forever. the street car people were even sending out messengers to find me and restore my property." one day a laboring man called at the side door and asked for the loan of a spade for a few minutes, saying that he was at work near by; and he was so respectful that i hastened to accommodate him. two days later mr. bowser, who was working in the back yard, wanted the spade, and i had to tell him that i lent it. as it was not to be found the natural inference was that the borrower had not returned it. "this is a pretty state of affairs!" exclaimed mr. bowser when he had given up the search. "the longer some folks live the less they seem to know." "but he looked honest." "what of it? you had no business to lend that spade." "i was sure he'd return it." "well, he didn't, and anybody of sense would have known he wouldn't. if somebody should come here and ask for the piano, i suppose you'd let it go. mrs. bowser, you'll never get over your countrified ways if you live to be as old as the hills. it isn't the loss of the spade so much, but it is the fact that the man thinks you are so green." in the course of an hour i found the spade at the side steps, where the man had left it after using, but when i informed mr. bowser of the fact he only growled: "he brought it back because he probably heard me making a fuss about it and was afraid of arrest." two days later, as mr. bowser sat on the front steps, a colored man came up and asked to borrow the lawn mower for a few minutes for use on the next corner. "certainly, my boy," replied mr. bowser; "you'll find it in the back yard." when he had gone i observed that the man had a suspicious look about him and that i should not dare trust him, and mr. bowser turned on me with: "what do you know about reading character? there never was a more honest man in the world. i'd trust him with every dollar i have." in about half an hour mr. bowser began to get uneasy, and after waiting a few minutes longer he walked down to the corner. no black man. no lawn mower. by inquiry he learned that the borrower had loaded the mower into a handcart and hurried off. it was a clear case of confidence. "well?" i queried, as mr. bowser came back with his eyes bulging out and his hair on end. "it's--it's gone!" he gasped. "i expected it. the longer some folks live the less they seem to know. if somebody should come and want to borrow the furnace or the bay windows you'd let 'em go, i suppose." "but he--he----" "but what of it? you had no business to lend that lawn mower, mr. bowser. you'll never get over your countrified ways if you live----" he would listen no further. he rushed out and sailed around the neighborhood for two hours, and next morning got the police at work, and it was three days before he would give up that he had been "hornswagled," as one of the detectives put it. then, to add to his misery, the officer said: "we'll keep our eyes open, but there isn't one chance in . after this you'd better let your wife have charge of things. that negro couldn't have bamboozed her that way." --_detroit free press._ [illustration: dedicated to sorosis.] (_with the respectful compliments of_ plunder.) susie--why don't you get married, kittie? kittie--well, i should like to--that's a fact. but, unfortunately, i'm not yet able to support a husband. h. both in hard luck. this story opens on the third floor of a harlem compartment-house. he had been twisting around his chair trying to find words to express his undying devotion, and had already begun to hem and haw, when a voice came from the floor below: "miss candlewick," it said, "i love you passionately--madly; bid me but hope, and all the dark colors of my life will change!" this was a bonanza for the young man above. "miss clara, darling," he said tremulously, "them's my sentiments." then another voice came from below: "no, mr. goatee, i cannot bid you hope; i love another." "and them's mine, mr. morris," remarked miss clara. --_harpers' bazar._ he got there all the same. there is in lewiston at least one man whose friends never worry about his ability to take care of himself no matter where he may be. he went to the inauguration at washington, last month, and after hanging around in the rain for an hour and becoming thoroughly wet, he thought it would be a good plan to go up and stand under the capitol portico,--that being next best to admittance to the capitol itself, which seemed to be out of the question, as he had no ticket. but when he tried to avail himself of this shelter, a policeman stopped him. "can't i stand in here out of the rain?" the lewistonian asked, innocently. "no," said the policeman, "not unless you have a ticket." our lewiston friend stood by and exercised his wits for a few moments. presently two men in the capitol came out and asked the policeman for checks, in order that they might get in again. "no checks," said the officer. "but how are we going to get in when we come back?" "go ahead, and i'll remember you." the lewiston man heard this and needed no other hint. he retreated for a short time, then threw his coat back, tripped his hat rakishly on the back of his head and started on a run for the entrance, as though intending to brush right by the policeman. "hi!" said the officer, putting up his billy--"where are you going?" "going in." "where's your ticket?" "ticket! good gracious, you wouldn't give me any! you said you'd remember." "oh, yes! yes, yes! pass right in." and in he went. the same gentleman once made a sixty days' tour of europe for a sum less than a hundred dollars, passage included. --_lewiston journal._ the shah has left paris for baden. if all the stories are true the shah is rather a bad 'un himself. --_chicago herald._ the course of true love never did run smooth. [illustration: bliss.] [illustration: woe.] willing to pay in trade. "there are some funny things in law, and lawyers meet with some funny cases once in a while," said representative kelly, of lackawanna. "a man who is somewhat distinguished in criminal annals as an expert pickpocket once asked a friend of mine to take a case for him. "'where's your money?' inquired my friend. "'i haven't got any,' was the reply, 'but if you'll promise to do the business for me i'll go out and get a watch for you in five minutes.'" --_pittsburgh dispatch._ here again. now gay young men and maidens fair to ocean's shores in crowds repair. and on the sands and hillsides green, by day and night in pairs are seen. or at the hops-- 'tis very plain that flirting time is here again. --_boston courier._ a substitute. a lady who is opposed to corporeal punishment visited a school at the north end where the rod was being applied. before going away she said a few words to the offender, and asked him to come and see her on a certain evening, promising that her daughter should sing and play to him. he said he would come, and at the appointed time a boy dressed in his best was ushered into her parlor, and for an hour or more his kind entertainers devoted themselves to his enjoyment. afterwards the older lady took him one side and began to speak of the importance of good behavior and obedience to rules, when she was interrupted with: "oh, i ain't that fellar! he gin me ten cents to cum, instid er him!" --_boston transcript._ wrong train. a little boy, fond of "playing conductor," arranged the dining room chairs in line and called in his one passenger, a lady of serious mind, to know at what place she wished to stop. "the station nearest heaven, my dear," she answered. "oh, you're on ee yong t'ain, lady--you're on ee yong t'ain!" --_detroit tribune._ an unreliable symptom. chicagoan (decisively)--i feel it in my bones that chicago is going to have the fair. new yorker--i should advise you to see a physician. i know a man who felt something in his bones, and it turned out to be rheumatism. v. s. a financial solomon. gontran--but you are surely mad! how can you think of borrowing money on those terms and from people of that stamp? holske--my dear fellow, better go to a scamp who lends you money at percent than to an honest man who refuses you at . --_le figaro._ four too many. chicago woman--i want a marriage license. my fiance is too busy to come himself. clerk of court--yes, ma'am (glancing at calendar). let me see, this is the th, isn't it? chicago woman--why, how perfectly absurd of you! this is only my sixth. --_minneapolis tribune._ too much of a denial. wiggins--you're rather too old to take in as an office-boy. you must have lived pretty fast to be at the bottom of the ladder at your age. applicant--no indeed, sir. i'm just as slow as i ever was while a boy. --_life._ a puzzled celt. a class in a san francisco art school was recently startled by the sudden appearance in its midst of a dilapidated irishman who, with tears in his eyes begged for enough money to get him a "bite." the first impulse of the presiding genius was to request him to move on, but his picturesque qualities suggested that he be given a chance to earn his supper by sitting as a model. "sit down," said the instructor, kindly. "if you will permit these young ladies to paint you we will pay you four bits. what do you say?" "av oi'll let 'em wha-at?" replied the beggar, with a puzzled look on his face. "paint you. paint you. it won't take very long." "bedad, oi want th' foor bits bad enough," he returned, after a moment's reflection, "an' oi'll be viry gla-ad t' let th' young ladies paint me av ye'll tell me how'll oi'll git the paint arf me afterwar-rds." --_harpers' magazine._ a suitable adviser. simpson (to friend who is lamenting the conduct of his son)--you should speak to him with firmness, and remind him of his duties. father--he pays no attention to what i say. he listens only to the advice of fools. i wish you would speak to him! --_san francisco wasp._ broke in. araminta--you put your arm around my waist so gracefully, george. george--i have had lots of practice. i was a street car conductor five years. --_epoch._ dog days. kind lady (to tramp)--that coat you have on is pretty well worn out, isn't it? tramp--yes, madame, i fear it has gone to the dogs. --_clothier and furnisher._ although people do not like a tumble, they generally appreciate a fall in the mountains. --_boston gazette._ there is no experience more heavily fraught with deep ghastly lonesomeness than that of being shaved by a deaf-and-dumb barber. --_washington star._ [illustration: the opiates were for her.] mrs. gabb--what is the matter with my husband? doctor--nothing, except that he needs change. i prescribe opiates and rest. mrs. gabb--shall i give him the opiates at once? doctor--oh, the opiates are not for him; they are for you. --_once a week._ the fact that diamonds are rapidly increasing in price is pleasing news to the glass trust. --_n. y. world._ bucket-shops are so called, apparently, because they carry in a pail the same goods which the bigger exchanges carry in hogsheads. --_albany times._ the firm schoolmistress. firm schoolmarm--you children must behave yourselves. i'll go wild if you don't. jimmie smith, stop cutting that desk. (jimmie does not stop.) i'll put your knife in the fire if you don't. never mind; i am going to write a note to your father. jimmie--don't care if you do. schoolmarm--don't talk to me that way. put up that knife this very instant, or i'll box your ears. (starts towards him.) never mind, sir (taking her seat), i'm going to tell your mother. jimmie--don't care if you do. schoolmarm--don't you talk to me that way. never mind, sir, i'm going to keep you in after school. will brown, you must not eat in school. willie, willie brown. never mind, sir. i'm going to tell your father. willie--ain't got no father. schoolmarm--well, i'll tell your mother. willie--ho, she won't do nothin' but scold me. schoolmarm--then i'll whip you myself. bobbie guns, go out and get me a switch. bob--bill might hit me after school. schoolmarm--i never saw the like in my life. if you all don't stop making such a noise my head will split open. all of you, except jimmie smith, may go now. jimmie, don't you go out of this house. jimmie, jimmie. well, then, go on, you good-for-nothing thing. no, i won't kiss you. go on away, i won't. well, then (kissing him), i'll kiss you this once. don't you put your dirty little arms around my neck. oh, look, you have mussed my hair. you little rascal (hugging him), i can't help loving you. --_liverpool post._ at the london law courts. mike (pointing to the patriot o'brien)--ah! there's a man who balfour would like to imprison for life if he only dared. pat--imprison for life, d'ye say? sure, man, 'twould be no use at all. for o'brien would die long before such a brutal sintince could come to an end. mike--ah, me bhoy! faith, and i believe ye're right! --_n. y. world._ the pensive maiden. [illustration] pretty little darling gazing 'cross the sea, wonder what the tenor of her thoughts may be; wonder if she ever gives a thought to me! bright as sparkling dewdrop glistening on a rose, sweeter far than any pretty flower that blows; madly do i love her-- wonder if she knows! ere the voyage is over i would fain declare that i love her dearly, with a wild despair; wonder if she'll love me! wonder if she'll care! shellman. our cunning kids. a city child, wandering over a farm-yard with its father, was greatly frightened at the sight of a good-sized gobbler. "why, my boy, you don't mean to say that you're afraid of a turkey, when you ate one only yesterday." "yes, pa, but this one isn't cooked." --_judge._ some returned boomers who failed to get claims in the oklahoma territory are said to be anxious that col. ingersoll shall go out to guthrie and modify his views as to the non-existence of hades. --_munsey's weekly._ he was. parson (to candidate for sunday school)--have you been christened, my boy? boy--yes, shir. got marks in three plaishes on my left arm! --_punch._ he was onery but innocent. no evidence to convict thomas of stealing the hog. when i reached lester's crossroads it was to find the score or so of people comprising the hamlet very much excited, and their numbers had been re-enforced by a dozen or more farmers, who had come in on mules and in ox carts. i got accommodations at jeffers', and in a few minutes mrs. jeffers had posted me as to the cause of the excitement. "thar's gwine to be the powerfulest lawsuit nobody ever hearn tell of," she explained. "thar's gwine ter be as many as ten witnesses, and the lawyers will gab, and the squar' will boss everybody, and it will be the excitingest time we ever had. i'm so glad you got yere in time!" the squar' who lived a mile out of the hamlet took dinner with us, also the lawyers, both of whom had made a ride of fifteen miles in the interest of their respective clients. the squar' was on his dignity, and the lawyers were looked up to with all the reverence and respect due the president of the united states. school was dismissed that the trial might take place in the school-house, and when we all found seats the place was packed. when the case was stated thomas andrews, a "squat farmer," was charged with having stolen, killed and converted to his own use one hog belonging to and the lawful property of william ainsworth, another "squat farmer." the squar' opened his own court as follows: "here ye and look yere! this court ar' now open fur bizness, and it's agin the law to fuss or trifle. them negroes and all others is warned to be powerful quiet, and if ary purson be in contempt he will get the full extent of the law. hank stovin, kick that ar big dog of your'n outer doors." the prosecutor then charged the prisoner with having, between the th and the th of the month, stolen, killed and eaten, in whole or in part one hog belonging to the plaintiff, and described as black and white, years old, weight to pounds, and in good health and fair condition. he was followed by the other lawyer who denied the charge in toto, and intimated that he would prove a conspiracy to down the defendant, to the injury of his name and fame as an honest citizen of the commonwealth. the plaintiff was put on the stand, and when told to go ahead he said: "i know that he 'un stole my hog, and i wanter see him sent to prison." "why do you suspect him of stealing the hog?" "hain't he shiftless and onery?" "is that why you suspected him?" "it ar'. and i know the hog went over his way the last i seed of him." the plaintiff hadn't made out much, but he had a witness who swore that he ate fresh pork at andrews' cabin on the th. he also saw hog bristles and hoofs on the ground near the cabin. "you declare that on your oath, do you?" "sartin, i've got to tell it as it was, though tom and i hev always jiggered (got along) without a word." a second witness swore that he called at andrews' cabin on the th and the wife had fresh pork in a kettle. he asked if tom had been killing and she seemed confused and did not reply. that was the case for the prosecution. it looked slim in one sense, and yet everybody knew that andrews was a shiftless, suspicious character not above hog stealing. when the opposing counsel got hold of the plaintiff he asked: "was this hog ranging the country?" "yes, he was loosely about and around." "went where he pleased, didn't he?" "reckon he did." "well, how do you know he is dead? how far have you hunted for him?" "three miles." "but he may be alive and well and four miles away." "couldn't be. tom andrews killed him." "that's only your suspicion. can you swear that that hog isn't home this very minute?" "mebbe he ar', but i shan't dun giv in." the witness who had sworn to eating pork at andrews' table was asked: "can you tell pork from a two-year-old hog from pig meat?" "no, sah." "dare you swear that the meat you ate that day wasn't coon or bear meat?" "reckon 'twas pork." "yes, you reckon, but do you know it was?" "dasn't dun sw'ar any harder, sah." the second witness was also tangled up on cross-examination, and then andrews was put on the stand. "tom, did you ever see this hog in question?" asked his lawyer. "lawd, no!" "how long since you had any fresh pork at your house?" "almost before the wah, sah." "what meat did miner eat there that day?" "coon, sah." "what about those bristles and hoofs he says he saw?" tom produced a small package and opened it and displayed the four feet of a coon and a handful of hair. he admitted on cross-examination that he was onery, but he claimed to be honest. "mrs. andrews," asked the lawyer when she was called, "do you remember when jackson called about the quilt frames?" "'deed, i do." "were you cooking meat?" "sartain, i was." "fresh pork?" "no, sah--'possum." "were you confused?" "lawd save ye, but i was never dun confused in all my life." the case wasn't very strong in a legal sense against andrews, but after it had been submitted his honor called up all his dignity and commanded: "you thar! tom andrews, stand up!" tom arose. "prisoner," continued the judge, "you stole that air hog suah's shooting! it's jist like you. you killed it and converted it to your own use. i'm jist as satisfied of that as i ar' that you took coons outen my trap last winter. however, they hain't proved it down fine and i've got to turn ye loose. ar' yer ears wide open, tom?" "'deed they is allus so." "then you skitter (listen) to what i'm going to say. justice is arter you. she hit your trail way back ten years ago, and she's followin' right along. she moves slow but suah. she's gittin very clus to your vest buckle, and when she reaches out fur ye it will be good-by, tom andrews. you kin go loose, but it's only fur a leedle while. justice is givin' ye mo' rope so that the bringin' up will be harder. git out of yere and lumber yer carcass off hum, and if i was the plaintiff i'd cut across lots and meet ye down by the creek and lick the value of that hog outer yer wrinkled hide. court stands a-journed." --_detroit free press._ [illustration: a pathfinder.] travis--what! going into the adirondacks without a guide? desmith--of course. do you suppose a man who has trotted around boston for five years is going to lose his way in the adirondacks? not much! --_burlington free press._ there is a demand among theatrical people for "protection for american actors." how would an egg-intercepting screen at the front of the stage do? --_philadelphia times._ not in his line. "oh, dry up!" shouted somebody in the crowd to the intoxicated individual in the middle who was trying to make a campaign speech. "gen'l'men," said the speaker, stopping short in his harangue and looking about with an injured and insulted air, "i dunno what i've ever (hic) done to make you wish (hic) that i should ever (hic) come (hic) to such an awful end!" --_somerville journal._ outwitted. as rich, the harlequin, was one evening returning home from the playhouse in a hackney coach, he ordered the coachman to drive him to the sun, then a famous tavern in clare market. just as the coach passed one of the windows of the tavern, rich, who perceived it to be open, dexterously threw himself out of the coach window into the room. the coachman, who saw nothing of this transaction, drew up, descended from his box, opened the coach door, and let down the step: then taking off his hat, he waited for some time, expecting his fare to alight; but at length, looking into the coach, and seeing it empty, he bestowed a few hearty curses on the rascal who had cheated him, remounted his box, turned about, and was driving back to the stand, when rich, who had watched his chance, threw himself into the coach, looked out, asked the fellow where in all the world he was driving, and desired him to turn again. the coachman, almost petrified with fear, instantly obeyed, and once more drew up to the door of the tavern. rich now got out; and, after reproaching the fellow with stupidity, tendered him his money. "no, god bless your honor," said the coachman; "my master has ordered me to take no money to-night." "pshaw!" said rich; "your master's a fool; here's a shilling for yourself." "no, no," said the coachman, who by that time had remounted his box, "that won't do; i know you too well, for all your shoes--and so, mr. devil, for once you're outwitted." --_birmingham post._ [illustration] the reason. why are very young sailors like condiments? because they are little salts for sea-sons. --_ocean._ a sense of safety. i asked my own class of boys and girls if they always said their prayers night and morning. most replied that they did, but one small child said she only said her prayers in the morning. "indeed, and how is that?" i inquired. "i should think you would need god's care more at night than in the daytime. why don't you say your prayers at night?" "'cause i always sleep in the middle," was the quick reply. --_pittsburgh press._ new england courtship as it was and is. scene--salem, . priscilla puritannica--yes, master virtuous ebenezer smith, i love you. virtuous ebenezer--oh, you sweet girl. pris. pur.--now, do not be too voluptuous, master virtuous ebenezer smith, and do not call me sweet. virt. eb--i will try. they engage in silent prayer. * * * * * in boston, . victor emanuel smythe--darling, kiss me. priscillesca powderpuff--i should like to, but oh, vicky, god sees everything! vic. em. sm.--well, turn the light down. (priscilla turns it out.) chorus--yum, yum, yum! --_to-day._ trotters' rival. "i'll do it," he repeated, grinding his teeth and showing the whites of his eyes. "nonsense!" said matilda. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself for threatening such wickedness--and besides, you don't mean it. go along!" "ha, ha!" exclaimed william trotters, in a hollow voice. "ha, ha!" "you give me the creeps when you laugh like that," said matilda; "and all the way to gravesend you grumbled--when you weren't seasick. that is pretty lover, to go and be bilious on a pleasure trip!" "it was the iron that had entered into my soul, matilda," remarked trotters, solemnly. "it disagreed with you, whatever it was," said matilda, tossing her pretty head and turning up her nose. "and when another gentleman--a stranger--was attentive, and took care of me, instead of being grateful, you went on like a mad bull, and talked about having his gore." "either his or my own," groaned trotters. "oh, woman! why art thou thus?" "you wouldn't want to marry us if we weren't, would you, gaby?" snapped matilda. "give me that nasty thing, there, do!" she pointed to trotters' breast pocket, which, as far as could be seen by the light of the street-lamp near them, looked bulky. "never!" said trotters, recoiling. "it'll go off one of these days, i know it will," sobbed matilda, "and then you'll be sorry." a smile illumined trotters' visage. nobody knew better than himself that the deadly weapon wasn't loaded. he had bought it of a marine store dealer, cleaned and polished it--it was a five-chambered revolver--and clicked the trigger three or four times to make sure; but even that made him nervous. "she's really frightened!" he said, as he walked away. an irresistible impulse came over him to frighten her a little more. he went back. he peeped over the garden gate. the house stood dark and silent. everybody had gone to bed. he would steal round into the back garden and throw a little gravel up at matilda's window. that would bring her down. the onion and cabbage beds rose right up to the house wall. in the soft mould his footsteps fell silent. ha! what was that? jealousy! wrath! revenge! a male figure stood in the center of the onion-bed. its hat was cocked on one side, its gaze uplifted to matilda's window. one arm was stretched out in an attitude of supplication. a bush rustled as trotters stole warily behind him. matilda's window opened. matilda's voice queried, "is that you, dear?" it was too much. trotters drew the fatal pistol and clapped it to his rival's ear. "stir a step and you're a dead man!" he hissed, trying to steady his shaking hand. too late! there was a flash--a terrible explosion! the stranger fell prone, and lay motionless on the ground. trotters was unaware that his cousin jack, who was in the carabineers, had expressed much curiosity regarding the weapon trotters carried with such jealous solicitude, and, being of a larksome disposition, had surreptitiously gained possession of the revolver, placed a blank cartridge in each of the barrels, and returned it to the pocket of the unsuspecting trotters, or he might have behaved differently. but no, he felt that in his passionate jealousy he had committed a deadly crime, and sent to his last account an innocent man. 'twas too much. trotters shrieked aloud in terror, and then fainted. matilda flew down to him with her hair in curl-papers. they found him lying cold and motionless beside the garden scarecrow! --_ally sloper's half holiday._ everything in its place. architectural upholsterer--and how do you think of having the library furnished, mr. gasbuhm? mr. gasbuhm--why, i want a pool table in it, and a sideboard, of course; a couple of card tables and a lay out for the chess club, and what little whim whams and frenzies you want to make it look well. "and about the book shelves; will you----" "oh, shoot the book shelves; put the books in the boys' rooms; they're going to school; i don't want books stuck under my nose when i'm busy enjoying myself." --_brooklyn eagle._ making a hit. [illustration: .] [illustration: .] [illustration: .] a consolation. smiley basker--yes, i'm going to get married at last, but it's mighty risky, mighty risky. van riper--well, don't worry; you can't do worse than your wife, anyway. who is she? --_munsey's weekly._ it was perfumed. first cadet--did you ever smell powder? second cadet--yes? "where?" "on a vassar girl." --_san francisco argus._ quite sure. stranger--did a pedestrian pass this way a few minutes ago? granger--no, sor. i've been right outer this tater patch more'n a nower, and notter blamed thing has passed 'cept one solitary man, an' he was tramping 'erlong on foot. --_time._ only a matter of form. "mr. kajones," said young springbyle, clearing his throat, "i have called to ask permission to pay my addresses to your daughter." "which one, julius?" inquired mr. kajones. "miss maria, sir." the father looked fixedly at the young man. "what are your prospects in life, julius?" he said. "to tell you the truth, sir," acknowledged young springbyle, "i have no prospects worth mentioning. i am in moderate circumstances and have no resources except a knowledge of my business, good health and steady habits." "just so, julius," mused the father. "your income, i dare say, is----" "about $ , a year." "and on this, my young friend, you would expect to support yourself and a young woman who has lived in a home where she has never been used to anything like privation, or even judicious economy?" "it does seem presumptuous for me to think of it," faltered the youth, "and as i see it does not meet with your approval i will say no more about it and ask your pardon for----" "stay, julius!" exclaimed mr. kajones, somewhat hastily. "i only asked you those questions as a matter of form. if you want maria, my boy, you can have her!" and he shook the young man warmly by the hand. mr. kajones, it may be proper to state, has eight unmarried daughters besides maria. --_chicago tribune._ weighed down. joe--gus looks crushed, as if he had something heavy on his mind. jack--a thought, perchance. --_time._ quite a different thing. old gent--little boy, i am sorry to see you smoking a cigarette. little boy--i ain't smoking it. i'm keeping it alight for another feller what's gone on an errand. --_boston courier._ a negro who doesn't like chicago manners. [illustration] yates, an old negro, sought the mayor of chicago. "what can i do for you?" the mayor asked. "wall, sah, i doan' know 'bout dat, but i come yere to see ef i kain't git jestice somehow." "what's the matter?" "'nuff de matter ter make er man pizen, dat's whut. i moved up yere from the south 'caze i didn't think i wuz enjoyin' all my rights down dar----" "i see. they interfered with your right to vote." "oh, no, sah; da let me vote all i wanted ter. nices' people 'bout dat i eber seed. jes' let me stan' up an' vote right erlong, but den da didn't count my vote." "and you wanted to come to a place where your vote counted?" "yes, sah." "well, what is the trouble?" "'leckshun troubles." "don't you believe your vote was counted?" "oh, yes, i know it was." "then what have you to complain of." "w'y, sah, i hadn't mo'n voted 'fo' er blame p'liceman came up, he did, an' lammed me ober de head." "what were you doing?" "nothin' er tall; jes' standin' dar." "didn't he tell you to move on?" "yes, sah, but whut bizness was it o' his'n? i wan't foolin' wid him." "what did you say when he told you to move on?" "didn't say nothin'. jis' sorter shuck my head, an' den he come er hittin' me wid dat stick. dat ain't no way ter ack--no way ter do w'en er man is 'habin' hisse'f." "i'm very sorry----" "you ain't ha'f as sorry ez i is, sah. jis' look at dis yer lump on my head. i'd ruther not hab my vote counted den ter pay so dear fur it. ef da hatter hit me to make my vote count w'y, den, i'd ruther they would fling it outen de box. dat's er mighty cuis way ter do business. crack er man's skull ter make his vote count. doan't want no more votes counted in dis town." --_arkansaw traveler._ a pittsburgh doctor says he can diagnose ailments by examining a single hair of the patient. two young men, as a joke, took him a hair from a bay horse. the doctor gravely wrote a prescription, and said his fee was $ , as the case was precarious. they were staggered, but paid the fee, and after they got out laughed all the way to the apothecary's. the latter took the prescription and read in amazement: "one bushel of oats, four quarts of water, stir well, and give three times a day, and turn the animal out to grass!" then the jokers stopped laughing. --_denver news._ undertakers are gravely opposed to cremation.--_boston gazette._ are they in urn est? c. a. m. too late even for lecocq. a gentleman here who was "burglarized" about two years ago, reported his loss to the detectives and offered naturally to assist them in every way. at first he called frequently to ascertain if any news of the thieves had been obtained, but being met always with a negative his visits became infrequent and finally ceased. he had forgotten the matter altogether until recently, when he was called upon by one of the detectives, who stated: "we have got a clew." "that is good. is it a promising one?" "certainly. we have discovered the thief." "better still. you have him arrested?" "we can't do that. it's too late." "how is that?" "he died last week, confessing to the robbery." it's a grand thing to get a clew. --_denver news._ [illustration] cholly--i say, fweddie, what makes j. wilkes brutus take such long stweps? do all actahs walk that way? fweddie--yes. they acquiah that twagic stwide while traveling. they take two ties at one step, ye know. --_chicago liar._ mr. bowser as a whitewasher. he is not a howling success at inside decorating. there were several little things i wanted done about the house this fall, and so the other week i engaged a colored man to come and work for a couple of days. it so happened that he came one morning before mr. bowser had left the house, and was greeted with: "well, what's up now?" "i'ze dun bin hired to work, sah." "who hired you?" "de lady, sah." "what to do?" "jobbin', sah." "well, the lady has changed her mind and doesn't want you." after the man had gone, mr. bowser came into the house and asked: "did you hire a colored man?" "why, yes." "what for?" "i was going to have him whitewash the vegetable cellar, take down and clean the laundry stovepipe and do some other jobs." "h'm! mrs. bowser, i don't believe in encouraging such people. he'd have done about one hour's work and charged you for a whole day. i don't believe he knows any more about whitewashing than i do about playing the harp." "but he said he did." "certainly. did you ever see a negro who wouldn't say anything to fit the occasion?" "well, but---" "there is no 'but' about it. if there are any little jobs about the house i've got plenty of time to do them. in fact, i need just such exercise. such work is a diversion to me, and the doctor recommends it." "do you mean to say you will do the whitewashing?" "i do. i don't do it to save a dollar, but for my own benefit. i always like the smell of lime." "i wish you wouldn't do it. you will get lime in your eyes, and you will blame me for it, and---" "there you go! blame you! what would i blame you about? if i get lime in my eyes it's my own fault. mrs. bowser, you are getting to be a good deal of a crank lately." "well, if you are determined on it, don't say that i asked you or encouraged you." "that's a funny way to talk to me, mrs. bowser! are you getting ready for the insane asylum? i think i run my own house yet. if i'm willing to peel off and do these odd jobs, i ought to be encouraged instead of insulted." i was quite sure how it would end, but i said nothing more, and in the course of half an hour he got into his old clothes and went down cellar. i followed him down to give him a few last words of advice, but he didn't need them. "you go right upstairs and sit down and enjoy yourself," he said. "here's the brush and here's a pail of lime, and if i don't white-wash more cellar in ten minutes than moses could in all day, i'll never try it again. besides, mrs. bowser, whitewashing is not the slouch work you imagine it to be. it has got to be done by a person of taste and intelligence or it won't stand. i want a little blueing to give it a tinge." "you understand," i said, as i got what he wanted, "that i did not ask you to do this work." "ask me! what on earth ails you, mrs. bowser? you are making fuss enough over ten minutes' work to warrant a year's job." "it must be well done." "certainly." "two coats all around." "just so." "even if it takes you all day?" "even if it takes me over half an hour, which it won't. i'll show you a job here that will make a black man turn green with envy. just run upstairs and make yourself comfortable." i retreated up the stairs to the kitchen door and waited for results, which i knew were sure to come. mr. bowser dipped and dished and sozzled and stirred until he had the liquid to his liking, and as he began on the stone wall i heard him chuckling: "i said fifteen minutes, but i'll go slow and take twenty. the idea of a colored man sloshing around here all day to do this work. let's see. i believe i'll take the overhead first." i held my breath in suspense for a long minute. then a yell arose from that cellar which jumped the cook out of her old slippers and made her cry out: "for heaven's sake, mrs. bowser, have we been struck by another cyclone?" there was a second and a third yell, and as i hurried downstairs mr. bowser stood in the middle of the cellar, hands out-stretched and jumping up and down as if he had fire under his feet. "for heaven's sake, what is it, mr. bowser?" i asked. "whitewash--lime--fire!" "where?" "in my eyes! i'm blind! i've burned them out!" i got hold of him and led him out to the laundry tubs and set the water to running. he had indeed got a dose in his eyes, but it was more painful than dangerous. he could hardly see daylight after we had washed out all the lime, and as i led him upstairs he said: "i shall never see again!" i washed his eyes with milk and got him to lie down on the lounge, and in a couple of hours he was pretty near all right. his eyes were sore, but no great damage had been done. he was very gentle until he discovered this. then he suddenly turned on me with: "mrs. bowser, what possible excuse can you urge in extenuation of your conduct?" "what do you mean?" "what do i mean? that's a cool question to ask me! in view of what has transpired what have you to say?" "i say that you were foolish to undertake the job. i warned you how it would turn out." "mrs. bowser!" he shouted, squirting tears of lime water out of his eyes, "do you pretend to deny that you didn't encourage me to undertake a task which you knew would put my whole future happiness, if not my life, in peril?" "i do, sir. i did all i possibly could to dissuade you." "and you are not to blame?" "not in the least." "mrs. bowser, this is too much--too much! i could forgive one who had wronged me, if penitent, but when they attempt to brazen it out it is time for action. we will settle on the amount of alimony right here and now." but we didn't. after blinking around for half a day he went down town, and when he came home to supper he was as good-natured as pie. i got a colored man to come and do the work, and two or three days later, when mr. bowser happened down cellar, i heard him saying to himself: "yes, it's a mighty slick job i did on this, and i'll tackle that stovepipe to-morrow morning." --_detroit free press._ [illustration] mr. de teeze (returning late from the smoking room, and seeing for the first time the hose stretched)--wha-wha-whash _thish_ mean? awful bad, thish time! oh, i shee. i unishtan. 'sh all ri. no worsh'n ush'l. shnakes on shore, shea sherp'ns on ships. or ri'. qui' proper too. --_ocean._ new york can't decide upon a site for the world's fair. an excellent place to hold the fair, after the old folks have retired, is on your lap. p. s.--so we've been told. --_norristown herald._ the latest about kissing. men have often remarked on the fertility of woman's mind. physiologists declare she never reasons, but as an instinctive creature she often reaches a correct conclusion much quicker than a man. if they lack the intricate process of ratiocination they have the happy faculty of walking straight through mental difficulties like a somnambulist in sleep. the fellows who discuss "is marriage a failure?" or "why i am a bachelor," have wondered lately how women reach their cute noses with a handkerchief since the advent of the new fangled veil. it covers the greater part of the face, and is as ornamental possibly as protective. two women veiled alike met yesterday. it was evident that they hadn't seen each other for some time, and they rushed together in a long embrace. the inevitable kiss came next. both essayed the attempt, but the veils rendered this impossible. quick as a flash one of the ladies turned the side of her face to her companion and the latter smacked a spot on her cheek somewhere below the ear. this was satisfactory and then followed the usual storm of quick womanly ejaculations. "is kissing on the lips no longer fashionable?" queried a reporter of a lady he met after this event. "no, not since the introduction of the new veil," she answered sweetly. "you see the lips are completely covered, and it has become the fashion to press the lips against the cheek. this thing of kissing is a nuisance anyhow, and i wish the ladies would all stop it." --_pittsburgh dispatch._ conclusive. careful papa--but which loves clara most--brown, jones or smith? observant mamma--why, mr. smith, to be sure. papa--how can you make that out? last night brown asked and plead with her to sing; when she finished, jones was enthusiastic in praise; but smith didn't say a word! mamma--no, but to-night he asked her to sing again---- papa--poor smith, he must, indeed, love her! --_light._ the honeymoon. [illustration: start.] he--o, my darling, you are so much better than i am, and i am so unworthy of you! she--love, i don't see what you can find about me to love! [illustration: finish.] she--i don't see why i ever married such a brute. i am going straight home to mother. he--brute, eh? i want you to understand, young woman, that i only married you out of pity. --_lawrence american._ the sly way in which prohibition works. a week or two ago a well-known dealer in live stock of this city went over to washington county to make a deal with a big stock raiser, who is also prominent as a strict prohibitionist. the cattle having been inspected and the price agreed upon, the washington county man retired to the house to make out a receipt and so on, leaving the pittsburgher in his son's hands. as soon as the old man had disappeared indoors his son, a bright lad, nearing his majority, said to the pittsburgher: "this is rather dry work talking all day, ain't it?" the pittsburgher vehemently assented. "well," continued the young man, "i've a bottle out in the haymow, and we might as well get a taste of the stuff while dad's not by." the pittsburgher said "yes" again, and the two repaired to the haymow and looked upon the contents of the black bottle. then the young washingtonian hid the bottle in the haymow, saying as he did so: "don't tell the old man anything about this--he's awful down on drinking." of course the pittsburgher vowed silence as he smacked his lips and left the barn. two minutes later he was in the house paying over the money to the old stock raiser. after the business in hand had been dispatched and the bargain had been closed the pittsburgher was about to take his leave, when the old man said, rather awkwardly: "say, are you feelin' dry? i've a jug down in the cellar, and the liquor's fine." it is hardly necessary to say they were soon in the cellar. as the old prohibitionist drained his glass he said to his guest: "don't say nothing 'bout this to them boys o' mine--they don't know about the jug!" --_pittsburgh dispatch._ his last resort. mrs. smalltalk (two minutes later)--well, doctor, why in the world don't you look at my tongue, if you want to, instead of writing away like a newspaper editor? how long do you expect i am going to sit here with my mouth wide open? physician--just one moment more, please, madame; i only wanted you to keep still long enough so that i could write this prescription. --_somerville journal._ how she told the latest joke. mrs. jason came home the other evening with her face "wreathed in smiles," as the novelists have it. "well, what are you grinning at?" was the cordial greeting of her lord and master. "i heard something funny down town," she answered. "well, what was it?" "oh, nothing much. i happened to meet little johnny figg, who used to keep the apple stand across the way, you know, and he's got a better one down town now. i asked him how he was getting along and he says to me, 'oh, i'm still keeping a stand, you see.' i thought it was the cutest thing i had heard for a good while." "oh, you did, did you, maria? if i ever see where the laugh comes in i'll try and smile, even if i have to get up in the middle of the night to do so," was his crushing reply, to which she deigned no answer. about two o'clock in the morning mr. jason was awakened from a dream of being stabbed by a masked assassin, to find his wife energetically nudging him below the fifth rib. "oh, jehiel, i had that wrong," she twittered, in a tone of one who has made a great discovery. "johnny said his business was at a stand still. you see the point now, don't you?" "yes, i reckon so," said the old man in no gracious tones, "and if i feel the point of your infernal elbow jabbing me in the ribs any more to-night i'll go to sleep in the barn. do you hear?" "and he didn't laugh either as he promised to," was her reflection as she settled down to sleep again with the sweet consciousness of duty performed. --_terre haute express._ on general principles. weather bureau chief (to assistant)--well, what's the forecast for pennsylvania? first assistant (looking perplexed)--very confusing. there's a falling barometer in lehigh, a rising one in lancaster, easterly winds in berks and---- chief (pettishly)--oh, well! make it "showery," then. --_philadelphia inquirer._ his first shave. this is a momentous event in a boy's life, as it is to him the line of demarcation between boyhood and manhood. the microscopic indications under his chin are becoming annoying to him, and he considers it a duty to society to have them removed without delay. he has already made several surreptitious attempts with his father's razor, to the great detriment of both the razor and his face, and although he succeeded, in a measure, in removing the obnoxious down, yet it was with the unpleasant accompaniment of some of his chin. therefore he determines to do the thing in a manly way, and resolves to submit to the barber's delicate manipulations without delay. it takes him some time to muster up the requisite courage to enter the barber's shop, as he has certain misgivings that the barber might indulge in facetious and satirical remarks concerning his beard. he passes the shop many times and looks in; but his heart sinks within him. there is always some drawback--either too many people inside or too few; in either case of which he thinks he will be noticed. once he does enter; and one of the barbers venturing the inquiry, "hair cut, sir?" involves him in delightful confusion, and to avoid further embarrassment, he submits to having his hair cut, and still remains unshaved. at last, in sheer desperation, he makes a very firm resolve either to get shaved that day or never. with this heroic resolve, and twopence in his hand, he sallies forth to the barber's, and at a favorable moment walks in and tremblingly awaits his turn. the sharp, short "next!" sends the blood thrilling up his backbone, and he feebly climbs into the chair, and hurriedly says, "shave me, please," and shuts his eyes. the barber, with an eye to the twopence, says nothing, and proceeds to shave him, figuratively speaking. there is only one drawback to the boy's cup of happiness, and that is the entire absence of that peculiarly pleasant rasping sound which comes only from a long experience. --_liverpool post._ the season has come again when a fine string of fish in the hand is worth two dollars out of pocket to the man who didn't catch the fish. --_albany express._ considering how little the bell knows it is wonderful how much it has tolled. --_merchant traveler._ [illustration: he did not get the order though.] mr. retired politician (to society artist)--now you are sure you can make a good likeness of me? society artist--oh, yes; you see yours is a very simple face--er, er, i mean to draw, you know. a great deal of fault can be found with a defaulter. --_pittsburgh chronicle._ two kinds of accompaniment. policeman (to street musician)--have you a permit to play on the streets? itinerant musician--no. policeman (making him a prisoner)--then accompany me. itinerant musician--with the greatest pleasure. what do you wish to sing? --_fliegende blätter._ a sure sign. husband--i guess sarah and that young man that calls on her are engaged by this time. wife--why do you think so? husband--the gas bills aren't as large as they used to be. --_yankee blade._ a fair estimate. "have you ever tried, lawrence, to estimate the height of my father's regard for you?" "no, but it occurred to me last night that it was about a foot." --_glens falls republican._ didn't intend to hit him. "did you intend to hit this man when you shot at him?" asked the judge. "did i ten' to hit 'im?" "yes." "no, sah; if i had 'tended to hit 'im i would 'er tuck a club." --_merchant traveler._ eager for absorption. citizen (to tramp)--poor fellow! you look as if you had been in the soup. tramp (half famished)--for heaven's sake, tell me on which side to open my mouth. --_burlington free press._ there is nothing novel in the announcement that mrs. chamer has abandoned literature. amelie's literature has always been more or less abandoned. --_omaha bee._ [illustration: a foolish question.] le sawft--why, captain, what in the world is that flat boat for? captain--that is for use in landing dudes. --_ocean._ claus spreckels wants to build houses of sugar. if an apartment building of this material is erected we are willing to take a sweet of rooms. --_lawrence american._ mr. bowser in the country. he enjoys fresh air and mosquitoes to his heart's content--his original method of milking not indorsed by the cow. "well, what do you think!" exclaimed mr. bowser as he came hurrying home from the office the other afternoon. "have you gone and got some more hens or bought another horse?" "mrs. bowser, the event of our life is about to happen." "what is it?" "you know gregg? well, gregg owns a little farm out here about twelve miles. there's a good house on it, and he says we can occupy it for the summer. we will have a cow and a horse, pigs, poultry and other stock, and we'll go out there and tan up and get fat and have the best time in the world." "i don't think much of the idea, mr. bowser." "you don't. you don't want cool breezes--fresh eggs--fresh berries--rich milk--songs of birds--lowing of the kine and rest from care!" "you will be disappointed if you expect any such thing." "i will, eh? perhaps i don't know what the country is. you are always ready to throw cold water on any of my plans. i shall go, anyhow." that was the beginning, and at the end of three days i yielded, womanlike. one monday morning we took the train and started, having engaged a farmer's daughter to take charge of the kitchen, and at the nearest railroad station we were met by a farmer and his lumber wagon. the sun poured down its hottest, the dust had covered grass and bushes, and as we jogged and jolted along the farmer queried of mr. bowser: "come out for your health, i suppose?" "we did. ah! this country air has already refreshed me." "has, eh? well, there's heaps of it, and i'm thinking you'll get all you want in about a week. i think a city chap is a blamed fool to come out here." "do you? why, the doctors recommended it. that boy ought to gain a pound a day, and i am sure my wife will brace right up with these pastoral scenes before her eyes." "the doctors and pastoral scenes be darned!" growled the farmer, as he turned to his horses, and those were the last words he uttered until he landed us at the gate. it was a comfortable frame house, and i did not observe the surroundings until after dinner. the barn had partly fallen in, giving it a weird and lonely look; most of the fencing was down, a gust of wind had laid the smoke-house on its back, and nearly every tree and bush about the house was dead or dying. "is this one of the pastoral scenes you referred to?" i asked mr. bowser. "there you go!" he snapped. "you can't expect things to look as nice out here as in central park. we come for the balmy breezes and the rest." "you spoke of hunting hens' eggs in the meadow grass." "so we will--come on." he made a dash for a big patch of burdocks near the back door, got tangled up in the ruins of a barrel, and when he got up he had a cut on his chin and his nose was bleeding. he tried to make light of the affair, but it was hard work. when i asked after the horse and vehicle in which we were to take our morning jaunts he walked down to the barnyard and pointed out a raw-boned old yellow horse, so weak that he could not brush the flies away, and a one-horse wagon, quaint enough to have taken its place in a museum. "you'll have our photographs taken after we all get seated in that rig, won't you?" i asked. "that's it; just as i expected. mrs. bowser, what did you come out here for?" "because you obliged me to." "i did, eh! not by a long shot! you came to restore your health and to give our child a chance for his life. it will be the making of him. no more doctor's bills for us." in the afternoon mr. bowser swung his hammock in the orchard. this was something he had doted on for a week. he had scarcely dropped into it when three or four caterpillars dropped on to him, and he put in the rest of the afternoon on the hard boards of the veranda. the cow came sauntering up about o'clock, covered with flies and mosquitoes, and the girl hinted to mr. bowser that he was expected to milk. "oh, certainly," he replied. "i wouldn't give a cent for farm life unless i could milk a cow or two. i used to sing a ballad while i was milking." the girl and i watched him as he took the pail and stool and approached the cow. the cow also watched him. folks generally sit down on the right-hand side of the cow to milk. mr. bowser took the other side. "what are you trying to do?" i called to him from the gate. "mrs. bowser, when i want to learn anything about a cow i'll ask you for the information. i think i know my business." so did the cow. she had been fooled with long enough, and she suddenly planted a hoof against mr. bowser with such vigor that he tumbled over in a confused heap. between us we got him into the house, and the girl finished the milking. mr. bowser recovered from the shock after a while, and i felt it my duty to inquire: "mr. bowser, don't you think a week of these pastoral scenes will be enough for us?" "no, nor six weeks!" he growled. "nothing would do but you must go into the country, and now i'll give you enough of it." "why, mr. bowser?" "you needn't why mr. bowser me! you gave me no peace until i agreed to come, and now i'll remain here five straight years." when the summer sun went down and the stars came out we were not as happy as we might have been. mr. bowser still held his hand on his stomach, the baby cried because the milk tasted of wild onions, and the girl lost the old oaken bucket in the thirty-foot well while getting a pail of fresh water. i asked mr. bowser when the kine would begin to low and the whippoorwills to sing, and he was so mad he wouldn't speak. however, if the kine didn't low, the pinchbugs and mosquitoes did. there wasn't a screen at door or window, and soon after sundown we were besieged. that night seemed never ending. no one of us three slept a wink. the room was invaded with every insect known to country life, from a bat to a gnat. when we got up in the morning the girl didn't know us. we were blotched and bitten until one would have suspected us of suffering with smallpox. mr. bowser knew himself, however, and before noon we were back in the city. he scarcely spoke to me all the way home, but once in the house he burst out with: "now, old lady, prepare for a settlement! you've nosed me round all you ever will. this has broken the camel's back. which of us applies for a divorce?" --_detroit free press._ [illustration: a "tough" case.] james--hello, gus, where have you been? never see you at the old place. gus (swell about town)--no, de fact is, james, me boy, dey has got chicken for de free lunch dere. the hard luck of some people. "tell yo' w'at, mars' parson," remarked uncle cocklesole, as he sat on the sill of a second-story window and looked down on the mounted missionary and the receding waters, "tell yo' wat it ar', ef hard luck don't jus' play leap frawg wid some sinners an' lan' wid fo' feet on udders, den i'm squinch-eyed in mer judgmen'. dere's jim rasselbait! what de flood do for him? swup his leaben chillen off de carf an' tu'ned de stove ober in de cabin so dat hit b'un up an he git a hun'ered dollars inshu'ance, an' dar he am, jus' scused ob car and 'sponsibility, goin' eround town rich as crusoe an' no one ter lay claim ter one single per centum ob de money. an' der's merse'f. blame ef de waters didn't jus' do nuffin to mer cabin but ransack all de furnicher, an' after hustlin' mer wife and chillens off in a way ter make a feller 'spicion dey's gone fo' good, blame ef they didn't leggo ob 'em jus' roun' de ben', an yer dey is all back ergin an' me wid no inshuance, and no provenger in de house ter s'ply 'em wid. talk erbout ekal rights! hit's only fellers like jim rasselbait, w'at's bo'n wid a coil, dat gits 'em all." --_yonkers gazette._ a disastrous clerical error. government clerk (to friend)--i'm in a frightful hole. i went to see two doctors yesterday and got a medical certificate from each. one was a certificate of health for a life insurance company, and the other was a certificate of illness to send to the chief with my petition for a week's leave of absence. friend--i've done that myself. what's the matter? g. c.--matter? great scott! i mixed the certificates in mailing them. the insurance company has my certificate of ill-health, and the chief has my certificate of good health. --_boston beacon._ the johnstown sufferer is the latest variety of tramp in kansas. he bears a close resemblance to all the rest in the particular that he looks as if he had never seen water. --_kansas city star._ a ballet-girl syndicate is the latest development of the trust business. but in the nature of things it will not be much of a clothes corporation. --_richmond dispatch._ his complexion was against him. hadji hassein ghooly khan, envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary from persia, was one of the favorites in washington society while there. he was very fond of going out and calling on the ladies, and was always most hospitably received wherever he went. that is, almost always, for an experience he had one sunday afternoon proved that he was not as cordially received at one house as had been his wont. ghooly khan started out with the purpose of making a round of calls. it is his custom to pay his respects to the ladies of the fashionable world on sunday the same as on the week days. the day being an extremely pleasant one, his landau was not brought into use. he walked from his residence on m street, to massachusetts avenue, in the neighborhood of fourteenth street, where the subjects of his first call resided. walking up the stone steps in an indolent fashion, he reached the door and rather timidly touched the electric bell. after lingering some moments the servant appeared, and before ghooly khan could utter a word she shouted out: "the ladies are all busy and cannot be bothered with you now." "well," said the minister, completely nonplussed, "there must be a mistake; take in my card." "oh! don't worry them now," answered the servant, not allowing him to finish his sentence. "they are all about going to dinner and don't care for any one to see them at this time--you'd better come again in the morning; and the side door is always the handiest place for such as yez to call." the minister waited for no more. the rebuff he had received at the hands of the unruly servant completely paralyzed him. he concluded that he had a sufficient dose of american society. the ladies of the house soon learned of the "horrible" manner in which their distinguished caller had been received, and they at once made heroic and happily successful efforts to have the affair settled on a basis satisfactory not only to themselves but to the distinguished envoy from teheran. --_new york tribune._ "i want the library," said mr. gaswell to the architect, "to be the largest and airiest room in the house." "i don't see what you want with a library," interposed mrs. gaswell, "you know very well you don't smoke." --_boston transcript._ the difference. the following anecdote, which we have received as authentic from the lips of a clergyman, sets forth in a very pleasant way the folly of reproaching preachers as hirelings, merely because they receive temporal support from their congregations. at the meeting of a presbytery in an eastern state, it fell to the lot of one of the ministers to be quartered with a man belonging to a denomination which does not allow of salaried preachers. he was accosted by his host as follows: "what is thy name, friend? i mean the name thy parents gave thee." "john." "has thee any objections that i should call thee by that name?" "certainly not; my mother always calls me john." "well, john, i understand thee belongs to the class of hireling preachers." "you are greatly mistaken, sir; i do not belong to that class." "i mean thee is one of those preachers who receive pay for preaching." "no, sir; i receive nothing for preaching to my people." "how then," said the interrogator, evidently surprised and disconcerted, "does thee manage to live?" "why, i work for my people six days, and then i preach for them on sundays for nothing." --_yankee blade._ sir wilfred lawson's story. sir wilfred lawson told the following story the other evening: a student at college was sent for by the don, who said--"sir, i am told you have a barrel of beer in your room, which is contrary to all orders." and the young man said: "well, sir, that is true; but the fact is the doctors told me that if i drank this beer i should get stronger." the don said: "are you stronger?" "yes, sir, indeed i am," was the reply, "for when the barrel came in i could scarcely move it, and now i can roll it round the room." --_glasgow weekly mail._ expected it. "i'm in a pickle," remarked a young employe at the store. "i've been expecting for some time that you'd get into a pickle," was the rather forbidding reply. "why, sir?" "because you are so confoundedly fresh." --_albany argus._ [illustration] ancient mariner--holy smoke, where's that young feller gone to? didn't 'pear quite natral like anyhow. truth in absence. "charlotte, my dear, how is it i find you weeping? have you bad news from your husband?" "oh! worse than that! arthur writes me from carlsbad that he would die with grief at being absent from me, were it not that he gazes at my picture and covers it with a thousand kisses every day." "that is very nice of him; but surely you are not crying about that? most woman would give anything to have such a poetic and devoted husband." "oh, yes, arthur is very poetical; but you don't know. just to try him, i put mother's photo into his traveling bag instead of my own, and the wretch has never found it out. boo-hoo-hoo!" --_pick-me up._ another kind of habit. old grinder (to seedy applicant for job)--i hope that no bad habits have brought you to this poverty? borrowit--one, sir. "ah, i am glad you are frank about it. what was it?" "this played-out old suit of mine. it has ruined my chances everywhere." --_texas siftings._ family loyalty. a stevens avenue young lady was much pained and shocked as she walked down the street yesterday to see her young brother sitting astride the prostrate body of another boy and raining down blows upon his struggling victim. "johnny!" she almost screamed, "what are you doing? come here this minute. aren't you ashamed of yourself, fighting this way in the street?" the boy reluctantly arose from his vanquished antagonist and faced his indignant sister. then he explained: "well, i don't care. he said you wasn't good looking. i don't think you are either; but it ain't none o' his funeral. so i licked him." --_minneapolis journal._ not related. magistrate--o'rally, you are charged with assaulting and brutally beating michael mcdooly at the reunion of the o'rally family yesterday. have you anything to say? o'rally--yes, yer honor. the bloke's an imposthor, sorr, and hasn't wan dhrop of the o'rally blood in his skin, begorra, an' he dhrank oop all av the beer. magistrate--how is this, mcdooly? are you a kinsman of the prisoner? mcdooly--faix, an' sure it is that i am, yer honor; his grandfather wor pathrick o'rally av belfast, an'---- o'rally--an' bedad, phwat do that prove, yer worship? mcdooly--an' pathrick o'rally's dochter marrit me own---- o'rally--he's lyin', yer honor; he's lyin'. me grandfather never had any cheeldren at all, at all, sorr. --_life._ one of chauncey's latest. chauncey m. depew tells the following story of another of the many interesting characters he encountered last fall while addressing his fellow citizens on the vital issues of the campaign. it doesn't sound so much like a true story as some that are extant, but it is getting pretty late in the day to doubt his word: one night, after the meeting was over and while the hall was clearing, a weather-beaten man buttonholed me and said: "i'm postmaster out here at shingle corners. blaze away and elect your man if you want to." "you don't care for the office, then?" i said. "no, that ain't it," he replied. "it don't pay but $ a year, or mebbe good years, when i boom 'er a little, $ , but it's powerful handy to have in the house. no, my idee is that we can keep it in the fam'ly anyhow." "how's that?" "the old woman, you see, she's a rip-snortin' republican, powerful so, reg'lar uncompromisin'. if cleveland gets it i stay; if harrison slides in the old woman comes to the front for her reward. nobody else wants it, so there we be." "well, you're all right then." "you bet we are. if we get tired of it or too old for it, or anything ever, there's my boy, a red-hot republican, and my oldest gal, democrat from 'way back. oh, we're hustlers in our fam'ly when it comes to politics." "but suppose the mugwumps should develop power some day and carry things?" i asked. "well," he replied, "we will soon be fixed for that, too. the baby is a mugwump--i know it 'cause he howls all the time. if you see anybody lookin' for p'ints on keepin' a good thing in the family jess send him out to shingle corners." --_wasp._ but they read of it. mr. porker (of chicago)--talk about enthusiasm in your city over the fair! why, i'll venture to say that there are some people in new york who haven't even heard of it. mr. gotham--well, if there are, they must be the inmates of the deaf and dumb asylum. v.s. oklahoma hotel rules . if the bugs are troublesome you'll find the kloroform in a bottle on the shelf. . gents goin' to bed with their boots on will be charged extra. . three raps at the door means that there is a murder in the house, and you must get up. . please rite your name on the wall paper so that we know you've been here. . the other leg of the chair is in the closet if you need it. . if that hole where that pane of glass is out is too much for you, you'll find a pair of pants behind the door to stuff in it. . the shooting of a pistol is no cause for any alarm. . if you're too cold, put the oilcloth over your bed. . caroseen lamps extra; candles free, but they mustn't burn all night. . don't tare off the wall paper to lite your pipe with. nuff of that already. . guests will not take out them bricks in the mattress. . if it rains through that hole overhead, you'll find an umbrella under the bed. . the rats won't hurt you if they do chase each other across your face. . two men in one room must put up with one chair. . please don't empty the sawdust out of the pillers. . don't kick about the roches. we don't charge extra. --_spokane globe._ electricity will do away with all this. "i suppose this is my noose suit," laughed the condemned criminal when the jail warden brought him his clothes on the morning of the execution. "why," replied the warden, "you are as jolly as if you had been taking a drop." "i'm going to take one by and by." "come, come," said the warden, seriously, "this is no time for joking." "why not?" asked the culprit, "ain't the whole thing going to end in a choke?" --_boston courier._ [illustration] a bitter reflection. oh why so sad, my lady fair? what pales thy cheek and dims thy eye? thy drooping face is mark'd with care, thy heaving breast betrays a sigh. what lacks thy lot to make it sweet? what joy is there that is not thine? what makes that heart in sorrow beat and gives of happiness no sign? "ah, woe is me! i loved a youth, handsome in face, and brave and strong. the paths of honor and of truth were his, for he could do no wrong. two years ago he sailed away to seek his fortune o'er the seas, and i've been yearning every day that he'd return his love to please. "but ah! i've waited long in vain for my old sweetheart to return; no message came across the main from him for whom my soul did yearn. until to-day, when i am told his ship is due to come in port; he comes back worth a pile of gold, at least, so says the last report." then why repine, sweet maid? you should be overjoyed to hear the news; you soon will wed a husband good, how can you, then, this grief excuse? the lady answer'd. "would you know why tear drops from my eyes now fall? to tell the true cause of my woe, i--married--some--one--else--last--fall." john s. grey. the buckwheat crop this year takes the cake over all former seasons. it wins by a mere scratch, however.--_philadelphia press._ some door jambs look as though there had been a good deal of scratching in former years. c. a. m. the man who is given to sober reflection seldom gets into a tight place. --_boston courier._ the owner first breaks the race-horse; then the race-horse proceeds to break the owner. --_washington capital._ dr. brown-sequard's new elixir of life is made from dogs, probably some infusion of bark. --_toronto globe._ a mistake at table. "will you pass me the butter, please?" asked a stranger of a snob at a restaurant table. "that's the waiter over there, sir," was the supercilious reply. "i beg your pardon," remarked the stranger. "i did make a mistake." "you're only adding insult, sir," broke in the snob; "nothing could induce me to believe that you mistook me for a waiter!" "certainly not," returned the stranger. "i mistook you for a gentleman." --_detroit free press._ answering the question. hotel clerk--is there anything that i can do for you? seedy man--yes, sir, you can loan me five dollars. "but i'm not going to do it." "no! i didn't think you would. i merely wanted to answer your question." --_merchant traveler._ how appearances deceive. a portly citizen left a woodward avenue car at high street between showers yesterday, but was hardly on the sidewalk before he began yelling and beckoning at the car. "it's agin orders to stop except at crossings," observed a passenger on the rear platform, as the conductor reached up to the bell-rope. "yes, but he has probably forgotten something." "well, let him get it when the car comes down. i have no patience with forgetful men." "i guess i'll stop, anyhow." "it's a shame to do it." the car was stopped and the man came running and puffing to call out: "left my five dollar silk umbrella in the car." "yes, and here it is. i was keeping it for you!" replied the individual who had opposed a stop. "thanks. you are an honest man. if there were more men like you this would be a better world to live in. here--have a cigar." --_detroit free press._ one idea of it. farmer railfence--just think, maria! squire hawkins has built himself a thirty-thousand-dollar house, and i'll be blamed if he's got any decent glass in the whole of it. maria--what's he got, ephraim? farmer railfence--paper says stained glass from cellar to garret. nice glass, maria, wouldn't have cost but little more than a lot of worthless stained stuff. --_rochester budget._ [illustration: weight will tell.] ancient mariner--yes, mister, it was just down there the _mary ann_ wrecked. doodle--aw' me boy; sit down and tell me about it. a truthful statement. yank yahoo (to jeweler from whom he has just purchased a rolled plate engagement ring)--naow, mr. jewelryman, what had i orter say when i put this 'ere ring on mandy's finger? dew i say "i ring yer," "i rang yer," or "i rung yer?" jeweler (repressing a smile)--you should say "i wrong you." --_jeweler's weekly._ a controlling feature. brown--the facial features plainly indicate character and disposition. in selecting your wife were you governed by her chin? jones--no, but i have been ever since we married. --_omaha world._ a jersey idyl. night after night a witching sprite, outside among the roses, sings lullabies; but to my eyes her form she ne'er discloses. she hides away the livelong day, and keeps herself secluded; to reach her side in vain i've tried; my efforts she's eluded. she seemed so coy; but to my joy, at last, by chance, i met her. the fair unknown is now my own, and soon i'll not forget her. last evening she encouraged me-- my triumph is complete, oh; i own 'twas rash--i made a mash of pretty, young miss quito. --_wasp._ a point usually overlooked. the youthful heir to a walnut hills ancestral establishment is of an inquiring turn of mind and directs his attention especially to the elucidation of religious problems. last week he heard a sunday school address on "the prodigal son." just what the small boy thought of the address his father was curious to learn, and so he said to him that night at supper: "my son, tell me which of the characters in the parable of the prodigal son you sympathized with?" "well, papa," replied the cherub with perfect nonchalance, "i think i'd feel disposed to sympathize most with the calf." --_cincinnati commercial gazette._ still alive. he--then this is your final answer, miss jones? she--it is. "you won't have me?" "i am sorry, but i must decline." "then i will do something desperate." "what will you do?" "i will make away with myself." "oh! don't." "i will. i'm determined to do it." "well, if you are determined, give a proof that you truly love me by insuring your life in my favor for $ , or so before you commit the desperate deed. i will get money from papa to pay the premium." he left indignantly and at last accounts was still alive. --_sunday mercury._ devoted admirers, both. he (of boston)--i am so fond of bacon! aren't you? she (of new orleans)--oh, yes; i don't think i could ever get tired of bacon, especially with eggs! --_lowell citizen._ a new definition of a bobtail flush. mr. gunsaulus was telling a group of the bibliomaniacs yesterday that there was nothing so beautiful in a house as a bevy of bright children. "i have a very lovely family," said he. "i hold, as the sinful world would say, a bobtail flush." "what's that?" asked hon. charles b. farwell, the well-known collector of bibles and psalm books. "we were talking about children," exclaimed mr. gunsaulus, "and i was saying that in our family we had a bobtail flush--four girls and a boy." "no," said mr. farwell, smiling sadly; "it is evident that you have had no experience in the ways of the world, otherwise you would not make so erroneous an application of terms. you do not hold a bobtail flush; you hold four of a kind--four queens and a jack--a powerful good hand, sir, and i should advise you to stand pat." --_chicago news._ she wasn't posted. grocer (who has lately joined the militia, practising in his shop)--right, left, right, left. four paces to the rear; march! (falls down trapdoor into the cellar.) grocer's wife (anxiously)--oh, jim, are you hurt? grocer (savagely, but with dignity)--go away, woman; what do you know about war? --_liverpool post._ [illustration: mrs. o'flaherty has the baby's picture taken.] very necessary. minister (to johnny, who is digging worms for bait)--johnny, don't you know that it is wrong for you to do any work except work of necessity on the sabbath? johnny--necessity? ain't this necessity? how's a feller to do any fishin' if he don't have bait? --_lawrence american._ a righteous judge. judge--you say the prisoner threw you out of the door. had you provoked him? plaintiff--not at all. he advertised an unusually fine bargain sale of laces, and i went in and asked him for the lowest figure on a pair of shoe laces. judge--prisoner is discharged. mr. clerk, swear out a warrant against plaintiff and have him arrested for criminal assault. --_harper's bazar._ [illustration: "heart bowed down!"] a family peculiarity. one of the officers of the nypano, who is a great talker, received a rebuke from his little three-year-old girl on memorial day that was worse than he ever received from his older friends. he stayed at home that day to amuse his little girl who inherited the "gift of gab." she nearly wore him out asking questions until finally he said, "amy, amy, amy. do keep still; it's nothing but talk, talk, talk all the time." the little one didn't seem to care a bit, for she looked up innocently and said, "talk, talk, talk. jess 'ike papa." --_cleveland plain dealer._ taking one too literally. old friend--well, browne! what are you sending to the exhibition this year? our artist (who really thinks he's done a good thing at last and longs for a little praise)--oh--same old rot, as you see! old friend--ah--well--anyhow it brings grist to the mill, i suppose. --_punch._ [illustration: a heavy load.] lush--gosh--hic-- o'clock. guess'll g'ome. young america (in the background)--say, boss, drop in a nickel and weigh your load. --_judge._ had no regrets. "johnnie, my boy, wouldn't you have liked to have been george washington?" "naw." "no? and why?" "he never seed a baseball game in his life." --_nebraska state journal._ about to strike dead luck. a small manufacturer, who had engaged in many local speculations, which had always turned out well, had become a person of some wealth thereby. he was rather past the middle age when he bethought himself of insuring his life, and he had only just taken out his policy when he fell ill of an acute disease, which was certain to end fatally in a very few days. the doctor, half hesitatingly, revealed to him his hopeless state. "by jingo!" he exclaimed, rousing up at once into the old energy, "i shall do the insurance company! i was always a lucky fellow!" --_n. y. press._ march winds. the devil makes the strong march wind that lifts the skirts too high; but angels send the whirling dust that blows in the bad man's eye. --_life._ reconciliation. "say, old man, why continue this coldness any longer? we haven't spoken to each other for two years, and because of a trivial quarrel." "there is no reason why we shouldn't be friends. of course, you were the aggressor in the quarrel, but i ask no apology." "oh, you're wrong. you started the row, you remember." "no, i didn't. you killed my dog first----" "yes, but the hanged brute had been killing my chickens." "it never killed one of them." "it killed at least a dozen, and i'd shoot your other dog if it did that." "and i'd pound the top of your head off for doing it." "you couldn't pound one side of it." "you're a liar." "you're another." "come into the alley here and we'll have it out, you hound." "i'll go you, you blear-eyed monkey." --_lincoln journal._ confiding. a chicago gambler, whose first name was george, used to visit a chinaman's establishment and smoke opium almost daily. one day he rushed into the place and said, excitedly: "hip, loan me $ . thanks. i'll come in and pay you to-morrow noon, if i'm alive," and out he went with the money. about three o'clock the next afternoon a friend of the gambler dropped in on the chinaman and said: "hip, where is george to-day?" and the confiding celestial wiped his eyes with the corner of his blouse and replied: "george, him dead." --_boston globe._ a nun-like girl and her mischievous friend. it was on the st. jose train and two young ladies--one as serious and good as a little nun, the other with a black eye with the devil's own glint in it--sat behind the youngest minister in town. the quiet one held in her hand a purple pansy so large that it attracted the attention of the young minister. while he was still looking at it the train rushed into a tunnel. the black-eyed young woman grabbed the pansy in the darkness from her companion, and leaning over, dropped it into the lap of the godly man. when the train reached daylight again the young minister had turned, and with the pansy in his hand was glaring reprovingly at the nun-like girl between whose fingers he had seen the flower. her face was blazing and her downcast eyes seemed to confess her guilt. the whole car snickered and the malicious black-eyed girl read her book unconsciously. this is why the young minister preached on the iniquity of flirting, yesterday. --_san francisco examiner._ very serious. "husband, i've got a very serious thing to tell you." "what is it, laura?" "oh, it's dreadful, it's about johnny." "what has he been doing?" "well, he came into the house this morning, and what do you think--he was chewing tobacco." "pshaw! don't give me such a turn again, laura. i didn't know but he had been chewing gum." --_n. y. news._ a woman at bank. the trouble she gives the receiving teller. "i've got $ ," says she, "and i want to open an account." "with pleasure, madam. what is your name?" "simpkins." "christian name, please." "sophronisba." "any middle name?" "katherine." "what is your age, please?" "that's none of your business." "pardon me, madame, it is the rule of the bank to make these inquiries. i cannot go on without these inquiries. it is as necessary for your own protection as ours." "thirty-five, then." "are you married or single?" "now, look here, mister, you are impertinent. do i look married? i'd like to see the man who'd marry me if he dared." "shall i write married or single? be as quick as you can, please." "single, then. and, as i said, if you think----" "residence?" "right here in the city." "quite so, but the street and number, please." "that's nothing to do with it. i don't want you to call, and if you dare to send a police to see----" "what is the place and number?" "thirteen ---- place. but i never saw anything like this in all my born----" "where were you born----" "same place, if you want to know." "have you an occupation?" "now see here. i suppose you want to know where i got this money. but i didn't steal it, if that's any satisfaction to you. of course i----" "what did you say your occupation is?" "i didn't say; you didn't give me a chance. i keep the best boarding house in the town; meats three times day, and----" "please sign your name on this line." "sign my name? don't you believe me? i never sign anything, only----" "very well, if you can't write, make your cross." "make me cross? that's just it, you make me so cross i can't. sophronisba katherine simpkins. there." "that will do. kindly make way for the next person." "oh, but mister, look here. what have you got it?" "got what?" "the age." "thirty-five." "does it make any difference if it ain't right?" "it might make a serious difference." "oh, dear! oh, dear, i've gone and perjured myself. but it's all your fault, you horrid man, you flustered me so. did i say thirty-five? i didn't mean it. it's forty-five, so there." and away she goes in a state of great indignation and perplexity. --_burlington hawkeye._ an effective mule invigorator. while traveling in virginia some time ago with a doctor we came upon an old colored man who was standing by a mule hitched to an old two-wheel vehicle. "dis mule am balked, boss," said the old man; "an' i'll jis gib a dollah to de man what can start 'im." "i will do it for less than that, uncle," said the doctor. he took his case from the carriage and selected a small syringe, which he filled with morphin. he went to the side of the mule and quickly inserting the syringe in his side pushed the contents into the animal. the mule reared upon his hind legs and giving an astonishing bray started down the road at a break neck speed. the aged colored man gave a look of astonishment at the doctor, and with a loud "whoa!" started down the road after the mule. in the course of ten minutes we came up to the old man standing in the road waiting for us. the mule was nowhere in sight. "say, boss," said the darky, "how much you charge for dat stuff you put in dat mule?" "oh, ten cents will do," laughingly replied the doctor. "well, boss, heah is twenty cents. squirt some of dat stuff in me. i must ketch dat ar mule." --_philadelphia press._ the racy flavor of much of the recent news from the new england states shows that the cider of the vintage of , which lurks in the gallon jug behind the door, is beginning to get a head on it. --_chicago news._ [illustration: this is a photo of a gentleman employed by chief hubbard as a chicago detective.] that man's policy was wiser who catching his son taking a whiff or two from a cigar, merely insisted on his finishing it, standing by him until he had done so. the succeeding two hours were never forgotten. --_tobacco leaf._ that the moral nature of the pig is essentially mean and selfish is proven by the fact that he is always willing and ready to "squeal" when he gets into a tight place. --_baltimore american._ [illustration: after six months' service he looks just like the rest of 'em.] --_chicago liar._ the new york prohibitionists have formally condemned recklessness in the conduct of the pension bureau. it is a good place to introduce a little temperance. --_boston herald._ he got the trousers. husband--you want a bonnet and i want a pair of trousers, and i have only got ten dollars. wife (sobbing)--you don't suppose i can get a bonnet for ten dollars, do you? --_clothier and furnisher._ a curiosity. heard in an elevated car: "that man must be a saint." "what makes you think so?" "because he almost broke his fingers trying to raise that window and he didn't swear at all." --_n. y. morning journal._ clean in the faith. "yas, sah, mr. george," said an old negro, "we got ter keep clean; we got ter keep clean, sah, or dar ain't no hope o' de salwation." "why, then, don't you go and wash yourself?" "whar--whar--what, sah? w'y doan i go wash merse'f?" "yes, and put on a clean shirt. you are as dirty as you can be." "oh, now, yere, i ain't talkin' 'bout dat sorter keepin' clean. i waz talkin' 'bout keepin' clean in the faif, sah, in de faif. i ain't got no time ter fool erlong wid de waters o' dis yere life. whut i means is ter keep yer speret clean, washed in the dewdraps o' de new jerusalem; means, as i tells you, dat we mus' keep clean in de faif, sah--keep clean in de faif." --_arkansaw traveler._ a large party. crimsonbeak--i expect a large party here to-day. yeast--indeed! who's coming? "my uncle." "who else?" "no one else." "but you said a large party." "well, my uncle weighs pounds." --_yonkers statesman._ mrs. flynn and the goat. the lady's stirring narrative, with spring lamb trimmings. mrs. flynn relates with much pathos an incident in her life, that graphically illustrates woman's trustfulness and man's perfidy. "oi waz in the market wan mornin' lookin' fer some mate, an' a dootch butcher axed me how an illegant bit av spring lamb wad soot. oi sed it wad do af it waz good, an he sed it waz the best in the market or he wudn't be offerin' it to a lady loike meself. oi'm fond av spring lamb, an so oi took a hunk av it home an' cooked it fer me ould mon an' meself. "may the divil take me av it tasted roight. it had a sort av a rank an romantic flavor thet oi niver kem across afore, an' heaven help me, may oi niver come across it again. "oi kept me jaw to meself, and said nathin'. after dinner the ould mon said the spring lamb tasted kin o' quare an' he wondered had oi cooked the baste enough. oi said oi had cooked the baste joost roight, an' oi saw nathin wrong wid the taste av it. "whin the ould mon had gone out to wurruk, oi tuk a luck at the chunk av mate that was left, an' phat do you tink oi saw? a bit av the skin av the varmint, an' it had hair on it instead of wool, begorra. the thavin' dootchman hed sold me goat instead av lamb! bad luk to him! "oi coodn't affoord to lose the mate, d'ye see, an' so oi kept me jaw to meself an' said nothin agin. oi stewed it up wid spices and tings to disguoise the taste, an' we had it agin fer supper. oi told the ould mon oi didn't care fer enny spring lamb fer supper, but it wuz very beautiful cooked up wid spices, an he needed plenty av mate now that he wuz wurkin' wid the park commishioners. he ate awhoile, an' thin he said the spring lamb tasted kind o' quare, an' he thought it wuz too high-toned fer us. "'now, me darlint,' oi said, 'the spring lamb is a little high-toned, but it is none too good fer the loikes av us, an' ye moost ate hearty so ye can do good wurruk fer the park commishioners.' "he said the park commishioners be blowed, an' he cood do good enough wurruk fer them on roast bafe, an' wad oi git roast bafe the nixt toime? "oi said, 'my darlint, av coorse oi'll git roast bafe the nixt toime, but we moost ate all the spring lamb foorst.' "well, ye see it took me hoosband several days to git away wid the spring lamb, but he foinly got trough wid the job, an' thin oi took the bit av skin wid the hair on, phat oi had saved as a guarantay av good faith, an' oi wint down to the market. oi hoonted up the beautiful dootchman, an' sez oi: "'have you enny noice mate this mornin', dootchy?' "'phat koind wad you loike this mornin', mrs. flynn?' sez he. "'oi ate nothin' but the best,' sez oi. "'how wad a noice bit av spring lamb soot?' sez he. "'tanks,' sez oi. 'spring lamb is a bit high-toned fer me. oi'll take a foine large steak av ye plaze.' "'about how large?' sez he. "'about tin pounds,' sez oi, 'an' a foine juicy wan, av ye plaze.' "so oi tuk the steak an' takin' a good grip av it, oi slammed it around his big dootch ears till he yelled bloody murther in fourteen languages. 'the nixt toime ye sell me goat fer spring lamb, ye thavin' dootchman'--an' oi kept bastin' him around the ugly lugs--'the nixt toime ye sell me goat, oi say, oi'll make ye ate his whuskers.'" --_n. y. world._ sam wellerisms. "it is a paneful sight," as the man said when his host took him out to inspect his new conservatory. "you are a counter attraction," as the masher whispered to the pretty girl in the confectioner's shop. "teeth inserted without gas," as the fellow who owned a savage dog inscribed on a board outside his garden gate. "he is suffering from organic diseases," as the doctor observed when he was called in to prescribe for a man who had been driven wild by a peripatetic piano-organ. "she is painted by heaven," as the enthusiastic young man exclaimed when he beheld a girl with a beautiful complexion. "this is a sloe meeting," as one husband remarked to another at the tea fight which their wives had compelled them to attend. --_judy._ accounting for the edition. enthusiastic friend--ah, how d'do, charlie? gone into literature, i see. quite a book of yours. i bought a copy yesterday. author (thoughtfully)--now, if i could only find out who bought the other copy! --_n. y. evening sun._ twenty-five cents ahead. a story is told about a kingston minister's marriage fee that causes amusement among the clergy. he was paid $ for marrying a couple. after they departed he was about to hand the money to his wife, when the door bell was rung. the newly-married wife said she wanted a certificate. no marriage was good without one. it cost twenty-five cents for a blank that would suit her. the reverend gentleman filled the blank out in the usual form and she went away seemingly satisfied. a few days later she again appeared at the door. "mister," said the woman in an aggrieved tone, "i looked through the papers and can't find a notice of our wedding. you ought not to treat us different from other folks." so the dominie went to a newspaper office and paid fifty cents to have a notice inserted. when he reached home he handed the remaining twenty-five cents to his wife with the remark: "here, my dear, hurry and take this before that woman makes another call." --_kingston freeman._ not very flattering. "mighty fine woman i saw you lifting your hat to back there, old boy." "yes, rather." "some mash of yours?" "yes." "couldn't introduce a fellow, eh?" "might, if you'll come up to the house some evening." "oh! your wife?" "yes." "pshaw! i supposed it was your cook." --_detroit free press._ two kinds of bands. "pap, did you ever hear music from a rubber band?" said johnnie. "no, my son, never. what in the world do you mean. is it a lot of rubber figures that you blow up and then do they play music?" "naw, pap. come out in the next room and i'll let you hear some music from a rubber band." the old gentleman becoming interested, laid down his paper, wiped his glasses, and followed his son into the next room, where johnnie had a rubber band stretched from one side of the wood box to the other, which he began to pick with his finger. "now, pap, you can say that you have heard music from a rubber band." "yes," said the old man, "and i will be able to add that i have caused music by a leather band," and suiting the action to the word, he reached around for a strap, and before john knew it he felt as if eight million rubber bands were snapping him where his pants fit the tightest. --_liverpool post._ it hurt his feelings. kansas tramp--mister, could you do a little something to assist a poor man? stranger--you don't look as though you were unable to work. you ought to be ashamed of yourself to go around this way. you are a disgrace to humanity. why don't you go down to the river and take a bath and try to earn a living? k. t. (pathetically)--take a bath. ain't it enough to have to drink the stuff? --_merchant traveler._ the young ladies at the delaware water gap had a "paint and powder party," one night recently, each maid appearing painted and powdered. there doesn't seem to have been any thing save the name to distinguish it from any other party attended by young ladies. --_norristown herald._ young man of killarney. there was a young man of killarney, who was chock full of what is called blarney. he would sit on a stile, and tell lies by the mile, would this dreadful young man of killarney. --_pick-me-up._ the elixir of life.--by h. c. r. [illustration: .--on the way to be infused.] just discovered. assistant (to magazine editor)--i see this young miss ---- is making herself famous through the medium of the newspapers. magazine editor--yes--um--haven't we got a story of hers sent in four or five years ago? assistant--yes, sir. m. e.--run it in this month and give a page editorial to "a newly discovered genius." --_st. paul pioneer press._ a blush absorber. housewife--your impudence amazes me. i infer by your nose that---- tramp--ah, madam, you do me great wrong. i do not drink. my nose is simply a blush absorber. --_detroit free press._ [illustration: .--twenty-four hours later.] doctor--now, gentlemen, how do you feel, one at a time, please? darky--i feels gay, boss. chickens better roost high to-night. hebrew--so help me, abraham, i vould give a quarter for a job lot of dat stuff. irishman--i fale loike kicking the stoofin out of branigan's bull pup. an unpardonable error. father--mr. sand, the grocer, tells me he discharged you for swindling him. this is a terrible disgrace to the family. son--i couldn't help it, father. he gave me some lead to put under the scales, and i made a mistake and put it on the wrong side. --_life._ too dangerous. uncle--bobby, don't you hear your mother calling you? bobby--yes'r. "well, why don't you hasten to her?" "why, ma has heart disease and she'd be surprised most to death if i answered the first time she called me. besides, this game of marbles must be finished." --_omaha world._ [illustration: .--later on.] three new recruits for the golden shore. times have changed. long ago there was a time when sir walter raleigh laid his cloak over a puddle, so that the royal elizabeth might go on her way dry-shod. in similar circumstances, queen victoria would be lucky if she could elicit from the gilded youth of the present day the languid cry of "skip the gutter, old lady!" --_harvard lampoon._ from the oklahoma "snorter." the oklahoma _snorter_, in its last issue, contained the following breezy locals: jim highbee has secured the beautiful lot at the corner of bullwhacker avenue and kill'emquick street, and has begun the erection of a tent thereon. this lot formerly belonged to dick skinner, but he gave it up at the same time he give up his life. col. jim is a good shot. we are glad to learn that our friend dan bunker has at last come into possession of a choice lot. dan killed the former claimant with his first shot. dan is a rustler, and never does things by halves. the report that the ten men found dead last night on goosebristle creek had been shot, proves a fabrication. they were the victims of congestive chills. wanted--ten first-class grave diggers. also, four or five more coffin makers. must be willing to work twelve hours a day, but pay is large. cophin & son. subscribers must pay for this paper in advance. life is too uncertain to take any chances. major burdock, one of our gentlemanly undertakers, came up yesterday to see us. the major is smiling, and says he never had more flattering business prospects. he is running a large corps of men day and night in order to keep up with his orders. he says he is prepared to make liberal terms with those who contemplate taking claims, if they wish to arrange in advance for burial. there was quite a lot of freight received at the depot yesterday, consisting chiefly of coffins and guns. notice--we are prepared to bury boomers quicker and cheaper than any other house in the city. send in your friends. we will take pleasure in burying them. plantum & co. real estate has changed hands rapidly the last few days. the new owners usually show their liberality by burying the former claimants. several texans came in yesterday to locate claims. our undertakers are watching the corners for a good harvest. food and ammunition are becoming scarce. we learn, however, that a carload of shot and powder is expected to-day. first-class meals at all hours at tremont hotel. bean soup, fifty cents a dish; eggs, ten cents each (when we have them); water, five cents a glass. call in second tent above the _snorter_ office. we learn that our genial friend dick tucker has given up his claim and returned home. we are sorry to lose dick, as he was one of the most cheerful and whole-hearted men among us. if he had known the claim was so worthless it is doubtful if he would have shot the man who held it down before him. bill swanson was in to-day and reported that he had secured a fine claim just east of town. of course he had to remove the man who was on it, but bill did it neatly, and then paid the funeral expenses. there is nothing small about bill. --_time._ herr yager on the marriage question. "good evening, neighbor yager. what's your opinion about marriage being a failure?" "vell, i dinks it vas vone dem dings und it don'd vas vone dem dings. vhen a man got him marriedt he got him marriedt; dat vas somedings sure; der don'd vhas some vailures about dot. aber ouf him got a frau vhat vhas some dem arisdodle's preed, vhat neffer done got dalkin', den dem marridges vas so pig failures as you marry some vomans vhat peen a brudder mit der teifel. dot marridges vas some loddery dickets--dot vhas all luck vhat kind a frau youm gatch; shoost like dis: ouf dem vomans vas some fishes der sea in, und der vas one vone den-times goot vomans fishes derein, vhen youm a frau fishin' gone meppy youm vone dimes in a hunnert gatch vone dem goot fishes, aber not more as dot." "did you catch one of the good fishes, herr yager?" then herr yager looked back at the front windows of his residence and remarked in a kind of graveyard tone: "i seen you lader." --_kentucky state journal._ attached. "i love you well," the stamp exclaimed, "dear envelope so true, in fact it's evident to all. that i am stuck on you." --_minneapolis tribune._ not saving his bacon. it is related that sir nicholas bacon was about to pass judgment upon a man who had been guilty of robbery, at that time punishable by death; but the culprit pleaded for mercy on the ground that he was related to the judge. "how is that?" he was asked. "my lord," was the reply, "your name is bacon, mine is hogg, and hog and bacon have always been considered akin." "that is true," answered sir nicholas; "but as hog is not bacon until it has hung, until you are hanged you are no relation of mine." --_chiel._ her attraction. there's something attractive about her: it isn't her beauty of face, it isn't her ribbons of lace, but there's something attractive about her, and i swear that i can't live without her, and that is the state of the case. there's something attractive about her, it isn't her glance or her smile, it isn't her elegant style; but i'm poor and i can't live without her, for that something attractive about her, you know, is the size of her pile. --_boston courier._ deaf but sensible. traveler (in buggy)--this is a hot day. old farmer (in a potato patch)--speakin' to me? traveler--this is a hot day. old farmer (coming to the fence)--what did you say, mister? traveler--i said this is a hot day! old farmer (climbing the fence and approaching the buggy)--beg pardon, i'm a little hard o' hearin'. what is it? traveler--i merely said that this is a hot day. old farmer--oh, go to thunder! --_owl._ journal of solomon sidesplitter. "martha, does thee love me?" asked a quaker youth of one at whose shrine his heart's fondest feelings had been offered up. "why, seth," answered she, "we are commanded to love one another, are we not?" "ah, martha! but doest not thee regard me with that feeling that the world calls _love_?" "i hardly know what to tell thee, seth; i have greatly feared that my heart was an erring one; i have tried to bestow my love on all; but i may have sometimes thought, perhaps, that thee was getting rather more than thy share." "martha, my dear," said a loving husband to his spouse, who was several years his junior, "what do you say to moving to the far west?" "oh, i'm delighted with the idea! you recollect when mr. morgan moved out there he was as poor as we are; and he _died in three years, leaving his widow worth a hundred thousand dollars_." "ma," said a juvenile grammarian, when she returned from school; "ma, mayn't i take some of the currant-jelly on the sideboard?" "no," said the mother, sternly. "well, then, ma, mayn't i take some of the ice-cream?" "no," again replied "ma." it was not long, however, before the young miss was found "diggin'" into both. "did i not tell you," said the maternal parent, in a somewhat angry tone, "not to touch them?" "you said _no_ twice, ma," said the precocious girl, "and the schoolmistress says that two negatives are equal to an affirmative; so i thought you meant that i should eat them." "mat, i want another _porter_." "what _ales_ the one you have, dick?" "he's dead." "gone to his _bier_, eh?" "hang you, dick, your wit's always a broad-_cider_." "jack, jack!" cried a sailor, on board a ship at sea, lately, to one of his companions.--"hello!" replied jack; "what is it?"--"your brother's overboard."--"overboard?"--"yes."--"blow the lubber! he has got my sea-boots and monkey-jacket on!" judge rooke, in going the western circuit, had a great stone thrown at his head; but, from the circumstance of his stooping very much, it passed over him. "you see," said he to his friends, "that had i been an upright judge, i might have been killed." "kitty, where's the frying-pan?"--"johnny's got it, carting mud and oyster shells up the alley, with the cat for a horse."--"the dear little fellow! what a genius he'll yet make; but go and get it. we're going to have company, and must fry some fish for dinner." lighting an editor's fire with rejected contributions--_burns' justice._ lady f---- had arrived to so extreme a degree of sensibility, that, seeing a man go by with a mutilated wheelbarrow, she cried out to her companion, "do turn aside, it distresses me above measure to see that poor unfortunate wheelbarrow with one leg." "la, me!" sighed mrs. muggins, "here have i been sufferin' the begamies of death for three mortal weeks. fust, i was seized with a painful phrenology in the left hampshire of the brain, which was exceeded by a stoppage of the left ventilator of the heart. this gave me an inflammation in the borax, and now i'm sick with the chloroform morbus. there is no blessin' like that of health, particularly when you're sick." "jack," said a commercial traveller to a country joskin, "which is the way to harlingford?" "how did you know my name was jack?" inquired the countryman. "why, i guessed it," replied the bagman. "then guess your way to harlingford," says jack, "for i shan't tell you." "john, what is the past of see?" "_seen_, sir." "no, it is _saw_--recollect that." "yes, sir. then if a _sea_-fish swims by me, it becomes a _saw_-fish when it is _past_, and can't be _seen_." "you may go home, john." judge peters, a philadelphian and a punster, having observed to another judge on the bench that one of the witnesses had a _vegetable_ head, "how so?" was the inquiry. "he has _carroty_ hair, _reddish_ cheeks, a _turnup_ nose, and a _sage_ look." "john," screamed a country girl, seated by the side of her dull lover, "leave me alone!" john, astonished, cried, "why, i ain't a-touching yer!" "no," replied she, "but you might have done--if you liked." "jim, why is it that a musician's strains are always heard so much less distinctly when he plays alone, than when in a band?"--"why, i didn't know it was so--suppose it must be because he plays _so-lo_." "jack," said a gentleman to an old negro, who was rather lazily engaged in clearing the snow from his premises, "jack, my old boy, you don't get along with this job very fast."--"why, master," replied jack, scratching his wool, "pretty considerable for an old man, i guess; and i conceit myself, that i can clear more snow away in dese here short days, than the spryest nigga in the city could do in the longest summer day as ever was." mr. russell once asked a nigger to call him early in the morning, because he wanted to go by the first boat. "at wat time, massa?" "at half-past three o'clock." "half-pass tree o'clock?" "yes, sir." the nigger, after grinning, departed; but immediately reappeared, saying: "please, massa, don't forget to ring for me at tree o'clock in the morning, and i can be sure to wake you." "mr. smith, you said you once officiated in a pulpit--do you mean by that that you preached?" "no, sir; i held the light for a man what did." "ah; the court understood you differently. they supposed that the discourse came from you." "no, sir; i only throwed a light on it." "no levity, mr. smith. crier, wipe your nose, and call on the next witness." mrs. hopkins told me, that she heard green's wife say, that john glucks told her, that fanny hopkins heard the widow busham say, that captain weed's wife thought colonel hodgkins' sisters believed, that old miss quint reckoned that mrs. samuel dunham had told spoldin's wife that she heard john fink's daughter say, that her mother told her, that old miss jenks heard grandmother cook declare, that it was an undoubted fact. "misther! misther! what have you done?" said a little fellow with protruding eyes, to a greenhorn, who had just tied his horse to a spruce pole, as he thought, on the street. "done!" said the fellow, "what do you mean? i haint been doin' nothin' as i knows on!" "why, yeth you have, thir; you've hitched your hoth to the magnetic telegraph, and you'll be in bothton in leth than two minutes, if you don't look out!" the man untied his horse with nervous anxiety, and, jumping into his wagon, drove hastily down the street. "i'm not afraid of a barrel of cider!" said a toper to a temperance man. "i presume not, from your appearance; i should think a barrel of cider would _run_ at your approach," was the reply. "i tell you, susan, that i will commit suicide, if you won't have me."--"well, john, as soon as you have given me that proof of your affection, i will believe that you love me." if the speculator misses his aim, everybody cries out, "he's a fool," and sometimes "he's a rogue." if he succeeds, they besiege his door and demand his daughter in marriage. "i'm sitting on the style, mary," as the lover said when he seated himself on a bonnet of the latest paris fashion. "if you say another crooked word i'll knock your brains out," said a blacksmith to his termagant wife. "ram's horns, you dog!" exclaimed his hopeful helpmate, "ram's horns, if i die for it!" it is said there is a man in connecticut who walks so fast, that it puts his shadow out of breath to keep up with him. in the course of the irish state trial, mr. whiteside quoted an extraordinary figure once used by an advocate: "i smell a rat--i see it brewing in the storm--and i will crush it in the bud!" "i say, pat, what are you writing there in such a large hand?" "array, honey, an' isn't it to my poor mother, who is very deaf, that i'm writing a loud letther?" i think it is a very foolish thing for any man to become a _sleeping_ partner, because he may _awake_ and find himself in the gazette. "dad," said an incipient legislator to his indulgent parent, who had gratified him with a visit to the galleries of the capital, "say do you see any row going on? i don't." "no," said the astonished father, "of course not. why did you ask?" "cause the man in the big desk says--'the _eyes_ have it!'--and just now he said the _nose_ had it--so i thought there was some _fun_ down there some'ers!" during a learned lecture by a german adventurer, one baron vondullbrains, he illustrated the glory of mechanics, as a science, thus:--"de t'ing dat is _made_ is more superior dan de _maker_, i shall show you how in some t'ings. suppose i make de round wheel of de coach? ver' well; dat wheel roll round five hundred mile!--and i cannot roll one myself! suppose i am a cooper, what you call, and i make de big tub to hold wine? he hold tons and gallons; and _i cannot hold more dan five bottle_! so you see dat what is made is more superior dan de maker." "doctor, that ere ratsbane of yourn is fust rate," said a yankee to a village apothecary.--"know'd it," said the pleased vendor of drugs. "don't keep nothing but first-rate doctor's stuff."--"and, doctor," said the joker, coolly, "i want to buy another pound of ye."--"another pound?"--"yes, sir; i gin that pound i bought the other day to a nibbling mouse, and it made him dreadful sick, and i am sure another pound would kill him!" drunken davy, after spending his day's earnings at a grocery, set out for home. "well," says he, "if i find my wife up, i'll kick her--what business has she to sit up, wasting fire and light, eh? and if i find her in bed, i'll kick her--what business has she to go to bed before i get home?" transcriber's notes: italics are represented with _underscores_. replaced oe ligature with oe (e.g. manoeuver); ligatures are retained in html edition. page , added missing period. page , changed single to double quote after "you'll have a good time." page , changed "blatter" to "blätter" for consistency; corrected "eat their meals" to "ate their meals." page , removed stray quote after "winnowing." page , added missing open quote to first sentence of "certainly." changed "doodle" to "doddle." page , added missing quote after "well, what ails your town this year?" page , changed "mawrnin,'" to "mawrnin'," page , changed double quote to single quote after "do you have to wear that when you are seeking religion?" and changed question mark to exclamation point in "yes, marse thompson!" page , added missing comma after "tennessee." page , changed comma to period after "recoiling." page , added missing period to first sentence. page , changed "its mighty risky" to "it's mighty risky." page , changed "hay mow" to "haymow" for consistency. page , changed "fonnd" to "found." page , changed "explaimed" to "explained." page , added missing quote after "dat mule." page , due to a flaw in the original book, the chief's name in the photo caption is partially illegible. the name presented here is a best guess (there was a general superintendant george w. hubbard in chicago from to ). page , added missing period after "sez he." page , added missing "this" to "that this is a hot day" and changed "someting" to "something." page , added missing italics around "bier." page , changed ! to ? in "do you mean by that that you preached?" the last six pages of this book come from "the journal of solomon sidesplitter," which is a whole book in its own right. it is unclear whether this is an intentional excerpt or a printer's error. 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!" [illustration: i consented to deliver a message for him] the slim princess * * * * * _by_ george ade * * * * * "the slim princess" has been elaborated and rewritten from a story printed in _the saturday evening post_ of philadelphia late in and copyright, , by the curtis publishing company. * * * * * contents i woman in morovenia ii kalora's affliction iii the cruelty of law iv the garden party v he arrives vi he departs vii the only koldo viii by messenger ix as to washington, d.c. x on the wing xi an outing--a reunion xii the governor cables xiii the home-coming xiv heroism rewarded * * * * * the slim princess * * * * * i woman in morovenia morovenia is a state in which both the mosque and the motor-car now occur in the same landscape. it started out to be turkish and later decided to be european. the mohammedan sanctuaries with their hideous stencil decorations and bulbous domes are jostled by many new shops with blinking fronts and german merchandise. the orthodox turn their faces toward mecca while the enlightened dream of a journey to paris. men of title lately have made the pleasing discovery that they may drink champagne and still be good mussulmans. the red slipper has been succeeded by the tan gaiter. the voluminous breeches now acknowledge the superior graces of intimate english trousers. frock-coats are more conventional than beaded jackets. the fez remains as a part of the insignia of the old faith and hereditary devotion to the sick man. the generation of males which has been extricating itself from the shackles of orientalism has not devoted much worry to the condition of woman. in morovenia woman is still unliberated. she does not dine at a palm-garden or hop into a victoria on thursday afternoon to go to the meeting of a club organized to propagate cults. if she met a cult face to face she would not recognize it. nor does she suspect, as she sits in her prison apartment, peeping out through the lattice at the monotonous drift of the street life, that her sisters in far-away michigan are organizing and raising missionary funds in her behalf. she does not read the dressmaking periodicals. she never heard of the wednesday matinée. when she takes the air she rides in a carriage that has a sheltering hood, and she is veiled up to the eyes, and she must never lean out to wriggle her little finger-tips at men lolling in front of the cafés. she must not see the men. she may look at them, but she must not see them. no wonder the sisters in michigan are organizing to batter down the walls of tradition, and bring to her the more recent privileges of her sex! two years ago, when this story had its real beginning, the social status of woman in morovenia was not greatly different from what it is to-day, or what it was two centuries ago. woman had two important duties assigned to her. one was to hide herself from the gaze of the multitude, and the other was to be beautiful--that is, fat. a woman who was plump, or buxom, or chubby might be classed as passably attractive, but only the fat women were irresistible. a woman weighing two hundred pounds was only two-thirds as beautiful as one weighing three hundred. those grading below one hundred and fifty were verging upon the impossible. ii kalora's affliction if it had been planned to make this an old-fashioned discursive novel, say of the victor hugo variety, the second chapter would expend itself upon a philosophical discussion of fat and a sensational showing of how and why the presence or absence of adipose tissue, at certain important crises, had altered the destinies of the whole race. the subject offers vast possibilities. it involves the physical attractiveness of every woman in history and permits one to speculate wildly as to what might have happened if cleopatra had weighed forty pounds heavier, if elizabeth had been a gaunt and wiry creature, or if joan of arc had been so bulky that she could not have fastened on her armor. the soft layers which enshroud the hard machinery of the human frame seem to arrive in a merely incidental or accidental sort of way. yet once they have arrived they exert a mysterious influence over careers. because of a mere change in contour, many a queen has lost her throne. it is a terrifying thought when one remembers that fat so often comes and so seldom goes. it has been explained that in morovenia, obesity and feminine beauty increased in the same ratio. the woman reigning in the hearts of men was the one who could displace the most atmosphere. because of the fashionableness of fat, count selim malagaski, governor-general of morovenia, was very unhappy. he had two daughters. one was fat; one was thin. to be more explicit, one was gloriously fat and the other was distressingly thin. jeneka was the name of the one who had been blessed abundantly. several of the younger men in official circles, who had seen jeneka at a distance, when she waddled to her carriage or turned side-wise to enter a shop-door, had written verses about her in which they compared her to the blushing pomegranate, the ripe melon, the luscious grape, and other vegetable luxuries more or less globular in form. no one had dedicated any verses to kalora. kalora was the elder of the two. she had come to the alarming age of nineteen and no one had started in bidding for her. in court circles, where there is much time for idle gossip, the most intimate secrets of an important household are often bandied about when the black coffee is being served. the marriageable young men of morovenia had learned of the calamity in count malagaski's family. they knew that kalora weighed less than one hundred and twenty pounds. she was tall, lithe, slender, sinuous, willowy, hideous. the fact that poor old count malagaski had made many unsuccessful attempts to fatten her was a stock subject for jokes of an unrefined and turkish character. whereas jeneka would recline for hours at a time on a shaded veranda, munching sugary confections that were loaded with nutritious nuts, kalora showed a far-western preference for pickles and olives, and had been detected several times in the act of bribing servants to bring this contraband food into the harem. worse still, she insisted upon taking exercise. she loved to play romping games within the high walls of the inclosure where she and the other female attaches of the royal household were kept penned up. her father coaxed, pleaded and even threatened, but she refused to lead the indolent life prescribed by custom; she scorned the sweet and heavy foods which would enable her to expand into loveliness; she persistently declined to be fat. kalora's education was being directed by a superannuated professor named popova. he was so antique and book-wormy that none of the usual objections urged against the male sex seemed to hold good in his case, and he had the free run of the palace. count selim malagaski trusted him implicitly. popova fawned upon the governor-general, and seemed slavish in his devotion. secretly and stealthily he was working out a frightful vengeance upon his patron. twenty years before, count selim, in a moment of anger, had called popova a "christian dog." in morovenia it is flattery to call a man a "liar." it is just the same as saying to him, "you belong in the diplomatic corps." it is no disgrace to be branded as a thief, because all business transactions are saturated with treachery. but to call another a "christian dog" is the thirty-third degree of insult. popova writhed in spirit when he was called "christian," but he covered his wrath and remained in the nobleman's service and waited for his revenge. and now he was sacrificing the innocent kalora in order to punish the father. he said to himself: "if she does not fatten, then her father's heart will be broken, and he will suffer even as i have suffered from being called christian." it was popova who, by guarded methods, encouraged her to violent exercise, whereby she became as hard and trim as an antelope. he continued to supply her with all kinds of sour and biting foods and sharp mineral waters, which are the sworn enemies of any sebaceous condition. and now that she was nineteen, almost at the further boundary of the marrying age, and slimmer than ever before, he rejoiced greatly, for he had accomplished his deep and malign purpose, and laid a heavy burden of sorrow upon count selim malagaski. iii the cruelty of law if the father was worried by the prolonged crisis, the younger sister, jeneka, was well-nigh distracted, for she could not hope to marry until kalora had been properly mated and sent away. in morovenia there is a very strict law intended to eliminate the spinster from the social horizon. it is a law born of craft and inspired by foresight. the daughters of a household must be married off in the order of their nativity. the younger sister dare not contemplate matrimony until the elder sister has been led to the altar. it is impossible for a young and attractive girl to make a desirable match leaving a maiden sister marooned on the market. she must cooperate with her parents and with the elder sister to clear the way. as a rule this law encourages earnest getting-together in every household and results in a clearing up of the entire stock of eligible daughters. but think of the unhappy lot of an adorable and much-coveted maiden who finds herself wedged in behind something unattractive and shelf-worn! jeneka was thus pocketed. she could do nothing except fold her hands and patiently wait for some miraculous intervention. in morovenia the discreet marrying age is about sixteen. jeneka was eighteen--still young enough and of a most ravishing weight, but the slim princess stood as a slight, yet seemingly insurmountable barrier between her and all hopes of conventional happiness. count malagaski did not know that the shameful fact of kalora's thinness was being whispered among the young men of morovenia. when the daughters were out for their daily carriage-ride both wore flowing robes. in the case of kalora, this augmented costume was intended to conceal the absence of noble dimensions. it is not good form in morovenia for a husband or father to discuss his home life, or to show enthusiasm on the subject of mere woman; but the count, prompted by a fretful desire to dispose of his rapidly maturing offspring, often remarked to the high-born young gentlemen of his acquaintance that kalora was a most remarkable girl and one possessed of many charms, leaving them to infer, if they cared to do so, that possibly she weighed at least one hundred and eighty pounds. [illustration: papova rejoiced greatly] [blank page] these casual comments did not seem to arouse any burning curiosity among the young men, and up to the day of kalora's nineteenth anniversary they had not had the effect of bringing to the father any of those guarded inquiries which, under the oriental custom, are always preliminary to an actual proposal of marriage. count selim malagaski had a double reason for wishing to see kalora married. while she remained at home he knew that he would be second in authority. there is an occidental misapprehension to the effect that every woman beyond the borders of the levant is a languorous and waxen lily, floating in a milk-warm pool of idleness. it is true that the women of a household live in certain apartments set aside as a "harem." but "harem" literally means "forbidden"--that is, forbidden to the public, nothing more. every villa at newport has a "harem." the women of morovenia do not pour tea for men every afternoon, and they are kept well under cover, but they are not slaves. they do not inherit a nominal authority, but very often they assume a real authority. in the united states, women can not sail a boat, and yet they direct the cruise of the yacht. railway presidents can not vote in the senate, and yet they always know how the votes are going to be cast. and in morovenia, many a clever woman, deprived of specified and legal rights, has learned to rule man by those tactful methods which are in such general use that they need not be specified in this connection. kalora had a way of getting around her father. after she had defied him and put him into a stewing rage, she would smooth him the right way and, with teasing little cajoleries, nurse him back to a pleasant humor. he would find himself once more at the starting-place of the controversy, his stern commands unheeded, and the disobedient daughter laughing in his very face. thus, while he was ashamed of her physical imperfections, he admired her cleverness. often he said to popova: "i tell you, she might make some man a sprightly and entertaining companion, even if she _is_ slender." whereupon the crafty popova would reply: "be patient, your excellency. we shall yet have her as round as a dumpling." and all the time he was keeping her trained as fine as the proverbial fiddle. iv the garden party said the governor-general to himself in that prime hour for wide-awake meditation--the one just before arising for breakfast: "she is not all that she should be, and yet, millions of women have been less than perfect and most of them have married." he looked hard at the ceiling for a full minute and then murmured, "even men have their shortcomings." this declaration struck him as being sinful and almost infidel in its radicalism, and yet it seemed to open the way to a logical reason why some titled bachelor of damaged reputation and tottering finances might balance his poor assets against a dowry and a social position, even though he would be compelled to figure kalora into the bargain. it must be known that the governor-general was now simply looking for a husband for kalora. he did not hope to top the market or bring down any notable catch. he favored any alliance that would result in no discredit to his noble lineage. "at present they do not even nibble," he soliloquized, still looking at the ceiling. "they have taken fright for some reason. they may have an inkling of the awful truth. she is nineteen. next year she will be twenty--the year after that twenty-one. then it would be too late. a desperate experiment is better than inaction. i have much to gain and nothing to lose. i must exhibit kalora. i shall bring the young men to her. some of them may take a fancy to her. i have seen people eat sugar on tomatoes and pepper on ice-cream. there may be in morovenia one--one would be sufficient--one bachelor who is no stickler for full-blown loveliness. i may find a man who has become inoculated with western heresies and believes that a woman with intellect is desirable, even though under weight. i may find a fool, or an aristocrat who has gambled. i may stumble upon good fortune if i put her out among the young men. yes, i must exhibit her, but how--how?" he began reaching into thin air for a pretext and found one. the inspiration was simple and satisfying. he would give a garden-party in honor of mr. rawley plumston, the british consul. of course he would have to invite mrs. plumston and then, out of deference to european custom, he would have his two daughters present. it was only by the use of imported etiquette that he could open the way to direct courtship. possibly some of the cautious young noblemen would talk with kalora, and, finding her bright-eyed, witty, ready in conversation and with enthusiasm for big and masculine undertakings, be attracted to her. at the same time her father decided that there was no reason why her pitiful shortage of avoirdupois should be candidly advertised. even at a garden-party, where the guests of honor are two english subjects, the young women would be required to veil themselves up to the nose-tips and hide themselves within a veritable cocoon of soft garments. the invitations went out and the acceptances came in. the english were flattered. count malagaski was buoyed by new hopes and the daughters were in a day-and-night flutter, for neither of them had ever come within speaking distance of the real young man of their dreams. on the morning of the day set apart for the début of kalora, count selim went to her apartments, and, with a rather shamefaced reluctance, gave his directions. "kalora, i have done all for you that any father could do for a beloved child and you are still thin," he began. "slender," she corrected. "thin," he repeated. "thin as a crane--a mere shadow of a girl--and, what is more deplorable, apparently indifferent to the sorrow that you are causing those most interested in your welfare." "i am not indifferent, father. if, merely by wishing, i could be fat, i would make myself the shape of the french balloon that floated over morovenia last week. i would be so roly-poly that, when it came time for me to go and meet our guests this afternoon, i would roll into their presence as if i were a tennis-ball." "why should you know anything about tennis-balls? you, of all the young women in morovenia, seem to be the only one with a fondness for athletics. i have heard that in great britain, where the women ride and play rude, manly games, there has been developed a breed as hard as flint--allah preserve me from such women!" "father, you are leading up to something. what is it you wish to say?" "this. you have persistently disobeyed me and made me very unhappy, but to-day i must ask you to respect my wishes. do not proclaim to our guests the sad truth regarding your deficiency." "good!" she exclaimed gaily. "i shall wear a robe the size of an arabian tent, and i shall surround myself with soft pillows, and i shall wheeze when i breathe and--who knows?--perhaps some dark-eyed young man worth a million piasters will be deceived, and will come to you to-morrow, and buy me--buy me at so much a pound." and she shrieked with laughter. "stop!" commanded her father. "you refuse to take me seriously, but i am in earnest. do not humiliate me in the presence of my friends this afternoon." then he hurried away before she had time to make further sport of him. to count selim malagaski this garden-party was the frantic effort of a sinking man. to kalora it was a lark. from the pure fun of the thing, she obeyed her father. she wore four heavily quilted and padded gowns, one over another, and when she and jeneka were summoned from their apartments and went out to meet the company under the trees, they were almost like twins and both duck-like in general outlines. first they met mrs. rawley plumston, a very tall, bony and dignified woman in gray, wearing a most flowery hat. to every man of morovenia mrs. plumston was the apotheosis of all that was undesirable in her sex, but they were exceedingly polite to her, for the reason that morovenia owed a great deal of money in london and it was a set policy to cultivate the friendship of the british. while jeneka and kalora were being presented to the consul's wife, these same young men, the very flower of bachelorhood, stood back at a respectful distance and regarded the young women with half-concealed curiosity. to be permitted to inspect young women of the upper classes was a most unusual privilege, and they knew why the privilege had been extended to them. it was all very amusing, but they were too well bred to betray their real emotions. when they moved up to be presented to the sisters they seemed grave in their salutations and restrained themselves, even though one pair of eyes, peering out above a very gauzy veil, seemed to twinkle with mischief and to corroborate their most pronounced suspicions. out of courtesy to his guests, count malagaski had made his garden-party as deadly dull as possible. little groups of bored people drifted about under the trees and exchanged the usual commonplace observations. tea and cakes were served under a canopy tent and the local orchestra struggled with pagan music. kalora found herself in a wide and easy kind of a basket-chair sitting under a tree and chatting with mrs. plumston. she was trying to be at her ease, and all the time she knew that every young man present was staring at her out of the corner of his eye. mrs. plumston, although very tall and evidently of brawny strength, had a twittering little voice and a most confiding manner. she was immensely interested in the daughter of the governor-general. to meet a young girl who had spent her life within the mysterious shadows of an oriental household gave her a tingling interest, the same as reading a forbidden book. she readily won the confidence of kalora, and kalora, being most ingenuous and not educated to the wiles of the drawing-room, spoke her thoughts with the utmost candor. "i like you," she said to mrs. plumston, "and, oh, how i envy you! you go to balls and dinners and the theater, don't you?" "alas, yes, and you escape them! how i envy _you_!" "your husband is a very handsome man. do you love him?" "i tolerate him." "does he ever scold you for being thin?" "does he _what_?" "is he ever angry with you because you are not big and plump and--and--pulpy?" "heavens, no! if my husband has any private convictions regarding my personal appearance, he is discreet enough to keep them to himself. if he isn't satisfied with me, he should be. i have been working for years to save myself from becoming fat and plump and--pulpy." "then you don't think fat women are beautiful?" "my child, in all enlightened countries adipose is woman's worst enemy. if i were a fat woman, and a man said that he loved me, i should know that he was after my bank-account. take my advice, my dear young lady, and bant." "bant?" "reduce. make yourself slender. you have beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, a perfect complexion, and with a trim figure you would be simply incomparable." kalora listened, trembling with surprise and pleasure. then she leaned over and took the hand of the gracious englishwoman. "i have a confession to make," she said in a whisper. "i am not fat--i am slim--quite slim." and then, at that moment, something happened to make this whole story worth telling. it was a little something, but it was the beginning of many strange experiences, for it broke up the wonderful garden-party in the grounds of the governor-general, and it gave morovenia something to talk about for many weeks to come. it all came about as follows: at the military club, the night before the party, a full score of young men, representing the quality, sat at an oblong table and partook of refreshments not sanctioned by the prophet. they were young men of registered birth and supposititious breeding, even though most of them had very little head back of the ears and wore the hair clipped short and were big of bone, like work-horses, and had the gusty manners of the camp. they were foolishly gloating over the prospect of meeting the two daughters of the governor-general, and were telling what they knew about them with much freedom, for, even in a monarchy, the chief executive and his family are public property and subject to the censorship of any one who has a voice for talking. of these male gossips there were a few who said, with gleeful certainty, that the elder daughter was a mere twig who could hide within the shadow of her bounteous and incomparable sister. "wait until to-morrow and you shall see," they said, wagging their heads very wisely. to-morrow had come and with it the party and here was kalora--a pretty face peering out from a great pod of clothes. they stood back and whispered and guessed, until one, more enterprising than the others, suggested a bold experiment to set all doubts at rest. count malagaski had provided a diversion for his guests. a company of arabian acrobats, on their way from constantinople to paris, had been intercepted, and were to give an exhibition of leaping and pyramid-building at one end of the garden. while kalora was chatting with mrs. plumston, the acrobats had entered and, throwing off their yellow-and-black striped gowns, were preparing for the feats. they were behind the two women and at the far end of the garden. mrs. plumston and kalora would have to move to the other side of the tree in order to witness the exhibition. this fact gave the devil-may-care young bachelors a ready excuse. "do as i have directed and you shall learn for yourselves," said the one who had invented the tactics. "i tell you that what you see is all shell. now then--" four conspirators advanced in a half-careless and sauntering manner to where kalora and the consul's wife sat by the sheltering tree, intent upon their exchange of secrets. "pardon me, mrs. plumston, but the acrobats are about to begin," said one of the young men, touching the fez with his forefinger. "oh, really?" she exclaimed, looking up. "we must see them." "you must face the other way," said the young man. "they are at the east end of the garden. permit us." whereupon the young man who had spoken and a companion who stood at his side very gently picked up mrs. plumston's big basket-chair between them and carried it around to the other side of the tree. and the two young men who had been waiting just behind picked up kalora's chair and carried _her_ to the other side of the tree, and put her down beside the consul's wife. did they carry her? no, they dandled her. she was as light as a feather for these two young giants of the military. they made a palpable show of the ridiculous ease with which they could lift their burden. it may have been a forward thing to do, but they had done it with courtly politeness, and the consul's wife, instead of being annoyed, was pleased and smiling over the very pretty little attention, for she could not know at the moment that the whole maneuver had grown out of a wager and was part of a detestable plan to find out the actual weight of the governor-general's elder daughter. if mrs. plumston did not understand, count selim malagaski understood. so did all the young men who were watching the pantomime. and kalora understood. she looked up and saw the lurking smiles on the faces of the two gallants who were carrying her, and later the tittering became louder and some of the young men laughed aloud. she leaped from her chair and turned upon her two tormentors. "how dare you?" she exclaimed. "you are making sport of me in the presence of my father's guests! you have a contempt for me because i am ugly. you mock at me in private because you hear that i am thin. you wish to learn the truth about me. well, i will tell you. i _am_ thin. i weigh one hundred and eighteen pounds." she was speaking loudly and defiantly, and all the young men were backing away, dismayed at the outbreak. her father elbowed his way among them, white with terror, and attempted to pacify her. "be still, my child!" he commanded. "you don't know what you are saying!" "yes, i do know what i am saying!" she persisted, her voice rising shrilly. "do they wish to know about me? must they know the truth? then look! _look_!" with sweeping outward gestures she threw off the soft quilted robes gathered about her, tore away the veil and stood before them in a white gown that fairly revealed every modified in-and-out of her figure. what ensued? is it necessary to tell? the costume in which she stood forth was no more startling or immodest than the simple gown which the american high-school girl wears on her commencement day, and it was decidedly more ample than the sum of all the garments worn at polite social gatherings in communities somewhat to the west. nevertheless, the company stood aghast. they were doubly horrified--first, at the effrontery of the girl, and second, at the revelation of her real person, for they saw that she was doomed, helpless, bereft of hope, slim beyond all curing. v he arrives kalora was alone. after putting the company to consternation she had flung herself defiantly back into the chair and directed a most contemptuous gaze at all the desirable young men of her native land. the governor-general made a choking attempt to apologize and explain, and then, groping for an excuse to send the people away, suggested that the company view the new stables. the acrobats were dismissed. the guests went rapidly to an inspection of the carriages and horses. they were glad to escape. jeneka, crushed in spirit and shamed at the brazen performance of her sister, began a plaintive conjecture as to "what people would say," when kalora turned upon her such a tigerish glance that she fairly ran for her apartment, although she was too corpulent for actual sprinting. mrs. plumston remained behind as the only comforter. "it was a most contemptible proceeding, my child. when they lifted us and carried us to the other side of the tree i thought it was rather nice of them; something on the order of the old walter raleigh days of chivalry, and all that. and just think! the beasts did it to find out whether or not you were really plump and heavy. it's a most extraordinary incident." "i wouldn't marry one of them now, not if he begged and my father commanded!" said kalora bitterly. "and poor jeneka! this takes away her last chance. until i am married she can not marry, and after to-day not even a blind man would choose me." "for goodness' sake, don't worry! you tell me you are nineteen. no woman need feel discouraged until she is about thirty-five. you have sixteen years ahead of you." "not in morovenia." "why remain in morovenia?" "we are not permitted to travel." "perhaps, after what happened to-day, your father will be glad to let you travel," said mrs. plumston with a significant little nod and a wise squint. "don't you generally succeed in having your own way with him?" "oh, to travel--to travel!" exclaimed kalora, clasping her hands. "if i am to remain single and a burden for ever, perhaps it would lighten father's grief if i resided far away. my presence certainly would remind him of the wreck of all his ambitions, but if i should settle down in vienna or paris, or--" she paused and gave a little gasp--"or if anything should happen to me, if i should--should disappear, that is, really disappear, jeneka would be free to marry and--" "oh, pickles!" said mrs. plumston. "i have heard of romantic young women jumping overboard and taking poison on account of rich young men, but i never heard of a girl's snuffing herself out so as to give her sister a chance to get married. the thing for you to do at a time like this, when you find yourself in a tangle, is to think of yourself and your own chances for happiness. father and jeneka will take care of themselves. they are popular and beloved characters here in morovenia. they are not taking you into consideration except as you seem to interfere with their selfish plans. i have made it a rule not to work out my neighbor's destiny." "what can i do?" asked kalora, seemingly impressed by the earnestness of the consul's wife. "leave morovenia. keep at your father until he consents to your going. here you are despised and ridiculed--a victim of heathen prejudice left over from the dark ages. get away, even if you have to walk, and take my word for it, the moment you leave morovenia you will be a very beautiful girl; not a merely attractive young person, but what we would call at home a radiant beauty--the oriental type, you know. and as a personal favor to me, don't be fat." "no fear of that," said the girl with a melancholy attempt at a smile. "but you must go and join the others. do, please. i am now in disgrace, and you may compromise your social standing in morovenia if you remain here and talk to me." "i dare say i should go. i have a husband who requires as much attention and scolding as a four-year-old. sometimes i almost favor the oriental system of the husband's directing the wife. good-by." "good-by." mrs. plumston gave her a kiss and a friendly little pat on the arm, and walked away toward the stables with a swinging, heel-and-toe, masculine stride. kalora had the whole garden to herself. she sat squared up in the wicker chair with her fists clenched, looking straight ahead, trying in vain to think of some plan for avenging herself upon the whole race of bachelors. as she sat thus some one spoke to her. "how do you do?" came a voice. she was startled and looked about, but saw no one. "up here!" came the voice again. she looked up and saw a young man on the top of the wall, his legs hanging over. evidently he had climbed up from the outside, and yet kalora had never suspected that the wall could be climbed. [illustration: "up here!" came the voice again] he was smoothly shaven, with blond hair almost ripe enough to be auburn; he wore a gray suit of rather loose and careless material, a belt, but no waistcoat; his trousers were reefed up from a pair of saddle-brown shoes, and the silk band around his small straw hat was tricolored. in his hand was a paper-covered book. swung over his shoulder was a camera in a leather case. he sat there on top of the high wall and gazed at kalora with a grinning interest, and she, forgetting that she was unveiled and clad only in the simple garments which had horrified the best people of morovenia, gazed back at him, for he was the first of the kind she had seen. "what are you doing here?" she asked wonderingly. "i am looking for the show," he replied. "they told me down at the hotel that a very hot bunch of acrobats were doing a few stunts down here this afternoon, and i thought i'd break in if i could. wanted to get some pictures of them." "were you invited?" "no, but that doesn't make any difference. in cairo i went to a native wedding every day. if i passed a house where there was a wedding being pulled off, i simply went inside and mingled. they never put me out--seemed to enjoy having me there. i suppose they thought it was the american custom for outsiders to ring in at a wedding." "you said american, didn't you? are you from america?" "do i look like a scandinavian? i am from the grand old commonwealth of pennsylvania. did you ever hear of the town of bessemer?" "i'm afraid not." "did you ever hear of the pike family that robbed all the orphans, tore down the starry banner, walked on the humble working-girl and gave the double cross to the common people? did you?" "dear me, no," she replied, following him vaguely. "well, i am alexander h., of the tribe of pike, and i have two reasons for being in your beautiful little city. one is federal grand jury and the other is ten-cent magazine. you know, our folks are sinfully rich. about four years ago i came in for most of the guvnor's coin, and in trying to keep up the traditions of the family, i have made myself unpopular, but i didn't know how unpopular i really was until i got this magazine from home this morning." and he held up the paper-covered book, which had a rainbow cover. "they have been writing up a few of us captains of industry, and they have said everything about me that they _could_ say without having the thing barred out of the mails. i notice that you speak our kind of talk fairly well, but i think i can take you by the hand and show you a lot of new and beautiful english language. i will read this to you." before she could warn him, or do anything except let out a horrified "oh-h!" he had leaped lightly from his high perch and was standing in front of her. "i'm afraid you don't understand," she said, rising and taking a frightened survey of the garden, to be sure that no one was watching. "strangers are not permitted in here. that is, men, and more especially--ah--christians." "i'm not a christian, and i can prove it by this magazine. i am an octopus, and a viper, and a vampire, and a man-eating shark. i am what you might call a composite zoo. if you want to get a line on me just read this article on _the shameless brigand of bessemer_, and you will certainly find out that i am a nice young fellow." kalora had studied english for years and thought she knew it, and yet she found it difficult fully, to comprehend all the figurative phrases of this pleasing young stranger. "do i understand that you are traveling abroad because of your unpopularity at home?" she asked. "i am waiting for things to cool down. as soon as the muck-rakers wear out their rakes, and the great american public finds some other kind of hysterics to keep it worked up to a proper temperature, i shall mosey back and resume business at the old stand. but why tell you the story of my life? play fair now, and tell me a lot about yourself. where am i?" "you are here in my father's private garden, where you hare no right to be." "and father?" "is count selim malagaski, governor-general of morovenia." "wow! and you?" "i am his daughter." "the daughter of all that must be something. have you a title?" "i am called princess." "can you beat that? climb up a wall to see some a-rabs perform, and find a real, sure-enough princess, and likewise, if you don't mind my saying so, a pippin." "i don't know what you mean," she said. "a corker." "corker?" "i mean that you're a good-looker--that it's no labor at all to gaze right at you. i didn't think they grew them so far from headquarters, but i see i'm wrong. you are certainly all right. pardon me for saying this to you so soon after we meet, but i have learned that you will never break a woman's heart by telling her that she is a beaut." [illustration: "are you a real ingénue, or a kidder?"] kalora leaned back in her chair and laughed. she was beginning to comprehend the whimsical humor of the very unusual young man. his direct and playful manner of speech amused her, and also seemed to reassure her. and, when he seated himself within a few inches of her elbow, fanning himself with the little straw hat, and calmly inspecting the tiny landscape of the forbidden garden, she made no protest against his familiarity, although she knew that she was violating the most sacred rules laid down for her sex. she reasoned thus with herself: "to-day i have disgraced myself to the utmost, and, since i am utterly shamed, why not revel in my lawlessness?" besides, she wished to question this young man. mrs. plumston had said to her: "you are beautiful." no one else had ever intimated such a thing. in fact, for five years she had been taunted almost daily because of her lack of all physical charms. perhaps she could learn the truth about herself by some adroit questioning of the young man from pennsylvania. "you have traveled a great deal?" she asked. "me and baedeker and cook wrote it," he replied; and then, seeing that she was puzzled, he said: "i have been to all of the places they keep open." "you have seen many women in many countries?" "i have. i couldn't help it, and i'm glad of it." "then you know what constitutes beauty?" "not always. what is sponge cake for me may be sawdust for somebody else. say, i rode for an hour in a 'rickshaw at nagoya to see the most beautiful girl in japan and when we got to the teahouse they trotted out a little shrimp that looked as if she'd been dried over a barrel--you know, stood _bent_ all the time, as if she was getting ready to jump. her neck was no bigger than a gripman's wrist and she had a nose that stood right out from her face almost an eighth of an inch. her eyes were set on the bias and she was painted more colors than a bandwagon. i said, 'if this is the champion geisha, take me back to the land of the chorus girl.' and in china! listen! i caught a chinese belle coming down the queen's road in hong-kong one day, and i ran up an alley. i have seen parisian beauties that had a coat of white veneering over them an inch thick, and out here in this country i have seen so-called cracker-jacks that ought to be doing the mountain-of-flesh act in the ringling side-show. so there you are!" "but in your own country, and in the larger cities of the world, there must be some sort of standard. what are the requirements? what must a woman be, that all men would call her beautiful?" "well, princess, that's a pretty hard proposition to dope out. good looks can not be analyzed in a lab or worked out by algebra, because, i'm telling you, the one that may look awful lucky to me may strike somebody else as being fairly punk. providence framed it up that way so as to give more girls a chance to land somebody. still, there is one kind that makes a hit wherever people are bright enough to sit up and take notice. now i suppose that any male being in his right senses would find it easy to look at a woman who was young enough and had eyes and hair and teeth and the other items, all doing team-work together, and then if she was trim and slender--" "should she be slender?" interrupted kalora, leaning toward him. "sure. i don't mean the same width all the way up and down, like an art student, but trim and--here, i'll show you. you will find the pictures of the most beautiful women in the world right here in the ads of a ten-cent magazine. look them over and you will understand what i mean." he turned page after page and showed her the tapering goddesses of the straight front, the tooth-powder, the camera, the breakfast-food, the massage-cream, and the hair-tonic. "these are what you call beautiful women?" she asked. "these are about the limit." "then in your country i would not be considered hideous, would i?" "hideous? say, if you ever walked up fifth avenue you would block the traffic! and in the palm-garden at the waldorf--why, you and the head waiter would own the place! are you trying to string me by asking such questions? are you a real ingénue, or a kidder?" "i hardly know what you mean, but i assure you that here in morovenia they laugh at me because i am not fat." "this is a shine country, and you're in wrong, little girl," said mr. pike, in a kindly tone. "why don't you duck?" "duck?" "leave here and hunt up some of the red spots on the map. you know what i mean--away to the bright lights! i don't like to knock your native land but, honestly, morovenia is a bad boy. i've struck towns around here where you couldn't buy illustrated post-cards. they take in the sidewalks at nine o'clock every night. that orchestra down at the hotel handed me a new coon song last night--_bill bailey_! can you beat that? as long as you stay here you are hooked up with a funeral." kalora, with wrinkled brow, had been striving to follow him in his figurative flights. "strange," she murmured. "you are the second person i have met to-day who advises me to go away--to the west." "that's the tip!" he exclaimed with fervor. "go west and when you start, keep on going. you come to america and bring along the papers to show that you're a real live princess and you'll own both sides of the street. we'll show you more real excitement in two weeks than you'll see around here if you live to be a hundred." "i should like to go, but--look! hurry, please! you must go!" she pointed, and young mr. pike turned to see two guards in baggy uniforms bearing down upon him, their eyes bulging with amazement. "shall i try to put up a bluff, or fight it out?" he asked, as he stood up to meet them. "you can not explain," gasped kalora. "run! _run_! they know you have no right here. this means going to prison--perhaps worse." "does it?" he asked, between his set teeth. "if those two brunettes get me, they'll have to go some." when the two pounced upon him he made no resistance and they captured him. he stood between them, each of them clutching an arm and breathing heavily, not only from exertion, but also out of a sense of triumph. vi he departs and now, in order to give a key to the surprising performances of alexander h. pike, it will be necessary to call up certain biographical data. when he was in the hill school he won the pole vault, but later, in his real collegiate days, he never could come within two inches of 'varsity form, and therefore failed to make the track-team. while attending the institute of technology he worked one whole autumn to perfect an offensive play which was to be used against "buff" rodigan, of the semi-professional athletic-club team. this play was known as "giving the shoulder," with the solar plexus as the point of attack. the purpose of the play was not to kill the opposing player, but to induce him to relinquish all interest in the contest. furthermore, mr. pike, while spending a month or more at a time in new york city, during his post-graduate days, had worked with mr. mike donovan, in order to keep down to weight. mr. donovan had illustrated many tricks to him, one of the best being a low feint with the left, followed by a right cross to the point of the jaw. while the two bronze-colored guards stood holding him, mr. pike rapidly took stock of his accomplishments, and formulated a program. with a sudden twist he cleared himself, sprang away from the two, and jumped behind a tree. one soldier started to the right of the tree and the other to the left, so as to close in upon him and retake him. this was what he wanted, for he had them "spread," and could deal with them singly. he used the donovan tactics on the first guard, and they worked out with shameful ease. when the soldier saw the left coming for the pit of his stomach, he crouched and hugged himself, thereby extending his jaw so that it waited there with the sun shining on it until the young man's right swing came across and changed the middle of the afternoon to midnight. number one was lying in profound slumber when alumnus pike turned to greet number two. the second soldier, having witnessed the feat of pugilism, doubled his fists and extended them awkwardly, coming with a rush. mr. pike suddenly squatted and leaned forward, balancing on his finger-tips, until number two was about to fall upon him and crush him, and then he arose with that rigid right shoulder aimed as a catapult. there was a sound as when the air-brake is disconnected, and number two curled over limply on the ground and made faces in an effort to resume breathing. mr. pike picked up his magazine and put it under his coat. he buttoned the coat, smiled in a pale, but placid manner at kalora, who was still immovable with terror, and then he proceeded to vindicate his "prep school" training. he ran over to the canopy tent, under which the refreshments had been served, pulled out one of the poles and, pointing it ahead of him, ran straight for the wall. kalora, watching him, regarded this as a wholly insane proceeding. was he going to attempt to poke a hole through a wall three feet thick? just as he seemed ready to flatten himself against the stones, he dropped the end of the pole to the ground and shot upward like a rocket. kalora saw him give an upward twist and wriggle, fling himself free from the pole and disappear on the other side of the wall, the camera following like the tail of a comet. as he did so, number two, coming to a sitting posture, began to shriek for reinforcements. number one was up on his elbow, regarding the affairs of this world with a dreamy interest. fortunately for the governor-general, the participants in the exploded garden-party had escaped at the very first opportunity. count malagaski, greatly perturbed and almost in a state of collapse over the unhappy affair in the garden, was returning to his apartments when the second surprising episode of the day came to a noisy climax. he heard the uproar and had the two guards brought before him. they reported that they had found a stranger in the garb of an infidel seated within the secret garden chatting with the princess kalora. they did not agree in their descriptions of him, but each maintained that the intruder was a very large person of forbidding appearance and terrific strength. "how did he manage to escape?" asked the governor-general. "by jumping over the wall." "over a wall ten feet high?" demanded the governor-general. "without touching his hands, sir. he was very tall; must have been seven feet." "if you ever had an atom of gray matter, evidently this stranger has beaten it out of you. hurry and notify the police!" kalora's candid version of the whole affair was hardly less startling than that of the guards. the stranger had come over the wall suddenly, much to her alarm. he attempted to converse with her, but she sternly ordered him from the premises. he was exceedingly tall, as the guards had said, and very dark, with rather long hair and curling black mustache. he addressed her in english, but spoke with a marked german accent. this description, faithfully set down by popova, was carried away to the secret police of morovenia, said to be the most astute in the world. they were instructed to watch all trains and guard the frontier and, as soon as they had their prisoner safely put away in the lower dungeon of the municipal prison, they were to notify the governor-general, who would privately pass sentence. a crime against any member of the ruler's household comes under a separate category and need not be tried in public sessions. for entering a royal harem or addressing a woman of title the sentences range from the bastinado to solitary confinement for life. no wonder kalora waited in trembling. like every other provincial she had much respect for the indigenous constabulary. she did not believe it possible for the pleasing stranger to break through the network that would be woven about him. shunning her father and sister, and shunned by them, she waited many sleepless hours in her own apartments for the inevitable news from beyond the walls. next morning there came to her a cheering and terrifying message. vii the only koldo three hours after his pole-vault, mr. alexander h. pike, wearing a dinner-jacket newly ironed by his man-slave, and with a soft hat crushed jauntily down over the right ear, was pacing back and forth in the main corridor of the hotel de l'europe waiting for the dread summons to the table d'hote. he had to admit to himself that his nerves seemed to be about as taut as piano wires. he told himself that possibly he was "up against it," and yet he had stood on the brink of disaster so often during his college career without acquiring vertigo, that the experience of the afternoon was like a joyous renewal of youth. he had no set program but he had a feeling that if he was to be questioned he would lie entertainingly. of one thing he was certain--it would help his case if he made no attempt to hurry across the frontier. he believed in the wisdom of hunting up the authorities whenever the authorities were hunting for him. for instance, in the prep school, after getting the cow into the chapel, he discovered her there and notified the principal and was the only boy who did not fall under suspicion. to assume a childlike innocence and to bluff magnificently,--these had been the twin rules that had saved him so often and would save him now, unless he should be confronted by the princess or the two guards, in which case--he whistled softly. suddenly two men came slamming in at the front door and stalked down the avenue of palms. they seemed to be throbbing with the importance of their errand, as they moved toward a little side office, which was the official lair of the manager. one of the men was elderly and wizened and the other was a detective. pike knew it as soon as he glanced at the heavy jowls and the broad face and heard the authoritative footfall. he knew, also, that he was not a bona fide detective, but a municipal detective, who is paid a monthly salary and walks stealthily along side streets in citizen's dress, all the time imagining that the people he meets take him to be a merchant or a lawyer. in this he is mistaken, for he resembles nothing except a municipal detective. if mr. pike had known that the officer who accompanied popova was the celebrated koldo, chief of the secret service, no doubt the impulse to retreat to his apartment and get behind the bed canopies would have been stronger. he knew, however, that no detective of analytical methods would expect to find the criminal standing at his elbow, so he followed the two over to the office and calmly wedged himself into the conference. the great koldo was agitated as he told his story to the manager, who was a polite and sympathetic importation from switzerland. popova stood by and corroborated by nodding. "an outrage of the most dreadful nature has been reported from the palace," said koldo. "dear me!" murmured the manager. "i am so sorry." "a stranger scaled the wall and entered the forbidden precincts. he addressed himself to the princess kalora with most insulting familiarity. two of the household guards captured him, but he escaped after beating them brutally. the report of the whole affair and a description of the man have been brought to me by the esteemed popova--this gentleman here, who is court interpreter and instructor in languages to the royal family." popova nodded and mr. pike saw the scattered spires of bessemer, pennsylvania, whirling away into a cloud of disappearance. "if you have a description of the man, no doubt you will be able to find him," he said, knowing that this kind of speech would strengthen his plea of innocence when brought out at the trial. the chief of the secret service turned and looked wonderingly at the bland stranger and resumed: "after some reflection i have decided to make inquiries at all the hotels, to learn if any foreigner answering this description has lately arrived in the city." "you may be sure that any information i possess will be put at your disposal immediately," said the manager, with a smile and a professional bow. the only koldo, breathing deeply, brought from his pocket a sheet of paper, while mr. pike propped himself deliberately against the door and tried to mold his features into that expression of guileless innocence which he had observed on the face of a cherub in the vatican. "he is very rugged and powerful," said the detective, referring to his notes. "large, quite large--black hair, dark eyes with a glance that seems to pierce through anything--long mustache, also black--wears much jewelry--speaks with a marked german accent--wears a suit of scotch plaid--heavy military boots." mr. pike removed his hat and allowed the electric light to twinkle on his ruddy hair. "how--ah--where did you get this description?" he asked gently. "from the princess herself," replied popova. "she saw him at close range." "believe me, i am sorry, but no one answering the description has been at my hotel," said the manager. "then i shall go to the hotel bristol and the hotel victoria," announced koldo, with something of fierce determination in his tone. "an excellent plan," assented the manager. "would you mind if i butted in with a suggestion?" said mr. pike, laying a friendly hand on the arm of the redoubtable koldo. "don't you think it would be better if you went alone to these hotels? this distinguished gentleman," indicating popova, "is well known on account of being a high guy up at the palace. sure as you live, if he trails around with you, you will be spotted. you don't want to hunt this fellow with a brass band. besides, you don't need any help, do you?"--to the head of the secret service. "certainly not," replied the famous detective, swelling visibly. "i have all the data--already i am planning my campaign." "then i should like to have a talk with pop-what's-his-name. i think i can slip him a few valuable pointers. you go right along and nail your man and we'll sit here in the shade of the sheltering palm and tell each other our troubles." "i must return to the palace quite soon," murmured popova, gazing at the stranger uneasily. "call a carriage for the professor," spoke up mr. pike briskly, to the manager. "i know his time is valuable, so we'll get down to business immediately, if not sooner." the manager knew a millionaire's voice when he heard it, so he hurried away. the impatient koldo said that he would communicate directly with the palace as soon as he had effected the capture, and started for the front door. then, remembering himself, he went out the back way. the old tutor, finding himself alone with mr. pike, was not permitted to relapse into embarrassment. "in the first place, i want you to know who and what i am," said mr. pike. "come into my suite and i'll show you something. then you'll see that you're not wasting your time on a light-weight." he led the way to a large parlor ornately done in red, and pulled out from a leather trunk a passport issued by the department of state of the united states of america. it was a huge parchment, with pictorial embellishments, heavy gothic type and a seal about the size of a pie. mr. pike's physical peculiarities were enumerated and there was a direct request that the bearer be shown every courtesy and attention due a citizen of the great republic. popova looked it over and was impressed. "it isn't everybody that gets those," said mr. pike, as he put the document carefully back into the trunk and covered it with shirts. "have a red chair. take off your hat--ah, i remember, you leave that on, don't you?" the old gentleman seated himself, somewhat reassured by the cheery manner of his host, who sat in front of him and beamed. mr. pike, supposed to be given to vapory and aimless conversation, really was a general. already we have learned that he based his every-day conduct on a groundwork of safe principles. he had certain private theories, which had stood the test, and when following these theories he proceeded with bustling confidence. one of his theories was that every man in the world has a grievance and regards himself as much-abused, and in order to win the regard and confidence of that man, all one has to do is feel around for the grievance and then play upon it. mr. pike, in his province of employer, had been compelled to study the methods of successful labor-union agitators. "you don't know much about me, but i know plenty about you," he began, closing one eye and nodding wisely. "i hadn't been here very long before i found out who was the real brains of that outfit up at the palace." "really, you know, we are not supposed to discuss the merits of our ruler," said popova, fairly startled at the candid tone of the other. he lifted one hand in timid deprecation. "of course you're not. that's why some one who is simply a figurehead goes on taking all the credit for tricks turned by a smart fellow who is working for him. now, if you lived in the dear old land of ready money, where the accident of birth doesn't give any man the right to sit on somebody else's neck, you'd be a big gun. you'd have money and a pull and probably, before you got through, you'd be investigated. over here, you are deliberately kept in the background. you are the patsy." "the what?" "the squidge--that means the fellow who does all the worrying and gets nothing out of it. now, before you return to what you call the palace, and which looks to me like the main building of the allegheny brick works, will you do me the honor of going into that cave of gloom, known as the american bar, and hitting up just one small libation?" "i am not sure that i catch your meaning," said popova, who felt himself somewhat smothered by rhetoric. "into the bar--down at the little iron table--business of hoisting beverage." "we of the faith are not supposed to partake of any drink containing even a small percentage of alcohol." "i'm not _supposed_ to dally with it myself, having been brought up on cistern water, but i find in traveling that i entertain a more kindly feeling for you strange foreign people when i carry a medium-sized headlight. come along, now. don't compel me to tear your clothes." there was no resisting the masterful spirit of the young steel magnate, and popova was led away to a remote apartment, where a single shelf, sparsely set with bottles, made a weak effort to reproduce the fabled splendors of far-away new york. "let's see, what shall we tackle?" asked mr. pike, as he checked down the line with a rigid forefinger. "if you don't care what happens to you, we might try a couple of cocktails--that is, if you like the taste of _eau de quinine_. oh, i'll tell you what! here are lemons, seltzer and gin. boy, two gin fizzes." the attendant, who was very juvenile and much afraid of his job, smiled and shook his head. "do you mean to say that you never heard of a gin fizz?" asked mr. pike. "all the ingredients within reach, simply waiting to be introduced to each other, and you have been holding them apart. you ought to be ashamed of yourself. bring out some ice. produce your jigger. get busy. hand me the tools and i'll do this myself." then, while the other two looked on in abashed admiration, mr. pike deftly squeezed the lemons and splashed in allopathic portions of the crystal fluid and used ice most wastefully. after vigorous shaking and patient straining he shot a seething stream of seltzer into each glass and finally delivered to popova a translucent drink that was very tall and capped with foam. "hide that, professor," he said. "in a few minutes you will speak several new languages." popova sipped conservatively. "don't be afraid," urged mr. pike, encouragingly. "if the boy watched me carefully, possibly he can duplicate the order." the youth was more than willing, for he seldom received instruction. with now and then a word of counsel or warning from the wise man of the west in the corner, he cautiously assembled two other fizzes, while mr. pike, in a most nonchalant and roundabout manner, sought information concerning affairs of state, local politics, the governor-general's household and princess kalora. popova told more than he had meant to tell and more than he knew that he was telling. it may have been that the fizzes were insidious or that mr. pike was unduly persuasive, or that a combination of these two powerful influences moved the elderly tutor to impulses of unusual generosity. at any rate, he found himself possessed of an affection for the young man from bessemer, pennsylvania. it was an affection both fatherly and brotherly. when mr. pike asked him to perform just a small service for him, he promised and then promised again and was still promising when his host went with him to the carriage and said that he had not lived in vain and that in years to come he would gather his grandchildren around him and tell of the circumstances of his meeting with the greatest scholar in southeastern europe. viii by messenger on the morning after the strange happenings in the garden, kalora sat by one of the cross-barred windows overlooking a side street, and envied the humble citizens and unimportant woman drifting happily across her field of vision. never in all her life had she walked out alone. the sweet privilege of courting adventure had been denied her. and yet she felt, on this morning, an almost intimate acquaintance with the outside world, for had she not talked with a valorous young man who could leap over high walls and subdue giants and pay compliments? he had thrown a sudden glare of romance across her lonesome pathway. the few minutes with him seemed to encompass everything in life that was worth remembering. she told herself that already she liked him better than any other young man she had met, which was not surprising, for he had been the first to sit beside her and look into her eyes and tell her that she was beautiful. she knew that whatever of wretchedness the years might hold in store for her, no local edict could rob her of one precious memory. she had locked it up and put it away, beyond the reach of courts and relatives. during many wakeful hours she had recalled each minute detail of that amazing interview in the garden, and had tried to estimate and foreshadow the young man's plan of escape from the secret police. perhaps he had been taken during the night. the greatest good fortune that she could picture for him was a quick flight across the frontier, which meant that he would never return--that she had seen him once and could not hope to see him again. in her contemplation of the luminous figure of the only young man, she had ceased to speculate concerning her own misfortunes. the fact of her disgrace remained in the background, eclipsed--not in evidence except as a dim shadow over the day. while she sat immovable, gazing into the street, feeling within herself a tumult which was not of pain, nor yet of pleasure, but a satisfactory commingling of both, she heard her name spoken. popova was standing in the doorway. he greeted her with a smile and bow, both of which struck her as being singularly affected, for he was not given to polite observances. as he squatted near her, she noticed that he was tremulous and seemed almost frightened about something. "i have come to tell you that i regret exceedingly the--the distressing incident of yesterday, and that i sympathize with you deeply--deeply," he began. "it is your fault," she said, turning from him and again gazing into the street. "you taught me everything i do not need in morovenia. you neglected the one essential. i am not blind. it was never your desire that i should be like my sister." she spoke in a low monotone and with no tinge of resentment, but her words had an immediate and perturbing effect on popova, who stared at her wide-eyed and seemed unable to find his voice. "you must know that i have been governed by your father's wishes," he said awkwardly. "why do you--" "do not misunderstand me. i thank you for what you have done. i would not be other than what i am. tell me--the stranger--you know, the one in the garden--has he been taken?" inquired the princess. "taken! taken! not even a clue--not a trace! either the earth opened to swallow him or else koldo is a dunce. the description was most accurate. by the way, i--i had a most interesting conversation regarding the case, with a young man at the hotel de l'europe last evening. he is a person of great importance in his own country, also a student of world-politics--i--he--never have i encountered such discrimination in one so young. it was because of my admiration for his talents and my confidence in his integrity that i consented to deliver a message for him." kalora squirmed in her pillows, and turned eagerly to face popova. "a message? for me?" she cried, eagerly. "i will admit that the whole proceeding is most irregular, to put it mildly. the young man was so deeply interested in your perilous adventure of yesterday, and so desirous of felicitating you upon your escape, that i yielded to his importunities and promised to deliver to you this letter." he brought it out cautiously, as if it were loaded with an explosive, and kalora pounced upon it. "i rely upon you to maintain absolute secrecy in regard to my part in this unusual--" but kalora, unheeding him, had torn open the letter and was reading, as follows: my dear princess: i hope that's the way to begin. something tells me that you would not stand for "your majesty" or any of these "royal highness" trimmings. believe me, you are the best ever. i have just had a talk with the eminent plain-clothes man who is looking for the burglar that broke into the garden this afternoon and tried to steal you. he read to me the description. say, if i tried to write at this minute all of my present emotions concerning you, i would burn holes in the paper. when it comes to turning out fiction, marie corelli is not in the running. honestly, when mr. detective walked into the hotel this evening, i figured it a toss-up whether i should ever see home and mother again. i am only an humble steel-maker, but i am for you and i want to see you again and tell you right to your face what i think of you. if you will sort of happen to be in the garden at p.m. to-morrow (thursday), i will come over the wall at the very spot i picked out to-day. i know that this method of becoming acquainted with young women is not indorsed by the _ladies_' _home journal_ or beatrice fairfax, but, as nearly as i can find out, there is no other way in which i can get into society over here. so far as the bloodhounds of the law are concerned, don't give them a thought. i have met, the great koldo, and he won't know until about next sunday that yesterday was tuesday. the professor has promised to bring a reply to the hotel. he is not on. sincerely, your german friend. she read it all and found herself gasping--surprised, frightened, and moved to a fluttering delight. she had thought of him as skulking in byways, of concealing his name and attempting to disguise himself so that he might dodge through the meshes woven by the invincible koldo, and here he was, still flaunting himself at the hotel and calmly preparing to repeat his hazardous experiment. "he is a fool!" she exclaimed, forgetting that popova was present. "i trust the message has not offended you," said the tutor, decidedly alarmed at her agitation and not understanding what it meant. "i tell you he is a fool--a fool!" she repeated. and while popova wondered, she sprang to her feet and ran to him and gave him a muscular embrace around the tender portion of his neck, for he still squatted after the oriental manner, even though he wore a long black coat of german make. "i consented to bring it because he was most urgent, and seemed a proper sort of person," began popova, "and not knowing the contents--" "bless you, i am not offended," interrupted kalora, and then, looking at the letter again, she burst into happy laughter. the young stranger was unquestionably a fool. she had not dreamed that any one could be so reckless and heedless, so contemptuous of the dread machinery of the law, so willing to risk his very life for the sake of--of seeing her again! "if he has been impertinent, possibly you will take no notice of his communication," suggested popova. "oh, i _must_--i must at least acknowledge the receipt of it. common courtesy demands that. i shall write just a few lines and you must take them to him at once. he seems to be a very forward person unacquainted with our local customs, and so i shall formally thank him and suggest to him that any further correspondence would be inadvisable. that's the really proper thing to do, don't you think?" "possibly." "then wait here until i have written it, and unless you wish me to go to my father and tell him something that would put an end to your illustrious career, deliver this message within a hour--deliver it yourself. give it to him and to no one else." never was a go-between more nonplussed, but he promised with a readiness and a sincerity which indicated that he was keenly aware of the fact that kalora held him in her power. the minx had read his secret without an effort! mr. pike was waiting in the avenue of potted palms when the greatest scholar of southeastern europe, now reduced to the humble role of messenger boy, came to him, somewhat flurried and breathless, and slipped a small envelope into his hand. popova rather curtly refused to renew his acquaintance with occidental fizzes, and waited only until he had announced to mr. pike that the princess wished to emphasize the advice contained in the letter and to assure the presumptuous stranger that it was meant for his welfare. this is what mr. pike read: my very good friend: i have protected you, not because you deserve protection, but because i like you very much. you must not come to the palace grounds again. they are now under double guard and, if i attempted to meet you, no doubt a whole company of our big soldiers would surround you and surely you could not overcome so many powerful men. i am thinking only of your safety. i beg you to leave morovenia at once. your danger is greater than you can imagine. what more can i say, except that i shall always remember you? sincerely, k. mr. pike read it carefully three times and then told himself aloud that it was not what he would precisely term a love-letter. "i may have made an impression, but certainly not a ten-strike," he thought to himself, as he folded up the missive and put it into the most sacred compartment of his russia-leather pocketbook, along with the letter of credit. "i fear me that the incident is closed," he said. "i would stay here one year if i thought there was a chance of seeing her again, but if she wants me to fly i guess i had better fly." that evening, after an earnest controversy with the manager over a very complicated bill, studded with "extras," mr. alexander h. pike, accompanied by dragoman, leather trunks, hat-boxes and hold-alls, drove away to the transcontinenta express, and slept soundly while crossing the dangerous frontier. possibly he would not have slept so soundly if he had known that at four o'clock that afternoon the princess kalora had been idling her time in the palace garden, walking back and forth near the high wall. she had told him not to come, and of course he would not come. no one could be so audacious and foolhardy as to invite destruction after being solemnly warned--and yet, if he _did_ come, she wanted to be there to speak to him again and rebuke him and tell him not to come a third time. she went back to her apartment much relieved and intensely disappointed. such is the perverseness of the feminine nature, even in morovenia. ix as to washington, d.c. about the time that mr. pike arrived in vienna, and after kalora had been in voluntary retirement for some forty-eight hours, the famous koldo, head of the secret police, came into possession of a most important clue. having searched for two days, without finding the trail of the criminal with the black mustache and the german accent, he bethought himself of the wisdom of going to the garden where the intruder had engaged in a desperate struggle with the two guards. possibly he would discover incriminating footprints. instead, he found some scraps of paper, with printing of a foreign character. by questioning the guards he learned that these tatters had come from a printed book which the mysterious stranger had carried, and which he never relinquished even while reducing his foes to insensibility. koldo put these pieces of paper into a strong envelope, which he sealed and marked "exhibit a," and delivered his precious find to the governor-general. while mr. pike sat in ronacher's at vienna, watching a most entertaining vaudeville performance, count selim malagaski was in his library, conferring with the wise popova. "how did he escape?" asked count malagaski again and again, shaking his head. "the police have searched every corner of the town, and can find no one answering the description." "have you questioned kalora again?" "yes, and she now remembers that he had a very heavy scar over his right eye. her description and these few scraps of paper torn from the book he was carrying are all that we have to guide us in our search." the governor-general held up the several remnants of a ten-cent magazine. "it is in english; i read it badly." he gave the torn pages to the old tutor, and popova, picking up the first, read as follows: what is the great danger that threatens the american woman? it is _obesity_. it is well known that ninety-nine per cent of all the women in the united states are striving to reduce their weight. for all such we have a message of hope. write to madam clarissa and she---- "the remainder is torn away," said popova. the governor-general had been leaning forward, listening intently. "do you mean to say that there is a country in which all the woman are fat?" he asked. "it would seem so," replied popova. "let us read further." he picked up another of the torn pages and read aloud: to the oatena company of pine creek, michigan: when i began using your wonderful health-food i was a mere skeleton. i have been living on it for three months and i have gained a pound a day. permit me to express the conviction that you are real benefactors to the human race. gratefully yours, oscar tilbury, oakdale, arkansas. "stop!" exclaimed the governor-general, striking the table. "is it possible that somewhere in this world there is a food which will add a pound a day?" "the testimonial seems genuine," replied popova. "it has been sworn to before a notary." "what country is this?" "america, the land of milk and honey." "both very fattening," commented the governor-general. "popova, i have an inspiration. you well know that my situation here is most desperate. i must find husbands for these two daughters, but i dare not hope that any one will come for kalora until the disgraceful affair has been forgotten and i can absolutely demonstrate that she has developed into some degree of attractiveness. it is better for all concerned that she should leave morovenia until the present scandal blows over. now, why not america? it is a remote, half-savage country, and she will be far from the temptations which would beset her at any fashionable capital in europe. we read in this magazine that all the women in america are fat. she will come back to us in a little while as plump as a partridge. from the sworn testimonial it would appear that she can obtain in america a marvelous food which will cause her to gain a pound a day. she now weighs one hundred and eighteen pounds. if she remained there a year she would weigh, let me see--one hundred and eighteen plus three hundred and sixty-five--oh, that doesn't seem possible! that is too good to be true! but even six months, or only three months, would be sufficient. she _must_ be sent away for a while, in the care of some one who will guard her carefully. read up on america to-night, and let me know all about it in the morning." next day popova, having consulted all the british authorities at hand, reported that the united states of america covered a large but undeveloped area, that the population was so engrossed with the accumulation of wealth that it gave little heed to pleasures or intellectual relaxation, and that the country as a whole was unworthy of consideration except as the abode of a swollen material prosperity. "just the place for her," exclaimed the governor-general. "no pleasures to distract her, an atmosphere of plodding commercialism, an abundance of health-giving nourishment! perhaps the mere change of climate will have the desired effect. we will make the experiment. she is doomed if she remains here, and america seems to be our only hope. i suppose our beloved monarch sends a minister to that country. if so, communicate with the secretary of the legation and request him to secure secluded apartments for her and a suite. you shall accompany her." "i?" exclaimed popova, unable to conceal his joy. "yes; she must be under careful restraint all the time. what is the capital of the united states?" "washington. it is a sleepy and well-behaved town. i have looked it up." "good! you shall take her to washington. if one of the many civil wars should break out, or there should be an uprising of the red men, she can hurry to the protection of the turkish embassy. let us make immediate preparations--and remember, popova, that my whole future happiness as a father depends upon the success of this expedition." when kalora was gravely informed by her father that she and the tutor and a half-dozen female attendants were to be bundled up and sent away to america, and that she was to do penance, take a dieting treatment, and come back in due time to try and atone for her unfortunate past, did she weep and beg to be allowed to remain at her own dear home? no; she listened in apparently meek and rather mournful submission, and, after her father went away, she turned handsprings across the room. her utmost dream of happiness had been realized. she was to go to the land of the red-headed stranger where she would be admired and courted, and where, in time, she might aspire to the ultimate honor of having her picture in a ten-cent magazine. x on the wing the train rolled away from the low and dingy station and was in the open country of morovenia. kalora and her elderly guardian and the young women who were to be her companions during the period of exile had been tucked away into adjoining compartments. each young woman was muffled and veiled according to the most discreet and orthodox rules. popova's bright red fez contrasted strangely with his silvering hair, but no more strangely than did this wondrous experience of starting for a new world contrast with the quiet years that he had spent among his books. the train sped into the farm-lands. on either side was a wide stretch of harvest fields, heaving into gentle billows, with here and there a shabby cluster of buildings. if kalora had only known, morovenia was very much like the far-away america, except that morovenia had not learned to decorate the hillsides with billboards. at last she was to have a taste of freedom! no father to scold and plead; no much-superior sister to torment her with reproaches; no peering through grated windows at one little rectangle of outside sunshine. to be sure, popova had received explicit and positive instructions concerning her government. but popova--pshaw! she unwound her veil and removed her head-gear and sat bareheaded by the car-window, greedily welcoming each new picture that swung into view. "you must keep your face covered while we are in public or semi-public places," said popova gently, repeating his instructions to the very letter. "i shall not." thus ended any exercise of popova's authority during the whole journey. before the train had come to budapest all the young women, urged on to insubordination, had removed their veils, and kalora had boldly invaded another compartment to engage in rapt and feverish dialogue with a little but vivacious frenchwoman. two hours out from vienna, the tutor found her involved in a business conference with a guard of the train. she had learned that the tickets permitted a stopover in vienna. she wished to see vienna. she had decided to spend one whole day in vienna. popova, as usual, made a feeble show of maintaining his authority, but he was overruled. count selim malagaski, at home, consulting the prearranged schedule, said, "this morning they have arrived in paris and popova is arranging for the steamship tickets." at which very moment, kalora was in an open carriage driving from one vienna shop to another, trying to find ready-made garments similar to those worn by mrs. rawley plumston. popova was now a bundle-carrier. the shopping in vienna was merely a prelude to a riotous extravagance of time and money in paris. popova, writing under dictation, sent a message to morovenia to the effect that they had been compelled to wait a week in order to get comfortable rooms on a steamer. kalora had the dressmakers working night and day. she and her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother and the whole line of maternal ancestors had been under suppression and had attired themselves according to the directions of a religious prophet, who had been ignorant concerning color effects. and yet, now that kalora had escaped from the cage, the original instinct asserted itself. the love of finery can not be eliminated from any feminine species. when she boarded the steamer she was outwardly a creature of the new world. from the moment of embarking she seemed exhilarated by the salt air and the spirit of democracy. she lingered in new york--more shopping. by the time she arrived at washington and went breezing in to call upon a certain dignified young secretary, the transformation was complete. she might not have been put together strictly according to mode, but she was learning rapidly, and willing to learn more rapidly. xi an outing--a reunion the secretary of the legation at washington was surprised to receive a letter from the governor-general of morovenia requesting him to find apartments for the princess kalora and a small retinue. the letter explained that the governor-general's daughter had been given a long sea-voyage and assigned to a period of residence within the quiet boundaries of washington, in the hope that her health might be improved. the secretary looked up the list of hotels and boarding-houses. he did not deem it advisable to send a convalescent to one of the large and busy hotels; neither did he think it proper to reserve rooms for her at an ordinary boarding-house, where she would sit at the same table with department-employees and congressmen. so he compromised on a very exclusive hotel patronized by legislators who had money of their own, by many of the titled attaches of the embassies, and by families that came during the season with the hope of edging their way into official society. he explained to the manager of the hotel that the princess kalora was an invalid, would require secluded apartments, and probably would not care to meet any of the other persons living at the hotel. within a week after the rooms had been reserved the invalid drove up to the legation to thank the secretary for his kindness. now, the secretary had lived in modern capitals for many years, was trained in diplomacy, and had schooled himself never to appear surprised. but the princess kalora fairly bowled him over. he had pictured her as a wan and waxen creature, who would be carried to the hotel in a closed carriage or ambulance, there to recline by the windowside and look out at the rustling leaves. he had decided, after hours of deliberation, that the etiquette of the situation would be for some member of the legation to call upon her about once a week and take flowers to her. and here was the invalid, bounding out of a coupé, tripping up the front steps and bursting in upon him like an untamed amazon from the prairies of nebraska. she wore a tailor-made suit of dark material, a sailor hat, tan gloves with big welts on the back and stout, low-heeled oxfords. this was the young woman who had come five thousand miles to improve her health! this was the child of the orient, and in the orient, woman is a hothouse flower. this was the timid young recluse to whom the soft-spoken diplomats were to carry a few roses about once a week. why had she called upon the secretary? first, to thank him for having engaged the rooms; second, to invite him to take her out to a country club and teach her the game of golf. she had heard people at the hotel talking about golf. the game had been strongly commended to her by a congressman's daughter, with whom she had ascended to the top of the washington monument. when the secretary, having recovered his breath, asked if she felt strong enough to attempt such a vigorous game, she was moved to silvery laughter. she told what she had accomplished during three short days in washington. she had attended two matinees with popova, had gone motoring into the virginia hills, had inspected all the public buildings, and studied every shop-window in pennsylvania avenue. the secretary knew that all this outdoor freedom was not usually accorded a young woman of his native domain, and yet he felt that he had no authority to restrain her or correct her. she was a princess, and he was relatively a subordinate, and, when she requested him to take her to the country club, he gave an embarrassed consent. "you have been in america a long time?" she asked. "about three years." "you have met many people--that is, the important people?" "all of them are important over here. those that are not very wealthy or very eminent are getting ready to be." "i am wondering if you could tell me something about a young man i met abroad. i met him only once, and i have quite forgotten his name." "i'm afraid i haven't met him." "he is rather good-looking and has--well, red hair; not rusty red, but a sort of golden red." "there are millions of red-haired young men in america." "please don't discourage me. now i remember the name of his home. he lived in pennsa--pennsylvania, that's it." "pennsylvania is about four times as large as morovenia." "but he is very wealthy. he talked as if he had come into millions." "i can well believe it. the millionaires of pennsylvania are even as the sands of the sea or the leaves of the forest." "he owns some sort of mills or factories--where they make steel." "every millionaire in pennsylvania has something to do with steel. now, if you were searching in that state for a young man who is penniless and has nothing to do with the steel industry, possibly i might be of some service to you. the whole area of pennsylvania is simply infested with millionaires. not all of them are red-headed, but they will be, before congress gets through with them." this playful lapse into the american vernacular was quite lost upon the princess kalora, who was sitting very still and gazing in a most disconsolate manner at the secretary. "i felt sure that you could tell me all about him," she said. "believe me, if i encounter any young millionaire from pennsylvania, whose hair is golden-red, i shall put detectives on his trail and let you know at once. you met him abroad?" "at a garden party in morovenia." "indeed! garden parties in morovenia! and yet that is not one-half as surprising as to find you here in washington." "you are not displeased to find me here?" "charmed--delighted." "and you will take me to the country club?" "at any time. it will really give me much pleasure." "i shall drop a note. good-by." he stood at the window to watch her as she nimbly jumped into the coupé and was driven away. that evening he made a most astonishing report to his intimates of the corps and asked: "what shall i do?" "do you feel competent to take charge of her and regulate her conduct?" "i do not." "have you instructions to watch her and make sure that she observes the etiquette and keeps within the restrictions of her own country while she is visiting in washington?" "nothing of the sort." "from your first interview with her, do you believe that it would be advisable for any of us to attempt to interfere with her plans?" "decidedly not." "then take her to the country club and teach her the game of golf, and remember the old saying at home, that no man was ever given praise for attempting to govern another man's family." so it was settled that the legation would not attempt any supervision of kalora's daily program. and it was a very wise decision, for the daily program was complicated and the legation would have been kept exceedingly busy. popova became merely a sort of footman, or modified chaperon. he knew that he had no real authority and seldom attempted even the most timid suggestions as to her conduct. once or twice he mentioned health-food and dieting, and was pooh-poohed into a corner. as for the women attendants, who had been sent along that they might be the companions of the princess during the long hours of loneliness and seclusion, they were trained to act as hair-dressers and french maids and repairing seamstresses! kalora had money and a title and physical attractions. could she well escape the gaieties of washington? be assured that she made no effort to escape them. she followed the busy routine of dinners and balls, receptions and afternoon teas, her childish enthusiasm never lagging. she could play at golf and she seemed to know horseback riding the first time she tried it, and after the first two weeks she drove her own motor-car. the letters that went back to morovenia were fairly dripping with superlatives and happy adjectives. she was delighted with washington; she was in excellent health; the members of the legation were very thoughtful in their attentions; the autumn weather was all that could be desired; her apartments at the hotel were charming. in fact, her whole life was rose-colored, but never a word of real news for her anxious father and sister--nothing about gaining a pound a day. the governor-general hoped from the encouraging tone of the letters that she was quietly housed, out in the borders of some primeval forest, gradually enlarging into the fullness of perfect womanhood. about three months after her departure, in order to reassure himself regarding the progress in her case, he wrote a letter to the minister at washington. he told the minister that his child was disposed to be unruly and that popova had become careless and somewhat indefinite in his reports--and would he, the minister, please write and let an anxious parent know the actual weight of princess kalora? the minister resented this manner of request. he did not feel that it was within the duties of a high official to go out and weigh young women, so he replied briefly that he knew no way of ascertaining the exact weight of an acrobatic young woman who never stood still long enough to be weighed, but he could assure the father that she was somewhat slimmer and more petite than when she arrived in washington a few weeks before. this letter slowly traveled back to morovenia, and on the very day of its delivery to count selim malagaski, who read it aloud and then went into a frothing paroxysm of rage, the princess kalora in washington figured in a most joyful episode. a western millionaire, who had bought a large cubical palace on one of the radiating avenues, was giving a dancing-party, to which the entire blue book had been invited. kalora went, trailed by the long-suffering popova. she wore her most fetching parisian gown, and decked herself out with wrought jewelry of quaint and heavy design, which was the envy of all the other young women in town, and she put in a very busy night, for she danced with army officers, and lieutenants of the navy, and one senator, and goodness knows how many half-grown diplomats. at two o'clock in the morning she was in the supper-room: a fairly late hour for a young woman supposed to be leading a quiet life. the food set before her would not have been prescribed for a tender young creature who was dieting. she was supping riotously on stuffed olives. her companion was a young gentleman from the army. they sat beneath a huge palm. the tables were crowded together rather closely. she chanced to look across at the little table to her right, and she saw a young man--a young man with light hair almost ripe enough to be auburn. with a smothered "oh!" she dropped the olive poised between her fingers, and as she did so, he looked across and saw her and exclaimed: "well, i'll be--" he came over, almost upsetting two tables in his impetuous course. she expected to see him jump over them. he seized her hand and gazed at her in grinning delight, and the young gentleman from the army went into total eclipse. xii the governor cables "i don't believe it. it's too good to be true. i am in a trance. it isn't you, is it?" and he was still holding her hand. "yes--it is." "the princess--ah--?" "kalora." "_that's_ it. i was so busy thinking of you after i left your cute little country that i couldn't remember the name. i thought of 'calico' and 'fedora' and 'kokomo' and a lot of names that sounded like it, but i knew i was wrong. _kalora_--_kalora_--i'll remember that. i knew it began with a 'k.' but what in the name of all that is pure and sanctified are you doing in the land of the free?" "you invited me to come. don't you remember? you urged me to come." "that's why you notified me as soon as you arrived, isn't it? how long have you been here?" "i forget--three months--four months. surely you have seen my name in the papers. every morning you may read a full description of what princess kalora of morovenia wore the night before. for a simple and democratic people you are rather fond of high-sounding titles, don't you think?" "i haven't read the papers, because i'm always afraid i'll find something about myself. they don't describe my costumes, however. they simply say that i am trying to blow up and scuttle the ship of state. but this has nothing to do with your case. it is customary, when you accept an invitation, to let the host know something about it. in other words, why didn't you drop me a line?" "i will confess--the whole truth--since you have been candid enough to admit that you had forgotten my name. i tried to find you, through the legation. i described you, but--your name--_please_ tell me your name again? you mentioned it, that day in the garden. popova promised to go to the hotel and get it for me, but we were bundled away in such a hurry." "heavens! imagine any one forgetting such a name! alexander h. pike, bessemer, pennsylvania, tariff-fed infant and all-round plutocrat." "why, of course, _pike, pike_--it is the name of a fish." "thank you." the young gentleman from the army moved uneasily, and they remembered that he was present. he hoped they wouldn't mind if he went to look up his partner for the next dance, and they assured him that they wouldn't, and he believed them and was backing away when popova arrived to suggest the lateness of the hour and intimate his willingness to return to the hotel. his sudden journey to the western hemisphere and his period of residence at washington had been punctuated with surprises, but the amazement which smote him when he saw kalora leaning across the table toward the young man who had introduced the gin fizz into morovenia was sudden and shocking. mr. pike greeted him rapturously and gave him the keys to north america, and then kalora patted him on the arm and sent him away to wait for her. they sat and talked for an hour--sat and talked and laughed and pieced out between them the wonderful details of that very lively day in morovenia. "and you have come all the way to washington, d.c. in order to increase your weight?" he asked. "that certainly would make a full-page story for a sunday paper. think of anybody's coming to washington to fatten up! why, when i come down here to regulate these committees, i lose a pound a day." "i never dreamed that there could be a country in which women are given so much freedom--so many liberties." "and what we don't give them, they take--which is eminently correct. of all the sexes, there is only one that ever made a real impression on me." "and to think that some day i shall have to return to morovenia!" "forget it," urged mr. pike, in a low and soothing tone. "far be it from me to start anything in your family, but if i were you, i would never go back there to serve a life sentence in one of those lime-kilns, with a curtain over my face. you are now at the spot where woman is real superintendent of the works, and this is where you want to camp for the rest of your life." "but i can not disobey my father. i dare not remain if he--" she paused, realizing that the talk had led her to dangerous ground, for mr. pike had dropped his large hand on her small one and was gazing at her with large devouring eyes. "you won't go back if i can help it," he said, leaning still nearer to her. "i know this is a little premature, even for me, but i just want you to know that from the minute i looked down from the wall that day and saw you under the tree--well, i haven't been able to find anything else in the world worth looking at. when i met you again to-night, i didn't remember your name. you didn't remember my name. what of that? we know each other pretty well--don't you think we do? the way you looked at me, when i came across to speak to you--i don't know, but it made me believe, all at once, that maybe you had been thinking of me, the same as i had been thinking of you. if i'm saying more than i have a right to say, head me off, but, for once in my life, i'm in earnest." "i'm glad--you like me," she said, and she pushed back in her chair and looked down and away from him and felt that her face was burning with blushes. "when you have found out all about me, i hope you'll keep on speaking to me just the same," he continued. "i warn you that, from now on, i am going to pester you a lot. you'll find me sitting on your front door-step every morning, ready to take orders. to-morrow i must hie me to new york, to explain to some venerable directors why the net earnings have fallen below forty per cent. but when i return, o fair maiden, look out for me." he would be back in washington within three days. he would come to her hotel. they were to ride in the motor-car and they were to go to the theaters. she must meet his mother. his mother would take her to new york, and there would be the opera, and this, and that, and so on, for he was going to show her all the attractions of the western hemisphere. the night was thinning into the grayness of dawn when he took her to the waiting carriage. she put her hand through the window and he held it for a long time, while they once more went over their delicious plans. after the carriage had started, popova spoke up from his dark corner. "i am beginning to understand why you wished to come to america. also i have made a discovery. it was mr. pike who overcame the guards and jumped over the wall." "i shall ask the governor-general to give you koldo's position." an enormous surprise was waiting for them at the hotel. it was a cable from morovenia--long, decisive, definite, composed with an utter disregard for heavy tolls. it directed popova to bring the shameless daughter back to morovenia immediately--not a moment's delay under pain of the most horrible penalties that could be imagined. they were to take the first steamer. they were to come home with all speed. surely there was no mistaking the fierce intent of the message. popova suffered a moral collapse and kalora went into a fit of weeping. both of them feared to return and yet, at such a crisis, they knew that they dared not disobey. the whole morning was given over to hurried packing-up. an afternoon train carried them to new york. a steamer was to sail early next day, and they went aboard that very night. [illustration: they were to come home with all speed.] kalora had left a brief message at her hotel in washington. it was addressed to mr. alexander h. pike, and simply said that something dreadful had happened, that she had been called home, that she was going back to a prison the doors of which would never swing open for her, and she must say good-by to him for ever. she tried to communicate with him before sailing away from new york. messenger boys, bribed with generous cab-fares, were sent to all the large hotels, but they could not find the right mr. pike. the real mr. pike was living at a club. she leaned over the railing and watched the gang-plank until the very moment of sailing, hoping that he might appear. but he did not come, and she went to her state-room and tried to forget him, and to think of something other than the reception awaiting her back in the dismal region known as morovenia. xiii the home-coming the governor-general waited in the main reception-room for the truant expedition. he was hoping against hope. orders had been given that popova, kalora and the whole disobedient crew should be brought before him as soon as they arrived. his wrath had not cooled, but somehow his confidence in himself seemed slowly to evaporate, as it came time for him to administer the scolding--the scolding which he had rehearsed over and over in his mind. he heard the rolling wheels grit on the drive outside, and then there was murmuring conversation in the hallway, and then kalora entered. his most dreadful suspicions were ten times confirmed. she wore no veil and no flowing gown. she was tightly incased in a gray cloth suit, and there was no mistaking the presence of a corset underneath. on her head was a kind of alpine hat with a defiant feather standing upright at one side. before her father had time to study the details of this barbaric costume, he sat staring at her as she was silhouetted for an instant between him and the open window. merciful mahomet! she was as lean and supple as an austrian race-horse! he could say nothing. she ran over and gave him a smack on the forehead and then said cheerily: "well, popsy, here i am! what do you think of me?" while count selim malagaski was holding to his chair and trying to sort out from the limited vocabulary of morovenia the words that could express his boiling emotions, he saw popova standing shamefaced in the doorway. was it really popova? the tutor wore a traveling-suit with large british checks, a blue four-in-hand, and, instead of a fez, a rakish cap with a peak in front. as he edged into the room the young women attendants filed timidly behind him. horror upon horrors! they were in shirt-waists, with skirts that came tightly about the hips, and every one of them wore a chip hat, and not one of them was veiled! the governor-general tried to steady himself in order to meet this unprecedented crisis. "so this is how you have managed my affairs?" he said in angry tones to the trembling popova. [illustration: popsy.] "what is the meaning of this shocking exhibition?" "don't blame him, father," spoke up kalora. "i am responsible for whatever has happened. we have seen something of the world. we have learned that morovenia is about two hundred years behind the times. they knew that you would not approve, but i have compelled them to have the courage of their convictions. you can see for yourself that we no longer belong here. there is but one thing for you to do, and that is to send us away again." "no!" exclaimed her father, banging his fist on the table, and then coming to his feet. "you shall remain here--all of you--and be punished! you have ruined your own prospects; you have condemned your poor sister to a life of single misery, and you have made your father the laughing-stock of all morovenia! if i can not reform you and make you a dutiful child, at least i can make an example of you!" "stop!" she said very sharply. "let us not have an unfortunate scene in the presence of the servants. if you have anything to say to me, send them away, and remember also, father, i have certain rights which even you must respect. also, i have a great surprise for you. i am beautiful. hundreds of young men have told me so. under no circumstances would i permit myself to become large and gross and bulky. you are disheartened because no young man in morovenia wishes to marry me. bless you, there isn't a young man in this country worth marrying!" "young woman, you have taxed my patience far beyond the limit," said her father, speaking low in an effort to control his wrath. "hereafter you shall never go beyond the walls of this palace! you shall be a waiting-maid for your sister! the servants shall be instructed to treat you as a menial--one of their own class! these shameless women are dismissed from my service! as for you"--turning upon the old tutor--"you shall be put away under lock and key until i can devise some punishment severe enough to fit your case!" that night kalora slept on a hard and narrow cot in a bare apartment adjoining her sister's gorgeous boudoir--quite a change from the suite overlooking the avenue. the shirt-waist brigade had been sent into banishment, and poor popova was sitting on a wooden stool in a dungeon, thinking of the dinners he had eaten at old point comfort and wondering if he had not overplayed himself in the effort to be avenged upon the governor-general. xiv heroism rewarded a month later popova was still in prison, and had demonstrated that even after one has lunched for several months at the shoreham, the new willard and the raleigh, he may subsist on such simple fare as bread and water. kalora had been humiliated to the uttermost, but her spirit was unbroken and defiant. she was nominally a servant, but jeneka and the others dared not attempt any overbearing attitude toward her, for they feared her sharp and ready wit. the fires of inward wrath seemed to have reduced her weight a few pounds, so that if ever a man faced a situation of unbroken gloom, that man was the poor governor-general. count malagaski sat in the large, over-decorated audience room, alone with his sorrowful meditations. an attendant brought him a note. "the man is at the gate," said the attendant. "he started to come in. we tried to keep him out. he pushed three of the soldiers out of the way, but we finally held him back, so he sends this note." a few lines had been written in pencil on the reverse side of a typewritten business letter. the governor-general could speak english, but he read it rather badly, so he sent for his secretary, who told him that the note ran as follows: you don't know me and there is no need to give my name. must see you on important matter of business. something in regard to your daughter. "great heavens, another one!" said the governor-general. "there are one thousand young men ready and willing to marry jeneka and not one in all the world wants kalora. send him away!" "i am afraid he won't go," suggested the attendant. "he is a very positive character." "then send him in to me. i can dispose of his case in short order." a few moments later count selim malagaski found himself sitting face to face with a ruddy young man in a blue suit--a square-shouldered, smiling young gentleman, with hair of subdued auburn. "i take it that you're a busy man and i'll come to the point," said the young man, pulling up his chair. "i try to be business from the word go, even in matters of this kind. you have a daughter." "i have two daughters," replied the governor-general sadly. "you have only one that interests me. i have been around a good deal, but she is about the finest looking girl i--" "before you say any more, let me explain to you," said the governor-general very courteously. "perhaps you are not entitled to this information, but you seem to be a gentleman and a person of some importance, and you have done me the honor to admire my daughter, and, therefore, it is well that you should know all the facts in the case. i have two daughters. one is exceedingly beautiful and her hand has been sought in marriage by young men of the very first families of morovenia, notably count luis muldova, who owns a vast estate near the roumanian frontier. i have another daughter who is decidedly unattractive, so much so that she has never had an offer of marriage. i am telling you all this because it is known to all morovenia, and even you, a stranger, would have learned it very soon. under the law here, a younger sister may not marry until the elder sister has married. my unattractive daughter is the elder of the two. do you see the point? do you understand, when you come talking of a marriage with my one desirable daughter, that not only are you competing with all the wealthy and titled young men of this country, but also you are condemned to sit down and patiently wait until the elder sister has married,--which means, my dear sir, that probably you will wait for ever? therefore i think i may safely wish you good day." "hold on, here," said the visitor, who had been listening intently, with his eyes half-closed, and nodding his head quickly as he caught the points of the unusual situation. "if i can fix it up with you and daughter--and i don't think i'll have any trouble with daughter--what's the matter with my rustling around and finding a good man for sister? there is no reason why any young woman with a title should go into the discard these days. at least we can make a try. i have tackled propositions that looked a good deal tougher than this." "do you think it possible that you could find a desirable husband for a young woman who has no physical charms and who, on two or three occasions, has scandalized our entire court?" "i don't say i can, but i'm willing to take a whirl at it." "my dear sir, before we go any further, tell me something about yourself. you are an englishman, i presume?" "great scott! you're the first one that ever called me that. i have been called a good many things, but never an englishman. i'll have to begin wearing a flag in my hat. i'm an american." "american!" gasped the governor-general. "i am very sorry to hear it. i have every reason for regarding you and your native country as my natural enemies." "you're dead wrong. america is all right. the states size up pretty well alongside of this little patch of country." "i do not blame you for being loyal to your own home, sir, but isn't it rather presumptuous for you, an american, to aspire to the hand of a princess who could marry any one of a dozen young men of wealth and social position?" "what's the matter with my wealth and social position? i'm willing to stack up my bank-account with any other candidate. i happen to be worth eighteen million dollars." "dollars?" repeated the governor-general, puzzled. "what would that be in piasters?" "it's a shame to tell you. only about four hundred million piastres, that's all." "what!" exclaimed the governor-general. "surely you are joking. how could one man be worth four hundred million piasters?" "say, if you'll give me a pencil and a pad of paper and about a half-day's time, i'll figure out for you what henry frick is worth in piasters and then you _would_ have a fit. why, in the land of ready money i'm only a third-rater, but i've got the four hundred million, all right." "but have you any social position?" asked the governor-general. "any rank? any title? over here those things count for a great deal." "i am grand exalted ruler of the benevolent and protective order of elks," said the visitor calmly. "really!" "i am a knight templar." "a knight? that is certainly something." "do you see this badge with all the jewels in it? that means that i am a noble of the mystic shrine." "i can see that it is the insignia of a very distinguished order," said the governor-general, as he touched it admiringly. "what is more, i am king of the hoo-hoos." "a king?" "a sure-enough king. now, don't you worry about my wealth or my title. i've got money to burn and i can travel in any company. the thing for us to do is to get together and find a good husband for the cripple, and fix up this whole marriage deal. but before we go into it i want to meet your daughter and find out exactly how i stand with her." "that will be unnecessary, and also impossible. whatever arrangements you make with me may be regarded as final. my daughter will obey my wishes." "not for mine! i am not trying to marry any girl that isn't just as keen for me as i am for her. why, i've seen her only twice. let me talk it over with her, and if she says yes, then you can look me up in bradstreet and we'll all know where we stand." "i am sorry, but it is absolutely contrary to our customs to permit a private interview between an unmarried woman and her suitor." "whereas in our country it is the most customary thing in the world! now, why should we observe the customs of _your_ country and disregard the customs of _my_ country, which is about forty times as large and eighty times as important as your country? don't be foolish! i may be the means of pulling you out of a tight hole. you go and send your daughter here to me. give me ten minutes with her. i'll state my case to her, straight from the shoulder, and, if she doesn't give me a lot of encouragement, i'll grab the first train back to paris. if she _does_ give me any encouragement, then you'll see what can be accomplished by a real live matrimonial agency." the governor-general hesitated, but not for long. the confident manner of the stranger had inspired him with the first courage that he had felt for many weeks and revived in him the long-slumbering hope that possibly there was somewhere in the world a desirable husband for kalora. he was about to violate an important rule, but there was no reason why any one on the outside should hear about it. "this is most unusual," he said. "if i comply with your request, i must beg of you not to mention the fact of this interview to any one. remain here." he went away, and the young man waited minute after minute, pacing back and forth the length of the room, cutting nervous circles around the big office chairs, wiping his palms with his handkerchief and wondering if he had come on a fool's errand or whether-- he heard a rustle of soft garments, and turned. there in the doorway stood a feminine full moon--an elliptical young woman, with half of her pink and corpulent face showing above a gauzy veil, her two chubby hands clasped in front of her, the whole attitude one of massive shyness. "i--i beg pardon," he said, staring at her in wonder. she tried to speak, but was too much flustered. he saw that she was smiling behind the veil, and then she came toward him, holding out her hand. he took the hand, which felt almost squashy, and said: "i am very glad to meet you." then there was a pause. "won't you be seated?" he asked. she sank into one of the leather chairs and looked up at him with a little simper, and there was another pause. "i--i never have seen you before, have i?" she asked, with a secretive attempt to take a good look at him. "you can search me," he replied, staring at her, as if fascinated by her wealth of figure. "if i had seen you before, i have a remote suspicion that i should remember you. i don't think it would be easy to forget you." "you flatter me," she said softly. "do i? well, i meant every word of it. will you pardon me for being a wee bit personal? are there many young ladies in these parts that are as--as--corpulent, or fat, or whatever you want to call it--that is, are you any plumper than the average?" "i have been told that i am." "once more pardon me, but have you done anything for it?" "for what?" she asked, considerably surprised. "i wouldn't have mentioned it, only i think i can give you some good tips. i had a cousin flora who was troubled the same way. about the time she went to smith college she got kind of careless with herself, used to eat a lot of candy and never take any exercise, and she got to be an awful looking thing. if you'll cut out the starchy foods and drink nothing but kissingen, and begin skipping the rope every day, you'll be surprised how much of that you'll take off in a little while. at first you won't be able to skip more than twenty-five or fifty times a day, but you keep at it and in a month you can do your five hundred. put on plenty of flannels and wear a sweater. and i'll show you a dandy exercise. put your heels together this way,"--and he stood in front of her,--"and try to touch the floor with your fingers--so!"--illustrating. "you won't be able to do it at first, but keep at it, and it'll help a lot. then, if you will lie flat on your back every morning, and work your feet up and down----" she had listened, at first in utter amazement. now her timid coquettishness was giving way to anger. "what are you trying to tell me?" she asked. "it's none of my business, but i thought you'd be glad to find out what'd take off about fifty pounds." "and is this why you came to see me?" she demanded. "_i_ didn't come to see _you_." "my father said you were waiting and he sent me to you." "sent _you_," replied mr. pike in frank surprise. "my dear girl, you may be good to your folks and your heart may be in the right place, and i don't want to hurt your feelings, but father has got mixed in his dates. i certainly didn't come here to see _you_." as he was speaking jeneka wriggled forward in her chair and then arose. she stood before him, heaving perceptibly. "your manner is most insulting," she declared. she had expected to be showered with compliments, and here was this giggling stranger advising her to be thin! she toddled over to the door and pushed a bell. then she turned upon the bewildered stranger and remarked coldly: "unless you have something further to communicate, you may consider this interview at an end." a servant appeared in the doorway. "show this person out," said the portly princess. the servant gave a little scream. "mr. pike!" "kalora!" and then he was holding both her hands. "you are _here_--here in morovenia? you came all the way?" "all the way! i'd have come ten times as far. before i left new york i heard about all those messenger boys hunting me around the hotels, but i didn't know what it meant. when i got back to washington i found your note, and, as soon as i could get congress calmed down, i started--got in here last night." "but why did you come?" [illustration: "mr. pike!" "kalora!"] "can't you guess?" mr. pike wasted no time in circumlocution. during this hurried interview jeneka had been holding a determined thumb against the electric button. the governor-general, waiting impatiently up the hallway, heard the prolonged buzzing and came to investigate. he found the adorable jeneka, all trembling with indignation, in the doorway. she saw him and pointed. he looked and saw the distinguished stranger, the man of many titles and unbounded wealth, standing close to the slim princess, holding both her hands and beaming upon her with all of the unmistakable delirious happiness of love's young dream. "what does it mean?" asked the governor-general. "is it possible----" "he was rude to me," began jeneka, "he was most insulting----" mr. pike turned to meet his prospective father-in-law. "you meant well, but you got twisted," he remarked. "this is the one i was looking for." at first count selim malagaski was too dumfounded for speech. "are you sure?" he asked. "can it be possible that you, a man worth millions of piasters, an exalted ruler, a noble of the mystic shrine, have deliberately chosen this waspy, weedy----" "let up!" said mr. pike sharply. "you can say what you please about your daughter, but you mustn't make remarks about the prospective mrs. pike. i don't know anything about her local reputation for looks, but i think she's the most beautiful thing that ever drew breath, and i'd make it stronger than that if i knew how. you thought i meant the fat one. well, i didn't, but i hope the agreement goes just the same. and i'll stick to what i said. i'll get the other one married off. it may take a little time, but i think i can find some one." "_find_ some one?" cried jeneka indignantly. "_find_ some one?" repeated her father. "she has been sought by every young man of quality in the whole kingdom. how dare you suggest that----" then he paused, for he was beginning to comprehend that young mr. pike had stepped in and saved him, and that, instead of rebuking mr. pike, he should be weeping on his breast and calling him "son." jeneka came to her senses at the same moment, for she saw her dream of five years coming true. she knew that soon she would be the countess muldova. mr. pike suddenly felt himself caressed by three happy mortals. "i shall make you a knight of the gleaming scimitar," said the governor-general. "i have the authority." "thanks," replied mr. pike. "and we can have a double wedding," exclaimed jeneka, whose ecstasy was almost apoplectic. "we shall be married in washington," said kalora decisively. "i am not going to be carted over to my husband's house and delivered at the back door, even if it is the custom of my native land. i shall be married publicly and have twelve bridesmaids." "you may start for washington immediately," said her father with genuine enthusiasm. "i shall need a chaperon. send for popova." "good! his punishment shall be--permanent exile." "nothing would please him better," said kalora. "over here he is nothing--in washington he will be a distinguished foreigner. washington! _washington_! to think that all of us are going back there! to think that once more i shall have pickles--all the pickles i want to eat!" "we have over fifty varieties waiting for you," observed young mr. pike tenderly. "i have been thinking," spoke up the governor-general. "i shall apply to the sultan. he shall make you a most noble prince of the order of bosporus. the decoration is a great star, studded with diamonds." "thanks," replied mr. pike. that night the great palace at morovenia was completely illuminated for the first time in many months. the end essay upon wit by sir richard blackmore with commentary by joseph addison (freeholder, no. , ) and an introduction by richard c. boys _series one: essays on wit_ no. sir richard blackmore's _essay upon wit ( )_ and joseph addison's _freeholder, no. ( )_ with an introduction by richard c. boys the augustan reprint society may price: c membership in the augustan reprint society entitles the subscriber to six publications issued each year. the annual membership fee is $ . . address subscriptions and communications to the augustan reprint society in care of the general editors: richard c. boys, university of michigan, ann arbor, michigan; or edward n. hooker or h.t. swedenberg, jr., university of california, los angeles , california. introduction the battle between the puritans and the sophisticates is never ending. at certain stages of cultural development the worldly wise are in the ascendent in the literary world, as they were in the restoration and after the first world war. yet those with a more sober view of life are never submerged, even when they are overshadowed. the court of the restored charles gave full play to the indelicacy of rochester, dryden, and their circles, but most of their contemporaries were probably more content to read george herbert, queries, baxter, and bunyan. though the fashionable and urbane remained dominant in letters through the age of dryden, the forces of morality were rallying, and after the court (with which blackmore was connected) threw its weight on the side of virtue. jeremy collier was but the most important voice of a great movement, destined to have its effect on literature. sir richard blackmore contributed his share to the growing wave of bourgeois morality, which in the th century was reflected in the middle-class appeal of addison and steel, lillo's _london merchant_, and richardson's almost feminine plea for virtue rewarded. a physician, blackmore had turned to poetry for relaxation and composed his soporific epics, by his own admission, in the coffee-houses and in his coach while visiting patients. in the preface, to _prince arthur_ ( ) the city bard took occasion to flay the wits of the day for their immorality, an attack which he followed up in with the preface to _king arthur_, whose thinly disguised political allegory won him a knighthood. up to this point the wits had treated him with amused scorn, but when he called his big guns into action in the _satyr against wit_ (dated but issued late in ) the wits set out to crush him for once and all. _commendatory verses on the author of the two arthurs and the satyr against wit_ ( ), the reply, was far from commendatory. edited by tom brown and sponsored by christopher codrington, this miscellany attempted in scurrilous and often bad verse to laugh the knight out of literary existence. its main distinction lies in the list of contributors, among whom were sir charles sedley, richard steele, tom brown, and probably john dennis. blackmore's supporters answered _commendatory verses_ with _discommendatory_ _verses on those which are truly commendatory, on the author of the two arthurs, and the satyr against wit_. ( ). it is not at all certain that blackmore emerged second best in this exchange of blows in the miscellanies. at any rate, unabashed he went on to write more epics on elizabeth, alfred, job, and to win himself a doubtful immortality by being pilloried in pope's _dunciad_. throughout his writings blackmore has a good deal to say about wit, and much about the abuse of it. while swift in the _tale of a tub_ scolds the wits for their addiction to nonsense and irreligion, blackmore goes still further in the _satyr_, seeing wit as something which, in common practice, is evil and vicious, to be eradicated as quickly as possible. it is the enemy of virtue and religion (in the preface to _creation_, , he links it with atheism), a form of insanity, in opposition to 'right reason', and the seducer of young men. combatting its iniquities, blackmore proposes to set up a bank and mint of wit to assure that it will be refined and purified. by this process, the works of dryden, congreve, southerne, wycherley, garth, and vanbrugh will be melted down to separate the sludge from the pure metal. in the _nature of man_ ( ) he takes a more kindly attitude towards wit and pairs it with sense, reason, genius, and even piety. while he is moderate in his denunciation of wit in the _essay upon wit_, he does insist that even at its best it can never be noble. wit is harmful, he states, because it is often employed in immoral subjects, raillery, ridicule, and satire. it is chiefly useful as ornamentation: "the addition of wit to proper subjects, is like the artful improvement of the cook, who by his exquisite sauce gives to a plain dish, a pleasant and unusual relish". addison's _freeholder_ essay (no. ) was inspired by blackmore's _essay upon wit_, to which he paid a compliment in his opening remarks (much to the disgust of swift, who accused him of double-dealing). although addison had praised blackmore's _creation_ warmly in the _spectator_ no. , he had not always been friendly, for earlier blackmore had sneered at addison in the _satyr against wit_, a jibe that drew steele's reply in _commendatory verses_. blackmore's _essay upon wit_ appeared in his _essays upon several subjects_; the one-volume first edition of this work was published in and was followed by the second edition, in two volumes, the following year. the present reprint is from the first edition. the _freeholder_ no. here reproduced is from the edition of . both copies are owned by the university of michigan. richard c. boys university of michigan an essay upon wit. the inclinations of men, in this their degenerate state, carry them with great force to those voluptuous objects, that please their appetites and gratify their senses; and which not only by their early acquaintance and familiarity, but as they are adapted to the prevailing instincts of nature, are more esteem'd and pursu'd than all other satisfactions. as those inferior enjoyments, that only affect the organs of the body are chiefly coveted, so next to these, that light and facetious qualification of the mind, that diverts the hearers and is proper to produce mirth and alacrity, has, in all ages, by the greatest part of mankind, been admir'd and applauded. no productions of human understanding are receiv'd with such a general pleasure and approbation, as those that abound with wit and humour, on which the people set a greater value, than on the wisest and most instructive discourses. hence a pleasant man is always caress'd above a wise one, and ridicule and satyr, that entertain the laughers, often put solid reason and useful science out of countenance. the wanton temper of the nation has been gratify'd so long with the high seasonings of wit and raillery in writing and conversation, that now almost all things that are not accommodated to their relish by a strong infusion of those ingredients, are rejected as the heavy and insipid performances of men of a plain understanding and meer masters of sense. since the power of wit is so prevalent, and has obtained such esteem and popularity, that a man endow'd with this agreeable quality, is by many look'd on as a heavenly being, if compar'd with others, who have nothing but learning and a clear arguing head; it will be worth the while to search into its nature, and examine its usefulness, and take a view of those fatal effects which it produces, when it happens to be misapply'd. tho perhaps the talent which we call wit, like that of humour, is as clearly understood by its simple term, as by the most labour'd description; an argument or which is this, that many ingenious persons, by their unsuccessful essays to explain it, have rather obscur'd than illustrated its idea; i will notwithstanding adventure to give the definition of it, which tho it may fall short of perfection, yet i imagine, will come nearer to it, than any that has yet appear'd. _wit is a qualification of the mind, that raises and enlivens cold sentiments and plain propositions, by giving them an elegant and surprizing turn_. it is evident, that wit cannot essentially consist in the justness and propriety of the thoughts, that is, the conformity of our conceptions to the objects we conceive; for this is the definition of truth, when taken in a physical sense; nor in the purity of words and expression, for this may be eminent in the cold, didactick stile, and in the correct writers of history and philosophy: but wit is that which imparts spirit to our conceptions and diction, by giving them a lively and novel, and therefore an agreeable form: and thus its nature is limited and diversify'd from all other intellectual endowments. wit therefore is the accomplishment of a warm, sprightly, and fertile imagination, enrich'd with great variety of proper ideas; which active principle is however under the direction of a regular judgment, that takes care of the choice of just and suitable materials, prescribes to the tighter faculties the due bounds of their sport and activity, and assists and guides them, while they imprint on the conceptions of the mind their peculiar and delightful figures. the addition of wit to proper subjects, is like the artful improvement of the cook, who by his exquisite sauce gives to a plain dish, a pleasant and unusual relish. a man of this character works on simple proportions a rich embroidery of flowers and figures, and imitates the curious artist, who studs and inlays his prepar'd steel with devices of gold and silver. but wit is not only the improvement of a plain piece by intellectual enameling; besides this, it animates and warms a cold sentiment, and makes it glow with life and vigor; and this it effects, as is express'd in the last part of the definition, by giving it as elegant and surprizing turn. it always conveys the thought of the speaker or writer cloath'd in a pleasing, but foreign dress, in which it never appear'd to the hearer before, who however had been long acquainted with it; and this appearance in the habit of a stranger must be admirable, since surprize naturally arises from novelty, as delight and wonder result from surprize; which i have more fully explain'd in the former essay. as to its efficient cause; wit owes its production to an extraordinary and peculiar temperament in the constitution of the possessors of it, in which is found a concurrence of regular and exalted ferments, and an affluence of animal spirits refin'd and rectify'd to a great degree of purity; whence being endow'd with vivacity, brightness and celerity, as well in their reflexions as direct motions, they become proper instruments for the sprightly operations of the mind; by which means the imagination can with great facility range, the wide field of nature, contemplate an infinite variety of objects, and by observing the similitude and disagreement of their several qualities, single out and abstract, and then suit and unite those ideas, which will best serve its purpose. hence beautiful allusions, surprizing metaphors and admirable sentiments are always ready at hand: and while the fancy is full of images collected from innumerable objects and their different qualities, relations and habitudes, it can at pleasure dress a common notion in a strange, but becoming garb; by which, as before observ'd, the same thought will appear a new one, to the great delight and wonder of the hearer. what we call genius results from this particular happy complexion in the first formation of the person that enjoys it, and is nature's gift, but diversify'd by various specifick characters and limitations, as its active fire is blended and allay'd by different proportions of phlegm, or reduc'd and regulated by the contrast of opposite ferments. therefore as there happens in the composition of a facetious genius a greater or less, tho still an inferior degree of judgment and prudence, and different kinds of instincts and passions, one man of wit will be vary'd and distinguish'd from another. that distinction that seems common to persons of this denomination, is an inferior degree of wisdom and discretion; and tho these two qualities, wit and discretion, are almost incapable of a friendly agreement, and will not, but with great difficulty, be work'd together and incorporated in the constitution of any individual; yet this observation is not so conspicuous in any, as in those, whose native complexion comes the nearest to a subversion and absence of mind, tho it should never degenerate into that distemper'd elevation of the spirits: nothing is more common, than to see persons of this class always think right, and always act wrong; admirable for the richness, delicacy, and brightness of their imaginations, and at the same time to be pity'd for their want of prudence and common sense; abounding with excellent maxims and instructive sentiments, which however are not of the least use to themselves in the conduct of their lives. and hence it is certain, that tho the gentlemen of a pleasant and witty turn of mind often make the industrious merchant, and grave persons of all professions, the subjects of their raillery, and expose them as stupid creatures, not supportable in good company; yet these in their turn believe they have as great a right, as indeed they have, to reproach the others for want of industry, good sense, and regular oeconomy, much more valuable talents than those, which any mere wit can boast of; and therefore wise parents, who from a tender concern for the honour and happiness of their children, earnestly desire they may excel in intellectual endowments, should, instead of refin'd parts and a genius turn'd for pleasant conversation, wish them a solid understanding and a faculty of close and clear reasoning, these qualifications being likely to make them good men, and the other only good companions. and this leads to another observation, namely, that persons of facetious talents and agreeable humour, in whose temperament, judgment, and discretion, as before observ'd, are usually found in a disproportionate measure, are more inclin'd than others to levity and dissolute manners: the same swiftness of thought and sprightliness of imagination, that qualifies them for ingenious conversation, sports of fancy and comick writing, do likewise give them an exquisite taste of sensual pleasures, and expose them to the prevailing power of tempting, tho forbidden enjoyments. the passions and appetites of these men, from the same spring from whence they derive their extraordinary parts, that is, a redundancy of warm and lively spirits, are more violent and impatient of restraint, than those in a cooler and less active complexion, who however may be more eminent in the superior faculties of the mind: hence it will be no wonder, that while their propensions to pleasure are much stronger, and their reason much weaker than those of other men, they should be less able than others, to resist the allurements of criminal delights; and this remark is confirm'd by daily experience. how few of this facetious and comick species of men, caress'd and applauded for their shining parts and witty discourses, escape the snares that encompass them, and preserve their vertue and sobriety of manners? it too often happens, that a man elevated above the rest by his uncommon genius, is as much distinguish'd by his extraordinary immorality: and it would be well if it stop'd here; but by degrees he often grows much worse, by adding impiety and profaneness to looseness of manners: for being unable, that is, having a moral impotence of will to restrain his evil propensions and govern his vicious appetites, and finding his guilty enjoyments, attended with inward uneasiness and unavoidable remorse, and being conscious that his irregular life is inconsistent with safety and happiness in a future state; to remove the troublesome misgivings of his mind from the apprehensions of guilt here, and rid himself of the fears of suffering hereafter, he at length disclaims the belief of a supream being and a future existence, and with much ado brings over his judgment to the side of his passions: this ingenious libertine, having too little strength of reason to subdue his appetites, and too much wit to think, that if that be not done, he shall escape at last divine punishment, abolishes his creed for the quiet of his mind, and renounces his god to preserve his vices. the objects about which wit is exercis'd, are the common and less important actions of life. it is the province of the civil magistrate to make laws against enormous crimes and great immoralities, and by punishing offenders, to deter men from the like transgressions; but they take no notice of lower errors, either because they have not such noxious influence on the state, or because it is impossible to foresee and enumerate their numberless classes, and prevent their growth: where then the legislator ends, the comick genius begins, and presides over the low and ordinary affairs and manners of life. it extends its power and jurisdiction over the wide field of inferior faults and ridiculous follies, over the districts of indiscretion, indecency, and impertinence, and is visitor of the regions void of discipline, politeness, and civility. wit is employ'd in its own province, when the possessor of it exercises his genius on the ordinary customs and manners of life, either in conversation, or comick writing. it has therefore no place in the works where severe knowledge and judgment are chiefly exercis'd; those superior productions of the understanding must be express'd in a clear and strong manner, without intervening strains of wit or facetious fancies, which, were they admitted, would appear incongruous and impertinent, and diminish the merit of the writing. hence wit has no place in history, philology, philosophy, or in the greater lyrick or epick poems; the two last of which containing either the praises of deities or demi-gods, or treating of lofty and illustrious subjects; such as the foundation, rise, and revolution of kingdoms, commotions of state, battles, triumphs, solemn embassies, and various other important actions of princes and heroes, are exalted above the sphere of wit and humour. the strength and dignity of the sublime stile is debas'd and adulterated by the foreign and improper mixture of light sentiments, and pretty fancies. these sallies and sports of the imagination, will no more advance the beauty of such superior productions, than the addition of glittering tinsel and glass beads will improve the imperial purple, or adorn the crowns of great monarchs. and therefore we see, with what judicious care _virgil_ has avoided this error; how clear are his celebrated writings from the least sprinkling of wit and pleasant conceits, which corrupt the purity, debase the majesty, and sully the lustre of the greater species of poetry? and as the gravity and chastness of the sublime stile, in the works last mention'd, will not endure the gay ornaments of fancy; so does that light dress more misbecome the pious and wise discourses, that come either from the pulpit or the press. wit is so far from being a grace or improvement of divine eloquence, that on the contrary, it destroys its dignity, breaks its force, and renders it base and puerile. the end and usefulness of this ingenious qualification, is to delight and instruct. it animates and sweetens conversation, by raising innocent mirth and good humour; and by this effect it relieves domestick cares, revives men of business and studious professions, and softens the asperity of morose dispositions. it suspends uneasy and anxious thoughts, dispels cloudy and fallen melancholy, and by unbending and exhilerating the minds of the assembly, gives them new life and spirit to resume the labour of their respective employments. the exercise of wit and a pleasant genius, excels all other recreations. what is the satisfaction that arises from country sports, or the politer diversions of balls and operas, compar'd with the delightful conversation of men of parts and facetious talents? other amusements, how agreeable soever, only please the body and gratify the senses, but this strikes the imagination, touches the passions, and recreates the intellectual faculties. and as the taste of the soul is more delicate and exquisite than that of the body, so much superior are the pleasures of one to those of the other: it is no wonder then, that the assemblies of friends are dull and heavy, that feasts and wine are flat entertainments, unless some ingenious persons are present to improve their taste, and enliven the company by agreeable discourses. another part of the province in which wit is properly exercis'd, are ingenious writings, intended to please and improve the people; and this is more various and extensive than comick poetry, tho of the same kind; for it takes in not only the subjects of prudence and decency, regular behaviour and vertuous actions, but likewise the justness of human sentiments and opinions in points of controversy; of the last, the dialogue of dr. _eachard_ against mr. _hobbes_ is a famous example, where, by great strength and solidity of reason, mixt with agreeable wit and raillery, he entertains and informs the reader, and at once exposes and confutes the conceited philosopher. an instance of the first is, the celebrated history of _don quixote_, compil'd by the _spanish_ wit _michael de cervantes_; a book so well imagin'd, and writ with so much spirit and fine raillery, that it effectually procur'd the end of the admirable author; for by turning into mirth and ridicule the reigning folly of romantick chivalry, and freeing the minds of the people from that fashionable delusion, he broke the force of as strong an enchantment, and destroy'd as great a monster as was ever pretended to be vanquish'd by their imaginary heroes. and many more books on other moral subjects have been compos'd with much wit and vivacity in our own and foreign countries, to expose vice and folly, and promote decency and sobriety of manners. but the productions of this nature, which have of late appear'd in this nation, whether we regard the just and generous sentiments, the fertile invention, the variety of subjects, the surprizing turns of wit and facetious imagination, the genteel satire, the purity and propriety of the words, and the beauty and dignity of the diction, have surpass'd all the productions of this kind, that have been publish'd in any age or country. the reader no doubt is before-hand with me, and concludes, that i mean the _tatler_ and _spectator_, which for the greatest part, have all the perfection of writing, and all the advantages of wit and humour, that are requir'd to entertain and instruct the people: and it must chiefly be owing to the great depravity of manners in these loose and degenerate times, that such worthy performances have produc'd no better effects. but this excellent and amiable qualification of the mind is too apt to be abus'd and perverted to ill purposes. instead of being ingag'd on the side of vertue, and us'd to promote just notions and regularity of life, it is frequently employ'd to expose the most sacred things, to turn gravity and reserv'd behaviour into ridicule, to keep in countenance vice and irreligion, and with a petulant and unrestrain'd liberty, to deride the principles and practices of the wisest and best of men. the conversation of ingenious libertines generally turns upon reveal'd religion and the venerable teachers of it; or on those of the laity, who seem most sincere in the belief of christianity, and express the greatest conformity in their actions to the precepts of it. nothing gives so high a seasoning to their raillery, and more improves the taste of their jests, than some sharp and pointed ingredients, that wound religion and the professors of it; whereof some are made the entertainment of the company by these facetious scoffers, and expos'd as persons fetter'd with prepossessions, and biass'd by notions of vertue, deriv'd from education and the early instructions of canting parents. others are represented as indebted for their piety to the prevalency of the spleen, and an immoderate mixture of melancholy in their complexion, which, say they, give to the mind a superstitious turn, and fill the head with religious chimeras, frightful phantomes of guilt, and idle fears of imaginary punishments; while others are ridicul'd as men of a cold and phlegmatick complexion, without spirit and native fire; who derive, say they, their vertue, not from choice or restraint of appetite, but from their deadness and indisposition to pleasure; not from the power of their reason, but the weakness of their passions. it would be endless to enumerate the various ways which the atheistical wit and merry libertine employ, to take off all veneration of religion, and expose its adherents to publick derision. this is certainly the greatest abuse of wit imaginable. in all the errors and monstrous productions of nature, can any appear more deform'd than a man of parts, who employs his admirable qualities in bringing piety into contempt, putting vertue to the blush, and making sobriety of manners the common subject of his mirth; while with zeal and industry, he propagates the malignant contagion of vice and irreligion, poisons his friends and admirers, and promotes the destruction of his native country? and if these foolish wits and ingenious madmen could reflect, they would soon be convinc'd, that while they are engag'd against religion they hurt themselves; and that wit and humour thus misapply'd, will prove but a wretched compensation for their want of vertue. in this place i crave leave to transcribe some passages relating to this subject, from the writings of a good judge of wit, and as great a master of it as perhaps any nation ever bred, i mean archbishop _tillotson_; "i know not how it comes to pass, _says he_, that some men have the fortune to be esteem'd wits, only for jesting out of the common road, and for making bold to scoff at those things, which the greatest part of mankind reverence--. if men did truly consult the interest, either of their safety or reputation, they would never exercise their wit in such dangerous matters. wit is a very commendable quality, but then a wise man should have the keeping of it. it is a sharp weapon, as apt for mischief as for good purposes, if it be not well manag'd: the proper use of it is to season conversation, to represent what is praise-worthy to the greatest advantage, and to expose the vices and follies of men, such things as are in themselves truly ridiculous: but if it be apply'd to the abuse of the gravest and most serious matters, it then loses its commendation. if any man thinks he abounds in this quality, and hath wit to spare, there is scope enough for it within the bounds of religion and decency; and when it transgresseth these, it degenerates into insolence and impiety--and afterwards: a sharp wit may find something in the wisest man, whereby to expose him to the contempt of injudicious people. the gravest book that ever was written, may be made ridiculous, by applying the sayings of it to a foolish purpose, for a jest may be obtruded upon any thing; and therefore no man ought to have the less reverence for the principles of religion, or for the holy scriptures, because idle and profane wits can break jests upon them. nothing is so easy, as to take particular phrases and expressions out of the best book in the world, and to abuse them, by forcing an odd and ridiculous sense upon them." and in another place, having mention'd the most proper objects of wit, he thus expresses himself,--"this i say on purpose to recommend to men a nobler exercise for their wits, and if it be possible, to put them out of conceit with that scoffing humour, which is so easy and so ill-natur'd, and is not only an enemy to religion, but to every thing else that is wise and worthy; and i am very much mistaken, if the state as well as the church, the civil government as well as religion, do not in a short space find the intolerable inconvenience of this humour." tho the persons addicted to this impious folly, expose the sacred mysteries of christianity, and make its votaries the common topick of their raillery, it cannot thence be concluded, that they are certain that those whom they thus deride, as whimsical, stupid, and deluded men, have not the least reason to support their religious principles and practice; for if they were sure of this, they would treat such unhappy persons as men rob'd of their senses, with tenderness and compassion; for none will allow such distemper'd minds to be proper subjects of ridicule and derision: but those, who attentively observe the manner and air of these jesting libertines, when they laugh at vertue, will see plainly their licentious mirth springs from other principles; either from this, that the example of many persons, who in earnest embrace and profess the articles of religion, continually disturbs their opinion of themselves, and creates severe misgivings and distrust in their minds, lest their notions about religion should not be true, when they observe, that many persons of eminent parts, superior reason and erudition, maintain with zeal quite contrary sentiments; or else it proceeds from their hatred of men of vertue, founded in the dissimilitude of dispositions and manners, and disagreement in interest, employments and designs; or from an envy of their great merit, innocent life, and worthy actions, which from the prevailing power of their own vicious inclinations, they are unable to imitate; for after all their raillery and expressions of contempt, vertue has that native lustre and amiable appearance, that will compel men secretly to esteem it, even while they deride the possessors of it. such is the pride and vanity of degenerate nature, that loose men will always endeavour to level the eminent characters of religious and sober persons, and reduce them to the inferior degree of their own: and for that end, they will labour to sink the opinion and esteem of any excellence or merit, to which themselves can make no pretence. while they cannot equal the bright example of vertue in others, they strive to sully or efface it, and by turning it into ridicule, make it seem rather the dishonour and deformity, than the beauty and perfection of the mind: and if they can disgrace religion, and subvert all moral distinction, men will be valu'd only for their intellectual endowments, and then they imagine they have gain'd their point, since the superiority of wit, as they suppose, is on their side. these seem to me the genuine and natural causes, why men of great parts and extraordinary wit, but of loose principles and immoral lives, who above all others affect popularity and gasp after applause, take so much pleasure, without the least regard to modesty and decency, in a christian country to mock religion and jerk with spiteful satire men of vertue and inoffensive behaviour. wit is likewise misapply'd, when exercis'd to ridicule any unavoidable defects and deformities of body or mind; for since nothing is a moral blemish, but as it is the effect of our own choice, nothing can be disgraceful but what is voluntary, and brought freely upon our selves; and since nothing is the proper object of raillery and ridicule, but what is shameful, it must be a violence to reason and humanity, to reproach and expose another for any thing that was not in his power to escape. and therefore to make a man contemptible, and the jest of the company, by deriding him for his mishapen body, ill figur'd face, stammering speech, or low degree of understanding, is a great abuse of ingenious faculties. nor is it a less criminal use of this talent, when it is exercis'd in lascivious and obscene discourses. the venom is not less, but more infectious and destructive, when convey'd by artful insinuation and a delicate turn of wit; when impure sentiments are express'd by men of a heavy and gross imagination, in direct and open terms, the company are put out of countenance, and nauseate the coarseness of the conversation: but a man of wit gilds the poison, dresses his wanton thoughts in a beautiful habit, and by slanting and side approaches, possesses the imagination of the hearers, before his design is well discover'd; by which means he more effectually gains admission to the mind, and fills the fancy with immodest ideas. nothing can be more ill-manner'd, or disagreeable to persons of vertue and sobriety of manners, than wanton and obscene expressions; on which subject the excellent archbishop _tillotson_ has the following paragraph: "nothing that trespasses upon the modesty of the company, and the decency of conversation, can become the mouth of a wise and vertuous person. this kind of conversation would fain pass for wit among some sort of persons, to whom it is acceptable; but whatever savours of rudeness and immodesty, and ill-manners, is very far from deserving that name; and they that are sober and vertuous cannot entertain any discourse of this kind, with approbation and acceptance. a well bred person will never offend in this way. and therefore it cannot but be esteem'd as an affront to modest company, and a rude presuming upon their approbation, impudently taking it for granted, that all others are as lewd and dissolute as themselves." men of finer spirits do likewise abuse their parts, as well as misapply their time, when to gain applause and increase their popularity, they run, without distinction, into company, and by too great condescention and false humanity, mingle in inferior and unworthy assemblies; where delighted with the silly approbation of ignorant laughers, they shine forth in a great effusion of wit and humour; by which they make themselves cheap, if not contemptible in the opinion of wise and discerning persons. men of singular wit, like women of great beauty, should never be unguarded; for if not endow'd with a decent reservedness, a modest air, and a discreet behaviour, they sink in their value, and by appearing in all places, and becoming common and familiar, lose, in a great measure, their honour, and the opinion of their merit. it is a meretricious prostitution of wit, when the possessors of it can deny no addresses, and refuse no invitations and appointments, but suffer themselves to be shown at every entertainment; besides the gratifying of their vanity, by a constant pursuit of approbation and praise, which is the spring whence this prodigality of parts and waste of facetious humour chiefly arise; it is evident, they spend a great deal of time, of which a wise man can give no account, while wit, which should in its proper place, renew and revive the spirits for useful employment, becomes a continu'd diversion, and makes everlasting idleness the business of life. it is pity that a man of fine spirit and a fertile, as well as delicate imagination, should think himself engag'd in high conversation, when he is only employ'd in the lowest affairs that concern mankind. his post is of the same kind, and but the next in order above that of players on instruments, admirable voices, excellent actors on the stage, and famous dancers; whose province is only to amuse and recreate; and is therefore far below theirs, who are either busied in governing the state, defending their country, improving the minds, or relieving the bodies of other men. hence the labours of the meanest persons, that conduce to the welfare and benefit of the publick, are more valuable, because more useful, than the employments of those, who apply themselves only, or principally, to divert and entertain the fancy; and therefore must be as much preferable to the occupation or profession of a wit, as the improvement and happiness of men is to be regarded above their mirth and recreation. i allow, that the talents of these ingenious men are very much to be esteem'd in their proper place; that is, as they unbend the mind, relieve the satiety of contemplation and labour, and by the delight which they give, refresh the spirits and fit them for the returns of study and employment: but then it must be granted, that, as i have said, this is the meanest, as being the least beneficial province in which our intellectual faculties can be engag'd; and therefore these facetious men can only claim the highest rank among those, who are inventors or ministers of pleasure, and provide amusements and recreations for the busy and the wise. i would illustrate what i have asserted by the following reflection. domestick fowls, the hen, the turkey, and goose are preferable, as more useful, to the singing bird, and the parrot. the ox, that ploughs the field and brings home the harvest, the horse, the mule, and even the stupid ass, that carry their owners, or their goods and merchandize, are more to be regarded than the hound, the lap-dog, and various other animals that seem to have been created only for our pleasure and amusement: and the reason of this is very evident, mankind may be very happy, and states and kingdoms may remain in a flourishing condition, tho there were no such diverting creatures in the world: and from the same consideration, men, tho of a lower station, who are not only beneficial, but necessary to the well-being of human societies, are of far greater importance, and therefore deserve more esteem than those, who only are subservient to our recreation; for the world may still subsist, and continue in very comfortable circumstances without one, but not without the other: and 'tis easy to name some learned and powerful communities, the envy and terror of their neighbours, who tho they abound in men of good sense and diligent application to business, yet have few wits and jesters among them to make them merry. the truth of what i have asserted will farther appear, if we reflect that generally men of a plain understanding and good sense, but of great industry and capacity for business, are in all governments advanc'd to posts of trust and great employments in the state, while meer wits are regarded as men of the lowest merit, and accordingly are promoted to the meaner and less profitable places, being look'd on, by reason of their inapplication and volatile temper, as unfit for a higher station. another pernicious abuse of wit is that which appears in the writings of some ingenious men, who are so hardy as to expose from the press the most venerable subjects, and treat vertue and sobriety of manners with raillery and ridicule. several, in their books, have many sarcastical and spiteful strokes at religion in general, while others make themselves pleasant with the principles of the christian. of the last kind this age has seen a most audacious example in the book intitul'd, _a tale of a tub_. had this writing been publish'd in a pagan or popish nation, who are justly impatient of all indignity offer'd to the establish'd religion of their country, no doubt but the author would have receiv'd the punishment he deserv'd. but the fate of this impious buffoon is very different; for in a protestant kingdom, zealous of their civil and religious immunities, he has not only escap'd affronts and the effects of publick resentment, but has been caress'd and patroniz'd by persons of great figure and of all denominations. violent party-men, who differ'd in all things besides, agreed, in their turn, to shew particular respect and friendship to this insolent derider of the worship of his country, till at last the reputed writer is not only gone off with impunity, but triumphs in his dignity and preferment. i do not know, that any inquiry or search was ever made after this writing, or that any reward was ever offer'd for the discovery of the author, or that the infamous book was ever condemn'd to be burnt in publick: whether this proceeds from the excessive esteem and love that men in power, during the late reign, had for wit, or their defeat of zeal and concern for the christian religion, will be determin'd best by those, who are best acquainted with their character. but the most extensive abuse of parts and ingenuity, appears in the loose productions of our writers to the stage. it was the complaint of the celebrated wit of _spain, michael de cervantes_, before-cited, that the comedies in his time were not only extravagant and monstrous in their contrivance, but likewise the exemplars of vice and representations of lewdness: but had the plays in _spain_, at that time, been as immoral and unchaste as the daily entertainments of the _british_ theatre, which have a manifest tendency to vitiate the taste of the people, fill their imaginations with obscene ideas, and their lives with levity, idleness and luxury; i say, if that great man, whose judgment was equal to his admirable genius, had seen religion and vertue so derided, and modesty, reservedness, and decency so insulted and expos'd, his zeal for the honour of his country, and his love of mankind, would have animated him to have attack'd the comick poets with the same spirit, with which he assaulted the prevailing folly of his age, the romantick atchievements of knights errant; his wit and good sense would have made those merry authors as odious for poisoning the people with their loose and immoral writings, as he made the others ridiculous for their extravagant and idle tales. no doubt a comedy may be so contriv'd, that it may at once become delightful, and promote prudence and sobriety of manners; that is, when the characters are well chosen, justly delineated, and every where distinguish'd; when the various manners are exactly imitated and carry'd on with propriety and uniformity; when the principal action contains an instructive moral, and all the parts in a regular connexion, dependance and proportion, illustrate and support each other, and have a manifest influence on the main event; when the incidents are well imagin'd, and result from the manners of the dramatick persons, when the turns are surprizing, the knots or obstructions natural and unconstrain'd, and the unraveling of them, tho unforeseen, yet free and easy; and when the diction is pure, proper and elegant, as well as chaste and inoffensive to the modest and vertuous hearers. so regular and beautiful a piece as this cannot but greatly please and divert, as well as instruct the audience. nor is it, i imagine, from want of knowledge of the rules of writing, nor of sufficient genius, in which this nation abounds, that so few comedies, distinguish'd by these perfections, have been produc'd: but this defect arises partly from this, that the comick poets are often men of loose manners, and therefore unlikely persons to undertake the promotion and encouragement of vertue, of which they have no taste, and to discountenance imprudence and immorality, when by doing so, they must expose their own character to derision; tho sometimes it may happen, that a loose poet as well as preacher, merely from his just manner of thinking, and his sense of decency in forming discourses becoming his character, may entertain the audience with laudable performances. another, and the chief cause of the immorality of the theatre, is the ill taste of the people, who, notwithstanding they have applauded several clean and regular ttagedies, such as those which have of late, appear'd that are worthy of the greatest commendation, especially _cato_ and the plays for the most part of mr. _row_, as great a genius for tragedy as any nation in any age has produc'd, yet still frequent and encoutage the loosest comedies. it happens, that the greatest part of men of wit and humour, who not being easy in their fortunes, work for the stage, and are day-labourers to the muses, lie under a necessity of bringing those productions to market, which are in fashion, and therefore vendible; while others, tho of ever so much greater value, would be turn'd back upon their hands; nor would the actors, who live by their employment, as the comick writers do by theirs, undertake to represent an innocent, and much less a comedy of yet higher merit. tho several assaults have been made upon the comick poets in fashion, and many batteries have been rais'd against the theatre, yet hitherto they have prov'd unsuccessful; the stage is become impregnable, where loose poets, supported by numbers, power, and interest, in defiance of all rules of decency and vertue, still provide new snares and temptations to seduce the people, and corrupt their manners. notwithstanding the earnest cries of this great city, that importune these writers to reform the theatre, and no longer to infest her youth, and draw their inclinations from their professions and employments; notwithstanding the sighs and tears of many once flourishing, but now disconsolate families, ruin'd by the dissolute lives of their chief branches, who lost their vertue by frequenting the fatal entertainments of the theatre; notwithstanding the wise and sober part of the kingdom earnestly sollicit them to spare the people, to stop the spreading plague and slay the destroying pen, they persevere with intrepid resolution and inexorable cruelty, to poison the minds, and ruin the morals of the nation. the great archbishop _tillotson_ has set our present theatre in a true light in his discourse upon _corrupt communication_: "i shall only speak a few words concerning plays, which as they are now order'd among us, are a mighty reproach to the age and nation. "to speak against them in general, may be thought too severe, and that which the present age cannot so well brook, and would not perhaps be so just and reasonable; because it is very possible they might be so fram'd and govern'd by such rules, as not only to be innocently diverting, but instructing and useful, to put some vices and follies out of countenance, which cannot perhaps be so decently reprov'd, nor so effectually expos'd and corrected any other way. but as the stage now is, they are intollerable, and not fit to be permitted in a civiliz'd, much less a christian nation. they do most notoriously minister both to infidelity and vice. by the profaneness of them, they are apt to instil bad principles into the minds of men, and to lessen that awe and reverence which all men ought to have for god and religion: and by their lewdness they teach vice, and are apt to infect the minds of men, and dispose them to lewd and dissolute practices. "and therefore i do not see how any persons pretending to sobriety and vertue, and especially to the pure and holy religion of our blessed saviour, can, without great guilt, and open contradiction to his holy profession, be present at such lewd and immodest plays, much less frequent them, as too many do, who yet would take it very ill to be shut out of the communion of christians, as they would most certainly have been in the first and purest ages of christianity." and not only wise and sober men have declar'd their detestation of the immorality of the stage, but eminent poets themselves, who have written the most applauded comedies, have own'd, that the theatre stands in great need of restraints and regulation, and wish'd that plays were compil'd in such an inoffensive manner, that not only discreet and vertuous persons of the laity, but a bishop himself, without being shock'd, might be present while they were acted. mr. _dryden_ has, up and down in his prefatory discourses and dedications, freely aeknowledg'd the looseness of our dramatick entertainments, which sometimes he charges upon the countenance given to it by the dissolute court of king _charles_ the second, and sometimes upon the vitiated taste of the people. in his dedication of _juvenal_, made _english_, to the late famous earl of _dorset_, he thus bespeaks him; "as a counsellor bred up in the knowledge of the municipal and statute laws may honestly inform a just prince how far his prerogative extends, so i may be allow'd to tell your lordship, who by an indisputed title are the king of poets, what an extent of power you have, and how lawfully you may exercise it over the petulant scriblers of the age. as lord chamberlain, you are absolute by your office, in all that belongs to the decency and good manners of the stage; you can banish thence scurrility and profaneness, and restrain the licentious insolence of the poets and their actors, in all things that shock the publick quiet or the reputation of private persons, under the notion of _humour_." hence it evidently appears, that mr _dryden_ look'd on the decency of the stage to be violated in his time, by licentious and insolent poets; and i wish i could say, that there is less reason of complaint in ours; in a copy of verses, publish'd in one of the volumes of the miscellany poems, the same celebrated author inveighs against the lewdness and pollutions of the stage in the strongest expressions that can be conceiv'd; and in his latter days, when his judgment was more mature, he condemns all his loose and profane writings to the flames, which, he says, they justly deserve: which is not only a free and ingenious confession of his fault, but a considerable mark of repentance, and worthy to be imitated by his successors, who have broken in upon the rules of vertue and modesty in the like manner. tho all men of vertue, who wish well to mankind, and are zealous for the happiness of their country, cannot but observe the mischievous effects of these licentious dramatick compositions, yet they will find it very difficult to suggest an effectual remedy for the cure of so obstinate an evil. the ingenious _spaniard_ mention'd before, for stopping the progress of this contagious lewdness in his country, propos'd to the government, that an officer or inspector might be establish'd, with authority to peruse and correct the poet's writings, and that no comedies should be presented to the publick without his licence and approbation. but if this would have been sufficient to have prevented or remov'd this hurtful practice, the _british_ nation would long since have had no reason to complain on this subject. we have officers intrusted with this useful and important power, and are able, if they please, to hinder the spreading of the infection, by not permitting such noxious productions to appear in publick: but whether those inspectors have had a true taste and judgment themselves, or have diligently apply'd themselves to the reading and amending the comedies put into their hands for their approbation, or whether they comply with the importunity of the actors, who tell them, that such is the disposition of the audience, that no plays of that kind will appear beautiful, if they are strip'd of those embellishments and ornaments of wit, which some morose and unfashionable people stile impure and obscene, and that to leave out those ingenious strokes and heightnings of fancy, and put into the mouths of the actors only good sense and modest and clean expressions, is to clear and refine our comedies from the most entertaining and delightful parts: perhaps they assure them, that the audience will endure no reformation of the stage, and that it were altogether as adviseable to shut up the doors of the play-house, as to attempt a regulation of the pleasures and diversions of it. but tho men who love their country, born down with a torrent of profane libertines, persons without taste and distinction of vertue and vice, have almost despair'd of seeing the comick poets reform'd, and the exorbitant liberties of the stage restrain'd within the limits of modest language and decent behaviour; yet now their hopes revive, and they promise to themselves a sudden and effectual reformation of these abuses, since the government has plac'd so worthy a person at the head of the actors, and given him ample authority to rectify their errors: what a happy revolution, what a regular and clean stage may justly be now expected? how free from all sordid and impure mixtures, how innocent, as well as diverting, will our comedies appear, when they have been corrected and refin'd by such an accomplish'd director of the dramatick poets? one that has a true and delicate taste, and who is sensible of the indecencies and hurtful nature of our plays; who has engag'd his celebrated pen, in defiance of sneering wits and powerful libertines, on the side of vertue, and has propagated the esteem of morals, humanity, decorum and sobriety of manners; who with great spirit, genius, and courage, to his lasting honour, has publickly expos'd the absurdities, vices, and follies, that stain and disgrace the theatre; in which censure he has not spar'd his own performances: one who has express'd a warm zeal on this subject, and declar'd his generous intention, if it were in his power, to cleanse these polluted places, and not to suffer a comedy to be presented but what had past a severe examination, and where all things which might shock a modest ear, or be look'd on as repugnant to good manners, might be expung'd. but if these fair expectations should be blasted in the bloom, and notwithstanding the vigorous efforts which will be made by this reformer, immorality shall maintain its ground and keep possession of the theatre, some other expedients may be suggested to procure a regulation. it might, perhaps be desirable, that a few persons of importance, men of learning, gravity, and good taste, might be commission'd by authority, as a check upon the actors, to censure and suppress any dramatick entertainments that shall offend against religion, sobriety of manners, or the publick peace; and all persons should be encourag'd to send them such loose or profane passages which they hear from the stage, or read in the printed plays: nor will it be less expedient, that they should be instructed to peruse the plays already publish'd, and which are now publickly acted, and to expunge all offensive and criminal mixtures, that hereafter they may become a clean and innocent diversion. besides, this end would the more effectually be accomplish'd, if the writers of comedy, farce, and interludes, were rewarded and supported by means independent on the actors: for while the poets, who write for a maintenance, are paid by the theatre, they will be under a great temptation to write as desir'd and directed by the actors, which was the complaint of _cervantes_ above-cited, concerning the comick poets of _spain_. the actors, we may safely conclude, are not restrain'd by such rigorous precepts of vertue, but that they will always be inclin'd to present those performances which will best fill the house and promote their interest; and therefore they will readily humour the vitiated taste of the audience, by acting the most immoral plays, while they find their account in doing so: and that which confirms this observation is, that they never, as far as i have heard, rejected any comedy merely for its looseness, tho i believe they have refus'd many for want of that entertaining quality. now were the comick writers provided of a subsistence some other way, they would be deliver'd from the necessity of complying with their actors, by writing such plays as they shall bespeak, or at least approve, as the most likely to invite a profitable audience. it would prove an effectual remedy for this evil, if the ladies would discountenance these loose comedies, by expressing their dislike, and refusing to be present when they are acted: and this no doubt they would do, were they inform'd, that the comedies which they encourage by their appearance at the theatre, are full of wanton sentiments, obscene allusions, and immodest ideas, contain'd in expressions of a double meaning: for it cannot be imagin'd they would bear with unconcernedness, much less with pleasure, discourses in publick, which they detest as unsufferable in private convention, if they knew them to be unchast. and should the ladies assert their esteem of vertue, and declare openly on the side of modesty, the most attractive beauty of the fair sex, as certainly they would do, if they understood how much those amiable qualities have been expos'd and affronted by our most eminent comick poets; this would lay the ax to the root, and at one blow destroy this pernicious practice; for after this, what writer would transgress the rules of decency and purity of expression, when he knows, that by his immodest mixtures he shall fright the ladies from the house? it would be another effectual means to redress the grievance of the stage, if the clergy could be prevail'd upon to condemn from the pulpit and the press, as well as in their conversation, the unjustifiable entertainments of the theatre; would they insist upon it, and urge it as a necessary duty of the people to avoid these occasions, and at least appearances of evil; would they shew them, that by frequenting these unwarrantable diversions, they rush into snares, court temptation, and invite others to follow their criminal example; would they set before them the hazard of playing on the nice and dubious limits of innocence, and adventuring to the utmost extent of vertue and the frontier of vice, there would be great hopes of stemming this strong tide of iniquity. and this is no more than the indispensable obligation, which our divines are under, whose proper province it is to warn the people of their danger, and to press them earnestly to fly from it. this venerable order have, by solemn engagements, set themselves apart, as spiritual guides, to point out the fatal rocks and treacherous sands to their neighbours, that they may not make shipwreck of modesty and innocence, and plunge into the depths of irreligion and vice: nor is it obvious, why these reverend teachers, by their silence and neutrality, should give profaneness and immorality such fair play, as if the controversy between the stage and the pulpit were compremis'd, and the poets and the priests were engag'd, as indeed they ought to be, in the same good designs, interests, and pursuits. it is certain, that this mildness, and friendly behaviour of the clergy to the comick writers, cannot arise from any respect or handsome usage which that sacred order has met with on the theatre, where they have been so often jerk'd and expos'd in such a manner, that their divine function has been wounded through their sides. the clergy lie under such manifest obligations to attack publick immorality, wherever it is found, and by whatsoever patrons of power, dignity, and interest it is shelter'd and supported, thar, as i have suggested, it is not easy to imagine whence their lenity and tenderness for the theatre can proceed. but if the true reason of it, whatever it is, and which is so hard to be accounted for, were remov'd, and our divines would interest themselves with zeal in the cause of vertue, in respect to our dramatick entertainments, as they espouse and defend it in all other instances, i cannot believe that the stage, without a regulation, would be able to stand, when batter'd with vigor from the pulpit. the poets and players would soon find themselves oblig'd to restrain their licentious conduct, reform the theatre, and present to the town, if not instructive, at least inoffensive and unshocking diversions. and it is very desirable, that this expedient were set on foot, that the honour of the _english_ theatre may be retriev'd; that while we justly boast of our priority in wit and humour to our neighbours, we may not be oblig'd to acknowledge the great inferiority of our comedies, in respect of cleanness and moral beauty: that we may not be reproach'd, that while we profess a reform'd and pure religion, we encourage an immodest and unreform'd theatre, and that we are very defective in the practice of vertue and regularity of manners, while these abominations are indulg'd, and these unhallow'd groves and high places of immorality are frequented without disturbance. [illustration] no the free-holder no friday, may . _nimium risus pretium esi si probitatis impendis constat_ quintil. laughter is bought too dear, if it be at the expence of honesty. i have lately read, with much pleasure, the essays upon several subjects published by sir _richard blackmore_; and though i agree with him in many of his excellent observations, i cannot but take that reasonable freedom, which he himself makes use of, with regard to other writers, to dissent from him in some few particulars. in his reflexions upon works of wit and humour, he observes how unequal they are to combate vice and folly; and seems to think, that the finest rallery and satire, though directed by these generous views, never reclaimed one vicious man, or made one fool depart from his folly. this is a position very hard to be contradicted, because no author knows the number or names of his converts. as for the _tatlers_ and _spectators_ in particular, which are obliged to this ingenious and useful author for the character he has given of them, they were so generally dispersed in single sheets, and have since been printed in so great numbers, that it is to be hoped they have made some proselytes to the interests, if not to the practice of wisdom and virtue, among such a multitude of readers. i need not remind this learned gentleman, that _socrates_, who was the greatest propagator of morality in the heathen world, and a martyr for the unity of the godhead, was so famous for the exercise of this talent among the politest people of antiquity, that he gained the name of [greek: ha eibôn] _the drôle_. there are very good effects which visibly arose from the above-mentioned performances and others of the like nature; as, in the first place, they diverted rallery from improper objects, and gave a new turn to ridicule, which for many years had been exerted on persons and things of a sacred and serious nature. they endeavoured to make mirth instructive, and, if they failed in this great end, they must be allowed at least to have made it innocent. if wit and humour begin again to relapse into their former licentiousness, they can never hope for approbation from those who know that rallery is useless when it has no moral under it, and pernicious when it attacks any thing that is either unblameable or praise-worthy. to this we may add, what has been commonly observed, that it is not difficult to be merry on the side of vice, as serious objects act the most capable of ridicule; as the party, which naturally favour such a mirth, is the most numerous; and as there are the most standing jests and patterns for imitation in this kind of writing. in the next place: such productions of wit and humour, as have a tendency to expose vice and folly, furnish useful diversions to all kinds of readers. the good or prudent man may, by these means, be diverted without prejudice to his discretion, or morality. rallery, under such regulations, unbends the mind from serious studies and severer contemplations, without throwing it off from its proper bias. it carries on the same design that is promoted by authors of a graver turn, and only does it in another manner. it also awakens reflexion in those who are the most indifferent in the cause of virtue or knowledge, by setting before them the absurdity of such practices as are generally unobserved, by reason of their being common or fashionable: nay, it sometimes catches the dissolute and abandoned before they are aware of it: who are often betrayed to laugh at themselves, and upon reflexion find, that they are merry at their own expence. i might farther take notice, that by entertainments of this kind, a man may be chearful in solitude, and not be forced to seek for company every time he has a mind to be merry. the last advantage i shall mention from compositions of this nature when thus restrained, is, that they shew wisdom and virtue are far from being inconsistent with politeness and good humour. they make morality appear amiable to people of gay dispositions, and refute the common objection against religion, which represents it as only fit for gloomy and melancholy tempers. it was the motto of a bishop very eminent for his piety and good works in king _charles_ the second's reign, _in servi deo & lætare_, 'serve god and be chearful.' those therefore who supply the world with such entertainments of mirth as are instructive, or at least harmless, may be thought to deserve well of mankind; to which i shall only add, that they retrieve the honour of polite learning, and answer those sour enthusiasts who affect to stigmatize the finest and most elegant authors, both ancient and modern, (which they have never read) as dangerous to religion, and destructive of all sound and saving knowledge. our nation are such lovers of mirth and humour, that it is impossible for detached papers, which come out on stated days, either to have a general run, or long continuance, if they are not diversified and enlivened from time to time, with subjects and thoughts, accommodated to this taste, which so prevails among our countrymen. no periodical author, who always maintains his gravity, and does not sometimes sacrifice to the graces, must expect to keep in vogue for any considerable time. political speculations in particular, however just and important, are of so dry and austere a nature, that they will not go down with the public without frequent seasonings of this kind. the work may be well performed, but will never take, if it is not set off with proper scenes and decorations. a mere politician is but a dull companion, and, if he is always wise, is in great danger of being tiresom or ridiculous. besides, papers of entertainment are necessary to increase the number of readers, especially among those of different notions and principles; who by this means may be betrayed to give you a fair hearing, and to know what you have to say for yourself. i might likewise observe, that in all political writings there is something that grates upon the mind of the most candid reader, in opinions which are not conformable to his own way of thinking; and that the harshness of reasoning is not a little softned and smoothed by the infusions of mirth and pleasantry. political speculations do likewise furnish us with several objects that may very innocently be ridiculed, and which are regarded as such by men of sense in all parties; of this kind are the passions of our states-women, and the reasonings of our fox-hunters. a writer who makes fame the chief end of his endeavours, and would be more desirous of pleasing than of improving his readers, might find an inexhaustible fund of mirth in politics. scandal and satire are never-failing gratifications to the public. detraction and obloquy are received with as much eagerness as wit and humour. should a writer single out particular persons, or point his rallery at any order of men, who by their profession ought to be exempt from it; should he slander the innocent, or satirize the miserable; or should he, even on the proper subjects of derision, give the full play to his mirth, without regard to decency and good-manners; he might be sure of pleasing a great part of his readers, but must be a very ill man, if by such a proceeding he could please himself. http://www.archive.org/details/witofwomen sanbiala the wit of women by kate sanborn * * * * * "the wit of women," by miss kate sanborn, [funk & wagnalls,] proves that the authoress is one of those rare women who are gifted with a sense of humor. fortunately for her, the female sense of humor, when it does exist, is not affected by such trifles as "chestnuts." therefore, women will read with pleasure miss sanborn's choice collection of these dainties. there are, however, many new anecdotes in miss sanborn's collection, and, taken as a whole, it may fairly be said to establish the fact that there have been feminine wits not inferior to the best of the opposite sex. [newspaper clipping pasted into front cover] * * * * * the wit of women by kate sanborn fourth edition new york funk & wagnalls company london and toronto entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by funk & wagnalls, in the office of the librarian of congress at washington, d.c. miss addie boyd, of the cincinnati "commercial," and miss anna m.t. rossiter, alias lilla m. cushman, of the meriden "recorder," will probably represent the gentler sex in the convention of paragraphers which meets next month. they are a pair o' graphic writers and equal to the best in the profession.--waterloo observer. [newspaper clipping pasted into book] introduction. it is refreshing to find an unworked field all ready for harvesting. while the wit of men, as a subject for admiration and discussion, is now threadbare, the wit of women has been almost utterly ignored and unrecognized. with the joy and honest pride of a discoverer, i present the results of a summer's gleaning. and i feel a cheerful and colonel sellers-y confidence in the success of the book, for every woman will want to own it, as a matter of pride and interest, and many men will buy it just to see what women think they can do in this line. in fact, i expect a call for a second volume! kate sanborn. hanover, n.h., august, . my thanks are due to so many publishers, magazine editors, and personal friends for material for this book, that a formal note of acknowledgment seems meagre and unsatisfactory. proper credit, however, has been given all through the volume, and with special indebtedness to messrs. harper & brothers and charles scribner's sons of new york, and houghton, mifflin & co. of boston. i add sincere gratitude to all who have so generously contributed whatever was requested. contents. chapter i. page the melancholy tone of women's poetry--puns, good and bad--epigrams and laconics--cynicism of french women--sentences crisp and sparkling chapter ii. humor of literary englishwomen chapter iii. from anne bradstreet to mrs. stowe chapter iv. "samples" here and there chapter v. a brace of witty women chapter vi. ginger-snaps chapter vii. prose, but not prosy chapter viii. humorous poems chapter ix. good-natured satire chapter x. parodies--reviews--children's poems--comedies by women--a dramatic trifle--a string of firecrackers to g.w.b. in grateful memory. _"there was in her soul a sense of delicacy mingled with that rarest of qualities in woman--a sense of humor," writes richard grant white in "the fate of mansfield humphreys." i have noticed that when a novelist sets out to portray an uncommonly fine type of heroine, he invariably adds to her other intellectual and moral graces the above-mentioned "rarest of qualities." i may be over-sanguine, but i anticipate that some sagacious genius will discover that woman as well as man has been endowed with this excellent gift from the gods, and that the gift pertains to the large, generous, sympathetic nature, quite irrespective of the individual's sex. in any case, having heard so repeatedly that woman has no sense of humor, it would be refreshing to have a contrariety of opinion on that subject._--the critic. proem.[a] we are coming to the rescue, just a hundred strong; with fun and pun and epigram, and laughter, wit, and song; with badinage and repartee, and humor quaint or bold, and stories that _are_ stories, not several æons old; with parody and nondescript, burlesque and satire keen, and irony and playful jest, so that it may be seen that women are not quite so dull: we come--a merry throng; yes, we're coming to the rescue, and just a hundred strong. kate sanborn. [footnote a: _not_ poem!] the wit of women. chapter i. the melancholy tone of women's poetry--puns, good and bad--epigrams and laconics--cynicism of french women--sentences crisp and sparkling. to begin a deliberate search for wit seems almost like trying to be witty: a task quite certain to brush the bloom from even the most fruitful results. but the statement of richard grant white, that humor is the "rarest of qualities in woman," roused such a host of brilliant recollections that it was a temptation to try to materialize the ghosts that were haunting me; to lay forever the suspicion that they did not exist. two articles by alice wellington rollins in the _critic_, on "woman's sense of humor" and "the humor of women," convinced me that the deliberate task might not be impossible to carry out, although i felt, as she did, that the humor and wit of women are difficult to analyze, and select examples, precisely because they possess in the highest degree that almost essential quality of wit, the unpremeditated glow which exists only with the occasion that calls it forth. even from the humor of women found in books it is hard to quote--not because there is so little, but because there is so much. the encouragement to attempt this novel enterprise of proving ("by their fruits ye shall know them") that women are not deficient in either wit or humor has not been great. wise librarians have, with a smile, regretted the paucity of proper material; literary men have predicted rather a thin volume; in short, the general opinion of men is condensed in the sly question of a peddler who comes to our door, summer and winter, his stock varying with the season: sage-cheese and home-made socks, suspenders and cheap note-paper, early-rose potatoes and the solid pearmain. this shrewd old fellow remarked roguishly "you're gittin' up a book, i see, 'baout women's wit. 'twon't be no great of an undertakin', will it?" the outlook at first was certainly discouraging. in parton's "collection of humorous poetry" there was not one woman's name, nor in dodd's large volume of epigrams of all ages, nor in any of the humorous departments of volumes of selected poetry. griswold's "female poets of america" was next examined. the general air of gloom--hopeless gloom--was depressing. such mawkish sentimentality and despair; such inane and mortifying confessions; such longings for a lover to come; such sighings over a lover departed; such cravings for "only"--"only" a _grave_ in some dark, dank solitude. as mrs. dodge puts it, "pegasus generally feels inclined to pace toward a graveyard the moment he feels a side-saddle on his back." the subjects of their lucubrations suggest lady montagu's famous speech: "there was only one reason she was glad she was a woman: she should never have to _marry_ one." from the "female poets" i copy this "song," representing the average woman's versifying as regards buoyancy and an optimistic view of this "wale of tears": "ask not from me the sportive jest, the mirthful jibe, the gay reflection; these social baubles fly the breast that owns the sway of pale dejection. "ask not from me the changing smile, hope's sunny glow, joy's glittering token; it cannot now my griefs beguile-- my soul is dark, my heart is broken! "wit cannot cheat my heart of woe, flattery wakes no exultation; and fancy's flash but serves to show the darkness of my desolation! "by me no more in masking guise shall thoughtless repartee be spoken; my mind a hopeless ruin lies-- my soul is dark, my heart is broken!" in recalling the witty women of the world, i must surely go back, familiar as is the story, to the grecian dame who, when given some choice old wine in a tiny glass by her miserly host, who boasted of the years since it had been bottled, inquired, "isn't it very small of its age?" this ancient story is too much in the style of the male story-monger--you all know him--who repeats with undiminished gusto for the forty-ninth time a story that was tottering in senile imbecility when methuselah was teething, and is now in a sad condition of anec_dotage_. it is affirmed that "women seldom repeat an anecdote." that is well, and no proof of their lack of wit. the discipline of life would be largely increased if they did insist on being "reminded" constantly of anecdotes as familiar as the hand-organ repertoire of "captain jinks" and "beautiful spring." their sense of humor is too keen to allow them to aid these aged wanderers in their endless migrations. it is sufficiently trying to their sense of the ludicrous to be obliged to listen with an admiring, rapt expression to some anecdote heard in childhood, and restrain the laugh until the oft-repeated crisis has been duly reached. still, i know several women who, as brilliant _raconteurs_, have fully equalled the efforts of celebrated after-dinner wits. it is also affirmed that "women cannot make a pun," which, if true, would be greatly to their honor. but, alas! their puns are almost as frequent and quite as execrable as are ever perpetrated. it was queen elizabeth who said: "though ye be burly, my lord burleigh, ye make less stir than my lord leicester." lady morgan, the irish novelist, witty and captivating, who wrote "kate kearney" and the "wild irish girl," made several good puns. some one, speaking of the laxity of a certain bishop in regard to lenten fasting, said: "i believe he would eat a horse on ash wednesday." "and very proper diet," said her ladyship, "if it were a _fast_ horse." her special enemy, croker, had declared that wellington's success at waterloo was only a fortunate accident, and intimated that he could have done better himself, under similar circumstances. "oh, yes," exclaimed her ladyship, "he had his secret for winning the battle. he had only to put his notes on boswell's johnson in front of the british lines, and all the bonapartes that ever existed could never _get through_ them!" "grace greenwood" has probably made more puns in print than any other woman, and her conversation is full of them. it was grace greenwood who, at a tea-drinking at the woman's club in boston, was begged to tell one more story, but excused herself in this way: "no, i cannot get more than one story high on a cup of tea!" you see puns are allowed at that rarely intellectual assemblage--indeed, they are sometimes _very_ bad; as when the question was brought up whether better speeches could be made after simple tea and toast, or under the influence of champagne and oysters. miss mary wadsworth replied that it would depend entirely upon whether the oysters were cooked or raw; and seeing all look blank, she explained: "because, if raw, we should be sure to have a raw-oyster-ing time." louisa alcott's puns deserve "honorable mention." i will quote one. "query--if steamers are named the asia, the russia, and the scotia, why not call one the _nausea_?" at a chicago dinner-party a physician received a menu card with the device of a mushroom, and showing it to the lady next him, said: "i hope nothing invidious is intended." "oh, no," was the answer, "it only alludes to the fact that you spring up in the night." a gentleman, noticeable on the porch of the sanctuary as the pretty girls came in on sabbath mornings, but _not_ regarded as a devout attendant on the services within, declared that he was one of the "pillars of the church!" "pillar-sham, i am inclined to think," was the retort of a lady friend. to a lady who, in reply to a gentleman's assertion that women sometimes made a good pun, but required time to think about it, had said that _she_ could make a pun as quickly as any man, the gentleman threw down this challenge: "make a pun, then, on horse-shoe." "if you talk until you're horse-shoe can't convince me," was the instant answer. * * * * * the best punning poem from a woman's pen was written by miss caroline b. le row, of brooklyn, n.y., a teacher of elocution, and the writer of many charming stories and verses. it was suggested by a study in butter of "the dreaming iolanthe," moulded by caroline s. brooks on a kitchen-table, and exhibited at the centennial in philadelphia. i do not remember any other poem in the language that rings so many changes on a single word. it was published first in _baldwin's monthly_, but ran the rounds of the papers all over the country. i. "one of the centennial buildings shows us many a wondrous thing which the women of our country from their homes were proud to bring. in a little corner, guarded by policeman twenty-eight, stands a crowd, all eyes and elbows, seeing butter butter-plate ii. "'tis not 'butter faded flower' that the people throng to see, butter crowd comes every hour, nothing butter crowd we see. butter little pushing brings us where we find, to our surprise, that within the crowded corner butter dreaming woman lies. iii. "though she lies, she don't deceive us, as it might at first be thought; this fair maid is made of butter, on a kitchen-table wrought. nothing butter butter-paddle, sticks and straws were used to bring out of just nine pounds of butter butter fascinating thing. iv. "butter maid or made of butter, she is butter wonder rare; butter sweet eyes closed in slumber, butter soft and yellow hair, were the work of butter woman just two thousand miles away; butter fortune's in the features that she made in butter stay. v. "maid of all work, maid of honor, whatsoever she may be, she is butter wondrous worker, as the crowd can plainly see. and 'tis butter woman shows us what with butter can be done, nothing butter hands producing something new beneath the sun. vi. "butter line we add in closing, which none butter could refuse: may her work be butter pleasure, nothing butter butter use; may she never need for butter, though she'll often knead for bread, and may every churning bring her butter blessing on her head." * * * * * the second and last example is much more common in its form, but is just as good as most of the verses of this style in parton's "humorous poetry." i don't pretend that it is remarkable, but it is equally worthy of presentation with many efforts of this sort from men with a reputation for wit. the vegetable girl. by may taylor. behind a market-stall installed, i mark it every day, stands at her stand the fairest girl i've met within the bay; her two lips are of cherry red, her hands a pretty pair, with such a charming turn-up nose, and lovely reddish hair. 'tis there she stands from morn till night, her customers to please, and to appease their appetite she sells them beans and peas. attracted by the glances from the apple of her eye, and by her chili apples, too, each passer-by will buy. she stands upon her little feet throughout the livelong day, and sells her celery and things-- a big feat, by the way. she changes off her stock for change, attending to each call; and when she has but one beet left, she says, "now, that beats all." * * * * * as to puns in conversation, my only fear is that they are too generally indulged in. only one of this sort can be allowed, and that from the highest lady in the land, who is distinguished for culture and good sense, as well as wit. a friend said to her as she was leaving buffalo for washington: "i hope you will hail from buffalo." "oh, i see you expect me to hail from buffalo and reign in washington," said the quick-witted sister of our president. in epigrams there is little to offer. but as it is stated that "women cannot achieve a well-rounded epigram," a few specimens must be produced. jane austen has left two on record. the first was suggested by reading in a newspaper the marriage of a mr. gell to miss gill, of eastborne. "at eastborne, mr. gell, from being perfectly well, became dreadfully ill for love of miss gill; so he said, with some sighs, 'i'm the slave of your iis; oh, restore, if you please, by accepting my ees.'" the second is on the marriage of a middle-aged flirt with a mr. wake, whom gossips averred she would have scorned in her prime. "maria, good-humored and handsome and tall, for a husband was at her last stake; and having in vain danced at many a ball, is now happy to jump at a wake." it was lady townsend who said that the human race was divided into men, women, and _herveys_. this epigram has been borrowed in our day, substituting for herveys the _beecher_ family. when some one said of a lady she must be in spirits, for she lives with mr. walpole, "yes," replied lady townsend, "spirits of hartshorn." walpole, caustic and critical, regarded this lady as undeniably witty. it was hannah more who said: "there are but two bad things in this world--sin and bile." miss thackeray quotes several epigrammatic definitions from her friend miss evans, as: "a privileged person: one who is so much a savage when thwarted that civilized persons avoid thwarting him." "a musical woman: one who has strength enough to make much noise and obtuseness enough not to mind it." "ouida" has given us some excellent examples of epigram, as: "a pipe is a pocket philosopher, a truer one than socrates, for it never asks questions. socrates must have been very tiresome, when one thinks of it." "dinna ye meddle, tam; it's niver no good a threshin' other folks' corn; ye allays gits the flail agin' i' yer own eye somehow." "epigrams are the salts of life; but they wither up the grasses of foolishness, and naturally the grasses hate to be sprinkled therewith." "a man never is so honest as when he speaks well of himself. men are always optimists when they look inward, and pessimists when they look round them." "nothing is so pleasant as to display your worldly wisdom in epigram and dissertation, but it is a trifle tedious to hear another person display theirs." "when you talk yourself you think how witty, how original, how acute you are; but when another does so, you are very apt to think only, 'what a crib from rochefoucauld!'" "boredom is the ill-natured pebble that always _will_ get in the golden slipper of the pilgrim of pleasure." "it makes all the difference in life whether hope is left or--left out!" "a frog that dwelt in a ditch spat at a worm that bore a lamp. "'why do you do that?' said the glow-worm. "'why do you shine?' said the frog." "calumny is the homage of our contemporaries, as some south sea islanders spit on those they honor." "hived bees get sugar because they will give back honey. all existence is a series of equivalents." "'men are always like horace,' said the princess. 'they admire rural life, but they remain, for all that, with augustus.'" "if the venus de medici could be animated into life, women would only remark that her waist was large." * * * * * the brilliant frenchwomen whose very names seem to sparkle as we write them, yet of whose wit so little has been preserved, had an especial facility for condensed cynicism. think of madame du deffand, sceptical, sarcastic; feared and hated even in her blind old age for her scathing criticisms. when the celebrated work of helvetius appeared he was blamed in her presence for having made selfishness the great motive of human action. "bah!" said she, "he has only revealed every one's secret." and listen to this trio of laconics, with their saddening knowledge of human frailty and their bitter voltaireish flavor: we shall all be perfectly virtuous when there is no longer any flesh on our bones.--_marguerite de valois._ we like to know the weakness of eminent persons; it consoles us for our inferiority.--_mme. de lambert._ women give themselves to god when the devil wants nothing more to do with them.--_sophie arnould._ madame de sévigné's letters present detached thoughts worthy of rochefoucauld without his cynicism. she writes: "one loves so much to talk of one's self that one never tires of a _tête-à-tête_ with a lover for years. that is the reason that a devotee likes to be with her confessor. it is for the pleasure of talking of one's self--even though speaking evil." and she remarks to a lady who amused her friends by always going into mourning for some prince, or duke, or member of some royal family, and who at last appeared in bright colors, "madame, i congratulate myself on the health of europe." i find, too, many fine aphorisms from "carmen sylva" (queen of roumania): "il vaut mieux avoir pour confesseur un médecin qu'un prêtre. vous dites au prêtre que vous détestez les hommes, il vous réponds que vous n'êtes pas chrétien. le médecin vous donne de la rhubarbe, et voilà que vous aimez votre semblable." "vous dites au prêtre que vous êtes fatigué de vivre; il vous réponds que le suicide est un crime. le médecin vous donne un stimulant, et voilà que vous trouvez la vie supportable." "la contradiction anime la conversation; voilà pourquoi les cours sont si ennuyeuses." "quand on veut affirmer quelque chose, on appelle toujours dieu à témoin, parce qu'il ne contredit jamais." "on ne peut jamais être fatigué de la vie, on n'est fatigué que de soi-même." "il faut être ou très-pieux ou très-philosophe! il faut dire: seigneur, que ta volonté soit faite! ou: nature, j'admets tes lois, même lorsqu'elles m'écrasent." "l'homme est un violon. ce n'est que lorsque sa dernière corde se brise qu'il devient un morceau de bois." in the recently published sketch of madame mohl there are several sentences which show trenchant wit, as: "nations squint in looking at one another; we must discount what germany and france say of each other." several englishwomen can be recalled who were noted for their epigrammatic wit: as harriet, lady ashburton. on some one saying that liars generally speak good-naturedly of others, she replied: "why, if you don't speak a word of truth, it is not so difficult to speak well of your neighbor." "don't speak so hardly of ----," some one said to her; "he lives on your good graces." "that accounts," she answered, "for his being so thin." again: "i don't mind the canvas of a man's mind being good, if only it is completely hidden by the worsted and floss." or: "she never speaks to any one, which is, of course, a great advantage to any one." mrs. carlyle _was_ an epigram herself--small, sweet, yet possessing a sting--and her letters give us many sharp and original sayings. she speaks in one place of "mrs. ----, an insupportable bore; her neck and arms were as naked as if she had never eaten of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil." and what a comical phrase is hers when she writes to her "dearest"--"i take time by the _pig-tail_ and write at night, after post-hours"--that growling, surly "dearest," of whom she said, "the amount of bile that he brings home is awfully grand." for a veritable epigram from an american woman's pen we must rely on hannah f. gould, who wrote many verses that were rather graceful and arch than witty. but her epitaph on her friend, the active and aggressive caleb cushing, is as good as any made by saxe. "lay aside, all ye dead, for in the next bed reposes the body of cushing; he has crowded his way through the world, they say, and even though dead will be pushing." such a hit from a bright woman is refreshing. our literary foremothers seemed to prefer to be pedantic, didactic, and tedious on the printed page. catharine sedgwick dealt somewhat in epigram, as when she says: "he was not one of those convenient single people who are used, as we use straw and cotton in packing, to fill up vacant places." eliza leslie (famed for her cook-books and her satiric sketches), when speaking of people silent from stupidity, supposed kindly to be full of reserved power, says: "we cannot help thinking that when a head is full of ideas some of them must involuntarily _ooze_ out." and is not this epigrammatic advice? "avoid giving invitations to bores--they will come without." some of our later literary women prefer the epigrammatic form in sentences, crisp and laconic; short sayings full of pith, of which i have made a collection. gail hamilton's books fairly bristle with epigrams in condensed style, and kate field has many a good thought in this shape, as: "judge no one by his relations, whatever criticism you pass upon his companions. relations, like features, are thrust upon us; companions, like clothes, are more or less our own selection." miss jewett's style is less epigrammatic, but just as full of humor. speaking of a person who was always complaining, she says: "nothing ever suits her. she ain't had no more troubles to bear than the rest of us; but you never see her that she didn't have a chapter to lay before ye. i've got 's much feelin' as the next one, but when folks drives in their spiggits and wants to draw a bucketful o' compassion every day right straight along, there does come times when it seems as if the bar'l was getting low." "the captain, whose eyes were not much better than his ears, always refused to go forth after nightfall without his lantern. the old couple steered slowly down the uneven sidewalk toward their cousin's house. the captain walked with a solemn, rolling gait, learned in his many long years at sea, and his wife, who was also short and stout, had caught the habit from him. if they kept step all went well; but on this occasion, as sometimes happened, they did not take the first step out into the world together, so they swayed apart, and then bumped against each other as they went along. to see the lantern coming through the mist you might have thought it the light of a small craft at sea in heavy weather." "deaf people hear more things that are worth listening to than people with better ears; one likes to have something worth telling in talking to a person who misses most of the world's talk." "emory ann," a creation of mrs. whitney's, often spoke in epigrams, as: "good looks are a snare; especially to them that haven't got 'em." while mrs. walker's creed, "i believe in the total depravity of inanimate things," is more than an epigram--it is an inspiration. charlotte fiske bates, who compiled the "cambridge book of poetry," and has given us a charming volume of her own verses, which no one runs any "risk" in buying, in spite of the title of the book, has done a good deal in this direction, and is fond of giving an epigrammatic turn to a bright thought, as in the following couplet: "would you sketch in two words a coquette and deceiver? name two irish geniuses, lover and lever!" she also succeeds with the quatrain: on being called a goose. a signal name is this, upon my word! great juno's geese saved rome her citadel. another drowsy manlius may be stirred and the state saved, if i but cackle well. * * * * * i recall a charming _jeu d'esprit_ from mrs. barrows, the beloved "aunt fanny," who writes equally well for children and grown folks, and whose big heart ranges from earnest philanthropy to the perpetration of exquisite nonsense. it is but a trifle, sent with a couple of peanut-owls to a niece of bryant's. the aged poet was greatly amused. "when great minerva chose the owl, that bird of solemn phiz, that truly awful-looking fowl, to represent her wis- dom, little recked the goddess of the time when she would howl to see a peanut set on end, and called--minerva's owl." * * * * * miss phelps has given us some sentences which convey an epigram in a keen and delicate fashion, as: "all forms of self-pity, like prussian blue, should be sparingly used." "as a rule, a man can't cultivate his mustache and his talents impartially." "as happy as a kind-hearted old lady with a funeral to go to." "no men are so fussy about what they eat as those who think their brains the biggest part of them." "the professor's sister, a homeless widow, of excellent vermont intentions and high ideals in cup-cake." and this longer extract has the same characteristics: "you know how it is with people, avis; some take to zoölogy, and some take to religion. that's the way it is with places. it may be the lancers, and it may be prayer-meetings. once i went to see my grandmother in the country, and everybody had a candy-pull; there were twenty-five candy-pulls and taffy-bakes in that town that winter. john rose says, in the connecticut valley, where he came from, it was missionary barrels; and i heard of a place where it was cold coffee. in harmouth it's improving your mind. and so," added coy, "we run to reading-clubs, and we all go fierce, winter after winter, to see who'll get the 'severest.' there's a set outside of the faculty that descends to charades and music and inconceivably low intellectual depths; and some of our girls sneak off and get in there once in a while, like the little girl that wanted to go from heaven to hell to play saturday afternoons, just as you and i used to do, avis, when we dared. but i find i've got too old for that," said coy, sadly. "when you're fairly past the college-boys, and as far along as the law students--" "or the theologues?" interposed avis. "yes, or the theologues, or even the medical department; then there positively _is_ nothing for it but to improve your mind." listen to lavinia, one of mrs. rose terry cooke's sensible yankee women: "land! if you want to know folks, just hire out to 'em. they take their wigs off afore the help, so to speak, seemingly." "marryin' a man ain't like settin' alongside of him nights and hearin' him talk pretty; that's the fust prayer. there's lots an' lots o' meetin' after that!" and what an amount of sense, as well as wit, in sam lawson's sayings in "old town folks." as this book is not to be as large as worcester's unabridged dictionary, i can only give room to one. "we don't none of us like to have our sins set in order afore us. there was _david_, now, he was crank as could be when he thought nathan was a talkin' about _other_ people's sins. says david: 'the man that did that shall surely die.' but come to set it home and say, '_thou_ art the man!' david caved right in. 'lordy massy, bless your soul and body, nathan!' says he, 'i don't want to die.'" and mrs. a.d.t. whitney must not be forgotten. "as emory ann said once about thoughts: 'you can't hinder 'em any more than you can the birds that fly in the air; but you needn't let 'em light and make a nest in your hair.'" and what a capital hit on the hypocritical apologies of conceited housekeepers is this bit from mrs. whicher ("widow bedott"): "a person that didn't know how wimmin always go on at such a place would a thought that miss gipson had tried to have everything the miserablest she possibly could, and that the rest on 'em never had anything to hum but what was miserabler yet." and marietta holley, who has caused a tidal-wave of laughter by her "josiah allen's wife" series, shall have her say. "we, too, are posterity, though mebby we don't realize it as we ort to." "she didn't seem to sense anything, only ruffles and such like. her mind all seemed to be narrowed down and puckered up, just like trimmin'." but i must have convinced the most sceptical of woman's wit in epigrammatic form, and will now return to an older generation, who claim a fair share of attention. chapter ii. humor of literary englishwomen. in reviewing the _bon-mots_ of stella, whom swift pronounced the most witty woman he had ever known, it seems that we are improving. i will give but two of her sayings, which were so carefully preserved by her friend. when she was extremely ill her physician said, "madam, you are near the bottom of the hill, but we will endeavor to get you up again;" she answered: "doctor, i fear i shall be out of breath before i get up to the top." after she had been eating some sweet thing a little of it happened to stick on her lips. a gentleman told her of it, and offered to lick it off. she said: "no, sir, i thank you; i have a tongue of my own." compare these with the wit of george eliot or the irony of miss phelps. some of jane taylor's stories and poems were formerly regarded as humorous; for instance, the "discontented pendulum" and the "philosopher's scales." they do not now raise the faintest smile. fanny burney's novels were considered immensely humorous and diverting in their day. burke complimented her on "her natural vein of humor," and another eminent critic speaks of "her sarcasm, drollery, and humor;" but it would be almost impossible to find a passage for quotation that would now satisfy on these points. even jane austen's novels, which strangely retain their hold on the public taste, are tedious to those who dare to think for themselves and forget macaulay's verdict. mrs. barbauld, in her poem on "washing day," shows a capacity seldom exercised for seeing the humorous side of every-day miseries. "woe to the friend whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim on such a day the hospitable rites! looks, blank at best, and stinted courtesy shall he receive. vainly he feeds his hopes with dinner of roast chicken, savory pie, or tart, or pudding; pudding he nor tart that day shall eat; nor, though the husband try mending what can't be helped to kindle mirth from cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow cheer up propitious; the unlucky guest in silence dines, and early slinks away." but her style is too stiff and stately for every day. there were many literary englishwomen who had undoubted humor. hannah more did get unendurably poky, narrow, and solemn in her last days, and not a little sanctimonious; and we naturally think of her as an aged spinster with black mitts, corkscrew curls, and a mob cap, always writing or presenting a tedious tract, forgetting her brilliant youth, when she was quite good enough, and lively, too. she was a perennial favorite in london, meeting all the notables; the special pet of dr. johnson, davy garrick, and horace walpole, who called her his "holy hannah," but admired and honored her, corresponding with her through a long life. she was then full of spirit and humor and versatile talent. an extract from her sister's lively letter shows that hannah could hold her own with the ursa major of literature: "tuesday evening we drank tea at sir joshua's with dr. johnson. hannah is certainly a great favorite. she was placed next him, and they had the entire conversation to themselves. they were both in remarkably high spirits. it was certainly her lucky night. i never heard her say so many good things. the old genius was extremely jocular, and the young one very pleasant. you would have imagined we had been at some comedy had you heard our peals of laughter. they, indeed, tried which could pepper the highest, and it is not clear to me that the lexicographer was really the highest seasoner." and how deliciously does she set out the absurdity then prevailing, and seen now in editions of shakespeare and chaucer, of writing books, the bulk of which consists of notes, with only a line or two at the top of each page of the original text. it seems that a merry party at dr. kennicott's had each adopted the name of some animal. dr. k. was the elephant; mrs. k., dromedary; miss adams, antelope; and h. more, rhinoceros. "hampton, december , . "dear dromy (a): pray, send word if _ante_ (b) is come, and also how _ele_ (c) does, to your very affectionate rhyney" (d). the following notes on the above epistle are by a commentator of the latter end of the nineteenth century. this epistle is all that is come down to us of this voluminous author, and is probably the only thing she ever wrote that was worth preserving, or which might reasonably expect to reach posterity. her name is only presented to us in some beautiful hendecasyllables written by the best latin poet of his time (bishop lowth): _note_ (_a_). "_dromy._--from the termination of this address it seems to have been written to a woman, though there is no internal evidence to support this hypothesis. the best critics are much puzzled about the orthography of this abbreviation. wartonius and other skilful etymologists contend that it ought to be spelled _drummy_, being addressed to a lady who was probably fond of warlike instruments, and who had a singular predilection for a _canon_. drummy, say they, was a tender diminutive of drum, as the best authors in their more familiar writings now begin to use gunny for gun. but _hardius_, a contemporary critic, contends, with more probability, that it ought to be written _drome_, from hippodrome; a learned leech and elegant bard of bath having left it on record that this lady spent much of her time at the riding-school, being a very exquisite judge of horsemanship. _colmanus_ and _horatius strawberryensis_ insist that it ought to be written _dromo_, in reference to the dromo sorasius of the latin dramatist." _note_ (_b_). "_ante._--scaliger d says this name simply signifies the appellation of uncle's wife, and ought to be written _aunty_. but here, again, are various readings. philologists of yet greater name affirm that it was meant to designate _pre-eminence_, and therefore ought to be written _ante_, before, from the latin, a language now pretty well forgotten, though the authors who wrote in it are still preserved in french translations. the younger madame dacier insists that this lady was against all men, and that it ought to be spelled _anti_; but this kennicotus, a rabbi of the most recondite learning, with much critical wrath, vehemently contradicts, affirming it to have been impossible she could have been against mankind whom all mankind admired. he adds that ante is for _antelope_, and is emblematically used to express an elegant and slender animal, or that it is an elongation of _ant_, the _emblem of virtuous citizenship_." and so she continues her comments to close of notes. mrs. gaskell's "cranford" is full of the most delicate but veritable humor, as her allusion to the genteel and cheerful poverty of the lady who, in giving a tea-party, "now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew; and we knew that she knew that we knew she had been busy all the morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes." the humor of mary russell mitford, quiet and delectable, must not be forgotten. we will sympathize with her woes as she describes a visitation from the talking lady. "ben jonson has a play called _the silent woman_, who turns out, as might be expected, to be no woman at all--nothing, as master slender said, but 'a great lubberly boy,' thereby, as i apprehend, discourteously presuming that a silent woman is a nonentity. if the learned dramatist, thus happily prepared and predisposed, had happened to fall in with such a specimen of female loquacity as i have just parted with, he might, perhaps, have given us a pendant to his picture in the talking lady. pity but he had! he would have done her justice, which i could not at any time, least of all now; i am too much stunned, too much like one escaped from a belfry on a coronation day. i am just resting from the fatigue of four days' hard listening--four snowy, sleety, rainy days; days of every variety of falling weather, all of them too bad to admit the possibility that any petticoated thing, were she as hardy as a scotch fir, should stir out; four days chained by 'sad civility' to that fireside, once so quiet, and again--cheering thought!--again i trust to be so when the echo of that visitor's incessant tongue shall have died away.... "she took us in her way from london to the west of england, and being, as she wrote, 'not quite well, not equal to much company, prayed that no other guest might be admitted, so that she might have the pleasure of our conversation all to herself (_ours!_ as if it were possible for any of us to slide in a word edgewise!), and especially enjoy the gratification of talking over old times with the master of the house, her countryman.' "such was the promise of her letter, and to the letter it has been kept. all the news and scandal of a large county forty years ago, and a hundred years before, and ever since; all the marriages, deaths, births, elopements, law-suits, and casualties of her own times, her father's, grandfather's, great-grandfather's, nephews', and grandnephews', has she detailed with a minuteness, an accuracy, a prodigality of learning, a profuseness of proper names, a pedantry of locality, which would excite the envy of a county historian, a king-at-arms, or even a scotch novelist. "her knowledge is most astonishing; but the most astonishing part of all is how she came by that knowledge. it should seem, to listen to her, as if at some time of her life she must have listened herself; and yet her countryman declares that in the forty years he has known her, no such event has occurred; and she knows new news, too! it must be intuition!... "the very weather is not a safe subject. her memory is a perpetual register of hard frosts and long droughts, and high winds and terrible storms, with all the evils that followed in their train, and all the personal events connected with them; so that, if you happen to remark that clouds are come up and you fear it may rain, she replies: 'ay, it is just such a morning as three-and-thirty years ago, when my poor cousin was married--you remember my cousin barbara; she married so-and-so, the son of so-and-so;' and then comes the whole pedigree of the bridegroom, the amount of the settlements, and the reading and signing them overnight; a description of the wedding-dresses in the style of sir charles grandison, and how much the bride's gown cost per yard; the names, residences, and a short subsequent history of the bridesmaids and men, the gentleman who gave the bride away, and the clergyman who performed the ceremony, with a learned antiquarian digression relative to the church; then the setting out in procession; the marriage, the kissing, the crying, the breakfasting, the drawing the cake through the ring, and, finally, the bridal excursion, which brings us back again, at an hour's end, to the starting-post, the weather, and the whole story of the sopping, the drying, the clothes-spoiling, the cold-catching, and all the small evils of a summer shower. by this time it rains, and she sits down to a pathetic see-saw of conjectures on the chance of mrs. smith's having set out for her daily walk, or the possibility that dr. brown may have ventured to visit his patients in his gig, and the certainty that lady green's new housemaid would come from london on the outside of the coach.... "i wonder, if she had happened to be married, how many husbands she would have talked to death. it is certain that none of her relatives are long-lived, after she comes to reside with them. father, mother, uncle, sister, brother, two nephews, and one niece, all these have successively passed away, though a healthy race, and with no visible disorder--except--but we must not be uncharitable." * * * * * mary ferrier, the scotch novelist, was gifted with genial wit and a quick sense of the ludicrous. walter scott admired her greatly, and as a lively guest at abbotsford she did much to relieve the sadness of his last days. he said of her: "she is a gifted personage, having, besides her great talents, conversation the least _exigeante_ of any author, female at least, whom i have ever seen, among the long list i have encountered. simple and full of humor, and exceedingly ready at repartee; and all this without the least affectation of the blue-stocking. the general strain of her writing relates to the foibles and oddities of mankind, and no one has drawn them with greater breadth of comic humor or effect. her scenes often resemble the style of our best old comedies, and she may boast, like foote, of adding many new and original characters to the stock of our comic literature." here is one of her admirably-drawn portraits: the sensible woman. "miss jacky, the senior of the trio, was what is reckoned a very sensible woman--which generally means a very disagreeable, obstinate, illiberal director of all men, women, and children--a sort of superintendent of all actions, time, and place, with unquestioned authority to arraign, judge, and condemn upon the statutes of her own supposed sense. most country parishes have their sensible woman, who lays down the law on all affairs, spiritual and temporal. miss jacky stood unrivalled as the sensible woman of glenfern. she had attained this eminence partly from having a little more understanding than her sisters, but principally from her dictatorial manner, and the pompous, decisive tone in which she delivered the most commonplace truths. at home her supremacy in all matters of sense was perfectly established; and thence the infection, like other superstitions, had spread over the whole neighborhood. as a sensible woman she regulated the family, which she took care to let everybody hear; she was a sort of postmistress-general, a detector of all abuses and impositions, and deemed it her prerogative to be consulted about all the useful and useless things which everybody else could have done as well. she was liberal of her advice to the poor, always enforcing upon them the iniquity of idleness, but doing nothing for them in the way of employment, strict economy being one of the many points in which she was particularly sensible. the consequence was that, while she was lecturing half the poor women in the parish for their idleness, the bread was kept out of their mouths by the incessant carding of wool, and knitting of stockings, and spinning, and reeling, and winding, and pirning, that went on among the ladies themselves. and, by the by, miss jacky is not the only sensible woman who thinks she is acting a meritorious part when she converts what ought to be the portion of the poor into the employment of the affluent. "in short, min jacky was all over sense. a skilful physiognomist would at a single glance have detected the sensible woman in the erect head, the compressed lips, square elbows, and firm, judicious step. even her very garments seemed to partake of the prevailing character of their mistress. her ruff always looked more sensible than any other body's; her shawl sat most sensibly on her shoulders; her walking-shoes were acknowledged to be very sensible, and she drew on her gloves with an air of sense, as if the one arm had been seneca, the other socrates. from what has been said it may easily be inferred that miss jacky was, in fact, anything but a sensible woman, as, indeed, no woman can be who bears such visible outward marks of what is in reality the most quiet and unostentatious of all good qualities." * * * * * frederika bremer, the swedish novelist, whose novels have been translated into english, german, french, and dutch, had a style peculiarly her own. her humor reminds me of a bed of mignonette, with its delicate yet permeating fragrance. one paragraph, like one spray of that shy flower, scarcely reveals the dainty flavor. from the "neighbors," her best story, and one that still has a moderate sale, i take her description of franziska's first little lover-like quarrel with her adoring husband, the "bear." (let us remember miss bremer with appreciation and gratitude, as one of the very few visitors we have entertained who have written kindly of our country and our "homes.") the first quarrel. "here i am again sitting with a pen in my hand, impelled by a desire for writing, yet with nothing particular to write about. everything in the house and in the whole household arrangement is in order. little patties are baking in the kitchen, the weather is oppressively hot, and every leaf and bird seem as if deprived of motion. the hens lie outside in the sand before the window, the cock stands solitarily on one leg, and looks upon his harem with the countenance of a sleepy sultan. bear sits in his room writing letters. i hear him yawn; that infects me. oh! oh! i must go and have a little quarrel with him on purpose to awaken us both. "i want at this moment a quire of writing-paper on which to drop sugar-cakes. he is terribly miserly of his writing-paper, and on that very account i must have some now. "_later._--all is done! a complete quarrel, and how completely lively we are after it! you, maria, must hear all, that you may thus see how it goes on among married people. "i went to my husband and said quite meekly, 'my angel bear, you must be so very good as to give me a quire of your writing-paper to drop sugar-cakes upon.' "_he_ (_in consternation_). 'a quire of writing-paper?' "_she._ 'yes, my dear friend, of your very best writing-paper.' "_he._ 'finest writing-paper? are you mad?' "_she._ 'certainly not; but i believe you are a little out of your senses.' "_he._ 'you covetous sea-cat, leave off raging among my papers! you shall not have my paper!' "_she._ 'miserly beast! i shall and will have the paper.' "_he._ '"i shall"! listen a moment. let's see, now, how you will accomplish your will.' and the rough bear held both my small hands fast in his great paws. "_she._ 'you ugly bear! you are worse than any of those that walk on four legs. let me loose! let me loose, else i shall bite you!' and as he would not let me loose i bit him. yes, maria, i bit him really on the hand, at which he only laughed scornfully and said: 'yes, yes, my little wife, that is always the way of those who are forward without the power to do. take the paper. now, take it!' "_she._ 'ah! let me loose! let me loose!' "_he._ 'ask me prettily.' "_she._ 'dear bear!' "_he._ 'acknowledge your fault.' "_she._ 'i do.' "_he._ 'pray for forgiveness.' "_she._ 'ah, forgiveness!' "_he._ 'promise amendment.' "_she._ 'oh, yes, amendment!' "_he._ 'nay, i'll pardon you. but now, no sour faces, dear wife, but throw your arms round my neck and kiss me.' "i gave him a little box on the ear, stole a quire of paper, and ran off with loud exultation. bear followed into the kitchen growling horribly; but then i turned upon him armed with two delicious little patties, which i aimed at his mouth, and there they vanished. bear, all at once, was quite still, the paper was forgotten, and reconciliation concluded. "there is, maria, no better way of stopping the mouths of these lords of the creation than by putting into them something good to eat." * * * * * i wish i had room for my favorite irishwoman, lady morgan, and her description of her first rout at the house of the eccentric lady cork. the off-hand songs of her sister, lady clarke, are fine illustrations of rollicking irish wit and badinage. at one of lady morgan's receptions, given in honor of fifty philosophers from england, lady clarke sang the following song with "great effect:" fun and philosophy. heigh for ould ireland! oh, would you require a land where men by nature are all quite the thing, where pure inspiration has taught the whole nation to fight, love, and reason, talk politics, sing; 'tis pat's mathematical, chemical, tactical, knowing and practical, fanciful, gay, fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry, there's nothing in life that is out of his way. he makes light of optics, and sees through dioptrics, he's a dab at projectiles--ne'er misses his man; he's complete in attraction, and quick at reaction, by the doctrine of chances he squares every plan; in hydraulics so frisky, the whole bay of biscay, if it flowed but with _whiskey_, he'd store it away. fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry, there's nothing in life that is out of his way. so to him cross over savant and philosopher, thinking, god help them! to bother us all; but they'll find that for knowledge 'tis at our own college themselves must inquire for--beds, dinner, or ball. there are lectures to tire, and good lodgings to hire, to all who require and have money to pay; while fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry, ladies and lecturing fill up the day. so at the rotunda we all sorts of fun do, hard hearts and pig-iron we melt in one flame; for if love blows the bellows, our tough college fellows will thaw into rapture at each lovely dame. there, too, sans apology, tea, tarts, tautology, are given with zoölogy, to grave and gay; thus fun and philosophy, supping and sophistry send all to england home, happy and gay. * * * * * from george eliot, whose humor is seen at its best in "adam bede" and "silas marner," how much we could quote! how some of her searching comments cling to the memory! "i've nothing to say again' her piety, my dear; but i know very well i shouldn't like her to cook my victuals. when a man comes in hungry and tired, piety won't feed him, i reckon. hard carrots 'ull lie heavy on his stomach, piety or no piety. i called in one day when she was dishin' up mr. tryan's dinner, an' i could see the potatoes was as watery as watery. it's right enough to be speritial, i'm no enemy to that, but i like my potatoes mealy." "you're right there, tookey; there's allays two 'pinions: there's the 'pinion a man has of himsen, and there's the 'pinion other folks have on him. there'd be two 'pinions about a cracked bell if the bell could hear itself." "you're mighty fond o' craig; but for my part, i think he's welly like a cock as thinks the sun's rose o' purpose to hear him crow." "when mr. brooke had something painful to tell it was usually his way to introduce it among a number of disjointed particulars, as if it were a medicine that would get a milder flavor by mixing." "heaven knows what would become of our sociality if we never visited people we speak ill of; we should live like egyptian hermits, in crowded solitude." "no, i ain't one to see the cat walking into the dairy and wonder what she's come after." "i have nothing to say again' craig, on'y it is a pity he couldna be hatched o'er again, and hatched different." "i'm not denyin' the women are foolish; god almighty made 'em to match the men." "it's a waste of time to praise people dead whom you maligned while living; for it's but a poor harvest you'll get by watering last year's crop." "i suppose dinah's like all the rest of the women, and thinks two and two will come to make five, if she only cries and makes bother enough about it." "put a good face on it and don't seem to be looking out for crows, else you'll set other people to watchin' for 'em, too." "i took pretty good care, before i said 'sniff,' to be sure she would say 'snaff,' and pretty quick, too. i warn't a-goin' to open my mouth like a dog at a fly, and snap it to again wi' nothin' to swaller." chapter iii. from anne bradstreet to mrs. stowe. the same gratifying progress and improvement noticed in the wit of women of other lands is seen in studying the literary annals of our own countrywomen. think of anne bradstreet, mercy warren, and tabitha tenney, all extolled to the skies by their contemporaries. * * * * * mercy warren was a satirist quite in the strain of juvenal, but in cumbrous, artificial fashion. hon. john winthrop consulted her on the proposed suspension of trade with england in all but the _necessaries_ of life, and she playfully gives a list of articles that would be included in that word: "an inventory clear of all she needs lamira offers here; nor does she fear a rigid cato's frown, when she lays by the rich embroidered gown, and modestly compounds for just enough, perhaps some dozens of mere flighty stuff; with lawns and lute strings, blonde and mechlin laces, fringes and jewels, fans and tweezer-cases; gay cloaks and hat, of every shape and size, scarfs, cardinals, and ribands, of all dyes, with ruffles stamped and aprons of tambour, tippets and handkerchiefs, at least threescore; with finest muslins that fair india boasts, and the choice herbage from chinesian coasts; add feathers, furs, rich satin, and ducapes, and head-dresses in pyramidal shapes; sideboards of plate and porcelain profuse, with fifty dittoes that the ladies use. so weak lamira and her wants so few who can refuse? they're but the sex's due." * * * * * mrs. sigourney, voluminous and mediocre, is amusing because so absolutely destitute of humor, and her style, a feminine _johnsonese_, is absurdly hifalutin and strained. this is the way in which she alludes to green apples: "from the time of their first taking on orbicular shape, and when it might be supposed their hardness and acidity would repulse all save elephantine tusks and ostrich stomachs, they were the prey of roaming children." and in her poem "to a shred of linen": "methinks i scan some idiosyncrasy that marks thee out a defunct pillow-case." she preserved, however, a long list of the various solicitations sent her to furnish poems for special occasions, and i think this shows that she possessed a sense of humor. let me quote a few: "some verses were desired as an elegy on a pet canary accidentally drowned in a barrel of swine's food. "a poem requested on the dog-star sirius. "to write an ode for the wedding of people in maine, of whom i had never heard. "to punctuate a three-volume novel for an author who complained that the work of punctuating always brought on a pain in the small of his back. "asked to assist a servant-man not very well able to read in getting his sunday-school lessons, and to write out all the answers for him clear through the book--to save his time. "a lady whose husband expects to be absent on a journey for a month or two wishes i would write a poem to testify her joy at his return. "an elegy on a young man, one of the nine children of a judge of probate." * * * * * miss sedgwick, in her letters, occasionally showed a keen sense of humor, as, when speaking of a certain novel, she said: "there is too much force for the subject. it is as if a railroad should be built and a locomotive started to transport skeletons, specimens, and one bird of paradise." * * * * * mrs. caroline gilman, born in , and still living, author of "recollections of a southern matron," etc., will be represented by one playful poem, which has a veritable new england flavor: joshua's courtship. a new england ballad. stout joshua was a farmer's son, and a pondering he sat one night when the fagots crackling burned, and purred the tabby cat. joshua was a well-grown youth, as one might plainly see by the sleeves that vainly tried to reach his hands upon his knee. his splay-feet stood all parrot-toed in cowhide shoes arrayed, and his hair seemed cut across his brow by rule and plummet laid. and what was joshua pondering on, with his widely staring eyes, and his nostrils opening sensibly to ease his frequent sighs? not often will a lover's lips the tender secret tell, but out he spoke before he thought, "my gracious! nancy bell!" his mother at her spinning-wheel, good woman, stood and spun, "and what," says she, "is come o'er you, is't _airnest_ or is't fun?" then joshua gave a cunning look, half bashful and half sporting, "now what did father do," says he, "when first he came a courting?" "why, josh, the first thing that he did," with a knowing wink, said she, "he dressed up of a sunday night, and _cast sheep's eyes_ at me." josh said no more, but straight went out and sought a butcher's pen, where twelve fat sheep, for market bound, had lately slaughtered been. he bargained with a lover's zeal, obtained the wished-for prize, and filled his pockets fore and aft with twice twelve bloody eyes. the next night was the happy time when all new england sparks, drest in their best, go out to court, as spruce and gay as larks. when floors are nicely sanded o'er, when tins and pewter shine, and milk-pans by the kitchen wall display their dainty line; while the new ribbon decks the waist of many a waiting lass, who steals a conscious look of pride toward her answering glass. in pensive mood sat nancy bell; of joshua thought not she, but of a hearty sailor lad across the distant sea. her arm upon the table rests, her hand supports her head, when joshua enters with a scrape, and somewhat bashful tread. no word he spake, but down he sat, and heaved a doleful sigh, then at the table took his aim and rolled a glassy eye. another and another flew, with quick and strong rebound, they tumbled in poor nancy's lap, they fell upon the ground. while joshua smirked, and sighed, and smiled between each tender aim, and still the cold and bloody balls in frightful quickness came. until poor nancy flew with screams, to shun the amorous sport, and joshua found to _cast sheep's eyes_ was not the way to court. * * * * * "fanny forrester" and "fanny fern" both delighted the public with individual styles of writing, vastly successful when a new thing. when wanting a new dress and bonnet, as every woman will in the spring (or any time), fanny forrester wrote to willis, of the _new mirror_, an appeal which he called "very clever, adroit, and fanciful." "you know the shops in broadway are very tempting this season. _such_ beautiful things! well, you know (no, you don't know that, but you can guess) what a delightful thing it would be to appear in one of those charming, head-adorning, complexion-softening, hard-feature-subduing neapolitans, with a little gossamer veil dropping daintily on the shoulder of one of those exquisite _balzarines_, to be seen any day at stewart's and elsewhere. well, you know (this you _must_ know) that shopkeepers have the impertinence to demand a trifling exchange for these things, even of a lady; and also that some people have a remarkably small purse, and a remarkably small portion of the yellow "root" in that. and now, to bring the matter home, i am one of that class. i have the most beautiful little purse in the world, but it is only kept for show. i even find myself under the necessity of counterfeiting--that is, filling the void with tissue-paper in lieu of bank-notes, preparatory to a shopping expedition. well, now to the point. as bel and i snuggled down on the sofa this morning to read the _new mirror_ (by the way, cousin bel is never obliged to put tissue-paper in her purse), it struck us that you would be a friend in need, and give good counsel in this emergency. bel, however, insisted on my not telling what i wanted the money for. she even thought that i had better intimate orphanage, extreme suffering from the bursting of some speculative bubble, illness, etc.; but did i not know you better? have i read the _new mirror_ so much (to say nothing of the graceful things coined under a bridge, and a thousand other pages flung from the inner heart) and not learned who has an eye for everything pretty? not so stupid, cousin bel, no, no!... "and to the point. maybe you of the _new mirror_ pay for acceptable articles, maybe not. _comprenez vous?_ oh, i do hope that beautiful _balzarine_ like bel's will not be gone before another saturday! you will not forget to answer me in the next _mirror_; but pray, my dear editor, let it be done very cautiously, for bel would pout all day if she should know what i have written. "till saturday, your anxiously-waiting friend, "fanny forrester." such a note received by an editor of this generation would promptly fall into the waste-basket. but willis was captivated, and answered: "well, we give in! on _condition_ that you are under twenty-five and that you will wear a rose (recognizably) in your bodice the first time you appear in broadway with the hat and _balzarine_, we will pay the bills. write us thereafter a sketch of bel and yourself as cleverly done as this letter, and you may 'snuggle' down on the sofa and consider us paid, and the public charmed with you." this style of ingratiating one's self with an editor is as much a bygone as an alliterative pen-name. * * * * * fanny fern (sarah willis parton) also established a style of her own--"a new kind of composition; short, pointed paragraphs, without beginning and without end--one clear, ringing note, and then silence." her talent for humorous composition showed itself in her essays at school. i'll give a bit from her "suggestions on arithmetic after cramming for an examination": "every incident, every object of sight seemed to produce an arithmetical result. i once saw a poor wretch evidently intoxicated; thought i, 'that man has overcome three scruples, to say the least, for three scruples make one dram.' even the sabbath was no day of rest for me--the psalms, prayers, and sermons were all translated by me into the language of arithmetic. a good man spoke very feelingly upon the manner in which our cares and perplexities were multiplied by riches. muttered i: 'that, sir, depends upon whether the multiplier is a fraction or a whole number; for if it be a fraction, it makes the product less.' and when another, lamenting the various divisions of the church, pathetically exclaimed: 'and how shall we unite these several denominations in one?' "'why, reduce them to a common denominator,' exclaimed i, half aloud, wondering at his ignorance. "and when an admiring swain protested his warm 'interest,' he brought only one word that chimed with my train of thought. "'interest?' exclaimed i, starting from my reverie. 'what per cent, sir?' "'ma'am?' exclaimed my attendant, in the greatest possible amazement. "'how much per cent, sir?' said i, repeating my question. "his reply was lost on my ear save: 'madam, at any rate do not trifle with my feelings.' "'at any rate, did you say? then take six per cent; that is the easiest to calculate.'" her style, too, has gone out of fashion; but in its day it was thought very amusing. * * * * * mrs. stowe needs no introduction, and she is another of those from whom we quote little, because she could contribute so much, and one does not know where to choose. her "sam lawson" is, perhaps, the most familiar of her odd characters and talkers. sam lawson's sayings. "well, sam, what did you think of the sermon?" said uncle bill. "well," said sam, leaning over the fire with his long, bony hands alternately raised to catch the warmth, and then dropped with an utter laxness when the warmth became too pronounced, "parson simpson's a smart man; but i tell ye, it's kind o' discouragin'. why, he said our state and condition by natur war just like this: we war clear down in a well fifty feet deep, and the sides all round nothin' but glare ice; but we war under immediate obligations to get out, 'cause we war free, voluntary agents. but nobody ever had got out, and nobody would, unless the lord reached down and took 'em. and whether he would or not nobody could tell; it was all sovereignty. he said there warn't one in a hundred, not one in a thousand, not one in ten thousand, that would be saved. 'lordy massy,' says i to myself, 'ef that's so they're any of 'em welcome to my chance.' and so i kind o' ris up and come out, 'cause i'd got a pretty long walk home, and i wanted to go round by south pond and inquire about aunt sally morse's toothache."... "this 'ere miss sphyxy smith's a rich old gal, and 'mazin' smart to work," he began. "tell you, she holds all she gets. old sol, he told me a story 'bout her that was a pretty good un." "what was it?" said my grandmother. "wal, ye see, you 'member old parson jeduthun kendall that lives up in stonytown; he lost his wife a year ago last thanksgivin', and he thought 'twar about time he hed another; so he comes down and consults our parson lothrop. says he: 'i want a good, smart, neat, economical woman, with a good property. i don't care nothin' about her bein' handsome. in fact, i ain't particular about anything else,' says he. wal, parson lothrop, says he: 'i think, if that's the case, i know jest the woman to suit ye. she owns a clear, handsome property, and she's neat and economical; but she's no beauty!' 'oh, beauty is nothin' to me,' says parson kendall; and so he took the direction. wal, one day he hitched up his old one-hoss shay, and kind o' brushed up, and started off a-courtin'. wal, the parson come to the house, and he war tickled to pieces with the looks o' things outside, 'cause the house is all well shingled and painted, and there ain't a picket loose nor a nail wantin' nowhere. "'this 'ere's the woman for me,' says parson kendall. so he goes up and raps hard on the front door with his whip-handle. wal, you see, miss sphyxy she war jest goin' out to help get in her hay. she had on a pair o' clompin' cowhide boots, and a pitchfork in her hand, jest goin' out, when she heard the rap. so she come jest as she was to the front door. now, you know parson kendall's a little midget of a man, but he stood there on the step kind o' smilin' and genteel, lickin' his lips and lookin' _so_ agreeable! wal, the front door kind o' stuck--front doors generally do, ye know, 'cause they ain't opened very often--and miss sphyxy she had to pull and haul and put to all her strength, and finally it come open with a bang, and she 'peared to the parson, pitchfork and all, sort o' frownin' like. "'what do you want?' says she; for, you see, miss sphyxy ain't no ways tender to the men. "'i want to see miss asphyxia smith,' says he, very civil, thinking she war the hired gal. "'i'm miss asphyxia smith,' says she. 'what do you want o' me?' "parson kendall he jest took one good look on her, from top to toe. 'nothin',' says he, and turned right round and went down the steps like lightnin'." * * * * * years ago mrs. stowe published some capital stories of new england life, which were collected in a little volume called "the mayflower," a book which is now seldom seen, and almost unknown to the present generation. from this i take her "night in a canal-boat." extremely effective when read with enthusiasm and proper variety of tone. i quote it as a boon for the boys and girls who are often looking for something "funny" to read aloud. the canal-boat. by harriet beecher stowe. of all the ways of travelling which obtain among our locomotive nation, this said vehicle, the canal-boat, is the most absolutely prosaic and inglorious. there is something picturesque, nay, almost sublime, in the lordly march of your well-built, high-bred steamboat. go take your stand on some overhanging bluff, where the blue ohio winds its thread of silver, or the sturdy mississippi tears its path through unbroken forests, and it will do your heart good to see the gallant boat walking the waters with unbroken and powerful tread, and, like some fabled monster of the wave, breathing fire and making the shores resound with its deep respirations. then there is something mysterious--even awful--in the power of steam. see it curling up against a blue sky some rosy morning, graceful, floating, intangible, and to all appearance the softest and gentlest of all spiritual things, and then think that it is this fairy spirit that keeps all the world alive and hot with motion; think how excellent a servant it is, doing all sorts of gigantic works, like the genii of old; and yet, if you let slip the talisman only for a moment, what terrible advantage it will take of you! and you will confess that steam has some claims both to the beautiful and the terrible! for our own part, when we are down among the machinery of a steamboat in full play, we conduct ourselves very reverently, for we consider it as a very serious neighborhood, and every time the steam whizzes with such red-hot determination from the escape-valve, we start as if some of the spirits were after us. but in a canal-boat there is no power, no mystery, no danger; one cannot blow up, one cannot be drowned--unless by some special effort; one sees clearly all there is in the case--a horse, a rope, and a muddy strip of water--and that is all. did you ever try it, reader? if not, take an imaginary trip with us, just for experiment. "there's the boat!" exclaims a passenger in the omnibus, as we are rolling down from the pittsburg mansion house to the canal. "where?" exclaim a dozen of voices, and forthwith a dozen heads go out of the window. "why, down there, under that bridge; don't you see those lights?" "what, that little thing!" exclaims an inexperienced traveller; "dear me! we can't half of us get into it!" "we! indeed," says some old hand in the business; "i think you'll find it will hold us and a dozen more loads like us." "impossible!" say some. "you'll see," say the initiated; and as soon as you get out you _do_ see, and hear, too, what seems like a general breaking loose from the tower of babel, amid a perfect hail-storm of trunks, boxes, valises, carpet-bags, and every describable and indescribable form of what a westerner calls "plunder." "that's my trunk!" barks out a big, round man. "that's my bandbox!" screams a heart-stricken old lady, in terror for her immaculate sunday caps. "where's my little red box? i had two carpet-bags and a--my trunk had a scarle--halloo! where are you going with that portmanteau? husband! husband! do see after the large basket and the little hair-trunk--oh, and the baby's little chair!" "go below, go below, for mercy's sake, my dear; i'll see to the baggage." at last the feminine part of creation, perceiving that, in this particular instance, they gain nothing by public speaking, are content to be led quietly under hatches; and amusing is the look of dismay which each new-comer gives to the confined quarters that present themselves. those who were so ignorant of the power of compression as to suppose the boat scarce large enough to contain them and theirs, find, with dismay, a respectable colony of old ladies, babies, mothers, big baskets, and carpet-bags already established. "mercy on us!" says one, after surveying the little room, about ten feet long and six feet high, "where are we all to sleep to-night?" "oh, me, what a sight of children!" says a young lady, in a despairing tone. "pooh!" says an initiated traveller, "children! scarce any here; let's see: one; the woman in the corner, two; that child with the bread and butter, three; and then there's that other woman with two. really, it's quite moderate for a canal-boat. however, we can't tell till they have all come." "all! for mercy's sake, you don't say there are any more coming!" exclaim two or three in a breath; "they _can't_ come; _there is not room_!" notwithstanding the impressive utterance of this sentence the contrary is immediately demonstrated by the appearance of a very corpulent elderly lady with three well-grown daughters, who come down looking about them most complacently, entirely regardless of the unchristian looks of the company. what a mercy it is that fat people are always good-natured! after this follows an indiscriminate raining down of all shapes, sizes, sexes, and ages--men, women, children, babies, and nurses. the state of feeling becomes perfectly desperate. darkness gathers on all faces. "we shall be smothered! we shall be crowded to death! we _can't stay_ here!" are heard faintly from one and another; and yet, though the boat grows no wider, the walls no higher, they do live, and do stay there, in spite of repeated protestations to the contrary. truly, as sam slick says, "there's a _sight of wear_ in human natur'!" but meanwhile the children grow sleepy, and divers interesting little duets and trios arise from one part or another of the cabin. "hush, johnny! be a good boy," says a pale, nursing mamma, to a great, bristling, white-headed phenomenon, who is kicking very much at large in her lap. "i won't be a good boy, neither," responds johnny, with interesting explicitness; "i want to go to bed, and so-o-o-o!" and johnny makes up a mouth as big as a tea-cup, and roars with good courage, and his mamma asks him "if he ever saw pa do so," and tells him that "he is mamma's dear, good little boy, and must not make a noise," with various observations of the kind, which are so strikingly efficacious in such cases. meanwhile the domestic concert in other quarters proceeds with vigor. "mamma, i'm tired!" bawls a child. "where's the baby's nightgown?" calls a nurse. "do take peter up in your lap, and keep him still." "pray get out some biscuits to stop their mouths." meanwhile sundry babies strike in _con spirito_, as the music-books have it, and execute various flourishes; the disconsolate mothers sigh, and look as if all was over with them; and the young ladies appear extremely disgusted, and wonder "what business women have to be travelling round with children." to these troubles succeeds the turning-out scene, when the whole caravan is ejected into the gentlemen's cabin, that the beds may be made. the red curtains are put down, and in solemn silence all the last mysterious preparations begin. at length it is announced that all is ready. forthwith the whole company rush back, and find the walls embellished by a series of little shelves, about a foot wide, each furnished with a mattress and bedding, and hooked to the ceiling by a very suspiciously slender cord. direful are the ruminations and exclamations of inexperienced travellers, particularly young ones, as they eye these very equivocal accommodations. "what, sleep up there! _i_ won't sleep on one of those top shelves, _i_ know. the cords will certainly break." the chambermaid here takes up the conversation, and solemnly assures them that such an accident is not to be thought of at all; that it is a natural impossibility--a thing that could not happen without an actual miracle; and since it becomes increasingly evident that thirty ladies cannot all sleep on the lowest shelf, there is some effort made to exercise faith in this doctrine; nevertheless all look on their neighbors with fear and trembling; and when the stout lady talks of taking a shelf, she is most urgently pressed to change places with her alarmed neighbor below. points of location being after a while adjusted, comes the last struggle. everybody wants to take off a bonnet, or look for a shawl, to find a cloak, or get a carpet-bag, and all set about it with such zeal that nothing can be done. "ma'am, you're on my foot!" says one. "will you please to move, ma'am?" says somebody, who is gasping and struggling behind you. "move!" you echo. "indeed, i should be very glad to, but i don't see much prospect of it." "chambermaid!" calls a lady who is struggling among a heap of carpet-bags and children at one end of the cabin. "ma'am!" echoes the poor chambermaid, who is wedged fast in a similar situation at the other. "where's my cloak, chambermaid?" "i'd find it, ma'am, if i could move." "chambermaid, my basket!" "chambermaid, my parasol!" "chambermaid, my carpet-bag!" "mamma, they push me so!" "hush, child; crawl under there and lie still till i can undress you." at last, however, the various distresses are over, the babies sink to sleep, and even that much-enduring being, the chambermaid, seeks out some corner for repose. tired and drowsy, you are just sinking into a doze, when bang! goes the boat against the sides of a lock; ropes scrape, men run and shout; and up fly the heads of all the top-shelfites, who are generally the more juvenile and airy part of the company. "what's that! what's that!" flies from mouth to mouth; and forthwith they proceed to awaken their respective relations. "mother! aunt hannah! do wake up; what is this awful noise?" "oh, only a lock." "pray, be still," groan out the sleepy members from below. "a lock!" exclaim the vivacious creatures, ever on the alert for information; "and what _is_ a lock, pray?" "don't you know what a lock is, you silly creatures. do lie down and go to sleep." "but say, there ain't any _danger_ in a lock, is there?" respond the querists. "danger!" exclaims a deaf old lady, poking up her head. "what's the matter? there hain't nothing burst, has there?" "no, no, no!" exclaim the provoked and despairing opposition party, who find that there is no such thing as going to sleep till they have made the old lady below and the young ladies above understand exactly the philosophy of a lock. after a while the conversation again subsides; again all is still; you hear only the trampling of horses and the rippling of the rope in the water, and sleep again is stealing over you. you doze, you dream, and all of a sudden you are startled by a cry, "chambermaid! wake up the lady that wants to be set ashore." up jumps chambermaid, and up jump the lady and two children, and forthwith form a committee of inquiry as to ways and means. "where's my bonnet?" says the lady, half awake and fumbling among the various articles of that name. "i thought i hung it up behind the door." "can't you find it?" says the poor chambermaid, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "oh, yes, here it is," says the lady; and then the cloak, the shawl, the gloves, the shoes, receive each a separate discussion. at last all seems ready, and they begin to move off, when lo! peter's cap is missing. "now, where can it be?" soliloquizes the lady. "i put it right here by the table-leg; maybe it got into some of the berths." at this suggestion the chambermaid takes the candle, and goes round deliberately to every berth, poking the light directly in the face of every sleeper. "here it is," she exclaims, pulling at something black under one pillow. "no, indeed, those are my shoes," says the vexed sleeper. "maybe it's here," she resumes, darting upon something dark in another berth. "no, that's my bag," responds the occupant. the chambermaid then proceeds to turn over all the children on the floor, to see if it is not under them. in the course of which process they are most agreeably waked up and enlivened; and when everybody is broad awake, and most uncharitably wishing the cap, and peter too, at the bottom of the canal, the good lady exclaims, "well, if this isn't lucky; here i had it safe in my basket all the time!" and she departed amid the--what shall i say? execrations!--of the whole company, ladies though they be. well, after this follows a hushing up and wiping up among the juvenile population, and a series of remarks commences from the various shelves of a very edifying and instructive tendency. one says that the woman did not seem to know where anything was; another says that she has waked them all up; a third adds that she has waked up all the children, too; and the elderly ladies make moral reflections on the importance of putting your things where you can find them--being always ready; which observations, being delivered in an exceedingly doleful and drowsy tone, form a sort of sub-bass to the lively chattering of the upper-shelfites, who declare that they feel quite awake--that they don't think they shall go to sleep again to-night, and discourse over everything in creation, until you heartily wish you were enough related to them to give them a scolding. at last, however, voice after voice drops off; you fall into a most refreshing slumber; it seems to you that you sleep about a quarter of an hour, when the chambermaid pulls you by the sleeve. "will you please to get up, ma'am? we want to make the beds." you start and stare. sure enough, the night is gone. so much for sleeping on board canal-boats! let us not enumerate the manifold perplexities of the morning toilet in a place where every lady realizes most forcibly the condition of the old woman who lived under a broom: "all she wanted was elbow-room." let us not tell how one glass is made to answer for thirty fair faces, one ewer and vase for thirty lavations; and--tell it not in gath--one towel for a company! let us not intimate how ladies' shoes have, in a night, clandestinely slid into the gentlemen's cabin, and gentlemen's boots elbowed, or, rather, _toed_ their way among ladies' gear, nor recite the exclamations after runaway property that are heard. "i can't find nothing of johnny's shoe!" "here's a shoe in the water-pitcher--is this it?" "my side-combs are gone!" exclaims a nymph with dishevelled curls. "massy! do look at my bonnet!" exclaims an old lady, elevating an article crushed into as many angles as there are pieces in a mince-pie. "i never did sleep _so much together_ in my life," echoes a poor little french lady, whom despair has driven into talking english. but our shortening paper warns us not to prolong our catalogue of distresses beyond reasonable bounds, and therefore we will close with advising all our friends, who intend to try this way of travelling for _pleasure_, to take a good stock both of patience and clean towels with them, for we think that they will find abundant need for both. chapter iv. "samples" here and there. next comes mrs. caroline m. kirkland with her western sketches. many will remember her laughable description of "borrowing out west," with its two appropriate mottoes: "lend me your ears," from shakespeare, and from bacon: "grant graciously what you cannot refuse safely." "'mother wants your sifter,' said miss ianthe howard, a young lady of six years' standing, attired in a tattered calico thickened with dirt; her unkempt locks straggling from under that hideous substitute for a bonnet so universal in the western country--a dirty cotton handkerchief--which is used _ad nauseam_ for all sorts of purposes. "'mother wants your sifter, and she says she guesses you can let her have some sugar and tea, 'cause you've got plenty.' this excellent reason, ''cause you've got plenty,' is conclusive as to sharing with neighbors. "sieves, smoothing-irons, and churns run about as if they had legs; one brass kettle is enough for a whole neighborhood, and i could point to a cradle which has rocked half the babies in montacute. "for my own part, i have lent my broom, my thread, my tape, my spoons, my cat, my thimble, my scissors, my shawl, my shoes, and have been asked for my combs and brushes, and my husband for his shaving apparatus and pantaloons." mrs. whither, whose "widow bedott" is a familiar name, resembles mrs. kirkland in her comic portraitures, which were especially good of their kind, and never betrayed any malice. the "bedott papers" first appeared in , and became popular at once. they are good examples of what they simply profess to be: an amusing series of comicalities. i shall not quote from them, as every one who enjoys that style of humor knows them by heart. it would be as useless as copying "now i lay me down to sleep," or "mary had a little lamb," for a child's collection of verses! * * * * * there are many authors whom i cannot represent worthily in these brief limits. when, encouraged by the unprecedented popularity of this venture, i prepare an encyclopædia of the "wit and humor of american women," i can do justice to such writers as "gail hamilton" and miss alcott, whose "transcendental wild oats" cannot be cut. rose terry cooke thinks her "knoware" the only funny thing she has ever done. she is greatly mistaken, as i can soon prove. "knoware" ought to be printed by itself to delight thousands, as her "deacon's week" has already done. to search for a few good things in the works of my witty friends is searching not for the time-honored needle in a hay-mow, but for two or three needles of just the right size out of a whole paper of needles. "the insanity of cain," by mrs. mary mapes dodge, an inimitable satire on the feebleness of our jury system and the absurd pretence of "temporary insanity," must wait for that encyclopædia. and her "miss molony on the chinese question" is known and admired by every one, including the prince of wales, who was fairly convulsed by its fun, when brought out by our favorite elocutionist, miss sarah cowell, who had the honor of reading before royalty. i regretfully omit the "peterkin letters," by lucretia p. hale, and time famous "william henry letters," by mrs. abby morton diaz. the very best bit from miss sallie mclean would be how "grandma spicer gets grandpa ready for sunday-school," from the "cape cod folks;" but why not save space for what is not in everybody's mouth and memory? this is equally true of mrs. cleaveland's "no sects in heaven," which, like arabella wilson's "sextant," goes the rounds of all the papers every other year as a fresh delight. marietta holley, too, must be allowed only a brief quotation. "samantha" is a family friend from mexico to alaska. mrs. metta victoria victor, who died recently, has written an immense amount of humorous sketches. her "miss slimmens," the boarding-house keeper, is a marked character, and will be remembered by many. i will select a few "samples," unsatisfactory because there is so much more just as good, and then give room for others less familiar. miss lucinda's pig. by rose terry cooke. "you don't know of any poor person who'd like to have a pig, do you?" said miss lucinda, wistfully. "well, the poorer they was, the quicker they'd eat him up, i guess--ef they could eat such a razor-back." "oh, i don't like to think of his being eaten! i wish he could be got rid of some other way. don't you think he might be killed in his sleep, israel?" "i think it's likely it would wake him up," said he, demurely. "killin' 's killin', and a critter can't sleep over it 's though 'twas the stomachache. i guess he'd kick some, ef he _was_ asleep--and screech some, too!" "dear me!" said miss lucinda, horrified at the idea. "i wish he could be sent out to run in the woods. are there any good woods near here, israel?" "i don't know but what he'd as lieves be slartered to once as to starve an' be hunted down out in the lots. besides, there ain't nobody as i knows of would like a hog to be a-rootin' round among their turnips and young wheat." "well, what i shall do with him i don't know!" despairingly exclaimed miss lucinda. "he was such a dear little thing when you bought him, israel! do you remember how pink his pretty little nose was--just like a rosebud--and how bright his eyes were, and his cunning legs? and now he's grown so big and fierce! but i can't help liking him, either." "he's a cute critter, that's sartain; but he does too much rootin' to have a pink nose now, i expect; there's consider'ble on 't, so i guess it looks as well to have it gray. but i don't know no more'n you do what to do abaout it." "if i could only get rid of him without knowing what became of him!" exclaimed miss lucinda, squeezing her forefinger with great earnestness, and looking both puzzled and pained. "if mees lucinda would pairmit?" said a voice behind her. she turned round to see monsieur leclerc on his crutches, just in the parlor-door. "i shall, mees, myself dispose of piggie, if it please. i can. i shall have no sound; he shall to go away like a silent snow, to trouble you no more, never!" "oh, sir, if you could! but i don't see how!" "if mees was to see, it would not be to save her pain. i shall have him to go by _magique_ to fiery land." fairy-land, probably. but miss lucinda did not perceive the _équivoque_. "nor yet shall i trouble meester israyel. i shall have the aid of myself and one good friend that i have; and some night, when you rise of the morning, he shall not be there." miss lucinda breathed a deep sigh of relief. "i am greatly obliged--i mean, i shall be," said she. "well, i'm glad enough to wash my hands on 't," said israel. "i shall hanker arter the critter some, but he's a-gettin' too big to be handy; 'n it's one comfort about critters, you ken git rid on 'em somehaow when they're more plague than profit. but folks has got to be let alone, excep' the lord takes 'em; an' he generally don't see fit."--_from somebody's neighbors._ a gift horse. by rose terry cooke. "well, he no need to ha' done it, sary. i've told him more'n four times he hadn't ought to pull a gun tow'rds him by the muzzle on't. now he's up an' did it once for all." "he won't never have no chance to do it again, scotty, if you don't hurry up after the doctor," said sary, wiping her eyes on her dirty calico apron, thereby adding an effective shadow under their redness. "well, i'm a-goin', ain't i? but ye know yerself 'twon't do to go so fur on eend, 'thout ye're vittled consider'ble well." so saying, he fell to at the meal she had interrupted, hot potatoes, cold pork, dried venison, and blueberry pie vanishing down his throat with an alacrity and dispatch that augured well for the thorough "vittling" he intended, while sary went about folding chunks of boiled ham, thick slices of brown bread, solid rounds of "sody biskit," and slab-sided turnovers in a newspaper, filling a flat bottle with whiskey, and now and then casting a look at the low bed where young harry mcalister lay, very much whiter than the sheets about him, and quite as unconscious of surroundings, the blood oozing slowly through such bandages as scott peck's rude surgery had twisted about a gunshot-wound in his thigh, and brought to close tension by a stick thrust through the folds, turned as tight as could be borne, and strapped into place by a bit of coarse twine. it was a long journey paddling up the racquette river, across creek and carry, with the boat on his back, to the lakes, and then from martin's to "harri'tstown," where he knew a surgeon of repute from a great city was spending his vacation. it was touch-and-go with harry before scott and dr. drake got back. sary had dosed him with venison-broth, hot and greasy, weak whiskey and water, and a little milk (only a little), for their cow was old and pastured chiefly on leaves and twigs, and she only came back to the shanty when she liked or needed to come, so their milk supply was uncertain, and sary dared not leave her patient long enough to row to the end of tupper's lake, where the nearest cow was kept. but youth has a power of recovery that defies circumstance, and dr. drake was very skilful. long weeks went by, and the green woods of july had brightened and faded into october's dim splendor before harry mcalister could be carried up the river and over to bartlett's, where his mother had been called to meet him. she was a widow, and he her only child; and, though she was rather silly and altogether unpractical, she had a tender, generous heart, and was ready to do anything possible for scott and sarah peck to show her gratitude for their kindness to her boy. she did not consult harry at all. he had lost much blood from his accident and recovered strength slowly. she kept everything like thought or trouble out of his way as far as she could, and when the family physician found her heart was set on taking him to florida for the winter, because he looked pale and her grandmother's aunt had died of consumption, dr. peet, like a wise man, rubbed his hands together, bowed, and assured her it would be the very thing. but something must be done for the pecks before she went away. it occurred to her how difficult it must be for them to row everywhere in a small boat. a horse would be much better. even if the roads were not good they could ride, sarah behind scott. and so useful in farming, too. her mind was made up at once. she dispatched a check for three hundred dollars to peter haas, her old coachman, who had bought a farm in vermont with his savings, and retired, with the cook for his wife, into the private life of a farmer. mrs. mcalister had much faith in peter's knowledge of horses and his honesty. she wrote him to buy a strong, steady animal, and convey it to scott peck, either sending him word to come up to bartlett's after it, or taking it down the river; but, at any rate, to make sure he had it. if the check would not pay all expenses, he was to draw on her for more. peter took the opportunity to get rid of a horse he had no use for in winter; a beast restive as a racer when not in daily use, but strong enough for any work, and steady enough if he had work. two hundred and fifty dollars was the price now set on his head, though peter had bought him for seventy-five, and thought him dear at that. the remaining fifty was ample for expenses; but peter was a prudent german and liked a margin. there was no difficulty in getting the horse as far as martin's, and by dint of patient insistence peter contrived to have him conveyed to bartlett's; but here he rested and sent a messenger down to scott peck, while he himself returned to bridget at the farm, slowly cursing the country and the people as he went his way, for his delays and troubles had been numerous. "gosh!" said scott peck, when he stepped up to the log-house that served for the guides, unknowing what awaited him, for the messenger had not found him at home, but left word he was to come to bartlett's for something, and the first thing he saw was this gray horse. "what fool fetched his hoss up here?" the guides gathered about the door of their hut, burst into a loud cackle of laughter; even the beautiful hounds in their rough kennel leaped up and bayed. "w-a-a-l;" drawled lazy joe tucker, "the feller 't owns him ain't nobody's fool. be ye, scotty?" "wha-t!" ejaculated scott. "it's your'n, man, sure as shootin'!" laughed hearty jack, joe tucker's brother. "mine? jehoshaphat! blaze that air track, will ye? i'm lost, sure." "well, bartlett's gone out keeseville way, so't kinder was lef' to me to tell ye. 'member that ar chap that shot hisself in the leg down to your shanty this summer?" "well, i expect i do, seein' i ain't more'n a hundred year old," sarcastically answered scott. "he's cleared out south-aways some'eres, and his ma consaited she was dredful obleeged to ye; 'n i'm blessed if she didn't send an old dutch feller up here fur to fetch ye that hoss fur a present. he couldn't noways wait to see ye pus'nally, he sed, fur he mistrusted the' was snows here sometimes 'bout this season. ho! ho! ho!" "good land!" said scott, sitting down on a log, and putting his hands in his pockets, the image of perplexity, while the men about him roared with fresh laughter. "what be i a-goin' to do with the critter?" he asked of the crowd. "blessed if i know," answered hearty jack. "can't ye get him out to 'sable falls or keeseville 'n sell him fur what he'll fetch?" suggested joe tucker. "i can't go now, noways. sary's wood-pile's nigh gin out, 'n there was a mighty big sundog yesterday; 'nd moreover i smell snow. it'll be suthin' to git hum as 'tis. mabbe bartlett'll keep him a spell." "no, he won't; you kin bet your head. his fodder's a-runnin' short for the hornid critters. he's bought some up to martin's, that's a-comin' down dyrect; but 'tain't enough. he's put to't for more. shouldn't wonder ef he had to draw from north elby when sleddin' sets in." "well, i dono's there's but one thing for to do; fetch him hum somehow or 'nother; 'nd there's my boat over to the carry!" "you'd better tie the critter on behind an' let him wade down the racket!" another shout of laughter greeted this proposal. "i s'all take ze boat for you!" quietly said a little brown canadian--jean poiton. "i am go to tupper to-morrow. i have one hunt to make. i can take her." "well said, gene. i'll owe you a turn. but, fur all, how be i goin' to get that animile 'long the trail?" "i dono!" answered joe tucker. "i expect, if it's got to be did, you'll fetch it somehow. but i'm mighty glad 'tain't my job!" scott peck thought joe had good reason for joy in that direction before he had gone a mile on his homeward way! the trail was only a trail, rough, devious, crossed with roots of trees, brushed with boughs of fir and pine, and the horse was restive and unruly. by nightfall he had gone only a few miles, and when he had tied the beast to a tree and covered him with a blanket brought from bartlett's for the purpose, and strapped on his own back all the way, the light of the camp-fire startled the horse so that scott was forced to blind him with a comforter before he would stand still. then in the middle of the night, a great owl hooting from the tree-top just above him was a fresh scare, and but that the strap and rope both were new and strong he would have escaped. scott listened to his rearing, trampling, snorts, and wild neigh with the composure of a sleepy man; but when he awoke at daylight, and found four inches of snow had fallen during the night, he swore. this was too much. even to his practised woodcraft it seemed impossible to get the horse safe to his clearing without harm. it was only by dint of the utmost care and patience, the greatest watchfulness of the way, that he got along at all. every rod or two he stumbled, and all but fell himself. here and there a loaded hemlock bough, weighed out of its uprightness by the wet snow, snapped in his face and blinded him with its damp burden; and he knew long before nightfall that another night in the woods was inevitable. he could feed the horse on young twigs of beech and birch; fresh moss, and new-peeled bark (fodder the animal would have resented with scorn under any other conditions); but hunger has no law concerning food. scott himself was famished; but his pipe and tobacco were a refuge whose value he knew before, and his charge was tired enough to be quiet this second night; so the man had an undisturbed sleep by his comfortable fire. it was full noon of the next day when he reached his cabin. jean poiton had tied his boat to its stake, and gone on without stopping to speak to sarah; so her surprise was wonderful when she saw scott emerge from the forest, leading a gray creature, with drooping head and shambling gait, tired and dispirited. "heaven's to betsey, scott peck! what hev you got theer?" "the devil!" growled scott. sary screamed. "do hold your jaw, gal, an' git me su'thin' hot to eat 'n drink. i'm savager'n an injin. come, git along." and, tying his horse to a stump, the hungry man followed sarah into the house and helped himself out of a keg in the corner to a long, reviving draught. "du tell!" said sarah, when the pork began to frizzle in the pan. "what upon airth did you buy a hoss for?" (she had discovered it was a horse.) "buy it! i guess not. i ain't no such blamed fool as that comes to. that feller you nussed up here a spell back, he up an' sent it roun' to bartlett's, for a present to me." "well! did he think you was a-goin' to set up canawl long o' racket?" "i expect he calc'lated i'd go racin'," dryly answered scott. "but what be ye a-goin' to feed him with?" said sary, laying venison steaks into the pan. "lord knows! i don't. shut up, sary! i'm tuckered out with the beast. i'd ruther still-hunt three weeks on eend than fetch him in from sar'nac, now i tell ye. ain't them did enough? i could eat a raw bear." sary laughed and asked no more questions till the ravenous man had satisfied himself with the savory food; but, if she had asked them, scott would have had no answer, for his mind was perplexed to the last degree. he fed the beast for a while on potatoes; but that was taking the bread out of his own mouth, though he supplemented it with now and then a boat-load of coarse, frost-killed grass, but the horse grew more and more gaunt and restive. his eyes glared with hunger and fury. he kicked out one side of the cowshed and snapped at scott whenever he came near him. want of use and food had restored him to the original savagery of his race. hitherto scott had never acknowledged mrs mcalister's gift; but sary, who had a vague idea of good manners, caught from the picture papers and occasional dime novels the tribe of adirondack travellers strew even in such a wilderness, kept pecking at him. "ta'n't no more'n civil to say thank ye, to the least," she said, till scott's temper gave way. "stop a-pesterin' of me! i've hed too much. i ain't a speck thankful! i'm mightily t'other thing, whatever 'tis. write to her yourself, if you're a mind tu. you can make a better fist at it, anyways. comes as nateral to women to lie as sap to run. i'll be etarnally blessed ef i touch paper for to do it." and he flung out of the door with a bang. of course sary wrote the letter, which one balmy day electrified harry and his mother as they sat basking in southern sunshine: "mis macallistur: this is fur to say wee is reel obliged to ye fur the hoss." "good gracious, mother! did you send them a horse?" ejaculated harry. "why, my dear, i wanted to show my sense of their kindness, and i could not offer these people money. i thought a horse would be so useful!" "useful! in the adirondack woods!" and harry burst into a fit of laughter that scarcely permitted his mother to go on; but at last she proceeded: "but scotty and me ain't ackwainted so to speak with hoss ways; he seems kinder hum-sick if you may say that of a cretur. we air etarnally gratified to you for sech a valewble pressent, but if you was wiling we shood like to swapp it of in spring fur a kow, ourn being some in years. "yours to command, sary peck." but long before mrs. mcalister's permission to "swap" the horse reached scott peck, the creature took his destiny into his own hands. scott had gone away on a desperate errand, to fetch some sort of food for the poor creature, whose bones stared him in the face, and sary went out one morning to give him her potato-peelings and some scraps of bread, when, suddenly, he jerked his head fiercely, snapped his halter in two, and wheeled round upon the frightened woman, rearing, snorting, and showing his long, yellow teeth. sary fled at once and barred the door behind her; but neither she nor scott ever saw their "gift horse" again. for aught i know he still roams the adirondack forest, and maybe personates the ghostly and ghastly white deer of song and legend. who can tell? but he was lifted off scott peck's shoulders, and all scott said by way of epitaph on the departed, when he came home to find his white steed gone, was, "hang presents!" * * * * * "samantha allen" will now have "a brief opportunity for remark." admire her graphic description of the excitement josiah caused by voting, at a meeting of the "jonesville creation searchers," for his own spouse as a delegate from jonesville to the "sentinel." she reports thus: "it was a fearful time, but right where the excitement was raining most fearfully i felt a motion by the side of me, and my companion got up and stood on his feet and says, in _pretty_ firm accents, though _some_ sheepish: "'_i_ did, and there's where i stand now; _i_ vote for _samantha_!' "and then he sot down again. oh, the fearful excitement and confusion that rained down again! the president got up and tried to speak; the editor of the _auger_ talked wildly; shakespeare bobbet talked to himself incoherently, but solomon cypher's voice drowned 'em all out, as he kep' a-smitin' his breast and a hollerin' that he wasn't goin' to be infringed upon, or come in contract with _no_ woman! "no female woman needn't think she was the equal of man; and i should go as a woman or stay to home. i was so almost wore out by their talk, that i spoke right out, and, says i, '_good land!_ how did you _s'pose_ i was a-goin'?' "the president then said that he meant, if i went i mustn't look upon things with the eye of a 'creation searcher' and a man (here he p'inted his forefinger right up in the air and waved it round in a real free and soarin' way), but look at things with the eye of a private investigator and a _woman_ (here he p'inted his finger firm and stiddy right down into the wood-box and a pan of ashes). it war impressive--very." miss slimmens surprised. _a terrible accident._ by metta victoria victor. "dora! dora! dora! wake up, wake up, i say! don't you smell something burning? wake up, child! don't you smell fire? good lord! so do i. i thought i wasn't mistaken. the room's full of smoke. oh, dear! what'll we do? don't stop to put on your petticoat. we'll all be burned to death. fire! fire! fire! fire! "yes, there is! i don't know where! it's all over--our room's all in a blaze, and dora won't come out till she gets her dress on. mr. little, you _shan't_ go in--i'll hold you--you'll be killed just to save that chit of a girl, when--i--i--he's gone--rushed right into the flames. oh, my house! my furniture! all my earnings! can't anything be done? fire! fire! fire! call the fire-engines! ring the dinner-bell! be quiet! how can i be quiet? yes, it is all in flames. i saw them myself! where's my silver spoons? oh, where's my teeth, and my silver soup-ladle? let me be! i'm going out in the street before it's too late! oh, mr. grayson! have you got water? have you found the place? are they bringing water? "did you say the fire was out? was that you that spoke, mr. little? i thought you were burned up, sure; and there's dora, too. how did they get it out? my clothes-closet was on fire, and the room, too! we would have been smothered in five minutes more if we hadn't waked up! but it's all out now, and no damage done, but my dresses destroyed and the carpet spoiled. thank the lord, if that's the worst! but it _ain't_ the worst. dora, come along this minute to my room. i don't care if it is cold, and wet, and full of smoke. don't you see--don't you see i'm in my night-clothes? i never thought of it before. i'm ruined, ruined completely! go to bed, gentlemen; get out of the way as quick as you can dora, shut the door. hand me that candle; i want to look at myself in the glass. to think that all those gentlemen should have seen me in this fix! i'd rather have perished in the flames. it's the very first night i've worn these flannel night-caps, and to be seen in 'em! good gracious! how old i do look! not a spear of hair on my head scarcely, and this red nightgown and old petticoat on, and my teeth in the tumbler, and the paint all washed off my face, and scarred besides! it's no use! i never, never can again make any of _those_ men believe that i'm only twenty-five, and i felt so sure of some of them. "oh, dora adams! _you_ needn't look pale; you've lost nothing. i'll warrant mr. little thought you never looked so pretty as in that ruffled gown, and your hair all down over your shoulders. he says you were fainting from the smoke when he dragged you out. you must be a little fool to be afraid to come out looking _that_ way. they say that new boarder is a drawing-master, and i seen some of his pictures yesterday; he had some such ridiculous things. he'll caricature me for the amusement of the young men, i know. only think how my portrait would look taken to-night! and he'll have it, i'm sure, for i noticed him looking at me--the first that reminded me of my situation after the fire was put out. well, there's but one thing to be done, and that's to put a bold face on it. i can't sleep any more to-night; besides, the bed's wet, and it's beginning to get daylight. i'll go to work and get myself ready for breakfast, and i'll pretend to something--i don't know just what--to get myself out of this scrape, if i can.... "good-morning, gentlemen, good-morning! we had quite a fright last night, didn't we? dora and i came pretty near paying dear for a little frolic. you see, we were dressing up in character to amuse ourselves, and i was all fixed up for to represent an old woman, and had put on a gray wig and an old flannel gown that i found, and we'd set up pretty late, having some fun all to ourselves; and i expect dora must have been pretty sleepy when she was putting some of the things away, and set fire to a dress in the closet without noticing it. i've lost my whole wardrobe, nigh about, by her carelessness; but it's such a mercy we wasn't burned in our bed that i don't feel to complain so much on that account. isn't it curious how i got caught dressed up like my grandmother? we didn't suppose we were going to appear before so large an audience when we planned out our little frolic. what character did dora assume? really, mr. little, i was so scared last night that i disremember. she took off _her_ rigging before she went to bed. don't you think i'd personify a pretty good old woman, gentlemen--ha! ha!--for a lady of my age? what's that, mr. little? you wish i'd make you a present of that nightcap, to remember me by? of course; i've no further use for it. of course i haven't. it's one of bridget's, that i borrowed for the occasion, and i've got to give it back to her. have some coffee, mr. grayson--do! i've got cream for it this morning. mr. smith, help yourself to some of the beefsteak. it's a very cold morning--fine weather out of doors. eat all you can, all of you. have you any profiles to take yet, mr. gamboge? i _may_ make up my mind to set for mine before you leave us; i've always thought i should have it taken some time. in character? he! he! mr. little, you're so funny! but you'll excuse _me_ this morning, as i had such a fright last night. i must go and take up that wet carpet." chapter v. a brace of witty women. by the courtesy of harper brothers i am allowed to give you "aunt anniky's teeth," by sherwood bonner. the illustrations add much, but the story is good enough without pictures. aunt anniky's teeth. by sherwood bonner. aunt anniky was an african dame, fifty years old, and of an imposing presence. as a waffle-maker she possessed a gift beyond the common, but her unapproachable talent lay in the province of nursing. she seemed born for the benefit of sick people. she should have been painted with the apple of healing in her hand. for the rest, she was a funny, illiterate old darkey, vain, affable, and neat as a pink. on one occasion my mother had a dangerous illness. aunt anniky nursed her through it, giving herself no rest, night nor day, until her patient had come "back to de walks an' ways ob life," as she expressed the dear mother's recovery. my father, overjoyed and grateful, felt that we owed this result quite as much to aunt anniky as to our family doctor, so he announced his intention of making her a handsome present, and, like king herod, left her free to choose what it should be. i shall never forget how aunt anniky looked as she stood there smiling and bowing, and bobbing the funniest little courtesies all the way down to the ground. and you would never guess what it was the old woman asked for. "well, mars' charles," said she (she had been one of our old servants, and always called my father 'mars' charles'), "to tell you de livin' trufe, my soul an' body is a-yearnin' fur a han'sum chany set o' teef." "a set of teeth!" said father, surprised enough. "and have you none left of your own?" "i has gummed it fur a good many ye'rs," said aunt anniky, with a sigh; "but not wishin' ter be ongrateful ter my obligations, i owns ter havin' five nateral teef. but dey is po' sogers; dey shirks battle. one ob dem's got a little somethin' in it as lively as a speared worm, an' i tell you when anything teches it, hot or cold, it jest makes me _dance_! an' anudder is in my top jaw, an' ain't got no match fur it in de bottom one; an' one is broke off nearly to de root; an' de las' two is so yaller dat i's ashamed ter show 'em in company, an' so i lif's my turkey-tail ter my mouf every time i laughs or speaks." father turned to mother with a musing air. "the curious student of humanity," he remarked, "traces resemblances where they are not obviously conspicuous. now, at the first blush, one would not think of any common ground of meeting for our aunt anniky and the empress josephine. yet that fine french lady introduced the fashion of handkerchiefs by continually raising delicate lace _mouchoirs_ to her lips to hide her bad teeth. aunt anniky lifts her turkey-tail! it really seems that human beings should be classed by _strata_, as if they were metals in the earth. instead of dividing by nations, let us class by quality. so we might find turk, jew, christian, fashionable lady and washerwoman, master and slave, hanging together like cats on a clothes-line by some connecting cord of affinity--" "in the mean time," said my mother, mildly, "aunt anniky is waiting to know if she is to have her teeth." "oh, surely, surely!" cried father, coming out of the clouds with a start. "i am going to the village to-morrow, anniky, in the spring wagon. i will take you with me, and we will see what the dentist can do for you." "bless yo' heart, mars' charles!" said the delighted anniky; "you're jest as good as yo' blood and yo' name, and mo' i _couldn't_ say." the morrow came, and with it aunt anniky, gorgeously arrayed in a flaming red calico, a bandanna handkerchief, and a string of carved yellow beads that glittered on her bosom like fresh buttercups on a hill-slope. i had petitioned to go with the party, for, as we lived on a plantation, a visit to the village was something of an event. a brisk drive soon brought us to the centre of "the square." a glittering sign hung brazenly from a high window on its western side, bearing, in raised black letters, the name, "doctor alonzo babb." dr. babb was the dentist and the odd fish of our village. he beams in my memory as a big, round man, with hair and smiles all over his face, who talked incessantly, and said things to make your blood run cold. "do you see this ring?" he said, as he bustled about, polishing his instruments and making his preparations for the sacrifice of aunt anniky. he held up his right hand, on the forefinger of which glistened a ring the size of a dog-collar. "now, what d'ye s'pose that's made of?" "brass," suggested father, who was funny when not philosophical. "_brass!_" cried dr. babb, with a withering look; "it's virgin gold, that ring is. and where d'ye s'pose i found the gold?" my father ran his hands into his pockets in a retrospective sort of way. "in the mouths of my patients, every grain of it," said the dentist, with a perfectly diabolical smack of the lips. "old fillings--plugs, you know--that i saved, and had made up into this shape. good deal of sentiment about such a ring as this." "sentiment of a mixed nature, i should say," murmured my father, with a grimace. "mixed--rather! a speck here, a speck there. sometimes an eye, oftener a jaw, occasionally a front. more than a hundred men, i s'pose, have helped in the cause." "law, doctor! you beats de birds, you does," cries aunt anniky, whose head was as flat as the floor, where her reverence should have been. "you know dey snatches de wool from ebery bush to make deir nests." "lots of company for me, that ring is," said the doctor, ignoring the pertinent or impertinent interruption. "often as i sit in the twilight, i twirl it around and around, a-thinking of the wagon-loads of food it has masticated, the blood that has flowed over it, the groans that it has cost! now, old lady, if you will sit just here." he motioned aunt anniky to the chair, into which she dropped in a limp sort of way, recovering herself immediately, however, and sitting bolt upright in a rigid attitude of defiance. some moments of persuasion were necessary before she could be induced to lean back and allow dr. babb's fingers on her nose while she breathed the laughing-gas; but, once settled, the expression faded from her countenance almost as quickly as a magic-lantern picture vanishes. i watched her nervously, my attention divided between her vacant-looking face and a dreadful picture on the wall. it represented dr. babb himself, minus the hair, but with double the number of smiles, standing by a patient from whose mouth he had apparently just extracted a huge molar that he held triumphantly in his forceps. a gray-haired old gentleman regarded the pair with benevolent interest. the photograph was entitled, "his first tooth." "attracted by that picture?" said dr. alonzo, affably, his fingers on aunt anniky's pulse. "my par had that struck off the first time i ever got a tooth out. that's par with the gray hair and the benediction attitude. tell you, he was proud of me! i had such an awful tussle with that tooth! thought the old fellow's jaw was _bound_ to break! but i got it out, and after that my par took me with him round the country--starring the provinces, you know--and i practised on the natives." by this time aunt anniky was well under the influence of the gas, and in an incredibly short space of time her five teeth were out. as she came to herself i am sorry to say she was rather silly, and quite mortified me by winking at dr. babb in the most confidential manner, and repeating, over and over again: "honey, yer ain't harf as smart as yer thinks yer is!" after a few weeks of sore gums, aunt anniky appeared, radiant with her new teeth. the effect was certainly funny. in the first place, blackness itself was not so black as aunt anniky. she looked as if she had been dipped in ink and polished off with lamp-black. her very eyes showed but the faintest rim of white. but those teeth were white enough to make up for everything. she had selected them herself, and the little ridiculous milk-white things were more fitted for the mouth of a titania than for the great cavern in which aunt anniky's tongue moved and had its being. the gums above them were black, and when she spread her wide mouth in a laugh, it always reminded me of a piano-lid opening suddenly and showing all the black and white ivories at a glance. aunt anniky laughed a good deal, too, after getting her teeth in, and declared she had never been so happy in her life. it was observed, to her credit, that she put on no airs of pride, but was as sociable as ever, and made nothing of taking out her teeth and handing them around for inspection among her curious and admiring visitors. on that principle of human nature which glories in calling attention to the weakest part, she delighted in tough meats, stale bread, green fruits, and all other eatables that test the biting quality of the teeth. but finally destruction came upon them in a way that no one could have foreseen. uncle ned was an old colored man who lived alone in a cabin not very far from aunt anniky's, but very different from her in point of cleanliness and order. in fact, uncle ned's wealth, apart from a little corn crop, consisted in a lot of fine young pigs, that ran in and out of the house at all times, and were treated by their owner as tenderly as if they had been his children. one fine day the old man fell sick of a fever, and he sent in haste for aunt anniky to come and nurse him. he agreed to give her a pig in case she brought him through; should she fail to do so, she was to receive no pay. well, uncle ned got well, and the next thing we heard was that he refused to pay the pig. my father was usually called on to settle all the disputes in the neighborhood; so one morning anniky and ned appeared before him, both looking very indignant. "i'd jes' like ter tell yer, mars' charles," began uncle ned, "ob de trick dis miser'ble ole nigger played on me." "go on, ned," said my father, with a resigned air. "well, it wuz de fift night o' de fever," said uncle ned, "an' i wuz a-tossin' an' a-moanin', an' old anniky jes' lay back in her cheer an' snored as ef a dozen frogs wuz in her throat. i wuz a-perishin' an' a-burnin' wid thirst, an' i hollered to anniky; but lor'! i might as well 'a hollered to a tombstone! it wuz ice i wanted; an' i knowed dar wuz a glass somewhar on my table wid cracked ice in it. lor'! lor'! how dry i wuz! i neber longed fer whiskey in my born days ez i panted fur dat ice. it wuz powerful dark, fur de grease wuz low in de lamp, an' de wick spluttered wid a dyin' flame. but i felt aroun', feeble like an' slow, till my fingers touched a glass. i pulled it to me, an' i run my han' in an' grabbed de ice, as i s'posed, an' flung it in my mouf, an' crunched, an' crunched--" here there was an awful pause. uncle ned pointed his thumb at anniky, looked wildly at my father, and said, in a hollow voice: "_it wuz anniky's teef!_" my father threw back his head and laughed as i had never heard him laugh. mother from her sofa joined in. i was doubled up like a jack-knife in the corner. but as for the principals in the affair, neither of their faces moved a muscle. they saw no joke. aunt anniky, in a dreadful, muffled, squashy sort of voice, took up the tale: "nexsh ting i knowed, marsh sharles, somebody's sheizin' me by de head, a-jammin' it up 'gin de wall, a-jawin' at me like de angel gabriel at de rish ole sinners in de bad plashe--an' dar wash ole ned a-spittin' like a black cat, an' a-howlin' so dreadful dat i tought he wash de debil; an' when i got de light, dar wash my beautiful chany teef a-flung aroun', like scattered seed-corn, on de flo', an' ned a-swarin' he'd have de law o' me." "an' arter all dat," broke in uncle ned, "she pretends to lay a claim fur my pig. but i says no, sir; i don't pay nobody nothin' who's played me a trick like dat." "trick!" said aunt anniky, scornfully, "whar's de trick? tink i wanted yer ter eat my teef? an' furder-mo', marsh sharles, dar's jes' dis about it: when dat night set in dar warn't no mo' hope fur old ned dan fur a foundered sheep. laws-a-massy! dat's why i went ter sleep. i wanted ter hev strengt' ter put on his burial clo'es in de mornin'. but don' yer see, marsh sharles, dat when he got so mad it brought on a sweat dat _broke de fever_! it saved him! but, fur all dat, arter munchin' an' manglin' my chany teef, he has de imperdence ob tryin' to 'prive me ob de pig i honestly 'arned." it was a hard case. uncle ned sat there a very image of injured dignity, while aunt anniky bound a red handkerchief around her mouth and fanned herself with her turkey-tail. "i am sure i don't know how to settle the matter," said father, helplessly. "ned, i don't see but that you'll have to pay up." "neber, mars' charles, neber." "well, suppose you get married?" suggested father, brilliantly. "that will unite your interests, you know." aunt anniky tossed her head. uncle ned was old, wizened, wrinkled as a raisin, but he eyed anniky over with a supercilious gaze, and said with dignity: "ef i wanted ter marry, i could git a likely young gal." all the four points of anniky's turban shook with indignation. "pay me fur dem chany teef!" she hissed. some visitors interrupted the dispute at this time, and the two old darkies went away. a week later uncle ned appeared with rather a sheepish look. "well, mars' charles," he said, "i's about concluded dat i'll marry anniky." "ah! is that so?" "'pears like it's de onliest way i kin save my pigs," said uncle ned, with a sigh. "when she's married she boun' ter _'bey_ me. women 'bey your husbands; dat's what de good book says." "yes, she will _bay_ you, i don't doubt," said my father, making a pun that uncle ned could not appreciate. "an' ef ever she opens her jaw ter me 'bout dem ar teef," he went on, "i'll _mash_ her." uncle ned tottered on his legs like an unscrewed fruit-stand, and i had my own opinion as to his "mashing" aunt anniky. this opinion was confirmed the next day when father offered her his congratulations. "you are old enough to know your own mind," he remarked. "i's ole, maybe," said anniky, "but so is a oak-tree, an' it's vigorous, i reckon. i's a purty vigorous sort o' growth myself, an' i reckon i'll have my own way with ned. i'm gwine ter fatten dem pigs o' hisn, an' you see ef i don't sell 'em nex' christmas fur money 'nouf ter git a new string o' chany teef." "look here, anniky," said father, with a burst of generosity, "you and ned will quarrel about those teeth till the day of doom, so i will make you a wedding present of another set, that you may begin married life in harmony." aunt anniky expressed her gratitude. "an' _dis_ time," she said, with sudden fury, "i sleeps wid 'em _in_." the teeth were presented, and the wedding preparations began. the expectant bride went over to ned's cabin and gave it such a clearing up as it had never had. but ned did not seem happy. he devoted himself entirely to his pigs, and wandered about looking more wizened every day. finally he came to our gate and beckoned to me mysteriously. "come over to my house, honey," he whispered, "an' bring a pen an' ink an' a piece o' paper wid yer. i wants yer ter write me a letter." i ran into the house for my little writing-desk, and followed uncle ned to his cabin. "now, honey," he said, after barring the door carefully, "don't you ax me no questions, but jes' put down de words dat comes out o' my mouf on dat ar paper." "very well, uncle ned, go on." "anniky hobbleston," he began, "dat weddin' ain't a-gwine ter come off. you cleans up too much ter suit me. i ain't used ter so much water splashin' aroun'. dirt is warmin'. 'spec i'd freeze dis winter if you wuz here. an' you got too much tongue. besides, i's got anudder wife over in tipper. an' i ain't a-gwine ter marry. as fur havin' de law, i's a leavin' dese parts, an' i takes der pigs wid me. yer can't fin' _dem_, an' yer can't fin' _me_. _fur i ain't a-gwine ter marry._ i wuz born a bachelor, an' a bachelor will i represent myself befo' de judgment-seat. if you gives yer promise ter say no mo' 'bout dis marryin' business, p'r'aps i'll come back some day. so no mo' at present, from your humble worshipper, "ned cuddy." "isn't that last part rather inconsistent?" said i, greatly amused. "yes, honey, if yer says so; an' it's kind o' soothin' to de feelin's of a woman, yer know." i wrote it all down and read it aloud to uncle ned. "now, my chile," he said, "i'm a-gwine ter git on my mule as soon as der moon rises, an' drive my pigs ter col' water gap, whar i'll stay an' fish. soon as i am well gone, you take dis letter ter anniky; but _min'_, don't tell whar i's gone. an' if she takes it all right, an' promises ter let me alone, you write me a letter, an' i'll git de fust methodis' preacher i run across in der woods ter read it ter me. den, ef it's all right, i'll come back an' weed yer flower-garden fur yer as purty as preachin'." i agreed to do all uncle ned asked, and we parted like conspirators. the next morning uncle ned was missing, and, after waiting a reasonable time i explained the matter to my parents, and went over with his letter to aunt anniky. "powers above!" was her only comment as i got through the remarkable epistle. then, after a pause to collect her thoughts, she seized me by the shoulder, saying: "run to yo' pappy, honey, quick, an' ax him ef he's gwine ter stick ter his bargain 'bout de teef. yer know he pintedly said dey wuz a _weddin'_ gif'." of course my father sent word that she must keep the teeth, and my mother added a message of sympathy, with a present of a pocket-handkerchief to dry aunt anniky's tears. "but it's all right," said that sensible old soul, opening her piano-lid with a cheerful laugh. "bless you, chile, it wuz de teef i wanted, not de man! an', honey, you jes' sen' word to dat shif'less old nigger, ef you know whar he's gone, to come back home and git his crap in de groun'; an', as fur as _i'm_ consarned, yer jes' let him know dat i wouldn't pick him up wid a ten-foot pole, not ef he wuz to beg me on his knees till de millennial day."--_from "dialect tales," published in by harper brothers._ * * * * * it is not easy to tell what satire is, or where it originated. "in eden," says dryden, "the husband and wife excused themselves by laying the blame on each other, and gave a beginning to those conjugal dialogues in prose which poets have perfected in verse." whatever it may be, we know it when it cuts us, and sherwood bonner's hit on the radical club of boston was almost inexcusable. she was admitted as a guest, and her subsequent ridicule was a violation of all good breeding. but like so many wicked things it is captivating, and while you are shocked, you laugh. while i hold up both hands in horror, i intend to give you an idea of it; leaving out the most personal verses. the radical club. by sherwood bonner. dear friends, i crave attention to some facts that i shall mention about a club called "radical," you haven't heard before; got up to teach the nation was this new light federation, to teach the nation how to think, to live, and to adore; to teach it of the heights and depths that all men should explore; only this and nothing more. it is not my inclination, in this brief communication, to produce a false impression--which i greatly would deplore-- but a few remarks i'm makin' on some notes a chiel's been takin,' and, if i'm not mistaken, they'll make your soul upsoar, as you bend your eyes with eagerness to scan these verses o'er; truly this and something more. and first, dear friends, the fact is, i'm sadly out of practice, and may fail in doing justice to this literary bore; but when i do begin it, i don't think 'twill take a minute to prove there's nothing in it (as you've doubtless heard before), but a free religious wrangling club--of this i'm very sure-- only this and nothing more! 'twas a very cordial greeting, one bright morning of their meeting; such eager salutations were never heard before. after due deliberation on the importance of the occasion, to begin the organization, mr. pompous took the floor with an air quite self-complacent, strutted up and took the floor, as he'd often done before! with an air of condescension he bespoke their close attention to an essay from a wiseman versed in theologic lore; he himself had had the pleasure of a short glance at the treasure, and in no stinted measure said we had a treat in store; then he waved his hand to wiseman and resigned to him the floor; only this and nothing more. quick and nervous, short and wiry, with a look profound, yet fiery, mr. wiseman now stepped forward and eyed us darkly o'er, then an arm-chair, quaint and olden, gay with colors green and golden, by the pretty hostess rolled in from its place behind the door, was offered to the reader, in the centre of the floor, and he took the chair be sure. then with arguments elastic, and a voice and eye sarcastic, mr. wiseman into flinders the holy bible tore; and he proved beyond all question that the god of moses' mention was a fraudulent invention of some hebrews, three or four, and the son of god's ascension an imaginary soar! only this and nothing more. each member then admitted that his part was well acquitted, for his strong, impassioned reasoning had touched them to the core; he felt sure, as he surveyed them through his specs, that he had "played" them, and was proud that he had made them all astonished by his lore; not a continental cared he for the fruits such lessons bore, so he bowed and left the floor. then a colonel, cold and smiling, with a stately air beguiling, who punctuates his paragraphs on newport's sounding shore, said his friend was wise and witty, and yet it seemed a pity to destroy in this old city the belief it had before in the ancient superstitions of the days of yore. this he said, and something more. orthodoxy, he lamented, thought the christian world demented, yet still he felt a rev'rence as he read the bible o'er, and he thought the modern preacher, though a poor stick for a teacher, or a broken reed, like beecher, ought to have his claims looked o'er, and the "tyranny of science" was indeed, he felt quite sure, _our_ danger more and more. his remarks our pulses quicken, when a british lion, stricken with his wondrous self-importance--he knew everything and more-- said he _loathed_ such moderation; and he made his declaration that, in spite of all creation, he found no god to adore; and his voice was like the ocean as its surges loudly roar; only this and nothing more. * * * * * but the interest now grew lukewarm, for an ancient concord book-worm with authoritative tramping, forward came and took the floor, and in orphic mysticisms talked of life and light and prisms, and the infinite baptisms on a transcendental shore, and the concrete metaphysic, till we yawned in anguish sore; but still he kept the floor. then uprose a kindred spirit almost ready to inherit the rare and radiant aiden that he begged us to adore; his smile was beaming brightly, and his soft hair floated whitely round a face as fair and sightly as a pious priest's of yore; and we forgave the arguments worn out years before, for we loved this saintly bore. * * * * * then a lively little charmer, noted as a dress reformer, because that mystic garment, chemiloon, she wore, said she had no "views" of jesus, and therefore would not tease us, but that she thought 'twould please us to look her figure o'er, for she wore no bustles _anywhere_, and corsets, she felt sure, should squeeze her _nevermore_. this pretty little pigeon said of course the true religion demanded ease of body before the mind could soar; but that no emancipation could come unto our nation until the aggregation of the clothes that women wore were suspended from the shoulders, and smooth with many a gore, plain behind and plain before! her remarks were full of reason, but a little out of season, and the proper tone of talking mr. fairman did restore, when he sneered at priests and preaching, and indorsed the _index_ teaching, and with philanthropic screeching, said he sought for evermore the light of sense and freedom into darkened minds to pour; truly this, but something more! then with eyes as bright as phoebus, and hair dark as erebus, a maid with stunning eye-glass next appeared upon the floor; in her aspect she looked regal, though her words were few and feeble, but she vowed his logic legal and as pure as golden ore, and indorsed the _index_ editor in every word he swore, and then--said nothing more. then a tall and red-faced member, large and loose and somewhat limber (and though his creed was shaky, he the name of bishop bore), said that if he lived forever, he should forget, ah! never, the radicals so clever, in boston by the shore; but a bad _gold_ in his 'ead _bust_ stop his saying _bore_, and we all cried _encore_. * * * * * then a rarely gifted mortal, to whom the triple portal of music, art, and poesy had opened years before, with a look of sombre feeling, depths within his soul revealing, leaving room for no appealing, he decided o'er and o'er the old, old vexing questions of the _why_ and the _wherefore_, and taught us--nothing more. there are others i could mention who took part in this contention, and at first 'twas my intention, but at present i forbear; there's young look-sharp, and wriggle, who would make an angel giggle, and a young conceited zeigel, who was seated near the door; if you could only see them, you'd laugh till you were sore, and then you'd laugh some more. but, dear friends, i now must close, of these radicals dispose, for i am sad and weary as i view their folly o'er; in their wild utopian dreaming, and impracticable scheming for a sinful world's redeeming, common sense flies out the door, and the long-drawn dissertations come to--words and nothing more; only words, and nothing more. * * * * * mary clemmer hudson has spoken of phoebe cary as "the wittiest woman in america." but she truly adds: "a flash of wit, like a flash of lightning, can only be remembered, it cannot be reproduced. its very marvel lies in its spontaneity and evanescence; its power is in being struck from the present. divorced from that, the keenest representation of it seems cold and dead. we read over the few remaining sentences which attempt to embody the repartees and _bon mots_ of the most famous wits of society, such as beau nash, beau brummel, madame du deffand, and lady mary montagu; we wonder at the poverty of these memorials of their fame. thus it must be with phoebe cary. her most brilliant sallies were perfectly unpremeditated, and by herself never repeated or remembered. when she was in her best moods they came like flashes of heat lightning, like a rush of meteors, so suddenly and constantly you were dazzled while you were delighted, and afterward found it difficult to single out any distinct flash or separate meteor from the multitude.... this most wonderful of her gifts can only be represented by a few stray sentences gleaned here and there from the faithful memories of loving friends.... "one tells how, at a little party, where fun rose to a great height, one quiet person was suddenly attacked by a gay lady with the question: 'why don't you laugh? you sit there just like a post!' "'there! she called you a post; why don't you rail at her?' was phoebe's quick exclamation. "mr. barnum mentioned to her that the skeleton man and the fat woman then on exhibition in his 'greatest show on earth' were married. "'i suppose they loved through thick and thin,' was her comment. "'on one occasion, when phoebe was at the museum looking about at the curiosities,' says mr. barnum, 'i preceded her and had passed down a couple of steps. she, intently watching a big anaconda in a case at the top of the stairs, walked off, not noticing them, and fell. i was just in time to catch her in my arms and save her from a good bruising'. "'i am more lucky than that first woman was who fell through the influence of the serpent,' said phoebe, as she recovered herself. "and when asked by some one at a dinner-party what brand of champagne they kept, she replied: 'oh, we drink heidsieck, but we keep mum.' "again, a certain well-known actor, then recently deceased, and more conspicuous for his professional skill than for his private virtues, was discussed. 'we shall never,' remarked some one, 'see ---- again.' "'no,' quietly responded phoebe, 'not unless we go to the pit.'" these stray shots may not fairly represent miss cary's brilliancy, but we are grateful for what has been preserved, meagre as it would seem to those who had the privilege of knowing her intimately and enjoying those sunday evening receptions, where, unrestrained and happy, every one was at his best. her verses on the subject of woman's rights, as discussed in masculine fashion, with masculine logic, by chanticleer dorking, are capital, and her parodies, shockingly literal, have been widely copied. enjoy these as given in her life, written by mary clemmer. chapter vi. ginger-snaps. i will now offer you some good things of various degrees of humor. i do not feel it necessary to impress their merits upon you, for they speak for themselves here is a quaint bit of satire from a bright boston woman, which those on her side of the vexed indian question will enjoy: the indian agent. by louisa hall. he was a long, lean man, with a sad expression, as if weighed down by pity for poor humanity. his heart was evidently a great many sizes too large for him. he yearned to enfold all tribes and conditions of men in his encircling arms. he surveyed his audience with such affectionate interest that he seemed to look into the very depths of their pockets. a few resolute men buttoned their coats, but the majority knew that this artifice would not save them, and they rather enjoyed it as a species of harmless dissipation. they liked to be talked into a state of exhilaration which obliged them to give without thinking much about it, and they felt very good and benevolent afterward. so they cheered the agent enthusiastically, as a signal for him to begin, and he came forward bowing, while the three red brothers who accompanied him remained seated on the platform. he appeared to smile on every one present as he said: "friends and fellow-citizens, i have the honor to introduce to you these chiefs of the laughing dog nation. twenty-five years ago this tribe was one of the fiercest on our western plains. snarling bear, the most noted chief of his tribe, was a great warrior. fifty scalps adorned his wigwam. some of them had once belonged to his best friends. he was murdered while in the prime of life by a white man whose wife he had accidentally shot at the door of her cabin. he was one of the first to welcome the white men and adopt the improvements they brought with them. when he became sufficiently civilized to understand that polygamy was unlawful, he separated from his oldest wife. her scalp was carefully preserved among those of the great warriors he had conquered. his son, flying deer, who is with us to-day, will address you in his own language, which i shall interpret for you. the last twenty years have made a great change in their condition. these men are not savages, but educated gentlemen. they are all graduates of tomahawk college, at bloody mountain, near the gray wolf country. they are chiefs of their tribes, each one holding a position equal to the governor of our own state. their influence at the west is great. last year they sent a small party of missionaries to the highlands of the wolf country, where the women and children pasture the ponies during the dry season. not one of these noble men ever returned. unfortunately for the success of this mission, the gray wolf warriors were at home. the medicine man's dreams had been unfavorable, and they dared not set out on their annual hunt. this year they will send a larger party well armed. "these devoted men have left their western homes and come here to assure you of their confidence in your affection, and the love and gratitude they feel toward you. they come to ask for churches and schools, that their children may grow up like yours. but these things require money. on account of the great scarcity of stone in the rocky mountains, and the necessity of preserving standing timber for the indian hunting-grounds, all building materials for churches and school-houses must be carried from the east at great expense. the door-steps of the third orthodox kickapoo church cost one hundred and fifty dollars. but it is money well invested. the gradual decrease of crime at the west has convinced the most sceptical that a great work can be done among these people. the number of murders committed in this country last year was one hundred and twenty-five; this year only one hundred and twenty-three. "although a great deal has been done for these people, you will be surprised to learn how much remains to be done. i need not tell you that every dollar intrusted to me will be spent, and i hope you will live to see the result of your generosity. "i wish to build at least fifteen churches and school-houses before the cold weather sets in. the cost of building has been greatly lessened by employing native workmen, who are capable of designing and erecting simple edifices. the pulpits will be supplied by native preachers, and the expense of light and heat will be paid by the congregation. "we have at least twenty-five well-qualified native teachers, who will require no salary beyond the necessary expense of food and clothing. "a few boarding-houses must be built and tastefully furnished. we have a large number of laughing dog widows, who would gladly take charge of such establishments. "the native committee will make a careful selection of such matrons as are most capable of guiding and encouraging young people. "all money for the benefit of these people has been used with the strictest economy; and will be while i retain the agency. i have secured a slender provision for my declining years, and shall return to spend my days with my adopted people. "but i will let these men who once owned this great country speak for themselves. flying deer, who will now address you, is about forty years of age. he lives with his wife and ten children near the agency, at a place called humanketchet." flying deer came forward and spoke very distinctly, though rapidly. "o hoo bree-gutchee, gumme maw choo kibbe showain nemeshin. dawmasse choochugah goo waugh; kawboo. nokka brewis goo, honowin nudwag moonoo shugh kawmun menjeis. babas kwasind waugh muskoday, wawa gessonwon goo. nahna naskeen oza yenadisse mayben mudjo, kenemoosha. wawconassee nushka kahgagoo, jossahut, wabenas ogu winemon jabs. ahmuck wana wayroossen chooponnuk segwan maysen. opeechee annewayman, kewadoda shenghen kad goo tagamengow." "he says, my friends, that he has always loved and trusted the white people. he says that since he has seen the great cities and towns of the east, he loves his white brothers more than before. his red brothers, white crow and the rock on end, wish him to say that they also love you. he says the savage gray wolf tribe threaten to shoot and scalp them if they continue friendly to the whites. he asks for powder, guns, and ponies, that they may defend themselves from their enemies. he wants to convince you that they are rapidly becoming a civilized nation. the assistance you are about to give will only be required for a short time. they will soon become self-supporting, and relieve the government of a heavy tax. they thank you for the kindness you have shown, and for the generous collection which will now be taken up. "will some friend close the doors while we give every one an opportunity to contribute to this good cause? remember that he who shutteth up his ears to the cry of the poor, he shall also cry himself and shall not be heard. those who prefer can leave a check with deacon meekham at the door, or with me at the hotel. these substantial tokens of your regard will cause the wilderness to blossom as the rose. "in the name of our red brethren, let me again thank you." * * * * * if one inclines to irish fun, try this burlesque from mrs. lippincott. mistress o'rafferty on the woman question. by grace greenwood. no! i wouldn't demane myself, bridget, like you, in disputin' with men-- would i fly in the face of the blissed apostles, an' father maginn? it isn't the talent i'm wantin'-- sure my father, ould michael mccrary, made a beautiful last spache and confession when they hanged him in ould tipperary. so, bridget muldoon, howld yer talkin' about womins' rights, and all that! sure all the rights i want is the one right, to be a good helpmate to pat; for he's a good husband--and niver lays on me the weight of his hand except when he's far gone in liquor, and i nag him, you'll plase understand. thrue for ye, i've one eye in mournin', that's becaze i disputed his right, to tak' and spind all my week's earnin's at tim mulligan's wake, sunday night. but it's sildom when i've done a washin', he'll ask for more'n half of the pay; an' he'll toss me my share, wid a smile, dear, that's like a swate mornin' in may! now where, if i rin to convintions, will be patrick's home-comforts and joys? who'll clane up his broghans for sunday, or patch up his ould corduroys. if we tak' to the polls, night and mornin', our dilicate charms will all flee-- the dew will be brushed from the rose, dear, the down from the pache--don't you see? we'll soon tak' to shillalahs and shindies whin we get to be sovereign electors, and turn all our husbands' hearts from us, thin what will we do for protectors? we'll have to be crowners an' judges, an' such like ould malefactors, or they'll make common councilmin of us; thin where will be our char-acters? oh, bridget, god save us from votin'! for sure as the blissed sun rolls, we'll land in the state house or congress, thin what will become of our sowls? * * * * * or the triumphs of a quack, by miss amanda t. jones. dochther o'flannigan and his wondherful cures. i. i'm barney o'flannigan, lately from cork; i've crossed the big watther as bould as a shtork. 'tis a dochther i am and well versed in the thrade; i can mix yez a powdher as good as is made. have yez pains in yer bones or a throublesome ache in yer jints afther dancin' a jig at a wake? have yez caught a black eye from some blundhering whack? have yez vertebral twists in the sphine av yer back? whin ye're walkin' the shtrates are yez likely to fall? don't whiskey sit well on yer shtomick at all? sure 'tis botherin' nonsinse to sit down and wape whin a bit av a powdher ull put yez to shlape. shtate yer symptoms, me darlins, and niver yez doubt but as sure as a gun i can shtraighten yez out! thin don't yez be gravin' no more; arrah! quit all yer sighin' forlorn; here's barney o'flannigan right to the fore, and bedad! he's a gintleman born! ii. coom thin, ye poor craytures and don't yez be scairt! have yez batin' and lumberin' thumps at the hairt, wid ossification, and acceleration, wid fatty accretion and bad vellication, wid liver inflation and hapitization, wid lung inflammation and brain-adumbration, wid black aruptation and schirrhous formation, wid nerve irritation and paralyzation, wid extravasation and acrid sacration, wid great jactitation and exacerbation, wid shtrong palpitation and wake circulation, wid quare titillation and cowld perspiration? be the powers! but i'll bring all yer woes to complation, onless yer in love--thin yer past all salvation! coom, don't yez be gravin' no more! be quit wid yer sighin' forlorn; here's the man all yer haling potations to pour, and ye'll prove him a gintleman born iii. sure, me frinds, 'tis the wondherful luck i have had in the thratement av sickness no matther how bad. all the hundhreds i've cured 'tis not aisy to shpake, and if any sowl dies, faith i'm in at the wake; there was misthriss o'toole was tuck down mighty quare, that wild there was niver a one dared to lave her; and phat was the matther? ye'll like for to hare; 'twas the double quotidian humerous faver. well, i tuck out me lancet and pricked at a vein, (och, murther! but didn't she howl at the pain!) six quarts, not a dhrap less i drew widout sham, and troth she shtopped howlin', and lay like a lamb. thin for fare sich a method av thratement was risky, i hasthened to fill up the void wid ould whiskey. och! niver be gravin' no more! phat use av yer sighin' forlorn? me patients are proud av me midical lore-- they'll shware i'm a gintleman born. iv. well, misthriss o'toole was tuck betther at once, for she riz up in bed and cried: "paddy, ye dunce! give the dochther a dhram." so i sat at me aise a-brewin' the punch jist as fine as ye plaze. thin i lift a prascription all written down nate wid ametics and diaphoretics complate; wid anti-shpasmodics to kape her so quiet, and a toddy so shtiff that ye'd all like to thry it. so paddy o'toole mixed 'em well in a cup-- all barrin' the toddy, and that be dhrunk up; for he shwore 'twas a shame sich good brandy to waste on a double quotidian faverish taste; and troth we agrade it was not bad to take, whin we dhrank that same toddy nixt night--at the wake! arrah! don't yez be gravin' no more, wid yer moanin' and sighin' forlorn; here's barney o'flannigan thrue to the core av the hairt of a gintleman born! v. there was michael mcdonegan down wid a fit caught av dhrinkin' cowld watther--whin tipsy--a bit. 'twould have done yer hairt good to have heard him cry out for a cup of potheen or a tankard av shtout, or a wee dhrap av whiskey, new out av the shtill;-- and the shnakes that he saw--troth 'twas jist fit to kill! it was mania pototororum, bedad! holy mither av moses! the divils he had! thin to scare 'em away we surroonded his bed, clapt on forty laches and blisthered his head, bate all the tin pans and set up sich a howl, that the last fiery divil ran off, be me sowl! and we writ on his tombsthone, "he died av a shpell caught av dhrinkin' cowld watther shtraight out av a well." now don't yez be gravin' no more, surrinder yer sighin' forlorn! 'twill be fine whin ye cross to the stygian shore, to be sint by a gintleman born. vi. there was swate ellen mulligan, sazed wid a cough, and ivery one said it would carry her off. "whisht," says i, "thrust to me, now, and don't yez go crazy; if the girlie must die, sure i'll make her die aisy!" so i sairched through me books for the thrue diathesis of morbus dyscrasia tuburculous phthasis; and i boulsthered her up wid the shtrongest av tonics. wid iron and copper and hosts av carbonics; wid whiskey served shtraight in the finest av shtyle, and i grased all her inside wid cod-liver ile! and says she (whin she died), "och, dochther, me honey, 'tis you as can give us the worth av our money; and begorra, i'll shpake to the divil this day not to kape yez a-waitin' too long for yer pay." so don't yez be gravin' no more! to the dogs wid yer sighin' forlorn! here's dhrugs be the handful and pills be the score, and to dale thim a gintleman born. vii. there was teddy maloney who bled at the nose afther blowin' the fife; and mayhap ye'd suppose 'twas no matther at all; but the books all agrade twas a serious visceral throuble indade; wid the blood swimmin' roond in a circle elliptic, the schneidarian membrane was wantin' a shtyptic; the anterior nares were nadin' a plug, and teddy himself was in nade av a jug. thin i rowled out a big pill av sugar av lead, and i dosed him, and shtood him up firm on his head, and says i: "now, me lad, don't be atin' yer lingth, but dhrink all ye plaze, jist to kape up yer shtringth." faith! his widdy's a jewel! but whisht! don't ye shpake! she'll be misthriss o'flannigan airly nixt wake. coom, don't yez be gravin' no more! shmall use av yer sighin' forlorn; for yer widdies, belike, whin their mournin' is o'er, may marry some gintleman born. viii. ould biddy o'cardigan lived all alone, and she felt mighty nate wid a house av her own-- shwate-smellin' and houlsome, swaped clane wid a rake, wid two or thray pigs jist for company's sake. well, phat should she get but the malady vile av cholera-phobia-vomitus-bile! and she sint straight for me: "dochther barney, me lad," says she, "i'm in nade av assistance, bedad! have yez niver a powdher or bit av a pill? me shtomick's a rowlin'; jist make it kape shtill!" "i'm the boy can do that," says i; "hould on a minit, here's me midicine-chist wid me calomel in it, and i'll make yez a bowle full av rid pipper tay so shtrong ye'll be thinkin' the divil's to pay," now don't yez be gravin' no more! be quit wid yer sighin' forlorn, wid shtrychnine and vitriol and opium galore, behould me--a gintleman born. ix. wid a gallon av rum thin a flip i created, shwate, wid musthard and shpice; and the poker i hated as rid as a guinea jist out av the mint-- and into her shtomick, begorra, it wint! och, niver belave me, but didn't she roar! i'd have kaped her alive wid a quart or two more; and the thray little pigs in that house av her own wouldn't now be a-shtarvin' and shqualin' alone. and that gossoon, her boy--the shpalpeen altogither!-- would niver have shworn that i murdhered his mither. troth, for sayin' that same, but i served him a thrick, whin i met him by chance wid a bit av a shtick. faith, i dochthered him well till the cure i complated, and, be jabers! there's one man alive that i thrated! so don't yez be gravin' no more; to the dogs wid yez sighin' forlorn! arrah! knock whin ye're sick at o'flannigan's door, and die for a gintleman born! --_scribner's magazine._ . * * * * * or, if one prefers to laugh at the experience of a "culled" brother, what can be found more irresistible than this? the old-time religion. by julia pickering. _brother simon._ i say, brover horace, i hearn you give meriky de terriblest beating las' nite. what you and she hab a fallin'-out about? _brother horace._ well, brover simon, you knows yourself i never has no dejection to splanifying how i rules my folks at home, and 'stablishes order dar when it's p'intedly needed; and 'fore gracious! i leab you to say dis time ef 'twant needed, and dat pow'ful bad. you see, i'se allers been a plain, straight-sided nigger, an' hain't never had no use for new fandangles, let it be what it mout; 'ligion, polytix, bisness--don't ker what. ole horace say: "de ole way am de bes' way, an' you niggers dat's all runnin' teetotleum crazy 'bout ebery new gimerack dat's started, better jes' stay whar you is and let them things alone." but dey won't do it; no 'mount of preaching won't sarve um. and dat is jes' at this partickeler pint dat meriky got dat dressin'. she done been off to richmun town, a-livin' in sarvice dar dis las' winter, and saturday a week ago she camed home ter make a visit. course we war all glad to see our darter. but you b'l'eve dat gal hadn't turned stark bodily naked fool? yes, sir; she wa'n't no more like de meriky dat went away jes' a few munts ago dan chalk's like cheese. dar she come in wid her close pinned tight enuff to hinder her from squattin', an' her ha'r a-danglin' right in her eyes, jes' for all de worl' like a ram a-looking fru a brush-pile, and you think dat nigger hain't forgot how to talk! she jes' rolled up her eyes ebery oder word, and fanned and talked like she 'spected to die de nex' breff. she'd toss dat mush-head ob hern and talk proper as two dixunarys. 'stead ob she call-in' ob me "daddy" and her mudder "mammy," she say: "par and mar, how can you bear to live in sech a one-hoss town as this? oh! i think i should die." and right about dar she hab all de actions ob an' old drake in a thunder-storm. i jes' stared at dat gal tell i make her out, an' says i to myself: "it's got to come;" but i don't say nothin' to nobody 'bout it--all de same i knowed it had to come fus' as las'. well, i jes' let her hab more rope, as de sayin' is, tell she got whar i 'cluded war 'bout de end ob her tedder. dat was on last sunday mornin', when she went to meetin' in sich a rig, a-puttin' on airs, tell she couldn't keep a straight track. when she camed home she brung kumpny wid her, and, ob course, i couldn't do nuthin' then; but i jes' kept my ears open, an' ef dat gal didn't disquollify me dat day, you ken hab my hat. bimeby dey all gits to talkin' 'bout 'ligion and de churches, and den one young buck he step up, an' says he: "miss meriky, give us your 'pinion 'bout de matter." wid dat she flung up her head proud as de queen victory, an' says she: "i takes no intelligence in sich matters; dey is all too common for _me_. baptisses is a foot or two below _my_ grade. i 'tends de 'pisclopian church whar i resides, an' 'specs to jine dat one de nex' anniversary ob de bishop. oh! dey does eberything so lovely, and in so much style. i declar' nobody but common folks in de city goes to de babtiss church. it made me sick 't my stomuck to see so much shoutin' and groanin' dis mornin'; 'tis so ungenteel wid us to make so much sarcumlocutions in meetin'." and thar she went a-giratin' 'bout de preacher a-comin' out in a white shirt, and den a-runnin' back and gittin' on a black one, and de people a-jumpin' up and a-jawin' ob de preacher outen a book, and a-bowin' ob deir heads, and a-saying long rigmaroles o' stuff, tell my head fairly buzzed, and were dat mad at de gal i jes' couldn't see nuffin' in dat room. well, i jes' waited tell the kumpny riz to go, and den i steps up, and says i: "young folks, you needn't let what meriky told you 'bout dat church put no change inter you. she's sorter out ob her right mine now, but de nex' time you comes she'll be all right on dat and seberal oder subjicks;" and den dey stared at meriky mighty hard and goed away. well, i jes' walks up to her, and i says: "darter," says i, "what chu'ch are dat you say you gwine to jine?" and says she, very prompt like: "de 'pisclopian, pa." and says i: "meriky, i'se mighty consarned 'bout you, kase i knows your mine ain't right, and i shall jes' hab to bring you roun' de shortest way possible." so i retch me a fine bunch of hick'ries i done prepared for dat 'casion. and den she jumped up, and says she: "what make you think i loss my senses?" "bekase, darter, you done forgot how to walk and to talk, and dem is sure signs." and wid dat i jes' let in on her tell i 'stonished her 'siderably. 'fore i were done wid her she got ober dem dying a'rs, and jumped as high as a hopper-grass. bimeby she 'gins to holler: "oh, lordy, daddy! daddy! don't give me no more." and says i: "you're improvin', dat's a fac'; done got your natural voice back. what chu'ch does you 'long to, meriky?" and says she, a-cryin': "i don't 'long to none, par." well, i gib her anodder leetle tetch, and says i: "what chu'ch does you 'long to, darter?" and says she, all choked like: "i doesn't 'long to none." den i jes' make dem hick'ries ring for 'bout five minutes, and den i say: "what chu'ch you 'longs to now, meriky?" and says she, fairly shoutin': "baptiss; i'se a deep-water baptiss." "berry good," says i. "you don't 'spect to hab your name tuck offen dem chu'ch books?" and says she: "no, sar; i allus did despise dem stuck-up 'pisclopians; dey ain't got no 'ligion nohow." brover simon, you never see a gal so holpen by a good genteel thrashin' in all your days. i boun' she won't neber stick her nose in dem new-fandangle chu'ches no more. why, she jes' walks as straight dis morning, and looks as peart as a sunflower. i'll lay a tenpence she'll be a-singin' before night dat good ole hyme she usened to be so fond ob. you knows, brover simon, how de words run: "baptis, baptis is my name, my name is written on high; 'spects to lib and die de same, my name is written on high." _brother simon._ yes, dat she will, i be boun'; ef i does say it, brover horace, you beats any man on church guberment an' family displanement ob anybody i ever has seen. _brother horace._ well, brover, i does my bes'. you mus' pray for me, so dat my han's may be strengthened. dey feels mighty weak after dat conversion i give dat meriky las' night.--_scribner's monthly_, _bric-à-brac_, . * * * * * if it is unadulterated consolation that you need, try aunty doleful's visit. by mary kyle dallas. how do you do, cornelia? i heard you were sick, and i stepped in to cheer you up a little. my friends often say: "it's such a comfort to see you, aunty doleful. you have such a flow of conversation, and _are_ so lively." besides, i said to myself, as i came up the stairs: "perhaps it's the last time i'll ever see cornelia jane alive." you don't mean to die yet, eh? well, now, how do you know? you can't tell. you think you are getting better, but there was poor mrs. jones sitting up, and every one saying how smart she was, and all of a sudden she was taken with spasms in the heart, and went off like a flash. parthenia is young to bring the baby up by hand. but you must be careful, and not get anxious or excited. keep quite calm, and don't fret about anything. of course, things can't go on jest as if you were down-stairs; and i wondered whether you knew your little billy was sailing about in a tub on the mill-pond, and that your little sammy was letting your little jimmy down from the veranda-roof in a clothes-basket. gracious goodness, what's the matter? i guess providence'll take care of 'em. don't look so. you thought bridget was watching them? well, no, she isn't. i saw her talking to a man at the gate. he looked to me like a burglar. no doubt she'll let him take the impression of the door-key in wax, and then he'll get in and murder you all. there was a family at bobble hill all killed last week for fifty dollars. now, don't fidget so; it will be bad for the baby. poor, little dear! how singular it is, to be sure, that you can't tell whether a child is blind, or deaf and dumb, or a cripple at that age. it might be _all_, and you'd never know it. most of them that have their senses make bad use of them though; _that_ ought to be your comfort, if it does turn out to have anything dreadful the matter with it. and more don't live a year. i saw a baby's funeral down the street as i came along. how is mr. kobble? well, but finds it warm in town, eh? well, i should think he would. they are dropping down by hundreds there with sun-stroke. you must prepare your mind to have him brought home any day. anyhow, a trip on these railroad trains is just risking your life every time you take one. back and forth every day as he is, it's just trifling with danger. dear! dear! now to think what dreadful things hang over us all the time! dear! dear! scarlet fever has broken out in the village, cornelia. little isaac potter has it, and i saw your jimmy playing with him last saturday. well, i must be going now. i've got another sick friend, and i sha'n't think my duty done unless i cheer her up a little before i sleep. good-by. how pale you look, cornelia! i don't believe you have a good doctor. do send him away and try some one else. you don't look so well as you did when i came in. but if anything happens, send for me at once. if i can't do anything else, i can cheer you up a little. * * * * * mrs. dallas, who lives in new york city, is a regular correspondent of the new york _ledger_, having taken fanny fern's place on that widely circulated paper, is a prominent member of "sorosis," and her tuesday evening receptions draw about her some of the brightest society of that cosmopolitan centre. all these selections are prizes for the long-suffering elocutionist who is expected to entertain his friends with something new, laughter-provoking, and fully up to the mark. * * * * * mrs. ames, of brooklyn, known to the public as "eleanor kirk," has revealed in her "thanksgiving growl" a bit of honest experience, refreshing with its plain saxon and homely realism, which, when recited with proper spirit, is most effective. a thanksgiving growl. oh, dear! do put some more chips on the fire, and hurry up that oven! just my luck-- to have the bread slack. set that plate up higher! and for goodness' sake do clear this truck away! frogs' legs and marbles on my moulding-board! what next i wonder? john henry, wash your face; and do get out from under foot, "afford more cream?" used all you had? if that's the case, skim all the pans. do step a little spryer! i wish i hadn't asked so many folks to spend thanksgiving. good gracious! poke the fire and put some water on. lord, how it smokes! i never was so tired in all my life! and there's the cake to frost, and dough to mix for tarts. i can't cut pumpkin with this knife! some women's husbands know enough to fix the kitchen tools; but, for all mine would care, i might tear pumpkin with my teeth. john henry, if you don't plant yourself on that 'ere chair, i'll set you down so hard that you'll agree you're stuck for good. them cranberries are sour, and taste like gall beside. hand me some flour, and do fly round. john henry, wipe your nose! i wonder how 'twill be when i am dead? "how my nose'll be?" yes, how _your nose'll_ be, and how _your back_'ll be. if that ain't red i'll miss my guess. i don't expect you'll see-- you nor your father neither--what i've done and suffered in this house. as true's i live them pesky fowl ain't stuffed! the biggest one will hold two loaves of bread. say, wipe that sieve, and hand it here. you are the slowest poke in all fairmount. lor'! there's deacon gubben's wife! she'll be here to-morrow. that pan can soak a little while. i never in my life saw such a lazy critter as she is. if she stayed home, there wouldn't be a thing to eat. you bet she'll fill up here! "it's riz?" well, so it has. john henry! good king! how did that boy get out? you saw him go with both fists full of raisins and a pile behind him, and you never let me know! there! you've talked so much i clean forgot the rye. i wonder if the governor had to slave as i do, if he would be so pesky fresh about thanksgiving day? he'd been in his grave with half my work. what, get along without an indian pudding? well, that would be a novelty. no friend or foe shall say i'm close, or haven't as much variety as other folks. there! i think i see my way quite clear. the onions are to peel. let's see: turnips, potatoes, apples there to stew, this squash to bake, and lick john henry! and after that--i really think i'm through. chapter vii. prose, but not prosy. mrs. alice wellington rollins, in those interesting articles in the _critic_ which induced me to look further, says: "we claim high rank for the humor of women because it is almost exclusively of this higher, imaginative type. a woman rarely tells an anecdote, or hoards up a good story, or comes in and describes to you something funny that she has seen. her humor is like a flash of lightning from a clear sky, coming when you least expect it, when it could not have been premeditated, and when, to the average consciousness, there is not the slightest provocation to humor, possessing thus in the very highest degree that element of surprise which is not only a factor in all humor, but to our mind the most important factor. you tell her that you cannot spend the winter with her because you have promised to spend it with some one else, and she exclaims: 'oh, ellen! why were you not born twins!' she has, perhaps, recently built for herself a most charming home, and coming to see yours, which happens to be just a trifle more luxurious and charming, she remarks as she turns away: 'all i can say is, when you want to see _squalor_, come and visit me in oxford street!' she puts down her heavy coffee-cup of stone-china with its untasted coffee at a little country inn, saying, with a sigh: 'it's no use; i can't get at it; it's like trying to drink over a stone wall.' she writes in a letter: 'we parted this morning with mutual satisfaction; that is, i suppose we did; i know my satisfaction was mutual enough for two.' she asks her little restless daughter in the most insinuating tones if she would not like to sit in papa's lap and have him tell her a story; and when the little daughter responds with a most uncompromising 'no!' turns her inducement into a threat, and remarks with severity: 'well, be a good girl, or you will have to!' she complains, when you have kept her waiting while you were buying undersleeves, that you must have bought 'undersleeves enough for a centipede.' you ask how poor mr. x---- is--the disconsolate widower who a fortnight ago was completely prostrated by his wife's death, and are told in calm and even tones that he is 'beginning to take notice.' you tell her that one of the best fellows in the class has been unjustly expelled, and that the class are to wear crape on their left arms for thirty days, and that you only hope that the president will meet you in the college-yard and ask why you wear it; to all of which she replies soothingly, 'i wouldn't do that, henry; for the president might tell you not to mourn, as your friend was not lost, only _gone before_.' you tell her of your stunned sensation on finding some of your literary work complimented in the _nation_, and she exclaims: 'i should think so! it must be like meeting an indian and seeing him put his hand into his no-pocket to draw out a scented pocket-handkerchief, instead of a tomahawk.' or she writes that two sunday-schools are trying to do all the good they can, but that each is determined at any cost to do more good than the other." * * * * * i have selected several specimens of this higher type of humor. mrs. ellen h. rollins was pre-eminently gifted in this direction. the humor in her exquisite "new england bygones" is so interwoven with the simple pathos of her memories that it cannot be detached without detriment to both. but i will venture to select three sketches from old-time child life. by e.h. arr. betsy had the reddest hair of any girl i ever knew. it was quite short in front, and she had a way of twisting it, on either temple, into two little buttons, which she fastened with pins. the rest of it she brought quite far up on the top of her head, where she kept it in place with a large-sized horn comb. her face was covered with freckles, and her eyes, in winter, were apt to be inflamed. she always seemed to have a mop in her hand, and she had no respect for paint. she was as neat as old dame safford herself, and was continually "straightening things out," as she called it. her temper, like her hair, was somewhat fiery; and when her work did not suit her, she was prone to a gloomy view of life. if she was to be believed, things were always "going to wrack and ruin" about the house; and she had a queer way of taking time by the forelock. in the morning it was "going on to twelve o'clock," and at noon it was "going on to midnight." she kept her six kitchen chairs in a row on one side of the room, and as many flatirons in a line on the mantelpiece. everything where she was had, she said, to "stand just so;" and woe to the child who carried crookedness into her straight lines! betsy had a manner of her own, and made a wonderful kind of a courtesy, with which her skirts puffed out all around like a cheese. she always courtesied to parson meeker when she met him, and said: "i hope to see you well, sir." once she courtesied in a prayer-meeting to a man who offered her a chair, and told him, in a shrill voice, to "keep his setting," though she was "ever so much obleeged" to him. this was when she was under conviction, and parson meeker said he thought she had met with a change of heart. father lathem's wife hoped so too, for then "there would be a chance of having some long-noses and pudding-sweets left over in the orchard." it was in time of the long drought, when fire ran over grayface, and a great comet appeared in the sky. some of the people of whitefield thought the world was coming to an end. the comet stayed for weeks, visible even at noon-day, stretching its tail from the zenith far toward the western horizon, and at night staring in at windows with its eye of fire. it was the talk of the people, who pondered over it with a helpless wonder. i recall two whitefield women as they stood, one morning, bare-armed in a doorway, staring at and chattering about it. one says they "might as well stop work" and "take it easy" while they can. the other thinks the better way is to "keep on a stiddy jog until it comes." they wish they knew "how near it is," and "what the tail means anyway." betsy comes along with a pail, which she sets down, and then looks up to the comet. the air is dense with smoke from grayface, and the dry earth is full of cracks. betsy declares that it is "going on two months since there has been any rain." everything is "going to wrack and ruin," and "if that thing up there should burst, there'll be an end to whitefield." then she catches sight of me listening wide-mouthed, and she tells me that i needn't suppose she is "going home to iron my pink muslin," for she thinks the tail of the comet "has started, and is coming right down to whisk it off from the line." i believe her, and distinctly remember the terror that took hold of me as i rushed home and tore the pink muslin from the line, lest it should be whisked off by the comet's tail. when the drought broke, a single day's rain washed all the smoke from the air. directly, the tail of the comet began to fade, and all of a sudden its fiery eye went out of the sky. some of the villagers thought it had "burst," others that it had "burned out." betsy said: "whatever it was, it was a humbug;" and the wisest man in whitefield could neither tell whence it came nor whither it went. one thing, however, was certain: farmer lathem said that never, since his orchard began to bear, had he gathered such a crop of apples as he did, despite the drought, in the year of the great comet. mrs. meeker. by e.h. arr. when i read of roman matrons i always think of mrs. meeker. her features were marked, and her eyes of deepest blue. she wore her hair combed closely down over her ears, so that her forehead seemed to run up in a point high upon her head: its color was of reddish-brown, and, i am sorry to say, so far as it was seen, it was not her own. it was called a scratch, and betsy said mrs. meeker "would look enough sight better if she would leave it off." whether any hair at all grew upon mrs. meeker's head was a great problem with the village children, and nothing could better illustrate the dignity of this woman than the fact that for more than thirty years the whole neighborhood tried in vain to find out. parson meeker. by e.h. arr. every sunday he preached two long sermons, each with five heads, and each head itself divided. after the fifthly came an application, with an exhortation at its close. the sermons were called very able, or, more often, "strong discourses." i used to think this was because mrs. meeker had stitched their leaves fast together. betsy said they were just like deacon saunders's breaking-up plough, "and went tearing right through sin." the parson, when i knew him, was a little slow of speech and dull of sight. he sometimes lost his place on his page. how afraid i used to be lest, not finding it, he should repeat his heads! he always brought himself up with a jerk, however, and sailed safely through to the application. when that came, benny almost always gave me a jog with his elbow or foot. once he stuck a pin into my arm, which made me jump so that deacon saunders, who sat behind, waked up with a loud snort. the deacon was always talking about the sermons being "powerful in doctrine." when benny asked betsy what doctrines were, she told him to "let doctrines alone;" that they were "pizen things, only fit for hardened old sinners." * * * * * there are many delightful articles which must be merely alluded to in passing, as the "old salem shops," by eleanor putnam, so delicate and delicious that, once read, it will ever be a fragrant memory; louise stockton's "woman in the restaurant" i want to give you, and mrs. barrow's "pennikitty people;" a chapter from miss baylor's "on this side," and the opening chapters of miss phelps's "old maids' paradise;" also the description of "joppa," by grace denio litchfield, in "only an incident." there are others from which it is not possible to make extracts. miss woolson's admirable "for the major," though pathetic, almost tragic, in its underlying feeling, is, at the same time, a story of exquisite humor, from which, nevertheless, not a single sentence could be quoted that would be called "funny." her work, and that of frances hodgson burnett, as well as that of miss phelps and mrs. spofford, shine with a silver thread of humor, worked too intimately into the whole warp and woof to be extracted without injuring both the solid material and the tinsel. to appreciate the point and delicacy of their finest wit, you must read the whole story and grasp the entire character or situation. mrs. e.w. bellamy, a southern lady, published in last year's _atlantic monthly_ a sketch called "at bent's hotel," which ought to have a place in this volume; but my publisher says authoritatively that there must be a limit somewhere; so this gem must be included in--a second series! * * * * * there is so much truth as well as humor in the following article, that it must be included. it gives in prose the agonies which saxe told so feelingly in verse: a fatal reputation. by isabel frances bellows. i am impelled to write this as an awful warning to young men and women who are just entering upon life and its responsibilities. years ago i thoughtlessly took a false step, which at the time seemed trivial and of little import, but which has since assumed colossal proportions that threaten to overshadow much of the innocent happiness of my otherwise placid existence. what wonder, then, that i try to avert this danger from young and inexperienced minds who in their gay thoughtlessness rush into the very jaws of the disaster, and before they are well aware find they are entrapped for life, as there is no escape for those who have thus brought their doom upon themselves. i will try and relate how, like the lady of shalott, when i first began to gaze upon the world of realities "the curse" came upon me. it was in this wise: i lived in my youth an almost cloistral life of seclusion and self-absorption, from which i was suddenly shaken by circumstances, and forced to mingle in the busy world; to which, after the first shock, i was not at all averse, but found very interesting, and also--and there was the weight that pulled me down--tolerably amusing. for i met some curious people, and saw and heard some remarkable things; and as i went among my friends i often used to give an account of my observations, until at last i discovered that wherever i went, and under whatever circumstances (except, of course, at the funeral of a member of the family), i was expected to be amusing! i found myself in the same relation to society that the clown bears to the circus-master who has engaged him--he must either be funny or leave the troupe. now, i am unfortunate in having no particular accomplishments. i cannot sing either the old songs or the new; neither am i a performer on divers instruments. i can paint a little, but my paintings do not seem to rouse any enthusiasm in the beholder, nor do they add an inspiring strain to conversation. i can, indeed, make gingerbread and six different kinds of pudding, but i hesitate to mention it, because the cook is far in advance of me in all these particulars, not to mention numerous other ways in which she excels. i have thus but one resource in life; and when i give one or two instances of the humiliation and distress of mind to which i have been subjected on its account i am sure i shall win a sympathizing thought even from those who are more favored by nature, and possibly save a few young spirits from the pain of treading in my footsteps. in the first place, i am not naturally witty. epigrams do not rise spontaneously to my lips, and it sometimes takes days and even weeks of consideration after an opportunity of making one has occurred before the appropriate words finally dawn upon me. by that time, of course, the retort is what the catholics call "a work of supererogation." i perhaps possess a slight "sense of the humorous," which has undoubtedly given rise to the fatal demand upon me, but i do not remember ever having been very funny. there never was any danger of my experiencing difficulties like dr. holmes on that famous occasion when he was as funny as he could be. i have often been as funny as i could be, but the smallest of buttons on the slenderest of threads never detached itself on my account. i have never had to restrain my humorous remarks in the slightest degree, but on the contrary have sometimes been driven into making the most atrocious jokes, and even puns, because it was evident something of the sort was expected from me--only, of course, something better. one occurrence of this kind will remain forever fixed in my memory. i was invited to a picnic, that most ghastly device of the human mind for playing at having a good time. at first i had declined to go, but it was represented to me that no less than three families had company for whose entertainment something must be done; that two young and interesting friends of mine just about to be engaged to each other would be simply inconsolable if the plan were given up; and, in short, that i should show by not going an extremely hateful and unseemly spirit--"besides, it wouldn't do to have it without you, my dear," continued my amiable friend, "because you know you are always the life of the party." so i sighed and consented. the day arrived, and before nine o'clock in the morning the mercury stood at ninety degrees in the shade. the cook overslept herself, and breakfast was so late that william henry missed the train into the city, which didn't make it pleasanter for any of us. i had made an especially delicate cake to take with me as my share of the feast, and while we were at breakfast i heard a crash in the direction of the kitchen, and hastening tremblingly to discover the origin of it i found the cake and the plate containing it in one indistinguishable heap on the floor. "it slipped between me two hands as if it was alive, bad luck to it," said the cook; "and it was meself that saw the heavy crack in the plate before you set the cake onto it, mum!" i took cookies and boiled eggs to the picnic. the wreck had hardly been cleared away before my son and heir appeared in the doorway with a hole of unimagined dimensions in his third worst trousers. his second worst were already in the mending basket, so nothing remained for me but to clothe him in his best suit and wonder all day in which part of them i should find the largest hole when i came home. lastly, i had just put on my hat, and was preparing to set forth, warm, tired and demoralized, when my youngest, in her anxiety to bid me a sufficiently affectionate farewell, lost her small balance, and came rolling down-stairs after me. no serious harm was done, but it took nearly an hour before i succeeded in soothing and comforting her sufficiently to be able to leave her, with two brown-paper patches on her head and elbow, in the care of the nurse. when i arrived late, discouraged and with a headache, at the picnic grounds, i found the assembled company sitting vapidly about among mosquitoes and beetles, already looking bored to death, and i soon perceived that it was expected of me to provide amusement and entertainment for the crowd. i tried to rally, therefore, and proposed a few games, which went off in a spiritless manner enough, and apparently in consequence i began to be assailed with questions and remarks of a reproachful character. "don't you feel well to-day?" "has anything happened?" "you don't seem as lively as usual!" no one took the slightest notice of my explanations, until at last, goaded into desperation by one evil-minded old woman, who asked me if it were true that my husband was involved in the failure of smith, jones & co., i launched out and became wildly and disgracefully silly. nothing seemed too foolish, too senseless to say if it only answered the great purpose of keeping off the attack of personal questions. thus the wretched day wore on, until at last it was time to go home, and the first feeling approaching content was stealing into my weary bosom as i gathered up my basket and shawls, when it was rudely dashed by the following conversation, conducted by two ladies to whom i had been introduced that day. they were standing at a little distance from the rest of the company and from me, and evidently thought themselves far enough away to talk quite loud, so that these words were plainly borne to my ears: "i hate to see people try to make themselves so conspicuous, don't you?" "yes, indeed; and to try to be funny when they haven't any fun in them." "i can't imagine what maria was thinking about to call her witty!" "i know it. i should think such people had better keep quiet when they haven't anything to say. i'm glad it's time to go home. picnics are such stupid things!" what more was said i do not know, for i left the spot as quickly as possible, making an inward resolution to avoid all picnics in the future till i should arrive at my second childhood. i cannot refrain from giving one other little instance of my sufferings from this cause. i was again invited out; this time to a lunch party, specially to meet the friend of a friend of mine. the very morning of the day it was to take place i received a telegram stating that my great-aunt had died suddenly in california. now people don't usually care much about their great-aunts. they can bear to be chastened in this direction very comfortably; but i did care about mine. she had been very kind to me, and though the width of a continent had separated us for the last ten years her memory was still dear to me. i sat down immediately to write a note excusing myself from my friend's lunch party, when, just as i took the paper, it occurred to me that it was rather a selfish thing to do. my friend's guests were invited, and her arrangements all made; and as the visit of her friend was to be very short the opportunity of our meeting would probably be lost. so i wrote instead a note to the daughter of my great aunt, and when the time came i went to the lunch party with a heavy heart. i had no opportunity of telling my friend of the sad news i had received that morning, and i suppose i may have been quiet; perhaps i even seemed indifferent, though i tried not to be. i could not have been very successful, however, for i was just going up-stairs to put on my "things" to go home, when i heard this little conversation in the dressing-room: "it's too bad she wasn't more interesting to-day, but you never can tell how it will be. she will do as she likes, and that's the end of it." "yes," said another voice, "i think she is rather a moody person anyway; she won't say a word if she doesn't feel like it." "'sh--'sh--here she comes," said another, with the tone and look that told me it was i of whom they were talking. and so i adjure all youthful and hopeful persons, who have a tendency to be funny, to keep it a profound secret from the world. indulge in your propensities to any extent in your family circle; keep your immediate relatives, if you like, in convulsions of inextinguishable laughter all the time; but when you mingle in society guard your secret with your life. never make a joke, and, if necessary, never take one; and by so doing you shall peradventure escape that wrath to come to which i have fallen an innocent victim, and which i doubt not will bring me to an untimely end.--_the independent._ * * * * * and a few pages from miss murfree, who has shown such rare power in her short character sketches. a blacksmith in love. by charles egbert craddock. the pine-knots flamed and glistened under the great wash-kettle. a tree-toad was persistently calling for rain in the dry distance. the girl, gravely impassive, beat the clothes with the heavy paddle. her mother shortly ceased to prod the white heaps in the boiling water, and presently took up the thread of her discourse. "an' 'vander hev got ter be a mighty suddint man. i hearn tell, when i war down ter m'ria's house ter the quiltin', ez how in that sorter fight an' scrimmage they hed at the mill las' month, he war powerful ill-conducted. nobody hed thought of hevin' much of a fight--thar hed been jes' a few licks passed atwixt the men thar; but the fust finger ez war laid on this boy, he jes' lit out, an' fit like a catamount. right an' lef' he lay about him with his fists, an' he drawed his huntin'-knife on some of 'em. the men at the mill war in no wise pleased with him." "'pears like ter me ez 'vander air a peaceable boy enough, ef he ain't jawed at an' air lef' be," drawled cynthia. her mother was embarrassed for a moment. then, with a look both sly and wise, she made an admission--a qualified admission. "waal, wimmen--ef--ef--ef they air young an' toler'ble hard-headed _yit_, air likely ter jaw _some_, ennyhow. an' a gal oughtn't ter marry a man ez hev sot his heart on bein' lef' in peace. he is apt ter be a mighty sour an' disapp'inted critter." this sudden turn to the conversation invested all that had been said with new meaning, and revealed a subtle diplomatic intention. the girl seemed deliberately to review it as she paused in her work. then, with a rising flush: "i ain't studyin' 'bout marryin' nobody," she asserted staidly. "i hev laid off ter live single." mrs. ware had overshot the mark, but she retorted, gallantly reckless: "that's what yer aunt malviny useter declar' fur gospel sure, when she war a gal. an' she hev got ten chil'ren, an' hev buried two husbands; an' ef all they say air true, she's tollin' in the third man now. she's a mighty spry, good-featured woman, an' a fust-rate manager, yer aunt malviny air, an' both her husbands lef' her suthin--cows, or wagons, or land. an' they war quiet men when they war alive, an' stays whar they air put now that they air dead; not like old parson hoodenpyle, what his wife hears stumpin' round the house an' preachin' every night, though she air ez deef ez a post, an' he hev been in glory twenty year--twenty year an' better. yer aunt malviny hed luck, so mebbe 'tain't no killin' complaint fur a gal ter git ter talking like a fool about marryin' an' sech. leastwise i ain't minded ter sorrow." she looked at her daughter with a gay grin, which, distorted by her toothless gums and the wreathing steam from the kettle, enhanced her witch-like aspect and was spuriously malevolent. she did not notice the stir of an approach through the brambly tangles of the heights above until it was close at hand; as she turned, she thought only of the mountain cattle and to see the red cow's picturesque head and crumpled horns thrust over the sassafras bushes, or to hear the brindle's clanking bell. it was certainly less unexpected to cynthia when a young mountaineer, clad in brown jean trousers and a checked homespun shirt, emerged upon the rocky slope. he still wore his blacksmith's leather apron, and his powerful corded hammer-arm was bare beneath his tightly-rolled sleeve. he was tall and heavily built; his sunburned face was square, with a strong lower jaw, and his features were accented by fine lines of charcoal, as if the whole were a clever sketch. his black eyes held fierce intimations, but there was mobility of expression about them that suggested changing impulses, strong but fleeting. he was like his forge-fire; though the heat might be intense for a time, it fluctuated with the breath of the bellows. just now he was meekly quailing before the old woman, whom he evidently had not thought to find here. it was as apt an illustration as might be, perhaps, of the inferiority of strength to finesse. she seemed an inconsiderable adversary, as, haggard, lean, and prematurely aged, she swayed on her prodding-stick about the huge kettle; but she was as a veritable david to this big young goliath, though she, too, flung hardly more than a pebble at him. "laws-a-me!" she cried, in shrill, toothless glee; "ef hyar ain't 'vander price! what brung ye down hyar along o' we-uns, 'vander?" she continued, with simulated anxiety. "hev that thar red heifer o' ourn lept over the fence agin, an' got inter pete's corn? waal, sir, ef she ain't the headin'est heifer!" "i hain't seen none o' yer heifer, ez i knows on," replied the young blacksmith, with gruff, drawling deprecation. then he tried to regain his natural manner. "i kem down hyar," he remarked, in an off-hand way, "ter git a drink o' water." he glanced furtively at the girl, then looked quickly away at the gallant red-bird, still gayly parading among the leaves. the old woman grinned with delight. "now, ef that ain't s'prisin'," she declared. "ef we hed knowed ez lost creek war a-goin' dry over yander a-nigh the shop, so ye an' pete would hev ter kem hyar thirstin' fur water, we-uns would hev brung suthin' down hyar ter drink out'n. we-uns hain't got no gourd hyar, hev we, cynthy?" "'thout it air the little gourd with the saft-soap in it," said cynthia, confused and blushing. her mother broke into a high, loud laugh. "ye ain't wantin' ter gin 'vander the soap-gourd ter drink out'n, cynthy! leastwise, i ain't goin' ter gin it ter pete. fur i s'pose ef ye hev ter kem a haffen mile ter git a drink, 'vander, ez surely pete'll hev ter kem, too. waal, waal, who would hev b'lieved ez lost creek would go dry nigh the shop, an' yit be a-scuttlin' along like that hyarabouts!" and she pointed with her bony finger at the swift flow of the water. he was forced to abandon his clumsy pretence of thirst. "lost creek ain't gone dry nowhar, ez i knows on," he admitted, mechanically rolling the sleeve of his hammer-arm up and down as he talked. * * * * * from miss woolson's story of "anne," i give the pen-portrait of the precise "miss lois." "codfish balls for breakfast on sunday morning, of course," said miss lois, "and fried hasty-pudding. on wednesdays, a boiled dinner. pies on tuesdays and saturdays." the pins stood in straight rows on her pincushion; three times each week every room in the house was swept, and the floors, as well as the furniture, dusted. beans were baked in an iron pot on saturday night, and sweet-cake was made on thursday. winter or summer, through scarcity or plenty, miss lois never varied her established routine, thereby setting an example, she said, to the idle and shiftless. and certainly she was a faithful guide-post, continually pointing out an industrious and systematic way, which, however, to the end of time, no french-blooded, french-hearted person will ever travel, unless dragged by force. the villagers preferred their lake trout to miss lois's salt codfish, their tartines to her corn-meal puddings, and their _eau-de-vie_ to her green tea; they loved their disorder and their comfort; her bar soap and scrubbing-brush were a horror to their eyes. they washed the household clothes two or three times a year. was not that enough? of what use the endless labor of this sharp-nosed woman, with glasses over her eyes, at the church-house? were not, perhaps, the glasses the consequence of such toil? and her figure of a long leanness also? the element of real heroism, however, came into miss lois's life in her persistent effort to employ indian servants. through long years had she persisted, through long years would she continue to persist. a succession of chippewa squaws broke, stole, and skirmished their way through her kitchen, with various degrees of success, generally in the end departing suddenly at night with whatever booty they could lay their hands on. it is but justice to add, however, that this was not much, a rigid system of keys and excellent locks prevailing in the well-watched household. miss lois's conscience would not allow her to employ half-breeds, who were sometimes endurable servants; duty required, she said, that she should have full-blooded natives. and she had them. she always began to teach them the alphabet within three days after their arrival, and the spectacle of a tearful, freshly-caught indian girl, very wretched in her calico dress and white apron, worn out with the ways of the kettles and the brasses, dejected over the fish-balls, and appalled by the pudding, standing confronted by a large alphabet on the well-scoured table, and miss lois by her side with a pointer, was frequent and even regular in its occurrence, the only change being in the personality of the learners. no one of them had ever gone through the letters, but miss lois was not discouraged. the circus at denby. by sarah orne jewett. i cannot truthfully say that it was a good show; it was somewhat dreary, now that i think of it quietly and without excitement. the creatures looked tired, and as if they had been on the road for a great many years. the animals were all old, and there was a shabby great elephant whose look of general discouragement went to my heart, for it seemed as if he were miserably conscious of a misspent life. he stood dejected and motionless at one side of the tent, and it was hard to believe that there was a spark of vitality left in him. a great number of the people had never seen an elephant before, and we heard a thin, little old man, who stood near us, say delightedly: "there's the old creatur', and no mistake, ann 'liza. i wanted to see him most of anything. my sakes alive, ain't he big!" and ann 'liza, who was stout and sleepy-looking, droned out: "ye-es, there's consider'ble of him; but he looks as if he ain't got no animation." kate and i turned away and laughed, while mrs. kew said, confidentially, as the couple moved away: "_she_ needn't be a reflectin' on the poor beast. that's mis' seth tanner, and there isn't a woman in deep haven nor east parish to be named the same day with her for laziness. i'm glad she didn't catch sight of me; she'd have talked about nothing for a fortnight." there was a picture of a huge snake in deep haven, and i was just wondering where he could be, or if there ever had been one, when we heard a boy ask the same question of the man whose thankless task it was to stir up the lions with a stick to make them roar. "the snake's dead," he answered, good-naturedly. "didn't you have to dig an awful long grave for him?" asked the boy; but the man said he reckoned they curled him up some, and smiled as he turned to his lions, that looked as if they needed a tonic. everybody lingered longest before the monkeys, that seemed to be the only lively creatures in the whole collection.... coming out of the great tent was disagreeable enough, and we seemed to have chosen the worst time, for the crowd pushed fiercely, though i suppose nobody was in the least hurry, and we were all severely jammed, while from somewhere underneath came the wails of a deserted dog. we had not meant to see the side shows; but when we came in sight of the picture of the kentucky giantess, we noticed that mrs. kew looked at it wistfully, and we immediately asked if she cared anything about going to see the wonder, whereupon she confessed that she never heard of such a thing as a woman's weighing six hundred and fifty pounds; so we all three went in. there were only two or three persons inside the tent, beside a little boy who played the hand-organ. the kentucky giantess sat in two chairs on a platform, and there was a large cage of monkeys just beyond, toward which kate and i went at once. "why, she isn't more than two thirds as big as the picture," said mrs. kew, in a regretful whisper; "but i guess she's big enough; doesn't she look discouraged, poor creatur'?" kate and i felt ashamed of ourselves for being there. no matter if she had consented to be carried round for a show, it must have been horrible to be stared at and joked about day after day; and we gravely looked at the monkeys, and in a few minutes turned to see if mrs. kew were not ready to come away, when, to our surprise, we saw that she was talking to the giantess with great interest, and we went nearer. "i thought your face looked natural the minute i set foot inside the door," said mrs. kew; "but you've altered some since i saw you, and i couldn't place you till i heard you speak. why, you used to be spare. i am amazed, marilly! where are your folks?" "i don't wonder you are surprised," said the giantess. "i was a good ways from this when you knew me, wasn't i? but father, he ran through with every cent he had before he died, and 'he' took to drink, and it killed him after a while; and then i begun to grow worse and worse, till i couldn't do nothing to earn a dollar, and everybody was a-coming to see me, till at last i used to ask 'em ten cents apiece, and i scratched along somehow till this man came round and heard of me; and he offered me my keep and good pay to go along with him. he had another giantess before me, but she had begun to fall away considerable, so he paid her off and let her go. this other giantess was an awful expense to him, she was such an eater; now, i don't have no great of an appetite"--this was said plaintively--"and he's raised my pay since i've been with him because we did so well."... "have you been living in kentucky long?" asked mrs. kew. "i saw it on the picture outside." "no," said the giantess; "that was a picture the man bought cheap from another show that broke up last year. it says six hundred and fifty pounds, but i don't weigh more than four hundred. i haven't been weighed for some time past. between you and me, i don't weigh as much as that, but you mustn't mention it, for it would spoil my reputation and might hinder my getting another engagement." then they shook hands in a way that meant a great deal, and when kate and i said good-afternoon, the giantess looked at us gratefully, and said: "i'm very much obliged to you for coming in, young ladies." "walk in! walk in!" the man was shouting as we came away. "walk in and see the wonder of the world, ladies and gentlemen--the largest woman ever seen in america--the great kentucky giantess!" new york to newport. _a trip of trials_. by louise chandler moulton. the jane moseley was a disappointment--most janes are. if they had called her samuel, no doubt she would have behaved better; but they called her jane, and the natural consequences of our mistakes cannot be averted from ourselves or others. a band was playing wild strains of welcome as we approached. come and sail with us, it said--it is summer, and the days are long. care is of the land--here the waves flow, and the winds blow, and captain smiles, and stewardess beguiles, and all is music, music, music. how the wild, exultant strains rose and fell--but everything rose and fell on that boat, as we found out afterward. just here a spirit of justice falls on me, like the gentle dew from heaven, and forces me to admit that it rained like a young deluge; that it had been raining for two days, and the bosom of the deep was heaving with responsive sympathy; as what bosom would not on which so many tears had been shed? perhaps responsive sympathy was the secret of the jane moseley's behavior; but i would her heart had been less tender. then, too, the passengers were few; and of course as we had to divide the roll and tumble between us, there was a great deal for each one. there was a pretty girl, and she had a sister who was not pretty. it seemed to me that even the sad sea waves were kinder to the pretty girl, such is the influence of youth and beauty. there were various men--heavy swells i should call some of them, only that that would be slang; but heavy swells were the order of the day. then there was a benevolent old lady who believed in everything--in the music, and the jane moseley, and the long days, and the summer. there was another old lady of restless mind, who evidently believed in nothing, hoped for nothing, expected nothing. she tried all the lounges and all the corners, and found each one a separate disappointment. there was a fat, fair one, of friendly face, and beside her her grim guardian, a man so thin that you at once cast him for the part of starveling in this midsummer day's dream of delusion. we put out from shore--quite out of sight of shore, in short--and then the perfidious music ceased. to the people on land it had sung, "come and make merry with us," but from us, trying in vain to make merry, it withheld its deceitful inspiration. for the exceeding weight of sorrow that presently settled down upon us it had no balm. when you are on a pleasure trip it is unpleasant to be miserable; so i tried hard to shake off the mild melancholy that began to steal over me. i said to myself, i will not affront the great deep with my personal woes. i am but a woman, yet perhaps on this so great occasion magnanimity of soul will be possible even to me. i will consider my neighbors and be wise. at one end of the long saloon a banquet-board was spread. its hospitality was, like the other attractions of the jane moseley, a perfidious pageant. nobody sought its soup or claimed its clams. one or two sad-eyed young men made their way in that direction from time to time--after their sea-legs, perhaps. from their gait when they came back i inferred they did not find them. the human nature in the saloon became a weariness to me. even the gentle gambols of the dog thaddeus, a sportive and spotted pointer in whom i had been interested, failed to soothe my perturbed spirits. de quincey speaks somewhere of "the awful solitariness of every human soul." no wonder, then, that i should be solitary among the festive few on board the jane moseley--no wonder i felt myself darkly, deeply, desperately blue. i thought i would go on deck. i clung to my companion with an ardor which would have been flattering had it been voluntary. my faltering steps were guided to a seat just within the guards. i sat there thinking that i had never nursed a dear gazelle, so i could not be quite sure whether it would have died or not, but i thought it would. i mused on the changing fortunes of this unsteady world, and the ingratitude of man. i thought it would be easier going to the promised land if jordan did not roll between. rolling had long ceased to be a pleasant figure of speech with me. how frail are all things here below, how false, and yet how fair! my mind is naturally picturesque. in the midst of my sadness the force of nature compelled me to grope after an illustration. i could only think that my own foothold was frail, that the jane moseley was false, that the pretty girl was fair. a dizziness of brain resulted from this rhetorical effort. i silently confided my sorrows to the sympathizing bosom of the sea. i was soothed by the kindred melancholy of the sad sea waves. if the size of the waves were remarkable, other sighs abounded also, and other things waved--many of them. true to my purpose of studying my fellow-beings, and learning wisdom by observation, i surveyed the pretty girl and her sister, who had by that time come on deck. they were surrounded by a group of audacious male creatures, who surrounded most on the side where the pretty girl sat. she did not look feeble. she was like the red, red rose. it was a conundrum to me why so much greater anxiety should be bestowed upon her health than upon her sister's. it needed some moral reflection to make it out; but i concluded that pretty girls were, by some law of nature, more subject to sea-sickness than plain ones; therefore, all these careful cares were quite in order. i saw the two old ladies--the benevolent one who had believed so implicitly in all things, but over whose benign visage doubt had now begun to settle like a cloud; and the other, who had hoped nothing from the first, and therefore over whom no disappointment could prevail--and, seeing, i mildly wondered whether, indeed, 'twere better to have loved and lost, or never to have loved at all. my thoughts grew solemn. the green shores beyond the swelling flood seemed farther off than ever. the jane moseley had promised to land us at newport pier at seven o'clock. it was already half-past seven; oh, perfidious jane! darkness had settled upon the face of the deep. we went inside. the sad-eyed young men had evidently been hunting for their sea-legs again, in the neighborhood of the banqueting-table, where nobody banqueted. failing to find the secret of correct locomotion, they had laid themselves down to sleep, but in that sleep at sea what dreams did come, and how noisy they were! the dog thaddeus walked by dejectedly, sniffing at the ghost of some half-forgotten joy. at last there rose a cry--newport! the sleepers started to their feet. i started to mine, but i discreetly and quietly sat down again. was it newport, at last? not at all. the harbor lights were gleaming from afar; and the cry was of the bandmaster shouting to his emissaries, arousing fiddle and flute and bassoon to their deceitful duty. they had played us out of port--they would play us in again. they had promised us that all should go merry as a marriage-bell, and--i would not be understood to complain, but it had been a sad occasion. now the deceitful strains rose and fell again upon the salt sea wind. the many lights glowed and twinkled from the near shore. we are all at play, come and play with us, screamed the soft waltz music. it is summer, and the days are long, and trouble is not, and care is banished. if the waves sigh, it is with bliss. our voyage is ended. it is sad that you did not sail with us, but we will invite you again to-morrow, and the band shall play, and the crowd be gay, and airs beguile, and blue skies smile, and all shall be music, music, music. but i have sailed with you, on a summer day, bland master of a faithless band; and i know how soon your pipes are dumb--i know the tricks and manners of the clouds and the wind, and the swelling sea, and jane moseley, the perfidious. i must, after all, have strong local attachments, for when at last the time came to land i left the ship with lingering reluctance. my feet seemed fastened to the deck where i had made my brief home on the much rolling deep. i had grown used to pain and resigned to fate. i walked the plank unsteadily. i stood on shore amid the rain and the mist. a hackman preyed upon me. i was put into an ancient ark and trundled on through the queer, irresolute, contradictory old streets, beside the lovely bay, all aglow with the lighted yachts, as a southern swamp is with fire-flies. a torchlight procession met and escorted me. to this hour i am at a loss to know whether this attention was a delicate tribute on the part of the city of newport to a distinguished guest, or a parting attention from the company who sail the jane moseley, and advertise in the _tribune_--a final subterfuge to persuade a tortured passenger, by means of this transitory glory, that the sail upon a summer sea had been a pleasure trip.--_letter to new york tribune._ chapter viii. humorous poems. i will next group a score of poems and doggerel rhymes with their various degrees of humor. the first needle. by lucretia p. hale. "have you heard the new invention, my dears, that a man has invented?" said she. "it's a stick with an eye through which you can tie a thread so long, it acts like a thong, and the men have such fun, to see the thing run! a firm, strong thread, through that eye at the head, is pulled over the edges most craftily, and makes a beautiful seam to see!" "what, instead of those wearisome thorns, my dear, those wearisome thorns?" cried they. "the seam we pin driving them in, but where are they by the end of the day, with dancing, and jumping, and leaps by the sea? for wintry weather they won't hold together, seal-skins and bear-skins all dropping round off from our shoulders down to the ground. the thorns, the tiresome thorns, will prick, but none of them ever consented to stick! oh, won't the men let us this new thing use? if we mend their clothes they can't refuse. ah, to sew up a seam for them to see-- what a treat, a delightful treat, 'twill be!" "yes, a nice thing, too, for the babies, my dears-- but, alas, there is but one!" cried she. "i saw them passing it round, and then they said it was fit for only men! what woman would know how to make the thing go? there was not a man so foolish to dream that any woman could sew up a seam!" oh, then there was babbling and scrabbling, my dears! "at least they might let us do that!" cried they. "let them shout and fight and kill bears all night; we'll leave them their spears and hatchets of stone if they'll give us this thing for our very own. it will be like a joy above all we could scheme, to sit up all night and sew such a seam." "beware! take care!" cried an aged old crone, "take care what you promise," said she. "at first 'twill be fun, but, in the long run, you'll wish you had let the thing be. through this stick with an eye i look and espy that for ages and ages you'll sit and you'll sew, and longer and longer the seams will grow, and you'll wish you never had asked to sew. but naught that i say can keep back the day, for the men will return to their hunting and rowing, and leave to the women forever the sewing." ah, what are the words of an aged crone? for all have left her muttering alone; and the needle and thread that they got with such pains, they forever must keep as dagger and chains. the funny story. by josephine pollard. it was such a funny story! how i wish you could have heard it, for it set us all a-laughing, from the little to the big; i'd really like to tell it, but i don't know how to word it, though it travels to the music of a very lively jig. if sally just began it, then amelia jane would giggle, and mehetable and susan try their very broadest grin; and the infant zachariah on his mother's lap would wriggle, and add a lusty chorus to the very merry din. it was such a funny story, with its cheery snap and crackle, and sally always told it with so much dramatic art, that the chickens in the door-yard would begin to "cackle-cackle," as if in such a frolic they were anxious to take part. it was all about a--ha! ha!--and a--ho! ho! ho!--well really, it is--he! he! he!--i never could begin to tell you half of the nonsense there was in it, for i just remember clearly it began with--ha! ha! ha! ha! and it ended with a laugh. but sally--she could tell it, looking at us so demurely, with a woe-begone expression that no actress would despise; and if you'd never heard it, why you would imagine surely that you'd need your pocket-handkerchief to wipe your weeping eyes. when age my hair has silvered, and my step has grown unsteady, and the nearest to my vision are the scenes of long ago, i shall see the pretty picture, and the tears may come as ready as the laugh did, when i used to--ha! ha! ha! and--ho! ho! ho! a sonnet. by josephine pollard. once a poet wrote a sonnet all about a pretty bonnet, and a critic sat upon it (on the sonnet, not the bonnet), nothing loath. and as if it were high treason, he said: "neither rhyme nor reason has it; and it's out of season," which? the sonnet or the bonnet? maybe both. "'tis a feeble imitation of a worthier creation; an æsthetic innovation!" of a sonnet or a bonnet? this was hard. both were put together neatly, harmonizing very sweetly, but the critic crushed completely not the bonnet, or the sonnet, but the bard. wanted, a minister. by mrs. m.e.w. skeels. we've a church, tho' the belfry is leaning, they are talking i think of repair, and the _bell_, oh, pray but excuse us, 'twas _talked of_, but never's been there. now, "wanted, a _real live minister_," and to settle the same for _life_, we've an organ and some one to play it, so we don't care a fig for his wife. we once had a pastor (don't tell it), but we chanced on a time to discover that his sermons were writ long ago, and he had preached them twice over. how sad this mistake, tho' unmeaning, oh, it made such a desperate muss! both deacon and laymen were vexed, and decided, "he's no man for us." and then the "old nick" was to pay, "truth indeed is stranger than fiction," his _prayers_ were so tedious and long, people slept, till the benediction. and then came another, on trial, who _actually preached in his gloves_, his manner so _awkward_ and _queer_, that we _settled him off_ and he moved. and then came another so meek, that his name really ought to 've been _moses_; we almost considered him _settled_, when lo! the secret discloses, he'd attacks of nervous disease, that unfit him for every-day duty; his sermons, oh, never can please, they lack both in force and beauty. now, "wanted, a minister," really, that won't preach his _old sermons over_, that will make _short prayers_ while in church, with no fault that the ear can discover, that is very forbearing, yes very, that blesses wherever he moves-- not too zealous, nor lacking for zeal, that _preaches without any gloves!_ now, "wanted, a minister," really, "that was born ere nerves came in fashion," that never complains of the "headache," that never is roused to a passion. he must add to the wisdom of solomon the unwearied patience of job, must be _mute in political matters_, or doff his clerical robe. if he pray for the present congress, he must speak in an undertone; if he pray for president johnson, _he_ needs _'em_, why let him go on. he must touch upon doctrines so lightly, that no one can take an offence, mustn't meddle with _predestination_-- in short, must preach "common sense." now really wanted a minister, with religion enough to sustain him, for the _salary's exceedingly_ small, and _faith alone_ must _maintain him_. he must visit the sick and afflicted, must mourn with those that mourn, must preach the "funeral sermons" with a very _peculiar_ turn. he must preach at the north-west school-house on every thursday eve, and things too numerous to mention he must do, and must believe. he must be of careful demeanor, both graceful and eloquent too, must adjust his cravat "a la mode," wear his beaver, decidedly, so. now if _some one_ will deign to be shepherd to this "our _peculiar people_," will be first to subscribe for a bell, and help us to right up the steeple, if _correct_ in doctrinal points (we've _a committee of investigation_), if possessed of these requisite graces, we'll accept him perhaps on probation. then if two-thirds of the church can agree, we'll settle him here for life; now, we advertise, "_wanted, a minister_," and not a minister's wife. the middy of . by may croly roper. i'm the dearest, i'm the sweetest little mid to be found in journeying from here to hades, i am also, nat-u-rally, _a prodid-_ gious favorite with all the pretty ladies. i _know_ nothing, but say a mighty deal; my elevated nose, likewise, comes handy; i stalk around, my great importance feel-- in short, i'm a brainless little dandy. my hair is light, and waves above my brow, my mustache can just be seen through opera-glasses; i originate but flee from every row, and no one knows as well as i what "sass" is! the officers look down on me with scorn, the sailors jeer at me--behind my jacket, but still my heart is not "with anguish torn," and life with me is one continued racket. whene'er the captain sends me with a boat, the seamen know an idiot has got 'em; they make their wills and are prepared to die, quite certain they are going to the bottom. but what care i! for when i go ashore, in uniform with buttons bright and shining, the girls all cluster 'round me to adore, and lots of 'em for love of me are pining. i strut and dance, and fool my life away; i'm nautical in past and future tenses! long as i know an ocean from a bay, i'll shy the rest, and take the consequences. i'm the dearest, i'm the sweetest little mid that ever graced the tail-end of his classes, and through a four years' course of study slid, first am i in the list of nature's--donkeys! --_scribner's magazine bric-à-brac, ._ indignant polly wog. by margaret eytinge. a tree-toad dressed in apple-green sat on a mossy log beside a pond, and shrilly sang, "come forth, my polly wog-- my pol, my ly,--my wog, my pretty polly wog, i've something very sweet to say, my slender polly wog! "the air is moist, the moon is hid behind a heavy fog; no stars are out to wink and blink at you, my polly wog-- my pol, my ly--my wog, my graceful polly wog; oh, tarry not, beloved one! my precious polly wog!" just then away went clouds, and there a sitting on the log-- the other end i mean--the moon showed angry polly wog. her small eyes flashed, she swelled until she looked almost a frog; "how _dare_ you, sir, call _me_," she asked, "your _precious_ polly wog? "why, one would think you'd spent your life in some low, muddy bog. i'd have you know--to _strange_ young men my name's miss mary wog." one wild, wild laugh that tree-toad gave, and tumbled off the log, and on the ground he kicked and screamed, "oh, mary, mary wog. oh, may! oh, ry--oh, wog! oh, proud miss mary wog! oh, goodness gracious! what a joke! hurrah for mary wog!" "kiss pretty poll!" by mary d. brine. "kiss pretty poll!" the parrot screamed, and "pretty poll," repeated i, the while i stole a merry glance across the room all on the sly, where some one plied her needle fast, demurely by the window sitting; but i beheld upon her cheek a multitude of blushes flitting. "kiss pretty poll," the parrot coaxed: "i would, but dare not try," i said, and stole another glance to see how some one drooped her golden head, and sought for something on the floor (the loss was only feigned, i knew)-- and still, "kiss poll," the parrot screamed, the very thing i longed to do. but some one turned to me at last, "please, won't you keep that parrot still?" "why, yes," said i, "at least--you see if you will let me, dear, i will." and so--well, never mind the rest; but some one said it was a shame to take advantage just because a foolish parrot bore her name. --_harper's weekly._ thanksgiving-day (then and now). by mary d. brine. thanksgiving-day, a year ago, a bachelor was i, free as the winds that whirl and blow, or clouds that sail on high: i smoked my meerschaum blissfully, and tilted back my chair, and on the mantel placed my feet, for who would heed or care? the fellows gathered in my room for many an hour of fun, or i would meet them at the club for cards, till night was done. i came or went as pleased me best, myself the first and last. one year ago! ah, can it be that freedom's age is past? now, here's a note just come from fred: "old fellow, will you dine with me to-day? and meet the boys, a jolly number--nine?" ah, fred is quite as free to-day as just a year ago, and ignorant, happily, i may say, of things _i've_ learned to know. i'd like, yes, if the truth were known, i'd like to join the boys, but then a benedick must learn to cleave to other joys. so, here's my answer: "fred, old chum, i much regret--oh, pshaw! to tell the truth, i've got to dine with--_my dear mother-in-law!_" --_harper's weekly._ concerning mosquitoes. _feelingly dedicated to their discounted bills._ by miss anna a. gordon. skeeters have the reputation of continuous application to their poisonous profession; never missing nightly session, wearing out your life's existence by their practical persistence. would i had the power to veto bills of every mosquito; then i'd pass a peaceful summer, with no small nocturnal hummer feasting on my circulation, for his regular potation. oh, that rascally mosquito! he's a fellow you must see to; which you can't do if you're napping, but must evermore be slapping quite promiscuous on your features; for you'll seldom hit the creatures. but the thing most aggravating is the cool and calculating way in which he tunes his harpstring to the melody of sharp sting; then proceeds to serenade you, and successfully evade you. when a skeeter gets through stealing, he sails upward to the ceiling, where he sits in deep reflection how he perched on your complexion, filled with solid satisfaction at results of his extraction. would you know, in this connection, how you may secure protection for yourself and city cousins from these bites and from these buzzin's? show your sense by quickly getting for each window--skeeter netting. the stilts of gold. by metta victoria victor. mrs. mackerel sat in her little room, back of her husband's grocery store, trying to see through the evening gloom, to finish the baby's pinafore. she stitched away with a steady hand, though her heart was sore, to the very core, to think of the troublesome little band, (there were seven, or more), and the trousers, frocks, and aprons they wore, made and mended by her alone. "slave, slave!" she said, in a mournful tone; "and let us slave, and contrive, and fret, i don't suppose we shall ever get a little home which is all our own, with my own front door apart from the store, and the smell of fish and tallow no more." these words to herself she sadly spoke, breaking the thread from the last-set stitch, when mackerel into her presence broke-- "wife, we're--we're--we're, wife, we're--we're _rich_!" "_we_ rich! ha, ha! i'd like to see; i'll pull your hair if you're fooling me." "oh, don't, love, don't! the letter is here-- you can read the news for yourself, my dear. the one who sent you that white crape shawl-- there'll be no end to our gold--he's dead; you know you always would call him stingy, because he didn't invite us to injy; and i am his only heir, 'tis said. a million of pounds, at the very least, and pearls and diamonds, likely, beside!" mrs. mackerel's spirits rose like yeast-- "how lucky i married you, mac," she cried. then the two broke forth into frantic glee. a customer hearing the strange commotion, peeped into the little back-room, and he was seized with the very natural notion that the mackerel family had gone insane; so he ran away with might and main. mac shook his partner by both her hands; they dance, they giggle, they laugh, they stare; and now on his head the grocer stands, dancing a jig with his feet in air-- remarkable feat for a man of his age, who never had danced upon any stage but the high-bridge stage, when he set on top, and whose green-room had been a green-grocer's shop. but that mrs. mac should perform so well is not very strange, if the tales they tell of her youthful days have any foundation. but let that pass with her former life-- an opera-girl may make a good wife, if she happens to get such a nice situation. a million pounds of solid gold one would have thought would have crushed them dead; but dear they bobbed, and courtesied, and rolled like a couple of corks to a plummet of lead. 'twas enough the soberest fancy to tickle to see the two mackerels in such a pickle! it was three o'clock when they got to bed; even then through mrs. mackerel's head such gorgeous dreams went whirling away, "like a catherine-wheel," she declared next day, "that her brain seemed made of sparkles of fire shot off in spokes, with a ruby tire." mrs. mackerel had ever been one of the upward-tending kind, regarded by husband and by kin as a female of very ambitious mind. it had fretted her long and fretted her sore to live in the rear of the grocery-store. and several times she was heard to say she would sell her soul for a year and a day to the king of brimstone, fire, and pitch, for the power and pleasure of being rich. now her ambition had scope to work-- riches, they say, are a burden at best; her onerous burden she did not shirk, but carried it all with commendable zest; leaving her husband with nothing in life but to smoke, eat, drink, and obey his wife. she built a house with a double front-door, a marble house in the modern style, with silver planks in the entry floor, and carpets of extra-magnificent pile. and in the hall, in the usual manner, "a statue," she said, "of the chased diana; though who it was chased her, or whether they caught her or not, she could, really, not say." a carriage with curtains of yellow satin-- a coat-of-arms with these rare devices: "a mackerel sky and the starry pisces--" and underneath, in the purest fish-latin, _if fishibus flyabus they may reach the skyabus!_ yet it was not in common affairs like these she showed her original powers of mind; her soul was fired, her ardor inspired, to stand apart from the rest of mankind; "to be a no. one," her husband said; at which she turned very angrily red, for she couldn't endure the remotest hint of the grocery-store, and the mackerels in't. weeks and months she plotted and planned to raise herself from the common level; apart from even the few to stand who'd hundreds of thousands on which to revel. her genius, at last, spread forth its wings-- stilts, golden stilts, are the very things-- "i'll walk on stilts," mrs. mackerel cried, in the height of her overtowering pride. her husband timidly shook his head; but she did not care--"for why," as she said, "should the owner of more than a million pounds be going the rounds on the very same grounds as those low people, she couldn't tell who, they might keep a shop, for all she knew." she had a pair of the articles made, of solid gold, gorgeously overlaid with every color of precious stone which ever flashed in the indian zone. she privately practised many a day before she ventured from home at all; she had lost her girlish skill, and they say that she suffered many a fearful fall; but pride is stubborn, and she was bound on her golden stilts to go around, three feet, at least, from the plebeian ground. 'twas an exquisite day, in the month of may, that the stilts came out for a promenade; their first _entrée_ was made on the shilling side of broadway; the carmen whistled, the boys went mad, the omnibus-drivers their horses stopped. the chestnut-roaster his chestnuts dropped, the popper of corn no longer popped; the daintiest dandies deigned to stare, and even the heads of women fair were turned by the vision meeting them there. the stilts they sparkled and flashed and shone like the tremulous lights of the frigid zone, crimson and yellow and sapphire and green, bright as the rainbows in summer seen; while the lady she strode along between with a majesty too supremely serene for anything _but_ an american queen. a lady with jewels superb as those, and wearing such very expensive clothes, might certainly do whatever she chose! and thus, in despite of the jeering noise, and the frantic delight of the little boys, the stilts were a very decided success. the _crême de la crême_ paid profoundest attention, the merchants' clerks bowed in such wild excess, when she entered their shops, that they strained their spines, and afterward went into rapid declines. the papers, next day, gave her flattering mention; "the wife of our highly-esteemed fellow-citizen, a mackerel, of codfish square, in this city, scorning french fashions, herself has hit on one so very piquant and stylish and pretty, we trust our fair friends will consider it treason _not_ to walk upon stilts, by the close of the season." mrs. mackerel, now, was never seen out of her chamber, day or night, unless her stilts were along--her mien was very imposing from such a height, it imposed upon many a dazzled wight, who snuffed the perfume floating down from the rustling folds of her gorgeous gown, but never could smell through these bouquets the fishy odor of former days. she went on her golden stilts to pray, which never became her better than then, when her murmuring lips were heard to say, "thank god, i am not as my fellow-men!" her pastor loved as a pastor might-- his house that was built on a golden rock; he pointed it out as a shining light to the lesser lambs of his fleecy flock. the stilts were a help to the church, no doubt, they kindled its self-expiring embers, so that before the season was out it gained a dozen excellent members. mrs. mackerel gave a superb soirée, standing on stilts to receive her guests; the gas-lights mimicked the glowing day so well, that the birds, in their flowery nests, almost burst their beautiful breasts, trilling away their musical stories in mrs. mackerel's conservatories. she received on stilts; a distant bow was all the loftiest could attain-- though some of her friends she did allow to kiss the hem of her jewelled train. one gentleman screamed himself quite hoarse requesting her to dance; which, of course, couldn't be done on stilts, as she halloed down to him rather scornfully. the fact is, when mackerel kept a shop, his wife was very fond of a hop, and now, as the music swelled and rose, she felt a tingling in her toes, a restless, tickling, funny sensation which didn't agree with her exaltation. when the maddened music was at its height, and the waltz was wildest--behold, a sight! the stilts began to hop and twirl like the saucy feet of a ballet-girl. and their haughty owner, through the air, was spin, spin, spinning everywhere. everybody got out of the way to give the dangerous stilts fair play. in every corner, at every door, with faces looking like unfilled blanks, they watched the stilts at their airy pranks, giving them, unrequested, the floor. they never had glittered so bright before; the light it flew in flashing splinters away from those burning, revolving centres; while the gems on the lady's flying skirts gave out their light in jets and spirts. poor mackerel gazed in mute dismay at this unprecedented display. "oh, stop, love, stop!" he cried at last; but she only flew more wild and fast, while the flutes and fiddles, bugle and drum, followed as if their time had come. she went at such a bewildering pace nobody saw the lady's face, but only a ring of emerald light from the crown she wore on that fatal night. whether the stilts were propelling her, or she the stilts, none could aver. around and around the magnificent hall mrs. mackerel danced at her own grand ball. "as the twig is bent the tree's inclined;" this must have been a case in kind. "what's in the blood will sometimes show--" 'round and around the wild stilts go. it had been whispered many a time that when poor mack was in his prime keeping that little retail store, he had fallen in love with a ballet-girl, who gave up fame's entrancing whirl to be his own, and the world's no more. she made him a faithful, prudent wife-- ambitious, however, all her life. could it be that the soft, alluring waltz had carried her back to a former age, making her memory play her false, till she dreamed herself on the gaudy stage? her crown a tinsel crown--her guests the pit that gazes with praise and jests? "pride," they say, "must have a fall--" mrs. mackerel was very proud-- and now she danced at her own grand ball, while the music swelled more fast and loud. the gazers shuddered with mute affright, for the stilts burned now with a bluish light, while a glimmering, phosphorescent glow did out of the lady's garments flow. and what was that very peculiar smell? fish, or brimstone? no one could tell. stronger and stronger the odor grew, and the stilts and the lady burned more blue; 'round and around the long saloon, while mackerel gazed in a partial swoon, she approached the throng, or circled from it, with a flaming train like the last great comet; till at length the crowd all groaned aloud. for her exit she made from her own grand ball out of the window, stilts and all. none of the guests can really say how she looked when she vanished away. some declare that she carried sail on a flying fish with a lambent tail; and some are sure she went out of the room riding her stilts like a witch a broom, while a phosphorent odor followed her track: be this as it may, she never came back. since then, her friends of the gold-fish fry are in a state of unpleasant suspense, afraid, that unless they unselfishly try to make better use of their dollars and sense to chasten their pride, and their manners mend, they may meet a similar shocking end. --_cosmopolitan art journal._ just so. by metta victoria victor. a youth and maid, one winter night, were sitting in the corner; his name, we're told, was joshua white, and hers was patience warner. not much the pretty maiden said, beside the young man sitting; her cheeks were flushed a rosy red, her eyes bent on her knitting. nor could he guess what thoughts of him were to her bosom flocking, as her fair fingers, swift and slim, flew round and round the stocking. while, as for joshua, bashful youth, his words grew few and fewer; though all the time, to tell the truth, his chair edged nearer to her. meantime her ball of yarn gave out, she knit so fast and steady; and he must give his aid, no doubt, to get another ready. he held the skein; of course the thread got tangled, snarled and twisted; "have patience!" cried the artless maid, to him who her assisted. good chance was this for tongue-tied churl to shorten all palaver; "have patience!" cried he, "dearest girl! and may i really have her?" the deed was done; no more, that night, clicked needles in the corner:-- and she is mrs. joshua white that once was patience warner. the inventor's wife. by e.t. corbett. it's easy to talk of the patience of job. humph! job had nothin' to try him; ef he'd been married to 'bijah brown, folks wouldn't have dared come nigh him. trials, indeed! now i'll tell you what--ef you want to be sick of your life, jest come and change places with me a spell, for i'm an inventor's wife. and sech inventions! i'm never sure when i take up my coffee-pot, that 'bijah hain't been "improvin'" it, and it mayn't go off like a shot. why, didn't he make me a cradle once that would keep itself a-rockin', and didn't it pitch the baby out, and wasn't his head bruised shockin'? and there was his "patent peeler," too, a wonderful thing i'll say; but it hed one fault--it never stopped till the apple was peeled away. as for locks and clocks, and mowin' machines, and reapers, and all such trash, why, 'bijah's invented heaps of them, but they don't bring in no cash! law! that don't worry him--not at all; he's the aggravatinest man-- he'll set in his little workshop there, and whistle and think and plan, inventin' a jews harp to go by steam, or a new-fangled powder-horn, while the children's goin' barefoot to school, and the weeds is chokin' our corn. when 'bijah and me kep' company, he wasn't like this, you know; our folks all thought he was dreadful smart--but that was years ago. he was handsome as any pictur' then, and he had such a glib, bright way-- i never thought that a time would come when i'd rue my weddin'-day; but when i've been forced to chop the wood, and tend to the farm beside, and look at 'bijah a-settin' there, i've jest dropped down and cried. we lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was inventin' a gun, but i counted it one of my marcies when it bust before 'twas done. so he turned it into a "burglar alarm." it ought to give thieves a fright-- 'twould scare an honest man out of his wits, ef he sot it off at night. sometimes i wonder ef 'bijah's crazy, he does such curious things. have i told you about his bedstead yit? 'twas full of wheels and springs; it hed a key to wind it up, and a clock-face at the head; all you did was to turn them hands, and at any hour you said that bed got up and shook itself, and bounced you on the floor, and then shet up, jest like a box, so you couldn't sleep any more. wa'al, 'bijah he fixed it all complete, and he sot it at half-past five, but he hadn't more 'n got into it, when--dear me! sakes alive! them wheels began to whizz and whirr! i heard a fearful snap, and there was that bedstead with 'bijah inside shet up jest like a trap! i screamed, of course, but 'twant no use. then i worked that hull long night a-tryin' to open the pesky thing. at last i got in a fright: i couldn't hear his voice inside, and i thought he might be dyin', so i took a crowbar and smashed it in. there was 'bijah peacefully lyin', inventin' a way to git out agin. that was all very well to say, but i don't believe he'd have found it out if i'd left him in all day. now, since i've told you my story, do you wonder i'm tired of life, or think it strange i often wish i warn't an inventor's wife? an unruffled bosom. (_story of an old woman who knew washington._) by lizzie w. champney. an aged negress at her door is sitting in the sun; her day of work is almost o'er, her day of rest begun. her face is black as darkest night, her form is bent and thin, and o'er her bony visage tight is stretched her wrinkled skin. her dress is scant and mean; yet still about her ebon face there flows a soft and creamy frill of costly mechlin lace. what means the contrast strange and wide? its like is seldom seen-- a pauper's aged face beside the laces of a queen. her mien is stately, proud, and high, and yet her look is kind, and the calm light within her eye speaks an unruffled mind. "dar comes anodder ob dem tramps," she mumbles low in wrath, "i know dose sleek centennial chaps quick as dey mounts de path." a-axing ob a lady's age i tink is impolite, and when dey gins to interview i disremembers quite. dar was dat spruce photometer dat tried to take my head, and mr. squibbs, de porterer, wrote down each word i said. six hundred years i t'ought it was, or else it was sixteen-- yes; i'd shook hands wid washington and likewise general greene. i tole him all de generals' names dar ebber was, i guess, from general lee and la fayette to general distress. den dar's dem high-flown ladies my _old_ tings came to see; wanted to buy dem some heirlooms of real aunt tiquity. says i, "dat isn't dis chile's name, dey calls me auntie scraggs," and den i axed dem, by de pound how much dey gabe for rags? de missionary had de mose insurance of dem all; he tole me i was ole, and said, leabes had dar time to fall. he simply wished to ax, he said, as pastor and as friend, if wid unruffled bosom i approached my latter end. now how he knew dat story i should mightily like to know. i 'clar to goodness, massa guy, if dat ain't really you! you say dat in your wash i sent you only one white vest; and as you'se passin' by you t'ought you'd call and get de rest. now, massa guy, about your shirts, at least, it seems to me dat you is more particular dan what you used to be. your family pride is stiff as starch, your blood is mighty blue-- i nebber spares de indigo to make your shirts so, too. i uses candle ends, and wax, and satin-gloss and paints, until your wristbands shine like to de pathway ob de saints. but when a gemman sends to me eight white vests eberry week, a stain ob har-oil on each one, i tinks it's time to speak. when snarled around a button dar's a golden har or so, dat young man's going to be wed, or someting's wrong, i know. you needn't laugh, and turn it off by axing 'bout my cap; you didn't use to know nice lace, and never cared a snap what 'twas a lady wore. but folks wid teaching learn a lot, and dey do say miss bella buys de best dat's to be got. but if you really want to know, i don't mind telling you jus' how i come by dis yere lace-- it's cur'us, but it's true. my mother washed for washington when i warn't more'n dat tall; i cut one of his shirt-frills off to dress my corn-cob doll; and when de general saw de shirt, he jus' was mad enough to tink he got to hold review widout his best dutch ruff. ma'am said she 'lowed it was de calf dat had done chawed it off; but when de general heard dat ar, he answered with a scoff; he said de marks warn't don' of teef, but plainly dose ob shears; an' den he showed her to de do' and cuffed me on ye years. and when my ma'am arribed at home she stretched me 'cross her lap, den took de lace away from me an' sewed it on her cap. and when i dies i hope dat dey wid it my shroud will trim. den when we meets on judgment day, i'll gib it back to him. so dat's my story, massa guy, maybe i's little wit; but i has larned to, when i'm wrong, make a clean breast ob it. den keep a conscience smooth and white (you can't if much you flirt), and an unruffled bosom, like de general's sunday shirt. hat, ulster and all. by charlotte fiske bates. _john verity's experience._ i saw the congregation rise, and in it, to my great surprise, a kossuth-covered head. i looked and looked, and looked again, to make quite sure my sight was plain, then to myself i said: that fellow surely is a jew, to whom the christian faith is new, nor is it strange, indeed, if used to wear his hat in church, his manners leave him in the lurch upon a change of creed. joining my friend on going out, conjecture soon was put to rout by smothered laugh of his: ha! ha! too good, too good, no jew, dear fellow, but miss moll carew, good christian that she is! bad blunder all i have to say, it is a most unchristian way to rig miss moll carew-- she has my hat, my cut of hair, just such an ulster as i wear, and heaven knows what else, too. auction extraordinary. by lucretia davidson. i dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, and as fast as i dreamed it, it came into numbers; my thoughts ran along in such beautiful meter, i'm sure i ne'er saw any poetry sweeter: it seemed that a law had been recently made that a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid; and in order to make them all willing to marry, the tax was as large as a man could well carry. the bachelors grumbled and said 'twas no use-- 'twas horrid injustice and horrid abuse, and declared that to save their own hearts' blood from spilling, of such a vile tax they would not pay a shilling. but the rulers determined them still to pursue, so they set all the old bachelors up at vendue: a crier was sent through the town to and fro, to rattle his bell and a trumpet to blow, and to call out to all he might meet in his way, "ho! forty old bachelors sold here to-day!" and presently all the old maids in the town, each in her very best bonnet and gown, from thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red and pale, of every description, all flocked to the sale. the auctioneer then in his labor began, and called out aloud, as he held up a man, "how much for a bachelor? who wants to buy?" in a twink, every maiden responsed, "i--i!" in short, at a highly extravagant price, the bachelors all were sold off in a trice: and forty old maidens, some younger, some older, each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder. a apele for are to the sextant. by arabella wilson. o sextant of the meetinouse which sweeps and dusts, or is supposed to! and makes fiers, and lites the gas, and sumtimes leaves a screw loose, in which case it smells orful--wus than lampile; and wrings the bel and toles it when men dies to the grief of survivin' pardners, and sweeps paths, and for these servaces gits $ per annum; wich them that thinks deer let 'em try it; gittin up before starlite in all wethers, and kindlin' fiers when the wether is as cold as zero, and like as not green wood for kindlins (i wouldn't be hierd to do it for no sum); but o sextant there are one kermodity wuth more than gold which don't cost nuthin; wuth more than anything except the sole of man! i mean pewer are, sextant, i mean pewer are! o it is plenty out o' dores, so plenty it doant no what on airth to do with itself, but flize about scatterin leaves and bloin off men's hats; in short its jest as free as are out dores; but o sextant! in our church its scarce as piety, scarce as bankbills when ajunts beg for mishuns, which sum say is purty often, taint nuthin to me, what i give aint nuthing to nobody; but o sextant! you shet men women and children speshily the latter, up in a tite place, sum has bad breths, none of em aint too sweet, sum is fevery, sum is scroflus, sum has bad teeth and sum haint none, and sum aint over clean; but evry one of em brethes in and out and in say times a minnet, or million and a half breths an hour; now how long will a church full of are last at that rate? i ask you; say fifteen minnets, and then what's to be did? why then they must breth it all over agin, and then agin and so on, till each has took it down at least ten times and let it up agin, and what's more, the same individible doant have the privilege of breathin his own are and no one else, each one must take wotever comes to him, o sextant! doant you know our lungs is belluses to blo the fier of life and keep it from going out: und how can bellusses blo without wind? and aint wind are? i put it to your konshens, are is the same to us as milk to babies, or water is to fish, or pendlums to clox, or roots and airbs unto an injun doctor, or little pills unto an omepath, or boze to girls. are is for us to brethe. what signifize who preaches ef i cant brethe? what's pol? what's pollus to sinners who are ded? ded for want of breth! why sextant when we dye its only coz we cant brethe no more--that's all. and now o sextant? let me beg of you to let a little are into our cherch (pewer are is sertin proper for the pews); and dew it week days and on sundays tew-- it aint much trobble--only make a hoal, and then the are will come in of itself (it love to come in where it can git warm). and o how it will rouze the people up and sperrit up the preacher, and stop garps and yorns and fijits as effectool as wind on the dry boans the profit tels of. --_christian weekly._ chapter ix. good-natured satire. women show their sense of humor in ridiculing the foibles of their own sex, as miss carlotta perry seeing the danger of "higher education," and helen gray cone laughing over the exaggerated ravings and moanings of a stage-struck girl, or the very one-sided sermon of a sentimental goose. a modern minerva. by carlotta perry. 'twas the height of the gay season, and i cannot tell the reason, but at a dinner party given by mrs. major thwing it became my pleasant duty to take out a famous beauty-- the prettiest woman present. i was happy as a king. her dress beyond a question was an artist's best creation; a miracle of loveliness was she from crown to toe. her smile was sweet as could be, her voice just as it should be-- not high, and sharp, and wiry, but musical and low. her hair was soft and flossy, golden, plentiful and glossy; her eyes, so blue and sunny, shone with every inward grace; i could see that every fellow in the room was really yellow with jealousy, and wished himself that moment in my place. as the turtle soup we tasted, like a gallant man i hasted to pay some pretty tribute to this muslin, silk, and gauze; but she turned and softly asked me--and i own the question tasked me-- what were my fixed opinions on the present suffrage laws. i admired a lovely blossom resting on her gentle bosom; the remark i thought a safe one--i could hardly made a worse; with a smile like any venus, she gave me its name and genus, and opened very calmly a botanical discourse. but i speedily recovered. as her taper fingers hovered, like a tender benediction, in a little bit of fish, further to impair digestion, she brought up the eastern question. by that time i fully echoed that other fellow's wish. and, as sure as i'm a sinner, right on through that endless dinner did she talk of moral science, of politics and law, of natural selection, of free trade and protection, till i came to look upon her with a sort of solemn awe. just to hear the lovely woman, looking more divine than human, talk with such discrimination of ingersoll and cook, with such a childish, sweet smile, quoting huxley, mill, and carlyle-- it was quite a revelation--it was better than a book. chemistry and mathematics, agriculture and chromatics, music, painting, sculpture--she knew all the tricks of speech; bas-relief and chiaroscuro, and at last the indian bureau-- she discussed it quite serenely, as she trifled with a peach. i have seen some dreadful creatures, with vinegary features, with their fearful store of learning set me sadly in eclipse; but i'm ready quite to swear if i have ever heard the tariff or the eastern question settled by such a pair of lips. never saw i a dainty maiden so remarkably o'erladen from lip to tip of finger with the love of books and men; quite in confidence i say it, and i trust you'll not betray it, but i pray to gracious heaven that i never may again. --_chicago tribune._ the ballad of cassandra brown. by helen gray cone. though i met her in the summer, when one's heart lies 'round at ease, as it were in tennis costume, and a man's not hard to please; yet i think at any season to have met her was to love, while her tones, unspoiled, unstudied, had the softness of the dove. at request she read us poems, in a nook among the pines, and her artless voice lent music to the least melodious lines; though she lowered her shadowing lashes, in an earnest reader's wise, yet we caught blue gracious glimpses of the heavens that were her eyes. as in paradise i listened. ah, i did not understand that a little cloud, no larger than the average human hand, might, as stated oft in fiction, spread into a sable pall, when she said that she should study elocution in the fall. i admit her earliest efforts were not in the ercles vein: she began with "lit-tle maaybel, with her faayce against the paayne, and the beacon-light a-trrremble--" which, although it made me wince, is a thing of cheerful nature to the things she's rendered since. having learned the soulful quiver, she acquired the melting mo-o-an, and the way she gave "young grayhead" would have liquefied a stone; then the sanguinary tragic did her energies employ, and she tore my taste to tatters when she slew "the polish boy." it's not pleasant for a fellow when the jewel of his soul wades through slaughter on the carpet, while her orbs in frenzy roll: what was i that i should murmur? yet it gave me grievous pain when she rose in social gatherings and searched among the slain. i was forced to look upon her, in my desperation dumb-- knowing well that when her awful opportunity was come she would give us battle, murder, sudden death at very least-- as a skeleton of warning, and a blight upon the feast. once, ah! once i fell a-dreaming; some one played a polonaise i associated strongly with those happier august days; and i mused, "i'll speak this evening," recent pangs forgotten quite. sudden shrilled a scream of anguish: "curfew shall not ring to-night!" ah, that sound was as a curfew, quenching rosy warm romance! were it safe to wed a woman one so oft would wish in france? oh, as she "cull-imbed!" that ladder, swift my mounting hope came down. i am still a single cynic; she is still cassandra brown! the tender heart. by helen gray cone. she gazed upon the burnished brace of plump, ruffed grouse he showed with pride, angelic grief was in her face: "how _could_ you do it, dear?" she sighed. "the poor, pathetic moveless wings!" the songs all hushed--"oh, cruel shame!" said he, "the partridge never sings," said she, "the sin is quite the same." "you men are savage, through and through, a boy is always bringing in some string of birds' eggs, white and blue, or butterfly upon a pin. the angle-worm in anguish dies, impaled, the pretty trout to tease--" "my own, we fish for trout with flies--" "don't wander from the question, please." she quoted burns's "wounded hare," and certain burning lines of blake's, and ruskin on the fowls of air, and coleridge on the water-snakes. at emerson's "forbearance" he began to feel his will benumbed; at browning's "donald" utterly his soul surrendered and succumbed. "oh, gentlest of all gentle girls! he thought, beneath the blessed sun!" he saw her lashes hang with pearls, and swore to give away his gun. she smiled to find her point was gained and went, with happy parting words (he subsequently ascertained), to trim her hat with humming birds. --_from the century._ a dozen others equally good must be reserved for that encyclopædia! this specimen, of _vers de société_ rivals locker or baker: plighted: a.d. . by alice williams. "two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one." nellie, _loquitur_. bless my heart! you've come at last, awful glad to see you, dear! thought you'd died or something, belle-- _such_ an age since you've been here! my engagement? gracious! yes. rumor's hit the mark this time. and the victim? charley gray. know him, don't you? well, he's _prime_. such mustachios! splendid style! then he's not so horrid fast-- waltzes like a seraph, too; has some fortune--best and last. love him? nonsense. don't be "soft;" pretty much as love now goes; he's devoted, and in time i'll get used to him, i 'spose. first love? humbug. don't talk stuff! bella brown, don't be a fool! next you'd rave of flames and darts, like a chit at boarding-school; don't be "miffed." i talked just so some two years back. fact, my dear! but two seasons kill romance, leave one's views of life quite clear. why, if will latrobe had asked when he left two years ago, i'd have thrown up all and gone out to kansas, do you know? fancy me a settler's wife! blest escape, dear, was it not? yes; it's hardly in my line to enact "love in a cot." well, you see, i'd had my swing, been engaged to eight or ten, got to stop some time, of course, so it don't much matter when. auntie hates old maids, and thinks every girl should marry young-- on that theme my whole life long i have heard the changes sung. so, _ma belle_, what could i do? charley wants a stylish wife. we'll suit well enough, no fear, when we settle down for life. but for love-stuff! see my ring! lovely, isn't it? solitaire. nearly made maud hinton turn green with envy and despair. her's ain't half so nice, you see. _did_ i write you, belle, about how she tried for charley, till i sailed in and cut her out? now, she's taken jack mcbride, i believe it's all from pique-- threw him over once, you know-- hates me so she'll scarcely speak. oh, yes! grace church, brown, and that-- pa won't mind expense at last i'll be off his hands for good; cost a fortune two years past. my trousseau shall outdo maud's, i've _carte blanche_ from pa, you know-- mean to have my dress from worth! won't she be just raving though! --_scribner's monthly magazine, ._ * * * * * women are often extremely humorous in their newspaper letters, excelling in that department. as critics they incline to satire. no one who read them at the time will ever forget mrs. runkle's review of "st. elmo," or gail hamilton's criticism of "the story of avis," while mrs. rollins, in the _critic_, often uses a scimitar instead of a quill, though a smile always tempers the severity. she thus beheads a poetaster who tells the public that his "solemn song" is "attempt ambitious, with a ray of hope to pierce the dark abysms of thought, to guide its dim ghosts o'er the towering crags of doubt unto the land where peace and love abide, of flowers and streams, and sun and stars." "his 'solemn song' is certainly very solemn for a song with so cheerful a purpose. we have rarely read, indeed, a book with so large a proportion of unhappy words in it. frozen shrouds, souls a-chill with agony, things wan and gray, icy demons, scourging willow-branches, snow-heaped mounds, black and freezing nights, cups of sorrow drained to the lees, etc., are presented in such profusion that to struggle through the 'dark abyss' in search of the 'ray of hope' is much like taking a cup of poison to learn the sweetness of its antidote. mr. ---- in one of his stanzas invites his soul to 'come and walk abroad' with him. if he ever found it possible to walk abroad without his soul, the fact would have been worth chronicling; but if it is true that he only desires to have his soul with him occasionally, we should advise him to walk abroad alone, and invite his soul to sit beside him in the hours he devotes to composition." then humor is displayed in the excellent parodies by women--as grace greenwood's imitations of various authors, written in her young days, but quite equal to the "echo club" of bayard taylor. how perfect her mimicry of mrs. sigourney! a fragment. by l.h.s. how hardly doth the cold and careless world requite the toil divine of genius-souls, their wasting cares and agonizing throes! i had a friend, a sweet and precious friend, one passing rich in all the strange and rare, and fearful gifts of song. on one great work, a poem in twelve cantos, she had toiled from early girlhood, e'en till she became an olden maid. worn with intensest thought, she sunk at last, just at the "finis" sunk! and closed her eyes forever! the soul-gem had fretted through its casket! as i stood beside her tomb, i made a solemn vow to take in charge that poor, lone orphan work, and edit it! my publisher i sought, a learned man and good. he took the work, read here and there a line, then laid it down, and said, "it would not pay." i slowly turned, and went my way with troubled brow, "but more in sorrow than in anger." * * * * * phoebe cary's parody on "maud muller" i never fancied; it seems almost wicked to burlesque anything so perfect. but so many parodies have been made on kingsley's "three fishers" that now i can enjoy a really good one, like this from miss lilian whiting, of the boston _daily traveller_, the well-known correspondent of various western papers: the three poets. _after kingsley._ by lilian whiting. three poets went sailing down boston streets, all into the east as the sun went down, each felt that the editor loved him best and would welcome spring poetry in boston town. for poets must write tho' the editors frown, their æsthetic natures will not be put down, while the harbor bar is moaning! three editors climbed to the highest tower that they could find in all boston town, and they planned to conceal themselves, hour after hour, till the sun or the poets had both gone down. for spring poets must write, though the editors rage, the artistic spirit must thus be engaged-- though the editors all were groaning. three corpses lay out on the back bay sand, just after the first spring sun went down, and the press sat down to a banquet grand, in honor of poets no more in the town. for poets will write while editors sleep, though they've nothing to earn and no one to keep; and the harbor bar keeps moaning. * * * * * the humor of women is constantly seen in their poems for children, such as "the dead doll," by margaret vandergrift, and the "motherless turkeys," by marian douglas. here are some less known: bedtime. by nellie k. kellogg. 'twas sunset-time, when grandma called to lively little fred: "come, dearie, put your toys away, it's time to go to bed." but fred demurred. "he wasn't tired, he didn't think 'twas right that he should go so early, when some folks sat up all night." then grandma said, in pleading tone, "the little chickens go to bed at sunset ev'ry night, all summer long, you know." then freddie laughed, and turned to her his eyes of roguish blue, "oh, yes, i know," he said; "but then, old hen goes with them, too." --_good cheer_. the robin and the chicken. by grace f. coolidge. a plump little robin flew down from a tree, to hunt for a worm, which he happened to see; a frisky young chicken came scampering by, and gazed at the robin with wondering eye. said the chick, "what a queer-looking chicken is that! its wings are so long and its body so fat!" while the robin remarked, loud enough to be heard: "dear me! an exceedingly strange-looking bird!" "can you sing?" robin asked, and the chicken said "no;" but asked in its turn if the robin could crow. so the bird sought a tree and the chicken a wall, and each thought the other knew nothing at all. --_st. nicholas._ * * * * * harriette w. lothrop, wife of the popular publisher--better known by her pen name of "margaret sidney"--has done much in a humorous way to amuse and instruct little folks. she has much quiet humor. why polly doesn't love cake! by margaret sidney. they all said "no!" as they stood in a row, the poodle, and the parrot, and the little yellow cat, and they looked very solemn, this straight, indignant column, and rolled their eyes, and shook their heads, a-standing on the mat. then i took a goodly stick, very short and very thick, and i said, "dear friends, you really now shall rue it, for one of you did take that bit of wedding-cake, and so i'm going to whip you all. i honestly will do it." then polly raised her claw! "i never, never saw that stuff. _i'd_ rather have a cracker, and so it would be folly," said this naughty, naughty polly, "to punish me; but pussy, you can whack her." the cat rolled up her eyes in innocent surprise, and waved each trembling whisker end. "a crumb i have not taken, but bose ought to be shaken. and then, perhaps, his thieving, awful ways he'll mend." "i'll begin right here with you, polly, dear," and my stick i raised with righteous good intent. "oh, dear!" and "oh, dear!" the groans that filled my ear. as over head and heels the frightened column went! the cat flew out of window, the dog flew under bed, and polly flapped and beat the air, then settled on my head; when underneath her wing, from feathered corner deep, a bit of wedding-cake fell down, that made poor polly weep. the cat raced off to cat-land, and was never seen again, and the dog sneaked out beneath the bed to scud with might and main; while polly sits upon her roost, and rolls her eyes in fear, and when she sees a bit of cake, she always says, "oh, dear!" kitten tactics. by adelaide cilley waldron. four little kittens in a heap, one wide awake and three asleep. open-eyes crowded, pushed the rest over, while the gray mother-cat went playing rover. three little kittens stretched and mewed; cried out, "open-eyes, you're too rude!" open-eyes, winking, purred so demurely, all the rest stared at him, thinking "surely _we_ were the ones that were so rude, _we_ were the ones that cried and mewed; let us lie here like good little kittens; we cannot sleep, so we'll wash our mittens." four little kittens, very sleek, purred so demurely, looked so meek, when the gray mother came home from roving-- "what good kittens!" said she; "and how loving!" both sides. by gail hamilton. "kitty, kitty, you mischievous elf, what have you, pray, to say for yourself?" but kitty was now asleep on the mow, and only drawled dreamily, "ma-e-ow!" "kitty, kitty, come here to me,-- the naughtiest kitty i ever did see! i know very well what you've been about; don't try to conceal it, murder will out. why do you lie so lazily there?" "oh, i have had a breakfast rare!" "why don't you go and hunt for a mouse?" "oh, there's nothing fit to eat in the house." "dear me! miss kitty, this is a pity; but i guess the cause of your change of ditty. what has become of the beautiful thrush that built her nest in the heap of brush? a brace of young robins as good as the best; a round little, brown little, snug little nest; four little eggs all green and gay, four little birds all bare and gray, and papa robin went foraging round, aloft on the trees, and alight on the ground. north wind or south wind, he cared not a groat, so he popped a fat worm down each wide-open throat; and mamma robin through sun and storm hugged them up close, and kept them all warm; and me, i watched the dear little things till the feathers pricked out on their pretty wings, and their eyes peeped up o'er the rim of the nest. kitty, kitty, you know the rest. the nest is empty, and silent and lone; where are the four little robins gone? oh, puss, you have done a cruel deed! your eyes, do they weep? your heart, does it bleed? do you not feel your bold cheeks turning pale? not you! you are chasing your wicked tail. or you just cuddle down in the hay and purr, curl up in a ball, and refuse to stir, but you need not try to look good and wise: i see little robins, old puss, in your eyes. and this morning, just as the clock struck four, there was some one opening the kitchen door, and caught you creeping the wood-pile over,-- make a clean breast of it, kitty clover!" then kitty arose, rubbed up her nose, and looked very much as if coming to blows; rounded her back, leaped from the stack, on _her_ feet, at _my_ feet, came down with a whack, then, fairly awake, she stretched out her paws, smoothed down her whiskers, and unsheathed her claws, winked her green eyes with an air of surprise, and spoke rather plainly for one of her size. "killed a few robins; well, what of that? what's virtue in man can't be vice in a cat. there's a thing or two i should like to know,-- who killed the chicken a week ago, for nothing at all that i could spy, but to make an overgrown chicken-pie? 'twixt you and me, 'tis plain to see, the odds is, you like fricassee, while my brave maw owns no such law, content with viands _a la_ raw. "who killed the robins? oh, yes! oh, yes! i _would_ get the cat now into a mess! who was it put an old stocking-foot, tied up with strings and such shabby things, on to the end of a sharp, slender pole, dipped it in oil and set fire to the whole, and burnt all the way from here to the miller's the nests of the sweet young caterpillars? grilled fowl, indeed! why, as i read, you had not even the plea of need; for all you boast such wholesome roast, i saw no sign at tea or roast, of even a caterpillar's ghost. "who killed the robins? well, i _should_ think! hadn't somebody better wink at my peccadillos, if houses of glass won't do to throw stones from at those who pass? i had four little kittens a month ago-- black, and malta, and white as snow; and not a very long while before i could have shown you three kittens more. and so in batches of fours and threes, looking back as long as you please, you would find, if you read my story all, there were kittens from time immemorial. "but what am i now? a cat bereft, of all my kittens, but one is left. i make no charges, but this i ask,-- what made such a splurge in the waste-water cask? you are quite tender-hearted. oh, not a doubt! but only suppose old black pond could speak out. oh, bother! don't mutter excuses to me: _qui facit per alium facit per se_." "well, kitty, i think full enough has been said, and the best thing for you is go straight back to bed. a very fine pass things have come to, my lass, if men must be meek while pussy-cats speak great moral reflections in latin and greek!" --_our young folks._ chapter x. parodies--reviews--children's poems--comedies by women--a dramatic trifle--a string of firecrackers. it is surprising that we have so few comedies from women. dr. doran mentions five englishwomen who wrote successful comedies. of these, three are now forgotten; one, aphra behn, is remembered only to be despised for her vulgarity. she was an undoubted wit, and was never dull, but so wicked and coarse that she forfeited all right to fame. susanna centlivre left nineteen plays full of vivacity and fun and lively incident. the _bold stroke for a wife_ is now considered her best. the _basset table_ is also a superior comedy, especially interesting because it anticipates the modern blue-stocking in valeria, a philosophical girl who supports vivisection, and has also a prophecy of exclusive colleges for women. there is nothing worthy of quotation in any of these comedies. some sentences from mrs. centlivre's plays are given in magazine articles to prove her wit, but we say so much brighter things in these days that they must be considered stale platitudes, as: "you may cheat widows, orphans, and tradesmen without a blush, but a debt of honor, sir, must be paid." "quarrels, like mushrooms, spring up in a moment." "woman is the greatest sovereign power in the world." hans andersen in his autobiography mentions a madame von weissenthurn, who was a successful actress and dramatist. her comedies are published in fourteen volumes. in our country several comedies written by women, but published anonymously, have been decided hits. mrs. verplanck's _sealed instructions_ was a marked success, and years ago _fashion_, by anna cora mowatt, had a remarkable run. by the way, those roaring farces, _belles of the kitchen_ and _fun in a fog_, were written for the vokes family by an aunt of theirs. and i must not forget to state that gilbert's _palace of truth_ was cribbed almost bodily from madame de genlis's "tales of an old castle." mrs. julia schayer, of washington, has given us a domestic drama in one act, entitled _struggling genius_. struggling genius. _dramatis personæ._ mrs. anastasius. girl of ten years. girl of two years. mr. anastasius. girl of eight years. infant of three months. act i. scene i. nursery. [_time, eight o'clock a.m. in the background nurse making bed, etc.; girl of two amusing herself surreptitiously with pins, buttons, scissors, etc.; girl of eight practising piano in adjoining room; mrs. a. in foreground performing toilet of infant. having lain awake half the preceding night wrestling with the plot of a new novel for which rival publishers are waiting with outstretched hands (full of checks), mrs. a. believes she has hit upon an effective scene, and burns to commit it to paper. washes infant with feverish haste._] _mrs. a._ (_soliloquizing_). let me see! how was it? oh! "olga raised her eyes with a sweetly serious expression. harold gazed moodily at her calm face. it was not the expression that he longed to see there. he would have preferred to see--" good gracious, maria! that child's mouth is full of buttons! "he would have preferred--preferred--" (_loudly._) leonora! that f's to be sharped! there, there, mother's sonny boy! did mamma drop the soap into his mouth instead of the wash-bowl? there, there! (_sings._) "there's a land that is fairer than this," etc. [_infant quiet._ _mrs. a._ (_resuming_). "he would have preferred--preferred--" maria, don't you see that child has got the scissors? "he would have--" there now, let mamma put on its little socks. now it's all dressed so nice and clean. don'ty ky! no, don'ty! leonora! put more accent on the first beat. "harold gazed moodily into--" his bottle, maria! quick! he'll scream himself into fits! [_exit nurse. baby having got both fists into his mouth beguiles himself into quiet._ _mrs. a._ let me see! how was it? oh! "harold gazed moodily into her calm, sweet face. it was not the expression he would have liked to find there. he would have preferred--" (_shriek from girl of two._) oh, dear me! she has shut her darling fingers in the drawer! come to mamma, precious love, and sit on mamma's lap, and we'll sing about little pussy. _enter nurse with bottle. curtain falls._ scene ii. study. [_three hours later; infant and girl of two asleep; house in order; lunch and dinner arranged; buttons sewed on girl of eight's boots, string on girl of ten's hood, and both dispatched to school, etc. enter mrs. a. draws a long sigh of relief and seats herself at desk. reads a page of dickens and a poem or two to attune herself for work. seizes pen, scribbles erratically a few seconds and begins to write._] _mrs. a._ (_after some moments_). i think that is good. let us hear how it reads. (_reads aloud._) "he would have preferred to find more passion in those deep, dark eyes. had he then no part in the maiden meditations of this fair, innocent girl--he whom proud beauties of society vied with each other to win? he could not guess. a stray breeze laden with violet and hyacinth perfume stole in at the open window, ruffling the soft waves of auburn hair which shaded her alabaster forehead." it seems to me i have read something similar before, but it is good, anyhow. "harold could not endure this placid, unruffled calm. his own veins were full of molten lava. with a wild and passionate cry he--" _enter cook bearing a large, dripping piece of corned beef._ _cook._ please, miss anastasy, is dis de kin' of a piece ye done wanted? i thought i'd save ye de trouble o' comin' down. _mrs. a._ (_desperately_). it is! [_exit cook, staring wildly._ _mrs. a._ (_resuming_). "with a wild, passionate cry, he--" _re-enter cook._ _cook._ ten cents for de boy what put in de wood, please, ma'am! [_mrs. a. gives money; exit cook. mrs. a., sighing, takes up ms. clock strikes twelve; soon after the lunch-bell rings._] voice of girl of ten, calling: mamma, why _don't_ you come to lunch? scene iii. dining-room. _enter mrs. a._ _girl of ten._ oh, what a mean lunch! nothing but bread and ham. i hate bread and ham! all the girls have jelly-cake. why don't _we_ have jelly-cake? we _used_ to have jelly-cake. _mrs. a._ you can have some pennies to buy ginger-snaps. _girl of ten._ i hate ginger-snaps! when are you going to make jelly-cake? _mrs. a._ (_sternly_). when my book is done. _girl of ten_ (_with inexpressible meaning_): hm! _curtain falls._ scene iv. study. _enter mrs. a. children, still asleep; girls at school; deck again cleared for action._ _mrs. a._ it is one o'clock. if i can be let alone until three i can finish that last chapter. [_takes up pen; lays it down; reads a poem of mrs. browning to take the taste of ham-sandwiches out of her mouth, then resumes pen, and writes with increasing interest for fifteen minutes. everything is steeped in quiet. suddenly a faint murmur of voices is heard; it increases, it approaches, mingled with the tread of many feet, and a rumbling as of mighty chariot-wheels. it is only barnum's steam orchestrion, barnum's steam chimes, and barnum's steam calliope, followed by an array of ruff-scruff. they stop exactly opposite the house. the orchestrion blares, the chimes ring a knell to peace and harmony, the calliope shrieks to heaven. the infants wake and shriek likewise. exit mrs. a. curtain falls._] scene v. study. _enter mrs. a. peace restored; children happy with nurse. seizes pen and writes rapidly. doorbell rings, cook announces caller; nobody mrs. a. wants to see, but somebody she must see. exit mrs. a. in a state of rigid despair._ scene vi. hall. [_visitor gone; mrs. a. starts for study. enter girl of eight followed by girl of ten._] _duettino._ _girl of ten._ mamma, _please_ give me my music lesson now, so i can go and skate; and then won't you _please_ make some jelly-cake? and see, my dress is torn, and my slate-frame needs covering. _girl of eight._ where are my roller-skates? where is the strap? can i have a pickle? please give me a cent. a girl said _her_ mother wouldn't let her wear darned stockings to school. i'm _ashamed_ of my stockings. you might let me wear my new ones. [_mrs. a. gives music lesson; mends dress; covers slate-frame; makes jelly-cake and a pudding; goes to nursery and sends nurse down to finish ironing._] scene vii. nursery. [_mrs. a. with babies on her lap. enter husband and father with hands full of papers and general air of having finished his day's work._] _mr. a._ well, how is everything? children all right, i see. you must have had a nice, quiet day. written much? _mrs. a._ (_faintly_). not very much. _mr. a._ (_complacently_). oh, well, you can't force these things. it will be all right in time. _mrs. a._ (_in a burst of repressed feeling_). we need the money so much, charles! _mr. a._ (_with an air of offended dignity_). oh, bother! you are not expected to support the family. [_mrs. a., thinking of that dentist's bill, that shoe bill, and the summer outfit for a family of six, says nothing. exit mr. a., who re-enters a moment later._] _mr. a._ you--a--haven't fixed my coat, i see. _mrs. a._ (_with a guilty start_). i--i forgot it! _gibbering fiend conscience._ ha, ha! ho, ho! _curtain falls amid chorus of exulting demons._ * * * * * i have reserved for the close numerous instances of woman's facility at badinage and repartee. it is there, after all, that she shines perennial and pre-eminent. you will excuse me if i give them to you one after another without comment, like a closing display of fireworks. and first let me quote from mrs. rollins, as an instance of the way in which women often react upon each other in repartee, a little conversation which it was once her privilege to overhear: "_margaret._ i wonder you never have been married, kate. of course you've had lots of chances. won't you tell us how many? "_kate._ no, indeed! i could not so cruelly betray my rejected lovers. "_helen._ of course you wouldn't tell us _exactly_; but would you mind giving it to us in round numbers? "_kate._ certainly not; the roundest number of all exactly expresses the chances i have had. "_charlotte_ (_with a sigh_). now i know what people mean by kate's _circle of admirers_!" * * * * * a lady was discussing the relative merits and demerits of the two sexes with a gentleman of her acquaintance. after much badinage on one side and the other, he said: "well, you never yet heard of casting seven devils out of a man." "no," was the quick retort, "_they've got 'em yet_!" * * * * * "what would you do in time of war if you had the suffrage?" said horace greeley to mrs. stanton. "just what you have done, mr. greeley," replied the ready lady; "stay at home and urge others to go and fight!" * * * * * it was margaret fuller who worsted mrs. greeley in a verbal encounter. the latter had a decided aversion to kid gloves, and on meeting margaret shrank from her extended hand with a shudder, saying: "ugh! skin of a beast! skin of a beast!" "why," said miss fuller, in surprise, "what do you wear?" "_silk_," said mrs. greeley, stretching out her palm with satisfaction. miss fuller just touched it, saying, with a disgusted expression, "ugh! entrails of a worm! entrails of a worm!" * * * * * mademoiselle de mars, the former favorite of the théâtre de français, had in some way offended the gardes du corps. so one night they came in full force to the theatre and tried to hiss her down. the actress, unabashed, came to the front of the stage, and alluding to the fact that the gardes du corps never went to war, said: "what has mars to do with the gardes du corps?" * * * * * madame louis de ségur is daughter of the late casimir périer, who was minister of the interior during thiers's administration. when once out of office, but still an influential member of the house, he once tried to form a new moderate republican party, meeting with but little success. once his daughter, who was sitting in the gallery, saw him entering the house _all alone_. "here comes my father with his party," she said. * * * * * i was greatly amused at the quiet reprimand given by a literary lady of new york to a stranger at her receptions, who, with hands crossed complacently under his coat-tails, was critically examining the various treasures in her room, humming obtrusively as he passed along. the hostess paused near him, surveyed him critically, and then inquired, in a gentle tone: "do you play also?" * * * * * a young girl being asked why she had not been more frequently to lenten services, excused herself in this fashion, severe, but truthful: "oh, dr. ---- is on such intimate terms with the almighty that i felt _de trop_." * * * * * at a reception in washington this spring an admirable answer was given by a level-headed woman--we are all proud of miss cleveland--to a fine-looking army officer, who has been doing guard duty in that magnificent city for the past seventeen years. "pray," said he, "what do ladies find to think about besides dress and parties?" "they can think of the heroic deeds of our modern army officers," was her smiling reply. * * * * * do you remember lydia maria child's reply to her husband when he wished he was as rich as croesus: "at any rate, you are king of lydia;" and lucretia mott's humorous comment when she entered a room where her husband and his brother richard were sitting, both of them remarkable for their taciturnity and reticence: "i thought you must both be here--it was so still!" * * * * * in my own home i recall a sensible old maid of scotch descent with her cosey cottage and the dear old-fashioned garden where she loved to work. our physician, a man of infinite humor, who honestly admired her sterling worth, and was attracted by her individuality, leaned over her fence one bright spring morning, with the direct question: "miss sharp, why did you never get married?" she looked up from her weeding, rested on her hoe-handle, and looking steadily at his hair, which was of a sandy hue, answered: "i'll tell you all about it, doctor. i made up my mind, when i was a girl, that, come what would, i would never marry a red-headed man, and none but men with red hair have ever offered themselves." * * * * * we all know women whose capacity for monologue exhausts all around them. so that the remark will be appreciated of a lady to whom i said, alluding to such a talker: "have you seen mrs. ---- lately?" "no, i really had to give up her acquaintance in despair, for i had been trying two years to tell her something in particular." a lady once told me she could always know when she had taken too much wine at dinner--her husband's jokes began to seem funny! * * * * * lastly and--_finally_, there is a reason for our apparent lack of humor, which it may seem ungracious to mention. women do not find it politic to cultivate or express their wit. no man likes to have his story capped by a better and fresher from a lady's lips. what woman does not risk being called sarcastic and hateful if she throws back the merry dart, or indulges in a little sharp-shooting? no, no, it's dangerous--if not fatal. "though you're bright, and though you're pretty, they'll not love you if you're witty." madame de staël and madame récamier are good illustrations of this point. the former, by her fearless expressions of wit, exposed herself to the detestation of the majority of mankind. "she has shafts," said napoleon, "which would hit a man if he were seated on a rainbow." but the sweetly fawning, almost servile adulation of the _listening_ beauty brought her a corresponding throng of admirers. it sometimes seems that what is pronounced wit, if uttered by a distinguished man, would be considered commonplace if expressed by a woman. parker's illustration of choate's _rare humor_ never struck me as felicitous. "thus, a friend meeting him one ten-degrees-below-zero morning in the winter, said: 'how cold it is, mr. choate.' 'well, it is not absolutely tropical,' he replied, with a most mirthful emphasis." and do you recollect the only time that wordsworth was _really_ witty? he told the story himself at a dinner. "gentlemen, i never was really witty but once in my life." of course there was a general call for the bright but solitary instance. and the contemplative bard continued: "well, gentlemen, i was standing at the door of my cottage on rydal mount, one fine summer morning, and a laborer said to me: 'sir, have you seen my wife go by this way?' and i replied: 'my good man, i did not know until this moment that you _had_ a wife!'" he paused; the company waited for the promised witticism, but discovering that he had finished, burst into a long and hearty roar, which the old gentleman accepted complacently as a tribute to his brilliancy. the wit of women is like the airy froth of champagne, or the witching iridescence of the soap-bubble, blown for a moment's sport. the sparkle, the life, the fascinating foam, the gay tints vanish with the occasion, because there is no listening boswell with unfailing memory and capacious note-book to preserve them. then, unlike men, women do not write out their impromptus beforehand and carefully hoard them for the publisher--and posterity! * * * * * and now, dear friends, a cordial _au revoir_. my heartiest thanks to the women who have so generously allowed me to ransack their treasuries, filching here and there as i chose, always modestly declaiming against the existence of wit in what they had written. to various publishers in new york and boston, who have been most courteous and liberal, credit is given elsewhere. touched by the occasion, i "drop into" doggerel: if you pronounce this book not funny, and wish you hadn't spent your money, there soon will be a general rumor that you're no judge of wit or humor. index. page. introduction iii. contents v. dedication vii. argument ix. proem xi. chap. page. alcott, louisa: "transcendental wild oats" iv. american early writers: some of them who were thought witty--anne bradstreet; mercy warren; tabitha tenney iii. satirical poem, by mercy warren iii. mrs. sigourney's johnsonese humor; extracts from her note-book iii. miss sedgwick's witty imagination, iii. mrs. caroline gilman's humorous poem, "joshua's courtship" iii. andersen, hans, reference to woman dramatist in his autobiography x. aphorisms by the queen of roumania (carmen sylva) i. "auction extraordinary" viii. "aunty doleful's visit," by m.k.d.--"if i can't do anything else, i can cheer you up a little" vi. barnum and phoebe cary v. bates, charlotte fiske: "hat, ulster and all," satirical poem, quatrain and epigram viii. "beechers," old family epigram applied to the i. behn, aphra: wrote comedies; her unsavory wit x. bellows, isabel frances: "a fatal reputation" (for wit)--"a picnic, that most ghastly device of the human mind" vii. bremer, frederika, her genuine humor; first quarrel with her "bear" ii. brine, mary d.: poems, "kiss pretty poll" viii. " " "thanksgiving day--then and now" viii. burleigh, pun on, by queen elizabeth i. butter, punning poem on, by caroline b. le row i. cary, phoebe, "the wittiest woman in america": her quick retorts and merry repartees; her parodies and humorous poems v. champney, lizzie w.: "an unruffled bosom"--a tragical tale of a negress who "knew washington" viii. clarke, lady, and her irish songs ii. cleveland's, elizabeth rose, pun i. cleaveland's, mrs., "no sects in heaven" iv. clemmer, mary: her life of phoebe cary v. comedies--few written by women; five englishwomen produced successful; susanna centlivre wrote nearly a score--contain some wit, but old-fashioned; aphra behn wrote several comedies, witty but coarse x. cooke's, rose terry, "knoware" iv. " " " "miss lucinda's pig" iv. " " " story of "a gift horse" iv. coolidge, grace f.: "the robin and chicken" ix. conclusion. _see_ "fireworks." cone, helen gray: satirical poems--"cassandra brown" ix. " " " "the tender heart" ix. corbett, e.t.: "the inventor's wife," a poetical lament viii. _critic_, article in, on "woman's sense of humor" i. cynicism of frenchwomen i. davidson, lucretia: "auction extraordinary" (sale of old bachelors) viii. deffand, madame du i. diaz, mrs. abby m., writer of the famous "william henry letters" iv. dodge, mary mapes--"inimitable satirist": "the insanity of cain" iv. " " " "miss molony on the chinese question" (read before the prince of wales) iv. "dromy," satirical notes on derivation of ii. "eliot's, george," humor; examples from "adam bede" and "silas marner" ii. epigrams, makers of i. " by jane austen: on the name of "wake" i. " " lady townsend: on the herveys--applied to the beechers; on walpole i. " " miss evans: on a musical woman i. " " hannah more i. " " "ouida" i. " " miss phelps i. " " mrs. rose terry cooke i. " " mrs. a.d.t. whitney i. " " marguerite de valois; by madame de lambert; by sophie arnould; by madame de sévigné i. " " lady harriet ashburton i. " " mrs. carlyle, "herself an epigram;" by hannah f. gould, on caleb cushing i. " " "gail hamilton" i. " " kate field i. " mrs. whicher's "widow bedott" i. " marietta holley's "josiah allen's wife" i. eytinge, margaret: "indignant polly wog" viii. "fanny, aunt": _jeu d'esprit_ on minerva i. "fanny fern's" arithmetical mania iii. "fanny forrester's" letter to n.p. willis iii. ferrier's, mary, genial wit; scott's description of her; her "sensible woman," satirical ii. "fireworks": miscellaneous closing display of wit: mrs. rollins' illustration of woman's quickness at repartee x. mrs. stanton's reply to horace greeley; miss margaret fuller; mademoiselle mars x. madame louisa ségur; miss cleveland; lydia maria child x. madame de staël; madame récamier x. french women's cynicism i. "gail hamilton" iv. gaskell's, mrs., humor ii. "gell and gill" i. genlis, madame de x. genuine fun--sketches from c.m. kirkland iv. gilman, mrs. caroline: a new england ballad, "joshua's courtship" iii. gordon, anna a.: "'skeeters have the reputation" viii. "grace greenwood's" many puns i. " " "mistress o'rafferty on the woman question" vi. greek lady's wit i. hale, lucretia p.: "peterkin letters" iv. " " " "the first needle," a poetical bit of history viii. hall, louisa: "the indian agent"--"with affectionate interest he looked into the very depths of their pockets" vi. "hamilton, gail": "both sides," an amusing poetical satire ix. holley's, miss, "samantha" iv. hudson's, mary clemmer, opinions on wit; her anecdotes of phoebe cary v. humor, miss jewett's i. irish fun vi. jewett, sarah orne: "the circus at denby" vii. jones', amanda t., poem, "dochther o'flannigan and his wondherful cures" vi. kirkland, caroline m.: "borrowing out west" iv. le row, caroline b.: poetic pun on the "butter woman" i. lothrop, harriette w. (_nom de plume_ "margaret sidney"): "why polly doesn't love cake" ix. "lover and lever," epigram on, by c.f. bates i. mcdowell, mrs., "sherwood bonner:" "aunt anniky's teeth" v. "my soul and body is a-yearnin' fur a han'sum chaney set o' teef" v. pen-portrait of dr. alonzo babb v. his first tooth v. how anniky lost her "teef" v. ned cuddy's letter v. specimens of her wit: the radical club--a satirical poem v. mclean, miss sallie: "cape cod folks" iv. mitford's, mary russell, "talking lady" ii. mohl, madame i. montagu's, lady, famous speech i. more's, hannah, contest of wit with johnson ii. morgan's, lady, a "fast horse" i. " " receptions ii. mott, lucretia x. moulton, louisa chandler: "the jane moseley was a disappointment" vii. mowatt, anna cora: her popular play of "fashion" x. murfree, miss (_nom de plume_ "charles egbert craddock"): "a blacksmith in love" vii. "new york to newport"--a trip of trials vii. old-fashioned wit--examples: bon-mots of "stella"; jane taylor; miss burney; mrs. barbauld ii. hannah more ii. "ouida's" epigrams i. parodies: phoebe cary's on "maud muller" not justifiable; grace greenwood on mrs. sigourney ix. lilian whiting's on kingsley's "three fishers" ix. perry, carlotta: "a modern minerva" ix. pickering, julia: "the old-time religion"--"i allus did dispise dem stuck-up 'piscopalians" vi. poems, laughable and satirical: "the first needle," l.p. hale viii. "the funny story," j. pollard viii. "wanted, a minister," m.e.w. skeels viii. "the middy of ," may croly roper viii. "indignant polly wog," m. eytinge viii. "kiss pretty poll," m.d. brine viii. "thanksgiving day--then and now," m.d. brine viii. "concerning mosquitoes," a.a. gordon viii. "the stilts of gold;" "just so," m.v. victor viii. "the inventor's wife," e.t. corbett viii. "an unruffled bosom," l.w. champney viii. "hat, ulster and all," c.f. bates viii. "auction extraordinary," l. davidson viii. "a sonnet," j. pollard viii. puns: miss mary wadsworth's; louisa alcott's; grace greenwood prolific in; a mushroom pun; a pillar-sham pun i. horseshoe pun i. miss cleveland's i. queen elizabeth's i. "radical club," satirical poem v. rollins, mrs. alice wellington, article in _critic_ i. " " " " vii. rollins, mrs. ellen h. (_nom de plume_ "e.h. arr"), pre-eminently gifted as a humorist--extracts from her "old-time child life" vii. "effect of the comet" vii. "doctrines are pizen things" vii. roper, may croly: poem viii. schayer, mrs. julia, author of "struggling genius," an amusing domestic drama; extracts from the play, "nursery," "study," and "dining-room" scenes x. "sherwood bonner." _see_ mcdowell, mrs. sigourney, mrs., her melancholy style ix. skeels, mrs. m.e.w.: satirical poem viii. thanksgiving growl, a (poetical) vi. verplanck's, mrs., comedy, "sealed instructions" x. victor, metta victoria: "miss slimmins surprised" iv. " " " "the stilts of gold" (a reminiscence of hood's "miss kilmansegg and her precious leg") viii. "vokes family" farces (written by an aunt of the performers), "belles of the kitchen" and "fun in a fog" x. waldron, adelaide cilley, "kitten tactics" ix. walker's, mrs., famous epigram i. weissenthurn, madame von: her comedies fill fourteen volumes x. whicher, mrs., "widow bedott" iv. white's, richard grant. opinion of woman's wit i. whiting, miss lilian: "the three poets" ix. williams, alice: "plighted," ix. wilson, arabella: "o sextant of the meetinouse" viii. woman's wit, search for, neglected by men i. women poets generally despondent i. " humorous newspaper correspondents: mrs. runkle; mrs. rollins; gail hamilton ix. women inclined to ridicule foibles of their sex ix. woolson, constance fenimore: her "miss lois" (housekeeping, with chippewa squaws for servants) vii. the idle thoughts of an idle fellow. by jerome k. jerome to the very dear and well-beloved friend of my prosperous and evil days-- to the friend who, though in the early stages of our acquaintanceship did ofttimes disagree with me, has since become to be my very warmest comrade-- to the friend who, however often i may put him out, never (now) upsets me in revenge-- to the friend who, treated with marked coolness by all the female members of my household, and regarded with suspicion by my very dog, nevertheless seems day by day to be more drawn by me, and in return to more and more impregnate me with the odor of his friendship-- to the friend who never tells me of my faults, never wants to borrow money, and never talks about himself-- to the companion of my idle hours, the soother of my sorrows, the confidant of my joys and hopes-- my oldest and strongest pipe, this little volume is gratefully and affectionately dedicated. preface one or two friends to whom i showed these papers in ms. having observed that they were not half bad, and some of my relations having promised to buy the book if it ever came out, i feel i have no right to longer delay its issue. but for this, as one may say, public demand, i perhaps should not have ventured to offer these mere "idle thoughts" of mine as mental food for the english-speaking peoples of the earth. what readers ask nowadays in a book is that it should improve, instruct, and elevate. this book wouldn't elevate a cow. i cannot conscientiously recommend it for any useful purposes whatever. all i can suggest is that when you get tired of reading "the best hundred books," you may take this up for half an hour. it will be a change. contents. idle thoughts of an idle fellow. on being idle on being in love on being in the blues on being hard up on vanity and vanities on getting on in the world on the weather on cats and dogs on being shy on babies on eating and drinking on furnished apartments on dress and deportment on memory the idle thoughts of an idle fellow. on being idle. now, this is a subject on which i flatter myself i really am _au fait_. the gentleman who, when i was young, bathed me at wisdom's font for nine guineas a term--no extras--used to say he never knew a boy who could do less work in more time; and i remember my poor grandmother once incidentally observing, in the course of an instruction upon the use of the prayer-book, that it was highly improbable that i should ever do much that i ought not to do, but that she felt convinced beyond a doubt that i should leave undone pretty well everything that i ought to do. i am afraid i have somewhat belied half the dear old lady's prophecy. heaven help me! i have done a good many things that i ought not to have done, in spite of my laziness. but i have fully confirmed the accuracy of her judgment so far as neglecting much that i ought not to have neglected is concerned. idling always has been my strong point. i take no credit to myself in the matter--it is a gift. few possess it. there are plenty of lazy people and plenty of slow-coaches, but a genuine idler is a rarity. he is not a man who slouches about with his hands in his pockets. on the contrary, his most startling characteristic is that he is always intensely busy. it is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do. there is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one. idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. many years ago, when i was a young man, i was taken very ill--i never could see myself that much was the matter with me, except that i had a beastly cold. but i suppose it was something very serious, for the doctor said that i ought to have come to him a month before, and that if it (whatever it was) had gone on for another week he would not have answered for the consequences. it is an extraordinary thing, but i never knew a doctor called into any case yet but what it transpired that another day's delay would have rendered cure hopeless. our medical guide, philosopher, and friend is like the hero in a melodrama--he always comes upon the scene just, and only just, in the nick of time. it is providence, that is what it is. well, as i was saying, i was very ill and was ordered to buxton for a month, with strict injunctions to do nothing whatever all the while that i was there. "rest is what you require," said the doctor, "perfect rest." it seemed a delightful prospect. "this man evidently understands my complaint," said i, and i pictured to myself a glorious time--a four weeks' _dolce far niente_ with a dash of illness in it. not too much illness, but just illness enough--just sufficient to give it the flavor of suffering and make it poetical. i should get up late, sip chocolate, and have my breakfast in slippers and a dressing-gown. i should lie out in the garden in a hammock and read sentimental novels with a melancholy ending, until the books should fall from my listless hand, and i should recline there, dreamily gazing into the deep blue of the firmament, watching the fleecy clouds floating like white-sailed ships across its depths, and listening to the joyous song of the birds and the low rustling of the trees. or, on becoming too weak to go out of doors, i should sit propped up with pillows at the open window of the ground-floor front, and look wasted and interesting, so that all the pretty girls would sigh as they passed by. and twice a day i should go down in a bath chair to the colonnade to drink the waters. oh, those waters! i knew nothing about them then, and was rather taken with the idea. "drinking the waters" sounded fashionable and queen anne-fied, and i thought i should like them. but, ugh! after the first three or four mornings! sam weller's description of them as "having a taste of warm flat-irons" conveys only a faint idea of their hideous nauseousness. if anything could make a sick man get well quickly, it would be the knowledge that he must drink a glassful of them every day until he was recovered. i drank them neat for six consecutive days, and they nearly killed me; but after then i adopted the plan of taking a stiff glass of brandy-and-water immediately on the top of them, and found much relief thereby. i have been informed since, by various eminent medical gentlemen, that the alcohol must have entirely counteracted the effects of the chalybeate properties contained in the water. i am glad i was lucky enough to hit upon the right thing. but "drinking the waters" was only a small portion of the torture i experienced during that memorable month--a month which was, without exception, the most miserable i have ever spent. during the best part of it i religiously followed the doctor's mandate and did nothing whatever, except moon about the house and garden and go out for two hours a day in a bath chair. that did break the monotony to a certain extent. there is more excitement about bath-chairing--especially if you are not used to the exhilarating exercise--than might appear to the casual observer. a sense of danger, such as a mere outsider might not understand, is ever present to the mind of the occupant. he feels convinced every minute that the whole concern is going over, a conviction which becomes especially lively whenever a ditch or a stretch of newly macadamized road comes in sight. every vehicle that passes he expects is going to run into him; and he never finds himself ascending or descending a hill without immediately beginning to speculate upon his chances, supposing--as seems extremely probable--that the weak-kneed controller of his destiny should let go. but even this diversion failed to enliven after awhile, and the _ennui_ became perfectly unbearable. i felt my mind giving way under it. it is not a strong mind, and i thought it would be unwise to tax it too far. so somewhere about the twentieth morning i got up early, had a good breakfast, and walked straight off to hayfield, at the foot of the kinder scout--a pleasant, busy little town, reached through a lovely valley, and with two sweetly pretty women in it. at least they were sweetly pretty then; one passed me on the bridge and, i think, smiled; and the other was standing at an open door, making an unremunerative investment of kisses upon a red-faced baby. but it is years ago, and i dare say they have both grown stout and snappish since that time. coming back, i saw an old man breaking stones, and it roused such strong longing in me to use my arms that i offered him a drink to let me take his place. he was a kindly old man and he humored me. i went for those stones with the accumulated energy of three weeks, and did more work in half an hour than he had done all day. but it did not make him jealous. having taken the plunge, i went further and further into dissipation, going out for a long walk every morning and listening to the band in the pavilion every evening. but the days still passed slowly notwithstanding, and i was heartily glad when the last one came and i was being whirled away from gouty, consumptive buxton to london with its stern work and life. i looked out of the carriage as we rushed through hendon in the evening. the lurid glare overhanging the mighty city seemed to warm my heart, and when, later on, my cab rattled out of st. pancras' station, the old familiar roar that came swelling up around me sounded the sweetest music i had heard for many a long day. i certainly did not enjoy that month's idling. i like idling when i ought not to be idling; not when it is the only thing i have to do. that is my pig-headed nature. the time when i like best to stand with my back to the fire, calculating how much i owe, is when my desk is heaped highest with letters that must be answered by the next post. when i like to dawdle longest over my dinner is when i have a heavy evening's work before me. and if, for some urgent reason, i ought to be up particularly early in the morning, it is then, more than at any other time, that i love to lie an extra half-hour in bed. ah! how delicious it is to turn over and go to sleep again: "just for five minutes." is there any human being, i wonder, besides the hero of a sunday-school "tale for boys," who ever gets up willingly? there are some men to whom getting up at the proper time is an utter impossibility. if eight o'clock happens to be the time that they should turn out, then they lie till half-past. if circumstances change and half-past eight becomes early enough for them, then it is nine before they can rise. they are like the statesman of whom it was said that he was always punctually half an hour late. they try all manner of schemes. they buy alarm-clocks (artful contrivances that go off at the wrong time and alarm the wrong people). they tell sarah jane to knock at the door and call them, and sarah jane does knock at the door and does call them, and they grunt back "awri" and then go comfortably to sleep again. i knew one man who would actually get out and have a cold bath; and even that was of no use, for afterward he would jump into bed again to warm himself. i think myself that i could keep out of bed all right if i once got out. it is the wrenching away of the head from the pillow that i find so hard, and no amount of over-night determination makes it easier. i say to myself, after having wasted the whole evening, "well, i won't do any more work to-night; i'll get up early to-morrow morning;" and i am thoroughly resolved to do so--then. in the morning, however, i feel less enthusiastic about the idea, and reflect that it would have been much better if i had stopped up last night. and then there is the trouble of dressing, and the more one thinks about that the more one wants to put it off. it is a strange thing this bed, this mimic grave, where we stretch our tired limbs and sink away so quietly into the silence and rest. "o bed, o bed, delicious bed, that heaven on earth to the weary head," as sang poor hood, you are a kind old nurse to us fretful boys and girls. clever and foolish, naughty and good, you take us all in your motherly lap and hush our wayward crying. the strong man full of care--the sick man full of pain--the little maiden sobbing for her faithless lover--like children we lay our aching heads on your white bosom, and you gently soothe us off to by-by. our trouble is sore indeed when you turn away and will not comfort us. how long the dawn seems coming when we cannot sleep! oh! those hideous nights when we toss and turn in fever and pain, when we lie, like living men among the dead, staring out into the dark hours that drift so slowly between us and the light. and oh! those still more hideous nights when we sit by another in pain, when the low fire startles us every now and then with a falling cinder, and the tick of the clock seems a hammer beating out the life that we are watching. but enough of beds and bedrooms. i have kept to them too long, even for an idle fellow. let us come out and have a smoke. that wastes time just as well and does not look so bad. tobacco has been a blessing to us idlers. what the civil-service clerk before sir walter's time found to occupy their minds with it is hard to imagine. i attribute the quarrelsome nature of the middle ages young men entirely to the want of the soothing weed. they had no work to do and could not smoke, and the consequence was they were forever fighting and rowing. if, by any extraordinary chance, there was no war going, then they got up a deadly family feud with the next-door neighbor, and if, in spite of this, they still had a few spare moments on their hands, they occupied them with discussions as to whose sweetheart was the best looking, the arguments employed on both sides being battle-axes, clubs, etc. questions of taste were soon decided in those days. when a twelfth-century youth fell in love he did not take three paces backward, gaze into her eyes, and tell her she was too beautiful to live. he said he would step outside and see about it. and if, when he got out, he met a man and broke his head--the other man's head, i mean--then that proved that his--the first fellow's--girl was a pretty girl. but if the other fellow broke _his_ head--not his own, you know, but the other fellow's--the other fellow to the second fellow, that is, because of course the other fellow would only be the other fellow to him, not the first fellow who--well, if he broke his head, then _his_ girl--not the other fellow's, but the fellow who _was_ the--look here, if a broke b's head, then a's girl was a pretty girl; but if b broke a's head, then a's girl wasn't a pretty girl, but b's girl was. that was their method of conducting art criticism. nowadays we light a pipe and let the girls fight it out among themselves. they do it very well. they are getting to do all our work. they are doctors, and barristers, and artists. they manage theaters, and promote swindles, and edit newspapers. i am looking forward to the time when we men shall have nothing to do but lie in bed till twelve, read two novels a day, have nice little five-o'clock teas all to ourselves, and tax our brains with nothing more trying than discussions upon the latest patterns in trousers and arguments as to what mr. jones' coat was made of and whether it fitted him. it is a glorious prospect--for idle fellows. on being in love. you've been in love, of course! if not you've got it to come. love is like the measles; we all have to go through it. also like the measles, we take it only once. one never need be afraid of catching it a second time. the man who has had it can go into the most dangerous places and play the most foolhardy tricks with perfect safety. he can picnic in shady woods, ramble through leafy aisles, and linger on mossy seats to watch the sunset. he fears a quiet country-house no more than he would his own club. he can join a family party to go down the rhine. he can, to see the last of a friend, venture into the very jaws of the marriage ceremony itself. he can keep his head through the whirl of a ravishing waltz, and rest afterward in a dark conservatory, catching nothing more lasting than a cold. he can brave a moonlight walk adown sweet-scented lanes or a twilight pull among the somber rushes. he can get over a stile without danger, scramble through a tangled hedge without being caught, come down a slippery path without falling. he can look into sunny eyes and not be dazzled. he listens to the siren voices, yet sails on with unveered helm. he clasps white hands in his, but no electric "lulu"-like force holds him bound in their dainty pressure. no, we never sicken with love twice. cupid spends no second arrow on the same heart. love's handmaids are our life-long friends. respect, and admiration, and affection, our doors may always be left open for, but their great celestial master, in his royal progress, pays but one visit and departs. we like, we cherish, we are very, very fond of--but we never love again. a man's heart is a firework that once in its time flashes heavenward. meteor-like, it blazes for a moment and lights with its glory the whole world beneath. then the night of our sordid commonplace life closes in around it, and the burned-out case, falling back to earth, lies useless and uncared for, slowly smoldering into ashes. once, breaking loose from our prison bonds, we dare, as mighty old prometheus dared, to scale the olympian mount and snatch from phoebus' chariot the fire of the gods. happy those who, hastening down again ere it dies out, can kindle their earthly altars at its flame. love is too pure a light to burn long among the noisome gases that we breathe, but before it is choked out we may use it as a torch to ignite the cozy fire of affection. and, after all, that warming glow is more suited to our cold little back parlor of a world than is the burning spirit love. love should be the vestal fire of some mighty temple--some vast dim fane whose organ music is the rolling of the spheres. affection will burn cheerily when the white flame of love is flickered out. affection is a fire that can be fed from day to day and be piled up ever higher as the wintry years draw nigh. old men and women can sit by it with their thin hands clasped, the little children can nestle down in front, the friend and neighbor has his welcome corner by its side, and even shaggy fido and sleek titty can toast their noses at the bars. let us heap the coals of kindness upon that fire. throw on your pleasant words, your gentle pressures of the hand, your thoughtful and unselfish deeds. fan it with good-humor, patience, and forbearance. you can let the wind blow and the rain fall unheeded then, for your hearth will be warm and bright, and the faces round it will make sunshine in spite of the clouds without. i am afraid, dear edwin and angelina, you expect too much from love. you think there is enough of your little hearts to feed this fierce, devouring passion for all your long lives. ah, young folk! don't rely too much upon that unsteady flicker. it will dwindle and dwindle as the months roll on, and there is no replenishing the fuel. you will watch it die out in anger and disappointment. to each it will seem that it is the other who is growing colder. edwin sees with bitterness that angelina no longer runs to the gate to meet him, all smiles and blushes; and when he has a cough now she doesn't begin to cry and, putting her arms round his neck, say that she cannot live without him. the most she will probably do is to suggest a lozenge, and even that in a tone implying that it is the noise more than anything else she is anxious to get rid of. poor little angelina, too, sheds silent tears, for edwin has given up carrying her old handkerchief in the inside pocket of his waistcoat. both are astonished at the falling off in the other one, but neither sees their own change. if they did they would not suffer as they do. they would look for the cause in the right quarter--in the littleness of poor human nature--join hands over their common failing, and start building their house anew on a more earthly and enduring foundation. but we are so blind to our own shortcomings, so wide awake to those of others. everything that happens to us is always the other person's fault. angelina would have gone on loving edwin forever and ever and ever if only edwin had not grown so strange and different. edwin would have adored angelina through eternity if angelina had only remained the same as when he first adored her. it is a cheerless hour for you both when the lamp of love has gone out and the fire of affection is not yet lit, and you have to grope about in the cold, raw dawn of life to kindle it. god grant it catches light before the day is too far spent. many sit shivering by the dead coals till night come. but, there, of what use is it to preach? who that feels the rush of young love through his veins can think it will ever flow feeble and slow! to the boy of twenty it seems impossible that he will not love as wildly at sixty as he does then. he cannot call to mind any middle-aged or elderly gentleman of his acquaintance who is known to exhibit symptoms of frantic attachment, but that does not interfere in his belief in himself. his love will never fall, whoever else's may. nobody ever loved as he loves, and so, of course, the rest of the world's experience can be no guide in his case. alas! alas! ere thirty he has joined the ranks of the sneerers. it is not his fault. our passions, both the good and bad, cease with our blushes. we do not hate, nor grieve, nor joy, nor despair in our thirties like we did in our teens. disappointment does not suggest suicide, and we quaff success without intoxication. we take all things in a minor key as we grow older. there are few majestic passages in the later acts of life's opera. ambition takes a less ambitious aim. honor becomes more reasonable and conveniently adapts itself to circumstances. and love--love dies. "irreverence for the dreams of youth" soon creeps like a killing frost upon our hearts. the tender shoots and the expanding flowers are nipped and withered, and of a vine that yearned to stretch its tendrils round the world there is left but a sapless stump. my fair friends will deem all this rank heresy, i know. so far from a man's not loving after he has passed boyhood, it is not till there is a good deal of gray in his hair that they think his protestations at all worthy of attention. young ladies take their notions of our sex from the novels written by their own, and compared with the monstrosities that masquerade for men in the pages of that nightmare literature, pythagoras' plucked bird and frankenstein's demon were fair average specimens of humanity. in these so-called books, the chief lover, or greek god, as he is admiringly referred to--by the way, they do not say which "greek god" it is that the gentleman bears such a striking likeness to; it might be hump-backed vulcan, or double-faced janus, or even driveling silenus, the god of abstruse mysteries. he resembles the whole family of them, however, in being a blackguard, and perhaps this is what is meant. to even the little manliness his classical prototypes possessed, though, he can lay no claim whatever, being a listless effeminate noodle, on the shady side of forty. but oh! the depth and strength of this elderly party's emotion for some bread-and-butter school-girl! hide your heads, ye young romeos and leanders! this _blase_ old beau loves with an hysterical fervor that requires four adjectives to every noun to properly describe. it is well, dear ladies, for us old sinners that you study only books. did you read mankind, you would know that the lad's shy stammering tells a truer tale than our bold eloquence. a boy's love comes from a full heart; a man's is more often the result of a full stomach. indeed, a man's sluggish current may not be called love, compared with the rushing fountain that wells up when a boy's heart is struck with the heavenly rod. if you would taste love, drink of the pure stream that youth pours out at your feet. do not wait till it has become a muddy river before you stoop to catch its waves. or is it that you like its bitter flavor--that the clear, limpid water is insipid to your palate and that the pollution of its after-course gives it a relish to your lips? must we believe those who tell us that a hand foul with the filth of a shameful life is the only one a young girl cares to be caressed by? that is the teaching that is bawled out day by day from between those yellow covers. do they ever pause to think, i wonder, those devil's ladyhelps, what mischief they are doing crawling about god's garden, and telling childish eves and silly adams that sin is sweet and that decency is ridiculous and vulgar? how many an innocent girl do they not degrade into an evil-minded woman? to how many a weak lad do they not point out the dirty by-path as the shortest cut to a maiden's heart? it is not as if they wrote of life as it really is. speak truth, and right will take care of itself. but their pictures are coarse daubs painted from the sickly fancies of their own diseased imagination. we want to think of women not--as their own sex would show them--as lorleis luring us to destruction, but as good angels beckoning us upward. they have more power for good or evil than they dream of. it is just at the very age when a man's character is forming that he tumbles into love, and then the lass he loves has the making or marring of him. unconsciously he molds himself to what she would have him, good or bad. i am sorry to have to be ungallant enough to say that i do not think they always use their influence for the best. too often the female world is bounded hard and fast within the limits of the commonplace. their ideal hero is a prince of littleness, and to become that many a powerful mind, enchanted by love, is "lost to life and use and name and fame." and yet, women, you could make us so much better if you only would. it rests with you, more than with all the preachers, to roll this world a little nearer heaven. chivalry is not dead: it only sleeps for want of work to do. it is you who must wake it to noble deeds. you must be worthy of knightly worship. you must be higher than ourselves. it was for una that the red cross knight did war. for no painted, mincing court dame could the dragon have been slain. oh, ladies fair, be fair in mind and soul as well as face, so that brave knights may win glory in your service! oh, woman, throw off your disguising cloaks of selfishness, effrontery, and affectation! stand forth once more a queen in your royal robe of simple purity. a thousand swords, now rusting in ignoble sloth, shall leap from their scabbards to do battle for your honor against wrong. a thousand sir rolands shall lay lance in rest, and fear, avarice, pleasure, and ambition shall go down in the dust before your colors. what noble deeds were we not ripe for in the days when we loved? what noble lives could we not have lived for her sake? our love was a religion we could have died for. it was no mere human creature like ourselves that we adored. it was a queen that we paid homage to, a goddess that we worshiped. and how madly we did worship! and how sweet it was to worship! ah, lad, cherish love's young dream while it lasts! you will know too soon how truly little tom moore sang when he said that there was nothing half so sweet in life. even when it brings misery it is a wild, romantic misery, all unlike the dull, worldly pain of after-sorrows. when you have lost her--when the light is gone out from your life and the world stretches before you a long, dark horror, even then a half-enchantment mingles with your despair. and who would not risk its terrors to gain its raptures? ah, what raptures they were! the mere recollection thrills you. how delicious it was to tell her that you loved her, that you lived for her, that you would die for her! how you did rave, to be sure, what floods of extravagant nonsense you poured forth, and oh, how cruel it was of her to pretend not to believe you! in what awe you stood of her! how miserable you were when you had offended her! and yet, how pleasant to be bullied by her and to sue for pardon without having the slightest notion of what your fault was! how dark the world was when she snubbed you, as she often did, the little rogue, just to see you look wretched; how sunny when she smiled! how jealous you were of every one about her! how you hated every man she shook hands with, every woman she kissed--the maid that did her hair, the boy that cleaned her shoes, the dog she nursed--though you had to be respectful to the last-named! how you looked forward to seeing her, how stupid you were when you did see her, staring at her without saying a word! how impossible it was for you to go out at any time of the day or night without finding yourself eventually opposite her windows! you hadn't pluck enough to go in, but you hung about the corner and gazed at the outside. oh, if the house had only caught fire--it was insured, so it wouldn't have mattered--and you could have rushed in and saved her at the risk of your life, and have been terribly burned and injured! anything to serve her. even in little things that was so sweet. how you would watch her, spaniel-like, to anticipate her slightest wish! how proud you were to do her bidding! how delightful it was to be ordered about by her! to devote your whole life to her and to never think of yourself seemed such a simple thing. you would go without a holiday to lay a humble offering at her shrine, and felt more than repaid if she only deigned to accept it. how precious to you was everything that she had hallowed by her touch--her little glove, the ribbon she had worn, the rose that had nestled in her hair and whose withered leaves still mark the poems you never care to look at now. and oh, how beautiful she was, how wondrous beautiful! it was as some angel entering the room, and all else became plain and earthly. she was too sacred to be touched. it seemed almost presumption to gaze at her. you would as soon have thought of kissing her as of singing comic songs in a cathedral. it was desecration enough to kneel and timidly raise the gracious little hand to your lips. ah, those foolish days, those foolish days when we were unselfish and pure-minded; those foolish days when our simple hearts were full of truth, and faith, and reverence! ah, those foolish days of noble longings and of noble strivings! and oh, these wise, clever days when we know that money is the only prize worth striving for, when we believe in nothing else but meanness and lies, when we care for no living creature but ourselves! on being in the blues. i can enjoy feeling melancholy, and there is a good deal of satisfaction about being thoroughly miserable; but nobody likes a fit of the blues. nevertheless, everybody has them; notwithstanding which, nobody can tell why. there is no accounting for them. you are just as likely to have one on the day after you have come into a large fortune as on the day after you have left your new silk umbrella in the train. its effect upon you is somewhat similar to what would probably be produced by a combined attack of toothache, indigestion, and cold in the head. you become stupid, restless, and irritable; rude to strangers and dangerous toward your friends; clumsy, maudlin, and quarrelsome; a nuisance to yourself and everybody about you. while it is on you can do nothing and think of nothing, though feeling at the time bound to do something. you can't sit still so put on your hat and go for a walk; but before you get to the corner of the street you wish you hadn't come out and you turn back. you open a book and try to read, but you find shakespeare trite and commonplace, dickens is dull and prosy, thackeray a bore, and carlyle too sentimental. you throw the book aside and call the author names. then you "shoo" the cat out of the room and kick the door to after her. you think you will write your letters, but after sticking at "dearest auntie: i find i have five minutes to spare, and so hasten to write to you," for a quarter of an hour, without being able to think of another sentence, you tumble the paper into the desk, fling the wet pen down upon the table-cloth, and start up with the resolution of going to see the thompsons. while pulling on your gloves, however, it occurs to you that the thompsons are idiots; that they never have supper; and that you will be expected to jump the baby. you curse the thompsons and decide not to go. by this time you feel completely crushed. you bury your face in your hands and think you would like to die and go to heaven. you picture to yourself your own sick-bed, with all your friends and relations standing round you weeping. you bless them all, especially the young and pretty ones. they will value you when you are gone, so you say to yourself, and learn too late what they have lost; and you bitterly contrast their presumed regard for you then with their decided want of veneration now. these reflections make you feel a little more cheerful, but only for a brief period; for the next moment you think what a fool you must be to imagine for an instant that anybody would be sorry at anything that might happen to you. who would care two straws (whatever precise amount of care two straws may represent) whether you are blown up, or hung up, or married, or drowned? nobody cares for you. you never have been properly appreciated, never met with your due deserts in any one particular. you review the whole of your past life, and it is painfully apparent that you have been ill-used from your cradle. half an hour's indulgence in these considerations works you up into a state of savage fury against everybody and everything, especially yourself, whom anatomical reasons alone prevent your kicking. bed-time at last comes, to save you from doing something rash, and you spring upstairs, throw off your clothes, leaving them strewn all over the room, blow out the candle, and jump into bed as if you had backed yourself for a heavy wager to do the whole thing against time. there you toss and tumble about for a couple of hours or so, varying the monotony by occasionally jerking the clothes off and getting out and putting them on again. at length you drop into an uneasy and fitful slumber, have bad dreams, and wake up late the next morning. at least, this is all we poor single men can do under the circumstances. married men bully their wives, grumble at the dinner, and insist on the children's going to bed. all of which, creating, as it does, a good deal of disturbance in the house, must be a great relief to the feelings of a man in the blues, rows being the only form of amusement in which he can take any interest. the symptoms of the infirmity are much the same in every case, but the affliction itself is variously termed. the poet says that "a feeling of sadness comes o'er him." 'arry refers to the heavings of his wayward heart by confiding to jimee that he has "got the blooming hump." your sister doesn't know what is the matter with her to-night. she feels out of sorts altogether and hopes nothing is going to happen. the every-day young man is "so awful glad to meet you, old fellow," for he does "feel so jolly miserable this evening." as for myself, i generally say that "i have a strange, unsettled feeling to-night" and "think i'll go out." by the way, it never does come except in the evening. in the sun-time, when the world is bounding forward full of life, we cannot stay to sigh and sulk. the roar of the working day drowns the voices of the elfin sprites that are ever singing their low-toned _miserere_ in our ears. in the day we are angry, disappointed, or indignant, but never "in the blues" and never melancholy. when things go wrong at ten o'clock in the morning we--or rather you--swear and knock the furniture about; but if the misfortune comes at ten p.m., we read poetry or sit in the dark and think what a hollow world this is. but, as a rule, it is not trouble that makes us melancholy. the actuality is too stern a thing for sentiment. we linger to weep over a picture, but from the original we should quickly turn our eyes away. there is no pathos in real misery: no luxury in real grief. we do not toy with sharp swords nor hug a gnawing fox to our breast for choice. when a man or woman loves to brood over a sorrow and takes care to keep it green in their memory, you may be sure it is no longer a pain to them. however they may have suffered from it at first, the recollection has become by then a pleasure. many dear old ladies who daily look at tiny shoes lying in lavender-scented drawers, and weep as they think of the tiny feet whose toddling march is done, and sweet-faced young ones who place each night beneath their pillow some lock that once curled on a boyish head that the salt waves have kissed to death, will call me a nasty cynical brute and say i'm talking nonsense; but i believe, nevertheless, that if they will ask themselves truthfully whether they find it unpleasant to dwell thus on their sorrow, they will be compelled to answer "no." tears are as sweet as laughter to some natures. the proverbial englishman, we know from old chronicler froissart, takes his pleasures sadly, and the englishwoman goes a step further and takes her pleasures in sadness itself. i am not sneering. i would not for a moment sneer at anything that helps to keep hearts tender in this hard old world. we men are cold and common-sensed enough for all; we would not have women the same. no, no, ladies dear, be always sentimental and soft-hearted, as you are--be the soothing butter to our coarse dry bread. besides, sentiment is to women what fun is to us. they do not care for our humor, surely it would be unfair to deny them their grief. and who shall say that their mode of enjoyment is not as sensible as ours? why assume that a doubled-up body, a contorted, purple face, and a gaping mouth emitting a series of ear-splitting shrieks point to a state of more intelligent happiness than a pensive face reposing upon a little white hand, and a pair of gentle tear-dimmed eyes looking back through time's dark avenue upon a fading past? i am glad when i see regret walked with as a friend--glad because i know the saltness has been washed from out the tears, and that the sting must have been plucked from the beautiful face of sorrow ere we dare press her pale lips to ours. time has laid his healing hand upon the wound when we can look back upon the pain we once fainted under and no bitterness or despair rises in our hearts. the burden is no longer heavy when we have for our past troubles only the same sweet mingling of pleasure and pity that we feel when old knight-hearted colonel newcome answers "_adsum_" to the great roll-call, or when tom and maggie tulliver, clasping hands through the mists that have divided them, go down, locked in each other's arms, beneath the swollen waters of the floss. talking of poor tom and maggie tulliver brings to my mind a saying of george eliot's in connection with this subject of melancholy. she speaks somewhere of the "sadness of a summer's evening." how wonderfully true--like everything that came from that wonderful pen--the observation is! who has not felt the sorrowful enchantment of those lingering sunsets? the world belongs to melancholy then, a thoughtful deep-eyed maiden who loves not the glare of day. it is not till "light thickens and the crow wings to the rocky wood" that she steals forth from her groves. her palace is in twilight land. it is there she meets us. at her shadowy gate she takes our hand in hers and walks beside us through her mystic realm. we see no form, but seem to hear the rustling of her wings. even in the toiling hum-drum city her spirit comes to us. there is a somber presence in each long, dull street; and the dark river creeps ghostlike under the black arches, as if bearing some hidden secret beneath its muddy waves. in the silent country, when the trees and hedges loom dim and blurred against the rising night, and the bat's wing flutters in our face, and the land-rail's cry sounds drearily across the fields, the spell sinks deeper still into our hearts. we seem in that hour to be standing by some unseen death-bed, and in the swaying of the elms we hear the sigh of the dying day. a solemn sadness reigns. a great peace is around us. in its light our cares of the working day grow small and trivial, and bread and cheese--ay, and even kisses--do not seem the only things worth striving for. thoughts we cannot speak but only listen to flood in upon us, and standing in the stillness under earth's darkening dome, we feel that we are greater than our petty lives. hung round with those dusky curtains, the world is no longer a mere dingy workshop, but a stately temple wherein man may worship, and where at times in the dimness his groping hands touch god's. on being hard up. it is a most remarkable thing. i sat down with the full intention of writing something clever and original; but for the life of me i can't think of anything clever and original--at least, not at this moment. the only thing i can think about now is being hard up. i suppose having my hands in my pockets has made me think about this. i always do sit with my hands in my pockets except when i am in the company of my sisters, my cousins, or my aunts; and they kick up such a shindy--i should say expostulate so eloquently upon the subject--that i have to give in and take them out--my hands i mean. the chorus to their objections is that it is not gentlemanly. i am hanged if i can see why. i could understand its not being considered gentlemanly to put your hands in other people's pockets (especially by the other people), but how, o ye sticklers for what looks this and what looks that, can putting his hands in his own pockets make a man less gentle? perhaps you are right, though. now i come to think of it, i have heard some people grumble most savagely when doing it. but they were mostly old gentlemen. we young fellows, as a rule, are never quite at ease unless we have our hands in our pockets. we are awkward and shifty. we are like what a music-hall lion comique would be without his opera-hat, if such a thing can be imagined. but let us put our hands in our trousers pockets, and let there be some small change in the right-hand one and a bunch of keys in the left, and we will face a female post-office clerk. it is a little difficult to know what to do with your hands, even in your pockets, when there is nothing else there. years ago, when my whole capital would occasionally come down to "what in town the people call a bob," i would recklessly spend a penny of it, merely for the sake of having the change, all in coppers, to jingle. you don't feel nearly so hard up with eleven pence in your pocket as you do with a shilling. had i been "la-di-da," that impecunious youth about whom we superior folk are so sarcastic, i would have changed my penny for two ha'pennies. i can speak with authority on the subject of being hard up. i have been a provincial actor. if further evidence be required, which i do not think likely, i can add that i have been a "gentleman connected with the press." i have lived on shilling a week. i have lived a week on , owing the other ; and i have lived for a fortnight on a great-coat. it is wonderful what an insight into domestic economy being really hard up gives one. if you want to find out the value of money, live on shillings a week and see how much you can put by for clothes and recreation. you will find out that it is worth while to wait for the farthing change, that it is worth while to walk a mile to save a penny, that a glass of beer is a luxury to be indulged in only at rare intervals, and that a collar can be worn for four days. try it just before you get married. it will be excellent practice. let your son and heir try it before sending him to college. he won't grumble at a hundred a year pocket-money then. there are some people to whom it would do a world of good. there is that delicate blossom who can't drink any claret under ninety-four, and who would as soon think of dining off cat's meat as off plain roast mutton. you do come across these poor wretches now and then, though, to the credit of humanity, they are principally confined to that fearful and wonderful society known only to lady novelists. i never hear of one of these creatures discussing a _menu_ card but i feel a mad desire to drag him off to the bar of some common east-end public-house and cram a sixpenny dinner down his throat--beefsteak pudding, fourpence; potatoes, a penny; half a pint of porter, a penny. the recollection of it (and the mingled fragrance of beer, tobacco, and roast pork generally leaves a vivid impression) might induce him to turn up his nose a little less frequently in the future at everything that is put before him. then there is that generous party, the cadger's delight, who is so free with his small change, but who never thinks of paying his debts. it might teach even him a little common sense. "i always give the waiter a shilling. one can't give the fellow less, you know," explained a young government clerk with whom i was lunching the other day in regent street. i agreed with him as to the utter impossibility of making it elevenpence ha'penny; but at the same time i resolved to one day decoy him to an eating-house i remembered near covent garden, where the waiter, for the better discharge of his duties, goes about in his shirt-sleeves--and very dirty sleeves they are, too, when it gets near the end of the month. i know that waiter. if my friend gives him anything beyond a penny, the man will insist on shaking hands with him then and there as a mark of his esteem; of that i feel sure. there have been a good many funny things said and written about hardupishness, but the reality is not funny, for all that. it is not funny to have to haggle over pennies. it isn't funny to be thought mean and stingy. it isn't funny to be shabby and to be ashamed of your address. no, there is nothing at all funny in poverty--to the poor. it is hell upon earth to a sensitive man; and many a brave gentleman who would have faced the labors of hercules has had his heart broken by its petty miseries. it is not the actual discomforts themselves that are hard to bear. who would mind roughing it a bit if that were all it meant? what cared robinson crusoe for a patch on his trousers? did he wear trousers? i forget; or did he go about as he does in the pantomimes? what did it matter to him if his toes did stick out of his boots? and what if his umbrella was a cotton one, so long as it kept the rain off? his shabbiness did not trouble him; there was none of his friends round about to sneer him. being poor is a mere trifle. it is being known to be poor that is the sting. it is not cold that makes a man without a great-coat hurry along so quickly. it is not all shame at telling lies--which he knows will not be believed--that makes him turn so red when he informs you that he considers great-coats unhealthy and never carries an umbrella on principle. it is easy enough to say that poverty is no crime. no; if it were men wouldn't be ashamed of it. it's a blunder, though, and is punished as such. a poor man is despised the whole world over; despised as much by a christian as by a lord, as much by a demagogue as by a footman, and not all the copy-book maxims ever set for ink stained youth will make him respected. appearances are everything, so far as human opinion goes, and the man who will walk down piccadilly arm in arm with the most notorious scamp in london, provided he is a well-dressed one, will slink up a back street to say a couple of words to a seedy-looking gentleman. and the seedy-looking gentleman knows this--no one better--and will go a mile round to avoid meeting an acquaintance. those that knew him in his prosperity need never trouble themselves to look the other way. he is a thousand times more anxious that they should not see him than they can be; and as to their assistance, there is nothing he dreads more than the offer of it. all he wants is to be forgotten; and in this respect he is generally fortunate enough to get what he wants. one becomes used to being hard up, as one becomes used to everything else, by the help of that wonderful old homeopathic doctor, time. you can tell at a glance the difference between the old hand and the novice; between the case-hardened man who has been used to shift and struggle for years and the poor devil of a beginner striving to hide his misery, and in a constant agony of fear lest he should be found out. nothing shows this difference more clearly than the way in which each will pawn his watch. as the poet says somewhere: "true ease in pawning comes from art, not chance." the one goes into his "uncle's" with as much composure as he would into his tailor's--very likely with more. the assistant is even civil and attends to him at once, to the great indignation of the lady in the next box, who, however, sarcastically observes that she don't mind being kept waiting "if it is a regular customer." why, from the pleasant and businesslike manner in which the transaction is carried out, it might be a large purchase in the three per cents. yet what a piece of work a man makes of his first "pop." a boy popping his first question is confidence itself compared with him. he hangs about outside the shop until he has succeeded in attracting the attention of all the loafers in the neighborhood and has aroused strong suspicions in the mind of the policeman on the beat. at last, after a careful examination of the contents of the windows, made for the purpose of impressing the bystanders with the notion that he is going in to purchase a diamond bracelet or some such trifle, he enters, trying to do so with a careless swagger, and giving himself really the air of a member of the swell mob. when inside he speaks in so low a voice as to be perfectly inaudible, and has to say it all over again. when, in the course of his rambling conversation about a "friend" of his, the word "lend" is reached, he is promptly told to go up the court on the right and take the first door round the corner. he comes out of the shop with a face that you could easily light a cigarette at, and firmly under the impression that the whole population of the district is watching him. when he does get to the right place he has forgotten his name and address and is in a general condition of hopeless imbecility. asked in a severe tone how he came by "this," he stammers and contradicts himself, and it is only a miracle if he does not confess to having stolen it that very day. he is thereupon informed that they don't want anything to do with his sort, and that he had better get out of this as quickly as possible, which he does, recollecting nothing more until he finds himself three miles off, without the slightest knowledge how he got there. by the way, how awkward it is, though, having to depend on public-houses and churches for the time. the former are generally too fast and the latter too slow. besides which, your efforts to get a glimpse of the public house clock from the outside are attended with great difficulties. if you gently push the swing-door ajar and peer in you draw upon yourself the contemptuous looks of the barmaid, who at once puts you down in the same category with area sneaks and cadgers. you also create a certain amount of agitation among the married portion of the customers. you don't see the clock because it is behind the door; and in trying to withdraw quietly you jam your head. the only other method is to jump up and down outside the window. after this latter proceeding, however, if you do not bring out a banjo and commence to sing, the youthful inhabitants of the neighborhood, who have gathered round in expectation, become disappointed. i should like to know, too, by what mysterious law of nature it is that before you have left your watch "to be repaired" half an hour, some one is sure to stop you in the street and conspicuously ask you the time. nobody even feels the slightest curiosity on the subject when you've got it on. dear old ladies and gentlemen who know nothing about being hard up--and may they never, bless their gray old heads--look upon the pawn-shop as the last stage of degradation; but those who know it better (and my readers have no doubt, noticed this themselves) are often surprised, like the little boy who dreamed he went to heaven, at meeting so many people there that they never expected to see. for my part, i think it a much more independent course than borrowing from friends, and i always try to impress this upon those of my acquaintance who incline toward "wanting a couple of pounds till the day after to-morrow." but they won't all see it. one of them once remarked that he objected to the principle of the thing. i fancy if he had said it was the interest that he objected to he would have been nearer the truth: twenty-five per cent. certainly does come heavy. there are degrees in being hard up. we are all hard up, more or less--most of us more. some are hard up for a thousand pounds; some for a shilling. just at this moment i am hard up myself for a fiver. i only want it for a day or two. i should be certain of paying it back within a week at the outside, and if any lady or gentleman among my readers would kindly lend it me, i should be very much obliged indeed. they could send it to me under cover to messrs. field & tuer, only, in such case, please let the envelope be carefully sealed. i would give you my i.o.u. as security. on vanity and vanities. all is vanity and everybody's vain. women are terribly vain. so are men--more so, if possible. so are children, particularly children. one of them at this very moment is hammering upon my legs. she wants to know what i think of her new shoes. candidly i don't think much of them. they lack symmetry and curve and possess an indescribable appearance of lumpiness (i believe, too, they've put them on the wrong feet). but i don't say this. it is not criticism, but flattery that she wants; and i gush over them with what i feel to myself to be degrading effusiveness. nothing else would satisfy this self-opinionated cherub. i tried the conscientious-friend dodge with her on one occasion, but it was not a success. she had requested my judgment upon her general conduct and behavior, the exact case submitted being, "wot oo tink of me? oo peased wi' me?" and i had thought it a good opportunity to make a few salutary remarks upon her late moral career, and said: "no, i am not pleased with you." i recalled to her mind the events of that very morning, and i put it to her how she, as a christian child, could expect a wise and good uncle to be satisfied with the carryings on of an infant who that very day had roused the whole house at five am.; had upset a water-jug and tumbled downstairs after it at seven; had endeavored to put the cat in the bath at eight; and sat on her own father's hat at nine thirty-five. what did she do? was she grateful to me for my plain speaking? did she ponder upon my words and determine to profit by them and to lead from that hour a better and nobler life? no! she howled. that done, she became abusive. she said: "oo naughty--oo naughty, bad unkie--oo bad man--me tell mar." and she did, too. since then, when my views have been called for i have kept my real sentiments more to myself like, preferring to express unbounded admiration of this young person's actions, irrespective of their actual merits. and she nods her head approvingly and trots off to advertise my opinion to the rest of the household. she appears to employ it as a sort of testimonial for mercenary purposes, for i subsequently hear distant sounds of "unkie says me dood dirl--me dot to have two bikkies [biscuits]." there she goes, now, gazing rapturously at her own toes and murmuring "pittie"--two-foot-ten of conceit and vanity, to say nothing of other wickednesses. they are all alike. i remember sitting in a garden one sunny afternoon in the suburbs of london. suddenly i heard a shrill treble voice calling from a top-story window to some unseen being, presumably in one of the other gardens, "gamma, me dood boy, me wery good boy, gamma; me dot on bob's knickiebockies." why, even animals are vain. i saw a great newfoundland dog the other day sitting in front of a mirror at the entrance to a shop in regent's circus, and examining himself with an amount of smug satisfaction that i have never seen equaled elsewhere outside a vestry meeting. i was at a farm-house once when some high holiday was being celebrated. i don't remember what the occasion was, but it was something festive, a may day or quarter day, or something of that sort, and they put a garland of flowers round the head of one of the cows. well, that absurd quadruped went about all day as perky as a schoolgirl in a new frock; and when they took the wreath off she became quite sulky, and they had to put it on again before she would stand still to be milked. this is not a percy anecdote. it is plain, sober truth. as for cats, they nearly equal human beings for vanity. i have known a cat get up and walk out of the room on a remark derogatory to her species being made by a visitor, while a neatly turned compliment will set them purring for an hour. i do like cats. they are so unconsciously amusing. there is such a comic dignity about them, such a "how dare you!" "go away, don't touch me" sort of air. now, there is nothing haughty about a dog. they are "hail, fellow, well met" with every tom, dick, or harry that they come across. when i meet a dog of my acquaintance i slap his head, call him opprobrious epithets, and roll him over on his back; and there he lies, gaping at me, and doesn't mind it a bit. fancy carrying on like that with a cat! why, she would never speak to you again as long as you lived. no, when you want to win the approbation of a cat you must mind what you are about and work your way carefully. if you don't know the cat, you had best begin by saying, "poor pussy." after which add "did 'ums" in a tone of soothing sympathy. you don't know what you mean any more than the cat does, but the sentiment seems to imply a proper spirit on your part, and generally touches her feelings to such an extent that if you are of good manners and passable appearance she will stick her back up and rub her nose against you. matters having reached this stage, you may venture to chuck her under the chin and tickle the side of her head, and the intelligent creature will then stick her claws into your legs; and all is friendship and affection, as so sweetly expressed in the beautiful lines-- "i love little pussy, her coat is so warm, and if i don't tease her she'll do me no harm; so i'll stroke her, and pat her, and feed her with food, and pussy will love me because i am good." the last two lines of the stanza give us a pretty true insight into pussy's notions of human goodness. it is evident that in her opinion goodness consists of stroking her, and patting her, and feeding her with food. i fear this narrow-minded view of virtue, though, is not confined to pussies. we are all inclined to adopt a similar standard of merit in our estimate of other people. a good man is a man who is good to us, and a bad man is a man who doesn't do what we want him to. the truth is, we each of us have an inborn conviction that the whole world, with everybody and everything in it, was created as a sort of necessary appendage to ourselves. our fellow men and women were made to admire us and to minister to our various requirements. you and i, dear reader, are each the center of the universe in our respective opinions. you, as i understand it, were brought into being by a considerate providence in order that you might read and pay me for what i write; while i, in your opinion, am an article sent into the world to write something for you to read. the stars--as we term the myriad other worlds that are rushing down beside us through the eternal silence--were put into the heavens to make the sky look interesting for us at night; and the moon with its dark mysteries and ever-hidden face is an arrangement for us to flirt under. i fear we are most of us like mrs. poyser's bantam cock, who fancied the sun got up every morning to hear him crow. "'tis vanity that makes the world go round." i don't believe any man ever existed without vanity, and if he did he would be an extremely uncomfortable person to have anything to do with. he would, of course, be a very good man, and we should respect him very much. he would be a very admirable man--a man to be put under a glass case and shown round as a specimen--a man to be stuck upon a pedestal and copied, like a school exercise--a man to be reverenced, but not a man to be loved, not a human brother whose hand we should care to grip. angels may be very excellent sort of folk in their way, but we, poor mortals, in our present state, would probably find them precious slow company. even mere good people are rather depressing. it is in our faults and failings, not in our virtues, that we touch one another and find sympathy. we differ widely enough in our nobler qualities. it is in our follies that we are at one. some of us are pious, some of us are generous. some few of us are honest, comparatively speaking; and some, fewer still, may possibly be truthful. but in vanity and kindred weaknesses we can all join hands. vanity is one of those touches of nature that make the whole world kin. from the indian hunter, proud of his belt of scalps, to the european general, swelling beneath his row of stars and medals; from the chinese, gleeful at the length of his pigtail, to the "professional beauty," suffering tortures in order that her waist may resemble a peg-top; from draggle-tailed little polly stiggins, strutting through seven dials with a tattered parasol over her head, to the princess sweeping through a drawing-room with a train of four yards long; from 'arry, winning by vulgar chaff the loud laughter of his pals, to the statesman whose ears are tickled by the cheers that greet his high-sounding periods; from the dark-skinned african, bartering his rare oils and ivory for a few glass beads to hang about his neck, to the christian maiden selling her white body for a score of tiny stones and an empty title to tack before her name--all march, and fight, and bleed, and die beneath its tawdry flag. ay, ay, vanity is truly the motive-power that moves humanity, and it is flattery that greases the wheels. if you want to win affection and respect in this world, you must flatter people. flatter high and low, and rich and poor, and silly and wise. you will get on famously. praise this man's virtues and that man's vices. compliment everybody upon everything, and especially upon what they haven't got. admire guys for their beauty, fools for their wit, and boors for their breeding. your discernment and intelligence will be extolled to the skies. every one can be got over by flattery. the belted earl--"belted earl" is the correct phrase, i believe. i don't know what it means, unless it be an earl that wears a belt instead of braces. some men do. i don't like it myself. you have to keep the thing so tight for it to be of any use, and that is uncomfortable. anyhow, whatever particular kind of an earl a belted earl may be, he is, i assert, get-overable by flattery; just as every other human being is, from a duchess to a cat's-meat man, from a plow boy to a poet--and the poet far easier than the plowboy, for butter sinks better into wheaten bread than into oaten cakes. as for love, flattery is its very life-blood. fill a person with love for themselves, and what runs over will be your share, says a certain witty and truthful frenchman whose name i can't for the life of me remember. (confound it! i never can remember names when i want to.) tell a girl she is an angel, only more angelic than an angel; that she is a goddess, only more graceful, queenly, and heavenly than the average goddess; that she is more fairy-like than titania, more beautiful than venus, more enchanting than parthenope; more adorable, lovely, and radiant, in short, than any other woman that ever did live, does live, or could live, and you will make a very favorable impression upon her trusting little heart. sweet innocent! she will believe every word you say. it is so easy to deceive a woman--in this way. dear little souls, they hate flattery, so they tell you; and when you say, "ah, darling, it isn't flattery in your case, it's plain, sober truth; you really are, without exaggeration, the most beautiful, the most good, the most charming, the most divine, the most perfect human creature that ever trod this earth," they will smile a quiet, approving smile, and, leaning against your manly shoulder, murmur that you are a dear good fellow after all. by jove! fancy a man trying to make love on strictly truthful principles, determining never to utter a word of mere compliment or hyperbole, but to scrupulously confine himself to exact fact! fancy his gazing rapturously into his mistress' eyes and whispering softly to her that she wasn't, on the whole, bad-looking, as girls went! fancy his holding up her little hand and assuring her that it was of a light drab color shot with red; and telling her as he pressed her to his heart that her nose, for a turned-up one, seemed rather pretty; and that her eyes appeared to him, as far as he could judge, to be quite up to the average standard of such things! a nice chance he would stand against the man who would tell her that her face was like a fresh blush rose, that her hair was a wandering sunbeam imprisoned by her smiles, and her eyes like two evening stars. there are various ways of flattering, and, of course, you must adapt your style to your subject. some people like it laid on with a trowel, and this requires very little art. with sensible persons, however, it needs to be done very delicately, and more by suggestion than actual words. a good many like it wrapped up in the form of an insult, as--"oh, you are a perfect fool, you are. you would give your last sixpence to the first hungry-looking beggar you met;" while others will swallow it only when administered through the medium of a third person, so that if c wishes to get at an a of this sort, he must confide to a's particular friend b that he thinks a a splendid fellow, and beg him, b, not to mention it, especially to a. be careful that b is a reliable man, though, otherwise he won't. those fine, sturdy john bulls who "hate flattery, sir," "never let anybody get over me by flattery," etc., etc., are very simply managed. flatter them enough upon their absence of vanity, and you can do what you like with them. after all, vanity is as much a virtue as a vice. it is easy to recite copy-book maxims against its sinfulness, but it is a passion that can move us to good as well as to evil. ambition is only vanity ennobled. we want to win praise and admiration--or fame as we prefer to name it--and so we write great books, and paint grand pictures, and sing sweet songs; and toil with willing hands in study, loom, and laboratory. we wish to become rich men, not in order to enjoy ease and comfort--all that any one man can taste of those may be purchased anywhere for pounds per annum--but that our houses may be bigger and more gaudily furnished than our neighbors'; that our horses and servants may be more numerous; that we may dress our wives and daughters in absurd but expensive clothes; and that we may give costly dinners of which we ourselves individually do not eat a shilling's worth. and to do this we aid the world's work with clear and busy brain, spreading commerce among its peoples, carrying civilization to its remotest corners. do not let us abuse vanity, therefore. rather let us use it. honor itself is but the highest form of vanity. the instinct is not confined solely to beau brummels and dolly vardens. there is the vanity of the peacock and the vanity of the eagle. snobs are vain. but so, too, are heroes. come, oh! my young brother bucks, let us be vain together. let us join hands and help each other to increase our vanity. let us be vain, not of our trousers and hair, but of brave hearts and working hands, of truth, of purity, of nobility. let us be too vain to stoop to aught that is mean or base, too vain for petty selfishness and little-minded envy, too vain to say an unkind word or do an unkind act. let us be vain of being single-hearted, upright gentlemen in the midst of a world of knaves. let us pride ourselves upon thinking high thoughts, achieving great deeds, living good lives. on getting on in the world. not exactly the sort of thing for an idle fellow to think about, is it? but outsiders, you know, often see most of the game; and sitting in my arbor by the wayside, smoking my hookah of contentment and eating the sweet lotus-leaves of indolence, i can look out musingly upon the whirling throng that rolls and tumbles past me on the great high-road of life. never-ending is the wild procession. day and night you can hear the quick tramp of the myriad feet--some running, some walking, some halting and lame; but all hastening, all eager in the feverish race, all straining life and limb and heart and soul to reach the ever-receding horizon of success. mark them as they surge along--men and women, old and young, gentle and simple, fair and foul, rich and poor, merry and sad--all hurrying, bustling, scrambling. the strong pushing aside the weak, the cunning creeping past the foolish; those behind elbowing those before; those in front kicking, as they run, at those behind. look close and see the flitting show. here is an old man panting for breath, and there a timid maiden driven by a hard and sharp-faced matron; here is a studious youth, reading "how to get on in the world" and letting everybody pass him as he stumbles along with his eyes on his book; here is a bored-looking man, with a fashionably dressed woman jogging his elbow; here a boy gazing wistfully back at the sunny village that he never again will see; here, with a firm and easy step, strides a broad-shouldered man; and here, with stealthy tread, a thin-faced, stooping fellow dodges and shuffles upon his way; here, with gaze fixed always on the ground, an artful rogue carefully works his way from side to side of the road and thinks he is going forward; and here a youth with a noble face stands, hesitating as he looks from the distant goal to the mud beneath his feet. and now into sight comes a fair girl, with her dainty face growing more wrinkled at every step, and now a care-worn man, and now a hopeful lad. a motley throng--a motley throng! prince and beggar, sinner and saint, butcher and baker and candlestick maker, tinkers and tailors, and plowboys and sailors--all jostling along together. here the counsel in his wig and gown, and here the old jew clothes-man under his dingy tiara; here the soldier in his scarlet, and here the undertaker's mute in streaming hat-band and worn cotton gloves; here the musty scholar fumbling his faded leaves, and here the scented actor dangling his showy seals. here the glib politician crying his legislative panaceas, and here the peripatetic cheap-jack holding aloft his quack cures for human ills. here the sleek capitalist and there the sinewy laborer; here the man of science and here the shoe-back; here the poet and here the water-rate collector; here the cabinet minister and there the ballet-dancer. here a red-nosed publican shouting the praises of his vats and there a temperance lecturer at pounds a night; here a judge and there a swindler; here a priest and there a gambler. here a jeweled duchess, smiling and gracious; here a thin lodging-house keeper, irritable with cooking; and here a wabbling, strutting thing, tawdry in paint and finery. cheek by cheek they struggle onward. screaming, cursing, and praying, laughing, singing, and moaning, they rush past side by side. their speed never slackens, the race never ends. there is no wayside rest for them, no halt by cooling fountains, no pause beneath green shades. on, on, on--on through the heat and the crowd and the dust--on, or they will be trampled down and lost--on, with throbbing brain and tottering limbs--on, till the heart grows sick, and the eyes grow blurred, and a gurgling groan tells those behind they may close up another space. and yet, in spite of the killing pace and the stony track, who but the sluggard or the dolt can hold aloof from the course? who--like the belated traveler that stands watching fairy revels till he snatches and drains the goblin cup and springs into the whirling circle--can view the mad tumult and not be drawn into its midst? not i, for one. i confess to the wayside arbor, the pipe of contentment, and the lotus-leaves being altogether unsuitable metaphors. they sounded very nice and philosophical, but i'm afraid i am not the sort of person to sit in arbors smoking pipes when there is any fun going on outside. i think i more resemble the irishman who, seeing a crowd collecting, sent his little girl out to ask if there was going to be a row--"'cos, if so, father would like to be in it." i love the fierce strife. i like to watch it. i like to hear of people getting on in it--battling their way bravely and fairly--that is, not slipping through by luck or trickery. it stirs one's old saxon fighting blood like the tales of "knights who fought 'gainst fearful odds" that thrilled us in our school-boy days. and fighting the battle of life is fighting against fearful odds, too. there are giants and dragons in this nineteenth century, and the golden casket that they guard is not so easy to win as it appears in the story-books. there, algernon takes one long, last look at the ancestral hall, dashes the tear-drop from his eye, and goes off--to return in three years' time, rolling in riches. the authors do not tell us "how it's done," which is a pity, for it would surely prove exciting. but then not one novelist in a thousand ever does tell us the real story of their hero. they linger for a dozen pages over a tea-party, but sum up a life's history with "he had become one of our merchant princes," or "he was now a great artist, with the world at his feet." why, there is more real life in one of gilbert's patter-songs than in half the biographical novels ever written. he relates to us all the various steps by which his office-boy rose to be the "ruler of the queen's navee," and explains to us how the briefless barrister managed to become a great and good judge, "ready to try this breach of promise of marriage." it is in the petty details, not in the great results, that the interest of existence lies. what we really want is a novel showing us all the hidden under-current of an ambitious man's career--his struggles, and failures, and hopes, his disappointments and victories. it would be an immense success. i am sure the wooing of fortune would prove quite as interesting a tale as the wooing of any flesh-and-blood maiden, though, by the way, it would read extremely similar; for fortune is, indeed, as the ancients painted her, very like a woman--not quite so unreasonable and inconsistent, but nearly so--and the pursuit is much the same in one case as in the other. ben jonson's couplet-- "court a mistress, she denies you; let her alone, she will court you"-- puts them both in a nutshell. a woman never thoroughly cares for her lover until he has ceased to care for her; and it is not until you have snapped your fingers in fortune's face and turned on your heel that she begins to smile upon you. but by that time you do not much care whether she smiles or frowns. why could she not have smiled when her smiles would have filled you with ecstasy? everything comes too late in this world. good people say that it is quite right and proper that it should be so, and that it proves ambition is wicked. bosh! good people are altogether wrong. (they always are, in my opinion. we never agree on any single point.) what would the world do without ambitious people, i should like to know? why, it would be as flabby as a norfolk dumpling. ambitious people are the leaven which raises it into wholesome bread. without ambitious people the world would never get up. they are busybodies who are about early in the morning, hammering, shouting, and rattling the fire-irons, and rendering it generally impossible for the rest of the house to remain in bed. wrong to be ambitious, forsooth! the men wrong who, with bent back and sweating brow, cut the smooth road over which humanity marches forward from generation to generation! men wrong for using the talents that their master has intrusted to them--for toiling while others play! of course they are seeking their reward. man is not given that godlike unselfishness that thinks only of others' good. but in working for themselves they are working for us all. we are so bound together that no man can labor for himself alone. each blow he strikes in his own behalf helps to mold the universe. the stream in struggling onward turns the mill-wheel; the coral insect, fashioning its tiny cell, joins continents to one another; and the ambitious man, building a pedestal for himself, leaves a monument to posterity. alexander and caesar fought for their own ends, but in doing so they put a belt of civilization half round the earth. stephenson, to win a fortune, invented the steam-engine; and shakespeare wrote his plays in order to keep a comfortable home for mrs. shakespeare and the little shakespeares. contented, unambitious people are all very well in their way. they form a neat, useful background for great portraits to be painted against, and they make a respectable, if not particularly intelligent, audience for the active spirits of the age to play before. i have not a word to say against contented people so long as they keep quiet. but do not, for goodness' sake, let them go strutting about, as they are so fond of doing, crying out that they are the true models for the whole species. why, they are the deadheads, the drones in the great hive, the street crowds that lounge about, gaping at those who are working. and let them not imagine, either--as they are also fond of doing--that they are very wise and philosophical and that it is a very artful thing to be contented. it may be true that "a contented mind is happy anywhere," but so is a jerusalem pony, and the consequence is that both are put anywhere and are treated anyhow. "oh, you need not bother about him," is what is said; "he is very contented as he is, and it would be a pity to disturb him." and so your contented party is passed over and the discontented man gets his place. if you are foolish enough to be contented, don't show it, but grumble with the rest; and if you can do with a little, ask for a great deal. because if you don't you won't get any. in this world it is necessary to adopt the principle pursued by the plaintiff in an action for damages, and to demand ten times more than you are ready to accept. if you can feel satisfied with a hundred, begin by insisting on a thousand; if you start by suggesting a hundred you will only get ten. it was by not following this simple plan that poor jean jacques rousseau came to such grief. he fixed the summit of his earthly bliss at living in an orchard with an amiable woman and a cow, and he never attained even that. he did get as far as the orchard, but the woman was not amiable, and she brought her mother with her, and there was no cow. now, if he had made up his mind for a large country estate, a houseful of angels, and a cattle-show, he might have lived to possess his kitchen garden and one head of live-stock, and even possibly have come across that _rara-avis_--a really amiable woman. what a terribly dull affair, too, life must be for contented people! how heavy the time must hang upon their hands, and what on earth do they occupy their thoughts with, supposing that they have any? reading the paper and smoking seems to be the intellectual food of the majority of them, to which the more energetic add playing the flute and talking about the affairs of the next-door neighbor. they never knew the excitement of expectation nor the stern delight of accomplished effort, such as stir the pulse of the man who has objects, and hopes, and plans. to the ambitious man life is a brilliant game--a game that calls forth all his tact and energy and nerve--a game to be won, in the long run, by the quick eye and the steady hand, and yet having sufficient chance about its working out to give it all the glorious zest of uncertainty. he exults in it as the strong swimmer in the heaving billows, as the athlete in the wrestle, the soldier in the battle. and if he be defeated he wins the grim joy of fighting; if he lose the race, he, at least, has had a run. better to work and fail than to sleep one's life away. so, walk up, walk up, walk up. walk up, ladies and gentlemen! walk up, boys and girls! show your skill and try your strength; brave your luck and prove your pluck. walk up! the show is never closed and the game is always going. the only genuine sport in all the fair, gentlemen--highly respectable and strictly moral--patronized by the nobility, clergy, and gentry. established in the year one, gentlemen, and been flourishing ever since--walk up! walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and take a hand. there are prizes for all and all can play. there is gold for the man and fame for the boy; rank for the maiden and pleasure for the fool. so walk up, ladies and gentlemen, walk up!--all prizes and no blanks; for some few win, and as to the rest, why-- "the rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain." on the weather. things do go so contrary-like with me. i wanted to hit upon an especially novel, out-of-the-way subject for one of these articles. "i will write one paper about something altogether new," i said to myself; "something that nobody else has ever written or talked about before; and then i can have it all my own way." and i went about for days, trying to think of something of this kind; and i couldn't. and mrs. cutting, our charwoman, came yesterday--i don't mind mentioning her name, because i know she will not see this book. she would not look at such a frivolous publication. she never reads anything but the bible and _lloyd's weekly news_. all other literature she considers unnecessary and sinful. she said: "lor', sir, you do look worried." i said: "mrs. cutting, i am trying to think of a subject the discussion of which will come upon the world in the nature of a startler--some subject upon which no previous human being has ever said a word--some subject that will attract by its novelty, invigorate by its surprising freshness." she laughed and said i was a funny gentleman. that's my luck again. when i make serious observations people chuckle; when i attempt a joke nobody sees it. i had a beautiful one last week. i thought it so good, and i worked it up and brought it in artfully at a dinner-party. i forget how exactly, but we had been talking about the attitude of shakespeare toward the reformation, and i said something and immediately added, "ah, that reminds me; such a funny thing happened the other day in whitechapel." "oh," said they, "what was that?" "oh, 'twas awfully funny," i replied, beginning to giggle myself; "it will make you roar;" and i told it them. there was dead silence when i finished--it was one of those long jokes, too--and then, at last, somebody said: "and that was the joke?" i assured them that it was, and they were very polite and took my word for it. all but one old gentleman at the other end of the table, who wanted to know which was the joke--what he said to her or what she said to him; and we argued it out. some people are too much the other way. i knew a fellow once whose natural tendency to laugh at everything was so strong that if you wanted to talk seriously to him, you had to explain beforehand that what you were going to say would not be amusing. unless you got him to clearly understand this, he would go off into fits of merriment over every word you uttered. i have known him on being asked the time stop short in the middle of the road, slap his leg, and burst into a roar of laughter. one never dared say anything really funny to that man. a good joke would have killed him on the spot. in the present instance i vehemently repudiated the accusation of frivolity, and pressed mrs. cutting for practical ideas. she then became thoughtful and hazarded "samplers;" saying that she never heard them spoken much of now, but that they used to be all the rage when she was a girl. i declined samplers and begged her to think again. she pondered a long while, with a tea-tray in her hands, and at last suggested the weather, which she was sure had been most trying of late. and ever since that idiotic suggestion i have been unable to get the weather out of my thoughts or anything else in. it certainly is most wretched weather. at all events it is so now at the time i am writing, and if it isn't particularly unpleasant when i come to be read it soon will be. it always is wretched weather according to us. the weather is like the government--always in the wrong. in summer-time we say it is stifling; in winter that it is killing; in spring and autumn we find fault with it for being neither one thing nor the other and wish it would make up its mind. if it is fine we say the country is being ruined for want of rain; if it does rain we pray for fine weather. if december passes without snow, we indignantly demand to know what has become of our good old-fashioned winters, and talk as if we had been cheated out of something we had bought and paid for; and when it does snow, our language is a disgrace to a christian nation. we shall never be content until each man makes his own weather and keeps it to himself. if that cannot be arranged, we would rather do without it altogether. yet i think it is only to us in cities that all weather is so unwelcome. in her own home, the country, nature is sweet in all her moods. what can be more beautiful than the snow, falling big with mystery in silent softness, decking the fields and trees with white as if for a fairy wedding! and how delightful is a walk when the frozen ground rings beneath our swinging tread--when our blood tingles in the rare keen air, and the sheep-dogs' distant bark and children's laughter peals faintly clear like alpine bells across the open hills! and then skating! scudding with wings of steel across the swaying ice, making whirring music as we fly. and oh, how dainty is spring--nature at sweet eighteen! when the little hopeful leaves peep out so fresh and green, so pure and bright, like young lives pushing shyly out into the bustling world; when the fruit-tree blossoms, pink and white, like village maidens in their sunday frocks, hide each whitewashed cottage in a cloud of fragile splendor; and the cuckoo's note upon the breeze is wafted through the woods! and summer, with its deep dark green and drowsy hum--when the rain-drops whisper solemn secrets to the listening leaves and the twilight lingers in the lanes! and autumn! ah, how sadly fair, with its golden glow and the dying grandeur of its tinted woods--its blood-red sunsets and its ghostly evening mists, with its busy murmur of reapers, and its laden orchards, and the calling of the gleaners, and the festivals of praise! the very rain, and sleet, and hail seem only nature's useful servants when found doing their simple duties in the country; and the east wind himself is nothing worse than a boisterous friend when we meet him between the hedge-rows. but in the city where the painted stucco blisters under the smoky sun, and the sooty rain brings slush and mud, and the snow lies piled in dirty heaps, and the chill blasts whistle down dingy streets and shriek round flaring gas lit corners, no face of nature charms us. weather in towns is like a skylark in a counting-house--out of place and in the way. towns ought to be covered in, warmed by hot-water pipes, and lighted by electricity. the weather is a country lass and does not appear to advantage in town. we liked well enough to flirt with her in the hay-field, but she does not seem so fascinating when we meet her in pall mall. there is too much of her there. the frank, free laugh and hearty voice that sounded so pleasant in the dairy jars against the artificiality of town-bred life, and her ways become exceedingly trying. just lately she has been favoring us with almost incessant rain for about three weeks; and i am a demned damp, moist, unpleasant body, as mr. mantalini puts it. our next-door neighbor comes out in the back garden every now and then and says it's doing the country a world of good--not his coming out into the back garden, but the weather. he doesn't understand anything about it, but ever since he started a cucumber-frame last summer he has regarded himself in the light of an agriculturist, and talks in this absurd way with the idea of impressing the rest of the terrace with the notion that he is a retired farmer. i can only hope that for this once he is correct, and that the weather really is doing good to something, because it is doing me a considerable amount of damage. it is spoiling both my clothes and my temper. the latter i can afford, as i have a good supply of it, but it wounds me to the quick to see my dear old hats and trousers sinking, prematurely worn and aged, beneath the cold world's blasts and snows. there is my new spring suit, too. a beautiful suit it was, and now it is hanging up so bespattered with mud i can't bear to look at it. that was jim's fault, that was. i should never have gone out in it that night if it had not been for him. i was just trying it on when he came in. he threw up his arms with a wild yell the moment he caught sight of it, and exclaimed that he had "got 'em again!" i said: "does it fit all right behind?" "spiffin, old man," he replied. and then he wanted to know if i was coming out. i said "no" at first, but he overruled me. he said that a man with a suit like that had no right to stop indoors. "every citizen," said he, "owes a duty to the public. each one should contribute to the general happiness as far as lies in his power. come out and give the girls a treat." jim is slangy. i don't know where he picks it up. it certainly is not from me. i said: "do you think it will really please 'em?" he said it would be like a day in the country to them. that decided me. it was a lovely evening and i went. when i got home i undressed and rubbed myself down with whisky, put my feet in hot water and a mustard-plaster on my chest, had a basin of gruel and a glass of hot brandy-and-water, tallowed my nose, and went to bed. these prompt and vigorous measures, aided by a naturally strong constitution, were the means of preserving my life; but as for the suit! well, there, it isn't a suit; it's a splash-board. and i did fancy that suit, too. but that's just the way. i never do get particularly fond of anything in this world but what something dreadful happens to it. i had a tame rat when i was a boy, and i loved that animal as only a boy would love an old water-rat; and one day it fell into a large dish of gooseberry-fool that was standing to cool in the kitchen, and nobody knew what had become of the poor creature until the second helping. i do hate wet weather in town. at least, it is not so much the wet as the mud that i object to. somehow or other i seem to possess an irresistible alluring power over mud. i have only to show myself in the street on a muddy day to be half-smothered by it. it all comes of being so attractive, as the old lady said when she was struck by lightning. other people can go out on dirty days and walk about for hours without getting a speck upon themselves; while if i go across the road i come back a perfect disgrace to be seen (as in my boyish days my poor dear mother tried often to tell me). if there were only one dab of mud to be found in the whole of london, i am convinced i should carry it off from all competitors. i wish i could return the affection, but i fear i never shall be able to. i have a horror of what they call the "london particular." i feel miserable and muggy all through a dirty day, and it is quite a relief to pull one's clothes off and get into bed, out of the way of it all. everything goes wrong in wet weather. i don't know how it is, but there always seem to me to be more people, and dogs, and perambulators, and cabs, and carts about in wet weather than at any other time, and they all get in your way more, and everybody is so disagreeable--except myself--and it does make me so wild. and then, too, somehow i always find myself carrying more things in wet weather than in dry; and when you have a bag, and three parcels, and a newspaper, and it suddenly comes on to rain, you can't open your umbrella. which reminds me of another phase of the weather that i can't bear, and that is april weather (so called because it always comes in may). poets think it very nice. as it does not know its own mind five minutes together, they liken it to a woman; and it is supposed to be very charming on that account. i don't appreciate it, myself. such lightning-change business may be all very agreeable in a girl. it is no doubt highly delightful to have to do with a person who grins one moment about nothing at all, and snivels the next for precisely the same cause, and who then giggles, and then sulks, and who is rude, and affectionate, and bad-tempered, and jolly, and boisterous, and silent, and passionate, and cold, and stand-offish, and flopping, all in one minute (mind, i don't say this. it is those poets. and they are supposed to be connoisseurs of this sort of thing); but in the weather the disadvantages of the system are more apparent. a woman's tears do not make one wet, but the rain does; and her coldness does not lay the foundations of asthma and rheumatism, as the east wind is apt to. i can prepare for and put up with a regularly bad day, but these ha'porth-of-all-sorts kind of days do not suit me. it aggravates me to see a bright blue sky above me when i am walking along wet through, and there is something so exasperating about the way the sun comes out smiling after a drenching shower, and seems to say: "lord love you, you don't mean to say you're wet? well, i am surprised. why, it was only my fun." they don't give you time to open or shut your umbrella in an english april, especially if it is an "automaton" one--the umbrella, i mean, not the april. i bought an "automaton" once in april, and i did have a time with it! i wanted an umbrella, and i went into a shop in the strand and told them so, and they said: "yes, sir. what sort of an umbrella would you like?" i said i should like one that would keep the rain off, and that would not allow itself to be left behind in a railway carriage. "try an 'automaton,'" said the shopman. "what's an 'automaton'?" said i. "oh, it's a beautiful arrangement," replied the man, with a touch of enthusiasm. "it opens and shuts itself." i bought one and found that he was quite correct. it did open and shut itself. i had no control over it whatever. when it began to rain, which it did that season every alternate five minutes, i used to try and get the machine to open, but it would not budge; and then i used to stand and struggle with the wretched thing, and shake it, and swear at it, while the rain poured down in torrents. then the moment the rain ceased the absurd thing would go up suddenly with a jerk and would not come down again; and i had to walk about under a bright blue sky, with an umbrella over my head, wishing that it would come on to rain again, so that it might not seem that i was insane. when it did shut it did so unexpectedly and knocked one's hat off. i don't know why it should be so, but it is an undeniable fact that there is nothing makes a man look so supremely ridiculous as losing his hat. the feeling of helpless misery that shoots down one's back on suddenly becoming aware that one's head is bare is among the most bitter ills that flesh is heir to. and then there is the wild chase after it, accompanied by an excitable small dog, who thinks it is a game, and in the course of which you are certain to upset three or four innocent children--to say nothing of their mothers--butt a fat old gentleman on to the top of a perambulator, and carom off a ladies' seminary into the arms of a wet sweep. after this, the idiotic hilarity of the spectators and the disreputable appearance of the hat when recovered appear but of minor importance. altogether, what between march winds, april showers, and the entire absence of may flowers, spring is not a success in cities. it is all very well in the country, as i have said, but in towns whose population is anything over ten thousand it most certainly ought to be abolished. in the world's grim workshops it is like the children--out of place. neither shows to advantage amid the dust and din. it seems so sad to see the little dirt-grimed brats try to play in the noisy courts and muddy streets. poor little uncared-for, unwanted human atoms, they are not children. children are bright-eyed, chubby, and shy. these are dingy, screeching elves, their tiny faces seared and withered, their baby laughter cracked and hoarse. the spring of life and the spring of the year were alike meant to be cradled in the green lap of nature. to us in the town spring brings but its cold winds and drizzling rains. we must seek it among the leafless woods and the brambly lanes, on the heathy moors and the great still hills, if we want to feel its joyous breath and hear its silent voices. there is a glorious freshness in the spring there. the scurrying clouds, the open bleakness, the rushing wind, and the clear bright air thrill one with vague energies and hopes. life, like the landscape around us, seems bigger, and wider, and freer--a rainbow road leading to unknown ends. through the silvery rents that bar the sky we seem to catch a glimpse of the great hope and grandeur that lies around this little throbbing world, and a breath of its scent is wafted us on the wings of the wild march wind. strange thoughts we do not understand are stirring in our hearts. voices are calling us to some great effort, to some mighty work. but we do not comprehend their meaning yet, and the hidden echoes within us that would reply are struggling, inarticulate and dumb. we stretch our hands like children to the light, seeking to grasp we know not what. our thoughts, like the boys' thoughts in the danish song, are very long, long thoughts, and very vague; we cannot see their end. it must be so. all thoughts that peer outside this narrow world cannot be else than dim and shapeless. the thoughts that we can clearly grasp are very little thoughts--that two and two make four-that when we are hungry it is pleasant to eat--that honesty is the best policy; all greater thoughts are undefined and vast to our poor childish brains. we see but dimly through the mists that roll around our time-girt isle of life, and only hear the distant surging of the great sea beyond. on cats and dogs. what i've suffered from them this morning no tongue can tell. it began with gustavus adolphus. gustavus adolphus (they call him "gusty" down-stairs for short) is a very good sort of dog when he is in the middle of a large field or on a fairly extensive common, but i won't have him indoors. he means well, but this house is not his size. he stretches himself, and over go two chairs and a what-not. he wags his tail, and the room looks as if a devastating army had marched through it. he breathes, and it puts the fire out. at dinner-time he creeps in under the table, lies there for awhile, and then gets up suddenly; the first intimation we have of his movements being given by the table, which appears animated by a desire to turn somersaults. we all clutch at it frantically and endeavor to maintain it in a horizontal position; whereupon his struggles, he being under the impression that some wicked conspiracy is being hatched against him, become fearful, and the final picture presented is generally that of an overturned table and a smashed-up dinner sandwiched between two sprawling layers of infuriated men and women. he came in this morning in his usual style, which he appears to have founded on that of an american cyclone, and the first thing he did was to sweep my coffee-cup off the table with his tail, sending the contents full into the middle of my waistcoat. i rose from my chair hurriedly and remarking "----," approached him at a rapid rate. he preceded me in the direction of the door. at the door he met eliza coming in with eggs. eliza observed "ugh!" and sat down on the floor, the eggs took up different positions about the carpet, where they spread themselves out, and gustavus adolphus left the room. i called after him, strongly advising him to go straight downstairs and not let me see him again for the next hour or so; and he seeming to agree with me, dodged the coal-scoop and went, while i returned, dried myself and finished breakfast. i made sure that he had gone in to the yard, but when i looked into the passage ten minutes later he was sitting at the top of the stairs. i ordered him down at once, but he only barked and jumped about, so i went to see what was the matter. it was tittums. she was sitting on the top stair but one and wouldn't let him pass. tittums is our kitten. she is about the size of a penny roll. her back was up and she was swearing like a medical student. she does swear fearfully. i do a little that way myself sometimes, but i am a mere amateur compared with her. to tell you the truth--mind, this is strictly between ourselves, please; i shouldn't like your wife to know i said it--the women folk don't understand these things; but between you and me, you know, i think it does a man good to swear. swearing is the safety-valve through which the bad temper that might otherwise do serious internal injury to his mental mechanism escapes in harmless vaporing. when a man has said: "bless you, my dear, sweet sir. what the sun, moon, and stars made you so careless (if i may be permitted the expression) as to allow your light and delicate foot to descend upon my corn with so much force? is it that you are physically incapable of comprehending the direction in which you are proceeding? you nice, clever young man--you!" or words to that effect, he feels better. swearing has the same soothing effect upon our angry passions that smashing the furniture or slamming the doors is so well known to exercise; added to which it is much cheaper. swearing clears a man out like a pen'orth of gunpowder does the wash-house chimney. an occasional explosion is good for both. i rather distrust a man who never swears, or savagely kicks the foot-stool, or pokes the fire with unnecessary violence. without some outlet, the anger caused by the ever-occurring troubles of life is apt to rankle and fester within. the petty annoyance, instead of being thrown from us, sits down beside us and becomes a sorrow, and the little offense is brooded over till, in the hot-bed of rumination, it grows into a great injury, under whose poisonous shadow springs up hatred and revenge. swearing relieves the feelings--that is what swearing does. i explained this to my aunt on one occasion, but it didn't answer with her. she said i had no business to have such feelings. that is what i told tittums. i told her she ought to be ashamed of herself, brought up in at christian family as she was, too. i don't so much mind hearing an old cat swear, but i can't bear to see a mere kitten give way to it. it seems sad in one so young. i put tittums in my pocket and returned to my desk. i forgot her for the moment, and when i looked i found that she had squirmed out of my pocket on to the table and was trying to swallow the pen; then she put her leg into the ink-pot and upset it; then she licked her leg; then she swore again--at me this time. i put her down on the floor, and there tim began rowing with her. i do wish tim would mind his own business. it was no concern of his what she had been doing. besides, he is not a saint himself. he is only a two-year-old fox-terrier, and he interferes with everything and gives himself the airs of a gray-headed scotch collie. tittums' mother has come in and tim has got his nose scratched, for which i am remarkably glad. i have put them all three out in the passage, where they are fighting at the present moment. i'm in a mess with the ink and in a thundering bad temper; and if anything more in the cat or dog line comes fooling about me this morning, it had better bring its own funeral contractor with it. yet, in general, i like cats and dogs very much indeed. what jolly chaps they are! they are much superior to human beings as companions. they do not quarrel or argue with you. they never talk about themselves but listen to you while you talk about yourself, and keep up an appearance of being interested in the conversation. they never make stupid remarks. they never observe to miss brown across a dinner-table that they always understood she was very sweet on mr. jones (who has just married miss robinson). they never mistake your wife's cousin for her husband and fancy that you are the father-in-law. and they never ask a young author with fourteen tragedies, sixteen comedies, seven farces, and a couple of burlesques in his desk why he doesn't write a play. they never say unkind things. they never tell us of our faults, "merely for our own good." they do not at inconvenient moments mildly remind us of our past follies and mistakes. they do not say, "oh, yes, a lot of use you are if you are ever really wanted"--sarcastic like. they never inform us, like our _inamoratas_ sometimes do, that we are not nearly so nice as we used to be. we are always the same to them. they are always glad to see us. they are with us in all our humors. they are merry when we are glad, sober when we feel solemn, and sad when we are sorrowful. "halloo! happy and want a lark? right you are; i'm your man. here i am, frisking round you, leaping, barking, pirouetting, ready for any amount of fun and mischief. look at my eyes if you doubt me. what shall it be? a romp in the drawing-room and never mind the furniture, or a scamper in the fresh, cool air, a scud across the fields and down the hill, and won't we let old gaffer goggles' geese know what time o' day it is, neither! whoop! come along." or you'd like to be quiet and think. very well. pussy can sit on the arm of the chair and purr, and montmorency will curl himself up on the rug and blink at the fire, yet keeping one eye on you the while, in case you are seized with any sudden desire in the direction of rats. and when we bury our face in our hands and wish we had never been born, they don't sit up very straight and observe that we have brought it all upon ourselves. they don't even hope it will be a warning to us. but they come up softly and shove their heads against us. if it is a cat she stands on your shoulder, rumples your hair, and says, "lor,' i am sorry for you, old man," as plain as words can speak; and if it is a dog he looks up at you with his big, true eyes and says with them, "well you've always got me, you know. we'll go through the world together and always stand by each other, won't we?" he is very imprudent, a dog is. he never makes it his business to inquire whether you are in the right or in the wrong, never bothers as to whether you are going up or down upon life's ladder, never asks whether you are rich or poor, silly or wise, sinner or saint. you are his pal. that is enough for him, and come luck or misfortune, good repute or bad, honor or shame, he is going to stick to you, to comfort you, guard you, and give his life for you if need be--foolish, brainless, soulless dog! ah! old stanch friend, with your deep, clear eyes and bright, quick glances, that take in all one has to say before one has time to speak it, do you know you are only an animal and have no mind? do you know that that dull-eyed, gin-sodden lout leaning against the post out there is immeasurably your intellectual superior? do you know that every little-minded, selfish scoundrel who lives by cheating and tricking, who never did a gentle deed or said a kind word, who never had a thought that was not mean and low or a desire that was not base, whose every action is a fraud, whose every utterance is a lie--do you know that these crawling skulks (and there are millions of them in the world), do you know they are all as much superior to you as the sun is superior to rushlight you honorable, brave-hearted, unselfish brute? they are men, you know, and men are the greatest, and noblest, and wisest, and best beings in the whole vast eternal universe. any man will tell you that. yes, poor doggie, you are very stupid, very stupid indeed, compared with us clever men, who understand all about politics and philosophy, and who know everything, in short, except what we are and where we came from and whither we are going, and what everything outside this tiny world and most things in it are. never mind, though, pussy and doggie, we like you both all the better for your being stupid. we all like stupid things. men can't bear clever women, and a woman's ideal man is some one she can call a "dear old stupid." it is so pleasant to come across people more stupid than ourselves. we love them at once for being so. the world must be rather a rough place for clever people. ordinary folk dislike them, and as for themselves, they hate each other most cordially. but there, the clever people are such a very insignificant minority that it really doesn't much matter if they are unhappy. so long as the foolish people can be made comfortable the world, as a whole, will get on tolerably well. cats have the credit of being more worldly wise than dogs--of looking more after their own interests and being less blindly devoted to those of their friends. and we men and women are naturally shocked at such selfishness. cats certainly do love a family that has a carpet in the kitchen more than a family that has not; and if there are many children about, they prefer to spend their leisure time next door. but, taken altogether, cats are libeled. make a friend of one, and she will stick to you through thick and thin. all the cats that i have had have been most firm comrades. i had a cat once that used to follow me about everywhere, until it even got quite embarrassing, and i had to beg her, as a personal favor, not to accompany me any further down the high street. she used to sit up for me when i was late home and meet me in the passage. it made me feel quite like a married man, except that she never asked where i had been and then didn't believe me when i told her. another cat i had used to get drunk regularly every day. she would hang about for hours outside the cellar door for the purpose of sneaking in on the first opportunity and lapping up the drippings from the beer-cask. i do not mention this habit of hers in praise of the species, but merely to show how almost human some of them are. if the transmigration of souls is a fact, this animal was certainly qualifying most rapidly for a christian, for her vanity was only second to her love of drink. whenever she caught a particularly big rat, she would bring it up into the room where we were all sitting, lay the corpse down in the midst of us, and wait to be praised. lord! how the girls used to scream. poor rats! they seem only to exist so that cats and dogs may gain credit for killing them and chemists make a fortune by inventing specialties in poison for their destruction. and yet there is something fascinating about them. there is a weirdness and uncanniness attaching to them. they are so cunning and strong, so terrible in their numbers, so cruel, so secret. they swarm in deserted houses, where the broken casements hang rotting to the crumbling walls and the doors swing creaking on their rusty hinges. they know the sinking ship and leave her, no one knows how or whither. they whisper to each other in their hiding-places how a doom will fall upon the hall and the great name die forgotten. they do fearful deeds in ghastly charnel-houses. no tale of horror is complete without the rats. in stories of ghosts and murderers they scamper through the echoing rooms, and the gnawing of their teeth is heard behind the wainscot, and their gleaming eyes peer through the holes in the worm-eaten tapestry, and they scream in shrill, unearthly notes in the dead of night, while the moaning wind sweeps, sobbing, round the ruined turret towers, and passes wailing like a woman through the chambers bare and tenantless. and dying prisoners, in their loathsome dungeons, see through the horrid gloom their small red eyes, like glittering coals, hear in the death-like silence the rush of their claw-like feet, and start up shrieking in the darkness and watch through the awful night. i love to read tales about rats. they make my flesh creep so. i like that tale of bishop hatto and the rats. the wicked bishop, you know, had ever so much corn stored in his granaries and would not let the starving people touch it, but when they prayed to him for food gathered them together in his barn, and then shutting the doors on them, set fire to the place and burned them all to death. but next day there came thousands upon thousands of rats, sent to do judgment on him. then bishop hatto fled to his strong tower that stood in the middle of the rhine, and barred himself in and fancied he was safe. but the rats! they swam the river, they gnawed their way through the thick stone walls, and ate him alive where he sat. "they have whetted their teeth against the stones, and now they pick the bishop's bones; they gnawed the flesh from every limb, for they were sent to do judgment on him." oh, it's a lovely tale. then there is the story of the pied piper of hamelin, how first he piped the rats away, and afterward, when the mayor broke faith with him, drew all the children along with him and went into the mountain. what a curious old legend that is! i wonder what it means, or has it any meaning at all? there seems something strange and deep lying hid beneath the rippling rhyme. it haunts me, that picture of the quaint, mysterious old piper piping through hamelin's narrow streets, and the children following with dancing feet and thoughtful, eager faces. the old folks try to stay them, but the children pay no heed. they hear the weird, witched music and must follow. the games are left unfinished and the playthings drop from their careless hands. they know not whither they are hastening. the mystic music calls to them, and they follow, heedless and unasking where. it stirs and vibrates in their hearts and other sounds grow faint. so they wander through pied piper street away from hamelin town. i get thinking sometimes if the pied piper is really dead, or if he may not still be roaming up and down our streets and lanes, but playing now so softly that only the children hear him. why do the little faces look so grave and solemn when they pause awhile from romping, and stand, deep wrapt, with straining eyes? they only shake their curly heads and dart back laughing to their playmates when we question them. but i fancy myself they have been listening to the magic music of the old pied piper, and perhaps with those bright eyes of theirs have even seen his odd, fantastic figure gliding unnoticed through the whirl and throng. even we grown-up children hear his piping now and then. but the yearning notes are very far away, and the noisy, blustering world is always bellowing so loud it drowns the dreamlike melody. one day the sweet, sad strains will sound out full and clear, and then we too shall, like the little children, throw our playthings all aside and follow. the loving hands will be stretched out to stay us, and the voices we have learned to listen for will cry to us to stop. but we shall push the fond arms gently back and pass out through the sorrowing house and through the open door. for the wild, strange music will be ringing in our hearts, and we shall know the meaning of its song by then. i wish people could love animals without getting maudlin over them, as so many do. women are the most hardened offenders in such respects, but even our intellectual sex often degrade pets into nuisances by absurd idolatry. there are the gushing young ladies who, having read "david copperfield," have thereupon sought out a small, longhaired dog of nondescript breed, possessed of an irritating habit of criticising a man's trousers, and of finally commenting upon the same by a sniff indicative of contempt and disgust. they talk sweet girlish prattle to this animal (when there is any one near enough to overhear them), and they kiss its nose, and put its unwashed head up against their cheek in a most touching manner; though i have noticed that these caresses are principally performed when there are young men hanging about. then there are the old ladies who worship a fat poodle, scant of breath and full of fleas. i knew a couple of elderly spinsters once who had a sort of german sausage on legs which they called a dog between them. they used to wash its face with warm water every morning. it had a mutton cutlet regularly for breakfast; and on sundays, when one of the ladies went to church, the other always stopped at home to keep the dog company. there are many families where the whole interest of life is centered upon the dog. cats, by the way, rarely suffer from excess of adulation. a cat possesses a very fair sense of the ridiculous, and will put her paw down kindly but firmly upon any nonsense of this kind. dogs, however, seem to like it. they encourage their owners in the tomfoolery, and the consequence is that in the circles i am speaking of what "dear fido" has done, does do, will do, won't do, can do, can't do, was doing, is doing, is going to do, shall do, shan't do, and is about to be going to have done is the continual theme of discussion from morning till night. all the conversation, consisting, as it does, of the very dregs of imbecility, is addressed to this confounded animal. the family sit in a row all day long, watching him, commenting upon his actions, telling each other anecdotes about him, recalling his virtues, and remembering with tears how one day they lost him for two whole hours, on which occasion he was brought home in a most brutal manner by the butcher-boy, who had been met carrying him by the scruff of his neck with one hand, while soundly cuffing his head with the other. after recovering from these bitter recollections, they vie with each other in bursts of admiration for the brute, until some more than usually enthusiastic member, unable any longer to control his feelings, swoops down upon the unhappy quadruped in a frenzy of affection, clutches it to his heart, and slobbers over it. whereupon the others, mad with envy, rise up, and seizing as much of the dog as the greed of the first one has left to them, murmur praise and devotion. among these people everything is done through the dog. if you want to make love to the eldest daughter, or get the old man to lend you the garden roller, or the mother to subscribe to the society for the suppression of solo-cornet players in theatrical orchestras (it's a pity there isn't one, anyhow), you have to begin with the dog. you must gain its approbation before they will even listen to you, and if, as is highly probable, the animal, whose frank, doggy nature has been warped by the unnatural treatment he has received, responds to your overtures of friendship by viciously snapping at you, your cause is lost forever. "if fido won't take to any one," the father has thoughtfully remarked beforehand, "i say that man is not to be trusted. you know, maria, how often i have said that. ah! he knows, bless him." drat him! and to think that the surly brute was once an innocent puppy, all legs and head, full of fun and play, and burning with ambition to become a big, good dog and bark like mother. ah me! life sadly changes us all. the world seems a vast horrible grinding machine, into which what is fresh and bright and pure is pushed at one end, to come out old and crabbed and wrinkled at the other. look even at pussy sobersides, with her dull, sleepy glance, her grave, slow walk, and dignified, prudish airs; who could ever think that once she was the blue-eyed, whirling, scampering, head-over-heels, mad little firework that we call a kitten? what marvelous vitality a kitten has. it is really something very beautiful the way life bubbles over in the little creatures. they rush about, and mew, and spring; dance on their hind legs, embrace everything with their front ones, roll over and over, lie on their backs and kick. they don't know what to do with themselves, they are so full of life. can you remember, reader, when you and i felt something of the same sort of thing? can you remember those glorious days of fresh young manhood--how, when coming home along the moonlit road, we felt too full of life for sober walking, and had to spring and skip, and wave our arms, and shout till belated farmers' wives thought--and with good reason, too--that we were mad, and kept close to the hedge, while we stood and laughed aloud to see them scuttle off so fast and made their blood run cold with a wild parting whoop, and the tears came, we knew not why? oh, that magnificent young life! that crowned us kings of the earth; that rushed through every tingling vein till we seemed to walk on air; that thrilled through our throbbing brains and told us to go forth and conquer the whole world; that welled up in our young hearts till we longed to stretch out our arms and gather all the toiling men and women and the little children to our breast and love them all--all. ah! they were grand days, those deep, full days, when our coming life, like an unseen organ, pealed strange, yearnful music in our ears, and our young blood cried out like a war-horse for the battle. ah, our pulse beats slow and steady now, and our old joints are rheumatic, and we love our easy-chair and pipe and sneer at boys' enthusiasm. but oh for one brief moment of that god-like life again! on being shy. all great literary men are shy. i am myself, though i am told it is hardly noticeable. i am glad it is not. it used to be extremely prominent at one time, and was the cause of much misery to myself and discomfort to every one about me--my lady friends especially complained most bitterly about it. a shy man's lot is not a happy one. the men dislike him, the women despise him, and he dislikes and despises himself. use brings him no relief, and there is no cure for him except time; though i once came across a delicious recipe for overcoming the misfortune. it appeared among the "answers to correspondents" in a small weekly journal and ran as follows--i have never forgotten it: "adopt an easy and pleasing manner, especially toward ladies." poor wretch! i can imagine the grin with which he must have read that advice. "adopt an easy and pleasing manner, especially toward ladies," forsooth! don't you adopt anything of the kind, my dear young shy friend. your attempt to put on any other disposition than your own will infallibly result in your becoming ridiculously gushing and offensively familiar. be your own natural self, and then you will only be thought to be surly and stupid. the shy man does have some slight revenge upon society for the torture it inflicts upon him. he is able, to a certain extent, to communicate his misery. he frightens other people as much as they frighten him. he acts like a damper upon the whole room, and the most jovial spirits become in his presence depressed and nervous. this is a good deal brought about by misunderstanding. many people mistake the shy man's timidity for overbearing arrogance and are awed and insulted by it. his awkwardness is resented as insolent carelessness, and when, terror-stricken at the first word addressed to him, the blood rushes to his head and the power of speech completely fails him, he is regarded as an awful example of the evil effects of giving way to passion. but, indeed, to be misunderstood is the shy man's fate on every occasion; and whatever impression he endeavors to create, he is sure to convey its opposite. when he makes a joke, it is looked upon as a pretended relation of fact and his want of veracity much condemned. his sarcasm is accepted as his literal opinion and gains for him the reputation of being an ass, while if, on the other hand, wishing to ingratiate himself, he ventures upon a little bit of flattery, it is taken for satire and he is hated ever afterward. these and the rest of a shy man's troubles are always very amusing to other people, and have afforded material for comic writing from time immemorial. but if we look a little deeper we shall find there is a pathetic, one might almost say a tragic, side to the picture. a shy man means a lonely man--a man cut off from all companionship, all sociability. he moves about the world, but does not mix with it. between him and his fellow-men there runs ever an impassable barrier--a strong, invisible wall that, trying in vain to scale, he but bruises himself against. he sees the pleasant faces and hears the pleasant voices on the other side, but he cannot stretch his hand across to grasp another hand. he stands watching the merry groups, and he longs to speak and to claim kindred with them. but they pass him by, chatting gayly to one another, and he cannot stay them. he tries to reach them, but his prison walls move with him and hem him in on every side. in the busy street, in the crowded room, in the grind of work, in the whirl of pleasure, amid the many or amid the few--wherever men congregate together, wherever the music of human speech is heard and human thought is flashed from human eyes, there, shunned and solitary, the shy man, like a leper, stands apart. his soul is full of love and longing, but the world knows it not. the iron mask of shyness is riveted before his face, and the man beneath is never seen. genial words and hearty greetings are ever rising to his lips, but they die away in unheard whispers behind the steel clamps. his heart aches for the weary brother, but his sympathy is dumb. contempt and indignation against wrong choke up his throat, and finding no safety-valve whence in passionate utterance they may burst forth, they only turn in again and harm him. all the hate and scorn and love of a deep nature such as the shy man is ever cursed by fester and corrupt within, instead of spending themselves abroad, and sour him into a misanthrope and cynic. yes, shy men, like ugly women, have a bad time of it in this world, to go through which with any comfort needs the hide of a rhinoceros. thick skin is, indeed, our moral clothes, and without it we are not fit to be seen about in civilized society. a poor gasping, blushing creature, with trembling knees and twitching hands, is a painful sight to every one, and if it cannot cure itself, the sooner it goes and hangs itself the better. the disease can be cured. for the comfort of the shy, i can assure them of that from personal experience. i do not like speaking about myself, as may have been noticed, but in the cause of humanity i on this occasion will do so, and will confess that at one time i was, as the young man in the bab ballad says, "the shyest of the shy," and "whenever i was introduced to any pretty maid, my knees they knocked together just as if i was afraid." now, i would--nay, have--on this very day before yesterday i did the deed. alone and entirely by myself (as the school-boy said in translating the "bellum gallicum") did i beard a railway refreshment-room young lady in her own lair. i rebuked her in terms of mingled bitterness and sorrow for her callousness and want of condescension. i insisted, courteously but firmly, on being accorded that deference and attention that was the right of the traveling briton, and at the end i looked her full in the face. need i say more? true, immediately after doing so i left the room with what may possibly have appeared to be precipitation and without waiting for any refreshment. but that was because i had changed my mind, not because i was frightened, you understand. one consolation that shy folk can take unto themselves is that shyness is certainly no sign of stupidity. it is easy enough for bull-headed clowns to sneer at nerves, but the highest natures are not necessarily those containing the greatest amount of moral brass. the horse is not an inferior animal to the cock-sparrow, nor the deer of the forest to the pig. shyness simply means extreme sensibility, and has nothing whatever to do with self-consciousness or with conceit, though its relationship to both is continually insisted upon by the poll-parrot school of philosophy. conceit, indeed, is the quickest cure for it. when it once begins to dawn upon you that you are a good deal cleverer than any one else in this world, bashfulness becomes shocked and leaves you. when you can look round a roomful of people and think that each one is a mere child in intellect compared with yourself you feel no more shy of them than you would of a select company of magpies or orang-outangs. conceit is the finest armor that a man can wear. upon its smooth, impenetrable surface the puny dagger-thrusts of spite and envy glance harmlessly aside. without that breast-plate the sword of talent cannot force its way through the battle of life, for blows have to be borne as well as dealt. i do not, of course, speak of the conceit that displays itself in an elevated nose and a falsetto voice. that is not real conceit--that is only playing at being conceited; like children play at being kings and queens and go strutting about with feathers and long trains. genuine conceit does not make a man objectionable. on the contrary, it tends to make him genial, kind-hearted, and simple. he has no need of affectation--he is far too well satisfied with his own character; and his pride is too deep-seated to appear at all on the outside. careless alike of praise or blame, he can afford to be truthful. too far, in fancy, above the rest of mankind to trouble about their petty distinctions, he is equally at home with duke or costermonger. and valuing no one's standard but his own, he is never tempted to practice that miserable pretense that less self-reliant people offer up as an hourly sacrifice to the god of their neighbor's opinion. the shy man, on the other hand, is humble--modest of his own judgment and over-anxious concerning that of others. but this in the case of a young man is surely right enough. his character is unformed. it is slowly evolving itself out of a chaos of doubt and disbelief. before the growing insight and experience the diffidence recedes. a man rarely carries his shyness past the hobbledehoy period. even if his own inward strength does not throw it off, the rubbings of the world generally smooth it down. you scarcely ever meet a really shy man--except in novels or on the stage, where, by the bye, he is much admired, especially by the women. there, in that supernatural land, he appears as a fair-haired and saintlike young man--fair hair and goodness always go together on the stage. no respectable audience would believe in one without the other. i knew an actor who mislaid his wig once and had to rush on to play the hero in his own hair, which was jet-black, and the gallery howled at all his noble sentiments under the impression that he was the villain. he--the shy young man--loves the heroine, oh so devotedly (but only in asides, for he dare not tell her of it), and he is so noble and unselfish, and speaks in such a low voice, and is so good to his mother; and the bad people in the play, they laugh at him and jeer at him, but he takes it all so gently, and in the end it transpires that he is such a clever man, though nobody knew it, and then the heroine tells him she loves him, and he is so surprised, and oh, so happy! and everybody loves him and asks him to forgive them, which he does in a few well-chosen and sarcastic words, and blesses them; and he seems to have generally such a good time of it that all the young fellows who are not shy long to be shy. but the really shy man knows better. he knows that it is not quite so pleasant in reality. he is not quite so interesting there as in the fiction. he is a little more clumsy and stupid and a little less devoted and gentle, and his hair is much darker, which, taken altogether, considerably alters the aspect of the case. the point where he does resemble his ideal is in his faithfulness. i am fully prepared to allow the shy young man that virtue: he is constant in his love. but the reason is not far to seek. the fact is it exhausts all his stock of courage to look one woman in the face, and it would be simply impossible for him to go through the ordeal with a second. he stands in far too much dread of the whole female sex to want to go gadding about with many of them. one is quite enough for him. now, it is different with the young man who is not shy. he has temptations which his bashful brother never encounters. he looks around and everywhere sees roguish eyes and laughing lips. what more natural than that amid so many roguish eyes and laughing lips he should become confused and, forgetting for the moment which particular pair of roguish ayes and laughing lips it is that he belongs to, go off making love to the wrong set. the shy man, who never looks at anything but his own boots, sees not and is not tempted. happy shy man! not but what the shy man himself would much rather not be happy in that way. he longs to "go it" with the others, and curses himself every day for not being able to. he will now and again, screwing up his courage by a tremendous effort, plunge into roguishness. but it is always a terrible _fiasco_, and after one or two feeble flounders he crawls out again, limp and pitiable. i say "pitiable," though i am afraid he never is pitied. there are certain misfortunes which, while inflicting a vast amount of suffering upon their victims, gain for them no sympathy. losing an umbrella, falling in love, toothache, black eyes, and having your hat sat upon may be mentioned as a few examples, but the chief of them all is shyness. the shy man is regarded as an animate joke. his tortures are the sport of the drawing-room arena and are pointed out and discussed with much gusto. "look," cry his tittering audience to each other; "he's blushing!" "just watch his legs," says one. "do you notice how he is sitting?" adds another: "right on the edge of the chair." "seems to have plenty of color," sneers a military-looking gentleman. "pity he's got so many hands," murmurs an elderly lady, with her own calmly folded on her lap. "they quite confuse him." "a yard or two off his feet wouldn't be a disadvantage," chimes in the comic man, "especially as he seems so anxious to hide them." and then another suggests that with such a voice he ought to have been a sea-captain. some draw attention to the desperate way in which he is grasping his hat. some comment upon his limited powers of conversation. others remark upon the troublesome nature of his cough. and so on, until his peculiarities and the company are both thoroughly exhausted. his friends and relations make matters still more unpleasant for the poor boy (friends and relations are privileged to be more disagreeable than other people). not content with making fun of him among themselves, they insist on his seeing the joke. they mimic and caricature him for his own edification. one, pretending to imitate him, goes outside and comes in again in a ludicrously nervous manner, explaining to him afterward that that is the way he--meaning the shy fellow--walks into a room; or, turning to him with "this is the way you shake hands," proceeds to go through a comic pantomime with the rest of the room, taking hold of every one's hand as if it were a hot plate and flabbily dropping it again. and then they ask him why he blushes, and why he stammers, and why he always speaks in an almost inaudible tone, as if they thought he did it on purpose. then one of them, sticking out his chest and strutting about the room like a pouter-pigeon, suggests quite seriously that that is the style he should adopt. the old man slaps him on the back and says: "be bold, my boy. don't be afraid of any one." the mother says, "never do anything that you need be ashamed of, algernon, and then you never need be ashamed of anything you do," and, beaming mildly at him, seems surprised at the clearness of her own logic. the boys tell him that he's "worse than a girl," and the girls repudiate the implied slur upon their sex by indignantly exclaiming that they are sure no girl would be half as bad. they are quite right; no girl would be. there is no such thing as a shy woman, or, at all events, i have never come across one, and until i do i shall not believe in them. i know that the generally accepted belief is quite the reverse. all women are supposed to be like timid, startled fawns, blushing and casting down their gentle eyes when looked at and running away when spoken to; while we men are supposed to be a bold and rollicky lot, and the poor dear little women admire us for it, but are terribly afraid of us. it is a pretty theory, but, like most generally accepted theories, mere nonsense. the girl of twelve is self-contained and as cool as the proverbial cucumber, while her brother of twenty stammers and stutters by her side. a woman will enter a concert-room late, interrupt the performance, and disturb the whole audience without moving a hair, while her husband follows her, a crushed heap of apologizing misery. the superior nerve of women in all matters connected with love, from the casting of the first sheep's-eye down to the end of the honeymoon, is too well acknowledged to need comment. nor is the example a fair one to cite in the present instance, the positions not being equally balanced. love is woman's business, and in "business" we all lay aside our natural weaknesses--the shyest man i ever knew was a photographic tout. on babies. oh, yes, i do--i know a lot about 'em. i was one myself once, though not long--not so long as my clothes. they were very long, i recollect, and always in my way when i wanted to kick. why do babies have such yards of unnecessary clothing? it is not a riddle. i really want to know. i never could understand it. is it that the parents are ashamed of the size of the child and wish to make believe that it is longer than it actually is? i asked a nurse once why it was. she said: "lor', sir, they always have long clothes, bless their little hearts." and when i explained that her answer, although doing credit to her feelings, hardly disposed of my difficulty, she replied: "lor', sir, you wouldn't have 'em in short clothes, poor little dears?" and she said it in a tone that seemed to imply i had suggested some unmanly outrage. since than i have felt shy at making inquiries on the subject, and the reason--if reason there be--is still a mystery to me. but indeed, putting them in any clothes at all seems absurd to my mind. goodness knows there is enough of dressing and undressing to be gone through in life without beginning it before we need; and one would think that people who live in bed might at all events be spared the torture. why wake the poor little wretches up in the morning to take one lot of clothes off, fix another lot on, and put them to bed again, and then at night haul them out once more, merely to change everything back? and when all is done, what difference is there, i should like to know, between a baby's night-shirt and the thing it wears in the day-time? very likely, however, i am only making myself ridiculous--i often do, so i am informed--and i will therefore say no more upon this matter of clothes, except only that it would be of great convenience if some fashion were adopted enabling you to tell a boy from a girl. at present it is most awkward. neither hair, dress, nor conversation affords the slightest clew, and you are left to guess. by some mysterious law of nature you invariably guess wrong, and are thereupon regarded by all the relatives and friends as a mixture of fool and knave, the enormity of alluding to a male babe as "she" being only equaled by the atrocity of referring to a female infant as "he". whichever sex the particular child in question happens not to belong to is considered as beneath contempt, and any mention of it is taken as a personal insult to the family. and as you value your fair name do not attempt to get out of the difficulty by talking of "it." there are various methods by which you may achieve ignominy and shame. by murdering a large and respected family in cold blood and afterward depositing their bodies in the water companies' reservoir, you will gain much unpopularity in the neighborhood of your crime, and even robbing a church will get you cordially disliked, especially by the vicar. but if you desire to drain to the dregs the fullest cup of scorn and hatred that a fellow human creature can pour out for you, let a young mother hear you call dear baby "it." your best plan is to address the article as "little angel." the noun "angel" being of common gender suits the case admirably, and the epithet is sure of being favorably received. "pet" or "beauty" are useful for variety's sake, but "angel" is the term that brings you the greatest credit for sense and good-feeling. the word should be preceded by a short giggle and accompanied by as much smile as possible. and whatever you do, don't forget to say that the child has got its father's nose. this "fetches" the parents (if i may be allowed a vulgarism) more than anything. they will pretend to laugh at the idea at first and will say, "oh, nonsense!" you must then get excited and insist that it is a fact. you need have no conscientious scruples on the subject, because the thing's nose really does resemble its father's--at all events quite as much as it does anything else in nature--being, as it is, a mere smudge. do not despise these hints, my friends. there may come a time when, with mamma on one side and grand mamma on the other, a group of admiring young ladies (not admiring you, though) behind, and a bald-headed dab of humanity in front, you will be extremely thankful for some idea of what to say. a man--an unmarried man, that is--is never seen to such disadvantage as when undergoing the ordeal of "seeing baby." a cold shudder runs down his back at the bare proposal, and the sickly smile with which he says how delighted he shall be ought surely to move even a mother's heart, unless, as i am inclined to believe, the whole proceeding is a mere device adopted by wives to discourage the visits of bachelor friends. it is a cruel trick, though, whatever its excuse may be. the bell is rung and somebody sent to tell nurse to bring baby down. this is the signal for all the females present to commence talking "baby," during which time you are left to your own sad thoughts and the speculations upon the practicability of suddenly recollecting an important engagement, and the likelihood of your being believed if you do. just when you have concocted an absurdly implausible tale about a man outside, the door opens, and a tall, severe-looking woman enters, carrying what at first sight appears to be a particularly skinny bolster, with the feathers all at one end. instinct, however, tells you that this is the baby, and you rise with a miserable attempt at appearing eager. when the first gush of feminine enthusiasm with which the object in question is received has died out, and the number of ladies talking at once has been reduced to the ordinary four or five, the circle of fluttering petticoats divides, and room is made for you to step forward. this you do with much the same air that you would walk into the dock at bow street, and then, feeling unutterably miserable, you stand solemnly staring at the child. there is dead silence, and you know that every one is waiting for you to speak. you try to think of something to say, but find, to your horror, that your reasoning faculties have left you. it is a moment of despair, and your evil genius, seizing the opportunity, suggests to you some of the most idiotic remarks that it is possible for a human being to perpetrate. glancing round with an imbecile smile, you sniggeringly observe that "it hasn't got much hair has it?" nobody answers you for a minute, but at last the stately nurse says with much gravity: "it is not customary for children five weeks old to have long hair." another silence follows this, and you feel you are being given a second chance, which you avail yourself of by inquiring if it can walk yet, or what they feed it on. by this time you have got to be regarded as not quite right in your head, and pity is the only thing felt for you. the nurse, however, is determined that, insane or not, there shall be no shirking and that you shall go through your task to the end. in the tones of a high priestess directing some religious mystery she says, holding the bundle toward you: "take her in your arms, sir." you are too crushed to offer any resistance and so meekly accept the burden. "put your arm more down her middle, sir," says the high-priestess, and then all step back and watch you intently as though you were going to do a trick with it. what to do you know no more than you did what to say. it is certain something must be done, and the only thing that occurs to you is to heave the unhappy infant up and down to the accompaniment of "oopsee-daisy," or some remark of equal intelligence. "i wouldn't jig her, sir, if i were you," says the nurse; "a very little upsets her." you promptly decide not to jig her and sincerely hope that you have not gone too far already. at this point the child itself, who has hitherto been regarding you with an expression of mingled horror and disgust, puts an end to the nonsense by beginning to yell at the top of its voice, at which the priestess rushes forward and snatches it from you with "there! there! there! what did ums do to ums?" "how very extraordinary!" you say pleasantly. "whatever made it go off like that?" "oh, why, you must have done something to her!" says the mother indignantly; "the child wouldn't scream like that for nothing." it is evident they think you have been running pins into it. the brat is calmed at last, and would no doubt remain quiet enough, only some mischievous busybody points you out again with "who's this, baby?" and the intelligent child, recognizing you, howls louder than ever. whereupon some fat old lady remarks that "it's strange how children take a dislike to any one." "oh, they know," replies another mysteriously. "it's a wonderful thing," adds a third; and then everybody looks sideways at you, convinced you are a scoundrel of the blackest dye; and they glory in the beautiful idea that your true character, unguessed by your fellow-men, has been discovered by the untaught instinct of a little child. babies, though, with all their crimes and errors, are not without their use--not without use, surely, when they fill an empty heart; not without use when, at their call, sunbeams of love break through care-clouded faces; not without use when their little fingers press wrinkles into smiles. odd little people! they are the unconscious comedians of the world's great stage. they supply the humor in life's all-too-heavy drama. each one, a small but determined opposition to the order of things in general, is forever doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, in the wrong place and in the wrong way. the nurse-girl who sent jenny to see what tommy and totty were doing and "tell 'em they mustn't" knew infantile nature. give an average baby a fair chance, and if it doesn't do something it oughtn't to a doctor should be called in at once. they have a genius for doing the most ridiculous things, and they do them in a grave, stoical manner that is irresistible. the business-like air with which two of them will join hands and proceed due east at a break-neck toddle, while an excitable big sister is roaring for them to follow her in a westerly direction, is most amusing--except, perhaps, for the big sister. they walk round a soldier, staring at his legs with the greatest curiosity, and poke him to see if he is real. they stoutly maintain, against all argument and much to the discomfort of the victim, that the bashful young man at the end of the 'bus is "dadda." a crowded street-corner suggests itself to their minds as a favorable spot for the discussion of family affairs at a shrill treble. when in the middle of crossing the road they are seized with a sudden impulse to dance, and the doorstep of a busy shop is the place they always select for sitting down and taking off their shoes. when at home they find the biggest walking-stick in the house or an umbrella--open preferred-of much assistance in getting upstairs. they discover that they love mary ann at the precise moment when that faithful domestic is blackleading the stove, and nothing will relieve their feelings but to embrace her then and there. with regard to food, their favorite dishes are coke and cat's meat. they nurse pussy upside down, and they show their affection for the dog by pulling his tail. they are a deal of trouble, and they make a place untidy and they cost a lot of money to keep; but still you would not have the house without them. it would not be home without their noisy tongues and their mischief-making hands. would not the rooms seem silent without their pattering feet, and might not you stray apart if no prattling voices called you together? it should be so, and yet i have sometimes thought the tiny hand seemed as a wedge, dividing. it is a bearish task to quarrel with that purest of all human affections--that perfecting touch to a woman's life--a mother's love. it is a holy love, that we coarser-fibered men can hardly understand, and i would not be deemed to lack reverence for it when i say that surely it need not swallow up all other affection. the baby need not take your whole heart, like the rich man who walled up the desert well. is there not another thirsty traveler standing by? in your desire to be a good mother, do not forget to be a good wife. no need for all the thought and care to be only for one. do not, whenever poor edwin wants you to come out, answer indignantly, "what, and leave baby!" do not spend all your evenings upstairs, and do not confine your conversation exclusively to whooping-cough and measles. my dear little woman, the child is not going to die every time it sneezes, the house is not bound to get burned down and the nurse run away with a soldier every time you go outside the front door; nor the cat sure to come and sit on the precious child's chest the moment you leave the bedside. you worry yourself a good deal too much about that solitary chick, and you worry everybody else too. try and think of your other duties, and your pretty face will not be always puckered into wrinkles, and there will be cheerfulness in the parlor as well as in the nursery. think of your big baby a little. dance him about a bit; call him pretty names; laugh at him now and then. it is only the first baby that takes up the whole of a woman's time. five or six do not require nearly so much attention as one. but before then the mischief has been done. a house where there seems no room for him and a wife too busy to think of him have lost their hold on that so unreasonable husband of yours, and he has learned to look elsewhere for comfort and companionship. but there, there, there! i shall get myself the character of a baby-hater if i talk any more in this strain. and heaven knows i am not one. who could be, to look into the little innocent faces clustered in timid helplessness round those great gates that open down into the world? the world--the small round world! what a vast mysterious place it must seem to baby eyes! what a trackless continent the back garden appears! what marvelous explorations they make in the cellar under the stairs! with what awe they gaze down the long street, wondering, like us bigger babies when we gaze up at the stars, where it all ends! and down that longest street of all--that long, dim street of life that stretches out before them--what grave, old-fashioned looks they seem to cast! what pitiful, frightened looks sometimes! i saw a little mite sitting on a doorstep in a soho slum one night, and i shall never forget the look that the gas-lamp showed me on its wizen face--a look of dull despair, as if from the squalid court the vista of its own squalid life had risen, ghostlike, and struck its heart dead with horror. poor little feet, just commencing the stony journey! we old travelers, far down the road, can only pause to wave a hand to you. you come out of the dark mist, and we, looking back, see you, so tiny in the distance, standing on the brow of the hill, your arms stretched out toward us. god speed you! we would stay and take your little hands in ours, but the murmur of the great sea is in our ears and we may not linger. we must hasten down, for the shadowy ships are waiting to spread their sable sails. on eating and drinking. i always was fond of eating and drinking, even as a child--especially eating, in those early days. i had an appetite then, also a digestion. i remember a dull-eyed, livid-complexioned gentleman coming to dine at our house once. he watched me eating for about five minutes, quite fascinated seemingly, and then he turned to my father with-- "does your boy ever suffer from dyspepsia?" "i never heard him complain of anything of that kind," replied my father. "do you ever suffer from dyspepsia, colly wobbles?" (they called me colly wobbles, but it was not my real name.) "no, pa," i answered. after which i added: "what is dyspepsia, pa?" my livid-complexioned friend regarded me with a look of mingled amazement and envy. then in a tone of infinite pity he slowly said: "you will know--some day." my poor, dear mother used to say she liked to see me eat, and it has always been a pleasant reflection to me since that i must have given her much gratification in that direction. a growing, healthy lad, taking plenty of exercise and careful to restrain himself from indulging in too much study, can generally satisfy the most exacting expectations as regards his feeding powers. it is amusing to see boys eat when you have not got to pay for it. their idea of a square meal is a pound and a half of roast beef with five or six good-sized potatoes (soapy ones preferred as being more substantial), plenty of greens, and four thick slices of yorkshire pudding, followed by a couple of currant dumplings, a few green apples, a pen'orth of nuts, half a dozen jumbles, and a bottle of ginger-beer. after that they play at horses. how they must despise us men, who require to sit quiet for a couple of hours after dining off a spoonful of clear soup and the wing of a chicken! but the boys have not all the advantages on their side. a boy never enjoys the luxury of being satisfied. a boy never feels full. he can never stretch out his legs, put his hands behind his head, and, closing his eyes, sink into the ethereal blissfulness that encompasses the well-dined man. a dinner makes no difference whatever to a boy. to a man it is as a good fairy's potion, and after it the world appears a brighter and a better place. a man who has dined satisfactorily experiences a yearning love toward all his fellow-creatures. he strokes the cat quite gently and calls it "poor pussy," in tones full of the tenderest emotion. he sympathizes with the members of the german band outside and wonders if they are cold; and for the moment he does not even hate his wife's relations. a good dinner brings out all the softer side of a man. under its genial influence the gloomy and morose become jovial and chatty. sour, starchy individuals, who all the rest of the day go about looking as if they lived on vinegar and epsom salts, break out into wreathed smiles after dinner, and exhibit a tendency to pat small children on the head and to talk to them--vaguely--about sixpences. serious men thaw and become mildly cheerful, and snobbish young men of the heavy-mustache type forget to make themselves objectionable. i always feel sentimental myself after dinner. it is the only time when i can properly appreciate love-stories. then, when the hero clasps "her" to his heart in one last wild embrace and stifles a sob, i feel as sad as though i had dealt at whist and turned up only a deuce; and when the heroine dies in the end i weep. if i read the same tale early in the morning i should sneer at it. digestion, or rather indigestion, has a marvelous effect upon the heart. if i want to write any thing very pathetic--i mean, if i want to try to write anything very pathetic--i eat a large plateful of hot buttered muffins about an hour beforehand, and then by the time i sit down to my work a feeling of unutterable melancholy has come over me. i picture heartbroken lovers parting forever at lonely wayside stiles, while the sad twilight deepens around them, and only the tinkling of a distant sheep-bell breaks the sorrow-laden silence. old men sit and gaze at withered flowers till their sight is dimmed by the mist of tears. little dainty maidens wait and watch at open casements; but "he cometh not," and the heavy years roll by and the sunny gold tresses wear white and thin. the babies that they dandled have become grown men and women with podgy torments of their own, and the playmates that they laughed with are lying very silent under the waving grass. but still they wait and watch, till the dark shadows of the unknown night steal up and gather round them and the world with its childish troubles fades from their aching eyes. i see pale corpses tossed on white-foamed waves, and death-beds stained with bitter tears, and graves in trackless deserts. i hear the wild wailing of women, the low moaning of little children, the dry sobbing of strong men. it's all the muffins. i could not conjure up one melancholy fancy upon a mutton chop and a glass of champagne. a full stomach is a great aid to poetry, and indeed no sentiment of any kind can stand upon an empty one. we have not time or inclination to indulge in fanciful troubles until we have got rid of our real misfortunes. we do not sigh over dead dicky-birds with the bailiff in the house, and when we do not know where on earth to get our next shilling from, we do not worry as to whether our mistress' smiles are cold, or hot, or lukewarm, or anything else about them. foolish people--when i say "foolish people" in this contemptuous way i mean people who entertain different opinions to mine. if there is one person i do despise more than another, it is the man who does not think exactly the same on all topics as i do--foolish people, i say, then, who have never experienced much of either, will tell you that mental distress is far more agonizing than bodily. romantic and touching theory! so comforting to the love-sick young sprig who looks down patronizingly at some poor devil with a white starved face and thinks to himself, "ah, how happy you are compared with me!"--so soothing to fat old gentlemen who cackle about the superiority of poverty over riches. but it is all nonsense--all cant. an aching head soon makes one forget an aching heart. a broken finger will drive away all recollections of an empty chair. and when a man feels really hungry he does not feel anything else. we sleek, well-fed folk can hardly realize what feeling hungry is like. we know what it is to have no appetite and not to care for the dainty victuals placed before us, but we do not understand what it means to sicken for food--to die for bread while others waste it--to gaze with famished eyes upon coarse fare steaming behind dingy windows, longing for a pen'orth of pea pudding and not having the penny to buy it--to feel that a crust would be delicious and that a bone would be a banquet. hunger is a luxury to us, a piquant, flavor-giving sauce. it is well worth while to get hungry and thirsty merely to discover how much gratification can be obtained from eating and drinking. if you wish to thoroughly enjoy your dinner, take a thirty-mile country walk after breakfast and don't touch anything till you get back. how your eyes will glisten at sight of the white table-cloth and steaming dishes then! with what a sigh of content you will put down the empty beer tankard and take up your knife and fork! and how comfortable you feel afterward as you push back your chair, light a cigar, and beam round upon everybody. make sure, however, when adopting this plan, that the good dinner is really to be had at the end, or the disappointment is trying. i remember once a friend and i--dear old joe, it was. ah! how we lose one another in life's mist. it must be eight years since i last saw joseph taboys. how pleasant it would be to meet his jovial face again, to clasp his strong hand, and to hear his cheery laugh once more! he owes me shillings, too. well, we were on a holiday together, and one morning we had breakfast early and started for a tremendous long walk. we had ordered a duck for dinner over night. we said, "get a big one, because we shall come home awfully hungry;" and as we were going out our landlady came up in great spirits. she said, "i have got you gentlemen a duck, if you like. if you get through that you'll do well;" and she held up a bird about the size of a door-mat. we chuckled at the sight and said we would try. we said it with self-conscious pride, like men who know their own power. then we started. we lost our way, of course. i always do in the country, and it does make me so wild, because it is no use asking direction of any of the people you meet. one might as well inquire of a lodging-house slavey the way to make beds as expect a country bumpkin to know the road to the next village. you have to shout the question about three times before the sound of your voice penetrates his skull. at the third time he slowly raises his head and stares blankly at you. you yell it at him then for a fourth time, and he repeats it after you. he ponders while you count a couple of hundred, after which, speaking at the rate of three words a minute, he fancies you "couldn't do better than--" here he catches sight of another idiot coming down the road and bawls out to him the particulars, requesting his advice. the two then argue the case for a quarter of an hour or so, and finally agree that you had better go straight down the lane, round to the right and cross by the third stile, and keep to the left by old jimmy milcher's cow-shed, and across the seven-acre field, and through the gate by squire grubbin's hay-stack, keeping the bridle-path for awhile till you come opposite the hill where the windmill used to be--but it's gone now--and round to the right, leaving stiggin's plantation behind you; and you say "thank you" and go away with a splitting headache, but without the faintest notion of your way, the only clear idea you have on the subject being that somewhere or other there is a stile which has to be got over; and at the next turn you come upon four stiles, all leading in different directions! we had undergone this ordeal two or three times. we had tramped over fields. we had waded through brooks and scrambled over hedges and walls. we had had a row as to whose fault it was that we had first lost our way. we had got thoroughly disagreeable, footsore, and weary. but throughout it all the hope of that duck kept us up. a fairy-like vision, it floated before our tired eyes and drew us onward. the thought of it was as a trumpet-call to the fainting. we talked of it and cheered each other with our recollections of it. "come along," we said; "the duck will be spoiled." we felt a strong temptation, at one point, to turn into a village inn as we passed and have a cheese and a few loaves between us, but we heroically restrained ourselves: we should enjoy the duck all the better for being famished. we fancied we smelled it when we go into the town and did the last quarter of a mile in three minutes. we rushed upstairs, and washed ourselves, and changed our clothes, and came down, and pulled our chairs up to the table, and sat and rubbed our hands while the landlady removed the covers, when i seized the knife and fork and started to carve. it seemed to want a lot of carving. i struggled with it for about five minutes without making the slightest impression, and then joe, who had been eating potatoes, wanted to know if it wouldn't be better for some one to do the job that understood carving. i took no notice of his foolish remark, but attacked the bird again; and so vigorously this time that the animal left the dish and took refuge in the fender. we soon had it out of that, though, and i was prepared to make another effort. but joe was getting unpleasant. he said that if he had thought we were to have a game of blind hockey with the dinner he would have got a bit of bread and cheese outside. i was too exhausted to argue. i laid down the knife and fork with dignity and took a side seat and joe went for the wretched creature. he worked away in silence for awhile, and then he muttered "damn the duck" and took his coat off. we did break the thing up at length with the aid of a chisel, but it was perfectly impossible to eat it, and we had to make a dinner off the vegetables and an apple tart. we tried a mouthful of the duck, but it was like eating india-rubber. it was a wicked sin to kill that drake. but there! there's no respect for old institutions in this country. i started this paper with the idea of writing about eating and drinking, but i seem to have confined my remarks entirely to eating as yet. well, you see, drinking is one of those subjects with which it is inadvisable to appear too well acquainted. the days are gone by when it was considered manly to go to bed intoxicated every night, and a clear head and a firm hand no longer draw down upon their owner the reproach of effeminacy. on the contrary, in these sadly degenerate days an evil-smelling breath, a blotchy face, a reeling gait, and a husky voice are regarded as the hall marks of the cad rather than or the gentleman. even nowadays, though, the thirstiness of mankind is something supernatural. we are forever drinking on one excuse or another. a man never feels comfortable unless he has a glass before him. we drink before meals, and with meals, and after meals. we drink when we meet a friend, also when we part from a friend. we drink when we are talking, when we are reading, and when we are thinking. we drink one another's healths and spoil our own. we drink the queen, and the army, and the ladies, and everybody else that is drinkable; and i believe if the supply ran short we should drink our mothers-in-law. by the way, we never eat anybody's health, always drink it. why should we not stand up now and then and eat a tart to somebody's success? to me, i confess the constant necessity of drinking under which the majority of men labor is quite unaccountable. i can understand people drinking to drown care or to drive away maddening thoughts well enough. i can understand the ignorant masses loving to soak themselves in drink--oh, yes, it's very shocking that they should, of course--very shocking to us who live in cozy homes, with all the graces and pleasures of life around us, that the dwellers in damp cellars and windy attics should creep from their dens of misery into the warmth and glare of the public-house bar, and seek to float for a brief space away from their dull world upon a lethe stream of gin. but think, before you hold up your hands in horror at their ill-living, what "life" for these wretched creatures really means. picture the squalid misery of their brutish existence, dragged on from year to year in the narrow, noisome room where, huddled like vermin in sewers, they welter, and sicken, and sleep; where dirt-grimed children scream and fight and sluttish, shrill-voiced women cuff, and curse, and nag; where the street outside teems with roaring filth and the house around is a bedlam of riot and stench. think what a sapless stick this fair flower of life must be to them, devoid of mind and soul. the horse in his stall scents the sweet hay and munches the ripe corn contentedly. the watch-dog in his kennel blinks at the grateful sun, dreams of a glorious chase over the dewy fields, and wakes with a yelp of gladness to greet a caressing hand. but the clod-like life of these human logs never knows one ray of light. from the hour when they crawl from their comfortless bed to the hour when they lounge back into it again they never live one moment of real life. recreation, amusement, companionship, they know not the meaning of. joy, sorrow, laughter, tears, love, friendship, longing, despair, are idle words to them. from the day when their baby eyes first look out upon their sordid world to the day when, with an oath, they close them forever and their bones are shoveled out of sight, they never warm to one touch of human sympathy, never thrill to a single thought, never start to a single hope. in the name of the god of mercy; let them pour the maddening liquor down their throats and feel for one brief moment that they live! ah! we may talk sentiment as much as we like, but the stomach is the real seat of happiness in this world. the kitchen is the chief temple wherein we worship, its roaring fire is our vestal flame, and the cook is our great high-priest. he is a mighty magician and a kindly one. he soothes away all sorrow and care. he drives forth all enmity, gladdens all love. our god is great and the cook is his prophet. let us eat, drink, and be merry. on furnished apartments. "oh, you have some rooms to let." "mother!" "well, what is it?" "'ere's a gentleman about the rooms." "ask 'im in. i'll be up in a minute." "will yer step inside, sir? mother'll be up in a minute." so you step inside and after a minute "mother" comes slowly up the kitchen stairs, untying her apron as she comes and calling down instructions to some one below about the potatoes. "good-morning, sir," says "mother," with a washed-out smile. "will you step this way, please?" "oh, it's hardly worth while my coming up," you say. "what sort of rooms are they, and how much?" "well," says the landlady, "if you'll step upstairs i'll show them to you." so with a protesting murmur, meant to imply that any waste of time complained of hereafter must not be laid to your charge, you follow "mother" upstairs. at the first landing you run up against a pail and a broom, whereupon "mother" expatiates upon the unreliability of servant-girls, and bawls over the balusters for sarah to come and take them away at once. when you get outside the rooms she pauses, with her hand upon the door, to explain to you that they are rather untidy just at present, as the last lodger left only yesterday; and she also adds that this is their cleaning-day--it always is. with this understanding you enter, and both stand solemnly feasting your eyes upon the scene before you. the rooms cannot be said to appear inviting. even "mother's" face betrays no admiration. untenanted "furnished apartments" viewed in the morning sunlight do not inspire cheery sensations. there is a lifeless air about them. it is a very different thing when you have settled down and are living in them. with your old familiar household gods to greet your gaze whenever you glance up, and all your little knick-knacks spread around you--with the photos of all the girls that you have loved and lost ranged upon the mantel-piece, and half a dozen disreputable-looking pipes scattered about in painfully prominent positions--with one carpet slipper peeping from beneath the coal-box and the other perched on the top of the piano--with the well-known pictures to hide the dingy walls, and these dear old friends, your books, higgledy-piggledy all over the place--with the bits of old blue china that your mother prized, and the screen she worked in those far by-gone days, when the sweet old face was laughing and young, and the white soft hair tumbled in gold-brown curls from under the coal-scuttle bonnet-- ah, old screen, what a gorgeous personage you must have been in your young days, when the tulips and roses and lilies (all growing from one stem) were fresh in their glistening sheen! many a summer and winter have come and gone since then, my friend, and you have played with the dancing firelight until you have grown sad and gray. your brilliant colors are fast fading now, and the envious moths have gnawed your silken threads. you are withering away like the dead hands that wove you. do you ever think of those dead hands? you seem so grave and thoughtful sometimes that i almost think you do. come, you and i and the deep-glowing embers, let us talk together. tell me in your silent language what you remember of those young days, when you lay on my little mother's lap and her girlish fingers played with your rainbow tresses. was there never a lad near sometimes--never a lad who would seize one of those little hands to smother it with kisses, and who would persist in holding it, thereby sadly interfering with the progress of your making? was not your frail existence often put in jeopardy by this same clumsy, headstrong lad, who would toss you disrespectfully aside that he--not satisfied with one--might hold both hands and gaze up into the loved eyes? i can see that lad now through the haze of the flickering twilight. he is an eager bright-eyed boy, with pinching, dandy shoes and tight-fitting smalls, snowy shirt frill and stock, and--oh! such curly hair. a wild, light-hearted boy! can he be the great, grave gentleman upon whose stick i used to ride crosslegged, the care-worn man into whose thoughtful face i used to gaze with childish reverence and whom i used to call "father?" you say "yes," old screen; but are you quite sure? it is a serious charge you are bringing. can it be possible? did he have to kneel down in those wonderful smalls and pick you up and rearrange you before he was forgiven and his curly head smoothed by my mother's little hand? ah! old screen, and did the lads and the lassies go making love fifty years ago just as they do now? are men and women so unchanged? did little maidens' hearts beat the same under pearl-embroidered bodices as they do under mother hubbard cloaks? have steel casques and chimney-pot hats made no difference to the brains that work beneath them? oh, time! great chronos! and is this your power? have you dried up seas and leveled mountains and left the tiny human heart-strings to defy you? ah, yes! they were spun by a mightier than thou, and they stretch beyond your narrow ken, for their ends are made fast in eternity. ay, you may mow down the leaves and the blossoms, but the roots of life lie too deep for your sickle to sever. you refashion nature's garments, but you cannot vary by a jot the throbbings of her pulse. the world rolls round obedient to your laws, but the heart of man is not of your kingdom, for in its birthplace "a thousand years are but as yesterday." i am getting away, though, i fear, from my "furnished apartments," and i hardly know how to get back. but i have some excuse for my meanderings this time. it is a piece of old furniture that has led me astray, and fancies gather, somehow, round old furniture, like moss around old stones. one's chairs and tables get to be almost part of one's life and to seem like quiet friends. what strange tales the wooden-headed old fellows could tell did they but choose to speak! at what unsuspected comedies and tragedies have they not assisted! what bitter tears have been sobbed into that old sofa cushion! what passionate whisperings the settee must have overheard! new furniture has no charms for me compared with old. it is the old things that we love--the old faces, the old books, the old jokes. new furniture can make a palace, but it takes old furniture to make a home. not merely old in itself--lodging-house furniture generally is that--but it must be old to us, old in associations and recollections. the furniture of furnished apartments, however ancient it may be in reality, is new to our eyes, and we feel as though we could never get on with it. as, too, in the case of all fresh acquaintances, whether wooden or human (and there is very little difference between the two species sometimes), everything impresses you with its worst aspect. the knobby wood-work and shiny horse-hair covering of the easy-chair suggest anything but ease. the mirror is smoky. the curtains want washing. the carpet is frayed. the table looks as if it would go over the instant anything was rested on it. the grate is cheerless, the wall-paper hideous. the ceiling appears to have had coffee spilt all over it, and the ornaments--well, they are worse than the wallpaper. there must surely be some special and secret manufactory for the production of lodging-house ornaments. precisely the same articles are to be found at every lodging-house all over the kingdom, and they are never seen anywhere else. there are the two--what do you call them? they stand one at each end of the mantel-piece, where they are never safe, and they are hung round with long triangular slips of glass that clank against one another and make you nervous. in the commoner class of rooms these works of art are supplemented by a couple of pieces of china which might each be meant to represent a cow sitting upon its hind legs, or a model of the temple of diana at ephesus, or a dog, or anything else you like to fancy. somewhere about the room you come across a bilious-looking object, which at first you take to be a lump of dough left about by one of the children, but which on scrutiny seems to resemble an underdone cupid. this thing the landlady calls a statue. then there is a "sampler" worked by some idiot related to the family, a picture of the "huguenots," two or three scripture texts, and a highly framed and glazed certificate to the effect that the father has been vaccinated, or is an odd fellow, or something of that sort. you examine these various attractions and then dismally ask what the rent is. "that's rather a good deal," you say on hearing the figure. "well, to tell you the truth," answers the landlady with a sudden burst of candor, "i've always had" (mentioning a sum a good deal in excess of the first-named amount), "and before that i used to have" (a still higher figure). what the rent of apartments must have been twenty years ago makes one shudder to think of. every landlady makes you feel thoroughly ashamed of yourself by informing you, whenever the subject crops up, that she used to get twice as much for her rooms as you are paying. young men lodgers of the last generation must have been of a wealthier class than they are now, or they must have ruined themselves. i should have had to live in an attic. curious, that in lodgings the rule of life is reversed. the higher you get up in the world the lower you come down in your lodgings. on the lodging-house ladder the poor man is at the top, the rich man underneath. you start in the attic and work your way down to the first floor. a good many great men have lived in attics and some have died there. attics, says the dictionary, are "places where lumber is stored," and the world has used them to store a good deal of its lumber in at one time or another. its preachers and painters and poets, its deep-browed men who will find out things, its fire-eyed men who will tell truths that no one wants to hear--these are the lumber that the world hides away in its attics. haydn grew up in an attic and chatterton starved in one. addison and goldsmith wrote in garrets. faraday and de quincey knew them well. dr. johnson camped cheerfully in them, sleeping soundly--too soundly sometimes--upon their trundle-beds, like the sturdy old soldier of fortune that he was, inured to hardship and all careless of himself. dickens spent his youth among them, morland his old age--alas! a drunken, premature old age. hans andersen, the fairy king, dreamed his sweet fancies beneath their sloping roofs. poor, wayward-hearted collins leaned his head upon their crazy tables; priggish benjamin franklin; savage, the wrong-headed, much troubled when he could afford any softer bed than a doorstep; young bloomfield, "bobby" burns, hogarth, watts the engineer--the roll is endless. ever since the habitations of men were reared two stories high has the garret been the nursery of genius. no one who honors the aristocracy of mind can feel ashamed of acquaintanceship with them. their damp-stained walls are sacred to the memory of noble names. if all the wisdom of the world and all its art--all the spoils that it has won from nature, all the fire that it has snatched from heaven--were gathered together and divided into heaps, and we could point and say, for instance, these mighty truths were flashed forth in the brilliant _salon_ amid the ripple of light laughter and the sparkle of bright eyes; and this deep knowledge was dug up in the quiet study, where the bust of pallas looks serenely down on the leather-scented shelves; and this heap belongs to the crowded street; and that to the daisied field--the heap that would tower up high above the rest as a mountain above hills would be the one at which we should look up and say: this noblest pile of all--these glorious paintings and this wondrous music, these trumpet words, these solemn thoughts, these daring deeds, they were forged and fashioned amid misery and pain in the sordid squalor of the city garret. there, from their eyries, while the world heaved and throbbed below, the kings of men sent forth their eagle thoughts to wing their flight through the ages. there, where the sunlight streaming through the broken panes fell on rotting boards and crumbling walls; there, from their lofty thrones, those rag-clothed joves have hurled their thunderbolts and shaken, before now, the earth to its foundations. huddle them up in your lumber-rooms, oh, world! shut them fast in and turn the key of poverty upon them. weld close the bars, and let them fret their hero lives away within the narrow cage. leave them there to starve, and rot, and die. laugh at the frenzied beatings of their hands against the door. roll onward in your dust and noise and pass them by, forgotten. but take care lest they turn and sting you. all do not, like the fabled phoenix, warble sweet melodies in their agony; sometimes they spit venom--venom you must breathe whether you will or no, for you cannot seal their mouths, though you may fetter their limbs. you can lock the door upon them, but they burst open their shaky lattices and call out over the house-tops so that men cannot but hear. you hounded wild rousseau into the meanest garret of the rue st. jacques and jeered at his angry shrieks. but the thin, piping tones swelled a hundred years later into the sullen roar of the french revolution, and civilization to this day is quivering to the reverberations of his voice. as for myself, however, i like an attic. not to live in: as residences they are inconvenient. there is too much getting up and down stairs connected with them to please me. it puts one unpleasantly in mind of the tread-mill. the form of the ceiling offers too many facilities for bumping your head and too few for shaving. and the note of the tomcat as he sings to his love in the stilly night outside on the tiles becomes positively distasteful when heard so near. no, for living in give me a suit of rooms on the first floor of a piccadilly mansion (i wish somebody would!); but for thinking in let me have an attic up ten flights of stairs in the densest quarter of the city. i have all herr teufelsdrockh's affection for attics. there is a sublimity about their loftiness. i love to "sit at ease and look down upon the wasps' nest beneath;" to listen to the dull murmur of the human tide ebbing and flowing ceaselessly through the narrow streets and lanes below. how small men seem, how like a swarm of ants sweltering in endless confusion on their tiny hill! how petty seems the work on which they are hurrying and skurrying! how childishly they jostle against one another and turn to snarl and scratch! they jabber and screech and curse, but their puny voices do not reach up here. they fret, and fume, and rage, and pant, and die; "but i, mein werther, sit above it all; i am alone with the stars." the most extraordinary attic i ever came across was one a friend and i once shared many years ago. of all eccentrically planned things, from bradshaw to the maze at hampton court, that room was the most eccentric. the architect who designed it must have been a genius, though i cannot help thinking that his talents would have been better employed in contriving puzzles than in shaping human habitations. no figure in euclid could give any idea of that apartment. it contained seven corners, two of the walls sloped to a point, and the window was just over the fireplace. the only possible position for the bedstead was between the door and the cupboard. to get anything out of the cupboard we had to scramble over the bed, and a large percentage of the various commodities thus obtained was absorbed by the bedclothes. indeed, so many things were spilled and dropped upon the bed that toward night-time it had become a sort of small cooperative store. coal was what it always had most in stock. we used to keep our coal in the bottom part of the cupboard, and when any was wanted we had to climb over the bed, fill a shovelful, and then crawl back. it was an exciting moment when we reached the middle of the bed. we would hold our breath, fix our eyes upon the shovel, and poise ourselves for the last move. the next instant we, and the coals, and the shovel, and the bed would be all mixed up together. i've heard of the people going into raptures over beds of coal. we slept in one every night and were not in the least stuck up about it. but our attic, unique though it was, had by no means exhausted the architect's sense of humor. the arrangement of the whole house was a marvel of originality. all the doors opened outward, so that if any one wanted to leave a room at the same moment that you were coming downstairs it was unpleasant for you. there was no ground-floor--its ground-floor belonged to a house in the next court, and the front door opened direct upon a flight of stairs leading down to the cellar. visitors on entering the house would suddenly shoot past the person who had answered the door to them and disappear down these stairs. those of a nervous temperament used to imagine that it was a trap laid for them, and would shout murder as they lay on their backs at the bottom till somebody came and picked them up. it is a long time ago now that i last saw the inside of an attic. i have tried various floors since but i have not found that they have made much difference to me. life tastes much the same, whether we quaff it from a golden goblet or drink it out of a stone mug. the hours come laden with the same mixture of joy and sorrow, no matter where we wait for them. a waistcoat of broadcloth or of fustian is alike to an aching heart, and we laugh no merrier on velvet cushions than we did on wooden chairs. often have i sighed in those low-ceilinged rooms, yet disappointments have come neither less nor lighter since i quitted them. life works upon a compensating balance, and the happiness we gain in one direction we lose in another. as our means increase, so do our desires; and we ever stand midway between the two. when we reside in an attic we enjoy a supper of fried fish and stout. when we occupy the first floor it takes an elaborate dinner at the continental to give us the same amount of satisfaction. on dress and deportment. they say--people who ought to be ashamed of themselves do--that the consciousness of being well dressed imparts a blissfulness to the human heart that religion is powerless to bestow. i am afraid these cynical persons are sometimes correct. i know that when i was a very young man (many, many years ago, as the story-books say) and wanted cheering up, i used to go and dress myself in all my best clothes. if i had been annoyed in any manner--if my washerwoman had discharged me, for instance; or my blank-verse poem had been returned for the tenth time, with the editor's compliments "and regrets that owing to want of space he is unable to avail himself of kind offer;" or i had been snubbed by the woman i loved as man never loved before--by the way, it's really extraordinary what a variety of ways of loving there must be. we all do it as it was never done before. i don't know how our great-grandchildren will manage. they will have to do it on their heads by their time if they persist in not clashing with any previous method. well, as i was saying, when these unpleasant sort of things happened and i felt crushed, i put on all my best clothes and went out. it brought back my vanishing self-esteem. in a glossy new hat and a pair of trousers with a fold down the front (carefully preserved by keeping them under the bed--i don't mean on the floor, you know, but between the bed and the mattress), i felt i was somebody and that there were other washerwomen: ay, and even other girls to love, and who would perhaps appreciate a clever, good-looking young fellow. i didn't care; that was my reckless way. i would make love to other maidens. i felt that in those clothes i could do it. they have a wonderful deal to do with courting, clothes have. it is half the battle. at all events, the young man thinks so, and it generally takes him a couple of hours to get himself up for the occasion. his first half-hour is occupied in trying to decide whether to wear his light suit with a cane and drab billycock, or his black tails with a chimney-pot hat and his new umbrella. he is sure to be unfortunate in either decision. if he wears his light suit and takes the stick it comes on to rain, and he reaches the house in a damp and muddy condition and spends the evening trying to hide his boots. if, on the other hand, he decides in favor of the top hat and umbrella--nobody would ever dream of going out in a top hat without an umbrella; it would be like letting baby (bless it!) toddle out without its nurse. how i do hate a top hat! one lasts me a very long while, i can tell you. i only wear it when--well, never mind when i wear it. it lasts me a very long while. i've had my present one five years. it was rather old-fashioned last summer, but the shape has come round again now and i look quite stylish. but to return to our young man and his courting. if he starts off with the top hat and umbrella the afternoon turns out fearfully hot, and the perspiration takes all the soap out of his mustache and converts the beautifully arranged curl over his forehead into a limp wisp resembling a lump of seaweed. the fates are never favorable to the poor wretch. if he does by any chance reach the door in proper condition, she has gone out with her cousin and won't be back till late. how a young lover made ridiculous by the gawkiness of modern costume must envy the picturesque gallants of seventy years ago! look at them (on the christmas cards), with their curly hair and natty hats, their well-shaped legs incased in smalls, their dainty hessian boots, their ruffling frills, their canes and dangling seals. no wonder the little maiden in the big poke-bonnet and the light-blue sash casts down her eyes and is completely won. men could win hearts in clothes like that. but what can you expect from baggy trousers and a monkeyjacket? clothes have more effect upon us than we imagine. our deportment depends upon our dress. make a man get into seedy, worn-out rags, and he will skulk along with his head hanging down, like a man going out to fetch his own supper beer. but deck out the same article in gorgeous raiment and fine linen, and he will strut down the main thoroughfare, swinging his cane and looking at the girls as perky as a bantam cock. clothes alter our very nature. a man could not help being fierce and daring with a plume in his bonnet, a dagger in his belt, and a lot of puffy white things all down his sleeves. but in an ulster he wants to get behind a lamp-post and call police. i am quite ready to admit that you can find sterling merit, honest worth, deep affection, and all such like virtues of the roast-beef-and-plum-pudding school as much, and perhaps more, under broadcloth and tweed as ever existed beneath silk and velvet; but the spirit of that knightly chivalry that "rode a tilt for lady's love" and "fought for lady's smiles" needs the clatter of steel and the rustle of plumes to summon it from its grave between the dusty folds of tapestry and underneath the musty leaves of moldering chronicles. the world must be getting old, i think; it dresses so very soberly now. we have been through the infant period of humanity, when we used to run about with nothing on but a long, loose robe, and liked to have our feet bare. and then came the rough, barbaric age, the boyhood of our race. we didn't care what we wore then, but thought it nice to tattoo ourselves all over, and we never did our hair. and after that the world grew into a young man and became foppish. it decked itself in flowing curls and scarlet doublets, and went courting, and bragging, and bouncing--making a brave show. but all those merry, foolish days of youth are gone, and we are very sober, very solemn--and very stupid, some say--now. the world is a grave, middle-aged gentleman in this nineteenth century, and would be shocked to see itself with a bit of finery on. so it dresses in black coats and trousers, and black hats, and black boots, and, dear me, it is such a very respectable gentleman--to think it could ever have gone gadding about as a troubadour or a knight-errant, dressed in all those fancy colors! ah, well! we are more sensible in this age. or at least we think ourselves so. it is a general theory nowadays that sense and dullness go together. goodness is another quality that always goes with blackness. very good people indeed, you will notice, dress altogether in black, even to gloves and neckties, and they will probably take to black shirts before long. medium goods indulge in light trousers on week-days, and some of them even go so far as to wear fancy waistcoats. on the other hand, people who care nothing for a future state go about in light suits; and there have been known wretches so abandoned as to wear a white hat. such people, however, are never spoken of in genteel society, and perhaps i ought not to have referred to them here. by the way, talking of light suits, have you ever noticed how people stare at you the first time you go out in a new light suit they do not notice it so much afterward. the population of london have got accustomed to it by the third time you wear it. i say "you," because i am not speaking from my own experience. i do not wear such things at all myself. as i said, only sinful people do so. i wish, though, it were not so, and that one could be good, and respectable, and sensible without making one's self a guy. i look in the glass sometimes at my two long, cylindrical bags (so picturesquely rugged about the knees), my stand-up collar and billycock hat, and wonder what right i have to go about making god's world hideous. then wild and wicked thoughts come into my heart. i don't want to be good and respectable. (i never can be sensible, i'm told; so that don't matter.) i want to put on lavender-colored tights, with red velvet breeches and a green doublet slashed with yellow; to have a light-blue silk cloak on my shoulder, and a black eagle's plume waving from my hat, and a big sword, and a falcon, and a lance, and a prancing horse, so that i might go about and gladden the eyes of the people. why should we all try to look like ants crawling over a dust-heap? why shouldn't we dress a little gayly? i am sure if we did we should be happier. true, it is a little thing, but we are a little race, and what is the use of our pretending otherwise and spoiling fun? let philosophers get themselves up like old crows if they like. but let me be a butterfly. women, at all events, ought to dress prettily. it is their duty. they are the flowers of the earth and were meant to show it up. we abuse them a good deal, we men; but, goodness knows, the old world would be dull enough without their dresses and fair faces. how they brighten up every place they come into! what a sunny commotion they--relations, of course---make in our dingy bachelor chambers! and what a delightful litter their ribbons and laces, and gloves and hats, and parasols and 'kerchiefs make! it is as if a wandering rainbow had dropped in to pay us a visit. it is one of the chief charms of the summer, to my mind, the way our little maids come out in pretty colors. i like to see the pink and blue and white glancing between the trees, dotting the green fields, and flashing back the sunlight. you can see the bright colors such a long way off. there are four white dresses climbing a hill in front of my window now. i can see them distinctly, though it is three miles away. i thought at first they were mile-stones out for a lark. it's so nice to be able to see the darlings a long way off. especially if they happen to be your wife and your mother-in-law. talking of fields and mile-stones reminds me that i want to say, in all seriousness, a few words about women's boots. the women of these islands all wear boots too big for them. they can never get a boot to fit. the bootmakers do not keep sizes small enough. over and over again have i known women sit down on the top rail of a stile and declare they could not go a step further because their boots hurt them so; and it has always been the same complaint--too big. it is time this state of things was altered. in the name of the husbands and fathers of england, i call upon the bootmakers to reform. our wives, our daughters, and our cousins are not to be lamed and tortured with impunity. why cannot "narrow twos" be kept more in stock? that is the size i find most women take. the waist-band is another item of feminine apparel that is always too big. the dressmakers make these things so loose that the hooks and eyes by which they are fastened burst off, every now and then, with a report like thunder. why women suffer these wrongs--why they do not insist in having their clothes made small enough for them i cannot conceive. it can hardly be that they are disinclined to trouble themselves about matters of mere dress, for dress is the one subject that they really do think about. it is the only topic they ever get thoroughly interested in, and they talk about it all day long. if you see two women together, you may bet your bottom dollar they are discussing their own or their friends' clothes. you notice a couple of child-like beings conversing by a window, and you wonder what sweet, helpful words are falling from their sainted lips. so you move nearer and then you hear one say: "so i took in the waist-band and let out a seam, and it fits beautifully now." "well," says the other, "i shall wear my plum-colored body to the jones', with a yellow plastron; and they've got some lovely gloves at puttick's, only one and eleven pence." i went for a drive through a part of derbyshire once with a couple of ladies. it was a beautiful bit of country, and they enjoyed themselves immensely. they talked dressmaking the whole time. "pretty view, that," i would say, waving my umbrella round. "look at those blue distant hills! that little white speck, nestling in the woods, is chatsworth, and over there--" "yes, very pretty indeed," one would reply. "well, why not get a yard of sarsenet?" "what, and leave the skirt exactly as it is?" "certainly. what place d'ye call this?" then i would draw their attention to the fresh beauties that kept sweeping into view, and they would glance round and say "charming," "sweetly pretty," and immediately go off into raptures over each other's pocket-handkerchiefs, and mourn with one another over the decadence of cambric frilling. i believe if two women were cast together upon a desert island, they would spend each day arguing the respective merits of sea-shells and birds' eggs considered as trimmings, and would have a new fashion in fig-leaves every month. very young men think a good deal about clothes, but they don't talk about them to each other. they would not find much encouragement. a fop is not a favorite with his own sex. indeed, he gets a good deal more abuse from them than is necessary. his is a harmless failing and it soon wears out. besides, a man who has no foppery at twenty will be a slatternly, dirty-collar, unbrushed-coat man at forty. a little foppishness in a young man is good; it is human. i like to see a young cock ruffle his feathers, stretch his neck, and crow as if the whole world belonged to him. i don't like a modest, retiring man. nobody does--not really, however much they may prate about modest worth and other things they do not understand. a meek deportment is a great mistake in the world. uriah heap's father was a very poor judge of human nature, or he would not have told his son, as he did, that people liked humbleness. there is nothing annoys them more, as a rule. rows are half the fun of life, and you can't have rows with humble, meek-answering individuals. they turn away our wrath, and that is just what we do not want. we want to let it out. we have worked ourselves up into a state of exhilarating fury, and then just as we are anticipating the enjoyment of a vigorous set-to, they spoil all our plans with their exasperating humility. xantippe's life must have been one long misery, tied to that calmly irritating man, socrates. fancy a married woman doomed to live on from day to day without one single quarrel with her husband! a man ought to humor his wife in these things. heaven knows their lives are dull enough, poor girls. they have none of the enjoyments we have. they go to no political meetings; they may not even belong to the local amateur parliament; they are excluded from smoking-carriages on the metropolitan railway, and they never see a comic paper--or if they do, they do not know it is comic: nobody tells them. surely, with existence such a dreary blank for them as this, we might provide a little row for their amusement now and then, even if we do not feel inclined for it ourselves. a really sensible man does so and is loved accordingly, for it is little acts of kindness such as this that go straight to a woman's heart. it is such like proofs of loving self-sacrifice that make her tell her female friends what a good husband he was--after he is dead. yes, poor xantippe must have had a hard time of it. the bucket episode was particularly sad for her. poor woman! she did think she would rouse him up a bit with that. she had taken the trouble to fill the bucket, perhaps been a long way to get specially dirty water. and she waited for him. and then to be met in such a way, after all! most likely she sat down and had a good cry afterward. it must have seemed all so hopeless to the poor child; and for all we know she had no mother to whom she could go and abuse him. what was it to her that her husband was a great philosopher? great philosophy don't count in married life. there was a very good little boy once who wanted to go to sea. and the captain asked him what he could do. he said he could do the multiplication-table backward and paste sea-weed in a book; that he knew how many times the word "begat" occurred in the old testament; and could recite "the boy stood on the burning deck" and wordsworth's "we are seven." "werry good--werry good, indeed," said the man of the sea, "and ken ye kerry coals?" it is just the same when you want to marry. great ability is not required so much as little usefulness. brains are at a discount in the married state. there is no demand for them, no appreciation even. our wives sum us up according to a standard of their own, in which brilliancy of intellect obtains no marks. your lady and mistress is not at all impressed by your cleverness and talent, my dear reader--not in the slightest. give her a man who can do an errand neatly, without attempting to use his own judgment over it or any nonsense of that kind; and who can be trusted to hold a child the right way up, and not make himself objectionable whenever there is lukewarm mutton for dinner. that is the sort of a husband a sensible woman likes; not one of your scientific or literary nuisances, who go upsetting the whole house and putting everybody out with their foolishness. on memory. "i remember, i remember, in the days of chill november, how the blackbird on the--" i forget the rest. it is the beginning of the first piece of poetry i ever learned; for "hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle," i take no note of, it being of a frivolous character and lacking in the qualities of true poetry. i collected fourpence by the recital of "i remember, i remember." i knew it was fourpence, because they told me that if i kept it until i got twopence more i should have sixpence, which argument, albeit undeniable, moved me not, and the money was squandered, to the best of my recollection, on the very next morning, although upon what memory is a blank. that is just the way with memory; nothing that she brings to us is complete. she is a willful child; all her toys are broken. i remember tumbling into a huge dust-hole when a very small boy, but i have not the faintest recollection of ever getting out again; and if memory were all we had to trust to, i should be compelled to believe i was there still. at another time--some years later--i was assisting at an exceedingly interesting love scene; but the only thing about it i can call to mind distinctly is that at the most critical moment somebody suddenly opened the door and said, "emily, you're wanted," in a sepulchral tone that gave one the idea the police had come for her. all the tender words she said to me and all the beautiful things i said to her are utterly forgotten. life altogether is but a crumbling ruin when we turn to look behind: a shattered column here, where a massive portal stood; the broken shaft of a window to mark my lady's bower; and a moldering heap of blackened stones where the glowing flames once leaped, and over all the tinted lichen and the ivy clinging green. for everything looms pleasant through the softening haze of time. even the sadness that is past seems sweet. our boyish days look very merry to us now, all nutting, hoop, and gingerbread. the snubbings and toothaches and the latin verbs are all forgotten--the latin verbs especially. and we fancy we were very happy when we were hobbledehoys and loved; and we wish that we could love again. we never think of the heartaches, or the sleepless nights, or the hot dryness of our throats, when she said she could never be anything to us but a sister--as if any man wanted more sisters! yes, it is the brightness, not the darkness, that we see when we look back. the sunshine casts no shadows on the past. the road that we have traversed stretches very fair behind us. we see not the sharp stones. we dwell but on the roses by the wayside, and the strong briers that stung us are, to our distant eyes, but gentle tendrils waving in the wind. god be thanked that it is so--that the ever-lengthening chain of memory has only pleasant links, and that the bitterness and sorrow of to-day are smiled at on the morrow. it seems as though the brightest side of everything were also its highest and best, so that as our little lives sink back behind us into the dark sea of forgetfulness, all that which is the lightest and the most gladsome is the last to sink, and stands above the waters, long in sight, when the angry thoughts and smarting pain are buried deep below the waves and trouble us no more. it is this glamour of the past, i suppose, that makes old folk talk so much nonsense about the days when they were young. the world appears to have been a very superior sort of place then, and things were more like what they ought to be. boys were boys then, and girls were very different. also winters were something like winters, and summers not at all the wretched-things we get put off with nowadays. as for the wonderful deeds people did in those times and the extraordinary events that happened, it takes three strong men to believe half of them. i like to hear one of the old boys telling all about it to a party of youngsters who he knows cannot contradict him. it is odd if, after awhile, he doesn't swear that the moon shone every night when he was a boy, and that tossing mad bulls in a blanket was the favorite sport at his school. it always has been and always will be the same. the old folk of our grandfathers' young days sang a song bearing exactly the same burden; and the young folk of to-day will drone out precisely similar nonsense for the aggravation of the next generation. "oh, give me back the good old days of fifty years ago," has been the cry ever since adam's fifty-first birthday. take up the literature of , and you will find the poets and novelists asking for the same impossible gift as did the german minnesingers long before them and the old norse saga writers long before that. and for the same thing sighed the early prophets and the philosophers of ancient greece. from all accounts, the world has been getting worse and worse ever since it was created. all i can say is that it must have been a remarkably delightful place when it was first opened to the public, for it is very pleasant even now if you only keep as much as possible in the sunshine and take the rain good-temperedly. yet there is no gainsaying but that it must have been somewhat sweeter in that dewy morning of creation, when it was young and fresh, when the feet of the tramping millions had not trodden its grass to dust, nor the din of the myriad cities chased the silence forever away. life must have been noble and solemn to those free-footed, loose-robed fathers of the human race, walking hand in hand with god under the great sky. they lived in sunkissed tents amid the lowing herds. they took their simple wants from the loving hand of nature. they toiled and talked and thought; and the great earth rolled around in stillness, not yet laden with trouble and wrong. those days are past now. the quiet childhood of humanity, spent in the far-off forest glades and by the murmuring rivers, is gone forever; and human life is deepening down to manhood amid tumult, doubt, and hope. its age of restful peace is past. it has its work to finish and must hasten on. what that work may be--what this world's share is in the great design--we know not, though our unconscious hands are helping to accomplish it. like the tiny coral insect working deep under the dark waters, we strive and struggle each for our own little ends, nor dream of the vast fabric we are building up for god. let us have done with vain regrets and longings for the days that never will be ours again. our work lies in front, not behind us; and "forward!" is our motto. let us not sit with folded hands, gazing upon the past as if it were the building; it is but the foundation. let us not waste heart and life thinking of what might have been and forgetting the may be that lies before us. opportunities flit by while we sit regretting the chances we have lost, and the happiness that comes to us we heed not, because of the happiness that is gone. years ago, when i used to wander of an evening from the fireside to the pleasant land of fairy-tales, i met a doughty knight and true. many dangers had he overcome, in many lands had been; and all men knew him for a brave and well-tried knight, and one that knew not fear; except, maybe, upon such seasons when even a brave man might feel afraid and yet not be ashamed. now, as this knight one day was pricking wearily along a toilsome road, his heart misgave him and was sore within him because of the trouble of the way. rocks, dark and of a monstrous size, hung high above his head, and like enough it seemed unto the knight that they should fall and he lie low beneath them. chasms there were on either side, and darksome caves wherein fierce robbers lived, and dragons, very terrible, whose jaws dripped blood. and upon the road there hung a darkness as of night. so it came over that good knight that he would no more press forward, but seek another road, less grievously beset with difficulty unto his gentle steed. but when in haste he turned and looked behind, much marveled our brave knight, for lo! of all the way that he had ridden there was naught for eye to see; but at his horse's heels there yawned a mighty gulf, whereof no man might ever spy the bottom, so deep was that same gulf. then when sir ghelent saw that of going back there was none, he prayed to good saint cuthbert, and setting spurs into his steed rode forward bravely and most joyously. and naught harmed him. there is no returning on the road of life. the frail bridge of time on which we tread sinks back into eternity at every step we take. the past is gone from us forever. it is gathered in and garnered. it belongs to us no more. no single word can ever be unspoken; no single step retraced. therefore it beseems us as true knights to prick on bravely, not idly weep because we cannot now recall. a new life begins for us with every second. let us go forward joyously to meet it. we must press on whether we will or no, and we shall walk better with our eyes before us than with them ever cast behind. a friend came to me the other day and urged me very eloquently to learn some wonderful system by which you never forgot anything. i don't know why he was so eager on the subject, unless it be that i occasionally borrow an umbrella and have a knack of coming out, in the middle of a game of whist, with a mild "lor! i've been thinking all along that clubs were trumps." i declined the suggestion, however, in spite of the advantages he so attractively set forth. i have no wish to remember everything. there are many things in most men's lives that had better be forgotten. there is that time, many years ago, when we did not act quite as honorably, quite as uprightly, as we perhaps should have done--that unfortunate deviation from the path of strict probity we once committed, and in which, more unfortunate still, we were found out--that act of folly, of meanness, of wrong. ah, well! we paid the penalty, suffered the maddening hours of vain remorse, the hot agony of shame, the scorn, perhaps, of those we loved. let us forget. oh, father time, lift with your kindly hands those bitter memories from off our overburdened hearts, for griefs are ever coming to us with the coming hours, and our little strength is only as the day. not that the past should be buried. the music of life would be mute if the chords of memory were snapped asunder. it is but the poisonous weeds, not the flowers, that we should root out from the garden of mnemosyne. do you remember dickens' "haunted man"--how he prayed for forgetfulness, and how, when his prayer was answered, he prayed for memory once more? we do not want all the ghosts laid. it is only the haggard, cruel-eyed specters that we flee from. let the gentle, kindly phantoms haunt us as they will; we are not afraid of them. ah me! the world grows very full of ghosts as we grow older. we need not seek in dismal church-yards nor sleep in moated granges to see the shadowy faces and hear the rustling of their garments in the night. every house, every room, every creaking chair has its own particular ghost. they haunt the empty chambers of our lives, they throng around us like dead leaves whirled in the autumn wind. some are living, some are dead. we know not. we clasped their hands once, loved them, quarreled with them, laughed with them, told them our thoughts and hopes and aims, as they told us theirs, till it seemed our very hearts had joined in a grip that would defy the puny power of death. they are gone now; lost to us forever. their eyes will never look into ours again and their voices we shall never hear. only their ghosts come to us and talk with us. we see them, dim and shadowy, through our tears. we stretch our yearning hands to them, but they are air. ghosts! they are with us night and day. they walk beside us in the busy street under the glare of the sun. they sit by us in the twilight at home. we see their little faces looking from the windows of the old school-house. we meet them in the woods and lanes where we shouted and played as boys. hark! cannot you hear their low laughter from behind the blackberry-bushes and their distant whoops along the grassy glades? down here, through the quiet fields and by the wood, where the evening shadows are lurking, winds the path where we used to watch for her at sunset. look, she is there now, in the dainty white frock we knew so well, with the big bonnet dangling from her little hands and the sunny brown hair all tangled. five thousand miles away! dead for all we know! what of that? she is beside us now, and we can look into her laughing eyes and hear her voice. she will vanish at the stile by the wood and we shall be alone; and the shadows will creep out across the fields and the night wind will sweep past moaning. ghosts! they are always with us and always will be while the sad old world keeps echoing to the sob of long good-bys, while the cruel ships sail away across the great seas, and the cold green earth lies heavy on the hearts of those we loved. but, oh, ghosts, the world would be sadder still without you. come to us and speak to us, oh you ghosts of our old loves! ghosts of playmates, and of sweethearts, and old friends, of all you laughing boys and girls, oh, come to us and be with us, for the world is very lonely, and new friends and faces are not like the old, and we cannot love them, nay, nor laugh with them as we have loved and laughed with you. and when we walked together, oh, ghosts of our youth, the world was very gay and bright; but now it has grown old and we are growing weary, and only you can bring the brightness and the freshness back to us. memory is a rare ghost-raiser. like a haunted house, its walls are ever echoing to unseen feet. through the broken casements we watch the flitting shadows of the dead, and the saddest shadows of them all are the shadows of our own dead selves. oh, those young bright faces, so full of truth and honor, of pure, good thoughts, of noble longings, how reproachfully they look upon us with their deep, clear eyes! i fear they have good cause for their sorrow, poor lads. lies and cunning and disbelief have crept into our hearts since those preshaving days--and we meant to be so great and good. it is well we cannot see into the future. there are few boys of fourteen who would not feel ashamed of themselves at forty. i like to sit and have a talk sometimes with that odd little chap that was myself long ago. i think he likes it too, for he comes so often of an evening when i am alone with my pipe, listening to the whispering of the flames. i see his solemn little face looking at me through the scented smoke as it floats upward, and i smile at him; and he smiles back at me, but his is such a grave, old-fashioned smile. we chat about old times; and now and then he takes me by the hand, and then we slip through the black bars of the grate and down the dusky glowing caves to the land that lies behind the firelight. there we find the days that used to be, and we wander along them together. he tells me as we walk all he thinks and feels. i laugh at him now and then, but the next moment i wish i had not, for he looks so grave i am ashamed of being frivolous. besides, it is not showing proper respect to one so much older than myself--to one who was myself so very long before i became myself. we don't talk much at first, but look at one another; i down at his curly hair and little blue bow, he up sideways at me as he trots. and some-how i fancy the shy, round eyes do not altogether approve of me, and he heaves a little sigh, as though he were disappointed. but after awhile his bashfulness wears off and he begins to chat. he tells me his favorite fairy-tales, he can do up to six times, and he has a guinea-pig, and pa says fairy-tales ain't true; and isn't it a pity? 'cos he would so like to be a knight and fight a dragon and marry a beautiful princess. but he takes a more practical view of life when he reaches seven, and would prefer to grow up be a bargee, and earn a lot of money. maybe this is the consequence of falling in love, which he does about this time with the young lady at the milk shop aet. six. (god bless her little ever-dancing feet, whatever size they may be now!) he must be very fond of her, for he gives her one day his chiefest treasure, to wit, a huge pocket-knife with four rusty blades and a corkscrew, which latter has a knack of working itself out in some mysterious manner and sticking into its owner's leg. she is an affectionate little thing, and she throws her arms round his neck and kisses him for it, then and there, outside the shop. but the stupid world (in the person of the boy at the cigar emporium next door) jeers at such tokens of love. whereupon my young friend very properly prepares to punch the head of the boy at the cigar emporium next door; but fails in the attempt, the boy at the cigar emporium next door punching his instead. and then comes school life, with its bitter little sorrows and its joyous shoutings, its jolly larks, and its hot tears falling on beastly latin grammars and silly old copy-books. it is at school that he injures himself for life--as i firmly believe--trying to pronounce german; and it is there, too, that he learns of the importance attached by the french nation to pens, ink, and paper. "have you pens, ink, and paper?" is the first question asked by one frenchman of another on their meeting. the other fellow has not any of them, as a rule, but says that the uncle of his brother has got them all three. the first fellow doesn't appear to care a hang about the uncle of the other fellow's brother; what he wants to know now is, has the neighbor of the other fellow's mother got 'em? "the neighbor of my mother has no pens, no ink, and no paper," replies the other man, beginning to get wild. "has the child of thy female gardener some pens, some ink, or some paper?" he has him there. after worrying enough about these wretched inks, pens, and paper to make everybody miserable, it turns out that the child of his own female gardener hasn't any. such a discovery would shut up any one but a french exercise man. it has no effect at all, though, on this shameless creature. he never thinks of apologizing, but says his aunt has some mustard. so in the acquisition of more or less useless knowledge, soon happily to be forgotten, boyhood passes away. the red-brick school-house fades from view, and we turn down into the world's high-road. my little friend is no longer little now. the short jacket has sprouted tails. the battered cap, so useful as a combination of pocket-handkerchief, drinking-cup, and weapon of attack, has grown high and glossy; and instead of a slate-pencil in his mouth there is a cigarette, the smoke of which troubles him, for it will get up his nose. he tries a cigar a little later on as being more stylish--a big black havanna. it doesn't seem altogether to agree with him, for i find him sitting over a bucket in the back kitchen afterward, solemnly swearing never to smoke again. and now his mustache begins to be almost visible to the naked eye, whereupon he immediately takes to brandy-and-sodas and fancies himself a man. he talks about "two to one against the favorite," refers to actresses as "little emmy" and "kate" and "baby," and murmurs about his "losses at cards the other night" in a style implying that thousands have been squandered, though, to do him justice, the actual amount is most probably one-and-twopence. also, if i see aright--for it is always twilight in this land of memories--he sticks an eyeglass in his eye and stumbles over everything. his female relations, much troubled at these things, pray for him (bless their gentle hearts!) and see visions of old bailey trials and halters as the only possible outcome of such reckless dissipation; and the prediction of his first school-master, that he would come to a bad end, assumes the proportions of inspired prophecy. he has a lordly contempt at this age for the other sex, a blatantly good opinion of himself, and a sociably patronizing manner toward all the elderly male friends of the family. altogether, it must be confessed, he is somewhat of a nuisance about this time. it does not last long, though. he falls in love in a little while, and that soon takes the bounce out of him. i notice his boots are much too small for him now, and his hair is fearfully and wonderfully arranged. he reads poetry more than he used, and he keeps a rhyming dictionary in his bedroom. every morning emily jane finds scraps of torn-up paper on the floor and reads thereon of "cruel hearts and love's deep darts," of "beauteous eyes and lovers' sighs," and much more of the old, old song that lads so love to sing and lassies love to listen to while giving their dainty heads a toss and pretending never to hear. the course of love, however, seems not to have run smoothly, for later on he takes more walking exercise and less sleep, poor boy, than is good for him; and his face is suggestive of anything but wedding-bells and happiness ever after. and here he seems to vanish. the little, boyish self that has grown up beside me as we walked is gone. i am alone and the road is very dark. i stumble on, i know not how nor care, for the way seems leading nowhere, and there is no light to guide. but at last the morning comes, and i find that i have grown into myself. the end.